plot! you've known jason since you were kids, you couldn't quite understand why, but you always got along, like you were made for each others. now, years later, you're both sure you are. nothing could separate you, not bruce, not costantine, not the missions that took longer than expected. even when meeting after months, nothing changed. it's always been you and him, and always would be, until jason died.
contains! magic user f!reader, constantine is like a father figure to her, jason's death, angst, reader's grief, happy-ish ending
a/n: thank you so much for the request sweetie!! i loved writing this because all the angst and the pain and the untold love arghsjjd because these two don't need to say it, they know they love each other. im trying posting this at evening to see if reaches more people!!
The rain in Gotham was relentless that night, the kind that soaked through leather and kevlar in seconds and made the city look like it was melting under its own weight. Jason didn’t mind. He’d grown up under these skies, gritty, gray, and punishing. If anything, it felt honest.
What he didn’t expect, though, was the sudden ripple in the air as he perched on a rooftop, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up like static.
He had learned to trust that sensation, it usually meant one thing.
“Y’know, you could warn a guy before you tear reality open right behind him” Jason muttered, turning his head to see you stepping out of a crackling shimmer in the air. Your coat snapped in the wind, the faint smell of burnt ozone trailing after you.
Your eyes lit up when they found him, tired, yes, but familiar.
The same boy you’d known when his fists were too big for his body and his anger even bigger. Except now he was grown into it: taller, broader, shoulders heavy with a burden you knew all too well.
“Wouldn’t be any fun that way” you said, voice smooth with the kind of confidence only magic could give. The streetlights below flickered, the city holding its breath as you crossed the rooftop toward him.
Jason gave you a once-over, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “Still playin’ dress-up in trench coats, huh? Guess Constantine rubbed off on you more than I thought.”
You rolled your eyes, but there was warmth beneath it. “Better than brooding around rooftops in a bat suit knock-off.”
“Ouch.” Jason pressed a hand dramatically to his chest. “You wound me.”
But the grin that broke out, small, private, the kind no one else got to see, was proof enough that your words didn’t sting.
Not with you.
It had been years since the two of you first crossed paths as kids, both running in circles too dangerous for children.
Jason, all fists and reckless bravado; you, quiet power stitched into your veins, Constantine’s shadow a constant presence at your side. Somehow, even then, you’d recognized something in each other, an unspoken defiance, a hunger for survival that bonded you tighter than blood ever could.
And now, standing together under Gotham’s rain, that bond hadn’t loosened. If anything, it was heavier, layered with years of missed chances and stolen glances.
Jason looked at you for a long moment, rain dripping down his jawline, his domino mask in his hand. “So. You back for good this time, or is this another one of your ‘pop in, stir up some arcane crap, disappear for six months’ routines?”
Your smirk faltered just a little, a shadow crossing your face. “Depends. You planning on shooting me this time?”
Jason’s laugh was low, rough. He stepped closer, close enough that the rain between you turned into mist. “Only if you deserve it.” His voice softened then, almost too much for the city to hear. “God, it’s good to see you.”
And for a heartbeat, you let yourself forget the blood, the magic, the ghosts of who you’d both been. You let yourself lean into that warmth, the boy you grew up with, the man who never stopped burning in your chest, even when you tried to smother it.
Jason’s gloved hand lifted, hesitating only for a second before brushing wet strands of hair from your face. His touch lingered, a question more than a statement.
“You know” he said, smirk returning but softer now, “if Constantine was here, he’d give me the whole ‘don’t get involved with a magic user’ speech. Something about souls and curses.”
You raised a brow. “And you’d listen to him?”
Jason leaned in just enough that his breath mingled with yours, storm warm and steady. “Not a chance.”
The city roared on around you, uncaring, but on that rooftop, under Gotham’s merciless rain, the years collapsed between you.
And somewhere, in the back of your mind, you heard John's voice, the man who had raised you in shadows, telling you exactly what Jason had joked about.
Don’t get involved. Don’t mix love with magic.
But looking into Jason’s eyes, the same eyes that had once fought for scraps at your side, the same eyes that had refused to forget you, you knew it was already too late.
And Jason knew it, too.
The night Jason died, Gotham felt hollow.
It wasn’t just the silence, it was the absence. The space he’d once filled, loud and brash and infuriating, had been carved out of the world so suddenly it left everything unstable. You felt it like a snapped tether, magic in your veins thrashing violently the moment his heartbeat ceased.
You didn’t see him in his last moments.
You only saw the aftermath, the blood, the fragments of him that weren’t him anymore. And the moment you realized he was gone, the city tilted off its axis.
John found you hours later, crouched in an alley, hands covered in chalk, broken sigils scrawled all over the cracked brick wall. Your nails were torn and bleeding, your voice hoarse from chanting spells you knew damn well weren’t meant for mortals to pull off.
“You’ve got to stop.” His voice was low, tired, but steady. The way a man speaks when he knows the storm won’t listen.
You didn’t look at him. Your throat burned, your eyes swollen. “I can bring him back. I can—I just need the right words, the right—”
“There’s no bloody right words for this.” Constantine stepped forward, squatting so he could catch your eyes. His face softened, the cigarette hanging forgotten between his fingers. “He’s gone.”
That word. Gone. Like Jason was a misplaced item, not a body you couldn’t bury in your chest.
You shook your head violently, shoving away from him, magic sparking off your fingertips like broken glass. “No. Don’t you dare say that. You don’t understand—”
“I understand better than most.” John’s voice cracked just slightly, but his eyes stayed firm. “I’ve seen enough ghosts to fill a stadium. He ain’t comin’ back. Not through anything you or me can do.”
You hated him for saying it.
Hated him for being right.
Hated him because if Jason was gone, what the hell was left for you?
The weeks bled together in shards of grief. You hunted down anyone who’d listen. Zatanna held your hands once, her eyes shimmering with pity, her voice trembling as she whispered the truth you already knew:
“Magic can’t rewrite death. Not without a cost you couldn’t live with.”
But you would’ve lived with it.
You would’ve burned your soul to ash if it meant Jason’s hand in yours again.
Doctor Fate dismissed you entirely, his helmet cold, golden light cutting through your sobs. “The balance must be preserved. His path has ended.”
Madame Xanadu tried, at least, tried to guide you toward acceptance, but every word out of her mouth felt like knives.
Even Constantine, who was supposed to be the immovable wall, grew harsher with each attempt. He’d rip spells from your hands, tear runes apart, burn candles to snuff out your summoning circles before you finished.
“You’re gonna kill yourself chasing shadows” he snapped one night, dragging you away from yet another ritual. His grip on your arm was tight, desperate. “And he wouldn’t want that. Jason wouldn’t want this wreck of a girl you’ve turned into.”
You broke then, collapsed against the wall, sobbing so hard your magic flared uncontrolled, lights exploding, glass cracking, the city around you trembling with your grief.
Constantine didn’t let go. He just held you, arms rough but steady, the closest thing to a father you had.
But when the nights stretched too long, when Gotham’s silence pressed too heavy, you still gave in.
You’d sit in your room, candles burning low, and pour everything you had into illusions. Fragile scraps of him stitched from memory. Jason leaning against the wall with that stupid cocky grin.
Jason rolling his eyes when you called him out.
Jason’s voice, hoarse, warm, sharp, echoing in your ear.
None of them were real. They flickered when you touched them, melted when you tried to hold them. But you kept summoning them anyway, because silence was worse.
And sometimes, when the city was cruel enough, you’d crawl into bed and conjure the weight of his hand in yours. Just the warmth, just the calluses. Enough to trick your body into thinking he hadn’t been stolen from you.
Every spell drained you. Every illusion left you hollow. But you’d rather be hollow with his ghost than whole without him.
There were nights you went back to the places you’d shared, the rooftops where he’d teased you, the alleys where you’d patched each other up. You’d sit on the ledge in the rain, eyes closed, and let your power stretch out, combing through the threads of the world, desperate to catch some trace of him.
Once, you thought you did. A faint pulse, like his laughter echoing far away. You clung to it so hard your nose bled, your vision blackened, and you passed out cold on the concrete.
When you woke, Constantine was there again, crouched beside you with that damned look in his eyes, half fury, half heartbreak.
“You’re gonna tear yourself to ribbons.” His voice was quiet this time. Tired. “And for what? A lad who’d box me in the jaw if he saw what you’re doin’ to yourself?”
But you couldn’t stop. Because what was left, if not this?
You started keeping one spell constant, carved into your bones: memory loops.
Little pockets of time where you could relive a moment with him. His laugh in the diner when you stole his fries. The warmth of his hand tugging you away from a fight you both would’ve lost. The way his eyes softened, just for you, when he dropped the mask.
They weren’t real. You knew that. But when you woke up every morning to an empty city, an empty chest, you chose them anyway.
Because grief was just another kind of haunting. And you were already his ghost.
The decision came on the twentieth night.
You hadn’t counted the days, not really, but your body knew. The grief had sunk too deep, rot at the roots, eating you alive. Constantine’s warnings blurred, Zatanna’s pity curdled into silence, and every magic user worth their salt had turned you away.
And still, Jason was gone.
The boy you’d grown up with. The man who fought for you when no one else did. The one who deserved everything and got nothing.
The world didn’t care that he didn’t deserve to die.
The world didn’t care that he’d been nothing but fire and steel and loyalty, even when it bled him dry.
The world took him and expected you to keep breathing.
But you weren’t going to breathe without him.
So you found a way.
Hidden in Constantine’s oldest texts, carved into the margins of spells he’d told you never to read, was a fragment. A ritual not of summoning but of substitution. To give up your anchor, your bloodline magic, your inheritance, the essence Constantine had spent years drilling into you, and place it into another. To burn your magic out and use it as the tether to drag a soul back from death.
It was a ritual so old the paper flaked under your fingers. It wasn’t resurrection the way people dreamed about. It was more brutal: not a gift, but a trade. A life’s worth of power for a life itself.
You didn’t hesitate.
Because what was magic, if not Jason’s heartbeat?
What was the point of spells if not to keep him laughing, fighting, burning beside you? Without him, power meant nothing.
Without him, you meant nothing.
The ritual was long, ugly, demanding. Blood and salt, runes that dug into your skin like teeth. You carved circles deep enough to make your arms ache, chanted until your throat tore raw. The air crackled, pressure building, the kind that split skies and drowned men.
The words burned coming out of you, every syllable a piece of your veins unraveling, every line of the incantation ripping away what you’d always been. Power you’d wielded since childhood shrieked in your chest, clawing to stay, but you gave it up willingly, tears streaming, body shaking.
“Take it” you whispered hoarsely to the void. “Take it all. Just bring him back. Please”
And the world answered.
The circle roared.
Light shattered into the air, green as Lazarus, golden as Constantine’s fire, black as shadow. The city shook, water dripping from pipes and flickering bulbs exploding in showers of sparks.
And then—
He was there.
Jason.
Not a vision, not an illusion, not one of your memory loops. Jason Todd. Flesh and bone, taller than you remembered, broad shoulders hunched like he’d just been pulled from hell itself. His chest heaved, eyes wild, hair damp with sweat, his voice ragged when it broke the silence.
You couldn’t move at first. Couldn’t breathe. You just stared at him, your lips trembling, your heart refusing to believe it wasn’t another cruel trick.
Until his hands were on your arms, warm and solid and real.
You collapsed against him, sobs tearing from your chest as you clutched at his jacket like he’d vanish if you let go.
“Jason—oh my god, Jason—”
He wrapped his arms around you instantly, like muscle memory, holding you so tight it hurt. His voice broke in your hair. “I’m here. I’m—shit, I’m here. It’s me.”
You cried so hard your knees gave out, but he caught you, lowering you both to the ground inside the circle of ash and blood. He rocked you, his breath shuddering like he was relearning how to exist.
“You’re alive” you kept whispering, over and over, words slurred by tears. “You’re alive—you’re here—I couldn’t—I couldn’t—”
Jason pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes, those impossible, stormy eyes, were wet, his jaw tight like he was trying not to break.
“Why are you—why do you look like this? What happened to you?”
You shook your head, burying your face against him again, unwilling to answer. Because he didn’t need to know. Not tonight. Maybe not ever. That the girl he loved had burned herself hollow. That you’d given up the very thing Constantine had built you to be. That your veins were empty of magic now, your essence traded away for this moment, for him.
All that mattered was that he was here. Warm. Breathing. His heart beating against your cheek like the answer to every prayer you’d ever screamed into the dark.
You clutched him tighter, tears soaking through his shirt. Because no one else knew. Not Constantine, not Zatanna, not his family. They’d see him alive and never know the cost. Never know that you’d carved out the core of yourself to drag him back.
And Jason, Jason would hate you for it if he knew. He’d rage, he’d break, he’d rather stay dead than watch you hollow yourself out.
But he wasn’t dead. He was in your arms.
So you stayed silent, clutching him like the world might rip him away again.
It didn’t take long for them to find out.
The moment Jason walked back into Gotham, alive and furious and Jason, the Batfamily unraveled. Bruce’s face tightened, Dick staggered like he’d been punched, Cassandra reached for him like she’d seen a ghost. Alfred cried, silent and raw.
But Constantine, Constantine didn’t cry.
He waited until you were alone. Until Jason had been swept up in questions and shock and family. Until the manor’s halls were quiet. Then he cornered you, cigarette burning low, eyes sharper than any blade.
“You bloody fool.” His voice was low, dangerous. “Tell me it ain’t true.”
You froze. The air seemed to shrink between you. “John—”
“Don’t you dare.” He stepped forward, jabbing a finger at your chest. “Don’t you bloody dare pretend you didn’t do what I think you did.”
Your throat burned. “I had to—”
“You didn’t have to!” His shout echoed, raw, all fury and grief. “You had a choice, and you picked the one that kills you by inches. Do you even know what you’ve done? You gave it all away, your power, your tether, your bloody soul! For him!”
John’s face twisted, rage and heartbreak colliding. “I told you not to do it. I told you what it would cost.”
“And I told you I didn’t care.” Your voice cracked, trembling but steady in the only truth that mattered. “Because he didn’t deserve to die, John. Not him. Not Jason.”
For a long moment, he just looked at you. The father figure who’d taught you everything, who’d dragged you out of the fire as a child, who had been the only constant in your fractured life. His shoulders slumped, a defeated kind of fury still blazing in his eyes.
“You’ll regret this” he said finally, voice quieter now, but heavy as a curse. “Not today, maybe not tomorrow. But one day, he’ll know. And when he does—” John shook his head, the words unsaid twisting in the smoke between you.
And then he was gone, storming out before you could crumble.
Jason noticed sooner than you thought.
At first it was small things: the way your hands shook when you lit a candle, how your body seemed weaker, like the strength that once hummed under your skin had been drained. How your magic, your constant hum, the thing that used to ripple around you like a second heartbeat, was silent now.
Jason wasn’t a mage, but he wasn’t blind. He’d known you since you were kids. He’d memorized every inch of you, every scar, every fire in your eyes.
And now something was missing.
One night, weeks later, you were both on a rooftop, the city stretching below you. Jason was quiet, helmet at his side, leather jacket damp from the mist. He looked different now, harder, older, his return burning behind his eyes. But when he turned to you, it was the same boy you’d loved all along.
“You gonna tell me what’s wrong with you?” His voice was steady, but his jaw was tight.
You froze, staring at the skyline. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t do that.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Don’t play dumb with me. You think I don’t notice when you’re barely standing some nights? When you look at magic like it’s a ghost instead of a part of you?”
Your chest tightened. “Jason—”
“I know you.” He cut you off, his voice rough. “Better than anyone. So don’t lie to me. What did you do?”
You looked down, fingers twisting, throat closing around the truth. Because this was the moment Constantine warned you about. The moment Jason would find out. The moment he’d break.
“I can’t” you whispered.
Jason’s hand was suddenly on yours, warm, grounding. His eyes searched yours, desperate. “You can. Please. Don’t shut me out.”
The tears came before the words. You tried to hold them back, but once they started, they tore through you like glass. And when Jason cupped your face, thumb brushing your cheek, it all fell apart.
“I brought you back” you choked out. “I—I traded my magic to bring you back"
Jason’s face went blank.
For a heartbeat, he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Then he pulled back, shaking his head like he couldn’t process it.
“No” he whispered. “No, you didn’t—”
“I had to,” you sobbed. “I couldn’t—Jason, I couldn’t live in a world without you. You didn’t deserve to die. So I gave it all. It doesn't even matter if it brought you back"
Jason stood up so suddenly it startled you, pacing a few steps before running a hand through his hair. His breath was sharp, ragged, like he’d been punched.
“Jesus” His voice cracked, loud and raw. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You—fuck, you burned yourself out for me. For me.”
You stood too, reaching for him, but he stepped back, eyes shining with unshed tears. “You think I wanted this? You think I’d ever, ever, ask you to throw your life away just so I could crawl back from the grave?”
Your voice broke. “You didn’t ask. I chose.”
“That’s worse!” Jason’s voice was hoarse, breaking apart. “You gave up you, the strongest, smartest, most stubborn person I’ve ever known, because of me. Because I was too stupid to stay alive.”
“Don’t say that” you begged, tears streaming. “You’re not stupid, Jason. It wasn't your fault and I couldn't-"
He moved then, crossing the distance, grabbing your shoulders like he was holding onto the last thing tethering him to the earth. His forehead pressed to yours, breath shaking.
“Goddamn it,” he whispered, voice shattering. “I’d rather rot in the ground a thousand years than watch you destroy yourself for me.”
You sobbed, clutching at his jacket, but he pulled you into him anyway, holding you like he’d never let go. His body shook against yours, his voice breaking in your hair.
“You didn’t have to save me” he whispered. “You were supposed to save yourself.”
But it was too late.
The truth hung between you, raw and irreversible.
He held you tighter, tears finally breaking free, knowing love had saved and damned you both in the same breath.
The manor was quieter than it should’ve been. Quieter than Jason liked. Days had passed since he’d found out, since the fight, the shouting, the storm of it all, and yet the silence that lingered between you and him wasn’t born of distance. It was heavier than that. It was the kind of silence that clung, that pressed against your ribs, that whispered this is forever in ways neither of you were ready to admit out loud.
You sat curled into the corner of the couch in the library, a book open in your lap but unread, your fingers tracing the edges of the page absently. You hadn’t touched magic in days, not because you didn’t want to, but because you couldn’t. Where once the hum of it had been a constant thrum under your skin, now there was nothing. Just… quiet. For you, there was peace in that.
Jason was alive. Jason was breathing beside you, flesh and blood, stubborn heartbeat and crooked grin. That was all you needed.
For him, though? It was agony.
Jason’s heavy boots creaked against the wood floor before you saw him. He hovered at the doorway longer than you expected him to, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, like he was working up the nerve. You looked up, and for a second, just a second, you caught the rawness in his eyes before he forced it into something wry, something Jason.
“You ever gonna pretend to read that book, or you just like staring at words?” His voice was rough, his humor stretched thin.
You tried to smile. Tried. “Maybe both.”
He exhaled sharply, almost like a laugh, but it never made it past his throat. Then he crossed the room, pacing like a caged animal before dropping down on the couch beside you, too close and not close enough all at once.
Neither of you spoke for a beat. The quiet wasn’t peaceful this time. It was thick, almost suffocating.
Jason broke first. He always did.
“God, I hate you sometimes” he whispered hoarsely. The words snapped your gaze to him, your chest tightening. His jaw worked, eyes shining, and before you could recoil or misunderstand he pressed on, voice breaking. “Because I love you so much it’s gonna kill me. And now, now I’ve gotta live with knowing you sacrificed all of you for me.”
The book slipped from your lap, forgotten, as your throat closed around a sob. You didn’t move, couldn’t move, not until Jason’s hands, warm, trembling, cupped your face. His forehead pressed to yours, desperate, grounding.
“I swear” he rasped, every syllable scraped raw from his chest, “I’ll find a way to give it back. I don’t care if it takes me a lifetime. You gave up everything for me, and I’ll spend the rest of my life giving it back.”
The tears came then. Silent at first, then heavier, unstoppable. You clung to him, fists curling into the fabric of his shirt, your whole body folding into the safety of his arms. Because you knew what he didn’t.
There was no giving it back. Your magic was gone, burned out forever.
But Jason Todd wasn’t the kind of man to stop fighting. Not for you.
He tucked you against his chest, his chin in your hair, and you felt the way his body shook even though he tried to hide it. He kissed the top of your head, then your temple, then your cheek, each press of his lips weighted with a promise he had no idea how to keep.
“You shouldn’t have done it” he murmured against your skin. “You shouldn’t have. But you did. And now it’s on me. All of it. So you don’t get to carry this alone, you hear me? I'll carry every damn bit with you”
You pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes swollen, cheeks wet. “Jason, you can’t-”
“The hell I can’,” he cut in, fierce, his voice shaking but resolute. “I don’t care if I’ve gotta claw my way through every back alley sorcerer or cosmic deity or whatever. You think I’m gonna just sit here and accept it? That I’m gonna let you lose yourself just to keep me? No. I don’t, I can’t.”
You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. He squeezed back so tightly it almost hurt.
“Jay” you whispered, broken and soft, “you’re here. That’s enough for me.”
He shook his head violently, jaw clenched. “Not for me. Never for me.”
You knew then, knew in your bones, that this was going to haunt him more than it ever could you.
You’d made your peace the second Jason’s chest rose again with breath, the second his heartbeat thundered under your palm. But Jason wasn’t built for peace. He was built for battles, for fighting until his knuckles bled. And now he’d made you his battle.
And God, you loved him for it.
He kissed you then, hard, desperate, like he could pour all his fear and fury into your lungs if he just pressed close enough. Your tears smeared between you, salty and hot, but neither of you pulled away. When he finally broke the kiss, his forehead rested against yours again, his breathing ragged.
"I’m never gonna stop fighting for you" he said, like it was a curse, like it was a vow. “Fuck, you're stuck with me now”
You laughed wetly through your tears, burying your face against him again. “Like I’d ever want anything else.”
Jason held you tighter, as if he could anchor you both through sheer force of will.
And even though you knew the truth, that your magic was gone, that nothing he could do would bring it back, you also knew this: Jason Todd wasn’t the kind of man to stop fighting. Not for Gotham. Not for redemption. And especially not for you.
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Yo! Been following your blog for god knows how many years now. But I wanted to know.
If you could write a Constantine x Magic user Batfamily reader, where the reader is the top in the relationship?
I know Bruce is gonna be like "...Oh god one of my sons is dating Constantine".
And the reader is around Constantine's age, so he is unofficially Bruce's adoptive son despite the reader being as old as Constantine. Which is very funny to me.
John Constantine x Bat male reader
Headcanons
Bruce and Constantine are around the same age, which is really funny to me. Cuz imagine Bruce sees this man, the same age as himself, and immediately goes “hm, yes. My son”.
Reader is just along for the ride, cuz why not.
I feel you have known Constantine longer than you have known Bruce, with the both of you being magic users and involved in that area of the world.
But you being a Gothamite also means you have known the bat for a long time, and you were his go-to magic support back when he first started out.
You two first became close when a whole portal to hell was opened by cultists, and you almost lost your life closing it, and saving Bruces life in the meantime. This made the poor guy grow attached, like a barnacle.
You blame his mother-henning on his trauma, and you just go along with it, cuz he also finances all your whims and woes.
You assumed his hovering would let up when Bruce starts picking up other kids, and sure, his attention is on them a lot, but Bruce does sniff you out semi-regularly to check on you.
Ends up with you having a lot of younger “siblings” and it becomes a running joke in the batclan. All the younger ones always jokingly call you Bruces oldest, and correct people when they assume you are their uncle.
Bruce somehow bat-tags you up like everyone else, somehow even finds a way to track you through the infernal realms, it's really impressive for someone who doesn't do magic.
It takes a while for you and John to start actually dating. For a good while you guys were just FWBs, scratching each other's backs and itches when the need was there.
Then you both grow older, experience a lot of things together, and accept that you two are in love, to a mad degree.
When you guys become official, you two start going at it like rabbits, it is embarrassing really. You two act like you've never had the chance to be together before, and John has never been left so jelly legged as he finds himself after this.
You move out of Gotham to move in with John, since you guys have finally settled in together. This doesn't keep Bruce from keeping an eye on you though, since you always find yourself in some kind of magic trouble.
It takes a good while for anyone in the batfam to realize you are in a relationship.
Over the years you've had a lot of things and non-serious relationships. It kinda runs in the family, and runs in the area of being a magic user, so they're all way too interested.
You don't spend a lot of time in Gotham at this point, but you do come home for family dinners when Alfred invites you. You are still convinced all these years later, that Alfred is magic.
When they hear you are coming for dinner, you get spammed in the family groupchat by your “siblings” to bring your lover so they can meet.
All their theories on who your lover is entertain you and John a lot. Dick even puts a guess on Deadman, somebody else jokingly mentions Brother Blood.
Cas is the only one to get it right, because it's pretty obvious if you know what you are looking for. It's pretty easy to clock when you start wearing the same amulets as Constantine, and you start carrying cigarettes in your pockets even when you don't smoke.
John doesn't really dress up for the occasion, cuz he knows everyone there already. You do get him to shave though, and to put on a coat that doesn't smell so much like sulfur.
You also have to flick on some illusion magic to hide all the hickeys on his throat, and the limp when he walks.
The dinner goes as normal, as normal as a dinner with the batfam can be, especially when you sprinkle John Constantine in.
Bruce can't even really grill him, or give him the talk, because they've known each other for a long time, and they all know how you guys met and have worked together.
It's clear Bruce isn't too pleased though, as he's doing the bat-furrow(tm) of his brow, but he does that with most of his kids partners. He never says anything about it though, as you guys call him out on his many questionable partners.
You still point out Khoa and Talia on the regular, whenever Bruce starts getting a little too protective of his kids, the younger ones, at least.
Alls good and well, until John makes some comment about being sore and you wrecking his world better than any incubus he's ever met. You just keep eating with a shrug, as some of the others snicker, and others sigh.
Hii! Saw ur request open so I’m sending a request!
I’m obsessed with seeing riddle x magical s/o fanfictions so I want to see ur take on it!
Sparks
Reader is not yuu, reader has magic but there's no specific powers mentioned. Mentioned: Floyd and leona. Sorry it wasn't super detailed I was having problems thinking of anything (having horrible writers block). Hope you like it!!
To be honest I don't think having a s/o with magic or without magic would be very different with riddle. Well maybe besides he trusts you more to be able to protect yourself from threats. Like Floyd...or Leona when he's in a grumpy mood. Riddle is a puddle when you ask him for help with anything magic related. He's so happy that you trust him with your education and trust his knowledge of things.
While riddle is strict with studying, if he finds his way isn't helping you out. He'll adapt to a better way to help you learn. Something in your style rather than his. If your special magic is something that can harm people by accident (think like leona's), riddle still trusts you near him because he knows you wouldn't hurt him on purpose.
Just a short sweet scenario I thought of. Both of my other WIPs are turning out way longer than I thought (as in about 9,000 words longer) so enjoy this while I work on those
Jason Todd x GN!Reader... It's exactly what it sounds like so enjoy!
You and Jason met when he was with the outlaws. You were investigating a series of magical murders and he was there taking out some mob boss. He told you but you didn’t listen much
You met a few times after that and hit it off. Both of you had a very grey moral code. Neither was above killing those who deserve it but while Jason used guns you kept teasing him about using a “coward's weapon”
You were a magic user, a jack of all trades of sorts. Instead of focusing and mastering one type of magic you knew enough about each kind to deal with almost anything. You worked a lot with John Constantine, he was your mentor as a kid learning to use magic and now your base of operations in the house of mysteries
The first time you took Jason to the house of mysteries to discuss a case you were working on you were surprised how calm he was. Turns out he’s had his fair share of crazy.
You began working together once you realized that both of you just kind of set up camp wherever your job takes you so you might as well team up right?
Occasionally someone from the batfamily or John would join you for a case and you and Jason loved annoying them by being overly flirtatious. You weren’t an item (yet) but you loved seeing John roll his eyes or Tim pretend to gag. It was the hilarious
Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending how you see it) Joke flirting became real. After all, what's that seeing about fake it till you make it? And eventually you and Jason grew feelings for each other
You both kept it on the down low, continuing to flirt “Jokingly” while you worked.
Eventually this would come back to bite you in the ass when you came back to the safehouse and Jason had been staying in while you were in Salem, Massachusetts. You were the murders of some witches and came back to find the apartment empty and a note saying if you wanted your “boyfriend” back to be at Gallows hill at midnight
You walked through the park in which the witches of Salem were hung during the famous trials. Salem was known for being a hub for magic even now and you knew that whoever took Jason had something to do with the murders you were there to investigate
When you got to the middle of the park you saw Jason, smiling with a rope around his neck on a gallow. He didn’t seem to mind the fact that his life was at stake but then again when was it not
You took down the man who was trying to once again purge Salem of it’s “demonic witches” and when you freed Jason from the gallow he smirked.
“That guy thought we were dating, can you believe it?” Jason joked and you rolled your eyes, pulling Jason by his shirt into a kiss.
After that the two of you stayed basically the same, you already cuddled, you slept in the same bed because it's cheaper and you jokingly flirt all the time so the only thing that changed is that you were officially together. Both of your families and friends teased you a lot for that
You didn’t think it was that big of a difference, you could now kiss Jason without worrying about his reaction and he could call you whatever sappy nickname came to mind
“Y/N, love, magic babe, I really need you to not keep 20,000 sigils everywhere. Seriously, you gotta take some time to go through all of these!”
Because there almost no changes in behavior whenever one of Jason’s brothers came around they were more than a bit confused.
“Jason, love, You need to get your bloody suit out of the washer! It’s been beeping for five minutes and I can’t focus!”
“Hey! Don’t go all British on me! Just because John’s allowed in here doesn’t mean you can start talking like him” He said from the kitchen of your shared apartment and Tim (who awkwardly sat next to you on a couch) looked between the two of you in confusion
“Jason, when in my hell of an existence I call a life , have I used bloody the British way?!” You yelled at him and within seconds he ran past you and to the washer
“My fucking suit! thanks love” He said and you went back to your book. Tim looked at your floating figure with a seemingly blank book hovering in front of you and asked “How the hell did that get that response?” He asked and you smirked. “Magic” You teased
“I swear you two are a match made in heaven” Tim grumbled
“Hell actually!” Both you and Jason corrected at the same time
Feminine Human Reader x Masculine Dragon Boyfriend
You x He/Him
PG-13 for Violenccceee and Swearing
Revenge Fantasy, Size Difference, Magic-User Fantasy
Special thanks to the anon who asked about this story—kicked my butt into gear! I hope it was worth the wait!!
...
You have continued to be plagued by nightmares, even with your new companionship offering the incredible relief of safety and belonging. You see their pervertedly content faces as they bound and gagged you and left you to die. You keep hearing their saccharine lies that burned your flesh like a dagger being slowly dragged down your neck. You relive these wounds every time you close your eyes...wounds more painful than a dragon’s ever could have.
The dragon that never did...and never would have.
You sit up fast, gasping as if relieved of a sword that had been plunged into your chest. You’re on the floor of the cavern, curled up in one of the fine, thick fabrics that Rhythan provided at the foot of the giant pile of gold. It must be the middle of the night, as no sunlight shines in. All you can hear is the deep, heavy breathing of Rhythan as he sleeps.
Following an unexplainable urge, you stand up and begin walking down the tunnel, clutching the sheet like a cape as it drags behind you. You walk silently toward the entrance, your bare feet used to the cold rock of the mountains by this point. The soft bubbling sound of the waterfall greets your ears as you get closer, and you slowly step your way to the edge of the cliff, looking out at the forest.
Even from a distance you can find your village; they’ve kept the bonfire going for days...the one that celebrates your death. You stand and stare, frozen and unblinking, at that little light in the distance. Never did something so warm feel so god damn cold.
“Are you not cold, little one?” asks a curious voice from behind you.
You glance down at the forest below you, acres of silent pines hundreds of thousands of feet down. You don’t look at him, you don’t move.
“Look at them,” you start. “So proud and content of themselves for leaving me, using me as a bargaining chip for a game they never had to play...it disgusts me.”
You’re silent for a moment, taking a breath to try and control yourself.
“But...how can I blame them? Wouldn’t I have done the same thing? And the people, they were lied to...right? And, I shouldn’t bother about the kinds of people who would do something like that but it doesn’t change at all how I feel...and it feels like I’m dissolving in acid.”
“Those that lack empathy do not learn from death,” he says. “Even the ones at their own hands.”
“They don’t care...” you whisper to yourself. “...they don’t care...”
“But who are the ones that sought your pain?” He asks. “Who are the ones that poison your heart?”
Your throat cracks: “It sickens me that they even dared to touch me!”
The tears pour, and the cape drops from your shoulders. The wind chill is biting, but soon there is a warm sigh of air at your back, and your cape is dropped back over you.
You turn around and see Rhythan’s dark form half-hidden in darkness, his glowing green eyes the only salient feature at this time of night. Before, this sight would have frightened you, but now it was the only thing that could comfort you. Even cast in shadows, he exuded dignity.
“You are allowed justice,” he says. ”Few are offered the chance...and fewer take it.”
You look down contemplatively for a moment, and then look back up at him with conviction: “I want them to fear the power of a vengeful seamstress.”
Rhythan chuckles, seemingly impressed: “So it is settled, then. Come, let us rest and tomorrow, we’ll plan.”
He scoops you up into his palm gently—you’ve gotten used to the drill—and he takes you back down the tunnel
“I’m sorry you have to deal with an emotional wreck,”
“It’s the reason I like you, my dear.”
“Th—thanks?”
“You have a heart of true, unbridled emotion,” he says. “I have never encountered anything quite like that.”
“I don’t know if that’s something to be proud of though,” you admit. “It hardly seems helpful at all.”
“Everything has its usefulness,” he simply says.
“I’m too tired for your wisdom, Rhythan,” you sigh, lying back in his palm and looking at him upside-down.
He snorts hot air at you and you can’t help but laugh.
“Ah, I wonder how much magic that sound holds,” he says, you barely catching it as you fall back asleep against the warm scales of his palm.
......
The next time you wake up, you go back to the waterfall with an armful of old books that tell you of different magics. It is now cold enough that the water has frozen over, and you are glad that you took the time to fabricate some new clothes from the textiles in Rhythan’s stash.
“But can anyone do this stuff?” you murmur to yourself. “Can I do magic, if I just say these incantations or do these hand motions? I’d rather not have to have a sack full of random items required for these spells...and they’re so old, would they even work? Did they ever work?”
After several different attempts of spells of all kinds, you stop and look at all the different tomes set around you, a vein in your temple pinching from stress. Nothing had worked, and the only effect from any spell you had cast was a cramping hand, oh, and the headache in your temple.
Rhythan returns from his hunt with a deer and a few more bushes of berries. He steps around the pool to where you are studying behind the waterfall and sets the deer to the side, licking off some of the blood from his jaw.
“Had some luck hunting?” you ask him, happy for a break.
“Quite,” he says. “And you, my dear?”
“I can give myself a headache apparently,” you say with a soft laugh. “You wouldn’t happen to know any magic, would you, Rhythan?”
He lays down beside you with a grunt: “I do not believe Draconic magic and Human magic are even compatible...and human spellbooks are often way too small and delicate for me to handle.
“What I know about our magic is that its inherent, and different species of dragons are equipped with different magical abilities, but it is not always obvious. I have red scales, so I have heat and fire-related abilities...but depending on my lineage, I could have had different colored scales with the same powers...or the same-colored scales and different powers.”
“Hmm,” you hum. “Red suits you.”
“I guess I’ll keep it then,” he replies, voice lilting with amusement.
You smirk down at the book you are flipping through and then look up at him: “Rhythan, what was your family like? Do dragons have families like humans do?”
The pause he takes before answering is subtle, but you can almost feel his mood change, like a gate dropping down to protect a castle.
“Rhythan?”
“I did not have one,” he says. “So I do not know.”
You put a hand on him: “I didn’t mean to cause you pain.”
Rhythan looks at you with soft eyes: “You did not cause this, little flower.”
You give him a small smile before a sound of cracking interrupts the moment. Rhythan puts a hand in front of you as both of you look over at the frozen pool that is growing white cracks that spread out like a ripple of lightning and crawl up the frozen pillar until all the ice shatters, leaving a warm freshwater pool and a flowing waterfall.
“Did...it get...warmer? While you were out?”
Rhythan drops his hand: “I think that your studying has paid off, young magician.”
You stare at him and then back at the pool as he turns to take his kill into the cave, flicking you with his tail.
“H-hey!”
He turns to look back at you—some of the deer’s limbs poking out of his mouth as he carries it—and gives you a goading expression.
What are you gonna do about it?
You start jogging to catch up to him: “Hey! I could turn you into a frog if you’re not careful!”
Rhythan glances at you with a raised eyebrow.
I’d like to see you try!
...
A couple days of preparation: practicing, testing, sewing, and organizing.
That morning you give a warm smile to Rhythan, pull up the hood on your cloak, and start walking.
Although it was the only time you had made the trip, you knew the way well enough from watching the forest from the mountain. And you had a feeling in your gut that you would be safe.
After everything, that was good enough for you. And really, the walk through the woods was a stabilizing kind of tranquility.
As you step onto the familiar dirt path that leads to your old town, you pull your hood forward even more to shroud your face. The townspeople start to notice the ominous approaching stranger and begin to whisper to themselves, some racing ahead to tell others. You notice all of it, but you hold yourself dignified and do not quicken your pace to satisfy their desire for more.
“Look at the detailing on the cloak...”
“....never seen a design like that before...”
“...far traveler, perhaps? It bothers me to why are they alone...no one travels through thick forest unguarded! The horror!”
“I may not be wealthy, but I know authentic gems when I see one! Must be royalty—!”
“Don’t be foolish, a royal, psh! Coming here? Alone? You must be absolutely—-“
“Shh! She’s right there!”
By the time you reach the town square, the mayor and her son are already waiting outside of their house to confront you, but you stop at the still-burning bonfire in the center of the square instead of paying them any mind.
The mayor’s son takes initiative: “You there! What business do you have stirring the townspeople with your presence? I demand you show your face at once!”
“Well, since you asked so nicely...”
You grasp the edges of your hood and carefully reveal your face to the people that have gathered around—staring directly at the mayor’s son as you do. You watch as it takes him a second to recognize who he is looking at, and his hardened exterior gives way to wide, fearful eyes. Scattered gasps from the villagers reveal their collective shock. Someone shouts your name from behind a wall of people.
“What is the meaning of this! Imposter!” he shouts, making his way toward you and drawing his sword.
“Surprised I’m not dead? I thought you would be, since you tried so hard to kill me...even going as far as to kidnap me and lie to the villagers.”
“Silence!” He shouts, raising his sword. “What sort of trickery!”
“Are you upset that the dragon frightened you so? Were a few sacrifices enough to make you feel like a hero?”
Two bodies drop from the sky and into the clearing: the two guards that had accompanied him on his quest to stop the dragon, untouched besides the many puncture wounds that adorn their armor.
Some of the villagers shriek in panic but one of them shouts above them: “Look! It’s the arm! The one that he lost! Right in the grip of his fellow knight!”
The mayor comes forward, trying to protect her son: “Can’t you see this is a trick! If it weren’t for him we’d all be burnt to ash from that blasted dragon!”
A thunderous roar shakes the world, and Rhythan comes crashing down onto the mayor’s house, reducing it to rubble. People scream in terror, but Rhythan does not make another move.
“Ah, yes, that blasted dragon that kills for fun...” you start, eyeing your companion, who lies down and folds his hands patiently, doing his best to look as harmless as a large fire-breathing thing can. “It’s almost laughable, you were so afraid of a dragon, when you should’ve been afraid of a witch.”
“You…” she spits, pointing a derisive finger at you. “...bring this monster here, and you have the nerve to blame me for protecting MY FUCKING TOWN!?”
“The town was safer when you were not a part of it...the only monster here is you,” you say firmly, feeling the vile words on your tongue.
“Filthy, lying harlot,” the mayor says, pushing herself in front of her son. “You dare think that yourself better than your superiors just because you give up your body as freely as a martyr! You would’ve been lucky to serve as carrion with a body as dry and hollow as yours!”
You glance over at Rhythan, who is tensing up.
“Dry...Hollow...” you whisper, noticing the feeling of your feet on the ground. “Is that it?”
You feel yourself smirk like you just thought of the best insult: “Wow, I’m a little disappointed...that’s all you got?”
“What’re you——“ she starts, only to choke on her words, coughing and hitting her chest as if to pound them out of her. She starts to look a little more old and withered.
“Being tied to a tree with no food or water, left to die, really makes one thirsty...dehydrated, even...” you start, staring at the woman that allowed her son to abuse you. “But I can’t....”
Her lips go dry and cracked.
“Even imagine...”
Her body thins, skin going dry.
“What it would be like...”
The mayor coughs out dust, and her body grows brittle.
“To be...”
She falls to her knees and gasps like a fish out of water.
“As hollow and heartless a person as you...”
She collapses to the ground, a skeleton as dry and barren as a field in the winter.
“You——!“ the son swings his sword at you with a desperate ferocity in his eyes, but his sword does not strike true—for the blade’s metal drips to the ground like warmed butter, and he is left with only a hilt.
“The fuc—“ Rhythan slams him to the ground with a claw, caging him in and then dragging him through the dirt, the son shouting as he does. Rhythan then holds him up, his grasp not easing up in the slightest.
You walk up gently towards the person that tied you up and left you to die, held strong by the dragon he was so afraid of, but not before picking up the remnants of the mayor’s body—which was as light as a dried corn husk—and toss it into the bonfire.
“Y—you...fuckin’ cunt...” he sputters. “You’re nothing!”
“You must be even weaker than I thought then,” you tell him. “If a nothing like me bested someone like you.”
“You...you think they’ll listen to you after all this?” He scoffs. “You’re a dumber bitch than I—ugh!”
Rhythan squeezes a little tighter to shut him up. You walk right up to this asshole’s face, smiling angelically.
“You think I care about this town?” You tell him with a whisper. “You think I care about what the people here think of me now?”
You grab his face: “Y’know, I was upset at first about you leaving me to be a sacrifice against my will, but actually what I hated the most was the fact that you even believed you had the right to touch me...”
You squeeze his face a little tighter, a dark purple rash beginning to spread out from where you grabbed him.
“What’re you…” he coughs. “What’re you doing!”
You release his face, the purple rash giving way to black, crumbling ash that fell from his face like lobs of coal. He screams as the rash spread and his skin and clothes become scorched like an overcooked pastry. Rhythan then throws him onto the bonfire to join his mother, setting the fireplace ablaze with an angry roar, disintegrating everything in that circle to black powder.
You place a hand on Rhythan’s side, telling him that you were ready to go, but instead of holding you in his claws like usual, he sets you onto his back, right between his wings. You look down at the frozen and awe-stuck crowd below you that emits no sound, and say: “I never want to see any of you ever again, understood? Now actually go and make something of yourselves.”
Rhythan takes off without waiting for a response from the villagers, just as you planned...
It wasn’t your town anymore; their everyday matters did not concern you.
Not anymore.
As you are taken above and beyond the clouds, you can’t help but cry out in victory!
“Woohoooo!!! Rhythan!! We did it!!” You shout, putting your hands in the air and feeling the currents play with your fingers. “And I didn’t throw up once!!”
He glances back at you with pride in his eyes: “Do not jinx yourself while you are riding me!”
You laugh, and you laugh without heaviness.
...
You return home—that’s what it was now—and Rhythan glides right through the waterfall while you are on his back, completely soaking you.
“Hey!!” you cry, wiping the water from your eyes.
Rhythan circles his main treasure pile and lands softly on it. You roll right off of him and into the pile of gold coins, your cloak wrapping tightly around you.
“Rhythan! We did it!” you say, sitting up fast.
“It was all you, little magician,” he insists. “It was your bravery that let you complete what you set out to do.”
“I guess, but you helped!”
He snorts hot air at you and lays his head down as if to rest. You clamber up to him and wrap your arms around his neck, waking him.
“I couldn’t have done it without you, though,” you say, eyes filling with tears.
“Thank you,” you whisper into his scales. “Thank you so much.”
His neck moves under you and his head looks down at you with what you can only tell to be regret.
“I wish you did not have to lose your old treasures, little one.”
“My old treasures...have no more value to me,” you promise him. “And, don’t you know I have found a better one?”
“Something amongst these old things?”
“Yes, even amongst thousands of worthless gold coins and cut gemstones and century-old artifacts...” you tease, looking around in the pile for something. “Aha! Here it is...but you can’t laugh!”
You hold up something sleek and silver to show him.
“Hmf...a silver plate? Is that all?”
“You gotta look closer!”
“The object remains the same.”
You angle the plate a bit so his reflection is displayed.
“It’s you, dummy!”
His tail sweeps your legs out from under you and you land on your back on the pile gold coins, still clutching the sterling tray.
A warm laugh beats from Rhythan’s chest: “You have chosen well.”
You sit back up just in time to see his full magnificent wingspan and watch him fly effortlessly up to his alcove to rest. But instead of enjoying the splendor, you notice something that you hadn’t before: a large scar that tears across Rhythan’s left wing.
But you decide to leave that question for another day.
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