🦅🥋🏆Mostly inspired by Tumblr prompts featuring Eli 'Hawk' Moskowitz, Demetri Alexopoulos, Daniel LaRusso and Johnny Lawrence, to name a few.
Or, the AU KK/CK (and Jacob Bertrand) ficlet and non-fanfic collection I decided to write even though...
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The San Fernando Valley air hung thick with the scent of jasmine and distant exhaust fumes, a familiar perfume for Eli "Hawk" Moskowitz. At eighteen, with eyes like chips of azure ice nestled beneath a defiant blue Mohawk, he was a creature of paradox: a vampire who walked under the midday sun, ethically bound to prey only upon those who preyed on others. Tonight, his quarry cowered in the alley behind a closed diner, their bravado melting like cheap plastic before his gaze.
"How you turn my world, you precious thing," Hawk hissed, the words laced with a dark, mocking sweetness, as he reached up and grabbed the petrified teenage criminal by the jaw. He tilted her face, his smirk widening to reveal sharp, bone-white fangs that glinted obscenely in the dim spill of a streetlamp. She was young, barely older than himself, but her hands were stained with intent, her history already etching dark lines of potential violence. Another "killer kid," as he'd morbidly nicknamed the adolescent versions of the "deadly women" he and his kind heard about through the vampire grapevine — young perpetrators whose capacity for harm outstripped their years.
He hadn't bothered with manipulation this time, no silken whispers or carefully crafted illusions to lure her into a false sense of security. This time, it had been crude, direct. He'd simply taken her — a blur of speed, a firm grip, and the cold shock of reality replacing the arrogance in her eyes. It wasn't his usual style, which often involved psychological games before the physical culmination, but it had been undeniably practical. Effective. Necessary. It was the only swift way he could ensure she wouldn't follow through on the dark path she was forging, preventing the crimes she could have committed against innocent lives had he not intervened precisely when he did.
A flicker of memory played behind his azure eyes — the rooftop across the street, two figures silhouetted against the sunset glow. Sensei Lawrence and Sensei LaRusso. They hadn't missed the takedown. And he hadn't missed the secret grin that had passed between his two mentors, a brief, almost imperceptible shared understanding that was profoundly different from the wide, beaming smiles of traditional pride they usually gave him — and Demetri, Miguel, and Robby — whenever they achieved significant milestones in training or life. This was something else. An acknowledgement of the predator beneath the student, sanctioned and understood not with discomfort, but with a shared, subtle approval. He still smiled inwardly whenever he recalled how smoothly he'd pulled it off, the efficiency of the capture a point of pride that resonated even with the dual senseis.
Now, several hours later, the crude method had yielded results. She thrashed and cried in the confined space he'd prepared, a reinforced room deep within a property nobody cared about. He preferred to call it a "cage," a more visceral descriptor for her current predicament. Standing by the solid, soundproofed door, Hawk pressed his ear against the cool metal, a slow smirk stretching across his lips. He could hear her: the desperate sobs, the hoarse shouts, the frantic pleas for him to set her free. It was a symphony of fear, and against his better judgment, the raw emotion resonated within him, not with pity, but with a sense of grim satisfaction. Getting off on her cries was perhaps not the most "ethical" aspect of his existence, but targeting criminals? That was the non-negotiable code. The process of handling them was his own dark indulgence.
