hey! i saw that you are open to writing for Constantine, so I’d like to request a batfam reader who is a little unhinged and is either Bruce’s younger brother or the oldest kid x Constantine. like, the batfam hates Constantine, finds him to be so annoying, but reader and John are absolute freaks who are perfect together. maybe reader has some innate magic that he’s never really messed with before as well?
𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐔𝐄𝐒, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄
john constantine x m!reader
𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐒 ! ── you, bruce wayne’s younger brother, openly likes constantine. no one approves, so you resort to sneaking off to the manor roof with him. slow burn undertones, implied physically affectionate reader, found family dynamic.
The Batfam has dealt with a lot of weird over the years—aliens, gods, psychotic clowns—but somehow, nothing seems to irritate them quite like John Constantine.
And that’s saying something.
You’re leaning against one of the Batcave’s metal worktables, arms crossed, watching the chaos unfold with a barely-hidden grin tugging at your mouth.
Across the cave, Bruce—your older brother, unfortunately—is standing stiff as a statue, jaw tight enough it could crack stone.
To his left, Dick is rubbing his temples and Jason looks two seconds away from throwing a punch. Meanwhile, Tim is muttering something about “statistical likelihood of disaster increasing by 67%,” and Damian just straight up looks like he wants to commit a crime.
And in the middle of all that?
Boots kicked up on the Batcomputer console like he lives there, cigarette dangling from his lips despite the very clear “no smoking” rule that Bruce has enforced for years.
“Bats,” Constantine drawls, flicking ash somewhere it absolutely shouldn’t go, “you’ve got to relax. You look like you’re about to pop a vein.”
“I told you not to smoke in here,” Bruce says flatly.
“And I told you demons don’t wait for polite invitations,” Constantine shoots back, not even looking at him. “Yet here we are.”
Jason scoffs loudly. “I swear, I’m gonna—”
“You’re gonna do anything,” Dick cuts in quickly, though his voice is strained. “We need him.”
“We barely need him,” Tim mutters.
You snort. “You guys are so dramatic.”
“We’re dramatic?” Jason points at Constantine. “You like him.”
“And?” you shrug, pushing off the table. “He’s funny.”
“He’s insufferable,” Damian snaps.
“He’s honest,” you counter immediately, stepping closer to the group. “Which is why you all hate him. Hits a nerve.”
Constantine finally glances at you then, a slow grin spreading across his face like he’s just been handed the best entertainment of the night. “See?” he says, gesturing lazily toward you. “Someone in this cave’s got taste.”
Bruce’s gaze sharpens. “You’re encouraging him.”
“I don’t need encouragement,” you cut in, smirking. “I’m naturally like this.”
“Yeah,” Jason mutters, “we noticed.”
You ignore him, attention drifting back to Constantine. There’s something about him—something messy, unpredictable, completely unfiltered—that just clicks with you in a way the others don’t. Where they see chaos, you see honesty. Where they see irritation, you see…fun.
Constantine swings his legs down from the console and steps closer, stopping just a bit too close to you for anyone else’s comfort. He murmurs, voice low enough that it almost feels private. “Keep defending me like that, people might start talkin’.”
You tilt your head, meeting his gaze without hesitation. “Let them.”
Then his grin sharpens—something more interested. “Yeah. I figured you’d say that.”
“Okay—nope,” Dick suddenly claps his hands once, loud enough to cut through the moment. “We are not doing whatever this is.”
Jason makes a gagging noise. “This is exactly why we don’t let him in here.”
“You don’t let me in here because you’re boring,” Constantine replies easily, not even breaking eye contact with you.
“You’re literally the worst person I know,” Tim says.
“That hurts, mate,” Constantine says, completely unbothered. “Really does.”
“It should,” Bruce adds coldly.
You glance around at all of them—your brother, your nephews, every single one looking somewhere between annoyed and mildly horrified—and then back at Constantine. And you laugh. Not a small laugh, either. Full, loud.
“God, you guys are exhausting,” you say, shaking your head. “He’s not that bad.”
“He is exactly that bad,” Damian insists.
You step back toward Constantine instead of away, shoulder brushing his like it’s nothing. “Agree to disagree.”
Constantine hums, clearly pleased, and leans just slightly closer. “You’re my favorite, you know that?”
Jason groans loudly. “I’m leaving.”
Dick just sighs. “Bruce?”
Bruce doesn’t answer right away. He’s watching you—really watching you—the way he does when he’s trying to figure something out he doesn’t like. “…Don’t make me regret this,” he finally says.
You grin, sharp and unapologetic. “Too late.”
Constantine chuckles under his breath. And behind you, the batfam collectively looks like they’re about to lose their minds. Yet, you don’t even realize when he decides it.
Bruce was mid-sentence about “protocol” and “containment,” and the next? There’s a rough hand catching your wrist. Constantine doesn’t say anything. His eyes simply flick toward the cave exit for half a second, then back to you. A tilt of his head, barely there. A silent come on.
You stare after him for exactly one second. Then, you raise an eyebrow at him, slow, questioning. Really?
His mouth quirks. Like he already knows your answer and just enjoys watching you realize it too. “C’mon,” he mutters, low enough that it doesn’t carry. “Before your lovely family decides to chain me to a chair.”
You don’t argue. Of course you don’t.
You let him pull you along.
It’s easy slipping out. The cave’s big, distractions everywhere, and honestly? No one expects you to be the one enabling him.
By the time anyone notices you’re both gone, you’re already halfway up the manor stairs, footsteps quiet against polished wood. He doesn’t stop until you’re outside. The manor roof isn’t exactly accessible—not in a normal way—but Constantine doesn’t do normal.
There’s a muttered word under his breath, something strange, and the air kind of… bends for a second.
The next step you take lands on slate instead of carpet. Cold night air hits your face, carrying the faint scent of trees and something distant—rain, maybe. The city’s glow is soft on the horizon, barely touching this far out. You exhale slowly.
Constantine snorts. “You love it.”
“Yeah,” you say easily. “I do.”
He glances at you, just for a second, like he’s checking if you’re joking. You’re not. That seems to settle something in him.
He lights a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating his face before it dies down again, leaving just the dim glow at the tip.
You wander a few steps further onto the roof, then drop down to sit, legs stretched out in front of you.
There’s no hesitation when he follows. For a minute, neither of you say anything. It’s… quiet. You tilt your head back, looking up at the sky. “They really hate you, you know.”
“Yeah,” he says, like it’s the least surprising thing in the world. He takes a drag, exhales slow. “I’ve got that effect on people.”
“Eh, they’re right,” he corrects, glancing at you. “I’m bad news.”
You hum, considering that. Then you shrug. “Doesn’t bother me.”
There’s something in his expression now—like he’s trying to figure out where the catch is, where you’re gonna pull back or laugh or admit you’re kidding.
“You should be bothered,” he says after a second.
“Because people who aren’t bothered by me usually end up regretting it.”
You shift slightly, turning your head to look at him instead of the sky. “You planning on making me regret it?”
There’s a pause. Then he huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re somethin’ else.”
You don’t have an answer, just scoot closer towards him without really thinking about it. He murmurs after a second, voice quieter now, “You know.. if you get too comfortable, I might start thinkin’ you like me.”
You huff. “I already said I do.”
“Yeah, but sayin’ it and—” he gestures vaguely with the hand holding the cigarette, “this are two different things.”
“Not really.” Your fingers hook lightly into the fabric of his coat, absent, grounding.
You can feel it, the way he instinctively shifts just slightly—not away, not tense, just adjusting. Making it easier for you to lean there if you choose to. Like he’s just letting it happen instead of pretending he’s not.
“…They’re gonna lose their minds,” he says eventually.
“You don’t care what your brother thinks?”
You tilt your head just enough to glance up at him. “Do you?”
He lets out a soft, amused breath. “Not particularly. Tight-arsed control freak.”
That earns you a quiet chuckle, low and rough around the edges. For a while, it’s just that. The two of you sitting on the roof, close enough to share warmth, the faint glow of his cigarette fading in and out with each drag.
After a bit, his free hand shifts, hovering for a second like he’s debating something, then settling lightly against your arm.
“You always this easy to kidnap?” he asks after a moment.
You glance at him. “You always this obvious about it?”
“Wasn’t obvious,” he says, offended on principle.
You huff a laugh. “You literally nodded at the exit like we’re in a spy movie.”
Instead, you shift closer, shoulder pressing into his this time. Then a little more—until you’re leaning against him.
“Y’know,” he murmurs, flicking ash off the side of the roof, “your family’s gonna have my head for this.”
You smirk. “They already want your head.”
“And if they find out you dragged me up here?” you continue, voice laced with amusement, “One of them will try killing you.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s tried.”
You tilt your head against his shoulder slightly, just enough to make it intentional. “You worried?”
He turns his head, just barely, so his temple almost brushes yours. “Not particularly.”
“You’re weird,” you say after a minute.
“Pot, kettle,” he shoots back.
“No, like—seriously.” You nudged him lightly.
He glances at you again, something amused and something else flickering in his eyes.
“And a little insane,” you add.
You hum, like you’re considering that. “That’s probably why I like you.”
“…Yeah. Reckon that’s why I like you too.”
You don’t hear him at first.
You’re too busy leaning into Constantine, warm against his side, your head tipped just slightly toward him while he talks—low, lazy, like he’s got all the time in the world. His hand lifts now and then when he speaks, cigarette glowing faint in the dark, voice threading through the quiet air.
“…and I’m telling you,” he murmurs, glancing down at you, “if it’s got more than six eyes, you don’t make eye contact. Ever.”
You huff a quiet laugh. “That feels like common sense.”
“I wouldn’t,” you smile. “You attract weird things.”
“Mm. Not wrong.” He bumps his shoulder into yours, not enough to push you away—just enough to make you shift closer again.
Your knee presses against his, your side fully leaned into him now, relaxed, unguarded.
You don’t move right away. Neither does Constantine. But you both turn your heads. And there he is.
Your brother stands at the roof entrance, eyes locked directly onto the two of you. His expression is tight in that specific way that means he’s already ten steps into a lecture you haven’t heard yet.
Behind him, you can just make out movement—someone definitely lingering. Probably more than one someone.
“…You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mutter under your breath.
Constantine exhales slowly through his nose, like this is mildly inconvenient at best. “Evening, Bats.”
You finally sit up a little straighter, but you don’t pull away—not fully. Your shoulder still brushes Constantine’s, your knee still angled toward him.
His jaw tightens. “I told you to stay away from him.”
You roll your eyes immediately. “You tell me a lot of things.”
“This isn’t a suggestion.”
“And I’m not a kid,” you shoot back, sharper now, pushing to your feet. “You don’t get to decide who I talk to.”
“I do get to decide who’s allowed in this house—”
“Oh my god,” you cut him off, dragging a hand down your face. “He’s not poisoning me, Bruce.”
“That’s exactly what he does.”
“Bit harsh,” Constantine mutters from beside you, still seated, completely unbothered.
Bruce’s glare snaps to him. “You think this is a joke?”
Bruce’s attention whips back to you, and there it is. That look. The one that says he thinks this is going way further than it actually is. “You’re getting too comfortable,” he says, voice lower now.
“This—” his gaze flicks between you and Constantine, “Whatever this is, it ends.”
You blink at him. Then laugh. “Are you serious?”
You gesture vaguely between yourself and Constantine. “We’re sitting.”
“You were leaning on him.”
“And it’s inappropriate for you to be doing.”
You stare at him for a second, then glance down at Constantine like, are you hearing this? He just raises his brows slightly, amused.
“Inappropriate?” you echo.
There’s a flicker of movement behind him again, and this time you do look.
Your nephew Tim is standing just in sight, phone in hand—very clearly holding it up like he just finished taking a picture. Your eyes narrow immediately.
Tim doesn’t even look guilty. “For the record, I didn’t expect you to be.. err,” he gestures vaguely.
“You took a picture?” Bruce doesn’t sound surprised.
“Sent it to you,” Tim confirms.
You let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “Wow. Betrayal from my own family.”
“Evidence,” Tim corrects.
“Of you being compromised,” Bruce cuts in.
“Oh my god,” you groan, dragging your hands through your hair. “You both sound insane.”
Constantine finally stands, slow and unhurried, brushing imaginary dust off his coat like he’s got nowhere else to be. “You’re blowing this out of proportion, mate,” he says, stepping up beside you again—close enough that your shoulders nearly touch. “We’re just talking.”
“You don’t ‘just talk,’” Bruce says flatly.
You step forward before Constantine can say anything else, putting yourself just slightly in front of him. “I’m fine,” you say, locking eyes with Bruce. “I’m not possessed, I’m not manipulated, I’m not under some spell.”
“I do.” Then you tilt your head slightly, expression sharpening. “Or do you just not like that I like him?”
Bruce doesn’t answer right away, which is answer enough. Behind him, Tim shifts. And you can practically feel the others somewhere nearby, listening in like this is the most interesting thing that’s happened all week.
Constantine glances at you from the corner of his eye.
“You don’t get to control this,” you continue, voice steady. “I decide who I spend time with.”
Bruce’s gaze hardens. “And when that decision puts you at risk?”
“You won’t have the chance if he—”
“He hasn’t done anything,” you snap.
Bruce exhales slowly through his nose, like he’s trying very hard not to escalate this further. “…Inside,” he says finally. “Now.”
You sigh, long and annoyed, and step away.
“Fine,” you mutter. “But this conversation’s not over.”
You start retreating, passing Bruce without another word—but not without bumping his shoulder on the way by.
As you cross the threshold, you catch Tim lowering his phone, watching you like he’s filing this away for later.
You scoff and keep walking. Behind you, there’s a brief pause—then footsteps. Bruce falls into step beside you as you head back into the manor, the night air fading behind you.
You glance over your shoulder once, just briefly.
Constantine’s still on the roof. He doesn’t follow. He just watches you go—hands in his pockets, expression unreadable for once—before turning away like he’s already decided something.
You don’t get to linger on it.
You huff. “I am walking.”
“You’re such a brat, you know that?”
It’s quiet for a few steps. Just your shoes against the floor, his heavier stride keeping pace beside you. The tension from the roof hasn’t gone anywhere—it’s just tighter between the two of you. You’re the one who breaks first.
“I still don’t get how leaning on him is so inappropriate to you.”
Bruce’s jaw tightens almost immediately. There it is.
“It’s not just that,” he says.
You turn slightly as you walk so you can actually look at him. “You saw me sitting next to him and decided it was some huge problem.”
“You were practically cuddling against him.”
“And it’s not appropriate.”
You let out a short laugh, disbelief written all over your face. “Bruce, I literally sit on top Jason all the time.”
“How?” you challenge immediately. “Explain it to me. Because last I checked, I’ve cuddled with Damian to help him fall asleep more times than I can count, and you’ve never dragged me off like that. I’ve used Dick as a pillow during stakeouts—”
“And I’m a touchy person. That doesn’t magically change because you don’t like the guy I’m with.”
You take two more steps before realizing and turning back to face him, brows raised. He’s looking at you like he’s trying to solve a problem he really doesn’t like the answer to.
“This isn’t about preference,” he says, voice low. “Constantine is dangerous. You don’t understand what he is.”
You cross your arms. “Then tell me.”
“He’s unpredictable. He manipulates people. He puts them in danger—”
“So do we,” you cut him off.
“Again, that’s different.”
“Is it?” you challenge, brows lifting. “I’ve almost died, like—multiple times because of this family.”
“That’s exactly why I’m not letting—”
“You’re not letting? Bruce, I’m not one of your kids.”
“Yeah?” you tilt your head. “Because from where I’m standing, the second I sit next to someone you don’t like, suddenly I can’t make my own decisions?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you’re doing.”
Bruce exhales slowly, dragging a hand over his face like this conversation is already exhausting him. You shift your weight, some of the bite easing out of your stance—but not all of it. “It’s not your call,” you say, quieter now.
Bruce’s gaze flicks up to yours. “It is when it affects this family.”
You watch him carefully now, the frustration still there—but there’s something else underneath it. Something he’s not saying.
“You don’t actually care about it,” you say slowly. Bruce doesn’t respond. “You care that it’s him.”
Still nothing. You step a little closer, eyes narrowing just slightly. “And you care that I like him.”
That one he reacts to—just barely. A flicker in his expression. You huff a quiet, humorless laugh. “There it is.”
“He’s not someone you build anything stable with. You shouldn’t go looking for more of it,” Bruce says instead of denying it.
“I’m not looking for anything. I just… like being around him.”
“You’re my responsibility.” The words come out quieter than everything else he’s said.
You stare at him for a second, then shake your head. “You’re not listening.”
“And you’re not taking this seriously.”
Bruce looks away for a moment, jaw tight. And there it is—under all the control, the frustration. Fear.
You’re his last blood. The only one left that ties directly to before all of this. And Constantine?
Constantine is exactly the kind of person who could drag you into something Bruce couldn’t pull you out of.
You see it. You understand it… but you don’t agree with it.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you say, quieter now.
Bruce doesn’t answer right away. Then, finally—
It’s not even close to approval but it’s the closest you’re getting tonight.
“I’m still going to see him,” you say after a moment.
You snort. “Yeah, it wouldn’t.”
© 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐬 — do not copy my work.
