Not Me

not me

thinking of

writing my own series

—imagine???

;)

ok so this is my first time trying so I genuinely hope this works!!

But I really, most sincerely wish that I get rich and famous (for a good reason ofc!!) so that I can give back to my hard-working family and provide for them, and I also want to donate to charities and help people so bad! no one is left needy on my watch I say ❤️❤️

reblog and make a wish! this was removed from tumbrl due to “violating one or more of Tumblr’s Community Guidelines”, but since my wish came true the first time, I’m putting it back. :)

Intoxicating Fear (XXV)

Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing (part II)

Read part one // masterpost // continued from here

I’m not happy with the last part, but I am too tired to edit it so voila,

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Where are we going?” Ambrose grumbled, the cling of glass on stone crunching under their shoes as they walked, Nathan a step in front of Ambrose as it was before. Always leading Ambrose, Ambrose always following. It made him feel a little sick, like nothing had changed between them, like no time had passed in the last five years since Ambrose established himself for himself. How he didn’t answer to anyone anymore.

And yet here he was, following, again.

Because Kit’s life is in danger, the rational voice told him. You’re not following because you want to.

But one look at the swirling silver eyes and Ambrose was magnetised, trapped under Nathan’s spell again. He knew it, Nate knew it. He wasn’t a hero trying to save Kit, he was just Oskar, Nathan’s shadow. Nathan turned his head to smile at Ambrose, exposing his boyish dimples despite being older than Ambrose.

“You’ll see, won’t you? It’s about the journey, Oskar, not the destination.”

Ambrose swallowed, clenching his jaw and forcing himself to stare ahead as Nathan led them through the tight building packed streets that loomed like giants on either side of Fagan’s lot. most of them were abandoned, or closed for business indefinitely. Some sad, stale “Everything must go” signs lingered in some of the windows that weren’t smashed or bordered up.

It tugged a bit at Ambrose’s cold, dead heart. Fagan’s lot was where Max and Ambrose had shopped because it was cheap, extremely cheap. He remembered Lucy’s grocers, and how Max used to drool as he walked by the fresh fruit and vegetables, and long for them when he was unwrapping microwave pizza for the fifth day in a row because their oven was broken and they couldn’t afford to fix it.

“I want watermelon, Oskar,” he whined.

Ambrose smiled at him, hiding the bill from their landlord for noise complaints, something Ambrose would deal with later. “Payday is in four days. We’re almost there,” he said.

That Friday, when Max got his paycheque, Ambrose came home after his commute to see Max standing proudly in the kitchen. He grabbed the edge of a tea towel and yanked it away with a flourish like a magician, revealing the biggest watermelon Ambrose had ever seen. Max grinned widely, flashing his teeth like a beaming toddler.

“I got the big one.”

“I can see that.” Ambrose said with a nod. Max brandished a serrated knife, licking his lips as he leaned close and took a giant sniff of the watermelon.

“Uggghh, smell that Oskar? That’s the smell of money right there.” Ambrose laughed as Max started to cut into it. The sweet, sticky smell pungent in their small apartment, but Max looked so stupidly happy that Ambrose couldn’t help grin himself. “How much do you want?”

“A slice?”

“You can’t have just a slice,” Max bemoaned, the knife sliding through the watermelon wetly. Ambrose walked around the counter and placed his briefcase on the table, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his top two buttons.

“Okay, two slices,” he said, watching as the pink flesh of the fruit fell like sheer fillet mignon, the red juice running like blood over Max’s fingers. Max cut two large circles and cut them in half, putting two on Ambrose’s plate and two on his own. “Bon appétit.”

Max moaned into the first bite, slapping his free hand on the table in passion. “Augh! That’s so good! So worth the wait. Fuck me!”

Max sniffed, and Ambrose met his eyes over the watermelon. “Are you crying?”

“No,” Max said too quickly, wiping his eye with the back of his hand. “Some juice just got in my eye.”

Now, as they walked past Lucy’s grocers, the bright yellows and reds of the plastic baskets of fruit were smashed out front, a metal shutter down with graffiti adorning it instead of fresh fruit. Ambrose ignored it as he walked by, lest Nathan notice — because he always noticed — what it meant to him.

“How do you know, Jude?” Ambrose tried instead.

Nathan raised his brows as if he was about to say something dirty, or let out a startled laugh of disbelief. Ambrose swallowed.

“Why? Jealous, Osk?”

“Don’t call me that.”

Nathan plumped out his bottom lip, the rosey pink getting lighter the more he protruded it into a pout. “You can still call me Nate, if you want.”

“I don’t want to call you anything,” Ambrose ground out through clenched teeth. “I don’t want to be this close to you.”

The words had only left Ambrose’s lips before Nathan’s hands were on him slamming him into the opposite wall of the narrow street, deft hand wrapped around the base of his throat. Nathan smiled down at Ambrose who didn’t have to fight to keep the blush off his face, remaining the cool, pale statue that Kit so often likened him too in his head.

“How about this close?” Nathan said, his voice the shape of an angel’s wings; soft, light, majestic, but behind it held great power to exact divine retribution on devils, demons and humans who strayed too close.

“This makes it worse,” Ambrose said, happy that his voice remained even, though his index finger twitched at his sides. Mercury swirling eyes regarded him with a twisted mischief, the corners tugging up into smiles themselves.

Nathan looked at Ambrose the same way a lion would a gazelle, but Ambrose wasn’t the same man he was when him and Nathan were together. He wasn’t poor little Oskar anymore, who shared secrets with Nathan in the early hours of the morning, secrets they swore to take the grave, secrets like Ambrose’s parents that Nathan revealed to Max just to fuck with him.

Nathan’s fingers trailed up, pinching Ambrose’s chin between his thumb and index finger and tilting his head a little higher so he could feel Nathan’s warm breath on his lips, the smell of cigarette smoke and ash fanning his face.

“And how about now?” He asked his voice a tempting whisper, half-lidded silver eyes positively feasting at Ambrose’s stoic expression, looking for the tell, the give. Ambrose had buried them years ago. “Come on, Osk, you can’t tell me you don’t feel this. You and me, we’re meant to be together. You know it, I know it. We can be like we were.”

Nathan tilted his own head so their noses wouldn’t touch as he leaned in closer until his lips brushed Ambrose’s when he spoke. “Don’t you miss it? Don’t you miss us? Don’t you miss me?”

Ambrose’s heart raced in his chest. When Nathan looked at him like that, Ambrose feared that he could read his mind instead of the other way around. Not that Ambrose could ever read Nathan’s stupid mind with his stupid gift and his enchanting eyes. But there was an eerie stillness to it, an intensity that Ambrose couldn’t deny and never felt with someone else. Despite his many attempts of dating after Nate, there was no comparison to the silver eyed devil and that terrified him.

He could do it, he realised, his pulse throbbing in his neck against his throat. He could lean up and kiss Nathan and they could go back to how they were. Nathan was waiting, waiting for Ambrose to make the move, to accept him again. To submit and return to being Nathan’s favourite thing. Ambrose had no doubt Nathan loved him, in his own twisted way, but it wasn’t about Nathan and his love. It was about Ambrose, and he hated the person he was when he was with Nathan.

The shell he became.

Ambrose leaned on his toes, hand sliding up Nathan’s side to his neck. Cigarette breath hitched against Ambrose’s face and he smirked. He slammed his palm up against Nathan’s chin and shoved him back with an easy strength.

Nathan stumbled back, silver eyes flashing with malice and pain as his hand went to cup his lip.

“Ow! You made me bite my tongue,” he whined.

Ambrose smiled, sliding a hand into his jacket pocket when he saw a flash of red stain Nathan’s white teeth.

He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Maybe you shouldn’t invade people’s personal space, then,” Ambrose said coolly, black eyes on Nathan’s.

Nathan huffed out a breath through his nose, straightening, his brows lowering over his eyes casting shadows on his quicksilver gaze, darkening them to the colour of gunmetal. Dangerous, powerful, scathing.

He let out a soft hmph of disapproval. “Maybe you have changed, Osk.”

“Maybe,” Ambrose said without missing a beat. Then they were walking again, Nathan still leading, though now with a wired tension in his shoulders, something stiff that wound and unwound and Ambrose wanted so desperately to peak inside his brain and see what he was feeling. To know what to expect.

Then they turned down a side street off the main path of Fagan’s lot and Ambrose stopped walking despite himself. Nathan stopped too, a few steps ahead of him and glanced back over his shoulder, a smirk in his eyes and a knowing smile on his lips.

“Something wrong?”

Ambrose remembered Max telling him that Benny was having trouble yesterday, that he should check on him before he leaves. Benny who lived in the apartment across from them in Old Town. A fast friend because of his jolly, wholesome exuberance, always making them smile and bringing over beers on Summer nights for them to go to the roof and hang out.

Benny’s tailors was on the street.

Ambrose’s eyes narrowed. “Where are we going?”

“To see an old friend,” Nathan replied.

“Why?” Ambrose asked, his hands tightening into fists in his pockets.

Nathan let out a breath of a laugh, turning his body towards Ambrose and walked towards him, into his personal space again which forced Ambrose to tilt his head up a little to keep his heavy gaze.

Nathan placed a warm hand on Ambrose’s cheek. On reflex Ambrose’s hand twitched up to smack him away, but Nathan’s words stopped him. “Ah, ah, ah, Oskar. Behave. I still have your hero friend locked away safely with Jude, so you’re going to do as I say.”

“And if I don’t?” Ambrose snapped.

Nathan’s eyes tracked Ambrose’s, observing his steeled expression and annoyance. Nathan ran a thumb over Ambrose’s bottom lip, chilling his blood as he stiffened despite himself.

“I have to check in every ten minutes with Jude or he gets to do whatever he likes to the heroes,” Nathan said.

Ambrose frowned. Heroes? As in more than Kit? Does he know who Kit is?

“See, that’s the Oskar I want. The sweet, pliant thing, the one whose heart raced when I got this close.”

“When did you last check in?” Ambrose demanded.

Nathan hmphed again, silver eyes swirling with glee. “At Max’s, while I waited for you two to kiss and make up.”

“Oh bullshit, you wanted us to fight.”

Nathan’s lips broke into a grin, a flash of teeth. “Okay, yeah. Maybe I did, but the fact remains. That was maybe, what, two-three minutes ago? So do you want to waste time being a brat, or, are you going to come with me and do everything I say to save your friend?”

Ambrose felt a tug in his chest. He wasn’t affected by Nathan anymore. He wasn’t. The only reason he was going through this fucking charade is because of Kit, who a few months ago, meant nothing to him. Why was he doing this? Why was he risking his neck for this kid? His sanity?

Ambrose’s shoulders dropped. Nathan stepped away, eyes gleaming as he turned and walked to the tailors at the end of the street. The shop’s trim was wooden, painted a royal blue, striking from far away, something to catch your eye and it did. Red lettering protruded from the black crown sign above the door, that read: Bespoke Elegance.

Nathan leaned against the wooden detail next to the door, grinning at Ambrose, he inclined his head for Ambrose to go first. Ambrose glared at him but wordlessly obeyed.

For Kit, he told himself. For Max. This would be fine. Everything would be fine.

The bells had only tingled open when a shot rang out and Ambrose’s eyes went wide as a nub of metal stopped so close to his left eye that it watered from the pressure. Behind the bullet at the counter stood Lyra; as lethal as she was pretty. The shell fell to the ground with a clatter and she lowered the pistols, relief washing over her taut features.

“Oskar,” Lyra said, the lilt of her voice musical.

“Well I’ll be fucked,” Lyra said, shifting her weight on her legs but not dropping either pistol from her hands, keeping them trained on Ambrose’s body. “Ghosts still walk the Earth.”

“Maybe I’m an angel, come to rescue you.”

“Or a demon in disguise as one,” Lyra replied easily, tilting her head to the side, exposing her long, lean neck that led into her beautiful collar bones and shoulders.

Lyra Sinclair was the only woman Ambrose would ever consider marrying. She knew she was too good for him, and would probably shoot him if he ever tried to ask. Her hair was in a different style every time he saw her, which regrettably was too little. She was as close to a Goddess that Ambrose had ever come, with olive skin and warm features. Though she had a foul mouth, cursing like a sailor, and still hadn’t lost her posh English accent despite herself.

“What are you doing here, Oskar?” She asked, raising a perfect brow. As if on cue the door behind Ambrose opened, and Lyra trained one pistol one the crack in the door. Her eyes narrowed like cat’s, dangerous, lethal. “Who are you with?”

Ambrose raised his hands, trying to calm her. “Lyra, I can explain.”

“No need, Osk, darling, just tell her to drop the guns.”

Ambrose stiffened, silently hoping that Lyra would just shoot Nathan through the doors, but she trained both pistols back to Ambrose, and now his hands went up in surrender, trying to show her he meant no harm.

“If you open your mouth, Oskar I swear to fuck I will kill you where you stand.”

“Lyra, please,” Ambrose said, risking a step forward. “I don’t want to compel you.”

“Why’re you with him?!” She demanded. “How do you even know each other? Do you know what he is?!”

The worry pulled her features across her face, stretching them wide, exposing the whites of her eyes and wrinkle lines on her forehead.

“Tick, tock, Osk. I’m not texting Jude until I’m inside.”

Ambrose stared pleadingly at Lyra, but her hazel eyes didn’t leave his, her chest rising and falling with a gasp. “You know Jude?” She demanded incredulously, her grip tightening on the weapons. “Are you working with them?”

“No!” Ambrose cried, stepping forward again. “Lyra, please, he has my friend and he’s going to let Jude do whatever the fuck he wants with him if he doesn’t text him in the next five minutes.”

Desperate black eyes met fiery hazel across the shop floor. “Please,” Ambrose said, his voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t get her answer. A toilet flushed somewhere in the back, the sound of rushing water and a door was thrown open behind the red velvet curtain that was pushed outside, metal hooks squeaking and then a wide grin. Ambrose swallowed thickly.

A hulk of a man finely dressed in a chequered navy suit and burgundy silk shirt stepped out from behind the curtain, bending to get through the door before standing to his full height of a giant, taller than Ambrose, hell, taller than Nathan who was 6’4.

The fine suit did its best to hide the muscled torso beneath, but when Benny spread his arms, his stubble lined jaw spread open into a grin.

“Well, well, well, Oskar Fucking Ambrose. You giant cunt. Where’ve you been?”

“C’mere,” Benny gruffed, his footsteps like buckshots in the store. Benny was double the width of Ambrose, and a good head taller which made Ambrose mortally terrified of the man, especially because Benny was simultaneously the biggest, and sweetest, man he had ever met. And a hugger.

Ambrose groaned when he felt his bones crack under Benny’s tight hug, the giant man lifting Ambrose from his feet as if he were a child.

“God. It has been too long, old friend.” Benny said with a hearty laugh and a meaty fisted thump to Ambrose’s back. “We love to see you, brother.”

Benny said, his Ukranian accent choking in the middle of brother, making it sound like broo-der. Benny’s real name was Irakliy, but he told Ambrose when he arrived in the country that your stupid people couldn’t pronounce it, eh? They heard ‘ee’ sound and call me Freddie, I mishear and call me Benny. Name stick in brain like a Kesha song.

“Not today you don’t,” Lyra ground out, a muscle in her jaw ticking.

Benny frowned at her then at Ambrose. Ambrose feared the result of the exchange he was about to have, but he couldn’t not say anything.

Then Nathan chimed in: “three minutes, Oskar.”

Benny’s expression dropped. Ambrose could feel the adrenaline spike in his body as Benny glanced at the door, then at Ambrose, then back at the door. When he looked back at Ambrose again, blue eyes darkened and despite Ambrose’s protests Benny grabbed him by the throat and pile-drove him backwards into one of the viewing mirrors for fittings, the glass cracking against Ambrose’s back.

The wind was stolen from him with a silent gasp, both his hands finding Benny’s and trying to pry his fingers off his throat unsuccessfully. Benny growled in the back of his throat, leaning down so he could get in Ambrose’s slowly blueing face.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t snap your neck like a twig.”

Benny, he tried in his mind, his brain screaming as pounding headache formed from the pressure in his skull, his brain screaming for oxygen, please. Let me exp—

Ambrose didn’t think, he was panicking as his vision darkened at the edges and without meaning to boomed out a command:

Benny, LET GO!

Benny’s fingers sprung open like a coiled spring being released and Ambrose hit the ground, his cheek hitting off the edge of the fitting platform as Benny cried out.

Ambrose gasped, pushing himself up instinctively and reached to Lyra’s mind, tying the wires in her brain together and unplugging her powers before he fell again.

“Two minutes, Oskar!” Nathan sang and Ambrose groaned. He muttered, don’t move, aloud and waited until both Benny and Lyra went stiff before calling Nathan in.

Nathan stepped through the door, poking his head around first and glancing at Lyra before his face broke out into a smile and he stepped inside fully.

“Morning,” he drawled with a happy sigh as Ambrose managed to prop himself up against the wall. He reached behind his head at the bump that was forming and his fingers came away sticky and wet. Fuck. He blinked, the world dizzy in front of him.

FUCK! He didn’t want to have to do that. Fucking Nathan knew exactly what he was doing making himself known before Ambrose had a chance to explain. Ambrose glared at his stupid, gorgeous ex who pulled his phone from his jeans pocket and held it up, waving it at Ambrose’s face.

“Just in time, babe.” Then he typed away on it, positively eating up the attention in the room. Ambrose tipped his head back, chin to the ceiling up at Benny. His eyes zeroed in on the red and purple bruises on Benny’s swollen hand, and realised sickly that his compulsion did that.

“Benny… your hand…”

“Save it, Amber-ose.” Benny spat. The dip between Benny’s thumb and middle finger had split from the force of Ambrose’s compulsion, steadily dripping blood onto the varnished wooden floor.

“I’m not with him,” Ambrose protested, pushing himself up a little and trying to get to his feet, but the world spun and he fell again, sliding down until his arse hit the ground. “He has… he’s—”

“He said this arsehole has his friend captive,” Lyra said, hazel eyes cutting from Nathan’s face to Ambrose’s. Angry, but believing. She believed him, though he doubted he would be spared a bullet if he let her move. “Said that creep Jude is watching him and if he doesn’t do what he says, he’ll let Jude kill him.”

Benny’s blue eyes turned down, drooping at the sides. “I’m sorry, brother,” Benny said. “You are in as much as the rest of us.”

“Now that we’re all caught up to speed,” Nathan said, clapping his hands together. The sound was like a bullet through Ambrose’s brain. “How about we get down to business?”

“What is your business?” Ambrose demanded, practically spitting his words. All he could think about was Max telling him that Benny was in some trouble, that Max was worried about him. Is Nathan the problem?

Christ, he couldn’t think straight, his brain blurry. Fucking Jude and this hangover and Max’s punches, now Benny’s blows, he was shocked he wasn’t unconscious yet, probably concussed. Maybe, definitely concussed.

Benny frowned, eyes on Ambrose, still frozen. “You don’t know?”

Ambrose frowned, the motion too difficult to convey so he flattened his face, holding his head and stifling a moan. If Ambrose thought of it, he could dip into Benny’s mind and read the message he was storing, roaring, trying to let Ambrose hear, but Ambrose was too focused on staying awake.

“Benny,” Nathan said, his tone dipping low in warning. “Naughty, naughty. Don’t you remember what I can do to you?”

Ambrose shut his eyes tight, planting his hand on the ground and pushing himself up. He had to grip the podium for the fittings and push himself all the way, stumbling back into the mirror when he got to his feet.

Black eyes unfocused, glazed over and swimming with colour, but he tried to focus on Nathan.

“What’re you saying, Nathan? Why are we here?”

Nathan smiled again Ambrose. Its effect was like an avalanche of cold, mountains of snow threatening to bury Ambrose under the weight of it, sending tremors of terror down his spine.

His mind screaming at him to notice something he was missing. To see what was right in front of him. His blood rushed in his ears as he took a step forward, silently releasing Benny in his mind: you can move freely. The effect was too much for Ambrose to bear, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as if someone had just switched off his power.

Benny stood taller, and he turned to Ambrose, catching him before his head smacked off the wood, but it didn’t matter. The darkness swallowed Ambrose, Nathan’s voice speaking in the background as he submitted to unconsciousness.

*~*~*~*~*

Ambrose woke in a car, sprawled out in the backseat. He groaned as the light assaulted his senses. Fuck. His head was pounding, and he let out a soft groan.

“Oh, you’re awake sleepyhead?” Ambrose’s eyes shot open, his heart seizing in his chest. Nathan. He forgot. Why were they in a car? What happened to Benny? “You should try and get back to sleep, Osk. We’ll be there soon.”

“Where?” Ambrose ground out, the words rattling his skull and agitating his head.

Nathan’s swirling eyes met Ambrose’s in the rearview. “To Kit. That’s where you wanted to go, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“So that’s where we’re heading.”

“What did you do to Benny?”

Nathan chuckled. It was as if he had shot a bolt of metal through Ambrose’s spinal cord, freezing him as the metal scraped off bone. “You didn’t hear?”

“I was kind of unconscious for it,” Ambrose said tightly. Nathan’s eyes were back on the road, but it didn’t make him feel any less observed. Any less seen. The same nagging thing pulled at his mind like a child trying to get their parents attention.

Nathan chuckled again, this time lighter. “I suppose you were. But he was thinking very loud, Oskar. I’m surprised you didn’t hear.”

“Hear what?” Ambrose asked, pushing himself to sit up in the backseat, the world tilting around him. He felt like he was going to throw up. Nathan met his gaze in the rearview again and only then did Nathan’s words register in his mind. Ambrose must have froze or stiffened or showed his emotion on his face. “What do you mean his thoughts were loud?”

Nathan’s laugh was musical, pulling at Ambrose’s heart strings. “Come on Osk, you’re smarter than this.”

“Well I may have a concussion or two so cut me some slack,” Ambrose snapped. His breathing hitched, becoming erratic suddenly as his brain burst through the bars of the cell in his skull.

Nathan remained stubbornly silent, forcing Ambrose’s memory to try and colour in the gaps. Come on, Oskar, follow the context clues. He was— in Max’s bar he was fixing up Jude’s tab from the night before, the night with Jude, and Max said Jude knew Supervillain, and worked with him. Partners. Nathan’s grin at Ambrose’s mention of Jude, “why? Jealous, Osk?”

Jealous.

Was he jealous?

No. That’s not the important part. Come on!

Not just Kit, the other heroes. Kit was patrolling last night, looking for Supervillain and now Nathan and Jude had him, and…

“Ah,” Nathan said, revelling in Ambrose’s cold realisation. “There you go, Oskar. You got there eventually.”

“You…” Ambrose said, his voice losing breath and the words tapering off. “You… you can’t be Supervillain. You… you don’t even have powers!”

Nathan smirked in reply but didn’t answer. It irked something inside Ambrose, making him lean forward. “Right?! You don’t have powers, except resistance to—”

Ambrose grabbed his pulsing temple, cutting himself off. Nathan only has defensive abilities. He wasn’t powered, he couldn’t be, he had never— Ambrose had never seen. Natural immunity. That’s it. Not, not— how could he hear Benny’s thoughts? Mentor’s Telekinesis? He couldn’t—

“Explain,” Ambrose said, his voice a growl.

Nathan hummed, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “What do you want me to explain?”

“How can you— people can’t have more than one power.”

“I don’t,” Nathan said with a shrug.

“Then what?! How! How can you use Mentor’s— you- you’re fucking lying to me!”

Nathan’s gaze doused the simmering rage in Ambrose. “Am I?”

And Ambrose knew he wasn’t.

He knew it, but he didn’t want to know it.

“You… you— you can’t be Supervillain,” Ambrose whispered. Hoping that if he repeated it enough it would make it true. He felt the overwhelming urge to cry and scream and rage and claw Nathan’s eyes out, but he just shook in the backseat, every part of his body trembling as if he was just dunked into an ice bath.

“And yet, I am, sweetheart. God, you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to tell you, Oskar. But I knew, I knew I had to wait and be patient, and now that we’re together again I will explain everything when we get home.”

“Why did you take Kit?”

“To get to you, dummy,” Nathan replied with a lopsided smile. A smile full of love and Ambrose wanted to get sick. “And I got you, didn’t I? Go back to sleep, love. I’ll wake you when we get home.”

Ambrose didn’t want to sleep. He didn’t want to do anything, while simultaneously wanting to open the backdoor and jump out, or pull the steering wheel and throw up. He wanted to fight, but sleep was already pulling heavy down on his eyelids, and he curled back up beside the door, and closed his eyes.

*~*~*~*~*

The door squeaked open, light crawling along the stairs with a jolt and vanished just as quick as someone started skipping down the stairs. “Oh, Kit~”

Kit straightened as much as he could in the cuffs, stealing his expression to a stoic indifference.

Jude appeared at the bottom of the stairs, his green eyes gleaming with malice and a twisted delight. “I had a little deal with Supervillain. He said, if he didn’t text me every ten minutes then I was allowed to have fun with you! It’s been fifteen minutes, Kit. You know what that means?”

Tides and Sawyer woke at the sound, Sawyer freezing, his arms wound tightly around Tides who was trembling in his hold.

Jude’s eyes lazily flickered to the pair. “Aw, aren’t you two just sweethearts? Tell you what, if you be good I won’t even lock you up again!”

“You said you’re going to hurt Kit,” Sawyer told him. “Why would we just sit tight?”

Jude walked over to him and crouched down in front of the pair, tilting his head to the side as he regarded Sawyer. “I don’t know if they lied to you about how bad your face was, or you just don’t care, but if you don’t want me to force you to return the favour to your girlfriend there, I’d suggest you shut the fuck up and be a good little hostage, hmm?”

“You—”

“Sawyer,” Kit said, his voice hollow, yet still managing to cut through Sawyer’s. “Don’t. Just do what he says. I’ll be… I’ll be fine.”

“Kit—”

“You heard the boy, he’ll be fine!” Jude said with a wave, bouncing to his feet and walking around Kit to uncuff him from the wall. It was going to be nice, Kit realised, not having his hands glued above his head for a while. They fell like they were made of cement once Jude opened the cuffs and Kit groaned as he felt pins and needles thrum beneath the skin.

Pins and needles and something else.

Something… electric. Kit hid it, hoping that Jude couldn’t read minds like Ambrose could but when Jude started to pull Kit to his feet, Kit was almost certain that he couldn’t. Which meant that Kit had the leverage, but he would have to use it quickly if he wanted to keep it.

As Jude dragged Kit over to the chair, Kit felt the well of electricity surge within him, grabbing onto Jude’s arm as if he was about to fall. Jude was none the wiser, the stupid grin still on his face. Kit took a deep breath, and let the valve to his powers open from his brain to the tips of his toes and around his body.

Supervillain had used Omen’s commands to restrict their powers.

Too bad that didn’t work on Kit anymore.

Kit dug his fingers into Jude’s shoulders with one hand, the other at his side. He clicked his fingers and red lightning sparked like a glove from his free hand to the one holding Jude in the blink of an eye. Jude was too slow to react, his eyes blown wide before he was thrown across the room along with Kit from the sheer force of the red lightning.

Jude’s spine hit the wall and he collapsed, twitching on the ground from the impact as the lightning scorched his body.

Oh… that felt good, the voice in Kit’s head said as he straightened, suddenly rejuvenated after releasing the pent up energy on someone without worrying if they’d live or die. It was like stretching for the first tike after being trapped in a tight, constricted pose for a while, his body nourishing itself as the lightning ran up and down his body, lashing out every once in a while.

Kit ran a hand through his hair, exhilarated, a wide smile cutting into his cheeks as he walked towards Jude, ready to finish the job checking to see if he was still alive.

“Kit?” Kit stopped, glancing over his shoulder to see Tides and Sawyer gawking at him with wide eyes. Sawyer’s arm tight around Tides. Kit tilted his head, hungry eyes stalking the tenderness.

Sawyer kept his eyes on Kit’s, not flinching away. “Leave him, we need to get out of here, okay?”

Kit frowned. “But—” he began, his voice crackling like a walkie-talkie.

“I need your help,” Sawyer said, cutting Kit off again. Kit glanced back at Jude’s body, glaring at the shallow rise and fall of his back. “Kit.”

Kit shook his head and sighed, the electricity slowly leaving his body. “Fine. Let’s go.”

*~*~*~*~*

Orphanage roll-call (lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie e @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @blood-enthusiast @tippytappytyping @shinokoro @bedtimescenarios @whatwhump @acer-whumpstuff @fa1rie @jesterrinobutter @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @@dutifullykrispyland @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @ehobep

Intoxicating Fear (XXVI)

A Fool’s Bargain

Read part one // masterpost // Continued from here

This part is dedicated to @neongalaxiie who always reminds me to link the posts, so you don’t have to go looking XD

*~*~*~*~*

Kit grabbed the keys from Jude’s body as Tides helped Sawyer to his feet. Kit gave her the keys and she gasped, retracting her hand quickly.

“Shit, ow!” She said, shaking her hand and Kit frowned, glancing down at the keys in his hand. Small sparks still flying from his hand and arm. Sparks he couldn’t feel.

Sawyer’s dark eyes found Kit’s and said: “you open the door, Tides and I can get up the stairs together.”

“But—” Kit protested, and fell back a step, his temple throbbing with a gasping pulse. So much power, so much energy, why stop now? Release, release, release, release, release.

Tides widened her eyes. “Kit?”

He shook his head, every component of his body thrumming with power that was begging like a child, keening like a dog, singing like a siren for Kit to give into the temptation. Stop trying so hard to fight it. Sawyer’s so weak, give him a jolt, a little hit. A pick me up. Come on—

“M’fine,” Kit mumbled, walking towards the stairs so he could ignore the looks of concern painted plainly across Tides and Sawyer’s faces. His heart was in his throat, blocking his oxygen and pulsing the thrumming blood around his body from there. What the fuck was happening to him?

He was happy to be standing, though his butt was numb from the constant sitting as he climbed the stairs and went through the keys one by one, sliding them into the lock and turning until one actually fit and opened the heavy door.

Kit frowned as the door opened.

They were in a house. Somebody’s home. Jude’s? Supervillain’s? He held the door open, eyes scanning the dark wooden floors and picture frames hanging on the walls for clues as to where the fuck they were. Tides helped Sawyer up the stairs, standing behind him so he wouldn’t fall and there to catch him if he did.

Kit frowned at the mirror directly across from the door, and glanced back at Sawyer. He was only halfway up. Kit let the door go and grabbed the mirror off the wall, glancing quickly around for a place to hide it. A small table with sticky notes and pens was on the other side of the door, blocked, so Kit stuck the mirror upside down under it and went back to the door, grabbing the handle and pulling it open again.

Sawyer grinned at him as he got to the top. “I thought you were abandoning us, Mallory.”

“Not until we’re free of here, and then maybe you two can get a room,” he said, closing the door after Tides had cleared the stairs. Tides laughed, shaking her head at Kit. “We need to move a little faster though, who knows when Supervillain will be back.”

Sawyer and Tides nodded. Tides went to support Sawyer again but he put a gentle hand on her wrist and told her he was fine. Kit walked ahead of them, giving them a little privacy as he peeked down a hallway. It was an old house, he realised, something passed down the family for generations. The hallway they were in seemed to be at one end of the house, tucked away into a little nook.

They was nobody else in the house, nobody Kit could feel anyways, but he didn’t exactly trust his abilities at the moment so he sent out a small pulse through the house under his feet.

Nothing. He straightened. They were on their own.

“There’s nobody else here,” Kit said, standing in the hall. “I can’t feel any other pulses except Jude’s in the basement. I think we’re good.”

“So we can actually get out of here,” Tides said with a wide smile. Kit could see the hope blossom in her face like relief washing over her. Kit nodded.

“I’ll find the door,” Kit said, his blood felt like fizz in his veins and he just wanted to go. To move, he couldn’t stand still.

“No,” Sawyer said with a breath. “We’ll stay together.”

Kit clenched his jaw. If he just zapped Sawyer unconscious then he could carry him the rest of the way and not have to wait for his—

Kit slapped a hand over his temple, groaning. Sawyer’s eyes hardened. “Kit? Why are you able to use your powers? And why aren’t they blue?”

Kit opened his eyes, which he didn’t remember closing, but as soon as he did he regretted it. A raging headache thumped behind his eyelids with every pulse of his heart. No, not his heart. That other thing inside him, the well of magic. It felt like a rabid dog, eating him from the inside out, and wilder too. Unpredictable.

“Kit!”

Sawyer’s words felt like bullets, bouncing off his inner ear canals and pin-balling around his skull.

“Kit!” A hand on his arm and Kit opened his eyes again, the world swaying a little in front of him. Kit stepped back, the hand fell away and he shook his head, leaning a hand against the wall for support.

Tides looked between the two boys, one was practically a walking safety hazard and the other winced with every word he spoke, his wounds congealed with dark, jelly like crimson glueing in the cracks.

“Okay,” she said. “New plan. The two of you will go sit down, rest on the stairs,” she told them, pointing two feet down the hall. “I’ll find a phone and we can call Superhero.”

Kit groaned. “No… there… Supervillain destroyed the city. I don’t know if Superhero’s alive, or any of the heroes for that matter.”

“What?” Tides asked, breathless.

“What do you mean Supervillain destroyed the city Kit?” Sawyer demanded, grabbing a fistful of Kit’s shirt and slamming him back against the lip of the wall.

“I— when Supervillain lured me to the clock tower,” Kit said, his memory scratching like nails on a chalkboard but he continued. “You were unconscious,” he said to Sawyer, “so you wouldn’t remember. But I thought—”

“Thought what?” Sawyer demanded.

Kit raised his head, catching Tides’s eyes in his unnatural glowing red. Brows furrowed over his sockets casting them in shadows. “You were there, Tides.”

Tides frowned in reply. Sawyer looked at her now too. “I don’t—” Tides sputtered, scrambling to find words that wouldn’t come.

Sawyer let out a grunt, tightening his grip in Kit’s shirt. “That doesn’t matter right now. Tides, go find a phone.”

“We should get out of here!” Kit protested, glaring at Sawyer again.

“How? Call an uber? Oh wait, we need a phone to do that!” Sawyer snapped as Tides walked past the pair and went searching the house, their voices dimming the further she walked away.

“You didn’t answer my question, Mallory, why can you use your powers and Tides and I can’t?”

Kit ran a hand through his hair, sighing. He felt the static charge from his hand ignite his hair and set it standing on end. “It’s a long story,” Kit said. “One we don’t have time to tell. Just know that I can.”

“How the fuck am I supposed to trust you?” Sawyer demanded. “How do I know you’re not working with them?!”

The words were like a slap in the face. Kit felt his emotions stirring inside and he wrestled to keep them down. “Sawyer, I’d advise you let go of me if you don’t want to be fried in the next three seconds.”

Sawyer’s hard eyes searched Kit’s face, scoffed and stepped back, running a hand through his own hair and letting out a breath, turning away from Kit.

“Fuck. I need to sit down,” he mumbled, walking to the staircase and planting his arse on the third wooden step.

Kit stared as he gingerly touched a bad gash on his face and winced, shuddering slightly. They were all stressed and tired, Sawyer and Tides more so than Kit, but here Kit was, throwing a tantrum and letting his powers consume him.

“I’m not one of them,” he said quietly. Sawyer raised his head, but Kit didn’t meet his gaze. “And I’m sorry for… acting out. I’m antsy. I’m gonna have a look around. See if I can find out any information.”

Before Sawyer could reply, Kit turned away in the opposite direction that Tides went, back towards the cellar and around the small wall to the other hallway. The house was oval like a continuous loop so you could explore every room and reach every place without having to walk through a rigid set of rooms. It was also massive.

Out one of the lattice patterned windows he could see an expanse of a garden, no, not garden— gardens. A three tier design with mixes of stone and perfectly cut grass and hedges, flowers of every colour. Kit frowned. This wasn’t Ambrose level rich, this was something else entirely. Would you even call it rich or wealth?

Kit continued walking. There was a second staircase, more rigid with creaking floorboards as he walked up to the first floor and stepped out. The floor was carpeted in a rich burgundy between two strips of dark wood, so deeply brown it would have looked black if not for the beam of light shedding the gleam of brown from it.

Portraits hung on the walls.

Actual painted portraits of women and men in old timey dress, starting from around two hundred years ago if Kit had to guess. It was so strange. He felt like he was walking through a museum, the walls thick and dense, seemed to close in on him a little. Sparks zipped out at his feet, the fibres from the carpet charging static in him.

It was so annoying.

He sent out another pulse through the house, just to make sure. Nothing.

It unsettled a sixth sense within him. Shouldn’t Supervillain have thought of this? That leaving them with just Jude was a bad idea? Did he honestly think they wouldn’t escape? And why the fuck were they looking for a phone, they should be looking for keys to a car, or even better a car. Kit could make it run.

Maybe.

He hadn’t tested the bounds of his new red lightning before, maybe it could do other things that Kit never ever considered.

Right. Decision made, Kit nodded. He would do a quick search of the upstairs, see if anything stood out and if it didn’t then they got to leave sooner. Lingering would just lead to problems later on, and they were in no shape to fight.

Kit’s feet moved through the upstairs. Some of the walls had small balconies in them that overlooked the ground floor, and at one he saw Sawyer on the steps of the staircase. “Hey, Sawyer?”

Sawyer looked up to see Kit leaning over the railings and scoffed. “Jesus, what kind of fucking hogwarts castle is this place?”

“I was thinking more great gatsby,” Kit said. “Wait til i find a wardrobe and I’ll shower you with clothes.”

“Have you found any clues?”

Kit shook his head. “Nope. It’s like mausoleum. Quiet as the grave.”

“Clearly it’s bringing out the romantic in you,” Sawyer said with a smirk then winced, oil like blood leaking from a split in his lip. The motion pulled at Kit’s heartstrings. They needed to get Sawyer to a hospital, ASAP.

“I’ll be down in a minute.”

Kit went straight, knowing the hall would loop around to the stairs eventually and just when he got to the mouth of the steps he saw it from across the way. His feet stopped suddenly, frozen on the step as his heart thumped in his chest once and then stopped altogether.

His mouth lost all moisture, his tongue scraping like sandpaper out over his chapped lips. His legs were moving as his mind stuttered along, trying to make itself comprehend what he was seeing.

On the wall were a collection of framed photographs and diplomas, degrees, awards. There’s a picture outside the Hero Academy, Mentor with his arm around a young Ambrose, beaming at the camera. Another on the same day, Mentor stood with his arm around a younger Ambrose who smiled genuinely at the camera, so unreserved and unfiltered. He had dimples in his cheeks that Kit had never seen on the real version of him, rather than this snapshot of him frozen in time.

The boy on the other side of Mentor, was a little taller than Ambrose, his hair a chestnut brown and his grin just as wide as Ambrose’s and Mentor’s, but his eyes… he had the same silver eyes as Mr Silver. Kit frowned. Were they brothers? Did Mr Silver have a brother that Kit didn’t know about? He must’ve, Kit… he would’ve known— or would he?

Mr Silver was more family friend than professional acquaintance. They had dinner together, surely it would’ve come up, but then again… he was a very private person. And Kit didn’t like sharing his past either so he couldn’t exactly berate him for it.

Kit stepped back, searching the photos. And sure enough, there was a younger Mr Silver shaking Mentor’s hand on the day they established the link between the Hero agency and the government.

He stepped back again, a picture of an older Ambrose with Mr Silver’s brother, a lazy arm wrapped around Ambrose’s shoulders and a cigarette dangling from his teeth. Ambrose looked more gaunt in that one, his eyes unsmiling, his expression stoic. So unlike younger Ambrose.

Did Ambrose go to the Academy? Was he in one of the older years? How had Kit missed him? Kit knew everyone older than him unless Ambrose was already gone by the time Kit joined.

A degree in Pure Mathematics with a minor in theoretical physics from the best college in the country attributed to Nathan T. Scarrow.

Kit’s eyes went back to the picture of Mentor and Ambrose, zooming in on the third, Nathan.

Why the fuck was Ambrose in the pictures of Supervillain’s house? Kit felt the anger surge in him before he could check in, before he could rein it in, it roared with a beast’s fury and Kit’s feet no longer touched the ground. Sparks erupted from every part of him, every inch of his body as he snarled, cracking the pictures, revelling in watching the glass shatter into pieces, falling from their hooks to the ground.

Mr Silver. Ambrose. Mentor.

They all knew Nathan, they had to be complicit in covering up the fact that he was Supervillain, right?! RIGHT?!

“Kit!”

But Kit didn’t answer. He could only hear the warning voice so very far away from him as he clenched his hands into fists and shattered the windows behind him, letting the breeze blow through the house and still it wasn’t enough.

He wanted to destroy everything.

Everybody.

How could he be so stupid?! To think Ambrose would actually— that Mentor had ever— that Mr Silver was a friend?!

“KIT!”

Terrified blue eyes found his and reached for him. Kit dropped his head to his chest, collapsing to his knees on the shattered glass crunching beneath his combats but he didn’t care as they pierced his skin. A sob wracked it’s way up his throat and caught in his throat, causing him to tip forward onto his elbows on the jagged glass staring at the smiling, happy photo of Mentor and Ambrose and wailing like a child.

“Kit,” Tides said, reaching an arm out to him despite the currents rushing through him but he knew, somehow he knew, he wouldn’t hurt her as she tried to comfort him.

“He lied…” Kit mewled, his back arching as fat tears splattered down onto the old photograph, staining it. “He lied about everything. Everything.”

Tides gathered Kit in her arms, gently picking him back away from the shards of glass and held him as he cried like a chief mourner to a funeral that wasn’t real.

None of it. None of his life, his happiness, his connections, his career— none of it was his, he could only ever contribute it to other people. Even now, when he should be focusing on escaping here he was, curled up like a child and sobbing into Tides shirt.

A hand plucked at a piece of glass on his legs and tugged lightly to remove it. Sawyer. He could see him from the corner of his eyes, tentatively working to remove the shards.

Kit didn’t care, he couldn’t feel it. The cold presence of betrayal felt like an overwhelming absence of all else, every good thing, even his friends who silently waited and tried to help him, hold him, be there for him. He couldn’t feel any of it except for the twisting knotting of guilt like a double barrel buckshot in his chest.

He shouldn’t have gone looking. He should’ve left well enough alone and escaped. They should have escaped.

Tides stiffened under Kit, and Sawyer paused in his movements. Kit blinked, staring at nothing, his mind and body numb.

It was Sawyer who spoke. “Kit?” He said, his voice a whisper. Kit’s heavy eyes turned to Sawyer. The weight of them too great to function. He was exhausted. He wanted to go home and forget everything.

No. He wanted to get Ambrose to make him forget everything. Everything about his life. He didn’t want to be a hero anymore. He didn’t want to do anything other than sleep, but his eyes met Sawyer’s and he sensed the urgency in them.

“Can you sense anyone outside?”

The question washed over Kit like alarm bells in a prison because yes, when he pushed his powers out along the ground he could sense a car that had just stopped and two heartbeats outside the front door, down and to the right of the staircase.

“Kit!”

Then a slap in the face. Kit blinked, eyes wide at Sawyer who had leaned over Kit’s legs and grabbed his face in his hands. It was like a spring uncoiled suddenly, releasing and launched itself forwards. Kit stared, eyes dazed at Sawyer.

“You’re bleeding,” he said. Kit reached a hand up to his face where Sawyer slapped him, dumbly fumbling for the blood. Before his fingers found it it dribbled over Kit’s lips and he blinked lazily, withdrawing his fingers as the warmth went over his lips to his chin.

“Oh,” was all Kit said, feeling so, so very far away from his body. Time seemed to be moving in slow motion as Sawyer helped Tides grab Kit and snuck into one of the bedrooms, closing the door. They put Kit against the bed, his bloody fingers staining the soft white carpet as Sawyer and Tides danced in a swirl of colours in front of him, pushing something heavy and wooden across the door’s threshold.

A barricade.

Kit blinked dumbly at them. He felt like he was going to throw up.

Kit?

Kit stiffened on the ground, hands fisting the carpet to keep himself steady.

Are you here?

Kit looked up at Tides and Sawyer who were huddled in the corner, speaking lowly. “We need to get out of here.”

“We know,” Sawyer said, his voice hard. “But we need to be smart about it.”

“No,” Kit said, shaking his head. Oh, fuck that was a bad idea. “No, you don’t understand,” he protested, shifting his weight to the side so he could push himself to his hands and knees. He grabbed the fabric of the duvet and pulled himself up on shaky feet. A pair of hands grabbed him and steadied him but Kit didn’t really notice it other than the fact that he didn’t face plant the floor.

“Kit!” Tides hissed. “Be quiet.”

Kit kept his eyes trained on the broken windows of the room. They were only up one flight. They could make it. Kit reached a hand up to the window frame and felt solid wall.

“Fuck,” he said with a slightly hysterical breath. “Can one of you find the window? I think I’m seeing double.”

“Kit,” Sawyer said closer to him. “You just spent an unprecedented amount of power blowing every window in this house to bits, you can’t take jumping out of one.”

“He’s right, Kit.”

Kit?

Kit swallowed, turning in Sawyer’s hands a lopsided grin on his face, eyelids drooping as if he was drunk or drugged, but he fixed them on Sawyer’s swirling face. His nose drifting up to his forehead like a unicorn.

“WHO THE FUCK BROKE MY WINDOWS?!” A voice boomed from below.

“Omen’s here,” Kit told him. “Omen’s here,” he said again. “He’s the reason my powers are fucked. He’s the reason I don’t have a family anymore. He’s the reason for everything wrong in my life and he’s downstairs, Sawyer. So you can stay here and be his new little toy to break, I’m fucking done with him. I’m done. Now show me the fucking window.”

He didn’t know what Sawyer looked like. He didn’t know if he was happy or sad or effected by anything Kit just said but it didn’t matter because gently, Sawyer took Kit’s hand and placed it on the windowsill.

“There. Just hold on, we’re going together. Tides?”

Tides was by their side in a second. “Hold him, I’ll go out first. Send him after so I can catch him, and then you come. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Kit couldn’t see but Sawyer was concerned by his confession. But they could deal with that later. Right now they had to get out of here.

Sawyer put a foot on the bed, grabbing the window frame and swung his leg over, and, “what?” He breathed.

Kit frowned, but it made him nauseous to do so. “What?”

“I can’t— I can’t get through.”

“Jus’ open the window,” Kit said, slurring his words.

“There is no window, Kit. There’s no glass. There’s like— a barrier. I can’t fucking get through.”

Tides moved then and pressed her hand to the window, where Sawyer’s leg was perched in mid air. “What?!”

Kit sensed someone by the door, but by the time he processed that he should tell Tides and Sawyer the doorway exploded in on them. Wooden lats and splinters shot towards the trio, a wayward board hitting Kit over the head and he fell like a log.

His vision zoomed in and out, like a camera trying to focus on a subject but failing to find the proper balance. His ears were ringing violently, muting all other sounds except his wheezing breaths and his heartbeat that thumped thunderous in his skull and slow.

Kit got his elbows under him and pushed himself on shaky hands up to try and see what was happening. Tides and Sawyer were fighting, struggling beside him, Tides further away than Sawyer was. When did that happen?

But all cognitive skills died when he met two black eyes fixed on him. They were drawn down in concern, and Kit must be so fucking out of it because for a second— he could’ve mistaken them for worry. But that’s ridiculous.

“Kit?” Ambrose asked, grabbing his face in his cold hands. Kit blinked slowly like a cat. “Kit!” Ambrose said again, his voice muted and too far away for him to hear, but he could see his red lips moving. He couldn’t hear anything as if a bomb had gone off right beside his head.

He wished he would pass out but he remained stubbornly conscious the entire time, his brain pulsing in his skull. Ambrose shifted Kit to sit with his back against the wall, Kit groaning the whole time. Ambrose was still speaking, clicking his fingers in Kit’s face.

Across the bed he saw flashes of yellow and blue that he knew were Tides and Sawyer, on their knees in front of Nathan.

Supervillain?

He wasn’t wearing a mask, but the only logical explanation was that Nathan was Supervillain, right?

He didn’t remember. It seemed important at the time but now the thought melted into a puddle to join the pooling sludge in Kit’s head.

“Stop,” Kit said, leaning forward until he was stopped by Ambrose’s hand, his own reaching for Tides and Sawyer. “Don’t touch ‘em.”

Nathan laughed, or looked like he was about to laugh, gesturing to Kit but speaking to Ambrose.

“Get off me,” Kit said, slamming his hands down on Ambrose’s as he pitched forward again. “Don’t— hurt me instead, please. Please. Let them go.”

“Kit,” Ambrose said beside him, pushing him back again. It felt like he was submerged in water and Ambrose was speaking at him from above the surface. Muted, but he could make out the words now. “You have a concussion. You need to sit still.”

“We couldn’t get out,” Kit whined, red eyes meeting black. “We tried to get away. We tried to get out. And then— and then—”

Kit narrowed his eyes into a glare at Nathan. “You piece of shit! How do you think your brother would feel about you being a fucking Villain?! Supervillain of all people.”

“Kit, shut up,” Ambrose said, pushing him back against the wall. “For once in your life, just be quiet.”

“And you!” Kit said, tears welling up behind his eyes as he turned his attention to Ambrose. “You knew the whole time!”

“I didn’t, Kit. I swear. Don’t you think I would’ve told you?” Kit shook his head, slapping at Ambrose’s arms, his face, his shoulders. He grabbed the edges of Ambrose’s jacket and pulled him in, his lips curling back into a snarl that Ambrose almost recoiled at.

“No, no, no. Cause you’re a fucking liar,” Kit spat.

“You’re a monster, and you… you—” Kit said, but he couldn’t get the words out without crying, and so the tears fell over his cheeks, his eyes widening slightly as he stared at Ambrose, the realisation crushing everything in his chest, making it feel like his ribs were caving in on his heart and lungs. “I trusted you.”

Ambrose didn’t answer. Black eyes wide and hurt, and worried and it made Kit sick.

“I trusted you,” he said again, his voice coming out as barely more than a whisper through short, fretful breaths. “And look at what you’ve done to me. Look at what you did… I can’t— I can’t see straight, my powers are fucked, I lost my only family and now you’re going to make me lose my friends too? The only two in the world? How could you?”

Silence.

Hurt turned to anger and Kit launched himself off the wall, pushing Ambrose down and landing on top of him haphazardly, pushing himself to his knees straddling Ambrose on either side.

“HOW COULD YOU?!” He raged, spittle flying over Ambrose’s face, his blue eyes turning a startling red again and Ambrose thought that was it. He’d die there and then.

But just before the sparks erupted from Kit, an invisible hand grabbed him and slammed him against the wall, slamming the wind from his body. White hot stars burst behind his eyes as a crack sounded. Kit cried out as he fell like a rag-doll, his head and ribs taking the blow and burning. Kit howled, curling in on himself.

Fuck. Fuck, that was a rib.

Every breath was agony, but Kit still tried to push himself up, screaming and crying and raging all the while. Ambrose was on his feet, shouting at Nathan about something, his hand on Nathan’s wrist pulling it down.

Kit’s shaking arms faltered and he fell again with a startled breath onto his forearms, his screams dying to spine shuddering sobs, staring at the soft carpet below him. Twin streams of tears and snot and spit falling open as Kit wailed, pain seizing his mind and body but still he remained awake.

“I told you to leave him to me,” Ambrose snarled, shoving Nathan’s wrist away. Nathan inclined his head, smirking down at Ambrose.

“I think what you mean to say is thank you for not letting that kid fry my body to char, Nathan” Nathan said. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Ambrose turned his head to Kit who was openly sobbing now, babbling incoherently to himself and slamming his fists down against the floor every once in a while. It pulled at Ambrose’s heartstrings in a way it shouldn’t have. Kit was nothing to him, nothing. He was just some fucking dime a dozen Hero who was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

A warm hand on his cheek turned Ambrose’s attention back to Nathan, something hungry in his gaze, a muscle clenched in his jaw. “Thank you, Nate, you’d say, and I’d say anytime love, but it costs a kiss.”

Ambrose grabbed at Nathan’s wrist to push him off but Nathan’s grip tightened on Ambrose’s face, cupping his jaw in one hand, the other stretched towards Kit. Ambrose’s eyes widened as Kit’s screams increased in pitch until they were piercing and then another sudden crack broke through the air and Ambrose flinched, his heart hammering against his chest.

Nathan’s silver eyes didn’t leave Ambrose’s black the entire time, a smirk still present on his face though sinister now. A threat and a warning, and a knowing that he had Ambrose back where he wanted, at his mercy.

“Okay!” Ambrose hissed as Kit screamed again. “Okay! Just stop hurting him!”

Nathan lowered his hand and put it on Ambrose’s other cheek. “There. Was that so hard?”

Ambrose didn’t answer. Nathan ran his thumb along Ambrose’s bottom lip, his eyes flicking lazily to it, then to Ambrose’s eyes again, want shining desperately.

Ambrose swallowed hard. He didn’t… he swore he would never do this again, that he would never be under Nathan’s spell again. Max’s warning of not letting Nathan into his head again, under his skin, ready to do with him what he pleased because he knows Ambrose would go along with it.

Especially now, with Kit.

His weak point. And Nathan knew. How did he know? How did he know before even Ambrose knew?!

When did that happen? When did he start to think of Kit like he wasn’t just some hero to torture? Like he was something worth protecting, someone he cared for like an annoying little brother? When did his mind change from revelling in Kit’s misery, to doing the ONE THING he promised himself he would never do again, to make Kit’s misery stop?

Sure, he can torture Kit all he wants, but anyone else doing it was wrong. It felt wrong, and if his father— if his mother knew Kit, he knew she’d take him in like a second son too. Maybe, just maybe, in another world Kit and Ambrose could have been family. They could have been brothers.

The notion pulled ridiculously at Ambrose’s chest, and he was back staring at those horrible silver eyes. The enchanting twin pools of every vile thing imaginable.

“A kiss, Oskar,” Nathan whispered, leaning down to press one to Ambrose’s forehead, then his temple, his lips going to Ambrose’s ear. “A convincing kiss and I’ll stop hurting your little hero, hmm?”

Ambrose tightened his hands into fists. “I already said yes.”

“Oh, baby, no. You want something from it, you’re kissing me, not the other way around. I want to see just how much you’re willing to give for this kid.”

Ambrose hesitated, his index finger twitching as he waited, his heart slamming against his ribs. He couldn’t— he couldn’t do this, he couldn’t— fuck!

Nathan pulled back, his breath leaving Ambrose’s face, brows quirking. “No? Do you need some more convincing?” Nathan asked, raising his hand towards Kit again.

Ambrose didn’t think. He grabbed Nathan and turned them, shoving Nathan down onto the bed because Ambrose wasn’t leaning up on his toes to kiss the fucker. Nathan gasped, grinning like an idiot as Ambrose climbed on top of him, hands around his throat that he longed to squeeze.

“You look so hot when you want to murd—”

Ambrose captured Nathan’s lips in his before he could finish the sentence, swallowing it along with his pride, and the small part of him that died inside at kissing the most dangerous man he had ever known. Nathan smiled against the kiss, one hand on Ambrose’s waist while the other went to the back of Ambrose’s neck, pulling him closer.

Nathan lightly tugged at Ambrose’s hair, pulling his head back so he could tilt his head and deepen the kiss, which Ambrose allowed. It all came back so easy to him, remembering what Nathan liked and what he didn’t. The things he raved about, that drove him crazy when Ambrose did it to him.

Ambrose ground his hips into Nathan’s waist, eliciting a moan, which he swallowed, not allowing the bastard any space for breath, hoping to suffocate him. He drew back, biting at Nathan’s bottom lip and teasing it between his teeth as he drew back, planting kisses across Nathan’s jaw and down his neck.

Nathan laughed, his breath hitching when Ambrose found the spot he liked. Then the hand in his hair tightened again and pulled him back like a mother cat to a kitten, silver eyes meeting smouldering black.

Nathan’s fingers pinched Ambrose’s waist but he didn’t react. Nathan chuckled, his voice a little darker, coated with a amusing knowing. His hand trailed up Ambrose’s side, eliciting shivers as he went before cupping Ambrose’s cheek again. A long thumb smoothed across Ambrose’s cheek, just under his eye and pulled his eyelid down a little.

“Oh, Oskar. Haven’t you learned anything in my absence? What did we always say about showing people your hand, hmm? You care for this boy, for whatever reason, and I want to find out why.”

Ambrose stiffened above Nathan as he leaned up and pecked Ambrose’s lips again.

“I’ve missed you, Oskar,” Nathan said, softly as if it were a confession or a prayer. Everything about him; his voice, his smile, his dimples, his hair, his fashion, every except those eyes could make you forsake God for the sin that was the man laying under Ambrose.

“And I know you won’t just tell me why he’s struck a chord within you, so I think I’ll have to keep you both around to find out why.”

Ambrose’s expression hardened. “You can’t—” he began, retracting his hands from Nathan’s neck but Nathan didn’t let him, catching his wrists in his strong grip and holding them hostage.

“I think you know I can,” Nathan cooed. It had the opposite effect of reassurance, causing shivers down Ambrose’s spine.

“I don’t want this,” Ambrose spat, yanking his hands free from Nathan’s. He made to get off the bed but Nathan grabbed him by the waist, drawing his reluctant attention.

“We were made for each other, Oskar. There’s nobody in the world like us,” he said, voice almost pleading, yet still low and sultry, masking the desperation underneath. “I know you still feel this.”

Ambrose inclined his head stoically, cold black eyes running over Nathan’s face, searching for something that wasn’t there.

“I don’t.”

Ambrose pried Nathan’s fingers from his waist and lifted a leg up and over Nathan’s waist so he was just kneeling on the bed instead, moving towards Kit. Kit was motionless on the ground, his breathing shallowly inflating his back and hissing out again.

An anger rose in Ambrose, a helpless kind of anger that aroused when you witnessed something so horrific like a car accident, or hear of a young person’s death on the news. Anger at the world. Anger at Nathan. Anger at himself for not helping Kit sooner. Anger at Mentor. Anger at Kit for getting caught by Nathan. Anger at himself for getting pulled back into his ex’s web.

Ambrose felt a presence behind him, hands snaking around his waist, a breath against his ear. “You may not want me now, but you want Kit alive, don’t you?”

Ambrose tried not to let the words effect him, he really tried, but when Nathan pressed his lips to Ambrose’s throat he froze. Nathan smiled against his neck.

“See?” He murmured. “This is a mutually beneficial arrangement I’m offering Ambrose.”

Ambrose’s hands tightened into fists. “You can’t just make me love you.”

“Oh, darling.” The arms tightened around his waist, locking him in place. “You have no idea what I can do anymore. Besides, I have a hunch it was your hero who broke all of my windows, and I have killed people for less.”

“It’s not like you can’t just replace them, the windows don’t mean anything to you!” Ambrose huffed.

“Still,” Nathan teased, nipping at the side of Ambrose’s neck. “He destroyed something that was mine. A slight is a slight after all, Oskar.”

Nathan went back to kissing Ambrose’s neck again, trailing kisses up his jaw and over the side of his face, his cheeks, his cheekbone, the corner of his eye, his temple while Ambrose hesitated, considering any other way out of this situation.

He couldn’t compel Nate, but Nate couldn’t compel him either. Nate could compel Kit though, and who knows what kind of fucked up things ran through his mind.

“I missed your silence,” Nathan said. “It was always so profound, but it is taking a hair too long, darling, so I’ll sweeten the pot. I will keep you and Kit, and I will let his friends go free. Wipe their memories, make them forget, and when Kit wakes up you’ll be his hero.”

A knot tied itself at the base of Ambrose’s throat. What was he thinking?! Sacrificing himself for some kid he didn’t fucking know? His sanity?!

All tension left Ambrose’s body. Nathan smirked behind Ambrose. “Okay. Fine,” he replied, the words hard and thick in his throat.

“Wonderful,” Nate cooed, squeezing Ambrose tighter. “Oh, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say those words.”

Ambrose didn’t want to know how long Nathan was waiting, so he just hummed, his eyes never leaving Kit’s back, watching his breaths rise and fall. Still alive.

*~*~*~*~* A.N *~*~*~*~*

Hello, hello!! A little A.N. from me, I will not be continuing the weekly updates of this fic going forward, and it’s because the quality of the writing has rapidly declined and I don’t like what I’m putting out into the story — it’s not doing the story justice, because it feels like it’s floundering like a fish on a hook — it will be part of my regular uploads, but maybe every 1-2 weeks!!! I also feel like I can't edit it enough to have it up to scratch and it is slowly eating away at my brain and my motivation to write. The support for this story has been crazy, and I love that you guys like it so much, but I think for the story to be as good as it can be, this is what is best going forward - It also is draining me of creative flow that I want to put into my other fiction stories here! I hope you’re not too upset at this, but I think it is what is best for this story, the characters and myself — so thank you for reading :) enjoy!! this means I will be able to go back to regularly updating all my other fics that need to be dusted for cobwebs atm, like Heroic Betrayal, Defiant Leader, Vendetta (my beloved), etc.

TLDR; no longer weekly updates of this story, but it is still part of the regular update schedule - Which will give me more time to focus on my other stories here XD

*~*~*~*~*

Orphanage roll-call (lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie e @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @blood-enthusiast @tippytappytyping @shinokoro @bedtimescenarios @whatwhump @acer-whumpstuff @fa1rie @jesterrinobutter @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @dutifullykrispyland @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @ehobep

Dark Currents (Intoxicating Fear Fanfic)

I: Dark Currents

@chaotic-orphan

TW: choking, strangling, strangulation, stalking, drugging, intimate whumper, intimidating whumper, disoriented whumpee.

The night was a deep blanket of silence as Kit walked home, the distant sounds of the city fading behind him. After a gruelling shift at the hero tower, fatigue clung to him like a shadow. The dark alleyway ahead felt especially foreboding, its walls lined with graffiti that whispered stories of forgotten souls. Streetlights flickered, casting unsettling shadows that danced across the damp pavement, creating an eerie mosaic of light and dark.

Just as Kit turned a corner, a figure lunged from the depths of the shadows—Ambrose.

Before Kit could react, Ambrose tackled him to the ground, the impact knocking the wind out of him. He gasped as Ambrose’s hands tightened around his throat, panic surging within him like a tidal wave. The chill of the concrete seeped into his skin, contrasting sharply with the heat of his rising fear.

"You thought you could escape me?" Ambrose’s voice was cold, filled with a twisted satisfaction that sent shivers down Kit’s spine.

"Let me go!" Kit shouted, desperation creeping into his voice. He strained to summon his electric abilities, but Ambrose’s grip was like iron, dulling his spark, leaving him feeling powerless.

Ambrose leaned closer, a cruel smile curling his lips, the flickering streetlight illuminating his features in a sinister glow. "You’re not in control here."

Kit’s heart raced as he twisted beneath Ambrose, trying to break free. With a sudden burst of strength, he managed to throw Ambrose off balance, but it was temporary. Ambrose was on him again, pinning him down, his hands constricting around Kit’s throat like a vice, the world narrowing to a painful focus.

"Why did you come back?" Kit gasped, struggling for air.

"Because you need to come with me," Ambrose replied, his tone unyielding, as if he were delivering a decree. "You belong with me, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen."

Kit’s mind raced, memories flashing like lightning. The last time he had seen Ambrose, it had been under vastly different circumstances—filled with a familial solidarity, occasional laughter echoing in the air, not this violent chaos.

In his mind's eye, Kit recalled Ambrose and Jude, silhouetted against the city lights, locked in a passionate kiss, their joy stark against the backdrop of a darkening sky. They had looked so carefree, so oblivious to the storm brewing around them.

It was just a rumour, Ambrose’s voice echoed in Kit's thoughts, a haunting refrain. Jude and I... it meant nothing.

With a sudden surge of adrenaline, Kit managed to shove Ambrose off him, scrambling to his feet. But Ambrose quickly recovered, grabbing Kit’s arm and pulling him close again, the smell of sweat and cologne enveloping Kit in a dizzying haze.

"Let’s talk," Ambrose said, his grip still firm, the intensity of his gaze unyielding.

Reluctantly, Kit followed, feeling the tension crackle in the air between them like static electricity. They walked to a nearby bar, its neon sign flickering ominously, casting a ghostly glow on the cracked pavement. Inside, the atmosphere felt heavy, thick with unspoken words and the scent of stale beer mingling with the faint aroma of cigarette smoke.

Max, the bar owner, greeted them with a nod, his weathered face a map of years spent in the dim light. "What’ll it be?"

"Two shots of whiskey," Ambrose ordered, his tone lacking warmth, as if he were merely playing a role in a dark theatre.

As they settled onto the bar stools, the faux leather cracked beneath them, and Kit couldn’t shake the unease that clung to him like a second skin. "What about Jude?" he pressed, muted anger flaring again, the question like a lit fuse.

Ambrose waved a dismissive hand, irritation flickering across his features. "Forget him. We have more pressing matters."

The whiskey arrived, amber liquid glinting under the low light, and they downed the shots, the burn cutting through the tension like a knife. Ambrose leaned in closer, his voice low and conspiratorial. "You still don’t understand, do you? You’re meant for more than this life."

Kit narrowed his eyes, anger bubbling beneath the surface, a tempest ready to erupt. "You think you can just show up and demand I leave everything behind?"

Ambrose’s gaze was intense, as if he were peering into Kit’s very soul. "This place is holding you back," he replied. "You need to step into the light with me."

Kit felt the weight of Ambrose's words, but the alcohol was dulling his resolve, making the room sway slightly.

Unbeknownst to Kit, Ambrose had slipped something into his drink. After another sip, a wave of dizziness washed over him, the world spinning around him like a carousel gone awry.

"What did you do?" he slurred, struggling to stay upright, the edges of his vision blurring.

"Just a little something to help you relax," Ambrose said casually, a predatory glint in his eyes that sent a shiver down Kit’s spine.

Kit’s strength faded, and he felt the ghost of Ambrose’s hand tighten around his throat again, the imaginary pressure making it hard to breathe, suffocating him with fear.

"Why are you doing this?" Kit gasped, panic rising like bile.

"Because I need you to understand," Ambrose said, his tone chilling, devoid of warmth. "You’re mine."

As they stumbled back to Kit's apartment, Ambrose’s presence loomed over him like a storm cloud, dark and oppressive. Inside, Ambrose closed the door with a slow, deliberate motion, the sound echoing ominously in the small space.

"This isn’t over," Kit whispered, fear and anger churning in his chest like a storm at sea.

Ambrose stepped closer, his expression shifting to something darker, more primal. "We need to talk about us."

"Us?" Kit echoed, scepticism lacing his voice, as if he were trying to make sense of a riddle with no answer.

Ambrose held his gaze, eyes intense and fierce. "I didn’t abandon you. I had my reasons, but now I’m back for you."

Kit’s heart raced, caught between anger and the flicker of something darker, something he didn’t want to acknowledge. "You think it’s that simple?"

The pressure around his throat returned, tightening just enough to send panic coursing through him like a wildfire. "You need to listen," Ambrose commanded, his voice low and dangerous.

"You can’t just expect me to forgive you," Kit managed to say, breathless, the words escaping in a whine.

"I came back for you," Ambrose insisted, his grip still firm, unyielding. "You have to understand."

Kit felt the pressure building, the edges of his vision blurring as darkness threatened to creep in. "You’re hurting me," he gasped, his voice barely a whisper.

Ambrose released him slightly, but his eyes remained locked on Kit’s, a predatory intensity that made Kit’s pulse race. "I won’t let you go that easily."

"What do you want from me?" Kit managed, desperation creeping into his voice, the weight of the world pressing down on him.

"I want you by my side," Ambrose replied, voice low and menacing, each word dripping with a power that was both alluring and terrifying. "But first, you need to know what you’re getting into."

Kit glared at Ambrose, heart racing, feeling trapped. "This isn’t love—or whatever you think this is. You’re just trying to control me."

Ambrose stepped closer, the tension between them palpable, electric. "I’m trying to save you. You don’t see it yet, but I’m the only one who can."

"I can take care of myself!" Kit shouted, his anger finally boiling over, a defiant spark igniting in his chest.

With a swift movement, Ambrose seized Kit again, his grip tightening until Kit felt the world closing in around him, darkness threatening to swallow him whole. "You’ll understand," Ambrose said, voice cold and unyielding.

Just as Kit felt he might pass out, Ambrose released him, stepping back, breathing heavily, as if he were wrestling with his own demons. "I want you back, Kit. But you need to accept that I won’t let you go."

Kit staggered, gasping for air, the fear mingling with something else he couldn’t quite place, an unsettling mix of dread and yearning. "What have you done?"

Ambrose’s expression turned serious, the weight of his words heavy in the air. "I’m not playing games. This is about survival."

As dawn broke, pale light filtering through the grimy window, Kit knew he had to confront Ambrose and figure out what he truly wanted. The weight of the night pressed down on him, suffocating yet exhilarating, but he couldn’t ignore the twisted bond that kept pulling them together.

This was only the beginning, and Kit had no idea where it would lead them. The struggle for control would continue, but one thing was certain: he wouldn’t back down that easily.

Continued here

Whumptober Masterpost

Whumptober 2024 Promptlist

Day One: Race Against the Clock [badass Caretaker to the rescue]

Day Two: Trust Issues [hero x villain, betrayal whump]

Day Three: Set up for Failure [Revenge whump]

Day Four: Hallucinations [vampire whumper]

Day Five: Sunburn [vampire whumpee!]

Day Six: Not Realising they’re injured [injured hero whumpee]

Day Seven: Only For Emergencies [human weapon whump]