I lied, I was the one being cooked not the w.i.p. 😔
Anw
Bruce Wayne the prince of Gotham, could he be related to Batman, the dark night of Gotham?
Other versions cause I can't decide which I like:
Anyway to me he's palest pale man with a bit of freckles and easily reddened face and lips, and lotss of beauty marks and hooked nose and long lashes and thick bat brows and fluffy lush jet black hair—
Bruce Wayne is a lot of things. A billionaire, a philanthropist, one of the world’s smartest men, and a notorious playboy.
But he is also your boss… who you happen to sleep with from time to time.
You started working for Wayne Enterprises a few years ago, and took the position to be his executive assistant. As his assistant, you were there to schedule meetings, correspondence, and perform other administrative tasks. Bruce could count himself lucky to have you as his assistant because not only are you very professional and smart, but your main focus is also to help the company grow. But he could also count himself lucky because a beautiful, and smart woman like you was also sleeping with him behind closed doors.
And nobody fucks better than Bruce Wayne. He sure knows how to please a woman.
It was late at night, and everyone already went home after a long day at work.
Well, everyone except Bruce and you.
You were in his office, body half laying on his desk, your iPad still in your hands, and your skirt laying somewhere in this room.
“Go on sweetheart. Don’t let me stop you from doing your job.” Bruce said teasingly as his fingers slid beneath the damp fabric of your panties, and traced circles against your pulsing clit.
You held your head up and take a sharp breath before you start telling him about the meetings he has for next week.
“You have a meeting with Kord Industries on Tuesday-” you let out a sharp breath as you felt one finger slide inside your pussy. “Mhhhm, at two pm.”
The feeling of his fingers curling inward made you clench your thighs together slightly.
“Good. And why are they coming?” Bruce asked you mockingly.
“Just to get an update- fuck- on how the advanced research is going.”
You were trying your absolute best at staying concentrated but it was so hard. All you can think about is how good his fingers moved in a steady rhythm inside you. You shuddered under the touch as he swiped back and forth inside your pussy.
“Any other meetings I should know about?”
“Yes. A meeting with Ferris Aircraft is scheduled on-” you stopped talking as you felt Bruce slide in another finger, increasing the pressure as he flicked against the center of your pussy. “Fuck! Mr.Wayne."
Bruce lets out a small laugh, deeply amused with how you’re on the verge of falling apart with just his fingers. He’s not even fucking you properly, and you already feel overstimulated.
“Don’t stop talking sweetheart, tell me when the meeting is.” oh this cocky bastard…
“Mhmmm- it’s on friday. Five pm.”
“Yeah? Isn’t the gala on Friday at six?”
“No, it’s on saturday.”
“Perfect.”
Your walls were sucking in his thick fingers completely, and you felt how your legs were about to give up on you. You were helpless to the avalanche of your own needs, and you felt a coil of heat tightening deep in your belly.
“Bru- Mr.Wayne, fuck, I’m about to cum.” you cry out as the need to cum grows stronger with each time his fingers curl inside you.
“Stop calling me Mr.Wayne, and I’ll let you cum.” he replies calmly.
“Bruce, please.” you start begging at this point.
“Good girl, now make a mess all over my fingers, yeah?”
You let go completely, tumbling over the edge as you create a mess all over his fingers. A breathless gasp tore from your lips as your hips bucked into his fingers.
“You’re so beautiful like this.” you hear him whisper, and felt his lips leave a small kiss against your shoulder. The next thing you hear is the sound of his belt unbuckling. His pants fell down to the floor, quickly followed by his boxers.
His bricked cock that was shifting uncomfortably in his pants was now free. A gasp leaves your mouth as you felt his cock rubbing against your clit. His free hand braced against your hip, ready to push himself inside your wet pussy.
“Hold still princess.” he uttered before pushed his veiny cock inside your wet pussy.
You closed your eyes at the feeling of your walls trying to adjust to his size. Once he pushed his whole length inside your tight cunt, he started to move. The pace was careful, slow enough to draw out the tension before picking up the speed.
“You wanna hold the presentation for the–hmph- the Ferris Aircraft meeting?”
“Yes! Fuck yes, Mr.Wayne!” a low sound rumbled as he fucked you more urgent and desperately.
A moan left your lips as you felt a slap against your ass, the stinging pain immediately turning into pleasure. “What’s my name, mh?”
“Bruce, your name is Bruce Wayne.” you cried out.
A ragged breathing escaped Bruce’s mouth and the overwhelming physical heat consumed the both of you. Your back arched inward, and sharp gasps were punctuated the intensity of how his cock felt thursting deep inside you.
The iPad fell from your hands, and laid abandoned on his desk as you held onto the edge of his massive desk. His fingers trailed down your spine, raising a sudden rush of goosebumps.
Your overheated body shaked as Bruce kept thrusting deep and rough inside you. The feeling was so intoxicating, and so hazy… you’re sure that nobody could fuck you better than your boss.
“You’re doing such a good job, sweetheart.” you heard him say behind you, followed by a quiet moan. “Let me hear you, yeah? Struggle for me.”
“Bruceeee.” you whine out.
A loud groan escaped from Bruce as he felt you clenching around him, making it a little harder to push inside you.
“Such a mess for me.”
His pace quickened, each thrust driving you closer to your second orgasm. “Please, I need to cum.”
“Already?” Bruce shook his head. “I’ll let you cum -hmph- if you put another meeting for Thursday.”
“I will!”
“That’s my good girl. Now cum all over me.”
The pressure peaked, snapping the last thread of your restraint. Your body convulsed around him, earning a ragged groan from his throat. Bruce drove into you with a final thrust, and spilled his release into your pussy.
“Who do you have a meeting with on Thursday?” you ask him with curiosity in your voice. You can’t think of someone who is supposed to have a meeting with him.
Bruce sits down on his chair, pulling you by your waist, making you sit on his lap. The mixed fluid was leaking out of your pussy, and pooling on his thigh.
You immediately let your head rest against his chest, and you could hear how his heat was racing.
— Bruce married you a bit late into Jason’s career as Robin.
— You had just barely finished their bachelor’s degree, when their parents proposed the idea of an arrangement to strengthen business ties with Wayne entrepreneurs.
— After all, how was bisexual bimbo Brucie supposed to say no to a cute little thing like you.
— You understand what type of a man Bruce Wayne was. He had a reputation to uphold, and you were fine with him adding some more notches to his bedpost during the duration of this marriage.
— Bruce felt bad but was grateful for you understanding this was a marriage of convenience.
— You took care of Jason, grew closer to him, baked him chocolate chip cookies… they were always his favorite.
— Then came the hardest day of your life… Having to bury him. Bruce wouldn’t tell you what happened… a tragic accident he called it.
— ironically, a death in the family lead to you finally meeting your other stepson Dick Grayson. He was polite, and sweet enough… be he didn’t stick around.
— You started to take up self defense classes after that. Jason always begged you to when he was alive… it felt like a good way to honor him.
— Years pass and eventually Tim moves in… and so does Stephanie.
— Both of the young teens seem to avoid you when they can. You supposed it was only fair… they just had a bombshell dropped on them that Bruce Wayne was going to be their new father. You figured giving them time to adjust was the right decision.
— You finally get to meet Barbara Gordon one day at an award Ceremony Gotham University was holding. She was brilliant; utterly witty and confident. But at the same time she seemed to stare right through you.
— You knew what she was thinking, what they were all thinking. “This one is a phase.” You couldn’t blame them. You thought so too.
— It was that time of year again…
— Every year you made cookies… Jason’s birthday, his adoption anniversary, his death… every single important anniversary you made a fresh plate of Chocolate chip cookies and set them out on the counter. By morning they were gone… courtesy of Alfred.
— He enjoyed your presence but he found it tedious that you would waste food like this!
— Eventually something big happens
— Bruce is just… gone one day. No note, no phone call, no voicemail. Nothing! Just… vanished from the face of the earth for months!
— And with him gone… so too did Tim and Stephanie leave.
— Something about roaming the halls of that empty mansion left a bad taste in your mouth. This wasn’t your home. This was the Waynes home. And no matter what your marriage certificate said… you weren’t a Wayne… everyone made that perfectly clear.
— You took up painting in the time Bruce was gone.
— Might as well immortalize the family you inherited this Mansion from. It was easy enough to find photos of everyone online.
— It was a tad harder to hanging above the stairway in the great Hall.
— and they’re it was again… Jason’s Birthday.
— Alfred has been out taking care of Tim and Stephanie as they live downtown in Bruce’s old penthouse…
— maybe this time you’d actually be able to properly honor your son.
— and the cookies are still there by morning you got out of a sigh of relief.
— and that side turns into laughter.
— and that laughter turns into sobbing.
— eventually, everything changes again. Bruce comes home and he brings the entire family back with him. Dick moves and Tim and Stephanie move back in. Even Barbara and a new girl named Cassandra Cain move in.
— The home feels like we were than ever!
— so why does it feel like you’re planting even more into the background?
— most of the time they forget you’re even there.
— christmases and birthdays are usually filled with laughter and joy and cheer. The Waynes go all out and celebrating each other and filling the home with laughter and love…
— yours are filled with gift cards and awkward, exchanging of pleasantries.
— you might, as will be an ornamental lamp.
— and then Damien shows up.
— you try your absolute best to be nice. I didn’t really bother you that Bruce had an affair. You encouraged him to the beginning of your “marriage”. Damien’s existence wasn’t a problem. His attitude on the other hand…
— most people know Damien Wayne is a brat.
— he’s constantly mouthing off to his siblings, he’s constantly fighting with his father, he’s constantly sassing anybody who will give him five seconds of attention.
— but you get it the worst. It feels like he goes out of his way to annoy you and to try to pick a fight with you. He sees you as the evil stepmother before you even have a chance to get to know him. Part of him blames you, for being in the way of his mother and father being together. They were in love, but because of you, they had to go their separate ways.
— to him you’re just a Normie.
— a no good nobody who doesn’t deserve to even breathe the same air as the Waynes. Sure you’ve lived in this house long before his parents even met, but that didn’t matter to him. His mother was a purebred, you’re just a mutt. She’s beautiful, elegant, educated, deadly, cunning. She’s Bruce’s perfect match. You’re nothing special to him.
— and he lets you know every single time that you see each other that you will never compare to his mother. You will never replace his mother! You will never be his mother…
— The arrogant little-…
— it’s fine. You just have to survive six more years of this and then he’ll go off to college and you’ll never have to see him again.
— it’s the anniversary of Jason’s death…
— The hardest day of your life… The day you were forced to bury your son you. The only son you’ve ever known, the only family ever known in this hell hole since your parents sold you off.
— and what do you find the next morning?
— Him…
— Damian Wayne eating Jason’s cookies.
— You screamed.
— you snatched the plate away from him, and started screaming at him that he was a demon, a monster! How could he destroy your memorial to your beloved son?!
— Bruce comes in and separates the two of you.
— he screams at you, not to yell at his son.
— You fire back that he’s forgotten Jason. That if he remembered Jason, he would remember how hard his death hit you… and how much these cookies meant to you, and how much this memorial meant to you.
— in the 15 years since Jason’s death, not important date of his has gone by where you haven’t honored him in this way.
— if Bruce hadn’t forgot Jason, then how could he have not told Damien what these cookies meant
— it was all you had left of your son, and now there’s a demon has ruined it. And Bruce is letting him.
— after that, you spent months locked in your room. Bruce tried to smooth things over. He sent you gifts, he sent you money, he even made a Damien apologize. Nothing is enough
— and then, one day you suddenly started coming out of your room again.
— you look brighter than you had been in over a decade and a half.
— and you’re still baking those damn cookies.
— only this time you’re baking them on a weekly basis. You leave the cookies out on the doorstep of the service entrance on Sunday night and by Monday morning the plate is empty.
— Bruce felt bad.
— Of course he felt bad! He feel like he pushed you into a psychosis! You miss Jason so much that you’re trying to relive the past like he’s still here.
— and then one night… Bruce sees him again. Jason has come back as the red hood persona. He wants to tell you so badly. He knows how much you miss him, but that would compromise his secret identity as the Batman.
— he lets this guilt fester for months.
— and then, on Sunday evening, he sees you baking cookies again.
— you turned to him and grandmother smile.
— it makes him feel so guilty.
— You tell him that you can’t talk now Jason’s gonna be here any minute after he’s done with his red hood business.
— that made him pause. His heart stopped for a moment. You couldn’t possibly know that. Jason wouldn’t be that stupid to tell you about everything. Right?
— he gripped by the shoulder and turns you around. He needed to know…
You perch on Bruce’s lap in the middle of the night humming an unknown tune, scrolling mindlessly through Instagram as Bruce rubs slow circles on your back. His head rests in the crook of your neck, breathing smooth and calm, as if he isn’t fighting the bone-deep exhaustion he desperately needs to give in to.
“Baby, should we sleep now? I’m getting sleepy waiting for your little shopping time,” he murmurs. His hand stills on your back before he lifts his head from your neck, cupping your cheeks gently and tugging your attention away from your phone.
You pout. “I didn’t get what I want yet, Brucey.” With an exaggerated sigh, you fall against him dramatically, one hand on your chest to add to the act—anything to lure him into spending more time with you after patrol. “Still got lots to think about. What to buy. It’s stressing me out.”
“Sweetheart…” Bruce sighs, brows furrowing, lips pressed into a thin line as his body sinks into the leather chair. “I just got home from patrolling… cut me some slack, please, baby. I… really need rest this time.”
That’s new. Bruce is never this desperate for rest, at least not with you. He usually despises stopping even for a moment. After patrol he’d normally head straight down to the Batcave, analyzing Wayne Enterprises data or scanning for new Gotham crime patterns. But now… his eyes are already half-lidded, lips forming that soft pout he gets when he wants attention. His face leans into your small palm before his eyes flutter shut, his body going slack.
That’s when you know—you better be a good girl and not mess with his mood.
So you mumble an “okay,” slipping off his lap. He groans at the loss of warmth, but you quickly grab his hand, pulling him up from the chair and guiding him toward the bed. You push him gently by the shoulders, and he blinks at you in confusion.
“What is this about…? Are you mad at me, baby?”
You chuckle softly, shaking your head as you help him lie down properly, adjusting the pillow under his head before settling beside him with a tired huff. You slide one arm under his chest, the other around his torso, your chin tucked on top of his head.
That’s when he realizes—
“Am I the little spoon today?” he murmurs, amused at your attempt to be the big spoon, even though your arms barely reach halfway around him.
You mumble sleepily, “Yeah… wanna be the big spoon even though I’m clearly the princess one here. But that’s okay. Wanna spoil my man tonight.”
A small smile tugs at his lips, his heartbeat quickening as he feels your hands patting his back—the same way he always does when you fall asleep. You press a soft kiss to his forehead before murmuring a good night.
Bruce’s eyes soften in the dark. He leans in, resting his weight against your chest, wrapping his arms around you tightly as he whispers back, “I love you, baby.”
summery : over the course of five days, tracing the aftermath of one devastating argument. as hurtful words linger and silence stretches on, love, fear, and regret collide, forcing both of you to confront what it truly means to stay, to leave, and to choose each other when it hurts the most.
warnings: heavy angst, emotionally charged arguments, verbal conflict and hurtful words spoken in anger, emotional distress and heartbreak, abandonment fears, panic attacks and anxiety spirals, guilt and self-blame, miscommunication within a relationship, crying and emotional breakdowns, clinginess as a trauma response, fear of loss, relationship conflict with eventual comfort, hurt/comfort dynamics, themes of forgiveness and healing.
[7k word count]
you don’t even remember what started it.
maybe it was the late nights. the blood on his knuckles. the way he shut you out like a slammed door every time something bothered him. maybe it was the way you kept asking, over and over, “are you okay?” and getting that practiced silence in return. or maybe it was you. wanting too much. needing answers he wasn’t ready to give.
It starts with the quiet. the kind that creeps in before the thunder hits. jason walks in, his jacket soaked with rain and something darker. his eyes avoid yours. you’re used to it, but tonight something in you snaps. “did you kill anyone yet?” you ask. not because you want to accuse him. but because you have to know.
he stiffens. “what the hell kind of question is that?”
you don’t back down. “a serious one. because I can’t keep pretending I don’t know what you’re doing out there.”
jason tosses his helmet on the counter with a loud clatter. “don’t start this.”
“no, you don’t get to tell me when I start. you come home covered in blood, you don’t talk to me, you shut me out—”
“because it’s none of your business!” he snaps.
that stings. you feel it in your chest, sharp and immediate.
“I am your business, jason. or am I just something you keep around to feel normal?”
he laughs—bitter, cold. “don’t flatter yourself.” —silence.
you blink. his words hit you like a slap, and he knows it. he flinches for a second. just one. but he doesn’t take it back. you try to keep your voice steady. “so that’s what I am? just… convenient?”
he doesn’t answer. you’re waiting for him to say no. to soften. to say he didn’t mean it. instead, he mutters, “you knew what this was. don’t act like you didn’t sign up for it.”
that’s the thing. you did know. you knew loving jason todd would mean long nights, fear gnawing at your ribs, and blood on his knuckles when he kissed you goodnight. but what you didn’t sign up for was being invisible.
“I didn’t sign up to be treated like an afterthought,” you say, standing now, voice rising. “I didn’t sign up for being ignored, for being lied to. you don’t talk to me, jason. you just disappear.”
jason scoffs. “and what, I should be reporting in every five minutes? you want a boyfriend or a lapdog?”
your heart aches, but you don’t back down. “i want you. the version of you that lets me in. the one that doesn’t shut down and push me away every time something gets hard.”
“I don’t need you to fix me!” he shouts, voice suddenly cutting through the air like a whip. “I don’t need your sympathy or your constant hovering. you think loving me gives you the right to pry into every dark corner of my life?”
you stare at him, stunned. “It’s not prying when I’m trying to help jay..”
“I didn’t ask for your help!” he barks. “god, you’re so damn exhausting. always needing something. always complaining. maybe I’d be better off without you dragging me down all the time.”
you stare at him like you’re seeing someone else entirely. “you’re a coward.” — wrong thing to say.
jason steps forward, eyes burning. “you think I’m the coward? you sit here in your nice little apartment, judging me like you’re above it all. you don’t know what it’s like out there. you couldn’t last a week in my world.”
“and yet I’ve been trying for months!” you shout, your voice breaking. “but you don’t care. you never really let me in. you just wanted someone to come home to—someone who didn’t ask too many questions.”
“you think you’re some kind of savior?” he sneers. “you’re not. you’re just another person who thought they could fix me.”
you stop. you feel it crack right there—something fragile and important inside you. “i didn’t want to fix you,” you whisper. “ i just wanted you to let me in.”
he scoffs. “then you wanted too much.” and that’s it. a finial look into jason’s eyes of any hint of regret— nothing. just pure frustration and anger. a weight in your heart dragging you towards the door. no dramatic exit. no final scream. just you walking past him, grabbing your bag, and shutting the door behind you.
at first, jason doesn’t move he doesn’t feel much of anything, honestly. just numb. tired. angry in that hollow way that doesn’t have a target anymore. he just stands there, staring at the door like it’s going to swing open again. It always does.
you always come back. — he grabs a beer from the fridge. sits on the couch. flips on the TV. something violent and loud, because silence feels like guilt.
hours pass. no call. no message.
he scrolls through his phone. no unread texts. he opens your thread—nothing. his fingers hover over the keyboard, then stop. he locks the phone and throws it on the table.
then he starts thinking about what he said. really thinking.
“you’re just another person who thought they could fix me.”
the way your face changed. he remembers the silence right before you walked out, how final it felt. and something cold settles in his chest. it’s been almost 4 hours since you left.
he starts pacing. that tight feeling in his chest creeps in like smoke under a door. his palms feel clammy. he’s sweating. his vision is narrowing. he can’t think. — you didn’t come back.
you always come back. “shit,” he whispers, running a hand through his hair. “shit, shit—”
the room feels like it’s closing in. the walls are too close, the ceiling too low, like everything’s pressing down on him at once. he can’t breathe. his knees buckle, and he slides down against the wall, gasping for air, chest heaving like he’s drowning. his hands shake. his throat burning.
he didn’t mean it. — of course he didn’t mean it. you’re not convenient..you’re the only thing that’s kept him afloat. you’re the light he pretends he doesn’t need but clings to in the dark.
and now you’re gone. the words he threw at you, the venom he spit out just to win a fight, ring louder than the silence you left behind. he says your name into the empty apartment. once. then again. then louder. like if he says it enough, you’ll hear him. — but you don’t. and now the silence is unbearable.
he can’t breathe. now It’s been five hours since you left, and jason’s chest is on fire. not the kind that comes from bruised ribs or a bullet wound—he knows that pain. he’s good with that pain. this is worse. this is panic. helplessness.—this was worse kind of hurt because it doesn’t bleed.
his phone is clutched so tight in his hand, his knuckles have gone white. he stares at the screen, thumb hovering over your name in his contacts again. he’s already called five times.
no answer. — just the sound of your dumb voicemail message, cheerful and playful and now completely soul-crushing. “haii! Its (y/n), im sorry i missed your call! im not home right now! but i can take a message… let me grab a pencil…hm okay! what would you like me to tell me?” it used to make him smile. now it makes him sick. he hits redial.
one ring.
two.
three.
voicemail. — again. again. again.
he runs both hands through his hair, dragging his fingers hard through the strands like maybe pain will wake him up. like maybe this isn’t real. like maybe you’re still coming home, keys jingling, saying his name like you do when you’re trying not to smile. but the apartment is dead quiet. and it smells like rain and blood and something fading.
“pick up,” he mumbles to no one. “please (y/n).. please just pick up.” he calls again. and again.
his hands are shaking now, so bad he nearly drops the phone. his mind is running circles around itself—what if something happened? what if she didn’t look crossing the street? what if someone followed her? what if she’s hurt?—and he can’t shut it off. his heart is pounding too loud in his ears, drowning out reason. he stands up fast, then stumbles forward, grabbing the edge of the counter to steady himself. everything’s spinning.
he opens your location on his phone. nothing.
either you turned it off or the battery’s dead. or worse. his brain fills in the blanks faster than he can stop it. “goddammit,” he breathes, slamming his hand down on the counter. the sound echoes in the empty room.
this wasn’t supposed to happen. you were supposed to yell, slam a door, crash on the couch, and by morning everything would be fine. that’s how it’s always gone. you fight, you cool off, you come back. you always come back.
but not tonight. tonight, you left like you meant it.
and jason realizes—too late—that he pushed you harder than he ever had. too far. past the point of no return. past the point where an “I’m sorry” could fix it. he scrolls to your name again.
calls. again. “haii it’s (y/n)! im sorry i mi—” he shuts his eyes and grips the phone like he could tear it in half. your voice is soft, light, untouched by the mess he made. It makes him want to scream. It makes him want to curl in on himself and disappear.
you’re gone. and you’re ignoring him. that’s what finally breaks something inside him.
because jason todd—red hood, vigilante, killer, survivor—can handle almost anything. bullets. torture. death. — but he could not handle being ignored by the one person who made him feel human.
he sinks down against the wall again, chest heaving, lungs burning. his phone slips out of his hand, landing face-up on the floor, screen still lit up with your contact. a tiny, cruel reminder: your not picking up. you don’t want to talk to him.
his mouth is dry. he tries to swallow, tries to breathe, but every inhale feels like it’s too shallow. like he’s not getting enough air. his arms wrap around his knees. he’s shaking. his thoughts are racing.
‘she’s not coming back. you blew it. you pushed too hard. you said too much. she hates you. she should hate you. why would she come back after that?’ he doesn’t know how long he sits there like that—maybe twenty minutes, maybe an hour. All he knows is the silence. and your stupid voicemail. and the gnawing, tearing fear that he might’ve lost the only good thing left in his life.
“I didn’t mean it,” he says aloud, as if the room cares. as if his regrets can travel through walls and streetlights and find their way to wherever you are. “I didn’t mean any of it.” but the universe doesn’t answer.
he pulls himself off the ground. head still spinning, he can’t keep sitting around for you. he needs to find you. the air outside hits him sharp and cold, but it doesn’t clear his head. the city is still dark, the streets damp with leftover rain. his helmet is in his bag. he doesn’t wear it. doesn’t need it. he’s not red hood right now— he’s just jason. — and jason’s falling apart.
he makes his way through the city on his motorcycle, his mind endlessly searching for you. stopping when he even sees a glimpse of someone with your same hairstyle. everything reminding him of you. he feels hopeless knowing how huge gotham is, even more so how dangerous it is.
he ultimately decides to stop at some of your favorite places, maybe to soothe him with precious memories. he knows it’s to early in the morning for most of these places to be open, but he needs to check. needs to try anyways.
his first stop was a café. your favorite locally owned coffee shop, where you two became regulars. it was a small business, on a strip walk between a laundromat and boutique. — the coffee’s always too strong and the chairs wobble if you don’t sit just right. you loved that place.
he memorized your order. it was always the same thing everytime you came here— your order barely changed. — the smell of coffee, occasionally tea on ur breath, he was craving to kiss your lips just to taste your order again.
jason stands across the street for a second. the lights are off. homemade “closed” sign hangs crooked in the window.
he still walks up. presses his hand to the door like it might open. It doesn’t. he presses his palms to the glass, looking in
your spot is empty. the corner table by the window where you used to sit and steal sips of his coffee when you swore you didn’t want one. where your eyes would crinkle when you laughed, lips covered in foam you never noticed until he wiped it away. he stands there, remembering the time you convinced him to try that stupid seasonal drink with cinnamon and syrup and something else sweet that he pretended to hate—but secretly liked, because you liked it.
he thought if he came here, maybe you’d be sitting there again. your beautiful eyes locked in a book he’d recommend while eating a pastry. but there’s nothing. only cold glass and silence and now an emotional memory.
he sits on the bench outside and closes his eyes, trying to summon your laugh. where you are the happiest, and he remembers your smile when he took you to his favorite library.
it became a sacred place for you to. both calm and quiet while enjoying each-others company. so that was his next stop.
the library.
not a big, fancy one. no marble columns or quiet rules. this one’s cramped, unknown, smelling of dust and secondhand pages. you loved it for its charm—for the creaky floors and mismatched chairs and the old man behind the desk who always smiled when he saw you.
jason picks the lock with trembling fingers. slides through the back door like a ghost. third floor. far left corner. your nook.
he stares at the armchair you always claimed, the stack of dog-eared romance novels that you teased him with—the window seat you used when the weather was just right and the sun poured in like liquid gold. he walks through the aisle, trailing his fingers along the spines of books you once handed him. he can almost hear your voice echo in the stillness.
walking around until he was in the aisle where he first met you. making his eyes burn, to many memories flooding in his head— where he tried so desperately to be cool in front of you, and staring at you from afar admiring how divine your presence felt. — jason reading all the books he thought you’d like before even knowing you and putting his name in the checkout card. and watching your face light up from seeing his name once again. giving him the courage to go and talk to you.
a tear burning his cheek, he puts his head down feeling ashamed of pushing you away when memories like these made him feel alive again.
jason left the library, riding off having the city district him. he rides for a while thinking of any more possibilities. he was about to run out of gas and just decides he needs to take a walk anyways— and when he gets off his bike, he notices he’s at a familiar park — It’s further out, away from the main drag, quiet enough that the chaos of gotham doesn’t touch it. you both used to go there when things got loud—inside his head, inside the world.
It’s mostly empty, just a jogger in the distance and birds rustling in the trees. jason walks the winding path slowly, like a man retracing his own history — here—this is where you tripped over your own feet and he caught you, both of you laughing like kids. over there is the tree you climbed and got stuck in, yelling at him between laughs while he pretended he wouldn’t help you down. there’s a bench under the big oak tree. you kissed him there for the first time. real, honest, vulnerable. no masks, no walls. just lips and nerves and something too tender to say out loud.
he passes through more bench where you sat one night, eyes puffy, telling him things you hadn’t told anyone else. and he’d wrapped his jacket around you and promised—promised—he’d never be the one to hurt you.
he sits down there now, gripping the edge of the bench so hard his knuckles go white. — “i lied,” he whispers to no one, his voice strained. becoming angry with himself.
but there was still no sign of you.. and so he knew despite it all he had a couple more places to check. his mind became desperate. he heads where he should’nt, hoping you’re not there. he still had to check— ‘the narrows’ — ‘ park row ‘ — ‘crime ally ‘
he checks alleyways where addicts linger and criminals circle like vultures. every step, he begs he won’t find you there. But he has to check. has to know. he’s on a rampage now, eyes wild, heart racing. he gets in a guy’s face just for looking at him too long. knocks someone out cold when they make a comment about “that girl he used to walk with.”
he checks rooftops. alleys. places you shouldn’t be, but maybe are. places where bad things happen. — places he belongs, not you. he asks around. no one’s seen you. and those who know who he is don’t dare lie. — still nothing. jason’s a mess—bloodshot eyes, raw knuckles, unshaven. he looks like he hasn’t slept in years instead of just a night.
and then — “jason?”
jason turns around. it’s dick.
“jason?” dick calls, landing on the fire escape in full nightwing gear. “what the hell are you doing back in this part of town?”
jason doesn’t answer at first.
dick jumps down in front of him, blocking his path. “jay—hey. talk to me.” — “I messed up,” jason says hoarsely.
dick blinks. “with…?”
jason swallows hard. “(y/n)... she left. and she’s not answering. It’s been hours. I’ve checked everywhere. the café, the library, that damn park. nothing. I don’t even know if she’s okay. I just—I said too much. I said shit I didn’t mean and now she’s just… gone.— dick, i can’t breathe.”
dick moves quickly, placing a hand on jason’s shoulder. “hey. breathe. look at me.” jason meets his eyes, jaw clenched so tight it hurts.
dick doesn’t say anything for a moment. then: “alright. sit down.” dick says guiding him to sit on a nearby stoop.
jason does. because for once, he has nothing left to fight with.
“you love her?” dick asks, voice low. jason nods without thinking, like it’s a reflex. “then tell her. find her and tell her. but not like this. you’re spiraling.”
“I can’t stop,” jason whispers. “every second she’s not answering, I keep thinking she’s hurt. that it’s my fault. that I broke her. I can’t even hear her voice without thinking of what I did.”
dick sighs and puts a hand on his shoulder. “you didn’t break her. you pushed her away. that’s different. and maybe you don’t get to fix it. but you sure as hell don’t stop trying. not until she tells you to.” jason looks at him. “and if she never does?” — “then you mourn. but not until you know for sure.”
jason’s quiet for a long time. watching gotham pass by with his brother “never give up jay, i believe in you” and jason stands up, continuing his search.
but he doesn’t find you.
he checks safehouses. rooftops. he climbs halfway up wayne tower before turning around because he knows you wouldn’t go there.— by the time the sun rises, his hands are shaking.
his head is pounding. his legs feel like lead. and you’re still gone.
he stumbles home like a ghost. kicks off his boots. sinks to the floor. doesn’t even make it to the couch. just sits there.
and stares at the door. It never opens.
three days pass.
no texts. no calls. not even a read receipt.
jason doesn’t eat. doesn’t sleep. barely moves. the apartment is dead quiet except for the occasional replay of your voicemail, like he’s torturing himself on purpose. by the fourth morning, he can’t take it anymore.
he grabs his bag and heads to wayne manor.
bruce meets him at the batcomputer. he doesn’t ask why jason’s there. just takes one look at him—pale, tired, shaking, blood shot eyes — and knows. “use whatever you need,” bruce says softly, walking away.
jason nods, throat tight. while the system loads, alfred appears at his side with a quiet sigh and a fresh mug of coffee and a blanket. he doesn’t speak right away.
then, gently, “would you like to talk about it, master jason?”
jason’s jaw clenches. he shakes his head, but then his voice breaks. “I ruined it.” a lump in his throat, looking at alfred.
alfred sets the coffee and blanket down and pulls him into a hug without a word. just strong, steady arms and that grounding kind of warmth jason hasn’t let himself feel in years. “i don’t know how to fix this,” he whispers.
alfred holds him tighter. “you start with the truth. then you wait. and if she’s worth it—and I suspect she is—you never stop.” jason nods against his shoulder
and for the first time in days, he lets himself cry. sobbing into the older man’s shoulder releasing all the pent up sadness and anger he kept inside for days. “I’ve cleaned blood off your boots, patched holes in your uniform, and stayed up more nights than I can count wondering if you’d make it back. but what worries me most… is how quick you are to believe you don’t deserve good things.. ” he said rubbing jason’s back soothing him, letting himself cry. “i love her so much, alfred— I don’t know how to hold on to good things without breaking them.” jason hiccups “it hurts how much i love her”
and they stay like that for a while, talking about jason’s feelings and what happened causing you to walk away. alfred listening and making him eat and drink to get something in his system. jason slowly getting tired, the comfort he craved slowing his brain down. alfred replacing you for a little while.
you always comforted jason, your touch melted him into a different man. you were his safe place and made him feel completely loved. the unconditional love he never felt before, ‘she’ll come back..’ - ‘ she’s okay, she’s safe’ — he kept repeating to himself, trying any possible way to soothe himself — jason became tried once again, but this time he was willing to sleep. he slept next to the computer, with the blankets alfred placed over him. he got a couple hours in until he woke up, a reminder of what happened.
now five days have gone by—
the coordinates come in just after midnight.
a quiet ping from the batcomputer—courtesy of a city-wide search bruce helped set up. jason had loaded every street cam, signal ping, and facial recognition tool he could, but deep down, he hadn’t really believed he’d find anything.
until now. a small rental apartment in the east end. under a friend’s name. you hadn’t left the city—you’d just gone off the grid. he finally found what he was looking for.
the screen flickered, and your image appeared in the facial recognition software. jason’s heart dropped as he studied the image that was pulled from surveillance footage. your face, usually full of life and fire, looked hollow. the light in your eyes were dimmer than he remembered, like you’d been carrying an unbearable weight for far too long.
your skin was pale, darker circles under your eyes indicating sleepless nights and too many tears shed. lips, once always curled into a small, knowing smile, were now pressed into a thin line. the fight had drained you, and he could see it in every inch of your face.
the camera hadn’t caught the vulnerability posture, but jason knew. you weren’t just physically tired—you were emotionally worn out. the woman he loved wasn’t the same one who had walked out five days ago. this woman, this (y/n), looked like someone who had been pushing through the world alone, all the weight of her pain carried on her shoulders.
he gripped the edge of the desk, eyes locked on the screen, his chest tightening. guilt, sorrow, and a deep sense of regret clawed at him. he had to find her. he had to make things right before it was too late.
he reads the address three times to be sure, then grabs his helmet and jacket and is out the manor doors before bruce can say a word. he jumps on his motorcycle and starts the engine, the loud sound of his tires screeching in the cave as he raced out to find you. he was lighting on the road, dangerously weaving in and out of cars, adrenaline of seeing you alive making him rush even more.
then he makes it to your location. his feet on the pavement, one flight of stairs, then two. his heart is a riot in his chest. his hands are sweating, shaking, cold. an a rush of anxiety washes over him.
what if you slam the door in his face?
what if you don’t even open it?
what if you’re gone again?
what if you don’t want to see him?
but he still knocks. soft at first. then harder.
he hears the lock click. the door creaks open a few inches. you stand there in sweats your friend let you have, eyes puffy, hair lazily in your face like you stopped caring how you looked days ago. and you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
your eyes widen when you see him. and that’s all it takes. jason breaks down.
his legs give out. he drops to his knees like something inside him finally caved in. and before he can even stop himself, he wraps his arms around your waist and presses his face into your stomach, sobbing. not the angry kind. not the kind that comes with yelling and fists through walls.
the kind that’s quiet and raw and scared. the kind that says thank god you’re alive and I’m sorry and I missed you all at once. he was relieved.
“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I’m so fucking sorry—please, I didn’t mean it, I was angry, I didn’t know how to say it right, I—god, I thought I lost you—” you freeze. shock, sadness and joy all overwhelming your head. your hands hover for a second, unsure, still hurt, wondering if this is a dream or not.
but then they come down gently, slowly, fingers threading through his hair as you hold him against you. your voice is quiet. “jason…” a melody to his ears.
he can barely speak. “I looked everywhere. I thought something happened. I thought—god, I thought maybe I deserved it. maybe you were better off without me. — I’ve never been this scared in my life.” you listen to him, his words muffled into your stomach. as he plants small kisses in between each sentence— his words rambling and gasping in-between for breaths. “baby.. come here.”
you helped him stand up and stared at his face. “I was angry,” you admit. “you hurt me.” — “i know.. i never wanted to hurt you.”
he leans into you like he needs your heartbeat to breathe.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he whispers. “I keep ruining everything good in my life. I say the wrong thing. I push too hard. I scare people off. and then when I finally realize what I’ve done, it’s too late.” you pull back just enough to make him look at you. — his eyes are red. wet. desperate.
“you didn’t scare me off,” you whisper. “you hurt me. but I left because I didn’t want to say something I’d regret. I needed time.”
jason swallows. “you should’ve. said something worse. hit me. I deserved it.” — “you don’t get to decide what you deserve, jason. I do.”
a beat. “and I still choose you.” he exhales a breath that sounds like a sob.
his eyes are rimmed red, exhausted, glassy with the tears he’s still trying to keep at bay.
“I went everywhere. the café, the library—the park,” he continues, his arms tightening like he thinks you might slip away again. “every place we made a memory. every place that still smells like you. I kept thinking, maybe I could find one more piece of us that wasn’t broken yet.— I needed to find you. I was losing it, sweetheart. I checked alleys. dangerous places. I—fuck, I was hoping I didn’t find you there but I had to check. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t sit still. I just wanted to see you. to say I’m sorry. to fix it.”
you nod slowly, listening to him. watching the way he talked.
“I knew I took it too far, even when I said it,” jason continues, clutching you tighter. “I was mad at the world, not you. but I threw it all at you because I knew you’d still love me, and that makes me the worst kind of person.”
you press your hand to his cheek, and he leans into it like it’s the only thing keeping him together. “I didn’t mean it,” he whispers. “not a single word. I was angry and afraid and so fucking overwhelmed that I—” his voice cracks. “I lashed out. at the one person who loves me the most. and when you left, I knew. I knew I deserved it.”
you stare at him for a moment. because your silence isn’t punishment—it’s your own unraveling. choosing your next words — “you said I was just a distraction,” you whisper finally, voice shaking despite how hard you try to steady it. “that I make things worse for you. that I don’t understand you, and maybe never will.”
jason flinches. physically recoils at the words he remembers far too well. the words that have been haunting him for the past few days.
you swallow, continuing. “you didn’t just lash out, jason. you hit where you knew it would hurt. you said things I’ve been afraid of ever since we met.”
“I didn’t mean any of it,” he whispers again, desperate. “god, if I could tear the words out of the air and bury them, I would. I would’ve rather taken a bullet than see you walk out that door. I just—” he breathes in deep. “I’m not good with… emotions. with fear. and losing you? that’s the scariest thing in the world to me...”
you nod slowly. “you self-destruct.”— he presses his forehead to yours, eyes shut. “yeah. and I took you down with me.”
silence stretches again, but it’s different now. heavy, but not hostile. like the fog after a storm. “I wasn’t leaving forever,” you whisper. “I just needed time. space. I needed to remember who I was outside of what you said.”
running your fingers through his hair. “I love you, jason. that didn’t change. but you hurt me. bad. I will never stop loving you. i will always come back to you— I needed to know I could still choose to come back on my terms. not because you begged. not because you were falling apart. but because I wanted to.”
his arms tighten around you again, and for the first time since last night, his tears start to fall freely. once again. no restraint. no pride. just a man drowning in his own grief, relieved to be seen, still loved despite everything.
“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers into your shoulder, his voice small and shaky.
“no,” you say gently. “but you have me. and that means doing better.” and you both stand there for a while. two exhausted people wrapped around each other like maybe the world will stop spinning if you just stay still long enough.
after a while, you hold out your hand. “come inside.” and he does.
the apartment is small, quiet. the kind of place that smells like lavender and old books and something that’s just you. jason steps inside like he’s walking on glass—like the walls might collapse if he breathes too hard.
you close the door behind him. lock it gently. like you’re not locking him out, but keeping the world away.
neither of you says much as you move to the small couch in the living room. he follows you, slow, cautious. sits on the edge like he doesn’t deserve the whole cushion. like if he gets too comfortable, you might change your mind and tell him to leave.
you notice the way he keeps stealing glances at you from the corner of his eye. the way his knee’s bouncing, nervous. his shoulders are curled in, defensive, like he’s ready to run the second you flinch.
finally, you break the quiet. “why are you sitting like you’re afraid I’m gonna hit you?” jason freezes.
you don’t say it to hurt him. you say it softly. genuinely. because you see it—the hesitation, the fear, the way he’s pulling away without moving an inch.
he exhales. “because I don’t wanna fuck this up again.”
“you think being quiet is safer?”
he shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s safe with you anymore. I keep playing every version of this in my head—if I say too much, if I touch you too soon, if I breathe the wrong way—maybe you’ll walk out again.”
you shift toward him slowly. “I didn’t leave to scare you.”
“I know.” he finally meets your gaze. “but it scared me anyway.”
you nod. “and now you’re trying not to want anything.” he doesn’t answer. “jason, you’re allowed to want me.”
his breath catches. you reach out, gently covering his hand with yours. he looks at the contact like it might vanish.
“you’re not scaring me off,” you say, voice soft but sure. “you’re hurting. and so am I. but I didn’t stop loving you. I didn’t forget all the good just because of one night.”
jason’s voice is raw when he answers. “It was more than one night. I’ve been shutting you out for weeks. I didn’t let you in when you were trying. I turned everything into a war when you just wanted peace.”
“yeah. you did.” he flinches. “but,” you continue, tightening your grip on his hand, “you came back. you searched for me. you let yourself fall apart. that means something to me, and im sorry too. i didn’t intend on being away this long. i just felt so lost” he closes his eyes, jaw clenching.
“i’ve never felt this afraid,” he murmurs. “not even when I died.” you squeeze his hand.
“I’m not good at soft,” he admits. “I can be violent, I can be angry, I can be the guy who kicks in doors and breaks bones. but being… gentle? I don’t know how to do that without thinking I’ll screw it up.” you lean forward, pressing your forehead to his.
“you’re being gentle right now.” he nods, barely. and for the first time since that fight, he lets his hand curl into yours. not tight. just enough.
enough to say I want this.
enough to say I still love you.
he presses his lips to your temple, hesitant at first, then lingering. not hungry. not desperate. just present.
“i love you eternally jason, im sorry too, i’m truly sorry for walking away.”
“i love you so much (y/n), so.. so much it’s a unbearable pain i never want to let go of. you are my heart.. my soul.. my person”
he pressed kisses on your hand inbetween words. whispering softly to you, sweet nothings. just wanting to cherish you. “i cried to alfred, cried like some damn kid and I was just—gone. full-on sobbing in his arms like I was ten again.”
(y/n)’s eyes softened, reaching out but letting him keep going.
“I told him everything. told him I screwed up. told him I was scared you’d leave for good. and he just… held me, made me miss your touch.— i’m still sorry,” he whispers
“I know,” you say. “i am too jay”
the two of you sit there, wrapped in the silence that used to hurt—but now, maybe, it’s just healing in disguise. you pulled jason in to cuddle him. he wraps his hands around your body. feeling fortunate to have you, to touch you, to kiss you. he hasn’t been able to breathe normally since you left, but now his chest feels lifted. he’s calmer and exhausted. he can tell you were too. he rubs your body while kissing all over you until he knows your asleep in his arms. watching you sleep so peacefully puts him at ease, helping him drift off into a wonderful slumber he’s been dreaming about for the past five days.
*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚
ahhh :3 i couldn’t do a sad ending— i was going to!!, but he’s been out through to much already!! haha
hope u enjoyed!! im trying out different writing, angst is one im not the best ask but i like trying! it feels repetitive sometimes :p
