Whumptober 2022: Alt Prompt for Day 10. Carried to Safety
Fandom: Batman, Batfamily, Batfam
Word Count: 1722
TW: Aftermath of Reader Death, Grief, Injuries from Part 1, Death of a Family Member
Notes: Sequel to Wrong Place, Wrong Time that shows how the Batfamily deals with the events from Part 1
Thank you to @whoreforfictionalmen18 for the idea!
Wrong Place, Wrong Time, Aftermath
They had to wait almost three hours after you were gone before they were able to remove the remaining debris from your body. Jason had wanted to get help digging you out immediately, but Dick reminded him that you would have wanted the other injured people around you to be helped first. The ones who still might be saved. So, Dick had gently closed your unseeing eyes, and they waited for help to become available.
Once all the survivors of the blast had been helped, a few firefighters came over to help them. And as they moved the largest piece of debris off your leg, it was instantly apparent that you had been right. A piece of metal had embedded itself into your thigh, cutting it nearly in half and creating a large pool of blood under you. If they had removed the wall while you were still alive, you would have been in agony every second until you had bled out. At least Dick and Jason took comfort in the fact you didn’t have to experience that.
After you were at last freed, Dick gently lifted you into his arms, drawing you tightly against his chest. As he headed towards your car parked a few blocks away, he carried you carefully, as if you might shatter at any moment. He frequently paused to readjust your mask every time the hood began to slip off your face. It shouldn’t have mattered anymore, but it did.
Jason silently trailed behind him, his expression as hard and as blank as his helmet. You had been his lifeline when he returned to Gotham as Red Hood. Your faith in him had never waivered no matter what he did or how he lashed out at you. And in time, it was only because of your love and belief in him that he had been willing to give the rest of his family a chance again. But now that you were gone, he felt lost once more.
When they finally reached your car, Dick hesitated. Glancing back at Jason, he whispered, “We need the keys.”
Jason’s jaw tightened as he swallowed heavily. He nodded once before approaching you. With a silent plea of I’m so sorry for this, he began digging through your pockets trying to locate your keys. A few silent tears slid down Dick’s face as he turned his head and he let out a sigh of relief when Jason produced the keys a few seconds later.
Jason opened the passenger door and waited for Dick to climb in with you still in his arms. Once he was settled, Jason hurried to the other side and slid into the driver’s seat. As they drove through the city on the way back to the manor, neither one of them spoke, but they both knew they were thinking about the same thing. Only hours ago, the two of them had been bickering about who got to ride up front while you desperately tried to mediate the situation. But this time there was no need to argue…. They both got to sit up front.
The drive seemed to stretch on forever, but eventually, Jason pulled up outside the manor. As Dick carried you inside, both he and Jason expected Alfred to appear at any moment, yet there was no sign of the butler so they continued down into the Batcave.
As they descended the stairs, Tim glanced up from where he was working on the Batcomputer. Springing to his feet, he hurried over to them. “Hey guys, did you hear about this explosion over at the theat-'' but he staggered to a stop when he saw what was bundled in Dick’s arms.
Tears instantly welling up in his eyes, he took a single step forward, “Dick?”
Dick turned slightly, trying to shield you from Tim’s view. “Timmy, stay back. You don’t need to see this.”
Tim shook his head, still not believing what he was seeing in front of him. “But, wha- Is she-…. No. She… she can’t be…”
“Where’s Bruce?” Dick asked solemnly.
“I-I don’t…. He and Damian were… I don’t…”
Dick nodded. “It’s okay, Tim. I’ll find them. Why don’t you take a seat?”
Tim nodded numbly, his eyes never leaving your still form as he backed up and collapsed into the chair he had been sitting in when they arrived. “But what-” His face paled and he swiveled to face the computer screen that was still showing footage of the explosion. Softly, he whispered, “The movies…. You guys were there?”
“Yeah,” Dick muttered. “She was standing at the front door when it… when it happened.”
He carried you into the medical bay and laid you gently on one of the tables. Only then did he lower the hood with the build-in mask, clearly revealing your face. Behind the blood, dust, and bruise, your expression was so tranquil and serene that if Dick wasn’t conscious of the lack of rise and fall of your chest, he would have thought you were just sleeping.
He squeezed your shoulder tightly as he whispered, “I’m sorry.”
From the doorway behind him, Jason growled, “It was those goddamn sunglasses! If she would’ve just asked instead of going back for them, this never would have happened!” It was the first time he had spoken since Dick had lifted you from the rubble.
Without turning around, Dick whispered, “She couldn’t have known, Jason. None of us could have known.”
“This wasn’t supposed to happen! Not to her! She was the best of us and she deserved so much better. She deserved to live her life, or at least die a hero. Not retrieving a pair of sunglasses that were still on her goddamn head!”
Dick opened his mouth but before he could speak, Tim’s voice squeaked from the other room. “Bruce!”
Dick and Jason both paled and looked at each other, unsure of what to do. But finally, Dick nodded softly. “I’ll do it. It should be me.”
Jason lowered his eyes but followed Dick as he walked back into the main area of the cave. Bruce was in his Batman suit, the cowl resting on the floor next to his foot. He was bent down next to the computer chair trying to find out what was wrong from a crying Tim, but when he saw his two eldest wards enter the room, their faces solemn, he stood.
“What is it? What happened?” he demanded.
Dick, Jason, and Tim all exchanged a look before Dick stepped forward. “Bruce, I’m so sorry. She, um…. We tried but there was nothing we could do.”
The realization of what Dick was saying slowly dawned on Bruce. His usual stoic face crumbled into one of pain and disbelief. Gruffly, he asked, “Where is she?”
Dick motioned to the room he and Jason had just left. Bruce crossed the room in three large strides but paused as he reached the doorway and saw you laying on the table. Slowly, he crept into the room until he was standing next to you. Slowly, he reached out and brushed some of the dirt off your cheek. He thought back to the night he had found you, huddled in an alleyway, dirty and alone. You had been so weak and malnourished but you soon blossomed into a strong, capable, amazing young woman that Bruce had loved. You might not have been his daughter by blood, but you were his daughter in every other way that mattered. And he hoped that you had known that. That you had known what you truly meant to him. Before….
“We went to the movies. We were finally letting ourselves take a day off and just be normal,” Dick whispered from behind him. “She was happy until–”
“Until she was blown up and had half a building dropped on top of her.” Jason snapped. “But that’s just another day in Gotham City, isn’t it? The bad guys are left alive to continue their paths of death and destruction over and over again while the good guys, the innocent guys are left to suffer and die.”
“Jason…” Dick muttered softly. “This isn’t the time fo–”
“Did she suffer?” Bruce interrupted. “Was she in any…”
“No. She said it was mostly just numb,” Dick reassured him.
But Jason scoffed loudly. “Would she have actually told us if she was in pain? She would have wanted us to think she was okay, even if she had been in pure agony.”
Bruce nodded. “She always tries- tried to look out for everyone else, even above herself.”
The three men stood in silence, gazing down at you as they thought about everything you had done for them over the years.
Bruce sighed. “Damian’s already out on patrol. He’ll need to be called back. He deserves to know and he deserves to hear it from us.”
Dick nodded. “I’ll let him know we need him back here.” As he turned to leave, he grabbed Jason’s arm and forced him to come with him so Bruce could have a moment alone.
Bruce looked longingly at you one last time. “I’m so sorry. I wish I would have been there. I wish I could have done something, anything to save you. I would have taken your place in an instant.”
It was only at that moment that he looked down and noticed the hoodie you were wearing. His fingers lightly traced the bat emblem that was plastered across your chest. “You understood what this meant more than any of the boys. What it stood for and why. You just understood each of us better than anyone else. Now who’s going to mediate family dinners?”
Bruce waited a moment, almost as though he were expecting a reply. But when he didn’t get one, he whispered, “Thank you, for everything. You pulled me back from the edge so many times. You held us together when we threatened to shatter apart. You brought Jason back to us when I never thought he would forgive me. And I don’t know what we’ll do without you. But I hope wherever you are, you’re at peace. You deserve nothing less.”
He leaned over and placed a long kiss on your forehead before whispering, “Goodbye, my daughter.”
Then he turned and walked out of the door, closing it behind him.
Note: Thank you to @lanatheawesome for requesting the Alternate POV!
Alternate POV of this drabble: Seeing Red
Everything had seemed to pass in a blur. One minute, Clark had been investigating Luthor’s latest laboratory, and then….. nothing. Now, all he can remember after that are flashes, tinged in a burning red glow. As if trying to shake off a dense fog, he blinks a few times as he tries to recall what happened and where he is. As his eyes come into focus, he finally notices you just about a foot in front of him. The look on your face sends a wave of terror and concern through him. It is one he has never seen on you before, especially not directed at him. Fear, uncertainty, and, most of all, pain. So much pain.
Your mouth moves slightly as if trying to gain the strength to speak and he can see blood spilling out from between your lips. Then, slowly, painfully, you choke out, “Cl-Clark?”
“Y/N?” he responds, still unsure what is going on or where the two of you are. He glances down and his heart freezes. No! “Oh my god! Y/N!”
You are hovering hundreds of feet in the air, which isn’t that concerning given his powers, but what is concerning is the manner in which you are staying in the air. Clark’s arm is currently jammed into your chest so far it disappears almost up to his elbow. He can feel your heart as it gently beats against the back of his fingers and, to his absolute horror, he can feel it gradually slowing down. As gently as he can, he tries to dislodge his arm from your chest, but the sobbing howl of pain that rips from your lips at the movement stops him immediately. And even when he freezes once more, a low, continuous moan sounds in your throat and it tears Clark’s heart in two.
Suddenly, it all comes rushing back. Someone throwing a glass vial at him in Luthor’s lab, the feeling of the red Kryptonite taking over his system, tearing through the city as he destroyed everything in his path, slamming Jason into a brick wall as he attempted to hit Tim with his laser beams, then you…. You had offered up yourself to save your brother and you had gotten Clark’s fist through your sternum for your bravery. He remembers, as if in slow motion, the feeling of his knuckles contacting the Kevlar of your suit. How it offered no resistance to his superstrength. Neither did your flesh or bones as his fist continued through the armor into your chest. And yet, through the pain and the betrayal, you had never given up on him. You somehow managed to find the strength to smash the antidote against his face. You had saved him even as you were dying by his hand.
As gently as he can without jostling his arm, he pulls you into his chest. He can feel a slight tremor traveling the length of your body and he flinches. He cannot even begin to fathom the amount of pain you must be in at the moment, yet you are somehow managing to not completely fall apart or freak out. But then again, Clark expects nothing less from you. You are too much like your father. Bruce. Oh, God. How is he going to be able to handle this?
Slowly, Clark floats down to the ground, holding you as still as possible. As you return to earth, he lays you softly in the grass. Your head falls weakly to the side and as your eyes focus on something in the distance, Clark sees tears welling up in your eyes for the first time. He glances at what you are looking at and spies the rest of Bruce’s kids standing a few hundred feet away.
Dick has his arm wrapped around Jason as the other boy struggles weakly against him. Jay’s busted red helmet lay at their feet and Clark can see blood drying where it had flowed down his face, probably from when Clark had thrown him against the wall. Even from here, Clark can hear Dick murmur softly, “There’s nothing we can do for her, Jay. And going over there will just upset her. And you’re hurt too. Stop struggling and think about what she would want.” Clark watches Jason still slightly at his brother’s words and softly nods.
Shifting his gaze to Tim, Clark thankfully notes that he is on the comms calling Batman. Frantically, he cries, “Bruce! We need you here. NOW! She… I don’t… It’s bad. Please, you need to get here now!”
He rests his hand on his youngest brother’s shoulder, but Damian doesn’t even seem to notice. His gaze is locked firmly on your face and he barely even blinks as he takes in the sight before him. Tim finally notices and gives his shoulder a squeeze. “She’ll be okay, Dami.” His voice is shaky and filled with uncertainty.
“No. She won’t be.” The youngest boy replies bluntly. Unlike Tim, Damian’s voice is firm and stoic as there is no doubt in his tone that what he said was true. Clark knows Damian had seen and experienced more in his young life than seasoned heroes twice his age and he recognized death when he saw it.
Clark turns his attention back to you. Your breathing has slowed significantly since he first came to his senses and it is growing more rasping and labored with every inhale. Using his super hearing and x-ray vision, he quickly notices your lungs are filling with blood. And as he is assessing what can be done to stop or at least slow the bleed, he hears you softly mutter, “Dad…. where’s my …. dad?”
Once again, Clark’s heart breaks. Suddenly, he doesn’t see the brave warrior laying before him, but the tiny six-year-old he first met all those years ago clinging to the back of her father’s cape. He vowed that night to always watch over you and care for you, yet here you were, your life draining away because of him. Choking back tears, he runs his hand over your hair like he did when he was trying to put you at ease back then as he whispers, “He’s on his way. Just hold on.”
You must have heard the regret and sorrow in his voice because as you nod, you mutter, “Not you- don’t blame….”
It was the final straw. The tears he had been holding back slowly spill down his cheeks. Even through all your pain, you still were looking out for others. You had every right to condemn Clark for what was happening. He might not have been in control of his actions, but it was still his fist currently residing within your chest. And yet, you were using some of the last of your strength to make sure he knew you did not blame him for this. He is about to respond when a movement out of the corner of his eye steals his attention away. Bruce has arrived.
Your father races through the alleyways until he bursts into the opening where the rest of his children are standing. He falters slightly as he sees your prone form on the ground with his best friend’s arm thrust through your chest. His eyes flicker up to meet Clark’s and the Kryptonian just hopes that he can see the sorrow and regret that is etched on his face. Clark watches a myriad of emotions flash across the bottom half of Bruce’s face before he steels himself and rushes to his daughter’s side.
As soon as he is close enough for you to see, Clark feels you perk up slightly beneath his touch. There is a hint of a smile in your voice as you whisper, “Hi….. Dad….”
Bruce kneels down and cups your face in his hand. Ignoring Clark completely, he rubs his thumb across your cheek as he murmurs, “Hey, babybat. It’s going to be okay. Help is on the way.” His tone is soft and soothing in a way Clark has only heard in the direst of situations and only ever directed at one of Bruce’s children.
You must have been thinking the same thing because you say in a labored, slurred voice, “Wow, thing….not good.…if you using tha- tone.” The chuckle at the end quickly morphs into a ragged cough as your body convulses violently. Clark tries to hold you still as gently as possible, but your moan of pain returns, louder this time.
Yet, when you regain some of your composure, you reach up and touch the edge of your father’s cowl. Bruce rips it off and Clark gets an unobstructed view of the pain and heartbreak that is radiating off him. Clark turns his head to give the pair of you as much privacy he can while his hand is still lodged in your chest. But he can’t help but overhear you whisper, “Please…. take… care of…….. them…. They’ll need….. you…..” Always the most caring and thoughtful big sister, even at the end.
Suddenly, the emergency vehicles that someone had remembered to call, came rolling up. Bruce looks to Clark and in a low voice, so you hopefully don’t hear, he mutters, “How do we do this? Do we have them take her to the hospital with you still….-” he can’t bring himself to say the words so he just moves on “- or do you remove it first?”
Clark closes his eyes and takes a deep breath as he tries to find the words to tell his best friend the reality of the situation. “Bruce… I am so sorry but… There’s nothing…. They can’t- No one can fix this. I can see the damage, I can feel it, and it’s…. it’s too great. I don’t even know how she’s still-”
Clark and Bruce’s attention immediately snap back to you as you tap your thumb once on your father’s face. He bends down closer, gathering you in his arms as much as he can without hurting you further. A fresh line of blood trails from the corner of your mouth as, in a voice that is barely more than a last gasp of air, you say, “Thank you…..for….the life….you gave….me. I don-don’t…. regret a sec– of it……..”
As you choke out the final word and your head falls to the side, Clark feels your heart slow to a stop against his fingers. Horrified, he exchanges a look of alarm with Bruce before your father turns back to you, clutching your face and begging you to look at him. But your eyes have already turned glassy as they stare blankly ahead. As Bruce crumples down on top of you, pressing his forehead firmly against yours as he continues to plead with your still form, Clark slides his fingers over and begins squeezing your heart with his hand. He knows it is a futile effort, that even if he can get it restarted manually, the blood filling your lungs would make it impossible for you to breathe. But he tries anyway.
And he doesn’t stop as he hears a shout, and a small figure appears at your side. Somehow, it doesn’t surprise Clark that Damian is the first break and come to you. As much as the boy tries to stay aloof and keep a distance between himself and the rest of the family, he knows how much his sister means to him. But instead of reaching out to you as he expected, Damian gently places his hand on Bruce’s back. The man turns his head slightly to look at his youngest son, silent tears streaming down his face. And then, he wraps his arm around Damian and pulls him into his chest.
In seconds, Dick, Jason, and Tim arrive. Dick just stares down at you in disbelief. His permanent smile and joyful light in his eyes are gone, replaced with disbelief and pain. Jason is glaring hate-filled daggers at Clark, and truthfully, Clark can’t blame him. Even as he continues to try and restart your heart, he knows that each and every one of them should hate him. Just as he hates himself. Every one of their reactions just adds to Clark’s regret and sorrow. But Tim…. Tim is the most heartbreaking to see.
He collapses to the ground a few feet from your body, sobs already racking his lean frame. Dick tears himself away from you and bends down to comfort his brother. Even with his super hearing, Clark can only just make out Tim’s words through his wails, “It’s all my fault. She was just protecting me. It should have been me.” Clark didn’t think he could have felt any worse at that moment, but hearing this proved him wrong.
Softly, Clark whispers, “Bruce… I’m-”
But the other man cuts him off. “You need to go. We’ll talk about this later but for now…. Just go.” His voice is wavering and thicker than usual as he tries to speak past the pain in his chest. And as much as Clark wants to stay and comfort his friends, his family, he knows Bruce is right.
With one final squeeze to your heart, a final goodbye, Clark removes his arm from your chest. Part of him was expecting some sort of reaction but of course, there was none. Corpses don’t have reactions.
Clark glances at everyone one final time and then takes to the sky, putting as much distance between himself and this nightmare as he can. In moments, he arrives in the Arctic just outside the Fortress of Solitude. It was the only place he could think of to go at the moment. But as he raises his hand to open the door, he sees your blood still coating his arm up to his elbow. The thick, crimson liquid streams down his outstretched hand and he flashes back to the look on your face as he punched through your body.
Dropping to his knees, he buries his fist into the snow, desperately trying to remove your blood from his fingers, from the grooves in his hand, from underneath his nails. But after a moment, he realizes that it feels just the same as when his fist was buried in your chest, and he yanks it out as quickly as he can. Still kneeling in the snow, tears begin to roll down his face as he stares at the hole he created. And as Clark mourns the loss of a person he loved like family, he watches as your remaining blood drips from his hand onto the snow until he is left just seeing red.
This might be a weird request, but can you take your favorite song and make a batfam story with it? I saw the “Kristy, Are You Doing Okay?” fic and immediately folded I loved it so much <3 <3 <3
The Ghost of You.
YES YES YES! It's really hard for me to just pick one song, but this came to mind so i thought i'd give it a go. Also this probably wasn't what you were after anon, so i'm sorry. You're all going to hate me after this :(
Summary: After your death, the batfam struggle to navigate their lives without you.
Warnings: This fic deals with death (mildly graphic) and the aftermath, contains suicidal thoughts, grief, unhealthy ways of processing grief and some other heavy content so please be advised.
Word Count: 2k
⛤ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛤
I never said I'd lie and wait forever
If I died, we'd be together
I can't always just forget her
But she could try
Tim was the first to arrive too late.
Your body had already careened over to the side, collapsing into a puddle of your own blood. Tim faltered as he made his way over to you, gawping at the arrows that protruded gruesomely from your stomach, your shoulder and the back of your knee. That was what had taken you down: a well placed shot to the back of the joint. The other two followed as insurance. To ensure that you would bleed out.
And even though Tim was right there, he faltered. Even though he could see the way your chest spluttered as you fought for air, he couldn’t bring himself to move. His hands shook. His lips trembled. And if anyone was focusing hard enough they would have been able to see the glint as water collected in his eyes.
Then came Jason, grappling down from the building. He had heard it before he saw it. Grimacing at the way your cry was followed by two more, he was gripped tight by a fit of rage. Mercilessly he took out the two crooks in front of him so he could dash to your side. He should have been helping Nightwing and Batman, but at that moment all he could focus on was your safety.
He managed to gather himself up enough to try and press around the arrows, but your blood pooled through the fabric of your suit and your breathing had slowed to nearly nothing. Tim had finally got himself to move and he was sure that he heard someone call your name. Though he couldn’t remember if it was himself or Jason. Either way he too pressed down harshly around the arrow to try and staunch the blood flow. And it should have hurt. God, you should have been thrashing and screaming. But you just lay there, spluttering as you faded. Tim didn’t know what was worse; but he came to the conclusion that the sound of your agonised scream was better than waiting in this near listless silence.
“Just hold on, Raven.” Jason. But you would have never guessed it from the way his normally firm voice wavered. “We’re going to get you to help…j-just a little longer.
Then you moved. Your hands shifted to lay atop of theirs and you strained your head to see them. Tim’s stomach dropped as you looked at him with your hooded eyes and small smile. A gesture of consolidation. You were trying to tell them that it was okay. It made Tim want to hurl. How could you be thinking of them in a time like this?
“Y/N..?” Tim muttered. He should have used your vigilante name. He didn’t care.
“s’okay” you slurred as your eyes fluttered at him. You could no longer make out much as your vision became a blur of colour. Jason palled at the sight of the crimson that stained your teeth as a sickening contrast to the paleness of your skin. He wanted to look anywhere else, like to Dick and Damian who were still trying to take down the criminals who just wouldn’t quit, but he couldn’t tear his eyes off of your face.
“S’gonna b-be ok..”
“No…” Tim was crying now. They both were. Neither made any effort to try and hide it.
“P-promise you won’t do…any’thn stupid-” you mumbled.
Tim brushed his thumb over your hand. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to but he would. For you. “I promise…”
You wanted to turn your attention to Jason, but your eyes fluttered and you could feel your strength fading.
“ Love you…” Then, your chest rose… and fell as you took your final breath.
~
At the end of the world or the last thing I see
You are never coming home, never coming home
Could I? Should I?
And all the things that you never ever told me
And all the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me
The manor was silent. Deathly silent.
And even though the manor was the busiest it had been for a while it still seemed so empty. It was almost like the minute that your heart stopped pumping, so did all of the life in the manor.
Dick hardly slept. He spent his nights staring blankly at the ceiling, letting his thoughts carry him away because if he didn’t his mind would torture him with pictures of you. He had thought about it. He had thought about it a lot actually. Especially after he had seen your body being lowered into the ground sealing you into nothingness. You were gone.
Dick remembered Jason and Tim uttering something about promising not to do anything stupid. But he wasn’t sure. They didn’t talk much anymore. He thinks he remembered them saying that they had promised you. But he hadn’t. And so the thought crossed his mind often. If he was only brave enough to do it. Oh, what he would jive to see even just a ghost of one of your charismatic grins again. Or to hear your laughter as you sang to your music poorly in your room across the hall. You often used to keep the door open, just a crack as a form of comfort blanket and that let your voice carry through the hall. But now the door was firmly closed.
Pull yourself together. Dick blinked away the film that formed in his eyes. Though no tears fell; he had cried himself dry a long time ago. You wouldn’t want this. Dick had tried to tell himself. But it seemed everything he did reminded him of you. Reminded him how he was never going to see you again. And it hurt. You were still so young. You had your entire life ahead of you to live and Dick yeared to have seen it. But it was ripped away from you cruelly like candy from a child.
Ever get the feeling that you're never all alone?
And I remember now
Your bloodstained face was burned permanently into Tim’s mind. It was there every time his eyes drifted closed.
Each time he finally got himself to sleep, there you were. Crying out his name.
He should have been quicker. Tim scolded himself often for this. He thought that his fumble could have been the difference between you living and dying. But of course, he had frozen. His body had refused to function no matter how much his brain screamed at him to just move! But he was frozen. He remembered watching fearfully as Jason, who was much further away, dropped to his feet from above and tried feebly to help. If only he had been just that little bit quicker. If only he had been paying attention then you wouldn’t have gotten hurt in the first place.
He was sitting in the batcave, staring blankly at the monitors. Not because he wanted to but because someone had to. Though him being there wouldn’t have made much difference. All of the shapes on the screen had blurred into one colour.
Tim had never felt more lonely sitting in the plush chair because usually you would be there with him. Cracking a joke or two, or reminding him he needed to go to sleep with a gentle touch on the shoulder or his hand. Sometimes Tim thought he could still feel it. A phantom pain: like when someone loses a limb.
You had become such an important part of his daily life that his body yeared for your touch or the sound of your voice. He yearned for the warmth of your fingers, but then remembered that the last time he felt them, they were ice cold and covered in your own blood.
At the top of my lungs in my arms, she dies
She dies.
Jason was angry. He had never handled his grief well, even from a young age. And his coping mechanisms were far from healthy. Whilst his brothers spent their time reserved to themselves, Jason was searching for revenge. But he had promised you he wouldn’t do anything stupid.
So he found his solitude in a punching bag.
Your scream piercing through the air. A punch to the bag so hard that it swung violently on its bolt.
The feeling of your blood trickling around his fingers. A right hook.
Your cold and clammy skin against his as he removed his gloves to trail his hands along your face. Another.
Your last words falling from your tongue. Punch.
Your chest rising as you spluttered. Punch. punch.
Your last exhale. Punchpunchpuch.
He kept going until his knuckles were a mangled and bloody mess and he felt like his jaw might snap from how much he had been clenching it.
Jason didn’t bother to wrap his knuckles as he trudged towards the shower, despite how much they burnt and throbbed. But for some sick reason he couldn’t wrap his mind around, he savoured it. Almost as a punishment for not being able to save you.
When he slipped into the shower, he still couldn’t stop the flood of images ricocheting around his head like a broken record that still somehow managed to play no matter how scratched up it was. He thought he might have found some solace in the feeling of the water trickling over his skin, but all he found was his mind confusing it for the feeling of your blood on his skin.
Jason let out a cry of anguish, bringing his fists to clench at his hair as he sank to the floor and began to cry.
And all the wounds that are ever gonna scar me
For all the ghosts that are never gonna catch me
If I fall, if I fall down
Damian had seen a lot of death in his life. That came as part of being a human weapon. But no death tore him up as much as yours.
He would forever remember the cold that gripped him when he saw Jason with your body in his arms. He had never felt so empty as Bruce tried to pull him away. Damian had fought against him, nearly clawing at his father to try and get to you, but Bruce just held him close and pressed Damians face into his chest to shield him from the horrors in front of him. But it was too late. He had already seen your mangled body and he couldn’t help the way his body trembled as he clung to Bruce like a scared little child.
And Damian would never admit it, but he was scared.
Scared of how everything would play out now that you were gone. Scared that you were angry at him for being so far away. Scared that because he wasn’t there when it mattered most, that it might happen again.
He should have been there. Damian cursed to himself.
He had been on the other side of the building trying to deal with the last of the crooks. Dick was with him for a time, but had finished up much earlier than Damian and had fled as soon as possible. Damian should have picked up then that something was wrong.
But he didn’t.
And he was so frustrated with himself for not. He should have been better. Should have taken the criminal down with one blow and followed his brother to your side. Surely with all four of them there, you would have made it… right?
He wasn’t so sure.
He wasn’t sure of much anymore. No one was. And they all felt so betrayed because you being by their sides was one of the things that kept them going everyday. And now…
One thing they did know for certain though was that you were gone. And no matter how much they yearned for you, you were never coming home.
In which, Azriel tries, and you would be happier for it.
warning: angst
Azriel stared up at the ceiling as it stared down at him, the omnipresence of its height a weight that dragged him deeper and deeper into the floor. The cracks and divots in the stone bit into his wings, but nothing could remove him from this place.
Nothing could alleviate the pressure that consumed him.
He could have laid on the bed, shrouding himself in the comfort of the blankets you chose and burying his face in the pillows that might still smell like you, but that was something for another time. Today, Azriel chose the floor. Today, Azriel could not choose anything else.
His inhales hurt.
He didn’t know where his shadows were. They seemed to run from him recently, maybe out of disappointment.
Maybe out of something else—Azriel didn’t care about much recently.
Specs of dust hit the sunlight that filtered through the cottage windows, tinted green to reflect the stained glass you had picked out. Azriel loved stained glass. Azriel loved you. He watched as the air moved around him and he remained still.
Sunlight did not smell the same.
What a ridiculous notion—sunlight having a scent.
“Az, honey?”
Azriel blinked much harder than he meant to. He inhaled and it hurt.
“Are you in here? I’ve been looking everywhere.”
Azriel bit into his lip until the tang of blood ruptured along his tastebuds. He felt the cold of the floor against the pads of his fingers as he pressed himself up to a seat, his wings not following suit. Footsteps were soft in the hall until they shuffled into the bedroom.
“Oh, Az,” you cooed. Azriel held his breath as you kneeled beside him. Your skin was wrong as it brushed along on his cheek. “Are you not okay today?”
Azriel couldn’t look at you, keeping his gaze firmly rooted on the carpet beneath the bed. His voice was gruff as he replied. “I’m fine.”
The hand on his face trailed down to his shoulder. You wouldn’t touch him like that. “You aren’t fine. We knew this would take… a long time.”
Heat invaded his waterline. Azriel was so tired of crying.
“I’ll be fine. I just need—” His words ended in a choke.
From his peripheral, he could see you shaking your head. “You shouldn’t keep coming here. It’s not good for you.”
“Where else would I go?” He asked, all watery and broken, still refusing to meet your eye. “This is my home.”
“You should be with your family.”
“You are my family.”
“Azriel…”
His name sounded wrong—it trailed off and fell from your lips so wrong. This was coming to an end and Azriel knew it. He gritted his teeth and felt the wetness track down his cheeks.
“I can’t do this without you. I can’t keep doing this,” Azriel admitted. He finally looked up, the blurry image of you filling his vision. The stained glass and his tears made you look so beautiful, and Azriel thought he might even smell the subtle hints of your perfume.
Only, he didn’t, and Azriel knew it wouldn’t ever again. That’s why he had held his breath—the reason he had stared so hard at the ground when you were right beside him.
“Azriel, is it happening again?” you asked. Only, it wasn’t you. It had never been you. “Should I get Rhys?”
Azriel’s jaw trembled as his vision cleared.
“I can call for him,” Mor stressed, leaning her head down to try and catch Azriel’s retreating gaze. “He’d help. He’d make it easier, like before.”
But Azriel didn’t want it to feel easier. If it were easier, that would mean you were really, truly gone. When it hurt, it reminded him of you. Your love had felt this big.
It couldn’t feel easy. It shouldn’t.
Azriel huffed out a breath that pricked at the hole in his chest. He searched for the thread within him and found it exactly where you’d left it—limp and lifeless, but a reminder that you were real and you were his.
“She wouldn’t have wanted this for you,” Mor tried again, using the only excuse that seemed to get him out of this house. “She would want you to be happy.”
And Azriel wasn’t sure if that was achievable—being happy when you were dead. But he would try, for you.
Azriel hauled himself up with the guidance of Mor’s hand, and he tried.
Summary: Azriel comes to visit you for the first time in a while.
Warnings: Angsty goodness
He could hear it now; your call beckoning him closer.
The dulcet tones of your laughter echoing amongst the evening birdsong as Azriel approached.
It was a path the shadowsinger had walked a hundred times before. The bowing oak trees and the familiar tune of the flowing beck all working to guide Azriel towards his final destination.
Towards you.
Yet even the forest wasn't safe from the golden hands of time. The gnarled roots and overgrown canopy a glaring sign that it had been far too long since Azriel had last come to see you.
Where he was once able to run freely alongside you, Azriel now found himself uncomfortably squeezing through the wild underbrush. Wings tightly curling into his back out of fear of catching them on the thicket of brambles which now lined the once clear path.
Perhaps a year was too long to wait.
Perhaps Azriel should have visited you sooner.
Your voice continued to grow louder with each step taken, the wind beginning to carry the recognizable scent of your sweet perfume.
Azriel inhaled deeply, allowing the delicate aroma of honeysuckle and jasmine to wash away his worries. A calming peace, that only ever makes itself known when in the presence of your company, began to warmly settle in his chest.
"Hello my love"
Azriel called softly into the air, the gentle twinkling of a wind chime greeting him in response as the evening sun broke through the canopy above to lay a welcoming kiss onto his cheek.
"I've missed you," the shadowsinger continued, moving towards the fallen trunk of a tree in order to take a seat, "I'm sorry I've been gone so long."
Another melodic chime answered, assuring Azriel that his absence needed no excuse.
"But I couldn't miss spending my birthday with you, I don't think you would have let me"
The wind laughed in reply, a soothing breeze coming to caress his smiling cheek as Azriel lifted a shaky hand to meet the ghost of your own.
Eyes beginning to water at your phantom touch, the male cleared his throat before reaching into the pocket of his leathers. "I've brought you a letter," Azriel started to explain, pulling out the carefully folded piece of paper, "of all the things you've missed since I was last here. I wrote it all down just so I didn't forget to tell you anything."
The orange sun glowed a little brighter, so as to provide Azriel with enough light to read his letter. The forest falling into a peaceful silence in order to ensure that you heard every word the shadowsinger had to say.
"Feyre is pregnant again, I think Rhys would kill me if I didn't tell you that first," Azriel grinned at the smile of excitement he could picture you wearing at the news, taking the time to burn the image into his mind before continuing, "Nyx is convinced it's a girl, and if it is her wants her to be named after you of course. He always talks about his favourite auntie."
Azriel allows himself to pause, needing a moment to calm his wavering breath before he could say any more, the harsh lines of a frown beginning to cross his face.
"Cas says hello. He'd come here if he could, you know that. But I don't think I'm quite ready to share this place with anyone else yet. He's fine, Nesta too. They're kept busy by little Sofia most of the time, ever since she learnt how to fly she's been wreaking havoc all over Velaris."
A robin flittered down from the trees, perching by where Azriel was sat, its small head tilted in silent understanding. Appreciating the company, a slight smile flickered across Azriel's lips as he turned his watery eyes back to the letter grasped between his trembling hands.
"Elain and Lucien are finally back from their trip around Prythian. They went to Spring - to that meadow I took you to for our anniversary. She . . . she brought me back some flowers, said they reminded her of you."
Azriel's tears finally began to fall as he carefully folded the letter once more, tucking it away into the safety of his leathers, placing it into the pocket right above his heart.
"And me . . ." Azriel started, voice cracking as he tried to recall what he had done since he was last here, his surroundings taking him back to a time when you had once been sat here with him, "Well I've not really done anything at all."
The male's hands move to clasp onto the two rings resting on a chain around his neck, thumb working to brush the cool metal in the hope of receiving some comfort, "Some days it feels like time has scarcely moved at all . . . On those days I like to close my eyes and picture you - us - here in the forest. Running through the trees like we used to do, hiding from our responsibilities for as long as we could."
Azriel deeply exhaled as he watched the robin fly away, tears still falling as he continued to speak, "And then I open my eyes . . . and remember you're gone" Azriel's words are interrupted by a harrowing sob falling from his lips, "I don't know how much longer I can do this. I'm getting old my love, sometimes I worry that one day I'll come back here and you won't recognize me anymore. That our love will fall victim to the hands of time just as the forest has."
The chimes twinkle once more, a gentle reminder that you are never truly gone, the ever-changing wind whispering promises that your love was one to last for eternity.
"I know" Azriel sadly smiles, letting go of the rings in order to brush away his tears, the thought of your heartbroken expression enough to dry his eyes, "I just miss you, that's all. Not a day goes by where I don't think of you."
The trees lightly rustle in response.
Azriel stayed to talk to you long into the night. The conversation never fading, nor growing dull, even when the moon had said its goodbyes and the sun had risen once more.
If time was all Azriel could offer you these days, then his time was what you would receive. For each hour spent in your special spot, was another hour of keeping your memory alive.
Another hour Azriel got to spend with you.
When the time came for Azriel to reluctantly leave the forest, his responsibilities too pressing to ignore for much longer, the shadowsinger whispered a promise into the wind that he would return once more. Swearing that you would not have to wait so long to see him again.
With each step he took, the scent of rosemary and sweet pea grew stronger, your calming aroma fading as Azriel walked further and further away.
And as Azriel turned to look at you once more, he could have sworn he heard you calling after him. Words unintelligible as your voice became lost amongst the birdsong.
But he could feel it, the assurance that he wasn't alone.
The piece of you that had been trapped here, now safely tucked within the confines of his heart.
Triggers: pregnancy trope, longing, mention of death, thoughts of suicide, blood, baby’s death, open-ended ending
Summary: Hiraeth definition: “homesickness, longing, nostalgia and a wistful desire for something irretrievably lost.” It had been several years since your passing, one that he cursed the Mother and the Gods for. Now he wanders the world, endless and lost, waiting for the day you would whisper in his ears to come home — home to you.
Note: From this request! Thank you @soulsansang (I cannot tag you for the life of me), for sending this request! I fought every urge to connect this to my Seer!Reader fics. The idea of hiraeth fit perfectly with a mourning Azriel; however, I needed something else. Needed an Azriel who was mourning not because of his actions, but due to unforeseen circumstances that fate seemed to have placed him in. I’m sorry for the “pregnancy trope”, I didn’t think I would be writing this one like this. If you do not like that trope, I completely understand and I respect you not reading this. But I do hope you enjoy, and I hope it fills the angst and sadness that you had requested!
“Azriel~!”
He looked over his shoulder, his name echoing in his ears, as he stepped out of his apartment and into the pouring rain. Dull hazel eyes stared at the gray skies as the rain poured down, relentless and unforgiving.
It had been days since this rain had started, and it seemed as if it would never stop. It was torrent, heavy with the mix of strong that howled through the empty alleyways. Valeris was almost like an abandoned city — its inhabitants were locked indoors due to the storm that shook its walls.
Azriel’s form shuddered, the wetness seeping into his clothes. He barely wore something that would keep him warm in such icy weather — a simple black jacket, a long-sleeved tee hidden underneath, and black jeans. His leather shoes were soaked in the rain as he stepped into another puddle, not caring that the wetness soaked into his feet.
He walked through the deserted city, only a few who braved the torrential storm were running through the streets. Those out looked at the Spymaster with confusion and worry, but none voiced them out loud — he wouldn’t have listened anyway.
He had one destination — and he would make it there — despite the storm.
Stepping across the Sindra River, the cobblestone bridge was overrun by the river below. Waters crashed upon slowly decaying rocks, splashing over the sides and onto the bridge. Traversing it might seem impossible for any normal Fae, but for Azriel, it was easy.
He stepped onto the bridge, not minding how the cold waters of the river splashed onto him. He paused, at the arch of the bridge, leaning over the stoney rail to look at those rapid waters that raced down the riverbend. They crashed and crescented over rocks, splashing against everything and anything that stood in its way — and the downpour only amplified the river’s maelstrom.
Azriel looked into the waters below him, barely making out his reflection in them. He blinked out the water that tricked into his eyes, and when he looked back down into his reflection — instead he found a familiar figure — hair blowing in the raging wind, eyes looking up at him, hand reached out as if to tempt him into those frigid cold waters below him.
It was tempting, to say the least, the call to be submerged into the depths of the river, to feel the icy liquid deep into his skin — and make the river his grave.
He couldn't help it — the image was like a siren with its sailors, tempting them to their end. Leaning across the cobblestone rail, he leaned down — down into the depths of the water. Azriel had every mindset, every want to drown in that very river.
However, he felt his body pause, as if a tiny hand tugged on his shoulder — a child’s laugh echoing in his ears.
His body snapped up, his head whipping over his shoulder, frantically looking around, only to stop. Eyes noticed a fallen blue-violet on the drenched cobblestone. Azriel felt his body go rigid at the flower, remembering what it had meant. He turned around and knelt, shaky hands reaching down to pick up the soaked flower. He felt his eyes prickle with tears as he turned it in his hand, before bringing it up to his lips and pressing a kiss on the petals, standing up and pocketing it.
Dull hues stared at the river below him, noticing his reflection once more — and not the mirage that tempted him to death. A frown tugged on the edge of his blue-tinged lips before making his way across the bridge once more, the call of death barely whispering in his ears.
He turned, his feet bringing him off paved grounds into a mud-soaked one. The mud squished underneath his feet. He weaved through familiar trees, and as he delved further into the forest the canopy above him blocked the gray skies above, the pitter-patter of rain on soil lessening. There, underneath the canopy, Azriel shook his wings out — the rain that had drenched his wings flying off in droplets. He raised a hand, running through soak locks, pushing them back away from his face. He fixed his jacket, dusting off the moisture from its soaked fabric before he continued walking.
Hazel hues saw the familiar clearing, watching as the downpour continued to drench the soil in its never-ending attack. He stood at the edge of the clearing, hues staring up at the sky once more. He silently cursed the Mother and the Gods above for this rain — all he wanted was to see the clear skies for once.
Azriel stepped into the clearing, the rain drenching his clothes once more — not that he minded anyway.
He stepped into the middle of the clearing where a lone headstone stood. A simple one, nothing to extravagant. Azriel felt his heart race in his chest as he got closer to the headstone.
Azriel kneeled in front of the headstone, a tearful gaze as he read the words that were etched onto the stone: Here lies (Y/N), the wonderful wife of Azriel. Mother of their unborn child. May the Mother and Gods bring her safe passage to the Havens.
It had been two years since he had to bury your body, along with your unborn child.
The Mother was cruel to him.
You and Azriel had been married for over three centuries — his life was full of color, full of happiness and full of love. You were everything to Azriel. He would miss you when he went to missions, kiss you silly when he got home from said missions; he would spend lazy time with you, your head on his lap or vice versa — just spending time with each other. And for those three centuries, both of you had tried for a child, but because Fae menstrual cycles were so sporadic, it had been difficult.
But two years ago, your miracle baby happened.
“Azriel!”
Azriel turned around after shutting the door to your apartment, only to catch your body that flung towards his way.
“Hey love,” he greeted you, a chuckle escaping his chest as he wrapped his arms around you, looking down and noticing how your head tucked into his chest. He could feel your excitement vibrate through your body and he couldn't help but wonder what had gotten you so happy.
But at that moment, he just leaned down and pressed a kiss on the crown of your head, watching your head tilt up to look at him, your eyes shining.
“What is it?” he hummed out with a raised brow.
He watched as you bit your lower lip, fighting the smile that tugged at the edge of your lips.
“You know how I have been feeling unwell the past few weeks…” you had started off.
Azriel hummed out, shifting you in his arms so that you were at his side, his arm wrapped around your waist before leading you into the kitchen. He maneuvered you around, grasping your waist and lifting you with ease onto the countertop next to the stove.
“Azriel!!” You shrieked in surprise, your hands grasping his shoulders to stretch yourself.
He smirks up at you, settling himself between your legs, “Now what were you saying, love?”
He watched you huff softly before continuing your story, “Well I went to Madja earlier today and I told her of my symptoms—-”
“Nausea, headaches, bloating…” he listed off.
Azriel knew your symptoms, it had worried him to the max. Both of you didn't know what had happened — he was worried about some sort of poisoning… he thought of the worst-case scenarios. And you had to be the one to calm him down from those spiraling thoughts.
You hummed and nodded your head, “Well… it looks like you didn't have to be so worried about that poisoning scenario, my love…” you whispered as you leaned down to press your forehead against his.
He felt your hands slide down his shoulders, down his arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
Azriel always loved how you touched him — there was no hesitancy in the way you held him, touched him — whether it he sexual or intimate. You had always initiated touching him and now, he can't live without your hands or body near his own.
He felt your hands grip his own, sliding then to your lower abdomen, pressing his hands against the soft skin.
“… I’m pregnant, Azzie…”
Your words were a whisper and Azriel felt his eyes widen at the words that had left your lips. He stared up at you and watched as your eyes sparkle light the night sky at your confession.
Hazel hues looked up at you before sliding down your body to where your hand lay over his own. A wide smile tugged on his lips before he slipped his hands away from your own, cupping your cheeks and kissing you.
He poured everything into that kiss — all his love for you and this unborn child.
When his lungs screamed for air, he was content with pressing kisses on your skin while you giggled, feeling your hands run through his hair.
“We’ll be having a child…” he whispered in disbelief.
He heard you let out a hum, feeling your head nod, “Yes we are… after centuries… our beautiful child…”
Every word that you whispered was full of happiness, adoration, and excitement. He knew, from hearing you speak, that you'd be a wonderful mother… one that would dote on that child.
He was elated — after centuries of both of you trying, watching your family build their own little families — Azriel was worried that both of you would never be blessed with a child. Yet now, the Mother seemed to rain her fortune on the both of you.
But deep within him, worry festered like mold, slowly growing. He worried about the complications — he heard about it with Rhysand and Feyre, Nesta and Cassian. And he worried for you — and all he could pray to the Mother that you would be spared from it.
“What color should the baby’s room be?”
Azriel hummed and raised a brow, turning his head to gaze at you. He fought back a smile — he had found you so adorable. You had waddled, your belly large protruding your tiny stature. Your hand tucked in the crook of his elbow protectively.
Azriel had ensured you were in good hands during your pregnancy; and that he would always prioritize your health and safety. He would never let you go out without him, either himself or his shadows. He always had a hand on you — whether it be around your waist or, like now, your hand tucked into his elbow.
Your features glowed despite the exhaustion he knew you felt — you had looked so beautiful during your whole pregnancy and Azriel worshiped you like the Goddess you were to him.
He watched as your gaze went up to him, your head tilting slightly at the look he gave you. Azriel shook his head, “You know I'd be biased if you asked me, love…” he answered.
Azriel would choose blue, even if it was a girl or a boy, his siphon colors would be that room’s color.
He watched as you rolled your eyes, and felt your hand pat his forearm, “Why am I not surprised that, out of all the colors, you’d choose your siphon?”
The two of you walked into the paint shop, the doorbell ringing above you. You were greeted by a Fae, one who was shocked and nervous to meet the Spymaster and his wife.
Azriel patted your hand and slipped your hand from his elbow, “Go ahead my loves… I'll be here…” He watched you smile before following the Fae to the color room, and he watched with adoration.
“You can't leave me, (Y/N)…” he sobbed, grasping your flaccid hand in his, pressing a kiss on cold skin.
The room was deathly still, his sobs echoing in the loud shared room.
You had gone into labor hours ago, and that labor… was difficult on your weak body. The babe, as Madja had warned you and Azriel all those months ago, had taken a toll on your body. You had been sick and bedridden for most of the pregnancy — Madja had stressed for you to terminate the pregnancy — it was either you or the baby.
Azriel had fought for you to terminate the pregnancy; begged and cried you to.
He could live without the unborn child but without you?
Never.
He watched you cry, begged him to let you keep the babe — he listened to your bargains, and promises; he listened to you cry in the night whispering to the baby all the while rubbing your stomach.
He watched everything… but he couldn't lose you.
But you had been stubborn, wanting to keep the pregnancy — pushing it to term — despite the consequences of it.
And so when you went into labor, the amount of blood you lost… was too much for Madja to replenish with her powers. The baby that was born was already too blue to try to bring back alive. Azriel was by your side the whole labor, watching you push your body to the brink — all for the child.
He felt your pulse slow underneath his fingertips, his hazel eyes frantically trying to find yours as he watched them roll backwards.
“No…No!” he yelled, dropping your hand onto the mattress and cupping your cheeks, “My love… (Y/N)…” he whispered, leaning in to press his forehead against yours, trying to pull you from the call of death.
Azriel watched you smile up at him, your eyes focusing on him, crescenting as you looked up at him, “…Azzie…” you whispered.
He fought back tears as he nodded his head, “Hey, my love, yes, I’m here… I’m here…”
“I’m sorry…”
It was as if you knew… this would be the outcome of your decision.
“No… Don’t be sorry… Please don’t… Just… Please don’t leave me… You can’t leave me…”
He watched as your eyes roll again and he brought your face closer to his own, watching them focus on him again, “…I don’t want to… But, I’m so tired Az…”
Azriel felt a heart wrenching sob escape his throat. His thumb caressed your pulse point, feeling it slow more. He looked up at his High Lord and the Healer and both of them looked at him with a somber look.
A shake from his High Lord gave his answer.
The tears finally fell, as he looked back at you — and you back up at him. He watched your brows furrow in confusion as you stared at him.
All he did was shake his head, leaning down to press one final kiss on your lips.
“Sleep… My love… if you’re tired. I’ll wait for you to wake up…”
He felt you take one last breath, a smile tugging on your lips as you whispered, “I love you, Az…”
Azriel felt your body go limp in the bed, your head roll back and your pulse stop completely. He watched your eyes dull, that smile still on your features.
His body shook, and tears never ended as he pulled your body into his arms, cradling your head as he let out a cry, pressing his face into the crook of your neck — the final time he’d ever feel you against him.
Azriel never thought heart break would be so painful.
He stared at the tombstone, pulling out of his thoughts and memories to reach down and caress the marble stone.
“… Hi my love…” he greeted you, like usual, “It’s raining again… It seems that Valeris is in a typhoon of rain recently…”
Azriel sat himself down on the muddy ground, not caring if the mud and rain soaked through his clothes again.
He had sat there, talking to you about his day, what had happened recently with the family, what was going on with Valeris and Prythian in general. He talked for hours until he felt his voice go sore and his body shake due to the cold from the rain, but he didn’t leave… not until the skies turned dark.
Azriel laid himself down on the patch of dirt in front of your grave, laying on his back as he stared up at the sky. It seemed the rain ceased and the beautiful starry skies of Valeris peaked through the rain clouds.
He watched the stars twinkle, before a shooting star blazed through the sky before another one — much smaller — followed it.
“…Was that you, (Y/N)?” he whispered, thinking that those two fallen stars were you and the child, reaching out to him from the Havens above.
Azriel had been searching for signs, for the past two years of any sign of you in the Havens. Looking for signs that you were calling for him — looking for him. All he wanted to know was that you were out there.
And that shooting star was it.
He smiled and closed his eyes, “I’m coming back home to you…”
summary: Azriel has been waiting for his mate to return from UTM after Amarantha's defeat; however, when Rhys returns without her, Azriel is forced to face the past 50 years of grief and anticipation while making connections with a new face.
warnings: talks of under the mountain, death, angst
a/n: I don't know if I know how to write anything happy
~~~~~~~~~~
Winds whipped around the balcony at the house of wind as two figures winnowed into sight. Azriel, Cassian, Mor, and Amren ran from the dining room in anticipation of the reunion they’ve waited 50 years for. Rhys and Y/N had survived 50 years of torment under Amarantha’s reign and had returned home.
Mor ran to embrace Rhys as he fell to his knees. Sobs erupted from his chest as he clung to Mor, as half a century of suffering finally crashing down on him in waves. Cassian knelt beside him, his face a mixture of relief and anguish, his hand gripping Rhys's shoulder tightly as though grounding him to the present.
Amren stood nearby, her usually sharp gaze softened as she studied her High Lord, a flicker of rare emotion crossing her face. Even she could not hide the relief that her family was whole again.
“Mate. She’s my mate.”
His family knew who Rhys meant without question. Feyre Cursebreaker, the human who saved everyone from Amarantha. Cassian and Mor continued to comfort Rhys as he brokenly muttered about Feyre. Shadows snaked toward Azriel frantically, whispering in his ear.
Not her. Not Y/N.
Azriel froze, his breath hitching in his throat. His hazel eyes darted to the figure standing behind Rhys. His shadows were right. It wasn’t Y/N.
His heart pounded against his chest and he reached for the golden thread of his bond. Cold, empty silence sat at the end of the bond just as it had the past 50 years.
His voice broke as he stepped forward, cutting through Rhys’s rambling. “Where is she?”
The air seemed to shift, all relief vanishing from the room as silence fell. Rhys stiffened in Mor’s arms. Cassian and Mor looked at each other, confusion dawning on their faces, but Azriel’s voice rose, harder this time.
“Where is Y/N?”
Rhys lifted his head slowly, his grief-stricken gaze locking with Azriel’s. Violet eyes, heavy with sorrow, gave him the answer before the words left his mouth.
“She’s gone,” Rhys whispered, his voice hoarse and broken. “Y/N didn’t make it.”
The world stopped under Azriel’s feet as he fell to the ground. He grabbed at the leather tunic that clothed his chest, his shadows matching his frantic breaths. “No,” he spat, “you’re lying. Where is Y/N?”
Rhys fell to hold his brother, guilt living on his features. “I’m not lying,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the sound of Azriel’s ragged breaths. “I—I’m so sorry, Azriel. She’s gone.”
“No,” Azriel growled, his voice low and dangerous. His hazel eyes burned with fury and desperation as he surged to his feet. His shadows lashed out wildly, writhing like living extensions of his anguish. “She can’t be gone. She wouldn’t just leave me—she wouldn’t leave us!”
The tension shattered when Amren’s sharp voice cut through the room, her silver eyes narrowing. “If Y/N is dead, then who is that?”
The winds stilled as all eyes locked on the girl hovering at the edge of the balcony. Azriel’s shadows curled protectively around him, hesitant to retreat even as the girl cautiously stepped forward. The light from the House of Wind caught the golden strands of her hair, casting a faint halo around her, but it was her face—the familiar set of her jaw, the curve of her lips, the hesitation in her hazel eyes—that froze the room. She looked like Y/N – so much like Y/N that it was a cruel mirage.
“Who are you?” Azriel asked, his voice cutting through the silence. His tone riddled with raw desperation. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his entire body coiled with tension as though preparing for a blow.
The girl flinched at the question, her sunken hazel eyes darting between the group before landing on Rhys. Her eyes pleading desperately for his help. Rhys stood frozen, his guilt-lined face softening for the young girl, encouraging her to come closer. “I... I’m not here to hurt you,” she said softly, her voice trembling but steady enough to carry. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“That’s not an answer,” Cassian said, his voice low and gruff, his body a wall of muscle as he placed himself between Mor and the girl. “Start talking. Now.”
The girl took another step back, her hands still raised in a gesture of peace. “I—my name is Lyra,” she said, her voice faltering slightly. “Y/N is… was my mother.”
Her words shook the group like thunder, reverberating in the stunned silence that followed. Azriel’s breath hitched audibly, and he staggered backward as though struck. His shadows lashed out wildly, betraying his internal turmoil.
“That’s impossible,” Mor whispered, her voice trembling as she clung to Cassian for support. “Y/N would’ve told us—she wouldn’t have kept this from us.”
“She didn’t have a choice,” Rhys said, his voice cracking under the weight of the truth. His shoulders sagged, and his gaze dropped to the floor as he took a steadying breath. “She didn’t know she was pregnant until after we were captured.”
Azriel’s sharp intake of breath broke the fragile silence. He turned on Rhys, his hazel eyes blazing with fury and anguish. “You knew?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “You knew she was pregnant, and you didn’t tell me?”
“I didn’t know until after our magic was taken away,” Rhys replied, his voice thick with guilt. “Amarantha found out before I did. She used it against her. Against both of us.”
Azriel’s fists clenched tighter, his shadows writhing furiously. “What do you mean?” he demanded, his voice trembling. “What did she do to her?”
“She delighted in tormenting Y/N,” Rhys said hoarsely, his violet eyes glistening with tears. “She forced her into tasks that no one should endure—tasks that risked her life and Lyra’s. She threatened to harm her every time Y/N showed defiance. She… she made sure Y/N lived in constant fear. Y/N tried to hold on as long as she could, but she became too weak.”
Lyra’s quiet voice cut through the raging emotions, “I watched her fade away into a shell of herself. She tried to be strong for me… to protect me. She died with your name on her last breath. She always made sure I knew you – knew my father.”
Azriel’s knees buckled, only the force from Cassian and Mor keeping him upright. Lyra cautiously walked closer to her father, placing a soft hand on his cheek. “She always told me stories about you. About how brave and kind you were, even when the world wasn’t kind to you. I was never scared of shadows growing up because she always spoke of how shadows reminded her of you. Most importantly, she told me how much you would’ve loved me and how you loved her.”
Azriel’s heart seemed to stop at Lyra’s words. His breath hitched, and a cold emptiness settled deep within him. Every word she spoke only deepened the wound he’d been carrying for the last fifty years. He had failed her mother. He wasn’t there when she needed him most. He had never even known.
His body trembled as his mind raced with a thousand thoughts, none of them making sense. How could this be real? The shock was still fresh, still numbing. The bond he’d kept waiting on, hoping for a sign, was still silent. He had felt it—the absence of her—and now, the reality hit harder than he could have ever imagined.
Lyra’s hand lingered on his cheek, a small act of comfort, but to Azriel, it felt like a reminder of everything he had lost. His eyes flickered to the girl who stood before him, the child that was a piece of Y/N, and the hole in his chest deepened. She died with my name on her lips... he couldn't escape the echo of those words.
He could feel the weight of those final moments Y/N had endured, alone and terrified. She had been strong, but the cruelty of Amarantha had worn her down. It had stolen so much from her, from them all.
Azriel’s voice cracked as he forced the words from his mouth, each one laced with sorrow and regret. “I should have known. I should have been there for her. I—” His voice faltered, the guilt too much to carry.
Lyra’s eyes softened as she gently wiped a stray tear from his face, her touch surprisingly steady despite the tremor in her own hands. “She never blamed you,” Lyra said softly, her voice full of a wisdom that belied her young age. “She always spoke of you as if you were still there, still fighting for her. She believed you would come. But…” Lyra paused, her own grief surfacing. “Amarantha made sure she couldn’t fight anymore. And I…” She swallowed hard, her voice trembling. “I wasn’t enough to save her.”
Azriel staggered back, his mind reeling as his shadows lashed out violently. I wasn’t there. I wasn’t enough either. The thought consumed him, driving him to his knees. His shadows wrapped around him, moving like an extension of his agony.
“No,” Azriel whispered, the word barely audible as his hand pressed to his chest. “It should have been me. I should’ve been the one to protect her. Not... not like this.” His entire body trembled with the weight of the loss that seemed too vast to bear.
Cassian and Mor remained by his side, not daring to speak, understanding that no words could reach him in this moment. Even Rhys, whose grief had been shattered by the loss of Feyre, seemed unable to find a way to comfort his brother now.
Lyra stepped closer, lowering herself to sit next to Azriel, her young hands trembling as she reached out. “You are enough,” she said quietly, her voice soft but filled with the weight of everything Y/N had shared with her. “She loved you. I know she did.”
Azriel looked up at her, his expression raw. The brokenness in his eyes mirrored the emptiness he felt. His shadows wrapped around Lyra protectively, unsure of how to respond to the child who was now the last piece of the love he’d lost. She should be here. Y/N should be here, with us.
“I don’t know how to be enough for you,” Azriel whispered, his voice hoarse. “I don’t know how to be a father to you. I wasn’t there when she needed me. I failed her.”
Lyra’s eyes softened even further, her own grief evident but tinged with understanding. She placed her hand on his, the touch grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected. “I don’t need you to be perfect. She wasn’t perfect either, but she was the best mother I could’ve asked for. And I know… I know she would have wanted you to try.”
Azriel felt the weight of her words settle on him like a stone, but it didn’t feel like the crushing weight of guilt that had been suffocating him. Instead, it felt like something different—a soft light, a faint warmth. It didn’t heal the wound, but it gave him a moment of clarity.
“I’ll try,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “But I don’t know if it will ever be enough.”
Lyra squeezed his hand, offering him a quiet understanding, though the sadness still lingered in her eyes. "You don't have to make up for anything. You don't have to be the hero. I only need you to be here for me."
For the first time in years, Azriel didn’t feel entirely alone. As he looked at Lyra, her face so like Y/N's, his heart ached, but there was a flicker of something else—something he hadn’t felt in so long. It was hope. A fragile, painful hope.
And as he sat there, surrounded by the family who had waited so long for a reunion, Azriel felt a shift. His shadows, though still swirling with grief, seemed less wild now. The presence of Lyra—of Y/N’s memory—offered him a small measure of peace. There was still so much pain, so much loss, but perhaps, just perhaps, he could find a way to heal.
“I’ll be here,” he said, his voice breaking but firm. “I’ll be here for you. I’ll be the father you need.”
Lyra smiled softly, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I’ve waited so long to hear those words”
And for the first time in fifty years, Azriel felt a glimmer of hope for the future. It wouldn’t be easy, and the pain would never fully go away, but in that moment, as he looked into the eyes of the daughter he never knew he had, he felt a new beginning. A chance to rebuild what had been broken. A chance to love again.
Pairing: Azriel x fem reader, (there's a bit of Az and Elain too sorry)
Word Count: 2.6K
Warnings: Heartbreaking angst, rejection, blood, injuries, war, possible death.
Summary: On the brink of war, it was now or never to finally confess your feelings to Azriel, but when you stumble onto a moment you wish you hadn't perhaps it's the gods way of saying your confession had been too late.
The envelope was crumpled at the corners, the paper sure to wear thin under the pads of your thumbs. You stared at your handwriting, his name spiralled in ink slightly faded now.
Words you had written just over 50 years ago, a confession, a secret— a love letter for your best friend. A string of sentences and poetic prose that still rang true. You’re not even sure you remember what you wrote exactly, never really intending for it to see the light of day, however you knew your feelings were still the same. Despite the worn out paper in your hand, the envelope changed with time— your feelings had not. Unchanging. From the moment you met him, your love for him had always remained the same. If anything, it had only deepened and expanded with time.
The atmosphere of the war camp was heavy, the enemy soldiers high on the borders. It was only a matter of time before you would need to take your place on the frontlines. Before he, and your family took their positions among the soldiers to fight to protect the home you all held dear.
Death was lingering in the air, whispers of it rustled through the trees that sent a shiver down your spine. An impending end felt as though it was looming over you, a clock about to strike its final hour or an hourglass about to crack. For the first time in years you weren’t sure how you’d all make it out of this one. That’s why it had to be now, those words that had always been on the tip of your tongue, the secret behind your gentle touches, the confession deep within your yearning gaze, you needed to tell him—to finally speak your truth.
You moved between Prythian soldiers and Illyrians prepping themselves with armour and weapons, weaving between people with one destination in mind. Turning to see the commanding military tent you and Rhys had left him in hours ago. You hesitated for a moment outside, smoothing your fingers over the old parchment, your heartbeat quickening with nerves before taking a breath for confidence, stepping inside.
A shadow had tried to catch your elbow, its usual cool presence going amiss with your emotions shrouding your senses. If only you had noticed, noticed how it tried to save your heart. But with the adrenaline pumping in your veins, nothing could stop this now.
Your eyes blinked adjusting to the dimly lit tent, filled with small fae-lights and a large table with a map spread across. Small figurines representing flanks that were knocked over now, there was no strategy to win this war— only luck, prayer and hope.
It didn’t take long for your eyes to find him, to settle on the large Shadowsinger who had always captured your attention in any room he was in. Even when he lurked in the quietest of shadows, your eyes always found him. He was so beautiful, not just in form but in heart too.
That’s what you had fallen for first. Not his angelic looks, or that secret smile of his, not those expansive large wings that made you feel protected whenever in his presence— well it was easy to love all those things too, but it was his kind heart that spun this wheel of fate. Perhaps if you weren’t so tangled in your own heart you may have noticed there was someone else here. Scented another, a female. But it wasn’t until you saw his lips locked with hers that your gut sank.
Time seemed to slow in that second, while you saw Elain embrace Azriel in a moment you’re not sure you should have been privy to. Something so private and intimate. A farewell kiss before a war— a kiss you had hoped would have been yours.
Elain’s body was flush against his front, her arms thrown around his neck to pull herself up to his height. Azriel’s hands, though hesitant, still sat on her waist. It was a twisting torture as you seemed to take in every detail of their embrace, the flush of Azriel’s cheeks, the beat of his heart, the light sound of Elain’s moan.
Your throat tightened then, time finally catching up as a gasp involuntarily left your lips. Heartbreaking and wobbly that you hadn’t even realised you’d made such a distressing sound before you’d stumbled backwards from the tent. One foot in front of the other, forcing your legs to move you faster as your heartbeat thudded in your ears.
Your cheeks were hot, blood rushing to your ears, teeth gritted as you tried to control the sob that was threatening to bubble up. Not here, not now. You couldn’t waste tears on this, not when it was your fault you had left it so long— not when you were about to go to war and you may never make it out again.
You think you heard your name being called, but you pushed through the crowd further. Winding through the stifling tension within the camp, slipping in and out of pockets of soldiers, a dizzying spiral to try and escape what you had just witnessed. The image of them both kept replaying in your mind, your own vision becoming distorted with tears blurring with that near perfect picture of a heroic farewell you thought would have been yours.
With one wrong step you collided with a body, a shoulder barging into you that only meant your wobbly legs followed your wobbly mind, and you collided with the mud below. You grunted at the collision, a whispered curse leaving your lips.
You needed to get a grip.
You brushed the back of your sleeve against your face, wiping whatever tears that had already spilled and encouraged yourself to get ahold of at least a semblance of composure. You hadn’t endured 50 years under that mountain, 50 years away from your family— away from him to now suddenly break.
“Y/n…”
You could recognise his voice anywhere. That deep tone that always seemed to dance on the wind to you, weaving a melody around your heart. There was a shuffle behind you, and with a swiftness those familiar smoky tendrils came to you. Their aid and touch, always so soft as they tried to assist you from the ground. But in a movement so unlike you, you swatted them away. Their touch almost burning you. The embarrassment, the shame, the heartbreak that was coiling in your chest was too much to bear. And although there was nothing that you desired more than the cooling comforting touch of his shadows, you couldn’t bring yourself to indulge in it. Not now. Not after what you’d just seen.
Azriel breathed your name again, raspy and almost pained as you refused his help, pushing yourself from the ground. You couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him, choosing to wipe the dirt off your leathers, your gaze remaining on the ground below. You could see him shuffle slightly, his boots stepping closer towards you in the dirt. His hand just in the corner of your peripheral lifting to reach, only for it to fall back to his side. Scarred fingers flexing and twitching against his leathers, the only indication that perhaps his own emotions were reeling right now too.
“Sweetheart…”, the name of endearment he always used with you fell from his tongue like a siren's song. You hated how much of a hold he held on you, how easy it was to give in, how desperate your heart wanted to submit. “Talk to me,” he breathed.
There was a pause for a moment, before you found the courage to look at him. Convincing yourself that this might even be the last time, and despite everything you had just seen, did you want to deprive yourself from one last look at the male who had held your heart for over half a century.
His hazel eyes locked with your teary ones, an expression upon your face that had Azriel’s brows furrowing deeper. He reached for you this time, no hesitation after he got his confirmation that you were upset. His hands coming to your arms. “Hey…hey. Talk to me sweetheart, I need you to talk to me, we can sort this…”
Did he even know what this was? What your tears were spilling over? Did he know it was he causing you pain?
You were certain he didn’t. Otherwise he would have known there was no fixing this. There was no way Azriel could fix your broken heart. But as those thoughts seemed to dwell in your mind, it was as if the Shadowsinger began to feel your defeat, a desperation in his tone, “Look at me y/n, hey…look at me. Talk to me, my lo-“
Rhys’ talons scratched on the edges of your mind, and you welcomed your High Lord in. An urgent broadcast not just to you but all his inner circle.
“Enemies have broken through the barriers on the East I need someone—“
The perfect escape.
“I’m on my way,” you replied with haste. Only to get a harsh no from Azriel in response, his grip tightening on you.
“Don’t leave like this-“ his voice broke.
A part you almost stayed, your eyes lingering in his gaze, those three words still on the tip of your tongue. You’re not sure you could have survived outright rejection from him though, so, instead, you winnowed away from his hold.
Azriel stood there for a moment, his hands still out in front grasping with the cold air that was now between his fingers. A confusion simmering under his skin as to what had happened. All he had known was that something was wrong, from the moment Elain kissed him, to seeing you stumble out of that tent. Everything was wrong.
And this was not a time for things to be wrong. There was a war unfolding right before him and he didn’t have the privilege of time for things to be wrong. Especially not with you.
His shadows were coiling around something in the mud. An envelope with his name on, in a handwriting that was unmistakably yours.
✴
The air despite being cool and crisp was stifling, choking, making it hard for Azriel to breathe. Although there was no fire here, no molten ash or smoke coating his lungs. Just an emptiness of a person he held dear who was nowhere to be found. An emptiness so heavy it was getting harder to breathe.
Azriel felt weighed down by the stench of blood that lingered in the air, the battle was over. They had won, barely– and now what could be heard were the grunts and cries of injured soldiers.
Azriel’s torn wings dragged behind him, as he trudged through the eastern battle line. There were more bodies littered here than on the main battlefield, a fact that hadn’t gone untouched by the Spymaster. You had gone here in an instant, leaving Azriel grappling with your scent on the wind as you’d left. Leaving him to find a worn out letter with words he wasn’t sure he was deserving of– a letter that changed everything.
A letter that made everything feel right.
The letter was folded neatly in the breast pocket of his leathers, just above his heart.
“Where are you?” his voice was hoarse, he had been searching as soon as the battle was won. The usual quiet Shadowsinger had not relented when shouting for you in his search. But with every step he took his chest got tighter, the further down the bank he walked the probability of finding you was becoming less and less. His shadows that lingered on him for comfort began to move frantically, a direct reflection of Azriel’s fears bubbling under his skin. Their jittery movement hovering in the air around him.
Then he caught it. A faint scent he would always recognise. Barely there beneath the copper and rot. His head snapped toward the source, and before he could think, his feet carried him forward.
His shadows converged at a pile of rubble, a mound of shattered stone and splintered wood. They darted in and out, trembling as if confirming what he already feared.
“Please, no…” Azriel whispered, his voice raw. He dropped to his knees and began digging, ignoring the way the sharp edges bit into his palms. He pulled away debris with savage strength, tearing through the wreckage until—
You.
He found you. Broken and soul barely a whisper of the female he knew. Blood was matted in your hair, skin littered with gashes and bruises but your chest rose. Azriel could see small shallow breaths leave your lips, his own movements frozen before his shadows moved into action first. Moving you gently into their master’s arms, he cradled you. Sweet whispers falling from his lips that were pressed against your temple.
“Az–Azriel..” your voice hitched.
“I’m here sweetheart, you’re going to be okay. You’re so brave sweet girl,”
“It hurts…”
“I know, I know my love…you’re so strong okay. Help is on it’s way, you’re going to be okay,”
Azriel had already sent a mental plea into the vastness but as he watched your eyelids begin to flutter he shouted into the cold air, crying to anyone who may hear for a healer, for help. Because he could not lose you, not now he knew.
Your name left his lips in a sob as he pulled your fragile body tighter against him “Just hold on a little longer my love, please, for me…” His hand delicately came against your cheek, his own forehead resting against yours as a flurry of pleas rolled on his tongue. “Just a little longer…”
He swore he heard some semblance of a hum in response but your eyes were shut. He was stroking your blood-matted hair now, rambling and whispering.
“I got your letter, I’m not sure if you really wanted me to have it, not sure if I’m really deserving of what you’ve written in it but oh sweetheart…your lovely words…I’m so blessed…so lucky…so undeserving…”
“But if it’s true..” he was stumbling over his words now, in between the sobs, “if you give me the chance to make this right…”
“I know now why you were so upset before…I think a part of me understood…felt your pain because in some way I was feeling it too…” his thumb was rubbing small circles on your cheekbone.
“If I could go back and change it I would. I need you to know it was a mistake…with Elain…tensions were high, feelings misdirected…
“I was thinking I could take you to the bakery you love when you’re feeling better, if you’d let me…we could make a day of it…walk along the Sidra…maybe our first proper date…
“I wish I hadn’t been so blind my love, you’ve always been the most special person to me…after you came back from under the mountain…I…well I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again…I just felt grateful to have you back, told myself I didn’t need anything more than that…
“Can you hold on for me…please…my love, just a little longer…
“Az…”, his name pulled him from his ramblings, although it wasn’t your voice that had spoken.
Azriel looked up, Rhys was kneeled in front of him. They weren’t on the battlefield anymore though. They were in a healers tent. When had they moved? Azriel couldn’t recall.
“I need you to give her to me now.”
Azriel looked at his brother confused, then glanced down to your limp figure in his arms.
“Azriel, now.”
a/n: sorry i know I had some requests for some festive fluff but instead I bring you this angst...sorry not sorry tee hee <3 thank you @writingcroissant for your help I mentioned this fic idea to her months ago and literally only found it the other week, if you don't like the elusive ending blame her ;) Although if I had taken @illyrianbitch advice y/n would most definitely be dead so I think the elusiveness means you can all choose your own endings. Maybe both her and Az are dead and actually Rhys is the devil I dunno
Simon had felt it for weeks now—that sick, gnawing feeling.
He was being watched. He had doubled back on his routes, changed his routine, stayed sharp. He had been careful.
But not careful enough.
The second he stepped up to the door, he knew something was wrong. The house key felt useless between his fingers, so he didn’t use it. The door was already open.
Unlocked, why the fuck was it unlocked? He remembered locking it before he left? Maybe you went out and forgot, right?
His heart slammed against his ribs. His pulse pounded in his ears.
No.
The house was silent. Too silent.
The air was thick with something sour and metallic.
Blood.
A memory slammed into him, sharp and unforgiving—
The door to his childhood home swinging open. Silence where there should’ve been laughter from his younger brother. The smell of iron choking the air.
He moved forward, stepping carefully, breathing carefully.
He had done this before.
But last time, he had been too late.
His throat was tight as he scanned the room. The book you had left open on the couch. A cup of tea sitting cold beside it. A blanket half-draped over the armrest.
It looked the same.
It was not the same.
His stomach twisted as he stepped through the hallway, past the kitchen, past the ghost of you moving through the space, laughing, warm—
And then he saw you.
A sharp inhale.
The world tilted.
You were lying on the floor just past the bedroom threshold. Blood soaked into the rug beneath you, pooling out from beneath your still body.
His knees hit the ground. His hands found you.
But you didn’t move.
You didn’t move.
“Y/N?” His voice barely came out. It felt like he was choking on it, like his own body wouldn’t let him say your name.
His fingers pressed against your throat. Against your wrist. Searching.
Nothing.
His breath came in sharp, uneven gasps as the edges of his vision blurred. His hand slid over yours, the warmth already fading.
Flash.
His mother slumped in the corner of their home, her lifeless eyes staring past him. Tommy curled up beside her, too young to understand. The blood soaked through their clothes, the floor, his hands when he tried to wake them up.
No, no, no.
Simon pulled you into his lap, as gently as he could, cradling your head against his chest. His grip was tight, desperate, like holding you close could bring you back.
It didn’t.
His lungs burned. His chest ached. He had survived gunfire, torture, hell itself—
But this?
This was unbearable.
His hands trembled as they traced over your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You looked peaceful, like you were only sleeping, like he could wake you if he just said the right thing.
But he couldn’t.
He had failed.
Flash.
His father’s hands around his throat, dragging him through the house. The screams of his mother in the background. The sound of breaking bones, of something shattering, of everything being ripped away from him.
It had happened again.
It had happened again, and he had done nothing to stop it.
A ragged breath tore from his throat. He curled over you, his forehead pressing against your shoulder, his grip unrelenting.
He had told himself he could protect you. That he could keep you safe from his world, from the monsters that lurked in the shadows of his past.
But they had come anyway.
And now you were gone.
Gone.
Just like his mother. Just like Tommy. Just like everything good in his life.
He couldn’t even say goodbye.
His eyes squeezed shut. His body shook, but no tears came. He hadn’t cried since the day he buried his family.
The grief coiled inside him, thick and suffocating. His chest was hollow, his ribs caving in under the weight of it.
Then, slowly, the grief gave way to something darker.
Vengeance.
He had felt them watching. He had sensed them following. He hadn’t known they’d go after you.
But now, he knew exactly who they were.
And he was going to find them.
One by one.
He gently laid you back down, pressing a kiss to your forehead—soft, reverent. Then, with a slow inhale, he stood.
His hands curled into fists.
The men who did this wouldn’t have the mercy of a quick death.
Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x fem!WSO!reader (Call sign: Arrow)
Word count: 2033
Summary: Ever wondered why everyone in the room fell silent when Rooster said that 'the only place Jake will lead someone is an early grave'? Well, here's the story.
Warnings: DEATH, aircraft accident, blood, angst, so much angst, mentions of anxiety, allusion to depression, idk y'all this one breaks hearts.
Tag list: @tayrae515 @alexxavicry @xoxabs88xox @mercurio23 @shrimping-for-all @abaker74 @smells-like-perfect-senses
A/N: So I said how much do you want me to break your heart? And @purplevortexx said yes. This is the result.
The only place you’ll lead anyone is to an early grave
In the navy, there are unwritten rules:
No one is left behind, unless there’s no choice.
Your squad is your family; you can always rely on them.
And no one brings up what happened to Arrow.
With that comment, Rooster has just rubbed salt into the wound. Coyote and Phoenix look at Hangman, waiting for his reaction. He waves it off, teasing Rooster, trying to get him back. But the two aviators know better than that. Jake leaves the bar soon after that, his head filled with images of the accident.
Arrow was Jake’s backseater. The call sign, given by the rest of the academy members because of her perfect aim, was one of the things Hangman admired about her. She was funny, witty, dreamy, and a hell of a WSO.
She fell first, but he fell harder.
The two of them became inseparable. They weren’t anything alike, but they complemented each other. Arrow usually stopped Hangman before his jokes went too far. Hangman left post-it notes in the mirror whenever he couldn’t stay to spend the night.
She painted rainbows when his days were blue. She was the only one he could trust.
Arrow was the first person he trusted to talk about his fears. He always felt like he wasn't enough. He tried to hide it with his sarcasm, but when he was alone at night, in the darkness of his room, all those bad thoughts, fears, and anxiety about not living up to his family's expectations flooded him. He couldn’t sleep. He had tried all the possible options.
It got to the point where he drank until he passed out. But the hangover the next day was too much to handle. When he asked her for help, she didn’t judge him. She didn’t mock him. She just smiled and asked him if he wanted to stay at her house that night. It turns out that she was the only thing he needed.
Her arms embraced him all night. The sweet essence of her shampoo after she got out of the shower became his favorite perfume. The fluffiness of her pajamas was like the most perfect blanket. It was the first night in many years that he slept for hours.
And that’s when he knew she was the one.
Jake asked her to be his girlfriend the next morning. She was so in love with him that she didn’t hesitate for a second. Why would she? He was the perfect man. He always had a hand on the small of her back whenever they were in a crowded room, knowing that sometimes she got overwhelmed. He covered the corner of the tables with his hand whenever she dropped her fork, not wanting her to bump her head by accident. In those nights when he couldn’t sleep even when she tried her best, he would tip-toe to her desk, careful not to wake her up, and write the most beautiful words in letters that he hid in her makeup drawer, in her gym bag, in her car...
It was the things that his grandpa did with his grandma. He had always wanted to find a love as pure as the one they had. And he found it. He wanted to keep it forever.
They were assigned to a mission in the mountains. Nothing too risky, just the usual. Hangman had a plan for this. It was their anniversary. One year together. They intended to take a few days off, stay in a hotel, and rest. Enjoy the view; maybe walk by the beach while the moonlight shone in her beautiful eyes. But duty called, and they had to answer.
That didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to carry out his plan.
The mission was a success, and they were turning the aircraft around to go back to the carrier when an enemy aircraft appeared out of nowhere. It was below radar; it was impossible for any of the four F-18s in the squad to react. The bandit went straight for Hangman’s aircraft, and before the rest of the squad could act, three other lights popped on the radar. Four against four. That meant only one thing.
A dog fight all the way back home.
Jake performed every maneuver he had ever been taught, as well as some of his own invention. He tried to get rid of the bandit; he tried to ask for help but knew that it was impossible. All his other members were in the same situation. Jake yelled to the radio officer to send backup their way. It would take a few minutes; he had to keep everyone alive. His squad members. His backseater.
The love of his life.
“Jake, Phoenix is in danger,” Arrow said, tossing in her seat to look at Phoenix’s aircraft.
As if the situation couldn’t be worse, the female aviator’s voice came through the radio. “I’m out of flares. I need help!”
“Shit. Where’s the backup?” Jake asked.
“Two minutes away” was the answer he got.
“We don’t even have thirty seconds,” Arrow said. And Jake gritted his teeth in anger, knowing that she was right.
“Arrow, we only have one round of flares left”
Her air came out in a shaky breath. “Go”
He knew, as well as she did, that if they helped her, they would have to eject from the aircraft. They would be in front of that bandit, with zero chance of avoiding them. Jake felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. He had to save his team members. Even if that meant putting the woman he loved in front of a missile.
Jake pulled a cobra maneuver, putting himself above Phoenix’s plane. Arrow released the flares, and the missile that was locked on Nat’s aircraft, exploded right behind them. Jake miscalculated, he was closer to the explosion than he thought. The engines got hit by the shrapnel.
He could hear her terrified yelling when they went down. He tried to restart the engines, but it was futile. They had to eject. One second later, Jake was grabbing the harness of his opened parachute while looking around to look for Arrow.
He was the only one there.
She never made it off the plane.
He pulled the handles around to follow the path of the plane. Jake crashed into a vast plain, and the plane in front of him was completely destroyed. He ran to it after he cut off the lines that connected him to the parachute. She was inside; her face, which always lit up with a smile whenever he was nearby, was covered in blood. He carried her out of there, even if he knew that he wasn’t supposed to move her.
Honestly, he couldn’t care less.
“Hey, hey, darling. Open your eyes for me. I need you to look at me” he begged her with tears in his eyes as he left her on the ground.
She could barely open her eyes, but she raised a hand in search of him. “Jakey?”
"Yeah, my love," he couldn't hold back the tears any longer. He knew how much effort it took her to just call out his name. He wouldn’t be able to save her. “I’m here with you”
She coughed, blood dripping from her mouth. “I’m sorry”
He shook his head, his hand angrily wiped his tears away. “Don’t be sorry for anything, love. It’s my fault”
“I’m gonna die on our anniversary,” she managed to say before another round of coughing brought more blood to her mouth. She didn’t have much time left.
He touched his pockets, looking around for a tiny, blue velvet box that he had planned to give her once they landed in the carrier. “You’re not gonna die. And I'm so sure of it that I'm going to ask you to marry me," he said, opening the box with unsteady hands and showing her the lovely ring he had purchased for her. “What do you say?”
She nodded with difficulty, and he slid the ring onto his stained finger. “I love you, Mrs Seresin”
“I’m not taking your last name,” she said, making him laugh and cry more.
“Of course you are,” he kissed her forehead, noticing that her eyes were unfocused and she was moving less and less. “Honey? Stay with me. You can’t leave me”
“I love you,” she said before her body stopped moving, and she closed one last time.
He sat there for hours with her lifeless body in his arms. He doesn’t remember how much time passed until the rescue team appeared to get them. Phoenix told him that the paramedics had to sedate him because he wouldn’t let go of her body. He even said that he wanted to be buried with her. Jake didn’t want to live without Arrow.
Phoenix and Coyote helped him for months. They had to force him to eat, to get out of bed, and to shower. He wasn’t himself. That is, until he found one letter hidden inside his winter boots. It seems like before she died, she left small letters around the house, just like he did.
The envelope said: “If I ever leave you”
My love,
I hope you never have to read this letter. I have been hiding these letters around the house for a few days now. This one I’ll give to Coyote. He will place it somewhere if something ever happens to me. I know you gave one to Phoenix; she told me. It’s only fair that I write one to you.
You are my soulmate. I’ve never believed in them. I never imagined that there could be someone who was created to love you and be loved by you. Until I met you. You’re everything I've been missing, everything I need, and everything I wanted. And if you’re reading this now, it means I’m gone.
I don't know how it happened, but I can see your sad face in my mind while I write these words for you. You can’t be sad forever, love. There are so many things for you to do, so many people to meet, and so much love to give. I know, I know. It seems impossible to fall in love with another person, right? But hear me out, honey. You deserve to be loved. You deserve to find a love like the one we had. Someone who will hold you every night and be there for you even on your worst days.
So please, promise me that you’ll do it. Promise me that you’ll seek out the love you deserve. If someone in this world deserves to be loved, that’s you.
Wait, why haven’t you promised it? I didn’t hear you. Say it!
Jake laughed, and promised out loud that he would look out for that love when the time came.
That’s my Jakey. I knew you could do it. You’re always been the perfect man. And I know it’s gonna be rough, honey. But this is life. People come and go. Maybe we weren’t meant to be. Maybe your soulmate was out there, and it wasn’t me. But you were mine, for sure. And I’m so glad that I could be with you until the very end.
Look out for that soulmate. Do it for me. Be happy for me. I’ll be watching over you.
Goodbye, Jake.
Yours forever,
Rainbow.
Jake’s tears stained the letter, and he carefully cleaned them up before her handwriting was damaged.
True to his words, he took care of himself. He went to therapy and slowly learned to live without Arrow. It wasn’t easy, and he became more sarcastic than ever. Nobody was there to stop him now, so he sometimes took things too far.
He began dating again. But it soon proved to be a bad decision. Because every time he was sure he had found someone really interesting, he found himself looking for a glimpse of her in them.
And that’s when he got up, made up an excuse, and left, because it wasn’t her.
Request: “Hiya! I was just wondering if I could have an imagine for peaky blinders ☺️ one where the reader is the shelbys’ sister and she dies, maybe a rival gang kills her or something like that. And could the reader be with alfie solomons. ☺️ I would love that so much, I’m sorry if that’s too specific lol 😂looking forward to hearing from you hun, have an amazing day wherever u are ☺️💛✨” - anon
Note: Thanks so much for the question, beautiful! It’s not too specific at all; it’s my pleasure to write. I hope you enjoy! Reader is younger than Tommy but older than John, and it’s set around the beginning of season 2, but I’m rearranging things a little bit to fit the story. Additionally, a lot of the same lines are used, so I have to make the disclaimer that all credits go to the Peaky Blinders Franchise, as always! Thanks again for reading!
summary: You helplessly witness Spencer cope with a loss on the anniversary of the event, unable to help him. (spencer reid x fem bau!reader)
category: angst
warnings: death
word count: 2.8k
a/n: wow apparently i only know how to write angst lmao i’m sorry in advance
MASTERLIST
It’s been a year since the incident. You knew the anniversary would be especially hard for Spencer, so you wanted to be with him today.
You slipped onto your side of the bed and watched his chest rise and fall as he lightly snored. You studied his face and noticed how peaceful he looked. That’s all you wished for him. To be at peace. But you knew that once he was conscious, his emotions would take over his mind like a violent storm.
You reached out and brushed your hand through his curls. He stirred, shocking you. You sat back as you watched his eyes flutter open. His eyes were glossy as they stared at you. No words were exchanged, but it felt as if the two of you deeply connected in that moment.
You reached out to hold his cheek, but he stayed still. You bit your lip, wanting to say something but you knew it wouldn’t make a difference. You rubbed your thumb along his cheekbone as you cradled his face in your palm. The two of you stayed there for a while. You, silently comforting him, and him staring back at you emptily.
This was not what wanted, but there was nothing you could do to change it.
After a while, he slowly got out of bed and started getting ready for the day. You stayed in bed, hands folded across your stomach as you stared at the ceiling. You wished things were different. You wished you could go back in time, just to relive that moment. But, knowing what you did now, you wouldn’t have changed the outcome.
Before you could recount the events that happened one year ago today, Spencer emerged from the shower. You turned around as he was getting dressed. Once he was done, he quickly grabbed his keys and left his apartment, with you trailing right behind him.
The warming rays of the morning sun seeped through the gap in the curtains, filling the room with a golden glow. Spencer opened his eyes, taking a minute to survey his surroundings, a small smile coming to his lips as he looked down at his chest at the girl who slept peacefully. Soft snores left her mouth, her perfectly pink lips ever so slightly parted.
Spencer couldn’t help but smile wider at the sight. She was so beautiful.
He was so lucky.
She was a goddess to him, an alluring being, with a breath-taking smile and eyes that brought him to his knees, rendered him helpless.
and she was his.
He often wondered what he’d done to deserve her, to be even the smallest bit worthy of her affection.
is this what heaven felt like?
One thing was for sure, Spencer Reid had made a lot of mistakes in his life.
She was the only thing he was certain he’d gotten right.
He reached his hand up, gently brushing the hair that had fallen in her face, his fingers smoothing lovingly over her cheeks. He pressed a string of feather-light kisses to the crown of her head, his other hand tenderly moving up and down her bare back.
She stirred slightly, her eyelids fluttering open as she woke from her peaceful slumber. “Spencer.” She murmured, a sleepy smile forming on her lips.
Nothing would ever compare to the warmth that filled Spencer’s chest when she said his name.
“Morning, love.” He mumbled back, chuckling when she nuzzled her head further into his chest, seeking a passion only he could give her. She groaned, not liking the idea of leaving the comfort of their bed, of him.
“Hey.” He whispered, and the look she gave him made him feel like he was floating. “I love you so much, sweet girl.”
She grinned, the familiar pink blush that Spencer adored so much coating her cheeks. “I love you, Spence.”
Based off of this request > could I request an angsty (cause I love the way you break my heart) fic about reader and Spencer getting into a huge argument and then they’re called out on a case and the reader dies lol.
genre > angst
wc > 4.2k
warnings > major character death, depression, refusing to eat.
the reader and spencer get into a heated argument during a case. when the reader is injured, spencer can only hope he’ll get the chance to make it up to her.
Spencer and Y/N rarely fought.
Of course they bickered from time to time about silly things that wouldn’t matter ten minutes later, but they rarely had a full-on argument. Screaming matches where they tried to wound one another with bitter words they didn’t really mean. They’d only ever fought like that once or twice, but ultimately they’d end with heartfelt apologies and kisses as they forgave one another and grew from their mistakes.
This particular argument however, was easily the worst they’d ever had.
It was the first big fight they’d had since they’d gotten married four months prior.
You know what they say about marriage; the first year is the hardest.
“I just don’t understand why we have to talk about this right now.” Spencer scowled as he walked into the empty room, his wife following hot on his heels.
Themselves and the team were had been sent to North Carolina on a triple homicide case in Charlotte. They’d been there for two days, and the newlyweds had carried an awkward tension with them ever since the case started. The couple had gotten into the start of an argument before they’d had to leave for the jet, which left what they new would be a bad fight brewing between them. Neither of them wanted to start the inevitable fight they knew they were going to have to have at some point. Y/N wanted to remain professional, to keep her emotions in check until her and Spencer got home and could fight talk everything out. She was succeeding, until she saw how snappy and cold Spencer was acting with her during the case, cutting her off mid-sentence and dropping sassy, unnecessary comments whenever she spoke. That only fuelled Y/N’s fire further. So when she managed to catch him alone she decided they had to have it out, even if it was in the middle of the case.
She closed the door to the room behind her as she watched Spencer busy himself with the three case files of the murder victims before him. She turned to him, her arms crossing in front of her. “Because I wanted to wait to have this fight until after the case finished, but you started up with the snappy attitude for no reason!”
“I’m busy, Y/N. Not right now.” He uttered, brushing her off. Again.
“Yes, right now. Every time I bring up the topic you shut me down and I’m tired of it! We have to talk about this, Spence. I’ve let you brush me off too many times now.” Her voice had lowered, she wasn’t shouting anymore but she was still stern.
Spencer scoffed. “You’re being ridiculous. I don’t brush you off.”
TW: The Reader is dead after losing her battle with leukemia and the subsequent grief surrounding her death and funeral.
++++ = change in perspective; ~~~ = passage of time; italics indicate a flashback
Based on a request by @you-sunshine
This request has taken me a long time to fill because I wanted to do it justice. I’m very lucky in that 99% of the requests I receive are really beautifully thought out and intricate in detail. I’m also very lucky that a lot of you guys trust me enough to allow me to write darker material, or material that touches on topics like grief, anxiety, trauma, drug abuse, etc. I joke about being angsty, but I’m truly honored to be given such a responsibility. This was actually quite cathartic to write and I hope you enjoy it as much as you can. I’ll have something slightly happier out soon. Love you all xx
~ “Those we love never truly leave us. There are things that death cannot touch.” - Jack Thorne ~
Aaron Hotcher has seen a lot in his time on this earth. He’s taken down countless criminals, beaten his own ex-wife’s murderer to death, fought tirelessly for justice and peace, but he knows this funeral is going to be one of the saddest things he’s ever witnessed. He’s been retired from the FBI for nearly five years now. In truth, he’d only met you a couple of times. He’d obviously been to the wedding about three years ago, but was seated on the groom’s side. You were a lovely person, he just didn’t know you terribly well. He’d heard you were sick, but didn’t really know the details. However, upon your passing, David Rossi had given him a call. After exchanging some pleasantries, Dave had been silent for a moment before sniffling and swallowing. It took Aaron a moment to realize Dave was crying.
“Dave, what’s-”
“Y/N died this morning,” Dave rasped.
“Oh, God, Dave…I’m so sorry,” Hotch breathed, a lump forming in his throat. He didn’t know you terribly well, but he knew the team loved you very much. That Spencer loved you very much.
“Um…I mean we all…we all knew it was coming, she’s…um…she was diagnosed last year with leukemia. She was in chemo for a while, but…she decided to stop treatment a while ago. It got worse and…and well…” Dave’s voice drifted off and he sniffled again. “I know you didn’t know her super well, but, uh, the kid…the kid is pretty far gone at this point and, um, I think it’d be great if you came to the funeral.”
“We’ll be there,” Hotch agreed immediately, “Jack and I both. Where do I need to send flowers?”
“Um, I’ll email you the funeral home details,” Dave had answered. “Um, Aaron, I need to ask a favor of you, actually.”
“Anything, Dave,” Hotch replied.
“Could you, um…could you escort Spencer to the funeral? I think the fact that you didn’t know his wife that well will, um…make this easier for him,” Dave had asked.
Can you do a request based off of Exit Music by Radiohead?
I was wondering if you could do a really ANGSTY piece where Spencer’s too late to save Reader and he finds a letter that states that she was in love with him. The sadder the better :”””)
Would you please be willing to write an angsty fic where Reid falls into a deeeep depression and relapses heavily and OD? Maybe like JJ can find him after it’s too late or something.
A/N: Y’all really just want me to hurt, huh? It’s fine. Lord knows I’m already unstable enough. THIS STORY DOES NOT HAVE A HAPPY ENDING. PLEASE read the content warnings. There are VERY BIG TRIGGERS in this story. I recommend reading it while listening to Exit Music by Radiohead, since it was heavily inspired by it. However, I would wait to start the song until the letter.
I did not go with the SUPER brutal ending, although I’ll put a brief explanation of what it was under the Taglist in case anyone else wants to write it or is just curious.
Couple: Spencer Reid/Reader
Category: ANGST (NOT a happy ending!)
⚠️🛑 CONTENT WARNINGS🛑 ⚠️: Car crash, death and dying, drugs, overdose, major character death. Please do not read unless you are mentally prepared for what will follow. Please make sure you have appropriate support before reading. Stay safe, lovelies!
Word Count: 5.5k
MASTERLIST
——————
She looked so beautiful that night.
Her laugh flowed through the cool night air like the melody of life itself. She existed so unapologetically and without any doubt. The carefree nature of her was hard to ignore; it rubbed off on you like the smell of perfume that always reminded me of jasmine and home.
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