#sorry i can't actually write the fic and do it justice. in my head it is Very Good | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

poisonedjoinery · 5 months

Note

Hello beautiful, just wanted to thank for writing stories and giving us reader some of your time. I don't know if you are open for requests but I give it a try. 🤍🙏 I'm in desperate need of a voightx reader fic, angsty hurt and comfort and fluff. Maybe you like my idea or get some inspiration to write something similar.

The reader is working with intelligence and Voight is instantly taken aback by her appearance. She is also attracted to Hank. But they keep their feelings for each other hidden. One night the goes out for drinks and in their tipsy state the reader and Hank make out.... The next day Voight is giving her the silent treatment and is also cold and unfriendly to her, just ignoring the fact they kissed. His unfair behavior goes on for days until she gets him to talk to her, telling her that is was was mistake and she should move on leaves her feeling more hurt and heartbreak than ever. The situation is also taking a physically toll on her, with no appetite and her deathly sick appearance the team instantly worries.

We all know Voight would think he can't give her what she needs or be good enough fir this kind and beautiful girl.

Later on there's a guy hitting on her and Voight pushes her to date the stranger (secretly dying from jealousy, but believing another man can give her all she needs). The date ends catastrophic when she realizes that the guy drugged her, secretly and in panic she calls voight in her dizzy and weakening state and manages to tell him the bar they're currently. Not able to defend herself in her drugged state the guy is able to drag her to his car in the parking lot. She's struggling and fighting for her life, he gets frustrated and beat her up..... Voight comes just in time and keeps the guy from kidnapping her. Nearly conscious and beaten Hank takes her to his house to attend her injuries and to take care of her. Some fluffy end in which he admits his feelings for her... 🤍🙏

Currently I am sucker for caretaker fics, with sick and hurt reader. The intelligence team would be soo cute taking care and at a Hank Voight who hides his feelings and worries for the girl just get me 😍

I am soooo sorry for this long request, but I have this idea in my head since forever and I just needed it to share, in desperate hope a talented writer might create a good story. Don't hesitate to tell me if this sucks.

Lot's of love 🤍

Eat the World Raw

Authors Notes: This is an anon request, of super protective yet jealous Voight. I hope I have done your request justice anon, my apologies for the serious delay on this I have a hideously busy job these days and I find it hard to find writing time.

Summary: Reader is a new starter on the Intelligence Unit, and is instantly taken with Voight. After sharing a drunken moment, Voight pushes reader away. But a panicked phone call changes everything.

Warnings: Mentions of drink spiking and assault. Angst and fluff too. If you feel there should be any other warnings, please do let me know.

Gif by: @shelby-love

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"Hey Boss, the new recruit is here." Antonio called out to Voight, as he walked you to your new desk. Dropping your bag to the side, you pulled off your coat.

"Thank you Detective, I appreciate your help." Smiling, Antonio nodded his head,

"Call me Tonio, everyone else does. Come on, we can get you some coffee, you're gonna need it." Nodding, you followed him to the break room. Tonio gave you the rundown of the most recent case the team was working on. A gang was currently running drugs through the city, and the intelligence unit was still unsure of how they were managing to go undetected.

"Wow... that sounds like a lot. You know, I worked a case once where a gang was using the postal service to distribute their drugs. The leaders brother used to work for them, and kept a master mailbox key." Antonio looked surprised,

"Huh... that... could actually be plausible."

"'TONIO!" Whipping his head round, he watched as Voight stalked in, a deep frown on his face.

"I thought you said the new starter was... here..." His voice trailed off as his gaze focused on you. You felt your breath leave you, as though you had been gut punched. You'd been told a lot about Voight, had been told what a hardass he was. Never taking no for an answer, scaring off more teammates and pissing off coworkers more than anyone else in the CPD. What you wasn't prepared for, was for how handsome he was. Yes, he was at least twenty years older than you but you couldn't help yourself, you let your eyes roam over him. From his boots, all the way to the black button down shirt with a black leather jacket over the top.

Clearing his throat, Antonio stepped forward.

"Boss this is (Y/N). I've already brought her up to speed with the case, and she's actually given a decent idea of how the drugs could be being moved around the city." Antonio frowned, looking at Voight, and then to you.

"Boss?"

"Huh... yeah?" Clearing his throat, Voight gave a tight smile and held out his hand.

"Nice to meet you (Y/N), glad you're all caught up." Averting his gaze, he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Uh... Tonio, I need you to run down a lead. It's the one that Ruzek brought us yesterday, take the newbie." Looking back up at you, he gave a small smile and quickly turned around heading back to his office.

"Um... he seems... intense." Your voice sounded shaky. You quickly took a large gulp of coffee, wincing as it scolded your throat.

"Yeah he um... I think he's a bit stressed right now." Tonio frowned, then quickly smiled.

"Okay, let's go." Striding back out, you grabbed your coat and badge. Risking a quick glance behind you, you saw Voight in his office watching you.

--------------------------------------

The case took a nasty turn. The gang that was peddling drugs, seemed to have looped kids into their dealings. Picking the weak and neglected kids whose parents wouldn't give a shit as to their whereabouts. You kept your head down, working hard and not getting underfoot. Learning the ways and methods the team worked, but you could start to feel the pressure of this case sinking into your bones. You felt angry that innocent kids were being used, and made to believe that they were cared for. You rubbed your face, the night had settled around you causing the light from your screen to become harsh to your eyes.

"Hey (Y/N), it's late. Come on, we're all going for a drink." Glancing up, Halstead smiled from his desk as everyone else pulled on their coats, shutting down their computers. huffing out a sigh your stretched.

"Yeah sure... okay sounds good."

You all headed to Molly's, grabbing a booth in the back you sat and powered through a few beers. As the mood lightened, jokes started to fly around along with casual conversation. Soon you found yourself laughing at Ruzek and his ridiculous stories.

"There room for one more?" Glancing behind you, you found Voight staring down at you intently. Swallowing hard, you nodded and shifted your chair over.

"Sure thing Boss." Voight grabbed a chair and sat next to you.

"Thanks, and when we're not on shift, you can call me Hank." Smiling, you took a sip of your drink. Feeling more confident, mainly because of the ten or so beers flowing through you, you leant in closer to Voight.

"Thanks. So... Hank... how has your day been?" Smiling, Hank watched you for a moment, then lent in further.

"Well it has been busy... but I think we are making good progress, and the drinks are certainly helping right now." With that he took a large gulp of bourbon, causing a colour to rise in his cheeks.

The night continued, with the team drinking and laughing. The more you drank, you found yourself relaxing into your seat which incidentally lead to you leaning further into Hank. You enjoyed the warmth that came from him, the smell of his cologne, the deep laugh that vibrated out of his chest. You tried not to squirm as you felt yourself becoming flushed with excitement.

"Okay guys... I need to get to bed. I'd like it to be at least a month before I drunkenly embarrass myself. " The others laughed and jeered, trying to persuade you to stay as you pulled on your coat.

"I'm gonna head off too, (Y/N) I'll walk you out." Waving bye to everyone, you headed to the door, your mind racing at the thought of Hank being so close behind you. Rummaging in your bag you found your phone, pulling up a taxi app.

"How you getting home?" Looking up, you smiled and showed him your phone.

"I was going to get a cab."

"Ah, don't worry about that I'll give you a ride. Come on."

"Oh you don't have to..."

"I know I don't have to, but I want to. It's late and I can at least know you're safe." Dropping your phone back into your bag, you pulled your jacket closer around you.

"Then lead the way Boss." Smirking at him, as he raised an eyebrow, he lead you across the street to his truck. Climbing in, you sank into a soft leather chair. The air was heavy with Hanks smell, and coffee.

"So... where do you live?" Shutting the door behind him, Hank started the truck and turned on the heater. Giving him your address, you pulled your seatbelt on. The drive was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Hank maneuvered the truck smoothly through the light city traffic, occasionally asking you questions about your previous jobs. Before you knew it, you were outside your house. Stopping the truck, he placed his arm behind your chair, quietly watching you.

"Thank you, Voight. I appreciate the lift."

"You're welcome sweethear'." You felt a heat creep over your face at the endearment. You dropped your gaze not wanting him to see.

"Well um... goodnight. I..." Before you could finish your sentence, Hank had tilted your face up, his hand remaining under your jaw.

"Just... a taste." You blinked and felt as his lips pressed against yours. Moaning quietly, you reached your hand up grazing the back of his neck. Pulling him in closer to you. You're not sure at what point it happened, but you ended up pulled into Hanks lap, slowly kissing him for what felt like hours. Humming quietly, he pressed his head against yours.

"I um... I should probably go. I need to be fresh for tomorrow... I don't want my boss to get pissed at me." Smiling, Hank let you shift out of his lap and into the passenger seat again.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"Bright and early boss." Climbing out you headed into your house, Hank remaining outside until you had locked your front door. Hank rubbed his face and pulled his truck out onto the main road. What the fuck had he done.

-------------------------------------------

The next morning Hank got to the office bright and early. He didn't want to be disturbed by anyone. This case was starting to piss him off, and he didn't want to fuck around chasing any more dead beat leads. He noticed as the rest of the team trickled in, all of them having a haggard look that suggested they'd all drunk a bit too much last night. He noticed how you watched him through the blinds of his office, like you was waiting for him to call you in for a chat. He probably should talk to you, but he just couldn't do it right now. He was too pissed at himself to even consider having a civilised conversation.

He made sure he kept busy for the rest of the day, he didn't want to speak to anyone unless needed. He chased down lead after lead until he managed to find one that was promising. After ten hours, and a painful conversation with a local informant, Voight managed to track the ring leader down and haul him and his gang into lockup. He left Antonio and Burgess shutting down the lab, and bagging up evidence.

"(Y/N), with me." nodding quickly, you followed Voight out into the stations car park.

"I'm sorry about last night, I shouldn't have... I shouldn't have kissed you."

"I didn't mind Hank, I actually enjoyed..."

"No... it won't be happening again. I am too old for you, and I won't be able to give you anything that you want. So it's best to just... forget about it okay." It killed him to see the pain and hurt in your eyes.

"Hank I..."

"It was a mistake (Y/N), okay?" He didn't meant to raise his voice, but he saw the anger building in you.

"Not a problem Boss, I've already forgotten." Watching you march back into the building, he groaned inwardly, kicking himself for his tactless approach.

For the next few weeks, Voight watched as you worked alongside the team, effortlessly working leads and solving case after case. He couldn't stand how pale you had become, how when everyone else had lunch you seemed to find a reason not to eat with them.

"(Y/N), eat something will you. I don't want you passing out on shift." Whipping your head round, you glared at Voight as he stalked past you. Grinding your teeth, you forced yourself to answer.

"Sir." Grabbing your coat, you nodded to 'Tonio.

"I'm heading out for some food, want anything?" 'Tonio shook his head,

"Na I'm good, thanks (Y/N)." Nodding, you headed out.

You didn't realise how hungry you were until you were half way through a footlong sub from the local deli. Your stomach ached in protest and delight at the amount of food you were consuming. You couldn't help but think about how Voight had kissed you that night, it had felt glorious. You hadn't dated anyone for a few years, hadn't really had the time. You'd enjoyed your job too much. But when Voight had kissed you, you felt a new rush, a new thrill. Then the fucker had ditched you.

"Asshole." Throwing your rubbish in the bin, you headed back into the office. Taking the stairs two at a time, you wasn't focused on the people around you and you slammed into someone.

"Shit... I'm sorry I wasn't watching." Glancing up you found a guy in front of you smiling.

"(Y/N)! Christ I haven't seen you in years." Focusing on the face attached to the voice, you saw it was Jacob. A guy you had gone through the academy with. Huffing out a breath, you gave a wane smile.

"Hey, Jacob. How you doing?" Nodding, he grinned, stepping closer to you.

"Yeah I'm good thanks, I'm working over with homicide now."

"Sweet." You shifted your gaze, looking up to where you wanted to go. He glanced behind you, eyes going wide.

"Are you... you up in Intelligence?"

"uh-huh."

"Holy shit that is amazing, I've heard Voight is a right hardass... is that true?"

"I can be when pushed." Jacobs eyes widened as he spun round.

"Um... sorry Sir, I didn't mean anything by it." Smirking Voight clapped him on the shoulder,

"Don't sweat it. (Y/N), when you're ready we've got a lead to run down." Turning, Voight headed up the stairs to the rest of the team.

"I should head up." Moving to follow Voight, Jacob caught your arm.

"Hey do you fancy grabbing a drink tonight, after work?" Glancing up the stairs you saw Voight had slowed down, probably trying to over hear your conversation.

"Um... yeah I'll uh... I'll let you know. Big case, not sure what time I'll be finished."

"Yeah... yeah okay sounds good." Heading up the stairs, you caught Voights eye.

"Hey... you dating that guy?" Frowning, you glanced up at him.

"I... no I went through the academy with him. He just asked if I wanted to meet for a drink."

"Hmm... you should go. You're a young woman, you should get out from behind the desk." Watching him closely, you leaned in looking for any hint of a joke.

"You... okay sure, why not." Turning on your heel you marched into the office heading straight to your desk to phone Jacob. If Voight insisted you go, then you'll go. If only you'd turned round, you'd have seen the fury burning in his eyes.

-------------------------------------------

Checking your reflection, you smiled. You'd picked your best emerald green dress, it dipped low at the front and hugged at your hips just right. You felt good for the first time in a while.

"Forget Voight." Grabbing your coat and bag, you headed out the door.

You found Jacob at the bar sipping on a beer, spotting you he grinned.

"Wow... you look amazing!" Grinning, you pulled your coat off and placed it over the bar stool.

"Thank you, you scrub up well yourself." Gesturing to the bartender, you ordered a red wine.

"Cheers." Taking a big sip you smiled. You looked around the bar, seeing all the different people chatting and drinking. You felt yourself relax a bit into your seat.

"So... how's your case going?" Looking up, you were stalled for moment.

"Uh... yeah it's going okay. It's a tough case but we're getting there." You didn't overly want to chat about work, as it reminded you of Voight. Jacob seemed to get the hint as you didn't expand any further on the subject. You sat quietly for a moment, just sipping on your drink. After a while, you both seemed to just relax into a conversation, reliving the academy days minutes passing into hours.

"You feeling okay?" Jacobs voice seemed to pull you out of a blurred moment that you didn't remember going into.

"Hmm? oh... yeah I'm fine, I'm just... gonna head to the bathroom okay?" Smiling, he nodded.

"Okay, well uh... shall we head out after this? Maybe find somewhere to get food?" Standing up, you nodded holding onto your chair for dear life.

"Yeah that's fine." Grabbing your bag, you headed to the bathroom, feeling your legs wobble and your head start to swirl. Pulling in a deep breath, you focused on the toilet door, not wanting to look more drunk than you were.

Pushing open the door, you leant on the sink and stared at your reflection. Your pupils looked blown, but you couldn't tell. You couldn't focus. You tried to remember how many drinks you'd had, tried to remember anything but it was all becoming a hazy dream.

"Shit.." Stumbling into a toilet stall, you locked the door behind you and rummaged in your bag pulling out your phone. You truly hoped you'd punched in the right number.

"(Y/N)?" Hanks voice cut through the phone, relief flooded through you.

"Han..k... I need... come help... been drugged."

"Where are you!" You felt yourself slowly drifting off.

"I... I'm ... bar...South side... bird...bird... Spar..." Your voice drifted off,

"Bird... the Sparrow... you at the Sparrow!"

"Yea... bathro." Your world went black.

Voight drove like a madman, sirens blaring not caring who he cut off in the process. Hold on, please god hold on. The streets were a blur as they flashed past him in a haze of lights and noise. Pulling into the car park, Voight spotted a guy hauling a woman to his car. Stepping out, he recognised it as Jacob. Picking up his pace, he started towards him catching your voice as he got closer.

"No... get off you sick fuck."

"Stop struggling... you know you're going to love it." Hank watched as you swung at him catching him in the mouth, but it didn't stop there. Jacob slapped you, and punched you in the stomach. Hank was at his back within seconds. Grabbing him by the hair, he slammed his face into the side of the car, continuing to punch him as he slid to the ground. He wouldn't have stopped, could have killed him had it not been for your voice calling to him.

"Hank..." Looking behind him, he saw you stirring on the floor blood pouring from your mouth.

"Shit... (Y/N), I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Scooping you up, he carried you to his car putting you in the passenger seat. Peeling out of the car park, he sped away from the bar. Glancing over at you he took your hand,

"Hey, (Y/N) stay awake alright. We're nearly there." You let your head lull to the side, the warm air from the heater and the blow to the head making you sleepy.

"Where's there?" you murmured out.

"Home."

-------------------------------------------

Waking up, your head felt heavy, your vision blurred. Rubbing a hand over your face, you realised you no longer had your dress on but a soft t-shirt with the letter CPD stamped on the chest. Your body ached, and yet you felt content in the soft confines of the duvet.

"Hmm... s'good."

"(Y/N)?" Glancing to the side, you found Voight sitting in a chair next to your bed.

"Hey, um... what am I doing here?" Reaching out, Voight took your hand and held onto it gently.

"You rang me last night, you went out for a drink with the Jacob guy and ah... he um... he spiked your drink." Frowning, you tried to remember but all you could think of was the toilet stall you had sat in.

"I got there just as he was dragging into his car, but you resisted and uh.. he hit you a few times."

"I um... christ I don't remember much I'm sorry Boss. Guess that's why my head hurts hmm?"

"What! No, don't be sorry, that scumbag is the one who should be sorry not you! I'm... I'm just glad I was able to get you out before... well I'm glad I got to you." Smiling you squeezed his hand with yours,

"Thanks Boss."

"'Tonio checked into your boy, and he's not a cop, well not any more at least. He didn't make it passed being a beat cop, he assaulted two women so he got fired." You felt your stomach churn.

"Well... maybe next time I should get you guys to run a background check on whoever I plan on going for a drink with hmm?" Dropping your head back into the pillow you winced as pain flared through your eyes. Looking around the room, you saw that it was rather warm and, oddly enough, cosy.

"We won't need to do that." Voight sounded a little nervous, something you had never thought he could be. Tilting your head, you gazed at him intently,

"And why's that hmm?"

"Because I'm not a creep who preys on women, so you'll be safe."

"Wha..?" Sighing, he shifted out of his chair to sit on the edge of the bed, running his other hand over your hair. It only occured to you now that this was Hanks house, Hanks bedroom, Hanks shirt that you were wearing.

"I shouldn't have encouraged you to go on a date with that guy. What I should have done, was date you myself. But instead I... I got nervous. Nervous that you'd see I wasn't anything but an old, beat up cop too stuck in his ways to make you happy in the ways that matter." Sitting yourself up, you leaned into Voight and kissed him. You wasn't sure how long it lasted, or when he had gently pushed you back leaning into you. Running your hands up his arms, you traced your fingers over his broad back. Breaking away, you pressed your head against his,

"You know, you never even asked what makes me happy. If you'd had just asked, I think we would have saved a lot of time... and spiked drinks." Smirking at him, he shook his head.

"Yeah I know, I'm a dumbass." Laughing at him, you brushed your hand over his jaw.

"I'll let you off, on one condition." Voight raised an eyebrow, and hummed quietly.

" You um... take these jeans off and stay in bed with me for the day hmm?"

"Yes Ma'am, you don't have to ask me twice." Standing he slowly unbuckled his belt, and unbuttoned the jeans. You felt a heat build in your face and stomach. This was going to be... an interesting day.

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demetriandelibinaryboyfriends · 7 months

Text

@ckhalloween23 heyyyyyy bestie(s) I know I'm an entire-ass month late, BUT

HERE'S A PREVIEW OF THE ELIMETRI DARKFIC I PROMISED

Listen, y'all can't give me a "Serial Killers" prompt and the opportunity to write the dark, unhinged Demetri Alexopoulos of my dreams presented on a silver platter and NOT expect me to go a little apeshit ^^;

Or. A lot apeshit. Because boy did I let this funny little comic relief guy SNAP ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

Also, funnily enough, I realized over the course of the last year or so that I'm probably autistic? For the longest time I held off on writing Hawk's POV because I hc him as autistic and I didn't think I could do him justice, but...I've unlocked this Fun Secret Collector's Item now, I guess XD Eli "Hawk" Moskowitz POV acquired!

Decided to give it a stab here, since him having NO fucking idea how to react to Crazy Demetri was just too much fun. Hawk came to me surprisingly easy once I got started, actually??? I mean I've always related to him a lot but I had no idea it was like. An autism thing. I thought it was just an ND thing akisudhlkuhyfu

Head's up to Tory and Robby stans...this may not be the fic for you. You have been warned 👀

CW for blood, violence, knife-threatening, light knifeplay, toxic relationships (although YMMV), mentions of murder, implied slut-shaming, homophobic slurs, and sexual subtext.

Fic under the cut! As always, moodboard pic credits available upon request :3

***

Hawk’s on his 30th rep when he hears the front door.

He stops mid-jab, the punching bag rattling on its chain as it sways back and forth. Scoffing, he rolls his eyes.

His mom must be home early. How fucking annoying.

He was looking forward to having the house to himself. With his father on a weekend-long business trip and his mother at her Friday night wine hangout, he was finally going to catch up on training without any interruptions.

The last thing he needs is to be outdone by Kyler Park and Robby Fucking Keene.

Hopefully his mom won’t come knocking, pestering him to watch movies or some other frivolous crap. He doesn’t have time for that anymore.

Strange. There’s a notable lack of the jingling and clattering that usually comes from 50 million things being shifted through an oversize purse. Hawk pauses, listening for any noise.

Maybe he imagined it.

“What the hell.” He takes a sip of the Red Bull on his bedside. Some sleep-deprived delirium or whatever it was wasn’t going to fuck up his focus.

Sure, he’s been averaging 5 hours a night, but who gives a shit? It’s not like anyone in high school actually gets enough sleep.

Sensei Kreese said in ‘Nam, they had to be ready to fight on a moment’s notice—geared to slaughter enemies after a mere 30 minutes’ rest in 48 hours. Hawk doesn’t strive for anything less.

The stairs creak.

His mom isn’t usually one for sneaking past his room, but perhaps she’s too tired to be chatty. He thanks the powers that be this seems to be the case, and returns to his reps.

Jab, cross, roundhouse. Jab, cross, roundhouse. Elbow. Knee to the chest.

He counts them out as he goes, power surging through him. Sensei will be sorry he started singing Keene’s praises when Hawk’s a better fighter than that piece of shit ever was.

Because throwing someone off a balcony when they had their guard down was a coward’s move. Typical Miyagi Do bullshit.

God, Hawk hates them. Hypocrites. Losers. Pussies.

He thinks of a new insult every time he lands a punch.

Miguel’s fucking insane for not appreciating what Cobra Kai did to get payback. What Hawk did to get payback.

His fists are starting to ache, fingers burning from being smashed against rubber again and again. Hawk doesn’t care.

Sensei would say the pain makes him stronger.

Jab cross jab cross jab cross jab cross jab cross jab cross jab cross—

“You know, at some point, I think you’re as good as you’re going to get at punching.”

A shadow blocks the hallway light.

Dread grips him in frosty talons. His arms still, the punching bag swinging back and smacking his chest.

He gasps, stumbling back. Still, he refuses to look at the doorway.

Refuses to let Demetri see his shock.

“What the fuck are you doing in my house?”

He presses as much venom into the words as possible. Enough intimidation, and Demetri will back down.

He knows now that Hawk is as real a threat as he ever was. And Demetri’s smart enough not to keep poking at a tiger that’s already mauled him.

“In what world would I not remember where you keep your spare keys?” Demetri sneers.

Well. Maybe that’s a bit generous.

“What do you want?”

Hawk keeps his tone steely, hoping he can kill whatever plans are swimming around his ex-best-friend’s head before they even form. In all likelihood, Demetri’s here to be a nuisance at best and a night-ruiner at worst.

Fucking Demetri. He’s always been such a distraction.

Hawk needs to get rid of those.

He thought he did. But Demetri is apparently either too stupid or too obsessed with the past to be properly scared away.

Irritating, but admittedly also interesting. It shows a kind of boldness that he wouldn’t expect Demetri, of all people, to have.

“Maybe I want to check in on my best friend.” Groaning footfalls as Demetri starts to slowly cross Hawk’s room. “I see you avoiding me at school. And you didn’t even bother to show when your little friends crashed Sam’s party. Perhaps I want to see how you are, hmmmm?”

And try as he might, Hawk can’t pick up the usual sarcastic edge to Demetri’s tone. He frowns at his far wall, confused.

There’s something odd in Demetri’s voice, and Hawk can’t for the life of him pick up what it is.

He still refuses to look at his oldest friend. He’s not going to give him the satisfaction of undivided attention.

Demetri is a pest, and should be treated as such.

“We’re not best friends,” Hawk says tightly, landing another punch on his bag. “Whatever we were? It’s done. Has been for a long time. Why can’t you get that?”

He finally graces Demetri with a look. He’s expecting the usual sullen look—scrunched brow, open mouth, widened eyes. Like he’s eternally surprised Hawk doesn’t need him anymore.

A look where maybe, if he prods it farther, Demetri will storm off. Or run off crying. Be out of Hawk’s sight.

Be somewhere where Hawk doesn’t have to think about that night at Golf N Stuff. Or how it felt to watch Demetri writhe on the floor. Or the streams of vomit that ripped from Hawk’s stomach as soon as he got home.

Or what he did to himself in the wee hours of the morning, when no one—not his mother, not Cobra Kai, not Sensei Kreese—was around to see.

But when Hawk glances over now, Demetri is smiling.

Not a contemptuous sneer, or a pained grimace. A full-on grin, splitting his cheeks and stretching much wider than the situation calls for.

Hawk inhales sharply.

Demetri shakes his head, laughing. “It’s almost endearing, you know. What a tryhard you are.”

He squares his jaw, refusing to budge as Demetri advances on him. “I thought I made it pretty clear what I think about you. You want another reminder?”

Hawk balls his fists, trying not to think about how hard the words are to force out. How hard he’s working to keep the iron shell he’s built around himself intact.

A strange smell hovers around Demetri. Acrid and metallic, like he’s spent too much time mucking around inside one of those computers he’s so besotted with.

“How revoltingly naïve.” Green eyes burn into him like acid, the glint behind them unlike anything he’s ever seen. “You thought you’d break my arm once and be done with me?

Hawk finds himself backing away.

“I’m not going to make it that easy for you, Hawk.”

Something in the way Demetri spits his new name finally gives him clarity.

“So what the fuck do you want from me?” he spits. “Why did you come here?”

“I came here because you were right. About everything.”

Any response is snatched from Hawk’s mouth.

For several seconds, all he can do is stare. Demetri smirks, apparently reveling in getting a leg up.

Hawk is so confused that he can’t even find it in himself to be angry. A strangled “what?” is all that comes out, pulling a snigger from his adversary.

“You think you’ve got it all figured out. Becoming the scariest fighter in the Valley. Making everyone quiver at the sight of you. Doing whatever you like because people aren’t brave enough to tell you no. Becoming your badass karate teacher’s little golden child. Getting rid of your weaknesses. Getting rid of me. But there’s one thing you got wrong.”

Typical Demetri. Monologuing around the point.

But Hawk is, nonetheless, finding his confusion turning to intrigue.

The mopey kicked puppy routine had gotten unbearably tedious. At least Demetri finally has the decency to give Hawk some variety.

“Oh, yeah?” He curls his lip. “What’s that?”

Demetri casually leans on Hawk’s dresser, like this is nothing more than a Friday night video game session.

“You think I avoid fights because I’m scared. But that’s not true anymore.” And there’s that grin again—that wide, unnerving grin that looks like it was pasted on from another human being’s face. The sort of manic look that would never in a thousand years belong on Demetri Alexopoulos.

“I avoid fights because I know who’s worth fighting. And who’s worth hurting.”

Well, that’s new.

Hawk narrows his eyes, trying to piece together if this is all some kind of trick.

“See, Eli, you were right that the world isn’t kind to people who get too soft.” Demetri starts sauntering over again, and that odd, metallic smell strengthens. “Or losers. Or weaklings. Or people who admit defeat. Give in too easily. Run off cowering and scared. So I’m shaking all that off. Next time I fight, I won’t lose.”

As Hawk pieces everything together, he scowls.

“So that’s what you want?” he hisses. “A rematch? Like you’d stand a chance.”

“So touchy. Do you only think of people in terms of whether you can beat them in a fight now? Boooooring.”

Demetri clicks his tongue disapprovingly. It’s a mocking gesture he’s been doing since they were little, but now something about it feels chilling.

Hawk’s back bumps his bedroom wall. Demetri’s closing in on him.

Fucking hell—he’s getting fed up with this cat-and-mouse. Why is he even entertaining this stupid nerd again?

It’s not like he gives a shit about him anymore. Then he wouldn’t snap his arm in half.

“Fuck off, Demetri!” he roars. “I fucking hate you. I don’t give a shit about anything you have to say! Get the hell out of my house, or I swear to god I’ll break your arm again.”

He fills the words with fire and force and poison, hoping something will hurt Demetri enough to make him go.

He can’t cave again. Not after he’s worked this hard to oust Demetri and everything he represents from his life.

Not after he’s severed Demetri’s bone with his own hands and smiled with his friends about it.

That should’ve been the last straw. That should’ve been what sent Demetri running for good, abandoning everything they’d once had to save himself.

But it didn’t. It fucking didn’t.

Demetri takes another step into his space, curling his lip. “You’re full of shit.”

“Fuck you.” Eli returns his stare, baring his teeth. “How are you so sure?”

“Because you hesitated.”

Hawk goes rigid.

“I begged you to stop.” Demetri’s hands slide onto the wall on either side of him, trapping him. “And you thought about it. You didn’t break my arm until all your psychotic teammates goaded you on. If you really hated me?” His voice drops to a breathy whisper. “You wouldn’t have even thought twice.”

“You don’t know shit.”

Demetri snickers.

“Poor little Eli. You’ve always sucked at arguing when you get backed into a corner.”

“I still broke it,” Hawk growls. “You know I can do it. Easily. So how are you stupid enough that you’re still fucking with me? You some kind of masochist?”

“You still care about me, Eli.” They’re inches apart now, Demetri leering over Hawk. “You never got over me not wanting to join your little club of sociopaths. Whenever there’s a rumble, you can’t stay away from me. And you want to know what I think?”

“Shut up.”

Demetri’s voice is husky in Hawk’s ear. “You wouldn’t hurt me when there’s no one to show off to.”

Hawk’s done with this.

He lunges, shoving Demetri’s chest and flying at him with an outstretched fist. He waits for that gratifying moment of shock—the familiar shift in Demetri’s features as he realizes yet again Hawk has no intention of going easy on him.

Demetri doesn’t even blink as he moves out of the way.

Hawk course-corrects, swiveling and diving for Demetri again. He throws the fastest punch he can manage straight at Demetri’s jaw.

Why the hell won’t he give up?

Demetri’s fantastic at giving up. He always has been. He gave up on standing up to bullies and he gave up on Cobra Kai and he gave up on Sensei Kreese.

So why won’t he give up on Hawk?

Demetri doesn’t dodge this time. He only swerves, allowing the fist to graze his chin.

He lets out a hiss of pain—angry, but not surprised.

Without warning, Demetri’s hands shoot up. Hawk freezes as long fingers snake across the skin of his arm.

The next second he’s screaming, Demetri’s hands twisting until his skin burns. The other boy’s grip tightens, thrusting him toward the floor.

He’s stealing my fucking moves again.

And frustratingly, he can do them fast. Hawk barely manages to use his other arm to shove Demetri off, stumbling back.

Even one moment of disorientation is too long. Demetri charges again, teeth bared like a wild animal.

One arm slams him against his bedroom wall while the other digs into his chest, squeezing the air out of him. And Hawk hates to admit it, but Demetri’s training-broadened shoulders have a terrifying amount of power behind them.

Nothing he can’t handle. Hawk’s taken on bigger opponents before.

He squirms in Demetri’s grip, his own arms loosening enough for his hands to make a grab for the taller boy’s throat. Then Demetri’s pinning hand is gone, slipping in and out of his jacket in what feels like less than a heartbeat.

Something cold and sharp presses Hawk’s throat. His hands drop, tensing against the wall.

“What the fuck…?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you, Eli.” Demetri tilts his head, pouting mockingly. “But you make it so damn hard to talk to you. Can’t do a thing without you coming at me like some kind of rabid coyote.”

“So you pull a…are you fucking insane?”

“Like you’re one to talk, Mr. Red Hulk Rage Issues.” The pout morphs into a smirk. “Clearly, you’re not above playing dirty, using that sad little Eli voice of yours to get out of trouble. Figured it was time I caught up.”

Hawk feels something sticky dripping down his neck. His breath hitches in his throat.

He aims a hit at Demetri’s stomach. The taller boy bends with it, and the blade presses harder.

“Oh, come now.” Demetri tuts disapprovingly. “Don’t make me slit your throat.”

Hawk hardens his expression, channeling everything in him into hiding the shock.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I don’t think you’re in a great place to test that.”

And he’s right. Hawk hates it, but he’s right.

This isn’t the Demetri he knows better than the back of his hand. The Demetri he knows so uncomfortably well that he convinced himself over and over and over that it meant he was sick of the fucking geek.

This isn’t grounded, rational, sensible Demetri. Something’s snipped his threads, made him start fraying at the edges.

He’s unraveling, floating in an ether where the pragmatic and the path of least resistance that he made his life philosophy are losing their appeal. He’s…

Well, it seems he’s done some script-flipping of his own. Decided—perhaps on a whim—to overhaul everything Hawk knew and replace it with something cold and alien and completely fucking unpredictable.

Was this how Demetri felt, that day Hawk showed up at school with spiked hair and a conniving sneer? Is this some kind of payback?

He doesn’t care if this new boy with a knife to his throat killed and gutted the friend he grew up with. It doesn’t matter anymore. That relationship only ever got in the way, anyhow.

He truly could not care less. Honest.

The only emotion he feels is annoyance that this new opponent will be harder to match, with erratic moves and a quickly-thinning conscience.

This Demetri isn’t pulling any punches. One stupid or sloppy move, and Hawk will be on the floor gurgling his life out.

He’s never taken Demetri for someone impulsive, but perhaps he just had a talent for controlling his most brutal and primal urges—for his own safety, if nothing else. Perhaps he’s lost this ability.

Hawk wonders what it says about him that he isn’t bothered by this at all. If anything, he finds the whole concept exhilarating.

Fighting Demetri had gotten so boring. Now, at last, they’re on equal footing.

Regardless, there could be a trace of the Old Demetri yet. He might be able to use that.

“Put the fucking knife away or I’ll call the cops,” Hawk snarls. “Think you’ll get into Stanford with a police report on your permanent record? Or whatever fucking nerd school you’re trying to—”

“With what phone?” Demetri interrupts. “The one you left on the coffee table downstairs so it won’t distract you from wailing on your stupid bag?”

Fuck. How did Demetri even notice shit like that?

Hawk tries not to let the dismay show.

“When my mom gets home, she’ll—”

“Mommy’s not coming for you, Eli.” Demetri’s smirk widens. “Mommy’s getting drunk with all her friends to forget her unfulfilled suburban picket fence life with her nasty, violent delinquent of a son. And Mommy’s going to crash at Michelle Galinski’s house, just like she has every Friday night for the past 10 years. And oh dear…Daddy’s out of town on his top-of-the-month business trip? Looks like no one’s coming to save you.”

Fuck that. He can save himself.

Hawk makes a grab for Demetri’s wrist, other hand clawing at the arm compressing his chest. Demetri seamlessly lifts the elbow of his knife-holding arm and jabs the bony appendage into Hawk’s skin.

The knife blade doesn’t even falter, pressing more firmly into Hawk’s neck. A sting, and he feels something warm trickle toward his chest.

The scent from earlier intensifies, and Hawk realizes abruptly that it must have been blood.

“Mmmm-mmmm.” Demetri purses his lips and shakes his head, like he’s scolding a disobedient child. “It’ll make it much easier for both of us if you don’t act up. I really don’t want to cut your throat, but I will.”

As Demetri sneers down at him, Hawk realizes too late that he couldn’t cover his alarm.

“What? Don’t think I’d actually hurt you?”

The taller boy fiddles with the knife, sending little pricks of pain rippling through Hawk’s neck.

“I guess you know how it feels now,” he purrs.

Hawk spits in Demetri’s face, sudden fury overtaking him.

This pathetic nerd’s not going to make him feel bad now. Not after everything he’s done to crush the part of himself that possibly could feel bad.

“Fuck you.”

And slowly, never once breaking his gaze, Demetri licks Hawk’s saliva off his chin. The dim hallway light just catches the moisture on his face.

“Keep it in your pants, Moskowitz. We’re not there yet.”

Now Demetri’s definitely fucking with him.

It’s growing tiresome. Nonetheless, he doesn’t want that cut in his neck getting any wider.

There’s something distinctly unnerving about the way Demetri’s eyes are boring into him, sizing him up with a kind of cold contempt. Looking at him like he’s nothing more than some ugly insect to crush under his shoe.

It’s the sort of callousness that Hawk has never once—not in the entire time he’s known Demetri—been the target of.

And maybe he’ll admit it. He dislikes it for more than just the fact it throws him off.

Demetri is spiraling into someone unrecognizable, and the sheer foreignness of the whole process makes Hawk shudder.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Hawk’s voice is small and weak. Like Eli’s.

He doesn’t care.

His entire sense of reality—every absolute, irrefutable truth he’s ever attached to himself and his life and his oldest friend—is uprooting and spinning out of control, and it’s not like anything fucking matters anymore.

Demetri laughs—a sharp, hollow sound devoid of any real humor.

“Like you’re one to talk. I know what you did to Brucks.”

Hawk’s blood freezes.

“Yeah, that’s right.” Demetri’s knife slides from the cut on Hawk’s neck, beginning to tease the underside of his chin. “Mitch told us what happened. And I damn well noticed when Brucks stopped showing up to school. Nice of your war criminal sensei to help you cover that up.”

Hawk’s breath comes in quick, short gasps.

Of course Demetri put two and two together. Of course he’d gone snooping so he could find something else to hang over Hawk’s head.

And the fall of that knife might be worse than the one currently tickling his jaw.

Part of him hates it. Hates being reminded of that day and hates being reminded what he’s capable of. Hates remembering the sight of a living, breathing person crumpling to the floor, and realizing they would never get up again.

But Hawk isn’t stupid. If anyone can play Demetri’s games, it’s the person who knows him better than anyone in the world.

“Demetri.” He keeps his tone as calm and non-abrasive as he can. “Who else’s blood is on your knife?”

Because it was still wet when Demetri shoved it up against him. And Demetri’s a moron if he thinks Hawk missed that.

“Ah. And we finally get to that.” Demetri chuckles, gently tracing Hawk’s jawline with the honed edge. “You see…the difference between you and me, Eli, is that I don’t need anyone’s help to hide my bodies.”

His heart drops to his feet.

“What did you do?”

“Not any worse than you.” Demetri cocks his head. “I hurt someone who deserved it.”

“Demetri.” Hawk steels his voice. “What did you do?”

Because whatever it was, Hawk sure as hell needs to take the proper precautions to make certain he isn’t next.

“Stopped at the convenience store on the way over here.” Demetri follows the knife with his eyes as he talks, expression almost affectionate. “Ran into one of Kyler’s old buddies from the wrestling team. One of the kids who used to call us fags, remember? He thought it would be fun to shove me around. So I pretended I was running my ass away, and got him to chase me somewhere a little more…private.”

Hawk gapes at him.

“Did you really…?”

“Shanked the asshole like a pig. He was so surprised he didn’t even fight back. And let me tell you, it was the most fun I’ve had in a while.”

And there’s that laugh again—the broken, disjointed chortles that feel so jarringly out-of-place. Green eyes shining with a frenetic light that makes Hawk’s hands grow slick with sweat.

Demetri leans in again, knife held steady as his lips brush Hawk’s ear.

“I know how it feels, you know. I know what it is to get so angry that you don’t even know what your body’s doing until it’s too late. Watch the life fade out of another human being’s eyes. Realize you like it. Sit there panicking about being some kind of inhuman monster and then suddenly realizing you don’t fucking care. And I suppose…I suppose that’s another reason you were right. There is a certain freedom in embracing that the world is cruel and cutthroat and unforgiving. In finally unmuzzling the wild animal thrashing around inside you and letting it hunt the way it was always meant to.”

Hawk shudders.

Sensei Kreese promised no one would ever find out about Brucks. Staged some kind of car accident or binge-drinking tragedy or drug OD or some other way stupid teenagers die all the time. Kyler was barred from the funeral, with Kreese worried (probably reasonably) that the dumbass would let something slip.

Kreese told the class that if anyone snitched, he’d be more than willing to look the other way as they met the same fate as Brucks.

Hawk hated how much he enjoyed it. He hated how after the deed was done, he couldn’t find a scrap of guilt in his psyche. It made him feel detached from himself—the abstract idea that doing that to another person was bad, but the complete lack of any emotions to back it up.

But that’s who he is now. No going back, he supposes.

Perhaps, on some level, he figured Demetri would pick up on this and leave him alone. Decide that Hawk’s path was too dark and too dangerous for his pasty basement nerd tastes, and stay huddled away with the Miyagi Dos singing kumbaya.

That would probably be best for him, anyways. Hawk still doesn’t know what other horrific shit he has it in him to do, especially when his victim pleaded so hard for mercy that would never come. When Brucks’ fruitless begging gave him an unmistakable rush.

And yet here Demetri is, claiming he was in a similar position. Claiming he lost control.

It isn’t that Demetri can’t put on an act if he needs to. But on some level, Hawk’s always been able to tell when his best friend is exaggerating or embellishing to make a story more interesting. There’s a kind of snarky undertone he uses, always giving that he isn’t completely serious. Subtle, but easy to pick up if you’re familiar with it.

There’s none of that here. If anything, this is the kind of emotional vulnerability Demetri never displays intentionally.

Until now, apparently.

Hawk bites his lip. “You’re not lying, are you?”

“You’re so cute.” The tip of the knife jabs into the underside of Hawk’s chin. “You thought I was some…what? Some sissy little do-gooder? The pinnacle of morality and mercy and all great virtues? No, no.” He giggles. “I’ve always been as fucked up as you. I only managed to keep it buried longer.”

Hawk scowls, suddenly remembering exactly who he’s talking to.

“Give me a fucking break. You joined the pussy-ass ‘defense only’ karate dojo. Your entire philosophy is about being sissy little do-gooders. Like you’d have the balls to pull even half the shit Cobra Kai—”

The knife flies back to the wound in his throat, Demetri using his arm to ram Hawk harder into the wall.

“You think I ever gave a flying fuck about Miyagi-Do?” he spits. “You think I’m some slavering pet like you, tripping over my little lapdog paws to appease my sensei’s every command? You think these asinine karate wars ever mattered to me? No.” He shoves his face into Hawk’s, blood on his breath. “You’re the one so obsessed with following orders that you can’t even remember who you were before you became some demented old man’s attack dog. You’re the one so drunk on loyalty to a fucking karate dojo that you can’t see none of this shit matters.”

Hawk bares his teeth, hoping with everything he has that Demetri won’t notice him shaking.

“Easy for you to say, when you pussied out after one punch in the face,” he sneered. “Of course you want to believe all of this is pointless when you’re on the losing team. But I’m not like you, Demetri. I’m no quitter.”

“Oh, how admirable.” The knife presses a little harder. “Tell me then, Hawk. How’s being on the same team as Kyler? As fucking Robby Keene? You excited for the chance to help them hurt Miguel again?”

Red-hot rage rips through Hawk. He lifts a leg and knees Demetri’s shin as hard as he can.

Demetri barely even winces. His other foot kicks up, ramming the side of Hawk’s knee. Hawk scrambles for balance, heart pounding as he just avoids falling into the knifepoint.

“Thought that’d hit a nerve.”

“Fuck you!” Hawk spits. “Keene was from your fucking dojo! You fought with him, too!”

“Not since he hurt Miguel.”

Demetri’s voice is frigid, rivaling the most biting winter rains. Every inch of him drips with a venomous hatred that Hawk has never seen before.

Not directed at him. Not directed at anyone.

“And now he’s in your dojo. Funny how that works.” Demetri clicks his tongue. “Guess your roaring rampage of revenge was all for naught.”

“It wasn’t.” Hawk curls his lip. “You were all responsible, and we got our paypack. It’s not our fault Miguel wasn’t grateful.”

“Ooooh, gotta love the Hawk’s impeccable logic! ‘Ah, yes, I think I will terrorize everyone in this dojo except for the person who actually almost killed my friend, who I will agree to team up with for some reason!’” Demetri returns his sneer. “Are you really such an obedient little bitch that you do whatever your precious sensei tells you? Even when you damn well know it makes no sense? You’re more pathetic than I thought.”

“Park and Keene know their place,” Hawk hisses. “They know I’m the alpha. They answer to me.”

Demetri cocks his head, looking amused.

“Even if I were to believe that. Do you like sharing a class with those assholes? Do you like knowing that if one of them were to get their ass handed to them by a Miyagi-Do or an Eagle Fang—by Miguel—that you’d be expected to rescue them?”

“I’d do it.” Hawk grits his teeth. “I wouldn’t like it, but I’d fucking do it. Sensei Kreese gave Sensei Lawrence and the others a chance to join back up with Cobra Kai, and they said no. Miguel chose his side.”

Demetri sighs, expression almost pitying.

“I guess ‘Cobra Kai for life’ trumps a Cobra’s desire to beat another Cobra into the damn ground. Kind of a shame. I think you’d enjoy hurting them.”

What Demetri said earlier circles back into his mind.

I avoid fights because I know who’s worth hurting.

Hawk straightens, keeping his composure.

“Sensei says we need all the allies we can get,” he says. “Even if we don’t like them. I’m putting up with Kyler and Robby long enough to win the tournament, and that’s it. Then I’ll find some way to weed them out.”

“I doubt it.” Demetri smiles down at him. If it weren’t for the knife, Hawk would punch his teeth in. “Contrary to how you act, I know you’re a smart guy. If you knew how to get rid of them, you would have already. No, Eli…” His voice drops to a purr. “You’re stuck with them, aren’t you?”

Hawk feels sick.

Leave it to Demetri to pinpoint his deepest fears—a karate clan filled with the worst people Hawk knew. Not a single friend to speak of, and a sensei with constantly divided attention.

Even Tory was turning out to be a fucking snake in the grass. She certainly took to the boy who nearly killed her ex with not an ounce of guilt.

And yet she believed with all of her being that Demetri deserved a broken arm for what Robby Keene did. That he was a pussy for crying out in pain. Actions didn’t matter to her—only the name branded across the merchandise you wore and the color of your gi at tournaments.

For the first time, the thought makes Hawk seethe.

All this time she’d seemed nothing but tough and fearless, but all she was was a shallow bitch who cared more about rank and status than a damn thing you actually did.

She was always going to hate Sam LaRusso for being rich and popular. She was always going to hate Miyagi Do for its association with LaRusso. But the second Keene bailed? Put on a belt with a cobra on it and showed off his snake-snatching skills?

She couldn’t wait to get on his dick. The filthy slut.

And suddenly Hawk realizes that he hates her, too. He hates so many of the people who are supposed to be his allies. But he can’t afford to think like that. And most of all, he can’t afford to let Demetri see it.

He glowers up at his ex-best-friend, keeping his gaze stony. “And why do you care? You have your posse of Miyagi losers to pal around with. Why do you give a shit what I do? Just go home to your little—”

“I left Miyagi-Do!”

The words come out in a forceful scream that practically knocks Hawk even further into the wall.

The sheer disdain in Demetri’s eyes for the group he had so cozily assimilated into sends Hawk reeling. He’d never—not in this lifetime or the next—expect Demetri to toss the whole lot of them out like garbage.

Demetri breaks into another grin, reveling in Hawk’s stunned silence.

“See, that’s another difference between you and I, Eli. I don’t need some washed-out old man telling me what to believe and how to fight. I can think for myself. And frankly, I got sick of the ‘safety in numbers’ business when it seemed ‘the numbers’ were always the ones who got to pick my enemies for me. And no one—” His eyes burn into Hawk. “No one decides that but me. I hurt who I like when I like, and I’ll fucking gut anyone who gets in my way.”

Hawk exhales slowly, keeping his scowl pulled tight.

“So…what?” Hawk sneers. “You’re going to fight Cobra Kai by yourself now? That’s so fucking stupid.”

“Not all of them. Some of your class are just brainwashed idiots who don’t know what they’re doing.” He sighs, shaking his head. “And you, Eli…well, I think you’ve lost sight of who your true enemy is. I was hoping I could help.”

“You really bounced?” Hawk narrows his eyes, still trying to make sense of everything. “After everything, you…just up and left?”

It can’t be that easy. He knows it wouldn’t be in Cobra Kai.

“Yeah.” Demetri shrugs. “And now I have way more time for important things.”

“I don’t get it.” Hawk’s frown deepens. “Why would you strike off on your own? Did something happen?”

“You happened.”

Short. Simple. Concise.

Completely baffling.

Not that that was anything new today.

Maybe it’s Hawk’s imagination, but the knife loosens a little.

“Don’t you get it?” For the first time all night, something like genuine anguish prods through Demetri’s voice. “I meant what I said. I never gave a rat’s ass about the karate wars, or the stupid dojo feuds. All I ever wanted was to be worth your fucking time again.”

All Hawk can do is stare.

It doesn’t make sense. None of this makes any fucking sense.

“And sure,” Demetri concedes after a moment. “At first, I wanted to do right by Mr. LaRusso. By Sam. They were the ones who taught me. Toughened me up into something worthwhile. Worked with all the shit you thought was a lost cause. But it was always a means to an end to stay relevant to you. Then after what happened with Moon, I genuinely thought the Miyagi-Do philosophy would help you. But I learned soon enough that you were in too deep for appealing to the Old Eli to work. No, I had to speak to you in your own language.”

He licks his lips as the knife starts to slide up Hawk’s neck again, dancing over the bottom of his chin and onto the plump skin of his lips.

“Aggression. Violence. Dominance.” He chuckles. “Wasn’t my go-to, but if it got your attention, I could make it work. And I guess I did, huh? I riled you up enough that you couldn’t leave me alone.”

“You wanted to piss me off?”

“If that’s what it took to keep you coming back for more.” And there it is again—that wide, sadistic grin that feels so brutally wrong. “You can leave me, Eli. You can disown me. You can shit on everything we had and make my life a living hell. But you can’t bring yourself to just ignore me. Because you’re so weak that you can’t bear to refuse the bait when I press your buttons. Because as much as you claim to hate me, you can’t move on from me.”

“And now you ditch your team to…what? Fight me on your own?” Hawk matches Demetri’s grin with one of his own. “I’d wreck you. And deep down, you know it.”

“So presumptuous.” Demetri shakes his head, tutting. “Frankly, I came here tonight because I’m sick of fighting you.”

“Says the one with a knife to my throat.”

“That’s because you don’t fucking listen without me having to resort to extreme measures,” Demetri hisses. “I think we’re a lot closer to being on the same page than you think. And maybe if you dropped this whole tribalism bullshit, you’d see that.”

So Demetri wants a truce. Hawk should have known.

He’s not surprised. But the way they arrived here?

Now that’s a twist.

It’s still an insane concept. Like he’s supposed to let his greatest enemy off the hook. Let Demetri get away with all the ways he’s undermined him and humiliated him and put the Old Eli—the weak, pathetic nerd Eli—on blast for all the world to see.

But if Demetri really left Miyagi Do…

Hawk finds himself wondering how much of his rage against the Miyagi Dos is his own, and how much is Sensei Kreese’s. And if Demetri’s truly deserted “the enemy,” does Hawk still have to hate him?

Does he even want to?

Demetri isn’t that pathetic, sniveling dweeb anymore. He’s crushed his old self as brutally as Hawk has.

Because the Demetri Hawk has known all his life could scarcely bring himself to cook with sharp knives, let alone use one to threaten another human being’s life.

Or take one.

But despite everything, something still doesn’t add up.

“I heard about your little rousing speech,” Hawk says. “About how important it was for Miyagi Do and Eagle Fang to unite against the ‘biggest assholes in the Valley.’ And now you’ve abandoned both of them. Was that all just a load of crap, then?”

Demetri is unfazed.

“Call me naïve, but I thought if Miguel and I were on the same team, you’d finally see some damn sense. You’d hurt me, sure. I’ve known that for a while. But I never thought you’d touch the kid you went on a vengeance quest for.” He shrugs. “Color me surprised when you wrote him off as just another enemy.”

“I told you.” Hawk works his fingers against the wall again, uneasiness trickling over his skin. “Miguel chose his side.”

“Be that as it may. I figured if you were so far gone that you were ready to wail on literally every person you used to be friends with, I needed to adjust my strategy.”

“For what?”

“For getting through to you. For getting you to tell the truth.”

And Hawk doesn’t want to think for too long about what truth Demetri has in mind.

“So you pull out a fucking knife.”

“Mhm.” Demetri snickers. “That’s how you communicate, yeah? Threats and intimidation?”

Hawk clenches his jaw. “I’m not scared of you.”

“Is that so.” The arm suddenly lifts from squeezing Hawk’s chest, long fingers seizing his wrist. He’s too surprised to pry them away.

He really should be expecting this kind of insane bullshit by now.

“Your pulse is going haywire, Eli,” Demetri murmurs. “Either you’re a liar, or something else has you energized. I wonder what that could be?”

It’s then Hawk’s mind fully catches up to its surroundings.

He rips his wrist away, pivoting away from the knife and sending a knee into Demetri’s ribs. The knife tip slices his cheek, but so be it. He’s endured worse.

Demetri gasps, stumbling back. Hawk makes a grab for the knife.

The taller boy is still too quick. He holds the weapon out of reach, using his other arm to thrust Hawk’s body back.

Before Demetri can do anything else, Hawk squats down and sweeps his leg. With a grunt, his opponent stumbles to the floor.

Something seizes Hawk’s ankles as he stands. He cries out as he’s yanked backward with surprising force, landing on the floor next to Demetri.

Hawk scrambles for the bed, trying to writhe out of Demetri’s grip and hoist himself up by the covers.

It’ll be over when I have the high ground.

What a stupid reference to think about.

It reminds him of the kind of game he and Demetri might have once played. Whoever made it onto the bed would get to be Obi-Wan, and whoever stayed on the floor would have to be Anakin, drowning in lava.

The idea leaves him feeling strange.

Demetri doesn’t let go, snarling like a hyena as he tries to tug Hawk back. The knife teases his skin, an imminent threat if he makes any moves too sudden.

He’d kick the annoying asshole away from him, but he doesn’t want the sole of his foot sliced open. If he can’t walk, he can’t fight.

Suddenly, Demetri cries out, grip loosening. In Hawk’s struggles, he must’ve rammed into a sensitive spot. He yanks himself free, scrambling onto the bed and frantically trying to plan his next move.

He realizes his mistake a half-second too late.

Demetri, gleefully bluffing, rises to his full height. Smirking, he pounces like a jaguar.

He lands heavily on Hawk’s stomach, slamming him against the bed. The back of his head smacks against the headboard, filling his vision with stars.

He barely has time to let out a pained gasp before Demetri’s knees are digging into his quadriceps, pinning him again. Growling, he aims a punch at Demetri’s throat.

His fist meets its target, pulling a strangled gasp. Hawk clasps his arms around Demetri’s torso, trying to thrust him off the bed.

For a moment they struggle, yanking and shoving wildly in an attempt to gain an advantage. Then Hawk feels long arms wrap around his back, bony fingers clutching at his throat.

The tingling pain of blade against skin, and Hawk realizes Demetri kept hold of his knife.

Whenever I think he’s finally going to drop that damned thing…

The knife jabs into him, strengthening its grip until he’s pressed flat on his back. At last Demetri loosens his grip, sizing up his victim with a satisfied beam.

Hawk squirms, bed creaking as he does his best to jostle Demetri off. The other boy holds fast, gazing down at him with a pitying look.

The blade digs in again, and Hawk’s struggles weaken.

“Come now. How many times do we have to go over this?”

“Let. Me. Go.”

“I don’t believe I was finished.”

Demetri tilts his head to the side, breaking into another crazed grin that sends dread trickling straight down to Hawk’s bones.

“Shut up Demetri.”

“I see you staring at me. All this time, and all these girls you tried so hard to fuck, and everything always comes back to your stupid middle school infatuation.”

“SHUT UP!”

Hawk squeezes his eyes shut, trying to bleach Demetri’s cold, smug expression from his mind.

“Right after you had your Bar Mitzvah, you asked me to kiss you. You figured since I already had mine, we were both adults now. And adults do grown-up things like kissing.”

“STOP IT!”

And suddenly Hawk is screaming at the top of his lungs because he knows where this is going. Because they were just stupid kids, and that can’t mean anything.

“I said of course I would, because I’d always liked you, Eli.” Demetri’s voice only grows louder—more insistent. “And I go in to give you a peck, and you grab my arms and stick your entire tongue in my mouth.”

“Shut the fuck up, Demetri!”

He feels something wet dribbling down his face, and wonders if the cut on his cheek got stretched wider in his and Demetri’s scuffle. It’s certainly stinging enough for it.

Unless…

Hawk wishes he could dissolve.

“I told you I’d kiss you a thousand more times if you wanted.” Demetri’s voice has grown sharper than his blade. “And I would have. And for a long while, I thought there might be the most infinitesimal possibility that you felt something, too. Now I know I was right.”

He laughs, the sound acrid and bitter and full of flint.

“Because even after everything, you’re still obsessed with me. You watch me across the lunchroom and pretend you’re ‘monitoring the enemy,’ but I know you miss me. You miss when I made you laugh, and you miss when I talked to people so you didn’t have to. You chase me around in every battle, but when it comes right down to it, you can’t hurt me in any significant way until you’re bullied into it. You pick fights with me so you can put your hands all over my body and not have anyone look at you askance for it.”

“FUCK YOU!”

Maybe if he screams loud enough, Demetri won’t pay too much attention to the wet trails smearing the blood from his cuts.

Caustic breath is hovering inches above Hawk, misting onto his lips. Still, he refuses to open his eyes.

“It must be exhausting, you know,” Demetri whispers. “Living your life in denial like that. Wearing your entire personality like some cheap Halloween costume and convincing yourself that’s a fulfilling existence. Don’t you want to be free?”

“I’m not hiding anything,” Hawk growls. “I do whatever I like. It’s not my fault you don’t like who I really am.”

“Who you really are, hmmm?” Demetri’s lips brush his earlobe, voice a barely-audible murmur. “So tell me the truth then, Eli. Do you still want me?”

The bluntness of the question almost blows a hole in his composure.

“Of course I don’t.”

“Stop fucking lying!”

All at once, Demetri’s voice is a deafening, furious scream again. The knife slices Hawk’s jaw.

Not enough to do any real harm, but enough to really hurt. Hawk freezes, held prisoner by the burst of sharp, sudden pain.

“It’s always lies, lies, lies with you,” Demetri snarls. “Fake name. Fake hair color. Fake personality. Fake interests. Fake friends who only kiss the ground you walk on because they’ve never seen you at your weakest. Fake relationships with girls you barely let know you—to the point you think they’d leave you for liking to code. And the absolute drivel you feed yourself that this goddamn farce is what you want to live in forever. You think you’re starring in some martial arts epic, and you’re so wrapped up in your stupid method acting that you never want to step offscreen. Like everyone’s on the edge of their seat about your pitiful life like it’s the fucking Truman Show. And at the end of the day? You’re still too much of a pussy to tell me the truth.”

Hawk’s skin tingles, shivers rippling through him. If his heart was pounding before, it’s thundering now.

Somehow it doesn’t feel like fear. He’s used to this new version of Demetri enough not to cower from him.

No, it’s something far worse. And Demetri knows it.

“You can’t hide from me.” The other boy’s tone drips with haughtiness, savoring the ability to confirm Hawk’s worst fears. “I see right through your bullshit. I always have. So I’ll ask you one more time. Do you want me?”

The knife slides down to Hawk’s throat again, pressing firmly.

“Lie and I’ll kill you.”

He’s probably bluffing. Maybe. Surely.

Perhaps it doesn’t matter anymore. Sprawled out on his childhood bed, underneath the only other person he frequently shared it with.

The person he used to watch sleep, wondering wistfully if the freak with the lip scar ever made it into his best friend’s dreams.

He opens his eyes and finally meets Demetri’s gaze, in all of its searing, insurmountable beauty.

“Yeah.”

He breathes it out quiet and fragile—a soft promise. A rare moment of openness that he lets free of his unbreakable shell.

Demetri drops the knife. It falls behind the bed, thumping onto the carpet below.

He swoops down, seizing Hawk’s neck and yanking him up. When their mouths meet, Hawk is nearly thrown back with the force of it.

Demetri kisses like a starved animal, lapping and nipping in a crazed frenzy. The weight of his muscle-toned body is crushing, locking Hawk firmly against the mattress.

He tastes like blood and cold steel and cruelty. Hawk shudders.

This time, he’s certain it isn’t fear. It’s a rush he only thought he could get from smashing his fists against plastic or skin, or feeling another person’s body go limp and lifeless underneath his.

And it’s ironic. The more Demetri tries to devour Hawk, the more Hawk wants to let it happen.

There’s an odd satisfaction to it, he thinks. Being completely at someone else’s mercy.

And Demetri isn’t fighting with any.

***

OKAY, time for some #authorrants because I feel like some of the choices I made in this fic are. Controversial, to say the least. Lmao.

So something that has bugged the crap out of me for a while now is people in this fandom acting like there is any world where Demetri would choose Robby over Miguel. I remember after S3 dropped, there was a lot of "dId tHeY fOrGeT tHe dEmEtRi-rObBy FrIeNdShIp" type sentiment floating around irt why Demetri didn't stay in contact with Robby the way Sam and the LaRussos did. Maybe it's because, I don't know, Robby threw the guy Demetri never actually stopped being close friends with over a balcony and almost killed him???

Like. Not that these showrunners don't ever forget things, but this absolutely is not one of them. Robby paralyzing Miguel is a BEYOND valid reason to sever ties with him, especially when you were just casual dojo bros for a couple months tops. When push came to shove, Demetri pretty unequivocally CHOSE MIGUEL. He brought him a comic book in the hospital! He was thrilled to see him back at school and picked up their friendship right where it left off! He DOES NOT VISIBLY FORGIVE ROBBY UNTIL MIGUEL DOES! Idk idk it just really riles me when people do not take Demetri and Miguel's friendship into account when discussing the Demetri-Robby relationship and why they stopped being friends when they did. Tbh I don't think it's that hot of a take to assume Demetri would have more loyalty to the guy who befriended him when he was a nobody and proceeded to be one of his closest ride-or-die friends for a whole-ass year over the guy he was casual buds with because they happened to share a karate instructor -_____- I could go on about this for several more paragraphs, but that's a rant for another day.

(As far as the LaRussos go, they were all closer to Robby and were basically his adoptive family, which is why they--particularly Sam--were willing to give him the benefit of the doubt and say the Miguel thing was an accident. Demetri didn't know Robby well enough to make that call, and had no actual proof it WAS an accident except for maybe Sam's word.)

Some other things to ramble about:

I remember in some interview a while back (I think with Martin Kove?) someone asked about Hawk and Marty or whoever was being interviewed said he was "on his way to being a serial killer" or smth. And Jacob's talked a little bit about the kind of escalating delinquent shit Hawk would get up to if he was never redeemed, etc. So going with that: Bold of y'all to assume the kid simping for Hawk since episode 1 wouldn't renounce his morals and join him on the path to villainy. Sorry but I truly believe Demetri's horniness for Hawk can and would win out over any ethical qualms in the end. Also Demetri is horny for violence and evil this is canon otherwise he would in fact not have simped for S3 Hawk so PAINFULLY BADLY god bless

Also this was partly inspired by those post-S3 jokes that were like "lol what happened to Brucks??? Did Hawk kill him???"...well, what if he did, tho? O_____O

Disclaimer that I promise I do not endorse the Tory slut-shaming!!! Tbh I didn't really wanna write it, but...I think given the circumstances, Hawk WOULD be pretty furious at her for getting chummy with Robby and "betraying" Miguel. And unfortunately, since he's a teenage boy with (canonical!) misogynistic tendencies...I do think that would most likely come across as slut-shaming D: But y'all have brains y'all know I don't condone everything I write about aknhdksuyhf (Murder is probably not something you should try at home either btw)

Hopefully I didn't make Hawk too weaksauce in this ^^; My excuses are a) I suck at writing fight scenes and tend to just want to get to the psychosexual dialogue and knife-teasing, so. If I rushed anything to get there I apologize. b) Going by the school fight, Hawk is indeed thrown off when Demetri takes the offensive (especially in a super dramatic kind of way) and his confused pause is in fact enough time for Demetri to get an advantage and c) The man is thrown off his game!!! Thrown off his groove, even!!! His sissy pussy nerd ex-friend shows up acting like a disturbed maniac and he is so O_____o about it that his moves are off!!! He's sucking a little but it's not his fault 💔It's Demetri's for subverting expectations 💔

I also feel like if Demetri started McFucking Losing It and was generally less grounded in the physical and rational world, physical pain wouldn't register quite as much. Like he's in his head enough now that he's kinda lost his grip on reality and things happening in the physical world don't seem as relevant or immediate, if that makes any sense? Also idk. Maybe after the arm break his pain tolerance just went up :O Anyways that's why he recovers pretty fast when Hawk DOES land a hit. Demetri is nuts now 💙

I will die on my hill that Demetri like. Really REALLY isn't as morally upstanding as people like to think XD Like I say this with love but from the top he's been a self-interested little shit who just happens to be extremely loyal to the very small handful of people he actually likes. My dudes, he didn't join Miyagi Do because he liked their philosophy better--he joined because they were less on board with punching him in particular in the face XD This dude saw Cobra Kai being fucks and playing dirty at the AVT and he STILL up and says "I wanna come back because I like the 'safety in numbers' aspect of joining a gang" XD I always got the vibe the "well at least I'm not an asshole LIKE YOU" he throws at Eli later is more because he likes to feel self-righteous. I say all of this as his biggest fan btw. I think more people should embrace the self-interested king he is and write about him and Eli being absolute dicks together instead of to each other 💖

I guess that's what I'm here for!!!

Anyways I think Demetri and Eli have the same potential to be absolutely horrific people, and I think we're all very lucky that Demetri was too lazy to challenge his comfort zone and stick with Cobra Kai XD We're very fortunate he happened to end up using his speed and his brains to help his friends who happened to be on the Good Guy Side rather than his friends who happened to be on the Bad Guy Side.

I also think people put WAY too much stock in Demetri's ability to staunchly stick with the good guys and have enough of a moral backbone to just keep opposing Eli's douchebaggery indefinitely. My mans is NOT that much of a saint, trust. From how quickly he forgave Eli for a HUGE number of atrocities, he seemed to be like. Waiting on his ass for Eli to come back to him. And if Eli never did???

I mean. Bruh. Someone you've been deeply in love with for years throws you out like last night's trash and just progressively starts being more and more awful to you??? You think it's feasible for my boy Demetri to stay strong and sane and reasonable forever, and just keep on fighting the good fight??? HELL NO. This dude is either a) quitting karate and moving schools so he doesn't have to deal with constantly being pummeled by the dude he's in love with or b) going completely fucking insane from the cognitive dissonance of being in love with a dude who constantly beats his ass.

Listen. I have been in love. If my friend who I was in love with turned evil and joined an evil karate school and started wailing on me all the time, I would either pull an Aisha and haul ass out of there or I would simply lose my mind and become evil. Go full Jinx from Arcane. Sorry if you're a hater who doesn't think Demetri Alexopoulos has it in him to go apeshit, but you're wrong and also boring. The funny kooky comic relief guys are always one thread away from losing their shit because everyone assumes because they're funny and kooky they have no depth and no end to their bullshit tolerance. I would know because I am one of these Guys in real life. Put some respecc on my boy's name and also give him another knife 🔪

For anyone looking at me askance like "Demetri doesn't have it in him to kill!" Yes he does. I'm sending him over to your house to stab you right now 🩵

No fr tho, like there was MURDER in this man's eyes when Kyler was bullying Eli in the library. There was MURDER in this man's eyes fighting Robby at the AVT in S4. I have full confidence that if he could get away with stabbing his enemies, he would. So would Eli but I feel like this is a less contested opinion.

Also this is interesting so it's something I might go into detail about in another post, but one thing I noticed while kinda brainstorming how Demetri would snap is that Demetri is loyal to people, while Eli is loyal to concepts and ideas.

Demetri I don't think is actually that married to or slavish about MD principles tbh. Demetri isn't really averse to violence conceptually (even back in S1 it's only ever about him disliking BEING hit, not disliking hitting people!!) and doesn't actually do the defense-only thing that often. Several times we see him instigate with Hawk, or help Sam instigate with CK in general. The times we see him stick his neck out to really help Miyagi Do, he seems like he's doing so more out of loyalty to his friends (namely Sam, Chris, and Nate--also Miguel irt the dojo team-up at the end of S3) than loyalty to Miyagi Do as a dojo.

Eli, meanwhile, is way more loyal to concepts he puts a lot of stock in than the people in his life who challenge this. He sees Cobra Kai as this almighty saving grace that is for LIFE, and he doesn't think twice about ditching Demetri and Miguel when they turn their backs on it. He stays in this dojo even as his friends leave and it fills up with people he hates, and his sensei dismisses and ignores his concerns. Because this dojo saved him from his horrible, bullied life, and now he feels like he owes everything to the Cobra Kai name, despite who's actually behind the name. Also why I think Demetri uses "my karate dojo needs your help!" as the selling point to get Eli to join MD in S4. HIS motivation is probably much more that he just wants him and Eli to stay together, but he knows Eli values dojo loyalty above everything, so Dem kinda makes it more about that than friendship.

Anyways! That's all for now! The whole fic should be up on my AO3 sometime in December :3

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evelhak · 5 months

Note

Feeling daring today - Haizaki for the character and ship bingo ;)

Your takes are much more interesting, so there may not be anything illuminating here but I tried. xD

*Non-sarcastically normal. Haizaki is a pretty neutral character when I think about him by myself, I just don't have that special connection to him.

*However I love him when you talk about him and I'm sure I would love him more if I just had an incentive to write about him. But I don't feel anything like that because you're already giving him justice. My brain doesn't really work unless I feel like I have something substantial to contribute, which I don't.

*Haizaki definitely still gets a lot of unjustified hate, because he was framed as a villain and people then interpreted his every action as coming from the worst place imaginable, while other characters' actions get understanding just because they can see those characters' sides but can't see Haizaki's since he wasn't written in a sympathetic way. On one hand, that's fair to me, if your fic needs a villain it makes sense to pick a character whose motivations were not discussed deeply, so you can turn him into as much of a villain as you want, because you have no need to think about that particular character so deeply. However, the rate at which this happens to Haizaki perfectly exemplifies how the same dynamic happens in real life, especially at schools. He has the outward characteristics of the person who is always the easiest to blame. Not that there isn't stuff to blame him for, it's just that when he gets blamed for more than his share, it becomes a vicious cycle. Not to say it would affect his likability to me even if he never grew less violent or got his shit together, because my like and dislike for fictional characters is not based on morality or whether or not I would like that character in real life. 😂 I didn't pay that much attention to him solely because I just overlooked his story as pretty been there done that. Any character depth he has is implied at best, because he's a side character. I would much rather see an actual depiction of the dynamics that get projected onto him. And you are doing that, so, I'm not complaining.

*I do think Haizaki is pretty silly, he's so macho but he's also kind of wishy-washy about it. Like, one minute he can be thundering on like any of the other macho characters but then his line for changing his mind and going like "you know what, not worth it, actually" is much lower. And somehow he gets depicted as pathetic for that, even though it may actually just be common sense and self-preservation.

*Honestly I need to remind myself that Haizaki exists, sometimes. I'm sorry. He just wasn't that compelling to me initially. I didn't demonise him (I'd like to think that I don't demonise anyone) I just wasn't interested enough. I knew there were reasons he acts the way he does but I didn't make actual effort to find out. You've done some good to me, reminding me that my perception is more limited than I would like, because I tend to pride myself for considering everyone's viewpoints. (Not 100% possible, but I try.)

*Well you said it, Haizadick is not an inaccurate term, no matter what way you look at it.

I didn't ship anyone with Haizaki because I didn't think about his life much before talking to you, so...

*Congrats, your Haizaki and his relationships are now basically canon to me. : D

*I just put that second tier text there because I imagine it's where the relationships that last a bit longer would go, and I think Haizaki just has many short relationships before maybe ending up with his end game.

*I mean I assume he has had fun short relationships with many girls.

*And probably many one-night stands.

*I literally just got it in my head that maybe he experimented with a guy once, while I was making this. He seems like a curious type even though I'm kind of assuming he's straight.

*Yeah, I theoretically get why these are ships but no I don't really get it, I would be lying if I said I truly deeply understood it.

I know my shipping tiers are a mix of "I actually root for it" and "I just sort of think it would happen" but that's what you get from me. : D

#knb #character bingo #ship tier #haizaki

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basicallyahedgehog · 8 months

Text

20 questions for fic writers!

Thanks for the tag @maesterchill, I loved reading your answers!

Here are mine! (under the cut)

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

I have 30!

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

64,491, which is higher than I expected actually. My one 13k fic is doing the hard work in pulling up the average words 😂

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Harry Potter!! Various ships but mostly Drarry

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The Love You Find - The one with the road trip My Heart Was Unprepared - The one with Draco's diary All The Time In The World - The one with gender euphoria The Strings That Weave Us - The one where Draco has pink hair The Evolution of Soup (Or How Harry Learned to be Loved) - The one with too much soup and a lot of feelings

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

No, but not by choice per se. But I have truly terrible object permanence and by the time I remember them I feel bad that I haven't responded yet and then I never do...

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Til The End of The Night - I don't really write fics that don't have happy endings, but this is just 700 words of angst. Sorry Harry. I do have a kind-of sequel planned for this but who knows if it will ever get finished!

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

As I said, I don't really write not happy endings. But maybe The Love You Find.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I've had a couple of odd comments, but none that I would class as hate.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I have written exactly two fics that have smut, one drarry and one poly golden trio. So I'm not sure if I have a kind? Probably soft and sweet, or at least that's what I aim for.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

No I haven't, and I don't think I ever will. I don't really know any other universe in the same way as I know HP - both the canon and then the world I've built for it in my head - to be able to confidently combine them.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of...

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but I'd be open to it if anyone ever wanted to.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I haven't! @phoebe-delia and I keep talking about it though...

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

Drarry, always

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

As mentioned above, I have twoish chapters written of a "sequel" (maybe more a companion?) to Til The End Of The Night. It's the first Drarry fic I started writing and it got abandoned in favour of fest fics and I've never gotten back to it. I would like to think I will, but at this point my faith is low!

I also have the first four books written of a Hermione-POV canon, which was my first ever fanfic. It has been long abandoned and will never be returned to. If you manage to track down my old ffn account and find it, godspeed to you

16. What are your writing strengths?

Ummm. People tell me I make them feel things, so maybe that? I also can't turn my SPAG brain off, so as long as I slow down enough to edit my own writing, that's usually pretty strong.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I am not good at writing plotty things, and when I do try I find it really hard to not just info-dump it - to actually describe what is happening instead of just narrating it to the reader. I can do vibes, but not plot 🤷

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I love it in other people's fics, but I do not have more than a couple of random words in any language other than English. I know that translation sites exist, but I feel that I don't have enough knowledge of other languages to do it justice.

The only time I'd break this self-imposed rule would be if I was making new spells - eg using Latin.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter. First and only!

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Oh boy. Either All The Time in the World or (They) Keep Me Warm. Because both of them are full of all my trans feels and are probably the two fics that I have put the most of myself into.

Thanks again for the tag, this was fun! No-pressure tagging @phoebe-delia @otpcutie @geesenoises @citrusses @makeitp1nk and anyone who wants to!!

#tag games #writing things #my writing

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justagalwhowrites · 3 months

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Hi Kit!

First off, I've really admired your writing, Lavender is one of my favorite things I've ever read. I even made a Lavender friendship bracelet so I can have Lavender Joel with me whenever I want.

Second, I've been getting into writing FF lately, starting with a Jackson Joel story. I'm about 12K words in and I've been struggling a lot with thinking my writing isn't suitable for posting and a lot of self doubt. I was wondering if you have any tips you wish you had known before you started writing FF, or even how the heck do I find someone to be a beta reader? Do you have an editor or beta reader, is that something I even need?

Thanks Kit!

OMG Hi Bestie!

I'm so sorry it took me a bit to respond to this. I wanted to make sure I thought about it before replying. You are so so kind to say such lovely things! And a LAVENDER FRIENDSHIP BRACELET?? That's AMAZING! I love that this story meant so much to you that you want to carry it with you out in the world!

I LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE that you're writing! Jackson Joel is so special, he's such a gorgeous character and I'm sure your writing is doing him justice in exploring these sides of him.

Self doubt is a BEAR, I tell you what. I'm riddled with it, personally! Every day I'm on this site or on AO3 and reading things that are better than what I write and I spend a LOT of time comparing my work to other people's in my head. It's part of why I don't really reread my own work, I think. I know I won't be as happy with it as I am with other people's writing and it'll just get me down. But... I share it anyway! It's hard sometimes, especially if a chapter feels really good or really personal, and I always have this underlying fear that "this is it, this is the chapter where everyone who reads my work wakes up and realizes that I'm shit, actually, and they decide to let me know it." But that's never happened.

Part of fic, for me, has been pulling me out of that shell creatively. I've written stories for years - decades! - and I can count on one hand the number of people who have read them before I started writing and sharing fic. These stories just live in my computer or in notebooks in my basement and that may be all they ever are. Overall, people are remarkably kind and supportive and it feels really, really good to share something I made with other people.

I think some things I wish I knew is 1) that the sharing part of writing can be a really fun - if anxiety inducing - part of the process and 2) negativity isn't the end of the world. While almost everyone has been insanely lovely (probably kinder than I deserve tbh) I have gotten a few negative comments and whatnot and yeah, they definitely sting. But ultimately, it's just one person's opinion. It doesn't change the satisfaction I felt writing these stories or the fulfillment I found in telling other people about these characters and the lives they're living inside my head. People can dislike what I made - you can't please everyone! - but it doesn't take away from how it felt to create and share it. I think, as long as you're telling stories because you want to explore those characters or themes or what have you, you'll be satisfied in it and readers will, too.

As far as beta readers and editors go.... I don't really use either one! My process is write the chapter, read it to make sure there isn't anything too egregious, share it. If I sit on it too long, I go back and rework and rewrite and it'll never see the light of day. But that's me! Everyone is different, I don't think any two people have the same process. And if you're interested in connecting with other writers and are comfortable, feel free to DM me! I'm happy to help and there are some Discords I'm in that have other, fabulously lovely writers who do things like beta for each other and give feedback on plot points and all kinds of beautiful collaboration that I'm so lucky to be a part of.

I do have some tips for editing, as a former copy editor, though! I recommend reading the chapter twice, once for overall story and flow (basically, does this chunk of the story make sense?) and then once for the nitty gritty stuff. Highly recommend the second read be done out loud, as silly as it might feel. It will force you to slow down so if you left a word out, you're less likely to gloss over it, or if a sentence doesn't make sense, you stumble over it and have to think it through again. Stuff still definitely slips through - it's bound to when you edit what you write! - but it's helpful.

Anyway, I hope this answers your question!! I really really hope you share your story with us. It's always great to see the community grow and give more people outlets to share their stories with us!!

Good luck, Bestie! Love you!!!

#fanfic #send asks #kit answers #writing

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lalacliffthorne · 1 month

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Hi!

This actually is going to be my first ever message to someone else in tumblr...I hope I'm doing this right... In the 9 years I have been in tumblr I've always been a lurker but I think that this situation deserves for me to be a little bit brave and actually say something!

I discovered your writing around February-March of this year, I think? It was definitely after you took your break and I have to say that it has become a little joy of mine to read in my free time (and not really free, I even read it when class gets too boring).

Starshine has really become THE comfort fic for me. Maybe is the way you write their emotions, maybe it is how despite not having done anything romantic exclusive Rhys and reader are so clearly in love that you can't miss it, maybe it is because the way you write about hope and healing makes you feel lighter, maybe it is a lot of things. I kinda wish that you could see statistics of how many times one of your posts was seen, because if you could you'd see that there is a new view every week. Or twice a week to be honest. That's me enjoying your story, a little bit obsessively, and getting my weekly shot of serotonin.

I am really glad that you decided to come back, that I get to enjoy your writing in a live way, instead of getting here too late to tell you how lovely it is.

Sorry if this got too long and a little bit too emotional, I tend to get a little bit rambly and formal, especially in English!

Thank you for coming back and sharing your writing.

Much love,

A great fan of yours 🪻🌌

okay, I've just been sat here for the past few minutes like 🥹🥹🥹

first of all, I feel SO blessed and honored that you sent this message?? look at you!! 💕

and then... ah, shit, this made me emotional.

honestly, starshine really just started bc I had this idea about this really lovely and powerful faerie who's just a total sweetheart. and bc I felt like I wanted to give Rhys THE biggest hug possible by written word 😂

but as I got into writing it, I was thrown into how much his trauma GOT me. and so it kinda turned into saying all the things that I wished I could've been able to tell him through the pages - and consequently, everyone reading it. because everyone needs to hear these things sometimes, this reminder and assurance. and I wanted to try and adress his trauma in a way that did it justice while also never letting it slip into such angst that it turns hopeless. so I tried giving it these heavy moments that still never lose that spark of hope, as well as those that are just so full of warmth and light, and I feel so incredibly happy that this feeling translates through writing for you. 🥹

got a bit poetic there

I am SO incredibly glad to be back here too, just alone because of wonderful messages like this one. 💞

(also you have nothing to worry about, this was perfect, and I know all about becoming all rambly in English, so - you're good babes ;))

thank YOU, for reading?? for loving this SO much, which I can't rlly wrap my head around - it means a lot to me that my writing brings you so much joy, truly. 🥺💕

SO much love right back to you, mwah

xx Lala ✨️

#starshine #🥹💞#you maybe made me cry a lil #but in a good way #sorry for ME rambling

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smytherines · 1 month

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got very excited when i saw u reblog the anon post thats been going around bc u deserve all the compliments. every compliment ever

as someone who's kinda still slightly new to this fandom, youre one of my favourite creators!! you're always interacting w others abt ideas and just having a blast discussing different aspects of the show, the amount of thought u put in all of ur posts is so incredible. the fact u love saf so!! much!! how u consider every aspect of the show w so much detail, how you have such beautiful complex characterisations of them. the way u write them in chwm is just sooooooo!!! you just care so MUCH about these characters and this show and it makes me so fucking happy. you really make such a wonderful impact on the community space. thank you sososososo much for caring as much as u do abt our silly little spies i cant explain how much we appreciate it <3

(also, the woodworking thing u made is actually SO CRAZY COOL IM OBSESSED W IT. YOU DID THAT. WITH YOUR HANDS. AND TREE SHIT. THATS SO FUCKING CRAZY. the detail is impeccable, the shapes of curtwen's silhouettes are made w such care, AUGH woodworking is such a cool art form and ur so amazing for being so good at it im lowkey jealous)

(also also so sorry if this is slightly incoherent, i am very sleep deprived but i really wanted to send something in)

Oh wow, thank you so much! I honestly worry sometimes because I can get kinda intense and write obscenely long responses and theories and headcanons, and I worry that it just makes me kind of tedious and irritating to everyone else. Just like our boy Agent Curt Mega, I am ADHD, so rejection sensitive dysphoria is something I have to manage pretty much constantly. So it really means a lot to know I'm not being a pain in the ass for everyone.

I'm absolutely thrilled to see chwm get a shoutout!!! So thank you for that. It was a total accident, it was only ever supposed to be that first chapter, but I sort of fell in love with that fic and decided I had to fold it into the larger series I was originally planning. I just adore getting to get inside these characters heads, to explain the way I see them in a more artistic way as opposed to long theory posts (although obviously I love those too). They're fascinating, messy, beautiful, horrible, compelling characters, and every chapter I post I just say a little prayer that I'm doing justice to them.

I'm actually finishing up the epilogue for chwm in between answering these asks, so that should be up by morning. I'm gonna spend most of May doing writing projects for Curtwen week, and then I have the sequel/next installment mostly mapped out to start working on after that!

I'm also thrilled to see a shoutout for the wood segmentation project! It was a lot of work, but I'm so happy with how it turned out! I can't really draw or do a lot of the immediate, visual stuff that our wonderful talented fandom artists can, but woodworking is something I love and I just had to find a way to honor this show I love so much with it. I've considered a few ideas for another SAF woodworking project, but I'll probably be focused on writing for the immediate future, so we'll see if I can make it happen.

Seriously though, thank you for this very kind ask, it really felt so good to read

#smy asks

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longlivefanfic-net · 2 years

Text

Mommy's Home (Steve Harrington/reader)

Content: Hurt/comfort, Steve Harrington has bad parents, Mommy kink, breeding kink, smut (p in v), praise kink, sub!Steve Harrington, a smidge of begging, Steve Harrington/afab reader

Word count: 6.1k

A/N: Requested by Max anon--I adored this request SO MUCH. oh my god. Also, sorry it kind of...turned into a hurt/comfort fic. It was just supposed to be horny but I can't not make being with Steve a little emotional. N E WAY! I hope I did your request justice, max <3

Anyone feel free to send me requests/prompts! I need to write and I have no ideas!

You clench your fingers in your lap, nervously running the pad of your thumb across your hands in the silence. Steve was sitting next to you, one hand gripping the underside of the steering wheel tightly; his other arm was leaning against the car door, his elbow propped up so that he could run his long fingers through his hair. He sighed, again, and you pressed your lips into a tight line, eyes on the dark road he was driving down.

You had screwed up tonight. Screwed up bad. It was one of the rare times Steve’s parents were actually in town, actually staying longer than the few days it would take before his father would get assigned his next trip, and he had begged you to come to their dinner with him.

“Please?” He had whined, his lips leaving a trail of goosebumps up the back of your neck. He had pressed himself to your back as you filled your mug with coffee in the small apartment kitchen, eyes bleary and hips aching from the night before. “No way,” you had snickered. You knew, at some point, you’d have to meet his parents, but the longer you could go without it, the better.

“Come on, baby,” Steve had whispered, pressing his lips right to the soft shell of your ear. You had tilted your neck, your eyes slipping closed as your hand slid up his neck, tangling behind you in his hair. His hand had ghosted down from your waist, fingers slipping under the waistband of your underwear. “I don’t want to be alone with them if I don’t have to be. I’d rather be with you,” he murmured.

That was all it took. You were a pushover when it came to Steve, too quick to cave to every request. All Steve had to say was “I want to see you,” or “Do you really have to go now?” and you’d give him whatever he asked for. As hesitant as you were to finally meet the Harrington’s, Steve had asked you so nicely (and rewarded you even better once you agreed); that’s why you felt so guilty now.

The dinner had been…alright. Steve’s mother had hauled you into the kitchen almost immediately, insisting that “the girls” would cook while “the men” talked. What that had really meant, apparently, was that she would drink so many martinis she could barely walk to the dining room table while Steve and his father sipped scotch in silence. The actual meal had been fine–although you hadn’t been able to stop yourself from narrowing your eyes when Mrs. Harrington had called the meal “Steve’s favorite”--and you had been able to make polite conversation, keeping the discussion from lulling too often or for too long by pretending to be interested in Mr. Harrington’s work.

Dessert, however, was when it all went to hell. Mrs. Harrington was carrying out the tiramisu she had transferred from the Enzo’s delivery box to a serving dish, and you heard heated conversation as the door swung shut. You bit your lip, listening intently as you waited for the coffeepot to stop dripping, catching snatches of conversation as voices rose.

When you finally walked back into the dining room, glass coffee pot in hand, you almost froze. Steve’s eyes were closed, his head tilted down towards the table. His father’s face was pink high in the cheeks, anger burning behind his eyes as spit flew from his mouth. He wasn’t shouting, not quite, but the tone he was speaking to Steve in raised the hairs on the back of your neck, set your heartrate up a notch.

“You need to get your life together, Steven,” he was saying. “You can not keep working these–these little, insignificant jobs, like you’re some insignificant man. You need to come work for me. You’ll be my assistant, and it’ll be hard, but you’ll travel with me and your mother and you’ll make a decent name for yourself. You’re going to end up like the people in this town–” Mr. Harrington rolled his eyes, “The men I work with think you’re the only failure to our family name. Everything I touch turned to gold, except you. If you don’t–”

“Stop it,” you had hissed, the words sliding out from between your clenched teeth. Steve’s head had shot up, his eyes wide as he looked at you.

“Excuse me?” His father had said, a look of mirth on his face as his eyebrows slid together. “I think you’d do better to keep your mouth shut, girl.”

The coffee pot in your hands had started to shake, your hands vibrating as anger coursed through your veins. “He is not ‘insignificant,’” you had spit, eyes narrowing as your lip pulled back from your teeth. “No one in this town gives a damn about your family name, but they know your son is a good man.”

Mr. Harrington scoffed, waving a hand towards you as he looked back at Steve. “This is exactly what I’m talking about, Steven,” he said, and you let yourself look at Steve. He was watching you, eyes wide and jaw slack. “People in this town–people like her–aren’t the kind of people you should be spending time with. Sure, you can keep your bed warm with whatever kind of slut you want, but–”

“That’s enough,” Steve said, his voice a whisper. You blinked, suddenly, pushing back the wetness that was threatening to flood your eyes as Steve stared at you. “That’s enough,” he repeated as his father continued to talk like he hadn’t heard him, and Steve stood up, pushing his chair back from the table so suddenly it hit the floor.

“Steven,” his mother admonished. He shook his head, not taking his eyes off you long enough to even acknowledge that she had spoken to him. “We’re leaving,” Steve said.

“What?” His mother asked. “But–there’s dessert. Stevie, your favorite–” He strode across the room to you, taking the coffee pot out of your hands and setting it down on the table with a thud. “Leaving now,” he said again, so quietly you could barely make it out as he stood right beside you. He took your hands in one of his, tugging you slightly behind him as he barrelled to the front door, a bullet that had been fired from the barrel of a gun without regard for where it was aimed.

He had opened the passenger door of his car, helped you tuck yourself away into the seat before closing the door and crossing to the driver’s side. His mother had appeared at the window, begging the two of you to come back inside and talk, but he had simply put the car into drive, eyes unflinching.

Neither of you had said a single word the entire drive back to your apartment. The radio was off, leaving no sound to stop the replaying loop of what you had said to Steve’s father. Next to you, Steve sighed (for the fourth time since you had gotten in the car) and you flinched, slightly. You took a deep breath, trying not to notice as your lungs shuddered.

This was the end. You were sure of it. Steve had wanted, had needed, you to come to dinner with his parents tonight; he had needed you to be there with him, offer him some comfort. You were supposed to sit next to him, squeeze his hand under the table, give him a gentle smile–not pick a fight with his father. You had broken Steve’s trust, had made an ass of yourself in front of his parents; worse, you weren’t even sure you had spoken for anyone but yourself.

It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t care if Steve’s parents thought you were some Hawkins bimbo, some stupid slut who would warm his bed until the “real” thing came along, but you couldn’t stomach the idea of him leaving. His dad wanted him to go with him–wanted to take him on those business trips that rarely brought him back home. They could talk however they wanted to about Hawkins and the people who lived there, but the thought of Steve disappearing, not even seeing him for fleeting moments in the grocery store or at basketball games, made you sick.

The car glided to a smooth stop, Steve putting it into park before getting out, coming around to your side, and opening the door. You got out of the car, following behind him as he walked to the door; your hand was cold, lonely without Steve’s fingers between yours, and you tried not to think about the conversation you were sure was going to happen once you got behind closed doors.

You could hear his keys jingling, the thick metal of the key to the apartment door sliding in, the lock thudding back out of its slot before the door fell open. Steve stood back, angling himself to the side so you could pass and walk in front of him into your shared home. Your home, you thought, and the words stopped you in your tracks, frozen in the entryway. It’s your home, and it’s Steve’s home, but really your home was Steve, and you knew, deep in your bones, that he was about to leave you, about to take your home away before he packed his bags and left, went to work with his father and find someone his parent’s would be proud of him for loving.

You kicked your shoes off as you heard the door close behind you, heard Steve’s steps come closer in the dark apartment. He didn’t say a word–you didn’t either–and when he pressed the broad planes of his chest against your back, his forearms wrapping over your hips to pull you tightly against him, you felt your eyes widen, your lips pop open in surprise. “Steve?” You whispered.

His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he spun you around, bringing the two of you face to face. “Steve,” you whispered again, face registering shock as you saw the glint in his eyes, the slight curl to his lips. “Steve, I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have–”

“Shh,” he whispered, shaking his head slowly. His eyes moved up and down your body, lingering over your throat, the way the dress you had bought for tonight hugged your hips, the skin of your thighs exposed by the skirt. He looked at you like it was the last time he was ever going to look at you, and it made your throat close up suddenly.

“Steve, I’m sorry, please, I didn’t mean to, I just–”

“Babygirl,” he said, his voice suddenly serious. “Please stop talking.” Your lips came together in surprise, your head pulling back slightly. This wasn’t like him, this tone–even though he was begging, it sounded strange and foreign on his lips like this.

“Steve–” you tried, one last time, desperate to make your case, to plead for your boyfriend to understand that you’d do better in the future if he just gave you a chance. His long fingers came up, suddenly, wrapping around your chin; he held your jaw tightly, and you felt tears spring to your eyes.

“Stop trying to apologize, sweetheart,” Steve whispered, leaning into your throat so the words danced over your skin. “I’m the one who should apologize.” His mouth opened, slightly, letting his tongue ghost around the small spot of skin he was pressing his face into. “I didn’t–I shouldn’t have asked you to come with me tonight. I’m sorry. But…sweetheart…” You waited, breath tight in your throat for his next words.

“You–fuck, babygirl, that was–God, you’re just so hot.” You felt your eyebrows come together over your eyes, your jaw tightening against his fingers. His lips pressed into the side of your throat, hot and aggressive as you gasped at the touch.

You stepped back, out of Steve’s hands, and he froze. “What? What’s wrong?” He asked, his eyes hazy with desire as he stared at you in the darkness. When he caught the glimmering tear tracks on your face, heard the shaking breath that pressed out of your chest, he came towards you quickly, hands rising to grasp your face between them. “Baby, baby,” he whined, eyes widening as he tilted his head, hair falling to the side, “What’s the matter?” His fingers stroked the side of your face, wiping away the dampness there. “Talk to me, please.”

“I thought–” You started, eyes slipping closed as you took in a too-quick breath. “I thought you were going to–to break up with me. I thought you were going to go with your dad, and you were going to–”

“Fuck no,” Steve hisses, shaking his head rapidly. “No. No way, sweetheart. First of all,” he said, thumbs stroking your cheekbones, “I’m not leaving you. Second of all, my dad–” Steve let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “He’s wrong. I’ve always known he was wrong about most things, but I didn’t know until I heard him talking about you how fucking wrong he was.” Your breath caught in your throat, your eyes wide as you stared at Steve. His eyes fell, gentle, across your face as he watched your expression change. “I didn’t–” he started, pausing to clear his throat. “I didn’t know he was wrong about me either. Until I heard you say it.”

Your lips fall open, your eyes narrowing as you stare at him. At Steve. The kindest, gentlest man you’ve ever met, the man who was always giving Dustin and Mike rides to the arcade, the man who never missed a single one of Lucas’ home games, who took Max out to dinner on Friday nights because he wasn’t sure if her mom would remember to leave anything in the fridge for her. There was no way he could believe the things his father had said about him–

“Steve,” you whisper, your voice crackling in the light slanting through the windows, over the darkness between your two bodies. “He–You’re not–”

The words don’t have a chance to fall from your lips. Steve is too quick, too fast to duck his head and press his mouth against yours, his perfectly curved lips pressing against yours with need. His face slides up, slightly, tilting your head back to keep your lips together. Steve’s jaw loosens slightly, his mouth opening so that his tongue can press against the tight seal of your lips. When his tongue slips into your mouth, tasting you like he’s been desperate for this moment, you whimper into him, rewarded by a soft grunt reverberating in the fingers you have pressed to his chest.

Your body tightens, heat immediately flooding your core as his long fingers slip around your waist, gripping to press his fingerprints into your curves. Your hands come up to his chest, pushing against his muscles just hard enough to break the kiss. Steve lets out a confused sound, his eyes still closed as your faces part. “Bedroom,” you whisper, and he opens his eyes long enough for you to see a wicked glint in his wide eyes.

Before you can question him, tilting your head slightly with the beginning of “What’s that look for?” playing on your lips, Steve’s hands snake along your back; one hand comes to your low back, the other under your thighs, and you’re momentarily weightless as he knocks you off of your feet. Steve pulls you against him, cradling you against his chest like a bride crossing a threshold, and your breath catches in your throat before bursting out in a giggle. You tilt your head back with the laugh, bringing your hands up to wrap around Steve’s neck as he carries you down the hall.

In the bedroom, he tosses you onto your shared sleeping space. Your body bounces on the plush mattress, the cloud-soft bedspread the two of you had picked out together under your hands as you push yourself up to sitting. Steve undoes the top button of his dress shirt, the green one you had insisted on because it matches the tiny line of color around his pupils before they turn brown, and pulls it by the collar over his head. He tosses it to the floor, fingers immediately going to the button of his pants. “C’mere,” you say, voice thick with the desire flooding your veins.

Steve takes a step towards you, a grin starting to turn up the edges of his lips as he tilts his head, and your hands replace his on his pants. Quickly, you push the fabric to the floor, leaving him exposed in front of you. Steve’s wide hands find your thighs as he leans forward over you, pushing the fabric of your dress up, up, up as his fingers skim your skin. He pulls the dress over your head, tossing it behind him as you fall to the bed and he climbs over you.

Steve presses his lips against yours again, finding them already open as you moan into his mouth. Your hands slide up his muscled back, coming to knot in the hair at the nape of his neck. When you pull, slightly, he whimpers, letting your hands tilt his face up so that his damp lips slide up your face. “On your back,” you whisper, and Steve is quick to obey, throwing himself down beside you as you sit up. You sling a leg over his waist, settling yourself over his hips as you press against him. Steve’s hands coast over your thighs, your hips, your waist, coming to rest at the band of your bra before he quickly unclasps it, pulling the straps from your shoulders. When your skin is exposed, nipples tightening in the chill air of the room, Steve smirks at you–a hint of King Steve present tonight–before he tosses your bra over your shoulder.

His hands are warm, rough as they come to your exposed skin, gripping and kneading against your sensitive breasts. His thumbs glide over your nipples, raising them, before he grasps them between his fingers, twisting the tender skin as you gasp. Your eyes slide shut of their own volition, your head tilting back as you try to suppress a moan. “Harrington,” you whisper, your hands resting on his chest. You can feel your core throbbing, absolutely aching already with how badly you need him, how badly you need Steve to reassure you that he’s still here, that he’s not leaving, and the wetness of your underwear has to be noticeable to him by now.

You grind your hips, slightly, over his, and are rewarded with a soft groan from beneath you. Desperate to hear him again, your fingers tighten over Steve’s chest, fingertips burying into the dark hair there as your nails press into his skin. He whimpers, a soft sound that breaks free from his lips as his head presses backwards into the mattress under him, and you feel your face break into a grin. His erection is pressing into you, under you, as you grind your hips against him again, his exposed member pressing into your clothed heat. “Please,” he whispers, and you sigh at the sound. “Please, babygirl, I–come on. Please.”

You tilt your head to look at him beneath you, batting your eyelashes innocently. He groans as you cast a faux innocence over your face, uncomfortably aware of the swelling in between his bare thighs. You lean down, pressing your torso to his before you slide your mouth over his warm skin; you mouth at his collarbone, lips growing wet with your own spit as they slip down, down over his large chest muscles, brushing against the dark hair there. Your mouth, slippery and spit soaked, covers his nipple, pulling it in between your teeth. You nip, eliciting a yelp from the chest under you, and pull back, a satisfied grin on your face.

As you sit back, Steve’s eyes watch you carefully. His amber eyes grow wide as you dip your hand between where your bodies press together, throbbing skin against throbbing skin. You wrap your fingers around his length and navigate him to the space between your thighs, using your fingers to push your underwear aside. You raise your hips, positioning him between your damp folds, before you slide down over him; he moans, long and loud, as his head tilts back. His length fills you, pushes deep into you as you carefully take him inside inch by inch.

When you’re finally sitting against his base, you lean over his torso, letting your lips flutter over his stomach, his chest. Your tongue slips between your lips, delicately tracing over the still-pink crescent moons your nails have left on his skin, and his fingers clench at your thighs. When he ruts his hips, just slightly, into you, you gasp at the sudden movement, pulling your head back as you push yourself up from his body. “Stevie,” you say, voice half-choked. “No. Be good.” You feel him twitch inside of you at your words, his eyes clenched shut as he fights the urge to press into you while you let your body adjust to the sheer size of him.

But you’re craving motion too, craving friction and stretching and gasps, and you start to pull away from him, letting his length slide partially out of your body before settling back down onto him. Steve grunts, the pads of his fingers digging into the skin of your backside hard enough to bruise, and he sounds so pretty you’re desperate to hear him again. “Talk to me, baby,” you command, and Steve’s lips pop open as you lift over him again.

“You feel so good,” he says, immediately, desperate to give you whatever you ask for. “You’re so good, so fucking wet, and so tight, God, I don’t–” his breath hitches as you roll your hips over his, changing the pace so that your head falls back with a moan, “God, fuck, I don’t know how you’re still so tight when you take me like this.” He’s panting between the words, his breathing jagged as he lifts his hips up to rock you as you roll your hips over him.

You whimper, needing more, and grab one of his hands from your hips. You bring it up to your face, setting his palm so that it cradles your cheek and moving his thumb over your lips. Steve pushes his digit between your lips, letting you suck his thumb into your wet mouth as your eyes slide shut. “Fuck, you’re so hot, baby. I–I love–fuck” he whimpers, “I love when you need me like this. Love when you want me so bad, sweet girl.”

You moan at the pet name, clenching slightly around him, and feel his hips thrust into yours harder than he probably intended to. You open your mouth, letting Steve slide his thumb out from between your lips. “Such a good boy for me, baby,” you say, turning your head slightly to nuzzle into the palm of his hand. “You’re my good boy, aren’t you, Stevie?” You ask, blinking at his sweet, sweat soaked face under you.

“Yes, mommy,” he whimpers. You freeze, your body immediately stilling on top of his as your hands loosen. You blink slowly, once, twice. “What?” Steve asks, his eyebrows coming together in confusion. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“You–Steve, you called me mommy.” Your voice is neutral, borderline casual, despite the way your heart is racing in your chest, the painful throb of it echoing in your throat.

“What? No, I didn’t,” he says, his cheeks immediately flushing a dark shade of red. “No, that’s–that’s weird. I didn’t–wouldn’t–say that.”

“Stevie,” you whisper, hand coming to his face to gently brush over his cheekbone. “Remember what we talked about? ‘S not weird. Just different.” His eyes shift, looking away from you as he grimaces. “Steve do you–” You swallow, the words suddenly feeling swollen in your throat. “Do you want to call me mommy?”

His eyes snap back to yours, a clanging echoing in your head as you see the hopeful look there, see him pull his lower lip in between his teeth. “I mean–maybe? Unless it freaks you out?” He’s shy, bashful as the words leave his mouth, and you know he’d be running a hand through his hair now if they weren’t both on your skin so you do it for him, brushing his chestnut colored strands of hair off his face.

You shake your head, leaning over him slowly. You place a kiss to his wide mouth, gentle, before pulling back slightly. “Doesn’t freak me out.” When you kiss him again it’s harder, more aggressive, and you slip his mouth open with your lips. “Say it again,” you order, pressing the words against his open mouth.

“Mommy,” Steve whispers, fingers tightening against your skin. His voice is quiet, easily mistakable for just a whimper if it hadn’t been spoken into your lips, if your mouth hadn’t moved with his. A rational part of your brain tells you this is odd, him calling you mommy when you just saw how his mother let his father treat him–but your core clenches around him at the word, and the less-rational part of your brain (the part of your brain that Steve Harrington already controls) doesn’t really give a shit. Maybe it’s because you’d spent the night ready to defend him, trying to protect Steve from the awful things his parents said to him, but the word makes you feel like you get to keep him safe, like you get to comfort him and care for him, and it’s driving you wild to know that Steve wants you to do that for him.

“Mommy,” Steve says again, his voice louder now, more confident as he feels you respond. You’re launched, suddenly, into a feeling of euphoria, of bliss, at the words, and you wrap your hands around the back of his neck, lifting him with you as you start to sit back up. He takes his hands from around you, pushing them into the mattress to support himself as he sits up, still buried deep inside of you. When you’re upright together, you push Steve’s head, slightly, to your chest, and he takes his cue immediately, cupping your breasts and bringing his lips to a nipple.

“Mommy,” he moans against your skin as you start to rock your hips against his again. You gasp, your fingers gripping his hair as you lean back, slightly, giving him better access to your chest. “Fuck, Stevie,” you moan as his teeth scrape your sensitive bud, “You’re such a good boy. Such a good boy for mommy,” and his hips thrust into yours, hard. His thrust brought him against your wall, almost painful as he pushes against the one part of you that can’t stretch or move for him.

You cry out, your face twisting to the side, and his hands take advantage of the way your throat is suddenly exposed to wrap his fingers around your neck. He brushes his thumb down the side of your throat, pressing into your pulse, and you whimper as the rough pad of his finger presses into the pulsing vein. Still deep inside of you, Steve rocks his hips again, brushing his head against your wall; you feel your stomach muscles clench, your fingers tighten as you jerk forward against him, tiny sounds falling from your lips like dust from the stars you see shimmering in the edges of your vision.

The way he’s buried inside of you right now almost hurts, the intensity of the pleasure so overwhelming it starts to feel like pain. You pull back, just slightly, shifting your hips so that–if he wanted to–Steve could force himself to that point again, could fuck you until you feel like your heart might stop. He looks up at you, his face pressed against the breast his tongue is roaming, and you see in his eyes that he understands; he could fuck you like that, but you want to finish with him tonight, want to take your time with him inside of you. “Sweet baby,” you whisper, slipping your fingers through his hair, and he moans. He pushes, gently, into you again and the room is suddenly silent except for your gasping breaths, the sound of your bodies meeting again and again, and Steve’s occasional cry of “Mommy.”

You feel yourself starting to tighten around him, making him work harder to push his length entirely into you, and you smile, slightly, at the promise of your release. “Fucking me so good, Stevie,” you whisper, “Wanna cum with you, my sweet boy.” You let your fingers slip through his hair, ready to pull at it when the tightening band in your stomach snaps, ready to force him over the edge with you.

Steve’s hips suddenly still under yours. “Want to–” he gasps, his face buried in the skin of your chest as he mouths, desperately, at your warm skin, “want to make you a mommy.” You feel your body pull back, your eyes narrowed as you look at him in shock.

“Let me, please,” he whines, “Let me try. I want to make you a mommy.” You consider him, taking in the desperate shine in his eye, the way his hair is sticking to his forehead, the beads of sweat slipping where the two of you have been pressed skin to skin. “You’re such a good mommy,” Steve says, and you feel something inside of you give in, overcome with the image of Steve Harrington pumping you full of himself.

You nod, pulling your bottom teeth between your lips, and he suddenly tightens his arms around your waist, rolling so that your back is against the bed and he’s over you. For a moment, Steve’s full weight is on top of you, pressing every line, every arch, every freckle and scar and sensitive space into the mattress under you; he’s pinning you, accidentally, and you let your eyes slip shut, a soft sigh floating out of your mouth. He’s here, he’s right here, you think.

Steve pushes himself up, taking some of his weight from you as his mouth comes to your neck, warm and sticky with spit as he pulls the skin of your throat in between his teeth. His fingers work at your waist, pulling your soaked underwear down your hips. Your hands immediately find his shoulder blades, nails pressing along his back. Steve loosens his teeth, letting blood rush to the spot he’s just bruised into your throat, and presses his nose along the hard line of your neck before slipping your underwear off and tossing them to the floor.

His thrusts are gentle at first, loving and tender as he slips himself along your walls. Your fingers tighten around his back, gripping him closer to you, and you try to pull more of his weight back onto your body; Steve pulls his head back from your throat, glancing down at you with an eyebrow lifted. “I need to feel you, Stevie,” you murmur, lips swollen and eyes hazy as you gaze at him above you.

Those words are all it takes for Steve to pull back, slipping your knees over his shoulders before you have time to ask him where he’s going, what he’s doing. When he presses back into you, bringing your knees high and down as he shifts his weight against the back of your thighs, you can’t stop the groan that leaves your mouth. Your hips ache, already, a deep, bruising discomfort that you know will stay with you for days, reminding you of this moment with every step, and your lips twist up as he looks at you.

Your body is open, dripping to the bed below you as Steve slowly, gently pushes in. He’s up against your wall again, but in this position the ache comes second to the pleasure. When he pulls back, leaving only his head inside of you, you whine and reach for him, hands trying to pull him back into you. With a sharp rut of his hips, he buries himself back inside of you; your head rushes back of its own accord, sliding against the pillow Steve has so lovingly laid you on. “Shit,” you moan, and Steve grins over you, grins like he’s just won the State basketball tournament, grins like he’s got a raise at work, grins like he’s won the lottery as he slides home into you.

He continues to push into you, the two of you luxuriating in the way you feel around him in this new position, open enough for him to thrust his hips hard without hurting you, and you find it only takes minutes of hearing his soft groans over you before that band of heat is back in your stomach. One of your hands drifts up from his back, sliding his hair over his forehead before cradling his cheek in your palm. “Stevie,” you try to say, and it comes out as a whimper when he ruts into you. “Stevie, baby, make me a mommy. Want to be a mommy for you,” you say, and you feel your core tightening around him, gentle pulses that are getting tighter and tighter.

His eyes widen, slightly, as if he’s somehow surprised to hear these words from you. “Yeah,” he says, nodding, his eyes hazy like his brain is on autopilot, “I’m gonna. Gonna make you a mommy.” His hips start to stutter, his pace changing slightly as you feel his muscles tighten. You clench yourself, slightly, around him, and his next thrust makes your eyes slam shut, your head roll back, your back arch against the bed. A whimper falls from your lips, a sound almost shockingly quiet for the amount of pleasure it indicates. Your body spasms around his thick length, pulling him in deeper as your hips tilt, pulling him against that far wall.

“Good–oh, fuck, you’re such a good boy,” you stammer, your body still pulsing as your lips fall open, and Steve’s thrusts become smaller; he can’t control himself, can’t pull himself far enough out anymore, as the clenching around him drives him over the edge. He erupts, suddenly, his body twitching inside of yours as his thick, wet heat fills you: “Mommy,” Steve moans, one last time as his release sweeps over him, and it makes you clench around him again. When he finally stops his hips, spent, Steve sags slightly, pressing his weight into you again as his cock twitches, still buried deep inside. He takes a few heavy breaths, both of you panting in silence.

Steve pulls his hips back, carefully removing himself from your swollen, aching lips. He sits up on his knees, removing your ankles from his shoulders and pressing a kiss to each calf before he lays them on the bed. As you watch, he parts your thighs again, sliding the flat of his palm against the mixture of your wetness and his satisfaction. You whimper, quietly, as his fingers slip between your folds and inside of your sensitive core. “Hold on, sweetheart,” he whispers. “Got to keep this in you.”

When he’s done, satisfied that you have enough of his seed fucked deep inside, he slides up the bed, coming to rest beside you. He rolls on to his side, wide amber eyes carefully searching your face as you turn to look at him. He’s beautiful in the soft light of your bedroom, the usual tightness of his face eased as he looks at you. In these moments, Steve Harrington looks like he’s never had a care in the world–he doesn’t look like he has nightmares, or sleeps with a baseball bat by the bed, or avoids his parents. He just looks like a boy in love.

Your fingers are suddenly on his face, ghosting over his cheekbone, down his jawline, over his nose, until he grabs your wrist, bringing your fingertips to his lips. “Thank you,” he says, eyes closing as the words spear into your touch. “For what?” You ask, partially confused and partially hoping you can force him to say it. “For letting me try. I want–” his breath shudders, his wide chest shaking as he opens his eyes to look at you. “I want to keep trying. You’re a–you’re a good mommy.” It’s unclear if the heat that burns across his cheeks is from embarrassment or desire, but you reassure him either way with a soft smile. “I love you,” he whispers, the words imprinted into the tips of your fingers as you trace the curve of his mouth. “I love you too,” you whisper back, “baby boy.”

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deepperplexity · 2 years

Text

Prompt: 22. Slipping & Sliding

Characters: Young!Snape and Young!Muggle!OC

POV: First, OC

Setting: Cockesworth

A/N: Last night I was up late to write this piece, getting it ready to be posted and everything because I knew today would be incredibly stressful and I needed to write two fics today since we are to leave for my hometown tomorrow.

Well, I'm not gonna finish RICKMAS 2022 on time. This is the last fic during the time of this event, maybe I'll write prompt 23 & 24 in the future but I cannot write them right now. Like I said, I went to bed stressed af but pleased with my efforts knowing I'd just have to write two fics in whatever spare time I could find tomorrow even if they would be super short. But today I woke up to a text from my mom letting me know grandpa has died during the night. One of my absolute favourite people in the world who has always been incredibly important to me, that I was going to see tomorrow and celebrate Christmas with… and now he's gone. I have not been able to function today, and I won't for a while. My heart fucking hurts.

I hope you can understand why I can't write at this time, and I will not be replying to comments for a while either because I cannot muster the enthusiasm or energy needed to do your comments justice. Thank you for joining RICKMAS this year, sorry I can't finish it on time.

Tags/TW’s:Friendship, Sledding Accident (no harm), Grumpy/Sunshine (platonic)

Word Count: 1.5k+

Masterlist page // Masterlist post // AO3 // LINK TREE

I never quite understood him. He never played with us. Always off to the side, never joining in. And he was, odd… His clothes were tattered and never the right size, his body strangely gangly and his face almost sunken in. I never saw him smile either.

“Mummy,” I said and tugged on mum’s jacket, “can I ask him to play?” Mum locked towards the young boy, my age probably. “That’s the Snape boy,” she said in a low tone. “Don’t you go making friends with his sort,” she continued before turning back to the other mums to continue talking about grown-up stuff I paid no attention to, gas prices weren’t anything I understood anyway. He looks lonely… That’s not fair when there’s so many of us here.

I grabbed the folded wax cloth mum had brought along with my sledge and trudged over to him in the deep snow. He was quite far off from the rest of us, sitting in the snow by a tree. He looked like a black dot among all the white. Quite different to my colourful appearance, my pink jacket almost shining in the sunshine reflected by the snow and I loved my yellow mittens with a matching hat, my purple scarf flapping about and my rainbow-coloured winter boots were probably my favourite thing about it all.

“Hi,” I said as I had nearly gotten all the way to the boy. “D’you wanna play?” I asked and stopped a step or two away from his feet. His shoes looked really cold to wear for the weather. “No.” He sounded like an absolute sulk, his voice slightly darker than I had thought. “Why not? We can use my—” “No, go away,” he interrupted but I had three older brothers who all loved me super much and were always constantly annoyed by my presence at the same time so it actually didn’t bother me at all.

“You know, you won’t make friends like that,” I said and plopped myself down next to him. Not feeling the cold snow with my thick winter pants on. “I’m not trying to, am I?” he snarked and half turned away from me. “Everyone wants friends, it’s more fun to play with others.” “I don’t play.” “Why not? You’re a kid like me, we should play.” “I’m not a kid,” he muttered again. “How old are you then?” “I’m twelve,” he grumbled and I looked at him from head to toe. “You don’t look it. I’m Sarah by the way, and I’m almost nine.” “Go, away,” he said but I wasn’t having it. He looked like he could use some fun. Why would he be there if he didn’t want to have fun? All the kids came to the slope to play.

“I’ll go away if you go down the slope with me once,” I said while standing up. “Or I can bother you all day, I have brothers, I know how to be reaaaaaaally annoying, you know.” His head jerked around at that and I beamed at him, his face told me everything. “Fine,” he grumbled and got up, suddenly turning quite tall and even more spindly. But, it felt like he wasn’t too annoyed with me despite the way he talked or looked. If I was right or not I didn’t know.

“Come on then,” I said and folded out the wax cloth big enough for four people to ride on at the same time. Dad had even stroked it with a candle before we headed out so it would really go fast. “One ride, and then you go away,” he said and I nodded. “Sure, sure, get on new friend,” I said and patted behind me. He rolled his eyes but sat down. “It’s Severus,” he said. “That’s the strangest name I’ve ever heard,” I replied, “but I like it. Now let’s slide!” I laughed and grabbed the edges of the cloth, pulling it up over my legs so it wouldn’t slip out under us while Severus placed his hands on my shoulders, barely holding on to me.

We scooted forward, towards the edge of the slope and then off we went, slipping and sliding down on the already flattened snow perfect for high speed. I shrieked and laughed as we picked up speed, feeling Severus’s hands tense atop my shoulders while I leaned back a bit. “Woho!” I shouted as we reached the steepest part and we swished ahead towards the end.

When we finally slowed down I was giggling too much, it was just so much fun to go sledging when you did it with friends. “Fun, innit?” I asked while looking over my shoulder with a wide grin. But Severus wasn’t smiling. His black hair was a complete mess around his face. “I rode with you, now leave me be,” he said in a dreary tone and I actually sulked a bit myself. I did say I would… Well, I tried at least… Perhaps Andrew wants to ride with me? “Fair enough, thanks for riding with me, Severus,” I said as we clamoured off the wax cloth. “Sure,” he muttered and began trudging up the hill.

I followed behind, dragging the cloth up behind me — good thing it didn’t weigh anything. A little ways away the other kids were going hard with their sledging thing of choice. Some had a snowball fight and others were building snowmen, even a snow horse.

“You know, you should play with us more,” I huffed out while we were getting to the steep part. “No thanks,” he said and I rolled my eyes. “I don’t get it, why are you so sulky? It’s soon Christmas and there’s snow, and—” “None of your business,” he interrupted but he pulled up his shoulders, it almost looked like was sad. “Don’t you like friends? And having fun?” “Friends only turn on you, so no, I do-ooOO—!” His arms flailed out as he slipped on a spot of ice, he stumbled back and slammed into me, sending me back, tripping over the cloth and toppling over.

I began sliding backwards while I saw Severus rolling over a few times. The shove he’d given me sent me flying down the hill on my back. I tried to turn around, reaching to grab at the ground but my mittens couldn’t get a hold of anything. “Severus!” I screamed out as I began to spin, faster and faster, while heading towards the tree line with too much speed. I shrieked as I stopped spinning, my feet towards the trees and my eyes fixed on Severus who looked with horror towards me.

He pulled something out of his jacket, his lips moved but I couldn’t hear anything but the snow under me as I hit a bump the bigger boys had built to snowboard over. I cinched my eyes shut as I flew up into the air, holding my breath for the impact I knew would hurt.

But I never hit the ground. I landed softly in the powdery snow just at the tree line — panting and heaving while my heart ran wild like a goose being chased. “What-, how-,” I stuttered as I shook my head only to see Severus bolting towards me. “Sarah! Are you hurt?” he called before stopping right before me, slipping something back inside of his jacket.

“How-? What happened? I just stopped? Mid-air? I was-, I flew and then-, what happened?” I asked, looking all around to find some explanation but nobody even looked our way. So I looked back at Severus who exhaled harshly before reaching his ungloved hand out to me. “I don’t know,” he said but that was a lie. “You saw, you know, what did you do? I saw you,” I continued while grabbing his hand.

Severus pulled me up but didn’t look at me. “You stopped me, you saved me, how did you do it?” I insisted, being as adamant (annoyingly questioning) as I could. After all, I had practised a lot with my brothers. “Let it go, you’re alright. That’s all that matter,” he muttered but I grabbed his coat and gave him a big, hard hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I said. “It was my fault, I fell into you,” he said and I peered up at him. “But you stopped it, somehow, that’s amazing!” I said. “It’s just mag-, if you say so.” “It’s what? What did you say it was?” I asked, latching on to the interrupted word while still hugging him. He was a head taller than me.

“Nothing,” he muttered. “You’re special, aren’t you?” I asked with a grin. “No, I’m not.” “Yes, you are. You’re special and you saved me,” I insisted in a manner only a little sister could. “Get off, Sarah,” he said and pushed at my shoulders. “When you tell me how you saved me,” I beamed in return. “I can’t tell you that, it’s not allowed,” he said while looking at anything but me. “I won’t tell, I’m really good at keeping secrets.” “No, I can’t, it’s not allowed.” “Fine,” I muttered and let go of him. “But we’re riding at least ten more times because you won’t tell me, and it was your fault I was sliding like that.” I’ll make you my friend, I’m very tenacious, Severus, I thought to myself.

Masterlist page // Masterlist post // AO3 // LINK TREE

A/N: Remember to appreciate the time you have with those you love.

Taglist: @lizlil @snapefiction @darkthought15 @monstreviolet @flowerdementia @marvelschriss @once-upon-an-imagine @ravennight41 @caseydoodles98 @slytherinprincess03 @theconsultingdetectiveswife @grimmyhild @monster-energies @myobscureimaginarium @snowblossomreads @eternal-silvertongued-prince @cherryglossie @setsuna-meiou31 @helena211 @a-queen-and-her-throne @justsaturn0 @turvi @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @sunnylikesfrogs @mamawolfsmith16 @dianilaws @morphineisouthoney @meteoritewolf69 @bionic-otp @elizabeth-baelish @romanceandsarcasm @severuslovebot @leah1243 @glowstar826 @rickmandowneyjr @yellowbadgermole @snapesangel @a-queen-and-her-throne @impulse-anchor @commodoreseverus @writewithmarites @alisongurl13 @yan-senna @writewithmarites @reinekefoxart @nixislight @lokisbjchnl @snowblossomreads @reinekefoxart @reiketsunomizunomegami

Want to be tagged? 💚 You can tag yourself HERE! Or tell me and I’ll gladly tag you! 😍

[Dec:2022]

#rickmas2022 #rickmas #snapedom #pro snape #snape fic #young snape #snape makes a friend #fanfiction #severus snape #grumpy little snape #rickmaniac #alan rickman #deepperplexity fic #deepperplexity #plex

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rollercoasterwords · 1 year

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WHAT did james DO that he's so sexy and a wanted criminal since he was a child and can do wandless magic what did you put in him omg! loved the ch it was amazing and i. i knew itttt :))))) this is a convo i'd be. Interested to hear more about..... will s continue to be a sad wet kitten... what will he do..... do they think reg is dead because they found a way to take off the dark mark and voldy thinks it means he's dead.... will dorcas be okay..... who is the mcd.. so many questions!! can't wait for the next one :0) the flow of your writing is one of the best i've read & the distinct voice you give to each character is really beautiful. we're lucky you put your stuff out there for us to read :-) if i dare ask.... what's your favorite line you've written in this ch.... because "he was a knife in the hand of justice" is soooo good it really brings me into his mind but alas. curious about yours 👀

everybody loves a rebel....a bad boy.....

as for what he did to get put on a watchlist. well that will all be revealed. eventually. at some point. probably. i have his whole backstory in my head but i cannot emphasize enough how much of my writing for this is just me rawdogging it...absolutely just making shit up as i go along having fun spinning a tale at the campfire etc...for example did not know i was gonna put sirius's whole backstory into this ch until i was writing it lmao

s is indeed king of pity parties. guy who imprisons + tortures + kills people NOT enjoying the taste of his own medicine!! honestly surprised @ how many people have commented abt james + remus being too mean to him in this one lol trust me from their povs they are being wayyyyyy nicer than they could be....they of course do not know his little sob story the way we all do but. even if they did idk if they'd feel very sorry for him atp in the fic tbh. and of course i cannot answer any of ur other questions rn....

anyway tysm for the kind words!! i actually have. a lot of lines i was really proud of in this ch!! forgot how much i liked it bc i kind of hate the next one lmfao but my faves r probably

They are two strangers. Two strangers in a white room with no doors.

and

He was a man, and he was a ghost, and he was seventeen and haunting his own body and watching himself grow older from someplace very far away.

also quite fond of the ghosts haunting different graveyards line but fear that including it will tip everyone off to how often i reuse the same metaphors xx

#ask #wfrau

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fire-emblem-drabbles · 2 years

Note

Hey Syd!! If you're taking jojo requests may I request Prosciutto + 11 and 12? Thank you!! 🙂💞

Pairing: Yandere! Prosciutto x reader

Prompt(s): "I want to touch you so much, I can hardly hold myself back". & "My heart, my love, my touch... It's all yours for the taking."

Description: With a grunt and a heavy sigh, you pull yourself into the strange machine and settle into it. Though it was comfortable, you can't help but be nervous you had to leave all your equipment with Charon. Not like you could use it in a simulation, but still... Your felt naked without a gun. You were alone here in this vault. But in one of these other chambers sat your father and you would have to pull him out...

Rating: sfw

Content Warning: yandere, simulations, there is so much gaslight gatekeeping girlbossing done by pros, cross over with fallout 3 because I wanted it but dw I just stole setting, umm imprisonment, manipulation, ask to tag

Word Count: 2092

Notes: Happy 4 am tumblr I am now making this fic your problem! I had a lot of fun with this one despite it being my first time writing pros sdlfkjsdfklj I hope I did him justice Taha but this idea came to me in a 1 am haze and I’ve sat here working on it for the past few hours.

Edited: The Same Day, actually. Don’t post things at 4 am folks they’re be riddled with mistakes

When you came here, you knew it was with a purpose. There was something you had to do. Someone you were here to see… to save, even. But as time went by, minutes melting to hours in pleasant nothingness, it was getting so hard to remember, and much easier to forget.

You weren’t use to such perfectness. But pretty blue skies and soft, green grass were welcome feelings; they certainly weren’t bad just unfamiliar. But what was it that you were use to…? Your hands felt empty often. Even in such a safe place, there was always a feeling of dread stalking you. As if you always had to watch your back.

But Tranquility Lane welcomed you all the same, with familiar and strange smiling faces.

“I don’t think I belong here.” You sit, idle, at the small park in the center of the cul de sac. You swing gently on a swing a little too small for your frame. You’re one true friend here, the only creature you felt you could trust, your dog sits silent at your feet. “Dogmeat…” The familiar name falls off your lips but you get the feeling that… this isn’t Dogmeat.

But, what other dog could it be?

“Do you remember how we got here, Dogmeat?” You look down to the dog that rests are your feet, watching the way his ears fold down at your words. “Where… were we before we moved here?” You hadn’t been here long, or at least you thought that…

“_____, there you are.” A smooth voice pulls you from your thoughts. “I was looking for you.”

“Oh, Prosciutto.” His name falls from your lips easily. You smile, just so he doesn’t worry over your long face. He was the first person to warm up to you here, after all. The only one that really opened up to you. “I’m sorry I was just… thinking, is all.”

“Thinking?” He pauses in front of you, sending a fleeting, unreadable glance to the dog by your feet. “What about?” He leans casually against the shiny pole of the swing set.

“You’ll think it’s silly…” For some reason, when he was near, it got harder to think. Harder to remember.

Easier to forget.

“But… I feel like I don’t belong here, sometimes.” You admit to him. Your eyes don’t leave Dogmeat. He stands and moves to sit behind you. Away from Prosciutto. “I mean… Dogmeat and I stick out like a sore thumb.” You laugh a little.

“I don’t think so.” He shakes his head as you meet his gaze. “You guys brought new life to this place. I’m glad you’re here.” He gives you a charming smile. One where you can see the little gap between his front teeth. It comforts you, if only a little.

“Thank you for saying that. But… Sometimes I get these dreams. Some of them are just strange… others, really scary.” You grip the chain of the swing, eyes trained on the perfect shine of Prosciutto’s shoes. You couldn’t even think of what they were called. Only that they were much fancier than anything you had ever owned.

“They’re just dreams, _____. I wouldn’t worry too much about them.” He sounds so confident. So sure of himself.

“They feel so real though.” You run your hands down the length of the chains, until you reach the bottom. You then stand, frowning as you catch his gaze. “The world in my dreams… isn’t very pretty. In fact, it’s ugly. It’s not easy to survive there.” You look to Dogmeat. “The two of us… Dogmeat and I. We wondered that wasteland. I never went anywhere without a gun in my hand.” Your fingers twitch against a trigger that’s not there.

“You know that’s not real though, _____.” Prosciutto grabs your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You’re safe here. Those dreams can’t get you.” He grows a little bolder, other hand grasping your shoulder. “I won’t let anything hurt you.” You feel your heart pound fast in a moment of embarrassment, before you compose yourself.

“I can take care of myself, thank you.” You retract yourself from him, and make a fair distance between the two of you. Ever careful, Dogmeat rises with you. You can tell he’s watching Prosciutto as much as you are now. “I thought… you would understand, but I suppose I was mistaken.” You shake your head. “Sorry to bother you, Prosciutto.” You turn to take your leave, going to return to the house that was yours. Or at least, that you claimed as your own.

“____, wait.” You pause as Prosciutto jogs a moment to catch up to you. The nice dress you’re wearing feels itchy and strange all the sudden. Too clean. “Please, I didn’t mean to brush you off, I just…” He sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Forgive me for being so bold… I meant only that if you feel scared, or that you fee you are in danger, you can rely on me.”

“Well…” You pause on the word, looking to Dogmeat before looking back to Prosciutto. “I suppose I forgive you.” You sigh. The next breath you take feels heavy and thick. “I think I’m just on edge. There’s definitely something wrong here. I’m gonna figure it out… but it would be nice if I could count of you while I do that.” Dogmeat whimpers, pulling on the skirt of your dress to get your attention. You pat his head to comfort him, keeping your eyes trained on Prosciutto.

“Oh dear…” You see Prosciutto sigh, and roll his eyes. You feel a sudden chill go through you, and the urge to defend yourself hits you. But your shock, your horror, keeps you rooted in place. The air has changed between the two of you. “You’re just too smart for your own good… and you ask too many questions, just like your father.”

“My father?” Realization hits you straight in the face. “W-wait those aren’t just dreams… this, this isn’t reality.” You take a step back, back into Dogmeat. But… it wasn’t really him.

Who was this dog? He wasn’t a dog at all... You remember. There had to be a person behind that facade...

“Prosciutto I…” Your head hurts, so bad. You know its not real. That this is a simulation. But you’re not in control here. “You keep… keep making me forget.” You hold your head, nails digging into your hair. This pain is worse than the shot of a gun, or the deafening blow of a grenade.

“Shh, you’re okay…” Prosciutto is ready to support you, take you into his arms and support your quickly crumpling weight. “You just need to relax. And forget. Just let me take care of it.” You’re powerless to escape his hold. To fight whatever power he has over you here.

“I… need to save my father. I gotta.. gotta leave…” You lean heavily on Prosciutto for support.

“Still so eager to leave me?” He sighs softly as he holds you. “Surely what I have to offer is much better then what you’ve faced in that wasteland. Why would you want to go back?” He huffs. Your thoughts are still thick, foggy like bad weather in the capital wasteland, but you manage to speak.

“People… need our help.” It was so far away but you could barely recall. Something your dad had talked about all your life… He wanted it so bad that you, too wanted it. What was that dream you shared…?

“People need you?” Prosciutto snorts. It's the most imperfect, the most ugly, you can recall him being.

You get the feeling the two of you have been in this situation before.

This wouldn’t be the last time.

“What about me? I need you! I want to touch you so much I can hardly hold myself back.” His words make you feel strange. You feel like that should make you recoil. If anyone else had said that to you they would be met with a bullet in the hand that dared grab you.

But Prosciutto just holds you tighter.

“Why do you have to make this so difficult? I play the perfect gentlemen every time. I take it slow. I play cat and mouse with you time and time again. But you always seem to remember that something isn’t right here.”

The world has changed, you think. That, or in your confused state, Prosciutto has taken you somewhere alone. No one else here could help you, though. They’re just as powerless as you.

Why were you fighting with Prosciutto again?

“_____, you’ve lit a flame I thought died in me centuries ago.” The number rings in your head. Prosciutto didn’t look older than 30… “My heart, my love, my touch… it’s all yours for the taking. I made this world for us to share.”

“I… don’t need anything like that.” Even as you said the words though, you doubted them. Were you anything without Prosciutto?

“Last time, you told me that you’d be trapped in the body a dog like your father then be forced to be with me.” You hear the words he says, but you can’t ascribe any meaning to them. They’re just as hollow as you. “Maybe this next time, you’ll tell me you love me.” Empty as you are, forced into this role, you can’t help but feel unhappy. Something compels you to speak-- a memory, nearly forgotten.

“You don’t… deserve my love.” You can hardly remember what those words mean, but they certainly have Prosciutto frowning.

“Well then I suppose it’s a good thing I can take it by force, isn’t it?” His words don’t carry the venom he wants them too. Your eyes have already closed, off to have another bad dream of a faraway wasteland with guns and wars.

Still, Prosciutto sighs.

You and your father have already been here for 3 months. It was taking longer and longer for you each time to recall this was a simulation but… would he always be able to stop you before it was too late?

Would he ever be able to convince you, the only person that had managed to capture his attention in all his years in this simulation, to love him?

When you came here, you knew it was with a purpose…

“...Prosciutto?” For some reason, you expect him to be lying right next to you in bed. But the spot remains cold and empty, crumpled blankets that had been once pressed clean and neat push aside in your restless sleep.

There was something you had to do.

“I… want to go see him.” Your heart beat fast at the thought of seeing him. Though still tired, you set about your morning as you usually would. The house felt more quiet than it usually did, but you paid it no mind. Just your still sleep riddled brain teasing you with the idea of maybe one day sharing a home with Prosciutto…

There was someone you were here to see.

As you leave your house, you’re excited to see him walking up your steps. “Prosciutto, hello!” Your voice is bright and cheery. He greets you with a smooth smile. “I wanted to see you.” You admit the words to him freely, happily.

He was so polished and perfect.

You felt like you didn’t compare, but it brought a strange sense of comfort over you regardless. He felt familiar.

He made you happy.

“I wanted to see you too.” His words have color rising to your cheeks. You don’t remember a time you felt so embarrassed. But that was okay… because Prosciutto was with you. “I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me this morning?” He holds his hand out to you.

Your hand twitched. It felt wrong that it was empty.

You eagerly take his offered hand.

“I’d like that.” You allow him to lead you away from your house, towards the street that lead out of the cul de sac. You feel the urge to look behind you, so you do for a moment.

A lone dog lays in the shade of a tree, tied to a post in the park. He looks so sad. But Prosciutto’s voice draws you back in.

“I’m happy you came to Tranquility Lane, _____. You brought new life to this place.” His words have a small smile crawl upon your lips.

“You think so?” You can’t help the girlish giggle that leaves you. “Honestly, I am too. I feel like I belong here.”

#yandere #proscuitto x reader #yandere proscuitto #ohhh I have feelings about this one #excited to release it to discord sfklsjdfkl

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