#angst request

It was the exact same thing he’d told you every other night this past… week? Two weeks?

Tears flooded your eyes, your mind falling into the one-track record it’d been playing for the last three days.

He’s going to break up with me. He’s going to break up with me.

The thoughts raced a thousand miles a minute, no matter how many times you tried to convince yourself otherwise. No matter how many times you tried to rationalize the feelings. Tyler was a good man. He wouldn’t just leave you without a word of explanation.

And yet, panic clawed at your throat like a deranged animal.

This is how it starts. This is how it always starts.

Late nights, early mornings—more time spent at work, less time spent at home.

Soon, you would be two strangers living in the same house. And then, not even that.

He’s going to break up with me. He’s going—

Pain blossomed across your chest, stabbing, constricting. Oxygen refused to enter your lungs, or perhaps your lungs refused to utilize it. Black dots crowded your vision.

I’m not—I can’t—I’m going to die!

“Sweetheart?” Tyler’s voice echoed in the entryway, bouncing off kitchen walls and landing undisturbed on the living room carpet.

His boots thumped against the hardwood floors as he passed through the kitchen into the living area. Whimpering greeted him from behind the corner of the couch, tucked up against the wall. Urgency kicked his pulse. “Baby? Is that you?” He rounded the corner of the couch… and was immediately on his knees before you. “Shit! Shit, sweetheart, talk to me. Talk to me! What’s going on?”

“Tyler, I—“ The panic in your eyes as you gasped, clinging to his arm, knees tucked up to your chest and tears streaming down your cheeks, seared itself in his mind. He wouldn’t be able to unsee it for a while. “I can’t breathe. I can’t—“

“Hey, hey! It’s okay, you’re gonna be alright. Breathe with me.” He ran a hand up and down your arm, inhaling a deep, exaggerated breath, trying to still your racing heart.

But his own pulse thrummed.

What is happening? Should I call an ambulance? There’s no blood… but she can’t breathe. Shit, shit, shit!

“Follow my lead, sweetheart. C’mon.”

A sob broke out of your chest, but you followed.

In… and out. In… and out.

“Good. That’s good, baby. You’re doing good.”

He sighed in mental relief as your body slowly started following the pattern.

Okay, she can breathe. She can breathe. She’s gonna be okay.

“T-Ty?”

“Yeah?”

He dragged a thumb across the back of your hand, attempting to ground you from what he was now recognizing as a panic attack. Swimming eyes locked onto his, despair tracing a threatening line around the edges.

“Are you… are you breaking up with me?”

Tyler couldn’t have been more shocked if you’d punched him in the gut. He sputtered, mouth moving, but with no sound coming out.

Finally, he managed a choked, “What?”

“It’s just—” You swallowed, looking away. “It’s just you’ve been gone so often, staying late at work, leaving early, sometimes even before I wake up, and I thought–-I mean—” Your face crumpled, and Tyler’s heart with it. “I mean, every other relationship I’ve ever had—that’s how they did it. That’s how it always started, and I thought—” A sob, deep and resonant, wracked your body.

“Hey. Hey, shhh. Shhhh.” He pulled you close, pressing you firmly against his chest, a tender kiss planted swiftly atop your head.

Your hands fisted in his shirt as you sobbed. Tears stained the front of his flannel.

“Shhhh, baby, it’s okay. I’m not—” His hand rubbed soothingly up your back. At least, Tyler hoped it was soothing. But your tears never slowed. “I’m not breaking up with you.”

You pulled back, your face a mess of snot and tears. “Promise?”

Tyler smiled gently, wiping your face clean with his sleeve. Because if that wasn’t love, he didn’t know what was. “Promise.”

You fell back into his arms, a shudder shaking your frame as you sighed.

And he just sat there with you, for as long as you needed, his message from earlier playing in his mind.

Coming home early today, baby. I love you. 💛

------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It was after midnight when a bloody, beaten, and worn-down soul returned home. Trying their hardest to stay silent to not alert their wife now that they were finally home after being delayed for an additional two days than the original eight days that was originally expected. You would have been back two hours ago but you were determined to patch yourself up the best you could so your wife who would no doubt already be worried about the delay, it would only stress her to see injuries and put the lives you just risked everything for in grave danger from her wrath. This is the downside to having the job of a life guardian with protection witch abilities while your wife is Lady Death who is protective and quick to anger.

Turning into the living room has you feeling lightheaded and your using the back of the couch as a crutch to keep yourself upright. You waited for a few minutes till the feeling passed thinking it was safe managing to round to the front of the couch before feeling a wet sensation against your left hand that was holding your right side. Pulling your hand off your side you see that the stitches for that large gash had ripped again and you'd already lost so much blood you barely made it onto the couch before the rest of your strength left you.

Meanwhile, Rio had been forced to collect more souls in the last four days than she would have liked. She would much rather wait at home for y/n to return, given that they were already two days behind their return date. Unfortunately, Death waits for no one, and Rio was super-speeding the process intending to get home faster. Finally, arriving at the house for the last two souls that needed to be collected tonight it happened to be an elderly couple. Rio always enjoyed collecting elderly couples who passed together because it was well deserved. Even though she was in a rush to get home she took her time with this couple getting to know them while providing a smooth transition.

When she returned to the living world she felt a searing pain in her chest at the same time it felt like a soul was close to collection. The searing pain was from the bond with her wife that alone was concerning enough but in occurrence as the death call skyrocketed Rio’s panic and in her rush to get home she teleported to the wrong location twice before finally making it home. Running up the path barreling through the door, and using magic to close the door the house was dark no lights had been turned on. Rio was using their bond to range how close she was to y/n and her ability to adjust to the darkness to rush up the stairs to their bedroom.

Upon crossing the bedroom’s threshold she noticed the room was untouched. Stopping long enough to check the bathroom before she rushed back downstairs, she was on the way to their back porch which was your favorite spot had it not been for the weak whimpering sound you made on the couch from jostling your injury. The sound had her turned around and on her knees at your side in a split second using her magic she turned on the living room lamps which illuminated your state to her. Normally nothing would phase her but your bruised state and the extent of your injuries were unlike any you had ever bared before. She knew the insane risks of your job as a life guardian but had been managing until now but she could no longer put off the conversations she had been withholding from you anymore.

Your voice was so weak when you tried putting on the brave act of “It’s fine, I’m okay-“ but she was quick to gently cut you off with “No you’re not, you’re injured and it’s all their fault!”. She was so sick of the fools who lived without abandon and required a life guardian to keep living. If she could she’d gladly take all their souls in an instant to keep you from harm but she couldn’t break the cycle of life rules without major consequences. If you didn’t require her immediate attention and care to keep you from being the next soul she was forced to collect she would be out that door in a second to give the person you risked everything such a life-altering scare to keep them from needing you ever again.

But you needed her now, especially with the large gash that was gushing blood out. She took out her favorite curved knife to cut your shirt off so she could have full access to your injuries to heal them. When your shirt had been removed and the true extent of your injuries was revealed to her, she was scared that she couldn’t heal it. The gash went from your right side across your abdomen it was deep with significant blood loss your other symptoms included breathing faster than normal, feeling confused and weak, sweating, low body temperature, fast pulse and slowly losing consciousness.

Rio tried to be gentle but she could only go so far when she had to put her hands directly on your wounds to heal it with her magic. Putting pressure on your wounds and the magic closing them again, causing you immense pain that had your already exhausted body past its limit to where your whimpering increased along with your feeble attempts to get away from Rio’s hands. Your rational side knew Rio was helping but you were so confused by the pain and blood loss that you weren’t capable of seeing it as helping. Rio couldn’t take her hands away from your wounds yet so all she could currently offer you were words of love to try and ease your confusion and discomfort.

“Cara Mia, I know it hurts”

“Your going to be okay”

“It’s almost over mi amor”

“We are going to have a long conversation when this is all over”

Rio had finally finished healing your wounds and could take her hands off your abdomen. You had passed out when the wound was halfway through mending. After she checked your heartbeat and breathing status, she walked to the kitchen where she collected a bowl of water and a hand towel to wash both her hands and clean you off the best she could. When you were cleaned off Rio took a few minutes to lay her head over your abdomen to feel you breathing and leave a trail of kisses along where your newest scar lies trying to calm her racing heart and remind herself you were still here with her. There wasn’t much she could offer for blood loss but two potions, food, hydration, and rest.

When she left you this time it was a return trip to the kitchen to clean the bloody bowl and prepare the potions and food. Who knows how long you’ll be passed out for so it was a waiting game for Rio which gave her time to think about one of your earlier interactions and what she wanted to say to you after all these years of holding back. One of her favorite interactions was when you had presumably saved her from a booby-trapped section of the woods. You did not know that she was Death at the time, there had been many interactions between you both throughout the years. You thought she was alluring, irresistible, and you knew this section of the wood was trapped. She had stepped on a hidden pressure plate for the arrow bolt's release, but before one could hit her, she instantly knew it was you. Hell, yall had fucked so many times at this point that you could recognize each other instantly just by your bodies. “You saved me back there…you didn’t have to. You could’ve gotten yourself kille-” (Rio) “I’d always choose you over myself. You should be well aware of that by now, my dear.” (You).

It had caught her off guard how willing you were to always put her first over yourself. Dare she say that made you even sexier in her eyes and so much harder to deny feelings for you anymore. She almost lost you tonight in more ways than one, physically and she would have been forced to take your soul from the living world to the soul realm a place she could never enter. She finished making everything and kept the food warm with her magic going back into the living room carefully lifting your head and sliding in under you. She ran a hand through your hair while the other was holding your wrist keeping track of your heartbeat.

The air wasn‘t fresh and minty, there was no comforting hold on your hand as you wake up from getting knocked out. You weakly try to grasp onto the warm memories, refusing to let reality consume you again. Your hands at your sides tremble as you fidget with your fingers.

It hurts. Your left shoulder pounds painfully, only now noticing the light graze wound, one that toured through your suit, leaving a dark red stain around the area. Luckily, it doesn‘t seem to go through your muscle, only having hurt your skin. The dark alley way echos with your grunt, as you pull yourself up, feeling your legs grow weak and tremble. Still, despite the injuries and dark surroundings, you barely make your way out of the cold alley way, into the open street.

»There!« A voice, you can‘t register at the moment, startles you and makes you turn your head to the side. Red Robin hurries to your side, quickly supporting you. »Why didn‘t you report your status?«

»I literally just woke up.«

»Right.« He carefully guides you to the Batmobile, Batman coming up to help you sit inside. After a brief check-up, he could tell it was more than a graze on your shoulder. It was dislocated.

Leaning back into the passenger seat, you watch Bruce drive back to the Batcave first, not bothering to speak up with you or tell you how they defeated Poison Ivy and got her back into Arkahm. You won‘t speak up either. It‘s no use, and it‘s not like you can talk about anything other than work with him. Not like earlier times, when you were simply accompaning him and Dick during short patrols, and getting used to the whole schedule. That sort of easiness is gone, replaced with an underlying tension, neither of you seem to want to talk about.

»Deep breath in,« Alfred instrucks as he holds your shoulder and arm, making you ready to lock it back in. After a brief crack and a quiet groan, he managed to put it back in place. Next comes the stabilizing, making sure your shoulder heals properly.

»Patrolling is strictly forbidden for the next two weeks, until your shoulder heals.«

»What?« You huff back, your brain having struggles accepting his words. But the butler won‘t even show an ounce of emotion, instead cleaning up the cart with the used medical supplies.

»You heard him. It‘s too dangerous for you.«

You spine goes cold at the voice, instantly recognising it. It was a voice you desperately hoped to hear again, but not in this context. Dick‘s hand gently squeezes your good shoulder, glancing down at you sympathically. The lack of response from your side makes his brow crease, tilting his head at you.

»Still grumpy?«

But before you could answer or exchange some words with him — maybe even get the playful banter back — Bruce interrupts the moment.

»I need your files of Posion Ivy and your help on the next case. You said you have connections to Cyborg?«

You are left alone, not even a few seconds later. Alone with your exhausted and aching limbs, having to carry yourself back into your room. Usually, Dick would‘ve carried you back into your bed and tuck you in, if it was still the early days of your vigilante career. The realisation leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, forcing yourself not to think about it.

You are livid at yourself. You shouldn‘t be this attached to someone, let alone crave comfort in such way. It‘s almost like your heart squeezes uncontrollably everytime you remember that your early ‘Robin‘ days are gone. You are not the little kid that needs support and guidance through the day, who gets sweets after doing a good job. Bruce doesn‘t seem to acknoweledge you as much anymore, leaving you to your own duties and cases. You tried reasoning it with him trying to be less controlling, to avoid repeating past mistakes. But it doesn‘t come across like that sometimes. He doesn‘t check up on you as much, he won‘t help you if he sees you struggling on a case; relying on you to figure it out eventually. Even if you make small mistakes or do slip ups on missions, he doesn‘t react as much. The lack of emotions is starting to haunt you.

The following weeks go by even slower, trying to take your time on healing your shoulder. Now that you actually get to sleep longer, since patrol is forbidden, you start getting dreams. Reliving past memories, where you and Dick spent time together, or simply talked to the other boys. They were slightly different, but still just as wholesome and familiar, filling you with solace and relief.

You stir awake from your sleep, unwillingly getting out of Dick‘s warm hug. The warmth leaves your body as you slowly realise you were dreaming about it, desperately trying to go back to sleep and get back into the welcoming hug, but it won‘t happen.

Your body lays wide awake in your bed, staring blankly into the ceiling as you contemplate doing the most desperate thing you‘ve done in your life, probably.

»Did I wake you?«

You ask into the phone as you hold it close to your ear, waiting for Dick‘s answer. There‘s a constant bad feeling at the back of your head, some sort of guilt.

»No, just got off work. Does B need something again? Do you need anything?« He answers back with a small sigh, and you hear the faint click of a door in the background.

»Uh… y‘know. Just wanted to check, nothing else.«

There‘s a light pause on his end, making you question if he‘s still on the line or not. Finally, he speaks up again, his voice more tired than before.

»Listen, I had a long today, and I‘ll call back tomorrow, because I need sleep. Promise me to be okay?«

You nod before realising he can‘t see it, giving him a small hum back. The call ends without further words exchanged, leaving your room silent again.

Tomorrow, he doesn‘t call back.

←MASTERLIST

“What are you playing at!” he yelled, grabbing the sides of your face in his palms. His face glistened with sweat, and his hair was disheveled from battle. Across the breastplate of his armor, you saw several swipes of blood, and you noticed he was limping ever so slightly. He surveyed you from head to toe, taking in the sight of you in your unvarnished silver armor.

“Out of my way, Commander,” you snarled, making to move towards the open door. There were distant sounds of combat in the castle.

“You’re not going anywhere, y/n” Cahir snarled. His voice was quieter now, softer somehow, but still shaking with barely controlled emotion. It enraged you. You shot him a murderous look, your grip tightening like a vice on the hilt of your sword.

“I should ask you what you’re playing at, Cahir,” you spat back. You could feel the bitterness you’d swallowed down for the last year and a half until you’d almost choked on it bubbling up like boiling acid on your tongue. “You are neither my commander, nor my lover. I see no reason at all for you to concern yourself with my well-being.”

Your words landed heavily, and despite the intensifying din of battle in the halls outside your chambers, the silence between you was thick enough to suffocate in. Cahir took in a few heaving breaths as he returned your fiery gaze. The anger that had burned in his chocolate eyes when he’d first burst into the room was now replaced by something deeper. You had the unsettling sensation that you were looking into a bottomless chasm in his gaze, and you found you had to avert your eyes. Tears of anger clawed at your throat, and you clenched your jaw against them. You refused to cry - again - in front of this man.

The silence stretched longer between you. For an instant, you’d hoped he would say something. You would have settled for anything: him scolding you, him admitting you were right, an apology, a muttered plea for you not to fight, a command for you to leave with the rest of the ladies of the court through the secret tunnels. But it was becoming increasingly apparent that he was going to let you suffocate in his indifferent silence.

Disgusted with yourself for harboring a vain hope that maybe, just maybe, you’d see a flicker of the love he’d once held for you in this final goodbye, you shook your head and stepped again towards the door. Battle would do you a bit of good; death would save you the embarrassment of having to see him again, you thought darkly.

Before you’d taken a step, though, you felt his fingers come to rest feather-lightly on your wrist. His eyes bored into the floor, but his breathing was still ragged. You stopped, stunned.

“I still care for you,” he mumbled, so quietly you thought you’d misheard him. You took a stuttering step backwards. His fingers gripped your wrist more tightly, and he forced his eyes up to meet yours. You were dumbfounded to see tears pooling at his lash line, the mask of rage he’d worn a moment before now completely dissolved. All you saw now was desperation. You knew it well; you’d felt it ever since he’d cast you off for his mysterious lover in Aretuza. Your mouth fell open in a small ‘o’ as your heart threatened to break free of your ribs.

Almost as quickly as the moment had come, it was lost as the chaos of combat burst into your chamber. Three of Cahir’s men were pressed hotly by four of the invaders. One of Cahir’s men was bleeding freely from a spear in his thigh, and his face was a sickly shade of yellowish white as he struggled to stay upright. His comrades had the sluggish, delayed movements of soldiers long exhausted and at the edge of collapse as they parried against the vicious sword strokes of their opponents.

You and Cahir sprang into action quickly. Cahir, still keeping his grip on your wrist, pulled you behind him as he spun around, all signs of his limp gone. He raised his sword to connect with an opponent’s, the jarring metal-on-metal twang setting your teeth on edge. His men fell in line with him, emboldened by the sight of their commander, and pressed back on the enemies with renewed vigor.

The soldier with the spear protruding from his thigh, however, was too grievously injured to be of any use to the battle. You set to purpose as you saw the man sink to his knees. Looping your hands under his armpits, you dragged him backwards from the heavy fighting until he could lean against the back wall of your chamber. He was paler now, and you knew he was moments from bleeding out. You knelt beside him, looking into his eyes. He was young - no more than seventeen, you realized with a pang of grief - and he looked frightened. His eyes searched yours frantically as he struggled to remain conscious.

Gently, you laid one of your hands along his cheek, smiling sweetly at him in what you hoped was a calm and reassuring way.

“Sssh now,” you murmured gently. “Rest here awhile.” The boy’s eyes glazed over, but you saw the fear evaporate in them as he let out one final sighed breath before falling still. Allowing yourself one brief moment of repose, you closed his eyelids and sent a prayer to the Gods for his soul.

You could spare no more than that, however, before you felt the press of combat behind your back. Rising to your feet and turning to face your assailants, you saw Cahir step between you and one of the enemy about to strike you, his eyes blazing with ferocity as he drove his sword hilt-deep into the man’s gut. The man let out a gurgled cry of pain as blood pooled in his mouth, spilling down his chin as his eyes fogged over and death took him.

From the doorway at the opposite end of the room, you saw with a sinking sensation in your chest that three more men ran in to join the melee, and the crest emblazoned on their chests was not that of your country. Down now to you, Cahir, and the other two soldiers – weakened and exhausted – you felt a grim sense of determination seep into your muscles. There was now no hope of beating the enemy; your only chance was to hold them off and wait for reinforcements, although you weren’t certain any would come.

You stepped forward, now shoulder to shoulder with Cahir, your sword drawn as you proceeded to engage one of the newly entered enemies. He was, thankfully, a slender man and the sword arm of his light blue tunic was soaked with blood from a gash in his shoulder.

Sensing an opportunity, you struck out with your sword, making contact with his shoulder close to his existing wound. He recoiled in pain, his arm falling limply, his sword along with it. He reflexively dropped the shield in his other hand to grasp at his wounded shoulder. In an instant, you saw your chance, and he saw his mistake. He tried to summon what little strength he had left in his sword arm to block the thrust of your blade, but he was not quick enough. You sliced the killing edge of your weapon decisively against his throat, and you did not need to watch the life extinguish in his eyes to know that it was a mortal blow.

“Y/N! No!”

In the same moment you heard Cahir’s shriek of fear, you saw the blur out of the corner of your eye. Raising your sword high over your head, you pivoted to face the oncoming assailant, but this time it was you who was too slow. You felt your enemy’s blade sink into your side, grating against your ribs with a sickening crunch. Your entire body erupted into blistering, white hot pain. Disoriented, you sank to your knees as your opponent withdrew his blade. Through the haze of pain and your blurred eyes, you felt Cahir straddle over you as you crumpled to the ground and lock sword with the man who’d stuck you with staggering ferocity.

You fought to keep from sliding into darkness as you pawed aimlessly at the wound on your side. You’d been a medic in the army of Nilfgaard long before you’d learned how to fight, and you’d seen enough wounds to know this would kill you. Gingerly, you looked down at your hands. The blood staining your palms and armor was so dark it was almost black; another sign of your pending death. As if from far away, your mind considered the scene with a scientific dispassion.

The sounds of battle above you mingled with the sounds of Cahir’s guttural screaming as he plowed onward into the fray, hacking and slashing with animalistic brutality. The soldier who’d dealt your destiny fell in a dull thud, bleeding out from a rib-to-sternum gash Cahir had dealt him.

The ceiling of your chamber rippled as parts of your mind sank under the surface of unconsciousness. The pain was strangely gone now, and your whole body felt cold. You focused only on your breathing - ragged and irregular. That distant, observing piece of your mind begged you to hold on. For what exactly, you weren’t sure…

Moments slid by. Time felt warped. You weren’t sure how long you forced labored breaths in and out of your body, and you couldn’t tell anymore if the sounds of combat were indeed less now or if you were simply losing grasp of your senses. Your sight seemed to fade in and out, like a fire whipped almost to the point of being extinguished by a cold wind.

Suddenly, you registered something. A change in your body’s position. You blinked sluggishly, trying to force your mind to read the scene in front of your eyes. A face, brown eyes. They were looking into yours, tears spilling from them down strongly cut cheekbones. A handsome mouth twisted into a cry of pain.

Cahir, the distant part of your mind called to you. The name echoed in your head.

“Cahir,” you managed to choke out hoarsely. He sobbed in a mixture of relief and grief to see you still clinging feebly to life.

“My love, don’t go. Please, no. Y/n, no.” His words were a senseless string of babbling pleading as he tenderly removed your helmet, brushing your mussed hair from the sides of your face. His touch had a strange quality to it: it felt as if his two hands were in fact a million, caressing over every square inch of your form instead of just your hairline and temples - the result of your quickly fading faculties, no doubt.

“We didn’t have enough time,” he wept, his voice fracturing and his eyes burning with tears as he gently cradled your head in his lap. He could see the bright hues of your irises dulling to the distinctive dark gray shade indicative of death. He had only moments now. You smiled weakly up at him, your eyes adrift as your gaze faded in and out of focus. “I can’t live without you. I love you,” he whimpered, his head bowing against your chest.

Your last remaining flicker of comprehension processed his words. Marshaling what little strength you had left, you forced words out of your throat. You hoped they were intelligible - your tongue felt swollen and thick and it wouldn’t cooperate with your lips.

“With my death today, you’ll start a new life tomorrow.” It was a line from an ancient Redanian prayer your mother used to recite with you each night when you were younger. It wasn’t something you thought of often, but it surfaced from the sinking recesses of your memory now, at the doorstep of death.

Cahir lifted his head from your chest, struggling to put space between his sobs as he looked into your fading eyes.

“Even if I had a thousand lifetimes to live, the one I lived with you would be my best,” he whispered fervently. It was the traditional Redanian response to the prayer for the dying, which Cahir hadn’t realized you’d known. He realized now that he would never know the full extent of what you’d heard, seen, felt, or loved in your life. There was no way to ask you, no way to tell you of his feelings, no way to share a sunrise or a meal or a winter’s storm together. There would be nothing new for the two of you; you’d live now only in Cahir’s memories.

Cahir leaned down to kiss your lips one last time while they were still warm with life. He felt something deep inside him splinter as he did so. His hands shook and he felt as if he were collapsing in a hole that had opened in the center of his chest.

When he looked back up to your eyes, he saw you were gone. He wished for a great many things, and the weight of those wishes crumbled into that single moment took his breath away. He wished he’d never left you, he wished he’d never lied to you about giving his heart away, he wished he hadn’t taught you to fight, he wished for another day, another moment with you, one more chance to hear your voice, to see the sunlight in your hair, to feel your body under his.