“So that’s it?” The question cut through the air—sharp and bitter in its delivery, yet still edged with a kind of hurt that only a woman scorned could muster up. The tremor in your hands was blatant. White-hot fury illuminated your eyes in a way your lover hadn’t witnessed before.
Never had you directed your anger toward Bruce, at least not like this.
You were the fun girlfriend who brought joy into his demanding life. You were the supportive girlfriend who didn’t ask too many questions. You were the understanding girlfriend who gave forgiveness freely.
You weren’t meant to lash out, weren’t used to letting those pesky doubts pave the way for actual conflict. You didn’t want to do this.
But with every passing month spent by Bruce’s side—knowing what everyone said about him—spite had been festering within you. Almost like a parasite, it’d taken a hold of you before you could even realize it.
You saw the tabloids daily. You knew what the public perception of your relationship looked like. In fact, you were painfully aware of how certain the majority of people were in their assumption that Bruce Wayne would surely return to his playboy roots sooner or later.
Proving them right was a bitter pill to swallow.
Stupid; that’s how you felt after not having predicted this outcome. With all the warnings you’d been ignoring, you almost blamed yourself.
The silence stretched on, and your heart broke a little more at his lack of a response. You used to love how calm and collected Bruce was—thought it balanced out the temper you could barely control at times. Now you found yourself hating how unreadable his face was.
Frustration turned into rage, as you pushed against his chest and shouted, “Speak up already! You owe me that much, don’t you?!”
A disbelieving scoff left your parted lips. “Or is that also too much to expect after the two years you have spent making a fool of me in the public eye?” Your voice held steady, but your eyes betrayed you.
Beneath the surface, Bruce could recognize the hurt pooling in them.
But he couldn’t tell you the truth. Not involving you in his life of fighting crime had been a conscious decision. Keeping you in the dark was for the best, even if holding on to this secret would break your trust in him.
Bruce would rather have you hate him than have you be in danger as a result of his selfishness. He couldn’t be selfish; not with you. His love for you had stopped him from that before even his morality ever could.
He wasn’t deserving of good things. They never lasted. He knew that now. Hurting you had never been his intention, though. Fuck, he hadn’t even intended for you to get as close to him as you did. You were a civilian—someone who only knew him as Bruce, and not as the Bat.
You had no idea of what being with him truly meant. So he had tried to keep his distance, to stop whatever was happening between you two before it could ever truly ignite. But it was pointless. Your persistence, your affection, your warmth; they’d cracked his resolve quicker than he could have prevented it. You made it impossible for love not to bloom.
The seeds of trust you’d planted in the beginnings of your relationship blossomed in spite of the light Bruce lacked to nurture them at times.
Your love had felt like a magnolia in May. Seeing you like this made Bruce wonder if his neglect had truly caused its petals to wither away.
Bruce wanted to pull you closer. Instinct called for him to reach out to you, to reassure you, to tell you that none of these claims held any real substance to them. It seemed impossible to convince you, though, that the damning pictures paparazzi had leaked of him leaving a notorious strip club downtown meant nothing. He couldn’t tell you the actual reason why he was there—not without exposing his vigilante lifestyle.
He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it once more. Still, no words.
You felt a familiar burning sensation in your nostrils—a warning for the tears that were already beginning to sting at the corners of your eyes.
Schooling your expression, you took a step back from Bruce, as though being near him filled you with disgust. “Fuck you,” you spat out, but your voice lacked its previous passion. Then, you turned around and left. With you, you took any hope he had held onto for a brighter future.
A flower simply couldn’t persevere in the face of darkness, and if Bruce was honest with himself, he knew that the darkness had become a part of him a long time ago. He’d settle for admiring his magnolia from afar.
And he did. Letting you go had wrecked him, yet seeing you shine once more brought him back to life. Months passed, then a year, and still, Bruce found himself wishing he could have been the right man for you. If only he could’ve been the gentle-faced blonde man on whose arm you hung these days. The one that had no secrets to keep from you.
The one who Bruce heard had proposed to you recently. The one you had said yes to. In another world, would you have said yes to him too?
In a world where Bruce had been the one to ask you to be his wife instead of breaking your heart? A simpler world, one that allowed for him not to be the twisted man he was doomed to be in this one.
Marriage had been a thought for him at the time. More and more often had he looked at his late mother’s wedding ring and thought of what a future would look like with you by his side forever as Mrs. Wayne.
Bruce wondered if you would think of him when you walked down the aisle toward another man, stepping into a life that should have been his. A rotten part of him hoped you would. The astute part knew it.
em’s masterlist | bruce wayne masterlist wc: 1.0k request: no
˙⋆✮ a/n: feel like i started strong but got rly lazy at some point 💀 tbh i’m a bit cringed out by my metaphors in this but i cba to change ts 😬
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Summary: After breaking your heart on the trip to your family farm, you search for answers, while Dick searches for you. (Dick Grayson x fem!reader)
Word Count: 2.2K
Notes: Hi lovelies~! I’m currently ON said trip with family so I am writing this on my phone. I’ve just spent some time editing it (and I thought that I would have both of these done in the airport honestly, but guess who’s now being kicked out of her house cause of landlord? That’s another story for another time but it is why I’ve been so busy). I honestly didn’t mean to do two Dick fics back to back, I just was on the plane and couldn’t remember what character was next or who I just did, all I remembered was the prompt so this is the result.
A part 2 to this fic here (from last angstober)
Anyways, I’ll write the last one out slowly so I still enjoy time with my family, and thank you all for your understanding in me getting out the last couple fics from this challenge.
RiRi <3
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it had been two weeks since you had left the city. Two weeks since you were meant to go back to your cramped apartment, to continue the city life that you had begun carving for yourself. Yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to go back, too scared of seeing what life was going to be like when you walked through those doors and was forced to face the part of yourself that was now missing.
So you didn’t.
You stayed home for a few extra weeks, after being consoled by your parents on the farm. It had been nights sobbing in the arms of your mother, as you sniffled about your heartbreak. It had been the shaky tears as you tried to explain to you or little sister why the man she d been calling he ‘new big brother’ was suddenly gone, and why you were sad. Marcus had closed up again, silently putting the tack he had fitted just for Dick, away in the stables storage shed.
When you were out of sight of the prying eyes of your family, you sobbed with your knees to your chest. Your heart panged and clenched as you sobbed into your pillow, wondering how he could just leave you like that. Hours of sleep were lost as you tried to figure out why he had done it so suddenly, why he had thought those things, what that moment of hesitation that flickered over his eyes had been.
You hated yourself crying under your covers like a schoolgirl, like you had been rejected from your first crush. Tears stained the fabric of your pillowcase, not even the familiar comfort your childhood bedroom enough to pull you out from the twisting of your heart.
So, after a few weeks of the crying, you decided you had enough of the silence. Dick hadn’t texted you once, no call or even an acknowledgement that you had ever been a part of his life. You’d gotten back into your car after days of waiting by the phone, tearfully hugging your siblings goodbye. Your father was resistant to the idea of you leaving again, keeping you close a moment longer as you took your bags to the car.
“You don’t have to go, you know.” He murmurs, kissing you on the forehead gruffly. “I don’t want you going back there to break your heart-“
“Oh, she’ll be fine.” Your mother scolds, coming up to the two of you. “She’s stronger than she looks.”
You give her a watery smile, the cracks in your heart healing just a fraction. “Thanks, mama” you say, throwing yourself into her arms for one last hug. With a smile she pats your back and walks you to your car door, helping you in.
After a lecture on road safety from your father, you were ready to go.
the first couple of hours weren’t that bad on the highway, time flying by fast. It was like the first time you had moved to Gotham, when you were still eager and wide eyed. No gala, no dance or dress, no Dick.
There were very few cars, and your music queued your favourite songs. For those few hours you sang your heart out, beaming as you tapped the rhythm on your steering wheel. You screamed the lyrics and sang loudly, the sun setting through the windows in a beautiful orange and gold.
Yet as the night began to set in ad your playlists began to run empty, the pain in your chest began to flare. Honestly, it had probably started when the song the two of you shared, YOUR song, began to play. You had still sung along, tone bittersweet as your voice faded.
You still remembered when you had showed it to him, lounging at your apartment together. Despite the amount of money he had, he never looked down on visiting your lace.In fact, he came over more to yours than you did to his, due to a lot of nightly visits where he just so ‘happened’ to be in the area.
You had both been cleaning your apartment for the coming week, and as usual you were in your lounge gear singing loudly in the kitchen. Dick looked up from his phone, grin on his face. You knew that glimmer in his eyes the moment you saw it, but you weren’t fast enough to react to him. He had already lunged across the couch and dashed for the kitchen, wrapping his arms around your middle with a laugh.
“Whatcha singing?” He asked with a grin,smiling into the crook of your shoulder.
“Just a favourite from when I was a kid.” You giggle back, looking over your shoulder. “I got all the words wrong, but I loved it anyways.”
His grin widened at that. “Sounds pretty.” He hums, kissing the back of your neck. “Let me join in.”
After he learnt one chorus, he belts into song next to you, freeing you from the hug to go do the dishes. Both of you sang wildly different songs to the same tune, random words spilling from his mouth yet sung with o much incidence you almost believed they were the real lyrics.
As you drove home now, you mumbled those lyrics to yourself as the sun sank deeper. Tears stung at your eyes, and it had only taken a few more minutes before you were sniffling. Wiping your eyes with the back of your sleeve, your tried to ignore the crushing in your chest and the sharp pain that ran through your heart. The nightly thoughts came crashing in, ruining your party to turn it into the nightly tumble with anxiety.
You wondered what he was doing without you, and if he was really talking to Barbara behind your back. If they had been doing this for long,if that was the real reason or not. But why would he lie? You asked yourself that as you held back sobs. Yet you also asked yourself why he’d break up without a proper explanation, and for that, you couldn’t come up with a reason either.
You hated that he was burned into the back of your eyelids, every blink forcing you to see his face. You saw his smile when he woke up in the morning, slow but soft. Or the way his eyes sparkled when he looked at something he loved, the look he used to give you. You could feel the touch of his hands over yours like a ghost, the warmth so close yet so far away.
The way he looked on the farm, the relaxing of his muscles and how he looked so free. The way that he was good with kids, and got along with your siblings like they were his own.
You couldn’t stop the tears that were falling, nor could you stop the sobs that eventually tore from your chest, all demanding the answer to the same question: why?
You cleched your fists on the wheel and sucked in another deep breath, hissing it through your teeth. If you were too scared to go back to your apartment to face the questions there, you’d go to he only place that you knew you would find him. The manor.
So hellbent on getting to your destination, resolve burning in your chest with still coming from trembling lips, you didn’t notice the very familiar car passing by you.
Dick was an idiot.
He knew that, god, he knew that, but he didn’t think he would have made this big of a mistake. The second that Alfred had taken him home to the manor, all he had wanted to do was lick his wounds and sulk in peace. He had broken your heart to keep you safe, to protect you. That’s what he told himself, and what he had repeated to Jason when his younger brother had tossed him over his shoulder onto a training mat.
“Are you fucking serious?” Jason had scoffed, wiping his hand on his pants. His younger brother looked down at him, eyes rows raised like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are you really going to run with that excuse?”
“It’s not an excuse.”Dick had mumbled, dusting himself off and pushing himself to his feet, only to get knocked back down by another blow from Jason.
“It is, and you know it.” Jason rolls his eyes, frowning. “This is a cop out. Weren’t you going to go over there to tell them who you were at night? Wasn’t that the plan?” He asks, arms crossed over his chest. “Yet here you are, not even fighting back properly and moping about over an issue you created.”
“I’m not moping-“
“Yes, you are.” Jason says pointedly. “You’ve got that look in your eye, the one you get before you lock yourself in your room for a week and take it out on criminals. I also know that it means that you were doing something selfish.” Jason says, eyes narrowing as Dick gathers himself to his feet once more. A hand collides with his chest, but it doesn’t send him crashing back down.
“You’re doing this because you were scared of hurting yourself, not her.” Jason says, hand bunching up the material in his fingers. “You didn’t want the rejection, so you ran away. Honestly, man up sometimes, Dick.” Jason huffs, still mad before letting him go.
Dick wished that it hadn’t taken that conversation for him to see how wrong he had been, and how selfish. He didn’t know what it was going to take for you to forgive him, if you forgave him at all. He couldn’t stop thinking of all the potential scenarios as he raced back to your family farm. His hands were clenched white on the steering wheel, and he hoped to himself that he wasn’t too late to catch you.
He’d tried to go to your apartment, but you weren’t there. Your place had swung open when he used the spare key, everything left exactly where he had left it. The flowers that he was delivering to the door piled up, and his heart grew heavier each night he swung past to see if you had taken them inside.
It had crossed his mind that something horrible might have happened to you, his worst nightmare coming to life. Yet he took a deep breath and checked out all other leads before settling that you must have stayed with your family.
He sighed, running a hand trough his hair as he sped down the highway. He was such an idiot, but he couldn’t stop the fear running through his veins. What if things happened to you when he told you? What if you hated him for the mask he wore? Yet each thought of fear was shaded with the same tinge of guilt, settling over his memories like a filter.
The way that you put it all on the line for him, starting a life in a new city with him at your side. The way that you had so gingerly trusted him with your heart, only asking in return that he didn’t misplace it. Well instead of that, he had pretty much torn it in two with his bare hands.
He tried to bite back the tears that stung at his eyes remembering how you looked dancing round the kitchen, how he could pick out the features of both your mother and father reflected in your face. The same people he had hurt when he broke up with you suddenly, his one decision causing a flow on effect of pain.
He missed your smile when he came late at night,and the sleepy dimples that formed in the early morning, sneaking under the covers and giving you a peck on the lips to go back to sleep. The way that you whole body seemed to light up talking about your passion, and the familiar weight of your hand on the crook of his elbow at galas.
He had realised that you made him feel like Dick again, the Dick he knew he was deep inside. Your gentle hands had managed to gently coax the crying boy inside him to come out, drying his tears and no longer cowering. Like a flower turning towards the warmth of the sun you had tenderly loved him until e loved himself outside of the suit, as a man rather than a vigilante.
But what had he done in return? he’d scorned your sun and accused it of burning too bright, shutting himself down and shutting you out in the process. He had taken your heart,beating softly in his hands, and squeezed it until it screamed under the pressure of his fingers. The had left you sobbing and shattered, something he had felt himself as he cried freely for the first time time in years.
So lost in thoughts he didn’t notice he familiar shade of your cars paint blur past him, his eyes too focused on trying to spot landmarks ahead of him.
He just hoped that he wasn’t too late, and that you’d hear him out.
You just hoped that he’d be honest with you, and that he’d say why he did what he did.
jason lovess when you hold eye contact with him, not many people do — not many can.
so when you do it means so much, simply because it is you. the effect you have on the man is clear as day to anyone who has eyes to see.
you don't take any of his shit, you don't shrink away from him when either of you are upset. you stand straight, keeping your posture up right and rigid, your hands crossing over your chest as you stretch your neck to appear taller.
jason cannot help but thing you're so cute.
he also cannot help feeling terrified, you never take any of his shit.
"hey baby" he tries to stretch the words out . making them sound sickening with their sweetness, sugar coat them to help soften their landing and your demeanour.
but you remain unwavering, "cut your shit jason, how many fucking times have i told you not to be so fucking reckless? what am i supposed to do when you come wandering in here at night bloody and hurt?!"
he zones out for a moment — you're good to him
"my whole apartment looks like a crime scene, or a slaughter house and my boyfriend. my boyfriendight be hurt and won't even let me see that he's alright"
"ya can't just- do stuff like this jay. " you voice softened as you said that still it's an exasperated tone.
the guilt settles in, the playfulness he carried at the start of your conversation long gone.
you're just so good to him. and that makes this all worse.
how is he to explain to you that yesterday while on patrol, he say you with some guy from work. nothing happened, nothing except you guys walking side by side on the busking street in broad day light, each holding a cup of coffee (he knows exactly what's in yours) and having what looked like a light hearted conversation. it felt like a knife twisting in him when he saw you break out in laughter at something he'd said. you looked happy with him on that street, and jason can't give you that.
all he ever does end up giving you is that deep furrow on your forehead and your arms crossed over your chest, playful though biting back and forth banter; it's all he knows how to. what could he even say to make uou smile like that. truly genuinely smile at him like that.
none of this shows on his face, he remains unreadable and his expression hardened like the rest of him.
"..jay?"
he starts towards you, steps heavy and deliberat. jason could be menacing with his enormous body and towering height, but you feel wholly unafraid. jason would never hurt you. the possibility of it doenst even cross your mind. ever.
he stops when he's right indolent of you your crossed arms pressed lightly to his torso, you have to crane your neck up to look at him. his hands come up to hold each side of your face, engulfing your head in his gentle hold, and jason leans down to kiss you.
it's short, shallow. almost shy as he does. he pulls away from you just enough to look into your eyes, he sees them looking right back at him in concern. god he hates that. the guilt of making you feel that way always eats him alive.
he leans down again, but you beat him to it this time. pulling him down by the collar and stepping up on your toes to meet him, your lips crashing together in the softest messiest way.
i love you, the words die on his lips, muffled by your mouth against his. you swallow them whole, all the love he has offering it only to you. and you take it, fractured and broken with missing pieces you still take it.
because you're just too good to him. for him.
and he's going to be selfish about it. keeping you by his side, loving you like he deserve to because you make it feel like he does.
you do when you whisper it back to him so genuinely, when your hands trace his rough scared body like it's made of the finest porcelain always so delicate and kind to a man who has only ever known aggression. anger
with you, jason gets to know love. with you he gets to know gentleness and kindness and eyes contact.
as undeserving of it as he may be, he won't let you go. jason could be selfish sometimes. and the only permission he ever needs is kept safe deep inside your heart where you know he'll reach it.
| Synopsis: Bruce Wayne is in love with you. He doesn’t want to be.
| A/N: editing, reformatting & reposting this old thing because the previous layout was taking me out LOL. This was actually my first fic since coming back to writing last year, so I had to do her justice.
Bruce Wayne is in love with you. He doesn’t want to be.
The day he finally admits defeat, it brings him pain like no other. He knew it could be nothing short of love from the way he couldn’t stop thinking about you, or the ache that followed him when you weren’t around. No matter how hard he tried to push thoughts of you away, you snuck right back to the forefront of his mind, occupying space that the Batman had no room for. He ignored the feeling for as long as he could, hoping if he paid it no mind it would eventually go away. He needed it to go away.
Most people begin picturing a life with the person that has stolen every thought, every waking moment from them. But Bruce can’t. Where others picture life, Batman pictures death.
When the day comes that he can no longer push it away- when your love has seeped into every vein and cell in his aching body- a heavy, agonizing feeling settles deep in his chest. Reality sinks in, and misery is soon to follow.
His heart should be full of devotion for you, in his mind you deserve nothing less, but instead it’s full of fear. Fear of what happens when you dare to love someone in Gotham. When you dare to anything in this city except suffer, and die.
Flashes of his most horrible memories cloud his judgement. Consoling the inconsolable; parents losing children, children losing parents. Arriving at a crime scene just a few moments too late, the bodies warm but the eyes cold.
Cradling his son, his boy, as the smell of smoke burned down his throat with every heaving breath he took, knowing his Robin would never take one ever again. How he could still taste the bitter ash, days later, preparing for a funeral no father should ever have to attend.
Looking into the eyes of Barbara Gordon, feeling sick with guilt as a doctor tells her she would never be able to walk again. Never forgetting the way she crumpled upon herself and looked at him with utter ignominy, like she had been the one to fail him.
He was the Batman. He had trained himself to snuff out personal weakness for decades; perhaps even longer, from the moment that first pearl hit the ground. He could handle the memories and carry their weight, could concentrate enough to push them down and focus on the task at hand. He could handle the haunting echoes and flashes of horror, knowing he’d see much, much more before his life would end. He told himself he could handle the memories of those closest to him, the ones he had truly failed, and the burden that came with such a responsibility.
What he couldn’t handle was that all of them- every single one- blamed themselves for what happened, for not being strong enough. For feeling guilt, at letting him down. Knowing that they would do it all over again, and do it with unwavering pride, just to remain by his side.
No, he couldn’t handle that at all. Especially as he knew- knew with every fiber of his being- that you would follow suit if he stayed in your life. You would remain right by his side as he lulled you in with a false sense of security, leading you to wrongly assume your dark knight could protect you from any harm coming your way. It was almost too easy to picture his enemies laughing at him, giddy and licking their lips with bated breath, waiting for more tastes of flesh.
So no, he couldn’t imagine being happy with you, even if he wanted.
He’ll push you away, telling you it’s not safe to be with him, not worth it. Did you not know what happens to those closest to him? Did you want to be next? He’ll get on his knees if he has to, his blue eyes full of such despair, just begging you to leave. Begging you to run and never look back, to choose yourself and your happiness the way he was choosing for you.
He begs you to leave. You beg him to stay.
You’ll cup his cheeks and pull him close, telling him you will be okay. You even promise him so, not understanding you hold no power to guarantee such a thing. You kiss him and comfort him, tell him that he’s just worried on your behalf and you love him for it really, but he doesn’t need to be.
You cradle his head as he lays in your lap defeated, and run your fingers over his face with a kindness that doesn’t last in his city. Telling him that you can see a life for the two of you, despite the chaos. One he deserves, because good people always got what they deserve, right? Where you’re both happy, together, as you should be. Laughing together as you reminisce of old jokes, holding hands as you fall asleep, sharing soft stolen kisses under a blue sky; can’t he picture it too?
He closes his eyes, desperate to see it. To see himself living in a world where fear does not exist, sharing a long life with the person he loves. Never worrying about their safety, never having to. He tries, for a second. He really does.
But the clouds come back, and they bring rain. The same rain he’s sure will mercilessly fall on the newest plot at his family’s cemetery, splattering against a gravestone he’ll forever mourn at. He looks up into your warm eyes, already picturing them cold.
TW: Nothing brutal or dark written in this fanfic, just a few cuss words. Normally by Jason Todd. Just (Y/n) going through a terrible heartbreak ☹
Summary : You had a talk with Jason at the apartment right after the Black Mask incident. To reason with him about why killing criminals isn’t the right way to make the world a better place.
dividers by @rookthornesartistry
Bruce forbids you to go and talk to Jason. Not after what he brutally did. You heard the two argue in the batcave with Alfred trying to calm them down. Your whole world watching the two bickering at each other’s throats. Jason killed Black Mask while on the ship, endlessly beating him to a pulp and shot him through the head afterwards. Bruce couldn’t allow this to happen. Even though it just did. So he confronted Jason furiously about the incident.
Alfred couldn’t stand them arguing, he tried his best to help them. As for Dick, well, as much as he wants to lend Alfred a hand. He stepped back because he would rather not be involved between Red Hood and Batman.
After the argument ended, Jason stormed back to his apartment. You tried to go after him but Bruce stopped you, telling you to stay away from him. Dick agreed with Bruce that you should keep your distance from Jason. You ignored their order, hopping on your bike to go to Jason’s apartment.
Eventually you reached his place, rushing off only to see the apartment door was slightly left open.Your heart struck a panic through your body, placing your hand on the knob, opening it fully to see if he was still inside, “Jason? Jason, are you still here?” You called out, closing the door quickly before twisting the knob to shut it, “Jason, we need to talk, please…”
“About what?” Jason revealed himself, coming out of his room seeing that he’s packing his things in his red backpack. He was going to leave Gotham.
“Is it true? That you killed Black Mask?” He didn’t consider expecting you to ask him that. With a cold-killing gaze, Jason walked over to you , “I did. The bastard deserves it. I beat him to a pulp and shot his brains out.” He answered heartlessly.
You shake your head in disapproval, wishing that he didn’t say what he just did, “Jason, this isn’t how we do things around Gotham. We don’t kill.”
Jason threw his backpack angrily onto the floor, turning his furious scowl away from you, “You’re starting to sound like that old man. I’m doing things that he won’t do. I’m taking them all down!” He landed a hard punch towards the wall, consumed with anger and resentment. Causing you a little startlement, you took a step back. His outrage scares you, “J-Jason…”
“It’s always Bruce and his fucking moral codes.” His voice is still poisoned with outbursting hatred, “Do you know how many times the criminals escaped from Arkham Asylum? Criminals like Penguin, Scarecrow, Riddler, Mad Hatter and many others?!”
Your lips remained sealed, hesitating to answer his question. His behaviour worries you completely. “If you keep this up, Jason, you will never go back. I don’t want you to walk down that path. The more you kill, the more rage it will consume your body and soul. Your mind will be trapped in the dark forever.” You explained, conceiving him to change his ways on to deal with criminals in Gotham City, “I’m not a vigilante like you, Dick, or Bruce. I may not be one but all I know is that there are ways to solve the situation but that does not include killing. If you do that, you’ll be stuck there forever.”
Jason turned to glare at you silently before speaking up, his muscles tensing with bursting veins crawling through his skin. You can still sense the anger within him. Still praying and hoping that he will listen to you…but he didn’t
“I thought we were in this together, (Y/n). On the same side, you and I. Seems like I was wrong.” Jason began to doubt you, your body shaken by his words. It hurts to admit that he was right. “I thought you were the only one that understood me better than anyone…” he threw his backpack over his muscular shoulder, walking past you to the apartment door. You slightly opened your cold lips, then zipped it close not knowing what last words you wish to say to the man who’s breaking your heart as he leaves you.
Jason opened the door, looking over his shoulder to see you’re not facing his direction as he said his last words to you, “I don’t care what people think of me anymore. If you’re not with me, (Y/n)....then you’re against me.” He slammed the door and left, leaving you all alone in the apartment.
The man you deeply care about so much…
The one you loved more than anything…walked out of your life forever.
You dropped your knees to the floor, a river of heart-breaking tears streaming down your cheeks. Crying in your hands after watching him leave…
A Month Later…
Things haven’t been the same ever since Jason left Gotham and decided to leave somewhere else. He didn’t tell you where he was currently going before he even left his old apartment. Gotham is still falling into madness. Nothing ever changes there. Criminals roaming through the city as they rob banks, steal from people and commit other similar crimes. It’s a good thing Batman is around. Nightwing too. Normally he remains Bludhaven to protect the town but he helps out Batman sometimes.
Alfred constantly checks on you to see if you are holding up alright. He noticed that you haven’t been keeping up with your daily meals every time he cooks you something. He even tried to comfort you. He knows how much Jason means to you.
‘If you’re not with me….then you’re against me…’
His words haunted your mind and soul, crawling through your broken heart. All the memories you made with your former lover, how could you possibly forget? He was your first love too. With him gone…
It’s like you lost an important part of yourself…
You think about him every single day nonstop. Trying to erase him from your heart didn’t solve the heartbreak you’re going through at the moment. Finding it difficult to move on. Your heart aches whenever a memory of Jason continues to plant every inch of your mind.
Denying how much you miss Jason hurts so much. It made you painfully wanna throw up and snap yourself into pieces. Screaming inside with an aching heart.
Forever trapped in a mind full of memories of your first love…
a/n - Before anyone ask. NO, I will not be writing a part two for this because this looks better as it is. So, please don't force me to write a sequel for this. Thank you.
𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ fem!justice league!reader, ghost!hal ( spectre ), angst, mentions of parallax, mentions of death and grieving and suicidal thoughts/tendencies, violence against reader, all characters featured are 18+
𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ do not repost or translate. please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading <3
𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 ∣ dancing with your ghost by sasha alex sloan
the coffee was cold and bitter.
but then again: so were you.
you finish the cup and set it on the table in front of you, sighing.
you hadn’t slept since you don’t remember when— at least not real sleep. it wasn’t the same as passing out from exhaustion for fifteen minutes at a time upon a pile of newspaper clippings, only to wake up screaming for Hal.
no, not screaming for him. screaming for him to stop.
you’d wanted to get through to him so badly that you’d put the entire League in peril to do so. you thought that if you could just look into his eyes, you could bring him back to the old Hal. your Hal. instead of this awful Parallax he now claimed to be.
you’d been wrong.
you glance down at your hands as you wiggle life back into your fingers— your knuckles were bloody and bruised; cracked open from too much training and too much vigilante justice. they’d all tried to get you to slow down, but none more than Oliver. Arrow still tracked you, and stepped in when you were going to do something extremely foolish. as much as you fought against him, he refused to let you go.
“They’re getting away!” you remember so vividly screaming it over the sound of thunder crashing and the rain that peppered your face as Arrow pinned you to the rooftop, holding your arms down by the wrists. for as wildly as you fought, his strength outmatched yours.
“Let them go,” he’d barked back, tightening his grip when you’d writhed, “there’s too many of them. You can’t take them down by yourself. You’re not even wearing your gear—“
“Who cares—“
“I care!” Oliver had screamed, pushing you back down when you bucked to get up. you stutter, startled by the break in his voice. you’d known Arrow for as long as you’d been in the Justice League, obviously, but the real bonding had been after Hal’s death. with Barry not around to fall back on, you’d been worried that you’d lean on OlIver until it broke him right along with you, so you’d pulled back. he was a persistent bastard, though, and he never let you get too far. “They’re armed to the teeth. Machine guns. You can’t just punch your way through a militia.They’ll kill you if you go after them alone,” you open your mouth to say something, but when no noise comes out, Queen keeps going, “that may not mean anything to you but it does to me. Hal would never forgive me if I let you do something this reckless.”
you wanted to cry, but your tears had long since dried up. so you choked on the words. “Hal’s dead.”
it hurt Oliver, too, for those words to come out. as you struggled to push them free from your lips, he winced, as if they drove themselves into his heart. “But you’re not.” he countered after a moment of silently pleading with his eyes. he wanted you to feel something so badly, and yet all you felt was guilt that you couldn’t feel anything at all. “Hal was my best friend.” it went without saying that he loved Hal, and so did you, but he uttered the words anyways. “Whether you want to believe it or not, you’re all that I really have left of the guy. I can’t lose you, too. Not after I swore to him I’d keep you safe. When my time comes, I will look him in the eyes and tell him I kept my promise.”
you stare at him, quiet, considering each word carefully. had Hal been himself enough in his dying moments for Ollie to make such a promise, or had Ollie spoken his intentions into the sky after Hal fell? did it really matter?
thinking about that night on the rooftop with Oliver, you reached up to gingerly caress the power ring that hangs from a silver chain around your neck, most of the time hidden by the neckline of your top, but not tonight. the ring rests right against your heart. you hadn’t even known Hal had given it to Oliver until that night, when he’d placed it on your finger. nothing happened, but Arrow said it was because he’d never attempted to charge it. he was too afraid of the power, he didn’t think he could wield it. you felt almost the same way.
John offered to charge it for you, too, but you refused. it wasn’t yours to wield. it was Hal’s. you wouldn’t try to pick up where he left off. you just wanted something of his to remember him.
right now, you get up and stumble over to the window, kicking old coffee cups and fast food wrappers. you really should take better care of yourself, it was what everyone was telling you, but you rarely found the time or energy to eat at all. it didn’t matter to you what it was, it didn’t taste very good, anyways. nothing did. so, whatever was fast and easily accessible usually won out. there’s a slight limp on your right side, as putting too much pressure down when walking would irritate what you expected was a fracture somewhere between your knee and your thigh— due to falling out of a third story window a few days before.
from your viewpoint, you could see most of the city, and you press your palm to the glass. it was a quiet night, which you hated, now. the silence. it was like it taunted you. at the very least, if you were kicking some bad guy ass, you could focus on the sound of his jaw breaking against your hand, or his ribs cracking under your knee. you didn’t have to think. just punch.
but when there was no one to hurt, no one to bring down, you started to collapse into yourself. think about Hal. try to imagine the way he used to smile when he said your name, as if the syllables themselves were enough to make him giddy. you hated yourself for starting to forget what his voice sounded like.
you’d tried, desperately, to hold on to that memory by calling his phone over and over, just to hear his voicemail.
Hey, you’ve reached Hal Jordan. I’m super busy right now, probably doing something really cool like, I don’t know, saving the freakin’ world so I can’t pick up. If you’ve got this number, then you probably know that already. Leave a message, and I’ll try to find some time to get back atcha, ya know, once I’m done with the whole superhero thing.
you’d heard it dozens of times, but it was never enough. and then, finally, the number was disconnected. as if the final shred of him was erased, and all you were left with was memories.
but memories fade, and you feared his would, too.
a battalion of police cars, all lit up, scream down the highway in front of your building, and the sirens pull you from your thoughts of Hal. staring at the direction the flashing lights mesh into, you bite down on your lip.
you shouldn’t go.
you were still healing from the last fight.
“Sorry, Ollie.” you whisper to no one but yourself, as you limp over to your gear across the room. he would have to get tired of chasing you around eventually, trying to be your safety net all the time. he wouldn’t have to tell Hal anything, because you’d decided you’d reunite with him first. you’d explain everything as soon as you were safely in his arms.
you were zipping up your combat boots when you hear his voice, and you freeze. “Let the cops handle this one.”
you stare down at the toes of your boots, worn and mud-covered. you’d stopped keeping your gear as clean as you used to. that’s not all. your feet were not the only two you were looking at. focused on the second set, those heavy, brown boots that you knew so well. they’d been left forgotten by your bedroom door much too often to forget. now, they meet faded denim jeans at the ankle. “H—Hal…?”
you didn’t want to look up, terrified that you would be alone. terrified that you were simply hearing things. seeing things.
“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he answers, and a familiar sensation of his hand slipping under your chin, fingers curling to tilt your head up, overwhelms you. they’re the same shape as Hal’s, but they’re freezing cold. your lower lip tremors as you force yourself to look up. “I thought it would only confuse you or hurt you. I just really wanted to see you. I’m sorry that I’m selfish that way.”
he was here.
Hal was really here, standing in front of you. he wasn’t clad in his Green Lantern suit, or that horrible Parallax costume. he was standing before you in his jeans, a faded blue button down, and his dad’s brown pilot jacket. the one he always wore.
“Hal.” you could only say his name, because other than that, nothing mattered. you didn’t care why he was there or how it was possible— you only cared that he was. “Hal...” it’s a cry as you fling yourself into his arms, bury your face in his chest. he was solid, because he caught you and wrapped his arms around your frame, pulling you close to him. he wasn’t an illusion.
“I miss you,” he whispers into your hair, his arms tightening around you. “I miss you holding me like this.”
for the first time in a long time, you feel a lump in your throat, and a tickle against your tear ducts. “You can’t stay.” you mutter. he didn’t have to say it, you knew Hal. the way he squeezed you extra tight when he didn’t want to let go, but he knew he had to.
“I shouldn’t even be here,” he admits, pulling back. he presses his cool forehead to yours and urges you to look up at him, “bad things happen when I’m around. I can’t control it. There’s this… thing inside of me, calls itself The Spectre. When I’m here, I hurt people.”
“Here.” you repeat the word, looking up into his eyes. they looked like Hal’s deep, mahogany eyes. you couldn’t imagine anything malicious lurking behind them.
but then again, you’d faced Parallax.
Hal looks around the humblest of apartments, and you can feel the concern radiating from his baritone as he murmurs, “Baby…” his gaze traipses every discarded coffee cup before it falls back on you, and he reaches up, caressing your cheek, “When’s the last time you slept?”
you melt into the caress— you didn’t care how cold it was, and clapped your hand over his to keep it there. “I don’t know,” you admit, sheepish. “I might be asleep right now. Dreaming all of this. You’re probably not even here.”
Hal frowns, and takes a step backwards, grasping both of your hands to urge you to follow, so that he can ease on to the couch. “It’s real,” he assures you. you follow him, scrambling to stay close until he can pull you on to the couch. you fall against him, wrapping your arms around his midsection underneath his jacket. the smell of leather that always greeted you when you hugged him was no longer there. he didn’t smell like anything. “Hard to explain, but real. I’m a… a ghost, I guess.”
“You’re cold.” you pout; you were trying to cuddle into him, but now matter how deep you burrowed against his chest, how fervently you tried to rub your warmth into his body, he wasn’t retaining any of it. it was like cuddling a block of ice— not your personal heater that Hal used to be.
“I’m sorry.”
you knew the apology was for more than just your shivering. you could feel the tips of his icy fingers as they trail along your spine, they stop to brush against a rough patch of scar tissue along the small of your back underneath your top. you remember, so vividly, the look on his face when Parallax had driven a construct blade through your belly. the force behind it had swept you off your feet and hoisted you into the air, where your blood dribbled from the corners of your mouth and rained down against his wicked, toothy grin.
what were you supposed to say? ‘It’s okay’? ‘No worries’? you opt for nothing at all, and press the side of your face against the expanse of his chest. maybe part of you hoped you’d hear the subtle thumping of a heart, and you could make sure he knows how much of a jackass he was for playing this awful, awful practical joke on you. but no such luck.
whatever was inside of Hal’s chest wasn’t beating. it was almost as if he were completely hollow.
for several moments, you lay there in silence, letting him hold you. he kisses the crown of your head every now and then, but mostly stays still, too. finally, as your eyelids start to feel heavy, you grip his jacket tighter, fighting your own drowsiness.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs, “it’s okay to go to sleep.”
“No,” it was almost hard to whimper back in response. “Because I know you won’t be here when I wake up.”
he’s quiet, and you know that you’re right.
“I’m drowning, Hal.” you admit with a sniffle. it’d been the first time you had conjured tears in months. “I don’t know how to live in a world without you in it.” you dig your chin into his chest and look at him, but he’s staring far away, guilt plastered over his features. “Please don’t leave me again.” you swallow again, around the thick lump in your throat as your tears cascade over the apples of your cheeks, “If you love me, you’ll stay here. Help me. Please. Make it stop hurting so goddamn much—“
you’re silenced as a swift thumb swipes the tears from one cheek, and he looks down at you. his countenance is mournful; apologetic. “I wish you were smiling.” he whispers. you wonder if he’s unable to cry in this state. if he were still alive, would he sob with you? you felt that he might. instead, the air around the two of you felt heavy with sadness and regret. “Coming here had been a mistake I was willing to make because I would get to see you smile again, but I can only see how much pain I’ve caused.”
“Please,” you whimper, even as he purses his lips to gingerly soothe your crying, “I need you here with me. Just s—stay, I won’t tell anyone.” bargaining desperately, you grasp at his hand again. you didn’t care about the Spectre, you just wanted Hal.
“I wish that I could, but I’ve hurt you enough.” he laments, “And the pain that I’ve caused, I can’t make it go away for you.”
“I can’t do this without you.”
a sorrowful smile etched his tiers into a pathetic excuse for a smile. “Of course you can.” you were shaking your head no even as he speaks, as if refusing to hear him out. “But you have to ease up,” he flips his hand over to hold yours, gently running his thumb over your busted knuckles, “stop trying to get yourself killed, stop being reckless. I want you to heal.”
you look away, humiliated, and consider jerking your hand from his, but you don’t. you stare at the wall, wishing your tears would dry up again.
“You have to take care of yourself,” he continues, kissing each, battered digit, “there’s still so many people that need you.”
and what about the people that need you? what about me? the questions are on the tip of your tongue, but you can’t ask them.
“Promise me, baby. Promise me you’ll be careful.”
you really don’t want to.
you want to hold your own well-being hostage so he’s no choice but to stay, but when you look back into his eyes, you crumble.
they’re so desolate.
“I promise.” you croak weakly, and he pulls you back against him. you crash against his chest and cry there, your tears leaving no wet patch on his shirt. it was bizarre, but you didn’t stop to ponder it. “What will happen when I fall asleep?” you ask. truth be told, you were tuckered out from crying and the lingering insomnia. you didn’t want to hear him say he’d leave, but you didn’t want him to lie, either.
damned if he did, damned if he didn’t.
“I’ll have to go.” he answers honestly, but you don’t want to fight any longer. it hurts too much knowing that you’ll lose no matter what. “But I’ll hold you until the Spectre forces me to leave.”
you close your eyes, and grip his shirt in tightly balled fists. you were falling into unconsciousness, even though you wanted to stay awake with him.
“It’s okay.” he croons.
but it wasn’t. there was still too much to say that you’d not been able to. too many times to kiss him, and you would never have the chance to again. “Just…” your eyelids were too heavy to keep open, your voice thick with impending sleep that was well overdue. you knew that you’d hurt in the morning, but you could fight it no longer. “Say it… please… Hal…”
