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seijorhi · 10 months ago

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Violent Delights

for my very dearest best friend (wife) @iwaasfairy i'm sorry it's super late, but august and april both start with 'a' which basically means they're the same month <33 iwaizumi hajime x female reader w.c 4.4k tw: yandere themes, non-con, drugged reader, blood/gore, murder, incest, sorta smut (nsfw)

M I N E

It’s funny in a way. Amidst the wreckage, the blood, what was left of your friends and the cooling puddle of cum splattered across your naked stomach, four letters carved into your bedroom wall seemed almost… harmless. Or at least the easiest to digest. Fixate on.

The detective asked about your ex partners, the dates you’d been on recently, whether or not you’d noticed anyone in your day-to-day paying you too much attention, if anyone made you feel uncomfortable, or said anything that seemed out of place.

But your exes don’t care enough to kill, and the two dates you’ve been on in the last six months never bothered to text you back. No one’s left weird, unsettling gifts, or stared too long in line at the coffee shop. There’s nothing. No precursor or warning, no giant red flag waving in front of you.

Mine.

Hovering on the edge of numbness, blind hysteria just out of reach, you stare at the beige walls of the hotel room they’d put you up in, the angry gouges flickering in and out of existence with every blink.

Mine.

Kaori was the one obsessed with all the true crime stuff. She’d be the first to tell you psychopaths and nutjobs – they don’t jump straight into drugging and triple homicide. There’s a pattern of behaviour. Escalation.

Something you missed.

Then again, considering it’s her blood still caked under your fingernails, there’s a strong possibility she wouldn’t be all that enthusiastic about the whole thing to begin with.

You need a shower, a proper one – not the glorified sponging off they’d given you at the hospital. Enough to get you out the door, not nearly enough to scrub away the grime and rid yourself of what he did to you–

The others had it worse. You survived. He barely touched you.

Mine.

The thought of scalding water, of scrubbing yourself raw does hold a certain appeal, yet hunched over atop starched white sheets, those same bloody fingernails sink into the flesh of your arms instead, grounding you in the tiny bite of pain.

Minutes tick past and you don’t so much as twitch. Not until a sharp knock sounds at the door and a gruff voice calls out your name.

You wait half a beat, but when nothing more is forthcoming, you slowly edge yourself off the bed, making your way to the door. Through the peephole you spy a dark haired officer, different to the one who’d dropped you off, staring back at you.

They did tell you there’d be an officer with you the whole time, at least for the next twenty four hours.

“Miss?” he calls again, and you distantly realise that while your hand is poised over the deadlock, you haven’t moved to undo it.

Squeezing your eyes shut, your forehead meeting the wooden door with a muted thud, you curse that stupid, tremulous fluttering in your chest. They’re here for you, protecting you. You’re safe.

Open the damn door.

“Y-yeah?”

Coward.

“Brought some food for you. Dinner.” There’s a rustling on the other side, and you raise your head to peer back through the glass in time to see him lift up a paper carry bag to the peephole. The idea of eating anything right now has your stomach roiling in protest. “Nothing fancy, but it’s good, I swear,” he says. Then, gentler, like he’s talking down a spooked animal, adds, “You need to eat.”

Still, you hesitate. All you need to do is open the door, grab the food and then at least it’s there if you want it later. Easy.

Too quick, too jerky to be natural, you twist at the handle and yank the door open a scant few inches, enough for you to reach out an arm expectantly for the food. “Thank you,” you pre-empt, because hungry or not, you’re not completely without manners.

The officer lifts an eyebrow. “Yeah, no. I’m not taking heat from the Cap when the guys on the next shift find you passed out ‘cause you haven’t eaten anything,” he scoffs. “C’mon, we can talk while you eat.” Not a suggestion – you barely have time to stumble back before he’s pushing his way inside and kicking the door closed behind him. The second he takes to flick the lock somehow simultaneously eases the knots in your stomach and sends your heartrate ratcheting.

It’s halfway to a miracle that you’re still standing at all.

“Eat,” he tells you, his deep voice brooking no disagreement as he shoves the bag of food your way and grabs the lone chair in the room, dragging it closer to the edge of the bed and settling himself down. Clearly he has no intention of going anywhere until he’s satisfied you’ve eaten your fill.

With little else for it, you do as you’re told, reaching into the bag to find steamed buns at your fingertips, still warm as you pry open the wrapper– and wince. The familiar scent of pork, ginger and chives wafts through the air, unwittingly digging at old wounds.

Suddenly you’re a kid again, strolling down the hill with your family, one hand tucked safely within your brother’s, the other grasping a steaming hot bun. You’re happy and whole and so, so young–

“Something wrong? You don’t like meat buns?”

Not the time. Ignoring the bitter ache the memory conjures, you’re quick to shake your head, “No. No, thank you. It’s great.” You doubt he buys it, but then again you also doubt he cares so long as you get something in your stomach.

One bite, chew, swallow. Another, chew, swallow – mechanical until it isn’t. The first bun disappears and you reach for the second.

“How’s your head?” he asks.

You swallow down another mouthful. “Fuzzy. Sore. I still can’t remember anything,” you admit, in case that’s where this line of questioning is going. Nothing beyond waking up in your bed covered in blood and a stranger’s cum at any rate.

The blood work they did at the hospital confirmed you were drugged along with the others, the detective mentioning the near-empty bottle of wine they’d found, which they were in the process of testing too. He’d also pointed out the lack of evidence indicating any kind of forced entry, which paired with the former is something you’ve been trying not to dwell on.

The officer gives a considering nod, “That’s to be expected, don’t worry about it. I still think it’s worth asking a few more questions if you’re feeling up to it?” Again, it’s phrased like a question, but already he’s pulling out a voice recorder, setting down on the mattress between you.

“Um, sure. Yeah,” you croak.

A small smile, “Good.” He leans forward to switch on the recorder. “We’ll start with the other victims – your friends. Tell me about them.”

“Kaori, she’s– she was my best friend. We worked at the same grocer when I first moved out of my parents’ place, when I got a job here she made the decision to move with me. That was about six months ago.”

“And the other two?”

“Her brother Koji and another friend of ours Takashi. They came up to visit; Kaori’s been back once or twice since we left, but I hadn’t seen them–” tears blur at your vision and your voice just… gives out.

They’re gone.

You drag a shuddering breath in and it hurts.

Blindly, your hand reaches across the bed, blood tipped fingers sprawling over pristine white, and when they meet warmth – an open palm outstretched – you seize it and cling on with everything you have. You’ll unravel if you don’t.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you chant, each syllable shakier than the last.

He dips his chin, just barely, and squeezes your hand, “You invited them?”

A wordless, wide eyed nod.

“You were close.” Not a question. He sounds like he’s mulling over the thought, though his expression is inscrutable. “Were you involved with any of them?”

This time, there’s the slightest hesitation before you shake your head. The officer frowns, “I need the truth. Your friends were attacked for a reason. Lying to me won’t help bring their families peace.”

The blood drains from your face, your heart lurching on a sickening thud.

Your fault.

Instinctively, you yank back your hand, or try to at least, but his grip tightens – enough to keep you from drawing away, not enough to hurt. Though neither his tone nor his expression hold any condemnation, it doesn’t change the truth of the matter.

You didn’t drug them or pick up the knife and swing. You didn’t invite this psycho into your life, but the fact remains that they’re dead because of you.

“I– it wasn’t like that. We weren’t… I didn’t–”

MINE.

Tears threaten to spill and your bottom lip trembles.

For a long, drawn out moment, he simply stares. There’s a twitch at his jaw and he sighs – more of a grunt, really – leaning back and pulling his hand from yours to rake through his dark hair.

(Stupid, you think, how some part of you mourns the loss.)

“Okay, alright. Fine. We’ll come back to that,” he concedes. “What about other friends? Coworkers you were close with?”

“No, I– I already told the detective I wasn’t seeing anyone.”

An irritated flash darkens his gaze. “I didn’t ask if you were fucking them.” And you must make a truly pathetic picture then, flinching like a kicked puppy, because he lets out another huff, closing his eyes for a beat and visibly working to soften the harsh lines of his expression. “Shit, okay– I’m sorry. It’s been a long day for us both,” he makes an odd noise, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, the sound entirely devoid of humour. “The guy who did this, he either already knows about the people precious to you, or he’s gonna do his damn best to find out, and if he thinks they’re threats, he’ll hurt them, or worse – he’ll use them to hurt you. I need you to tell me everything.”

And so, feeling the exhaustion of the day creeping over you, you do.

You tell him about the small group from work you occasionally go out for Friday drinks with, your old friends from uni, right down to the neighbour two floors below, who’d seen you hauling boxes the day you’d moved in and immediately offered to help. When you’d christened the kitchen baking you’d made sure to bring him some, and just last week you’d had tea with him and his grandma.

“What about school? Anyone you still keep in contact with?”

You try for a laugh but it sounds all wrong. “I wasn’t exactly popular back then,”

His eyes narrow. They flit across your face like he’s searching for… something. You feel like a bug, pinned in place, squirming and uncomfortable, your face too hot.

“Bullied?” he probes.

Another nod.

“How ‘bout family?”

Your mouth dries.

“My parents… I haven’t spoken to them in months. We don’t really get along.” The last conversation you’d had with them, if you could call it as much, lasted all of five minutes. Dry pleasantries and thinly veiled criticisms, wrapped up in yet another pointed reminder that things didn’t have to be this way – you were the one adamant on shutting them out.

You doubt it’d raise a single eyebrow between them if you went the same again without contact.

“Siblings?”

Another tear slips from your lashes and you swallow against the tight lump in your throat. The weight of his gaze feels oppressive, you’re too bare, too vulnerable, you don’t want to talk about this, so you shift your line of sight to the paper delivery bag, half crumpled now, and let your fingernails sink into the skin of your palms.

Still, the words don’t come straight away, and when they do, they’re strained. Choked. Painted so thick is grief that you wonder if he understands them at all.

“No. I uh, I had a brother– a twin brother. He died.”

You don’t talk about your brother, ever.

Kaori knew the bare bones of it. Koji and Takashi too – you had a twin brother, he died, and it fucked you up. Without ever uttering a word, they’d known not to press, that the wounds left behind weren’t quite as healed as the scar tissue led to believe.

“How old were you?”

Seven, when you lost him. Twelve, when the letters stopped coming.

“Fourteen,” you whisper, curling in on yourself. “He was sick.”

Stop asking, stop talking, stop, stop, stop.

When you risk a look in the officer’s direction, his features are hewn granite, eyes set in a hard, angry glare that steals the very breath from your lungs. “Yeah?” he grunts, rising to his feet. “You stopped writing long before that.”

There’s just enough time for understanding to crash over you, for your lips to part, a feather light gasp of “Hajime?” to slip out before you’re flat on your back, wrists pinned to the mattress above your head, the officer– a ghost– Hajime looming over you.

“What did I fucking tell you?”

—

‘Sweetie, make sure you hold your brother’s hand.’

They’d meant when you were walking home from the bus stop, or crossing the road. When there was a buddy system so no one got separated or left behind.

Hajime was always holding your hand. Not because your parents told him to, but because that’s how it was supposed to be. You were twins, he’d been born first (by all of six minutes) and you had followed. You were always following Hajime, and he was always going to look after you.

Until he gets put into the Otter class with Mr Inagaki, and you go into Dugong with Miss Ino.

Hajime’s nothing short of enraged. He throws chairs and yells and tries to kick the Principal, but it doesn’t change anything.

It would be good for you, they said, to have a chance to make other friends. ‘You can’t keep using your brother as a crutch, honey,’ your mother gently admonishes.

Hajime scowls at that. Later, when it’s just the two of you hiding away in his room, he tells you she’s an idiot and a liar. ‘You don’t need anyone else. You have me.’

You knew that. You’d always have Hajime, but the other kids in your class weren’t as awful as he made them sound. Some of them were actually kind of cool, and they liked you, too.

For a while, you began to believe you could have both; Hajime and your new friends.

Until one day you’re waiting for him at lunch when a boy from your class tugs on your braids and with a wide, toothy grin, loudly proclaims to the whole playground that even though you were a girl, and girls have cooties, it’d probably be okay if you wanted to be his girlfriend.

You didn’t see Hajime coming up behind you. You’ve no idea where he found the scissors. The only warning either of you get is a sudden, splitting roar before he’s throwing himself at the smaller boy, tackling him to the ground.

‘She’s MINE!’

Silver glints, flashing in the sunlight, and a high pitched shriek rips through the playground as he brings the scissors down on the poor, struggling boy.

With a viciousness you’d never known of your brother, he swings again and again. It’s chaos. The other kids scatter and the teachers run to intervene. Hajime, spitting and snarling, red in the face and half-feral, doesn’t stop for them.

He stops for you.

At the sound of a sharp little gasp, a line of red slashed along your forearm, Hajime stops dead, wide, horrified eyes fixed on yours.

—

‘Sweetie, what have I told you about snooping? I raised you better than that.’

‘But they’re addressed to me. Hajime wrote to me.’

‘Your brother’s not well, those letters– they’ll only upset you. I don’t want you reading them.’

‘… He says he misses me.’

‘I know, but he’s where he belongs, getting help. You want that for him, don’t you? To get the help he needs?’

‘I want to write back to him.’

—

There’s another letter waiting for you when you get home from school.

You hang your backpack near the door, still damp from being tossed in the pool, and eye the opened envelope sitting by your father. He doesn’t look up from his laptop when you reach for it, doesn’t lift a finger to stop you. Nevertheless, the displeasure radiates from him clear as day.

“You shouldn’t encourage him. He’s not well.”

You’d scoff if it wouldn’t get you in trouble. Nothing you said could ever be taken as ‘encouragement’, and you’re under no illusions about who and what your brother is.

The violence terrifies you. Sometimes he says things in the letters he writes that make your stomach all twisty and your palms sweat, but Hajime could be a monster, and you think you’d love him anyway. You wouldn’t have a choice.

So you pluck at the envelope and tuck it close, making your way to your room without another glance at either of your parents. Sitting cross legged atop your bed, you eagerly scan the contents;

He hates the new therapist. They had a movie night planned, but some asshole started a fight and the whole thing got cancelled. The food’s still shit. He’s fed up and pissed off, whether he behaves or not, they won’t let him out and they won’t give him what he wants, so what’s the point in pretending?

The both of you turn twelve in ten days time – you owe it to him to come spend it together.

—

‘Maybe it’s for the best, sweetheart.’

Dismissive. She’s always dismissive. Your hands curl in response, tightening before you force yourself to flex them out and bite your tongue. It’s not worth the fight. Neither one of them actually care, and nothing you say will ever change that.

He’s angry at you. Or hurt. Both, probably.

They wouldn’t let you visit. You’d begged – cried, even – and it hadn’t swayed them. The rules are that you aren’t allowed to go and see Hajime and you aren’t allowed to talk to him on the phone. The letters are the only communication you have, and when your twelfth birthday comes and goes, those stop too.

You’ve sent four letters since, no response.

He’s shut you out entirely and while you can’t blame him for it, it’s painful.

You’ve always had Hajime, through everything. Him shutting you out feels like losing a limb–

No, it’s more than that. It’s like slowly losing some vital function inside of you. Like your lungs are shutting down and you can’t breathe properly and your heart isn’t pumping the way it should. You feel guilty and horrible and at least twice, you debate trying to find a way to sneak out and make the two hour journey on your own, just so you can see him.

It’s a stupid idea, they wouldn’t even let you through the front door, but it’s the only idea you have and so you cling to it.

You keep writing to him– panicked. Desperate. Begging his forgiveness.

He never writes back.

—

They sit you down at breakfast three months after your fourteenth birthday and tell you Hajime’s gone.

There was another fight, someone pushed him–

You don’t want to hear the details. They don’t matter and your ears are ringing too loud to make sense of them anyway.

Hajime is gone.

The cord between you was stretched and fraying already. He hadn’t written in over two years and probably hated you towards the end but he– he was–

Yours. A part of you.

Gone.

And your mother’s asking about the English test you have second period.

—

“What. Did. I. Say?” Each word is slowly enunciated, a quiet growl that drags an unwilling shiver down your spine.

He smells of wood – of cedar, spice and musk, the notes melding, coiling with the dizzying body heat, the solid weight of him, bracing himself above you.

His lips are mere inches from yours.

Not dead.

Here.

There’s a thousand thoughts racing through your head, connections that light up, clicking into place like pieces of a puzzle, painting a deeply unsettling picture – all of which are drowned out by the revelation that Hajime is here.

You burst into tears–

and Hajime – your brother, very much alive and glaring at you from above – surges down to swallow them in a vicious kiss.

The moment your lips touch, all the tension in his body just… bleeds out. Hajime groans, low and heated, his hips rocking, grinding along your stomach, and if you weren’t too preoccupied short circuiting, dangling on the precipice of a panic attack, you’d feel the twitch of his mouth, curling into a small but no less satisfied smirk.

He relaxes, like he’s coming home rather than returning from the dead to land the killing blow.

“Mine,” he answers his own question, breath heavy and ragged as his teeth nip at your jaw. “I told you you’re fucking mine.”

The scratches on the wall. Kaori and Koji and Takashi, asleep in a sea of red. The viscous mess spilled over your belly. Your mother’s hushed voice, carrying down the hallway, ‘– only a phase. The books all say he’ll grow out of it before long.’

She hadn’t sounded convinced.

You squeeze your eyes shut, desperate to block it all out as more tears spill into your hairline. Hajime won’t let you. He groans your name into the shell of your ear and licks at the tears as they fall. “Don’t,” he warns, fingers pressing tightly around your wrists ‘til they shoot back open with a gasp, “don’t you dare check out.”

When he rucks up your shirt to find you sans bra and a warm palm slides up to grope the soft, supple skin, a fresh burst of panic spurs you into action. Pinned under his weight as you are, you can’t move, and the idea of trying to physically fight him off is as laughable as it is terrifying – but when you were younger, you were the one – the only one – who could coax Hajime back from the edge, your hand in his.

Until he leapt from it entirely, and they took him away.

“H-Hajime?” A trembling, hiccuping whimper, thick with tears.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even pause – shuffling down your body to mouth at them instead – but hooded, simmering pools of green flick back up to your face, a hum of acknowledgement rumbling in his chest as he nips and sucks pretty, burgundy blooms across your breasts.

“I-if you ever loved me, even a little… Please, Haji– don’t hurt me like this–” you choke on another sob, pathetic mess that you are.

Hajime goes preternaturally still, eyes boring into you.

You stare right back, fighting the urge to cower and flinch, to turn your cheek and stare at the discarded dumpling wrappers, letting him take what he wants. Praying that he won’t hurt you too badly if you give it to him without a fight.

Because it will hurt, you think. It’ll break you entirely.

(Are you not already broken?)

When his head drops, you can’t help it – the sharp, terrified hitch in your breath – but his lips meet your forehead, then each cheek, before finally they brush over your lips with a tenderness he has no right to. “You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he vows, cradling the side of your jaw, “I won’t hurt you, ever.”

But that’s a lie, too.

“I love you more than anything.”

He kisses you again, soft and sweet and gentle, as if those promises weren’t sewn from violence and legitimised in blood. As if he isn’t breaking your heart with every sweep of his tongue, plundering your mouth.

There’s no fight in you left when he reaches for the waistband of your sweats and slowly starts easing them down. You don’t claw and shove when the hold on your wrists loosens and then disappears entirely, both hands needed to strip away his clothes.

The sound of his belt buckle clinking, the soft hiss of a zipper, they wash over you, white noise lost to the pounding in your ears.

But you don’t look away.

He strokes his cock – long and thick and flushed to the tip – crawling up the mattress to kneel between your legs like a supplicant before an altar of the divine.

Devotion demands sacrifice.

“It killed me,” he starts, dragging the mushroom head along the slit of your pussy. He frowns a little, leans back and spits – a fat glob of saliva landing dead centre, adding to the mess his weeping cock’s already made. “When the letters stopped coming. I was angry, so fucking angry, all the time. I’d lash out and they’d put me in another cage, and I’d do it again, and again. They tried convincing me you’d moved on,” his eyes flash darkly, “which was bullshit. They’d have to carve me out of you with a knife.”

What shocks you isn’t the violent imagery, but the truth of it settling into your bones, inescapable and undeniable; you’ll always love your brother, even if that very love destroys you.

“I didn’t–”

The first thrust rips a strangled yelp from your throat.

He’s too big, you’re not prepared to take him – and Hajime doesn’t care. His head tips back, shuddering out a breathy laugh.

There’s no pause, no period of grace, seated deep inside of you, the walls of your pussy hugging him tight, Hajime won’t allow you a second to catch your breath and wait for the burning sting to abate. His hips draw back until only the throbbing head of his cock remains inside, and, upon grabbing a leg to hitch over his shoulder, uses it as leverage to punch forward, stuffing your tight little cunt to the brim.

The pace he sets is brutal from the outset. Bruising. He licks at your tears between kisses and moans when you clench and shudder around him. “Never again,” he pants into your ear. “I’ll kill them all if you leave. Every last fucking one. You’re mine. Mine.”

And you’d think it cruel, a punishment, if not for the way those green eyes burn.

When his fingers twine with yours, pressing you down into the mattress, holding you there, you wonder if this was always an inevitability.

Hajime led and you followed, hand in bloody hand.

He’d never allow anything less.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere iwaizumi hajime #yandere iwaizumi x reader #yandere iwaizumi hajime x reader #yandere iwaizumi #tw: noncon

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megalony · 10 months ago

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Small Mercies

As requested, this is a new Eddie Diaz imagine that I hope you will all like. Let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @stefansalvatoresgf @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra8484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @shelbygeek @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana

@shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @ml572 @jessie-lynn28 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700

@ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @itshamleth @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii

Eddie Diaz Masterlist

Summary: While Eddie is at work, he gets a phone call from his wife who is home with the kids. Someone is trying to break into their home.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie ran his fingers through his damp hair and gave his head a light shake, ridding the last few droplets of water from the shower. He could feel the steam clinging to his damp frame and making his work gear stick to him like a second skin.

He could feel a headache forming.

He didn't want to go to work. Eddie wasn't sure he had the energy to go to work on a double shift. He had about as much energy and willpower to get him from the bathroom to the bedroom, but he knew he had to get moving.

If he didn't want to be late to work, Eddie had to get a move on and say goodbye to his family and head down to the station in time for the shift change over.

With his hand still tangled into his damp locks, Eddie headed out of the bathroom that felt more like a sauna once he walked into the hallway.

It might of been a good idea for Eddie to take a nap this afternoon before the kids came home from school, but he had decided against it. Going for a nap during the day always made Eddie feel worse when he woke up. He found it easier to power through and go to sleep the next available night, no matter how many hours that meant he had to stay awake for.

Now it was almost tea time and he was going on shift and wouldn't be home until late tomorrow night.

"Chris, buddy I'm heading to work now." He pushed open the bedroom door and leaned against the frame, a soft smile pulling at his lips when he looked across at his boy.

Chris was laid out on the rug in front of his bed, legs kicking in the air behind him and pens scattered across the floor. He had a cake colouring book in front of him, a red pen tucked behind his ear and a deep plum pen twirling between his fingers. And his tv was on rather loud in the background playing a wide selection of music.

He lifted his head to look up at Eddie, as if only just realising his dad was in the doorway. He looked Eddie up and down, taking in his appearance and realising that he was dressed for work.

"I'm going now, I'll see you tomorrow after tea, okay?"

He dropped the pen in his hand and scratched the one from behind his ear so he could push up from the rug. His arms stretched out in front of him and he deadlocked them around Eddie's waist, burying his face in his dad's chest while Eddie leaned down to kiss the top of his curls.

"Love you."

"Love you too, be good for me." Eddie pressed a few more kisses against Chris's head before he unwound his arms and watched his boy flop back down to continue colouring.

He left the door ajar and turned round, but before he had the chance to try and head into the girl's room, Daisy already beat him to it. The four year old barrelled into his legs before he could move in any direction. Her arms bound around his legs and she tilted her head as far back as she could so she was grinning up at him with such a soft smile that it made his heart melt.

"You leaving, daddy?"

His eyes creased with a wide smile and he reached down to scoop her up into his arms, cuddling her into his chest.

"Yeah, flower, I gotta go to work. I'll be home tomorrow." He pressed a sloppy kiss to her cheek, grinning when she wriggled and squirmed in his arms and turned to kiss his cheek in return. "Be a good girl, hm? Love you." He knew he didn't have to tell any of the kids to be good, but he always did out of habit.

He set Daisy back down to her feet and shook his head when he heard her mumble "Love you more." She liked to think Eddie didn't hear her when she said that so she could have the last word, but he always heard her.

"Love you most." He watched her scuttle down the hall, presumably going to the living room so she could watch tv before dinner.

His eyes focused on the hem of his shirt which he tucked into his trousers while he headed into his and (Y/n)'s room. He could hear her humming and he already knew Rosie would be in there with her. He made his way into the room and a smirk flooded his lips when his eyes locked on his wife. He could see from her attire and her damp hair that she had just had a shower too; the light was on in the en-suite, confirming his thoughts.

(Y/n) was wearing one of Eddie's plain cotton shirts and a pair of his boxers that were glued rather shapely around her bum. And his shirt hung off her left shoulder as if giving him a sneak preview of what he was missing out on. But it was the way his shirt was bunched up over her hip and partly tucked into the boxers that made it hard to stay in control. He wanted to go over there and rip it over her head and drag the boxers down to her ankles.

He was suddenly glad he wasn't wearing his boots so he could make a quiet descent over towards (Y/n). As soon as he reached her, Eddie bound his arms tight around her waist and pulled her back into his chest. His lips attached to the side of her neck and he chuckled into her skin when she gasped and stumbled onto her back foot.

Her hands deadlocked around his wrists and her head flopped back on his shoulder. He could feel the deep breaths she took to try and calm down the panic he had rushed through her system.

"Eddie!" (Y/n) scolded quietly, slapping his wrist. He was lucky she hadn't been daydreaming or she might have screamed when he grabbed her. He was always doing his best to sneak up on her and he had gotten Chris into the same habit too.

The feeling of him breathing harshly and sucking at her neck had her knees going weak but when she looked at the watch strapped on his wrist, she knew he was going to be late if he stayed.

"I take it you're leaving now?" She turned her head to look at him but he caught her lips in a kiss instead, and she could feel his hands slip beneath her shirt. His fingertips traced over the curve of her hips causing her to shiver and she felt his fingers trace lower and dip past the waistband of his boxers she was wearing.

His shift was going to feel like a week instead of a day with (Y/n)'s image burned into his mind like this.

"Wish I wasn't." He muttered into her neck, trying his best to sink his teeth into her skin and leave a mark.

His hands squeezed her hips and he pulled back enough so that (Y/n) could turn around in his arms so she was facing him. A tender smile lit up her face and had Eddie's knees going weak and he leaned forward, diminishing the gap between them so their chests were glued together.

"Me too," Sincerity flooded her voice while she cupped Eddie's face in her hands and pecked his lips again before she tried to wriggle out of his arms so he could get ready.

It didn't work. His hands slipped lower into the boxers she wore until both hands had a grip on her bum and he stepped closer, pressing every ridge of his body against hers. When he dug his fingers into her flesh, (Y/n) rolled her lips together and pressed her nose against his cheek.

Maybe she should walk him to the door to make sure he actually left. It wouldn't do him any favours to be late to work when he had a clean track record so far.

Her lips parted into a gasp when she felt Eddie try his luck to walk her backwards towards the bed.

"If you wake her, you deal with the tantrum." (Y/n) warned with an arched brow, talking in hushed tones against his cheek before she dipped her head towards the bed.

Rosie was having a nap.

The toddler had finally settled and (Y/n) wanted to let her sleep for a bit longer before she had to wake her up for her tea. But if Eddie was going to wake her, he could take the time to settle her back down if she started to cry or get grumpy. She hadn't settled for a nap earlier at lunch so this was her first nap of the day which she desperately needed.

The one year old had been fussy all day, but she had finally managed to settle and had fallen asleep in the middle of (Y/n) and Eddie's bed. She was laid across both pillows with a teddy tucked up against her chest and a blue pacifier between her lips. And (Y/n) wasn't going to let Eddie wake her accidentally and cause (Y/n) another hour of pacing the house and rocking to try and settle her again.

Plus, if Rosie was asleep when Eddie left for work, it would cause less stress. The toddler hated it when Eddie had to leave. She would cry when he kissed her goodbye and she would reach out for him and try to follow him when he went out the door. Whereas if she woke up after he had gone, she didn't panic or get as upset.

(Y/n) cupped Eddie's face in her hands when he pulled away from her neck so he could look across at the bed. A fond smile pulled at his lips and his eyes softened when he looked at his youngest girl.

"I won't wake her." He promised against her lips before he leaned forward and stole another kiss. His tongue pushed past her lips and he leaned into the kiss until (Y/n) was tilting back at an angle. "Dios, I'd rather stay here."

"And I want you to stay, but you can't. I don't like being alone at night." (Y/n) curved her arms tighter around Eddie's neck and pushed forward so she could tuck her face against his skin.

She felt his hands give her a squeeze and he pulled her closer and attached his lips to the side of her head. He began to hum softly against her head and started to sway from side to side which made (Y/n) grin into his neck.

"I know mi amor." Eddie didn't like working nights. Not only did it screw with his body clock and mess with his sleep, it made (Y/n) nervous.

He knew she hated to be home alone. (Y/n) was naturally anxious and being home alone spiked that worry, she didn't feel safe unless someone was with her. And Eddie hated working nights because he knew (Y/n) had battled often enough with insomnia. It didn't help her panic either to be left home alone with three kids.

Insomnia heightened every sound outside. The branches tapping and rustling became intruders getting closer to the house. The wind sounded like someone whistling. The gate creaking sounded like someone coming up the drive and banging pipes in the dark sounded like someone breaking in.

"You'd better go, sweetheart." (Y/n) pecked his cheek and her eyes widened when Eddie actually unravelled himself from her. Was he actually going to walk out the door without a fuss?

Her heart softened and her lips rolled together to supress her smile when she watched Eddie move over to the bed. He planted one hand down on the cover so he could lean over Rosie and peck her temple.

"Bye baby girl."

He straightened up after running his fingers through her thin strokes of hair and headed back over to (Y/n).

"If you need me just call, I should be able to answer." He couldn't always answer the phone, but he tried his best. He would rather (Y/n) call him if something was wrong or she didn't feel great, then if Eddie didn't answer he knew to ring her as soon as he could.

(Y/n) tried to untangle herself from him again when he reached out for her because she knew he needed to leave so he wouldn't be late to the station.

But a gasp tumbled past (Y/n)'s lips when Eddie's hand reached up for the collar of her shirt that was halfway down her shoulder. With it being Eddie's shirt and two sizes too big for her, the collar was looser and easier to move. It let Eddie hook a finger into the collar and drag it further down her arm, exposing her bare chest to his prying eyes.

(Y/n) tilted her chest back just as Eddie's lips attached to her cleavage. Both her hands moved to his shoulders and she gave him a strong push until he had to reel back up and disconnect from her chest. She dragged the shirt back up her shoulder, hiding the view he had given himself which made him groan.

"Go to work before you wake the baby." Even though Rosie was one and a half now, they were inclined to calling her the baby because she was their youngest.

She gave him a gentle nudge until he was walking backwards out the room, his arms back around her waist with his elbows digging into her hips. Her hands reached up to rub across his chest and she continued to nudge him backwards while he stole kiss after kiss from her lips like it was the last time he was going to see her and he was getting his money's worth.

Eddie moved one arm behind him to unlock the front door and grab his keys from the lock. When the door opened, he begrudgingly let (Y/n) push him back until he was over the threshold like a lovesick puppy waiting outside for her.

His lips curved into a deadly smirk that flashed his teeth when (Y/n) cupped his face in her hands and tugged him down to press a feverish kiss to his lips. She let him swipe his tongue across her lower lip, begging for entrance before she pulled back, mumbling a quiet 'I love you' and 'goodbye' against his lips before giving him a final nudge out the door.

He needed to go to work and she needed to get the kid's tea ready.

***

Reaching her hand across the bed, (Y/n) feathered her fingers over the cover and up towards the pillow.

Cold. Empty.

Of course it was empty; Eddie was at work tonight. He wouldn't be back until tomorrow night, probably after the kids were all in bed by the time he finished his shift and got showered at the station before leaving.

(Y/n) didn't like the nights where Eddie worked during the night, she didn't like an empty bed. She liked to hear Eddie's soft breathing that worked as background noise to get her to sleep. She liked to feel the cover being stolen and tangled around his legs as he twisted from left to right. Or the feeling of an arm draping over her waist or a nose tickling her neck and tucking into her shoulder. All of that compared drastically to being curled up, alone in the bed.

She tucked her face down into the pillow and shuffled into the middle of the bed. It was entirely strange to have the bed to herself, without Eddie or at least one of the kids sneaking in to lay with her.

Sleep pulled at her mind as she curled up on herself, wishing the night away. (Y/n) was tired enough that it shouldn't be a problem falling asleep tonight like previous nights where she laid awake.

(Y/n) could feel her head slowly spinning and twisting from left to right in that usual manner that signalled she was going to fall asleep at any moment.

Until something shattered.

Her body jolted upright in bed and her hands scrunched up in the bedsheets. A shiver tore down (Y/n)'s spine as she tried to blink through the darkness, forcing her brain to clear from the fog rolling in and set her ears to work.

What smashed? Was it just (Y/n) imagining things? Once or twice she thought she heard something as she drifted to sleep, but Eddie had never heard it so she always presumed it was a dream about to start that woke her up.

But she knew she heard something this time. Had Chris or Daisy gotten up for a drink and dropped a glass or knocked into something? Perhaps something had happened at work and Eddie was coming home early for some reason. That didn't seem liable. Eddie hadn't been gone more than seven hours, and if he was coming home he would of called (Y/n) first.

Another rumble of glass breaking caused (Y/n) to cringe and coil her legs up to her stomach. Whatever it was, it didn't sound good.

Her legs turned to jelly as she swung them over the side of the bed and slowly got out of bed. She switched on the lamp and coiled her arms to her chest, forcing herself to take steady breaths as she tiptoed to the bedroom door.

It took a lot of willpower for (Y/n) to try and open the door as slowly as possible so it didn't creak or make a sound. She put one foot into the hall and tried to peer round. It was too dark to see anything and (Y/n) gulped, holding her breath as she inched a few paces down the hall, staying as close to the wall as she could.

"Oh no."

The window beside the front door was smashed. Glass littered the hallway. One of the picture frames on the side table had been knocked to the floor. And the street light outside illuminated the front door enough for (Y/n) to see a large stocky frame at the door.

Someone was trying to break in.

Why now? Why tonight of all nights, when Eddie was out at work and (Y/n) was home alone with the kids?

Why their house? What was so special about their home that someone thought they should try their luck breaking in at midnight?

(Y/n) could feel sweat coating her palms as she pressed them against the wall and tried to keep her front flush against the wall to blend in with the dark night shadows. Her knees quivered and threatened to give way as she shuffled along the corridor, afraid to take big steps in case a floorboard creaked and gave away that someone was awake in the house.

Her hand shook as she slowly twisted the handle on Chris's door and she stumbled into his room, gliding across the carpet until she could plonk herself down on the side of his bed.

"Chris? Baby, baby wake up." Her voice was higher in tone than usual but as quiet as she could be without croaking or going silent.

The ten year old gasped, jolting his head forward and reaching a hand out to grab (Y/n)'s arm in shock. The pitch black of the room gave away that it was still night time. He wasn't waking up late for school, it didn't feel like he had even been in bed for that long so he wasn't sure why his mum was vigorously shaking him to wake him up.

"Mum?"

"Shh, baby I know it's late but I need you to get up and go into my room. Now."

"Why?"

Chris sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. What was going on? Was someone sick? Did they have to go somewhere in the middle of the night? The only time something like this had happened was when (Y/n) went into early labour with Rosie during the night. Chris had been abruptly woken up by his dad and told to get his shoes on and get in the car to go and stay with Buck. This wasn't remotely the same as that.

He went to reach out for his glasses on the side table, but he gasped when his mum reached forward and held him beneath his arms. She got up off the bed and lifted him with her to get him on his feet.

He heard her whisper "Emergency," as she kissed the top of his head and ushered his sleepy, stumbling frame towards the open door.

Chris grabbed the doorframe, unable to see properly in the dark, especially without his glasses. But when he stepped into the hall, he couldn't help but look to the right when he heard something pound on the front door.

Tears welled up in his eyes before he understood what was happening and he let his mum usher him into her room. His arms bound around his chest and he stood near the end of the bed, shaking on the spot while he watched his mum scurry into the girls' bedroom.

"Daisy, Daisy, up sweetheart. Go to mummy's room quickly for me."

The four year old grumbled in discontent, but she didn't argue for some reason. She let (Y/n) lift her out of her bed with the Fireman Sam bedding and she cuddled her teddy to her chest as she swayed and stumbled towards the door. She seemed to believe she was going to sleep in bed with her mum tonight and didn't quabble.

(Y/n) watched Daisy pad across the hall before she leaned down into the cot and scooped Rosie up. She cuddled her youngest to her chest, smothering her lips against the top of Rosie's head to try and calm herself down and she rushed back into her room and shut the door.

"Mum?" Chris reached out to hold her arm, pushing into her side for comfort and security because he felt utterly terrified.

"Daisy off the bed. Everyone in the bathroom please."

"But I don't-"

"Now." (Y/n) hissed and nudged Daisy in front of her before her daughter had chance to tell her she didn't want nor need a bath. She'd had a bath before tea time and she had been in bed, since when did they get a bath in the middle of the night?

(Y/n) snatched her phone from the side table and ushered the pair of them into the small en-suite that adjoined her and Eddie's bedroom.

She went to turn the light on but stopped herself. The light automated the extractor fan. Whoever was trying to break in would be able to hear it when the house was this quiet and (Y/n) had no idea if it was just one person trying to burgle them or not. There could be someone outside who would notice if she turned the light on.

She opted instead to turn on the small LED light over the bathroom mirror, it wasn't much but it was enough.

Once Chris and Daisy were inside, (Y/n) quietly pushed the door shut and turned the lock. Her eyes scanned around the small space. Nowhere to hide, no advantage points.

"Okay…" (Y/n) could feel her body shaking as she carefully knelt down on the floor next to the kids and eased Rosie down onto the bathmat. The toddler was starting to stir. "In the bath for me."

"I don't want one." Daisy's voice was meek and she rubbed her eyes again. The darkness was making her want to fall back asleep but once a loud bang rickoted through the house, the little girl gasped and jumped against Chris. Both of them watched (Y/n) shudder and jolt against them.

The front door had swung open and hit the wall. That meant whoever it was had now gotten inside the house.

"We're not getting a bath, baby, just sitting in the tub until it's safe."

"Who's at the door?" Daisy's voice held no power or tone and she spoke in a whisper like she subconsciously understood the situation.

"I don't know."

Chris on the other hand, didn't say anything. He understood immediately and he knew they were in a bad situation. He scrambled to turn around and slowly climb over the side of the tub. He didn't like sitting in an empty bath, it was cold and it echoed badly, but he did as he was told. He opened his arms so that when (Y/n) carefully picked Daisy up and sat her in the tub, his little sister could sit between his legs and cuddle up into him.

(Y/n) eased Rosie back up into her arms and settled her on her chest with her face nuzzled down beneath her collar bone. She tried to stop herself from trembling, desperate to keep Rosie asleep because if she cried she would giveaway their hiding place.

She got up from the floor and carefully climbed into the end of the tub and sat on the little ledge between the end of the tub and the wall. (Y/n) had to tense her muscles to stop her feet from jittering against the bottom of the tub and she pulled the shower curtain across to hide them all. Not that it would provide much safety or cover, but it was the best she could do.

Each breath (Y/n) tried to take was shallow and raspy and it made her go lightheaded. She felt her chest tingling and her stomach flooded with adrenaline to the point she felt like she was going to be sick or somehow explode.

She felt Chris and Daisy edge close until they were both leaning up against her legs for protection and comfort.

With Rosie curled up into her chest, (Y/n) tried to hold her as best she could with one arm so she could get her phone from her pocket and dial Eddie's number.

Please pick up. Please answer me!

Eddie seemed like a safer bet than calling 911. She wanted Eddie to come home and help them. She needed him to know what was going on. (Y/n) didn't want the headache of whispering and probably crying to a dispatcher. Trying to tell them her name and address and how many people were in the house was going to be much harder than simply calling Eddie for assistance.

"Amor? It's late, is everything okay?" Eddie's voice was like music to (Y/n)'s ears and she felt a tear trickling down her cheek as she silently thanked him for answering so quickly.

He wasn't used to a midnight call like this, not unless they had been texting beforehand. This meant something was wrong, Eddie knew (Y/n) wouldn't just ring him out of the blue, late at night like this when he was at work. He could feel his heartbeat picking up already at the thought of what he was about to be told.

"Eddie, I think- I think there's a burglar."

"What?"

"I can hear someone, and one of the windows has been smashed. Please, please can you come home?"

This was one of his worst nightmares. Something happening to his family while he wasn't there. It had been his fear when he was in the army and (Y/n) was pregnant. He worried something would happen to her or she would have the baby without him. He worried being in another country entirely and not on the end of the phone if someone broke in and hurt his family. He feared not being able to be there if they were hurt or frightened and needed him.

(Y/n) could hear him cursing in the background and she could make out the sound of his boots hitting the floor as he started to breathe deeper, indicating he was now running somewhere.

"We're coming now, okay? We're on our way and I'll get dispatch to send a squad car down. Where are you?"

"We're all in the bathroom." (Y/n) kept her voice quiet when she heard something clattering in the house. It sounded distant which meant whoever it was, they weren't in the hall or near the bedrooms.

That might give them some time to stay here undetected while Eddie and the team rushed down to help them.

They had never been burgled before. (Y/n) had never woken up to someone trying to break in or someone coming in and attacking her. She'd never had to hide the kids with her like this and call for help. Their house back in Texas had been out the way and their only neighbours were Eddie's parents and a little old couple in the next property line.

This was a nice house in a safe neighbourhood. Break-ins didn't happen round here.

"I'm on my way amor, I swear. I'll be there soon."

***

Eddie didn't wait for the truck to roll to a stop. Once they were outside his house, he flung the door open and jumped down, bracing his knees upon landing so he could take off into a sprint.

He could hear the rest of the team calling after him, but their voices drowned out in the night air. He didn't care for them telling him to hang back and wait. That was his home. That was his family. He wasn't waiting for the police to give the all clear, he was going in.

And by the looks of it, Eddie would guess that Athena had only just arrived on scene.

Bobby had called her to let her know of the situation and ask for back up and Eddie had seen her and her partner head inside his home. He was going in now, he was going to find his family and make sure they were alright.

"Eddie!" Bobby's voice hissed behind him as the Captain followed him up the garden path and in through the front door.

The lights were off, Eddie wasn't sure whether he was expecting it to be dark in the house or not, but it unsettled him either way. He saw Athena's partner looking round the seemingly empty living room and he skidded down the hall to follow Athena into the kitchen.

He hung back a step, mostly because Bobby's hand found his shoulder and squeezed tight, as a warning.

They both watched as she flicked on the light and pointed her gun at the tall figure stood near the sink.

Why was this person in the kitchen? There was nothing of value or interest in here. What was he planning to steal, the pots and pans?

He didn't have a bag or a rucksack to put any valuables in. There didn't look to be any ornaments missing in the living room from the sneaking glance Eddie stole. The only damage so far was the busted window and broken picture frames near the front door which had dented the wall when it swung open. If this was a robbery, it was carried out by a very bad thief.

"Hands where I can see them." Athena's voice was calm but stern with a demanding tone that rung out through the air.

The stranger spun round a little too quick for himself and his head swayed back as he stumbled, steadying himself at the last moment by leaning on the island counter.

Eddie narrowed his eyes, his lips curling as he studied the man who had broken into his house. He looked drunk. He could barely keep his eyes open, he was swaying his head back and forth and his sense of balance was very clearly distorted.

"What are you doing?" Eddie couldn't help himself. He had to ask when he realised the man had one hand on the counter and the other was clutching one of the glasses from the cupboard.

"G-getting a drink?" The stranger hiccupped through his words which caused his head to snap back and his trembling hand let the glass drop down on the counter with a resounding clatter.

He was getting a drink? Was he being serious?

"Jesus Christ. You broke into my house for a drink?" Eddie couldn't help but tut as he dragged his hand through his hair and shook his head in disbelief.

This idiot had broken into his home, frightened his wife and kids, all so he could get a drink? Did he know whose home he had broken into? Did he have any clue what time it was, what was going on, or that there was indeed a young family in this house who were currently petrified while he tried to make himself a drink?

"You're house-" Confusion was clearly written across the man's face. A deep frown set in his brows and he turned to look around the kitchen as if he wasn't even sure where he was.

A deep sigh left Athena's lips as she clipped her gun back into her holster and exchanged it for a pair of handcuffs.

"Okay. You're under arrest for breaking and entering, let's go for a ride to the station. See if you can sober up."

He didn't reject the handcuffs. He let his head hang forward and allowed Athena to drag him from the kitchen, practically holding him up as he stumbled and swayed back and forth. He was drunk out of his head. Either he thought this was his home and he'd simply lost his keys, or he thought this was the home of a friend and he was fine to blunder in like this.

Eddie felt Bobby pat his shoulder and a silent exchange passed between them. This was a good thing. This wasn't someone trying to steal things from his home or attack his family or terrorise them. This man hadn't hurt any of Eddie's family and he hadn't approached them or even given them one thought.

This was the best outcome they could have hoped for.

With a shake of his head, Eddie twisted and jogged out of the kitchen. (Y/n) said she was in the bathroom. He needed to go in and tell them everything was okay if they hadn't already heard the team blundering into the house.

He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins and sending his hand shaking as he opened the bedroom door. He flicked the light on as he passed and slowed his steps when he reached the adjoining bathroom.

"Baby? Baby it's me, can you open the door for me?" Eddie rapped his knuckles on the door while his other hand clutched the doorframe tightly to try and keep himself under control. His forehead pressed into his arm and he could feel his foot jittering against the floor out of anxious habit.

He could hear odd sounds and things being moved about before quiet footsteps approached the door. And the way the lock slowly unclipped signalled that (Y/n)'s hands were shaking too.

Relief swarmed through (Y/n)'s stomach and caused her knees to quake when she peered through the gap in the door and set her sights on Eddie.

Tears streamed freely down (Y/n)'s face and she could see black dots twinkling in front of her eyes when she swung the door open and rushed forward. Her arms deadlocked around Eddie's neck and she meshed her face against his shoulder. The feel of his arm bound tight around her waist and his other hand curling around the back of her neck made (Y/n)'s breathing hitch in her throat.

He was here. They were safe. Everything was okay.

"Oh baby. You all okay?" Eddie smothered his lips against the side of (Y/n)'s head and slowly walked her backwards into the bathroom. He could feel her trembling in his arms and he worried if he let her go her legs might cave in.

"Did you get him? Who was it?"

"A fucking drunk, Athena's arrested him. He had no clue where he was, but I don't think he would of done anything if he saw you. Small mercies."

When his sights set on the bath, he could feel his heartstrings being cut, dropping his heart right down to the pit of his stomach.

The kids were petrified.

Chris was sat in the bath, slowly rocking back and forth to try and keep himself calm. He had his arms bound around Rosie who was sitting up between his legs, hand stuffed into her mouth as she sniffed, clearly about to cry. Chris had his cheek resting on top of her head, tears streaked down his face and panic written across his features.

Daisy was sat next to him, cuddled up into his side as much as she could with one hand around Chris's arm and the other binding her teddy to her chest.

Eddie eased (Y/n) down so she was sat on the side of the bath and he crouched down beside her so he could reach his arms forward for the kids. He carefully eased Rosie from Chris's protective embrace, pressing a kiss to her temple before he let (Y/n) take her from him to soothe her.

"Are you two okay?" He braced himself on the heel of his boots when Chris barrelled forward into his chest with his arms looped around Eddie's neck. And he moved his left arm out for Daisy when she whined and scrambled up to latch onto him too like she thought she was missing out.

"W-where's the bad man?"

"Bobby and Athena got him, it's okay. Everyone's safe now."

Eddie shifted his arms a bit lower down around each of them so he could lift them up from the bath. He held one kid in each arm, letting them burrow into his chest while he turned and headed into the bedroom, feeling (Y/n) walking close behind on shaking legs.

He eased them down onto the bed with a kiss to their foreheads and for a brief moment his eyes locked with (Y/n)'s when she sat down. He noticed how she was still shaking and her feet were tapping against the rug while she tried to rock Rosie up and down against her chest, but it was hard when she could barely keep her arms tight around the toddler.

But Eddie twisted to look behind him when Buck cleared his throat, a soft smile on his face as he stood in the doorway with Bobby. He tried to turn in their direction but he stopped when Daisy deadlocked her hands around his arm and pulled his arm into her chest with her teddy.

"Daddy no!"

"I'm just gonna talk to uncle Buck, I won't leave the room flower, I promise." He carded his fingers through her unruly hair and pressed a deep kiss to the top of her head.

It took a few moments for Daisy to debate and confirm that Eddie wasn't lying to her before she grumbled and let go of his arm. She didn't want her dad to leave her sights, he had to stay and keep them safe.

Eddie leaned against the doorframe, arms folded over his chest and his cheek against the door. They could both see that all the energy had been drained from him completely. The adrenaline was still rushing through his body, but he was losing the momentum he had earlier on shift. He had never had a phone call or a night like this before and he never wanted to experience it again.

"You'll need a new window, but we've broke all the glass out and drilled some wood there for now so it's secure."

"Thank you."

Eddie hadn't even thought or worried about the window or the front door when he got here. He just had to make sure whoever was invading his home hadn't managed to reach his family or hurt them. But he was grateful the team had bordered up the window pane, it was one less job for Eddie to do.

"I think you'd better stay home tonight." Bobby nodded his head in the direction of the bed behind Eddie where his family was waiting.

He didn't think it was wise for Eddie to come back on shift, not when his mind would only be focused on wondering if his family was okay. And leaving them after this while all of them were shook up wouldn't be in his best interests either. Eddie needed to stay here with his family and make sure they were all okay.

"We'll leave you to it."

"Call if you need anything."

"Thanks," Eddie ran his hand over his face and rubbed at his eyes before he headed over to the bed and crouched down, taking a quick glance at the watch strapped to his wrist. "Okay, it's way past bedtime. Everyone in while I go lock the door."

A strange look crossed Chris's face while Daisy took a deep breath and managed a small smile. She was the first to move, turning around so she could scramble up the bed when Eddie pointed.

There was no way Eddie was letting either of them go back to their own rooms just to lay there and panic. They would end up having nightmares or a panic attack. Even if none of them managed to get any sleep tonight, at least if they had all the kids in bed with them, all of them would feel safe and secure. And Eddie wouldn't have to keep getting out of bed every half hour to go and check on them and make sure they were okay.

When Chris shuffled up the bed, Eddie headed out into the hall. He made quick work of locking the front door and pulling the chain across, something he hadn't done in a while. He kicked off his boots and turned all the lights out as he headed back to the bedroom.

Part of Eddie wished they had a lock on their bedroom door. It would have felt a lot safer to lock the door and keep them all safe in here, but he would have to settle for knowing the front and back doors were both locked and his family would be wrapped up in his arms for the night. Probably for the next few nights if he was being honest. Daisy and Chris were going to be frightened and shell shocked after this. He couldn't see them sleeping in their own beds for at least a week or more.

There didn't look to be much room left in the bed by the time Eddie stripped from his uniform and headed over to try and climb in.

(Y/n) was on her side, Rosie cuddled up on her chest and abdomen, not quite asleep but well on her way. She had Chris laid next to her, already burrowed down under the cover with his head on (Y/n)'s shoulder, tucked up against her side. And Daisy was laid next to him, teddy deadlocked under one arm and her other hand reaching out for Eddie.

"You gonna let me in, flower?" He lifted the cover and waited for Daisy to wriggle so he could just about squeeze in beside her.

He didn't like the way Daisy shivered and Chris made a little disgruntled noise when Eddie turned the lamp off. The dark seemed to ignite worry in all five of them, even Rosie gurgled and started to wriggle around, unsettled.

A soft "Come're," passed Eddie's lips and he twisted to lay on his right side, pulling Daisy closer until she was burrowed into his bare chest. He could feel her pulling her knees up to her tummy and smothering her face into his upper chest like she was trying to curl up into a ball and make herself as small as possible.

With his right hand trailing up and down Daisy's back, he looped his left arm out over Chris and curled his hand around (Y/n)'s arm. Trying his best to keep hold of each of his family.

They were all tucked up together; they were all safe.

#imagine #911 imagine #eddie diaz x reader #eddie diaz imagine #eddie x reader #eddie diaz #evan buckley #bobby nash #eddie diaz family

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qiu-yan · 20 days ago

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did jin guangyao kill jin rusong? a discussion of several different possibilities

(reproducing the stuff i wrote here because i still think it's interesting)

jiggy antis typically claim that it is confirmed as canon that jin guangyao killed jin rusong....and then are content to leave the conversation at that. this seems like both a prematurely decisive claim and a waste of interesting discussion material. thus, i've decided to discuss several different possibilities/explanations as to what exactly happened regarding jin guangyao and jin rusong.

the below includes 4 diffeent scenarios/explanations in which jin guangyao did kill jin rusong, and 3 different scenarios/explanations in which jin guangyao did not kill jin rusong. all scenarios have been written to comply with what is strictly written in canon to the best of my ability.

yes, he did do it

yes: it happened exactly as sect leader yao said: self-explanatory. as sect leader yao said, jin guangyao killed rusong purely to cover up the fact that qin su was actually his half-sister. (this is the version of events preferred by jiggy antis.)

yes: he mercy-killed rusong: maybe rusong was already showing signs of a life-altering disorder as a result of the incest. or maybe jin guangyao just felt that, if the incest information ever came out, rusong would be doomed to a life of suffering in a heavily prejudiced society. jin guangyao himself had spent his entire life suffering and getting kicked around due to his own proximity to society's pariahs/taboos, so perhaps he felt that he could not subject his son to the same miserable existence. thus, jin guangyao gave rusong a more peaceful end, before (in jin guangyao's mind) society could force rusong to suffer.

yes: he allowed rusong to die through inaction: this is really only a "kill" under a utilitarian moral framework. by this explanation, maybe jiggy found out in advance that someone was planning to kill rusong; however, for any of the other reasons listed here, jiggy decided to do nothing and allow the assassination to happen. thus jiggy would consider himself guilty of allowing rusong's death to happen through inaction.

yes: he did it to justify eliminating an opponent of the watchtowers: maybe the advancement of the watchtower project, which jin guangyao knew would make society a safer place, had hit a deadlock because of a particularly stubborn opponent. so jin guangyao killed rusong and framed the opponent in order to engineer a situation in which his annihilation of the opponent would be entirely socially sanctioned.

and here is where the utilitarian arguments come in. perhaps jin guangyao knew that the watchtower project would improve the lives of millions of people and would make society as a whole safer. and he saw that one political opponent as the final major barrier. and jin guangyao could think of no other way to get rid of this guy. so jin guangyao weighed the lives of those millions of people against his one son, and concluded those millions of strangers were weightier; his son became his iphigenia.

of course, this is still a rather unhinged plan to just come up with on your own, so perhaps a better explanation of events is this reasoning paired with the "he allowed rusong to die through inaction" series of events.

no, he did not do it

no: rusong was killed by political opponents and jin guangyao blamed himself: now we reach the "he didn't do it" section of the potential explanations. jin guangyao has a habit of claiming kills he didn't strictly perform himself; so long as the chain of cause and effect can somehow be traced to somewhere near him eventually, jin guangyao will claim credit for someone's death. this is how jin guangyao takes credit for the death of jin zixuan: even though [novel canon] no one forced wei wuxian to lose control of wen ning and no one forced wen ning to attack jin zixuan, jin guangyao still acts as if he can call himself jin zixuan's killer, simply because he sent jin zixuan to wei wuxian's location.

jin guangyao, in pursuing the watchtower project, aroused a lot of public anger. jin guangyao made himself, and by extension his wife and his child, the political enemies of many, and thus political targets as well. thus, if an enemy targets the life of jin rusong because they are jin guangyao's enemy, jin guangyao is entirely justified in feeling as if rusong's death is his fault. after all, if he hadn't pursued the watchtower project, then maybe rusong would still be alive.

no: jin guangyuao said "he had to die" as a Cope: losing your son sucks. perhaps jin guangyao, in the despair following his son's death, tried to cope with the new reality by telling himself that rusong would have had to die anyways, because he was an incest baby. if rusong was always slated to die, then the fact that rusong is now dead can now be survived. thus, "rusong had to die" becomes an emotional coping mechanism for jin guangyao.

no, jin guangyao himself is uncertain if he allowed rusong to die through inaction: this one is a a bit fanciful but bear with me here. on one hand, jin guangyao loves his wife and son. on the other hand, jin guangyao is horrified by his marriage with his wife and by the existence of his son, because his wife is also his sister and his son is the product of incest. jin guangyao lives with not only this horror but also the constant fear of exposure, because if this information ever got out, the lives of himself, his wife, and his son would all be over.

rusong's growth thus becomes a source of dread, not hope: every day lived brings the possibility of rusong developing some disorder or condition that eventually proves the incest. is it not possible that jin guangyao, living every day under such fear, might come to believe that things would be better if rusong stopped growing older? if rusong died--then gone too would be the evidence of the incest, would it not?

now along comes the political opponent who assassinates rusong. jin guangyao does not see it coming and is thus unable to stop it. but afterwards, upon beholding the corpse of his son, what does jin guangyao feel? rage? despair? no--relief! he feels relief! though he also grieves, the constant fear shrouding his entire life has, for once, lifted!

but if jin guangyao is relieved by the death of his son, what does this imply? can jin guangyao truly say, with full confidence, that he did not see the assassination coming? can he really say, with heaven and earth as his witnesses, that his failure to stop the assassination was not to some degree a choice? is there truly no small part of him that did in fact see the assassination coming--yet, knowing it would be so relieving for him, simply chose to do nothing?

but if jin guangyao did not see the assassination coming at all--if rusong's death truly cannot be pinned on jin guangyao at all--then what does that say about jin guangyao's power? about jin guangyao's safety? jin guangyao being innocent of killing through inaction means that jinlintai really is somewhere assassins can penetrate into. then jin guangyao son really was killed by a force he had no way of stopping. then, in this situation, jin guangyao really was powerless.

you can remove the ambiguity and argue the case either way: jin guangyao knew about the assassination and let it happen, jin guangyao legitimately knew nothing and could not have stopped the assassination. but the ambiguity makes this scenario more interesting to me. jin guangyao lives for the rest of his days uncertain if he chose to allow his son to die through inaction, or if he really was just weak enough to fail to protect his son. maybe jin guangyao's memories of the incident even manage to start distorting after a while, implying either one or the other depending on jin guangyao's own mental situation.

thus, when jin guangyao says "rusong had to die," he himself uncertain if he's justifying his actions or delusionally coping with a reality he had no hand in making. when jin guangyao says "i killed my son," even he himself is uncertain if he's even telling the truth or not.

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #jin guangyao #jin rusong #yanyan speaks #jiggy apologism #long post

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theangrycomet-art · 3 months ago

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Drift's Bug Collection

TFP Drift/Deadlock and his Jettrine Redo

Saw a take (i think it was from @bumblebee-enjoyer) that's RiD Jetstorm and Slipstream should have a scarab motif and I loved that and i've been needing to redo my designs since i have a better grasp on TFP design rules so Tada!

Random Headcannons I played with when drawing this:

Minicons's frames' are known to to reflect their Deployer and what kind of bond they have

when Minicons bond with new Deployers, it is not uncommon for them to go through "growing pains" depending on the state of the previous bond/how willing the minicon bonded to their next Deployer

The first to change is their biolights/eyes, next is their upper armor, followed by their limbs

This is a gradual process, though the process is known to be accelerated if the Minicon is very fond of their Deployer

Drift/Deadlock is unaware of any of this

Kofi Page | Commissions Open

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transfrmrs · 4 months ago

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Drift: Just out of curiosity, what number am I on your speed dial? Rodimus: 7 Drift: What are the first 6? Rodimus: Take out

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starscreams-crown · 11 days ago

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Blurr: "They're on us!"

Kup: "Some early-warning system you are."

Blurr: "I was on the far side."

Kup: "Drift?"

Blurr: "No idea. I couldn't find him."

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yuu-id24 · 25 days ago

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DRATCHET REVERSE MECHA AU

I love the entire Keferon universe, but lately, the Reverse Mecha AU has me on a chokehold, and I really want to expand on it, especially on the Dratchet department. This is how I imagine things going.

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Drift/Deadlock would be an abandoned kid living on the streets, scraping by until one day the mecha program decides they need more subjects and cheap ones at that. Drift obviously accepts; he is a cold and starved kid.

In the beginning, everything was good food, warmth, a bed, and a roof. Who cares that the price for those comforts includes being poked with needles, sometimes experiencing hallucinations, and puking in the middle of the night? Sometimes they make him undergo surgery. Nine-year-old Drift couldn't care less; he has food and a bed. That's all he cares about staying in the good graces of the people feeding him. If he has to hurt others along the way, so be it.

By the time Drift is 12, half of the other subjects have died, escaped, or gone insane. Drift is the best by far, and he will keep being the best he's not going back ever again. His determination and stubbornness, combined with extraordinary genetic compatibility, are the only things keeping him sane and focused. During this time, they start to properly train him in military armament, mecha weapons, and tactics. Their job is to kill aliens as quickly and efficiently as possible.

At age fifteen, Deadlock is his new pilot name. He is the youngest and deadliest mecha pilot in the program. The heavy training and drugs to make him more compatible have turned Deadlock into an adrenaline addict. He begins stealing cigarettes around the base and smoking them in hidden places. The scientists don't want their pilots to wither away from anything other than their hand or fighting alien threats.

By the time Deadlock is 16, he's the best at killing Quints and handling firearms both inside and outside the suit. The stress, training, and drugs have turned his hair more white than black. He's always trembling and jittery. He needs to be moving, drugged, fighting, or killing but NEVER still, or he'll go mad. This makes the scientists realize that the more drugs he's on, the faster he becomes on the field. His reaction time lessens, and he turns into the perfect murder machine.

(Perhaps a horrifying or wonderful addition is that the higher-ups sometimes send Deadlock to assassinate senators or people who refuse to donate to the mecha program, just to add more angst and nightmares to his story. I’m not sure if it fits or how to incorporate it smoothly, but I wanted to mention it.)

When Tarantulas discovers Deadlock's drugged quirks, he takes full advantage of it by experimenting with all sorts of drugs on him. These are not pleasant substances to have pumped in his system, and half the time, Deadlock wrenches or goes crazy with paranoia. Sometimes, Tarantulas needs a clean slate to test his experiments, so he makes Deadlock go through a detox process ridding his system of any leftover drugs. The withdrawal makes Deadlock berserk and self-destructive, so they often lock him in a cell alone, with no food, only water and tea to speed up the detox process.

At 19, a new pilot arrives Wing. Wing is 30 years old and initially applied to the rescue bot program, but his high compatibility and reflexes were too good to pass up, so he was forced into the mecha program. There, he meets Deadlock and sees how everyone treats him like a weapon, nothing more than a machine to kil,l another asset. Wing disagrees with this treatment and begins to treat Deadlock like a human, like a kid his age.

Initially, things are rough. Deadlock doesn't allow anyone to get close, and he's been conditioned to believe his only use is killing aliens. When Wing treats him like a person, Deadlock doesn't know how to react, and it feels very strange. He tends to stay away from Wing because of this.

Everything changes when Deadlock comes out of a drug session with Tarantulas and is very out of it. The other scientists start criticizing him for neglecting his mecha maintenance and for the reports from the last mission. Wing, witnessing how they are mistreating Deadlock especially after such a rough moment, decides to step in and admonish everyone. He takes Deadlock to his room, offering him chocolate energy bars, and water. Deadlock gradually calms down and asks for more food. He falls asleep on Wing's bed out of exhaustion. From that moment, Deadlock begins to trust Wing because he's been the only one to treat him kindly.

Deadlock behaves like a skittish cat showing his trust by joining Wing during training sessions and sitting at the same table when they eat but on the other corner. Interestingly, whenever Wing acknowledges Deadlock's presence, Deadlock runs away. This pattern continues for about a month, with Wing consistently showing kindness sharing chocolate energy bars, and patience. After a particularly terrible drug session with Tarantulas, Deadlock seeks out Wing for comfort. It’s at this point that Wing decides he will adopt the kid and ensure no one mistreats him anymore.

To help curb Deadlock's violent tendencies, Wing teaches him the way of the sword. The increased training and discipline, male Deadlock slowly begins to calm down; he stops smoking and stealing medicines/drugs from the med bay. Wing also introduces him to meditation, which helps him find inner peace. Deadlock starts to embrace his Drift persona.

Seven months after Wing's arrival, they have their first battle together, one of the hardest earth has ever faced. During the fight, Wing dies protecting Deadlock from the piercing tentacles of a C4. This is devastating for Deadlock, and no one offers their condolences or treats Wings sacrifice with respect or dignity the bury him, they remodel his mecha and send another pilot to fill the role. They even want him to go out the very next day to kill more Quints. This hits Deadlock hard, fueling a hatred for all of humanity and aliens. He spends all his time killing, training, or overdosing on drugs to sleep. As memory Deadlock demands Wings swords be given to him, they do just to keep him happy, later on drift has 2 swords fitted to his mecha that sheath on the mecha hips, and Wing`s sword he carries it on his back as a reminder to what he fights for.

His self-destructive path becomes so dangerous that the engineers and scientists put him under some sort of lockdown, so he doesn't kill himself. They need him alive and functioning to continue fighting the Quints. Three years after Wing's death, Deadlock is in a battle with a Quint mothership. The Quint mother ship is approaching, and Quints are emerging from every corner. Driven by bloodlust, Deadlock infiltrates the mothership with the intention of blowing it up. Prowl, the commanding officer and tactician of the mission, warns Deadlock that going in is a death sentence. Deadlock doesn't care; he charges headfirst.

He carves an opening on the side of the ship and fights his way inside, slicing and shooting his way through the enemy. The Quints are unprepared for an inside attack he keeps slicing everything in his path, until he encounters a much more evolved looking Quint with actual features, unlike the usual octopus looking ones. The creature screeches ear piercing upon seeing Deadlock and reaches for a console. Before it can do anything, Deadlock shoots the console. A bright light erupts from it, but Deadlock doesn't care. He lunges forward and slices off the Quint in half. His next move is to sink the ship, blindly destroying the main controls.

The light intensifies until it blinds Deadlock and the outside battle. Prowl watches from outside as the ship's front glows brighter and brighter, reaching a blinding point. He considers shutting down his optic sensors and continuing to give directions when the Quint´s stop and they start moving towards the ship. Thirty seconds later, the ship explodes. As the blinding light fades, half the Quints are on the ground, dead or twitching, moments away from dying. The ship crashes, crushing a valley and part of the city.

When they investigate the wreckage, they find a place that looks like the commanding room with what looks to be a perfect sphere on matter gone like it just vanished from existence. Prowl and the tactical team believe that Deadlock's actions saved everyone, but at the cost of his life. They hold a funeral, honoring Deadlock as a hero. The wreck becomes a valuable source of materials and research.

**EPILOGUE**

Who was prime to force him into a vacation in some isolated backwater tiny organic planet in the middle of nowhere, with the only task. Making sure wheeljack doesn't blow himself up . Ratchet grumbles and curses, he has nothing to do until Wheeljack inevitably causes chaos. Bored, he walks around the planet until he hears a crash and metal collapsing. Ratchet transforms and races toward the site.

In the crater, the material surrounding the area looks organic, very Quintesson like . Ratchet grimaces, realizing they might not be as safe as Prime thought. He slides down into the crater, transforming his servo into a scalpel. He sees parts of a destroyed Quintesson mothership, with a dead director. Ratchet doesn’t bother examining her, instead, he looks to the right and spots a black and white mech with yellow accents, helm down in the dirt.

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This is all of it for part 1.

I originally wanted to write about Deadlock and Ratchet meeting, but I got carried away. I really wanted to explore Drift’s upbringing and life in the mecha program to better understand his behavior and how Ratchet’s presence affects him. Also, in this universe, I think it would be Deadlock who gets yeeted into space. To add to the story Deadlock is very violent, always growling and has bitten more than one guy. I don't think this aspect got shown but anyway stay tuned for the next chapter. The meeting.

THANKS FOR READING

#reverse mecha au #mecha pilot jazz au #keferon #dratchet #deadlock #idw ratchet #drift #first time publishing #humanformers

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