#scared electric hero x telepath villain

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (XIX)

The blood of the Covenant

Part one // Masterpost // continued from here

It's a day late but listen I just discovered jujutsu kaisen and wowza - I have never related more to a character than Satoru Gojo and the forced self-awareness I now have to endure bc all the other characters are just constantly criticising him - for good reasons ofc but like, I don't need the personal attack? Anyways! ENJOY

~*~*~*~*~*~

The moment Kit’s eyes lazily fluttered open he wanted to shut them again. There was no haziness to the morning, no brief reprieve of waking where there are no thoughts and you exist in a limbo state: halfway between dreaming and consciousness.

No. Not even the incredibly comfortable bed could provide a respite from his mind.

Kit didn’t get any of that.

The first thing that greeted him when he opened his eyes was Ambrose telling him that there was a telekinetic Villain in the city. And the only telekinetic hero Kit knew of was Mentor. There was Sawyer with his shadows too, but that Villain wasn’t Sawyer. Kit knew the coldness of his shadows.

Not to mention the strange thing happening with his own powers around Ambrose. It seemed like all fucking roads just lead back to Ambrose.

Kit had to get out of bed. He had to go downstairs and face Ambrose. He had to watch the news and see the scale of Ment— Villain’s— destruction. He had to call Superhero and try to ignore the feeling in his gut that told him this Villain — whoever he was — was actually Supervillain making an appearance for the first time.

His stomach turned as his mind linked Supervillain and Mentor together, but he couldn’t stop the thought from forming. He couldn’t seem to stop anything lately.

Kit clenched his teeth as he pushed himself up and out of bed. His socked feet touched soft carpet like a cloud and tension seemed to leave his body at the feeling. Ambrose may be a rich, entitled prick, but if Kit could wake up to these carpets every morning maybe he would be too.

He stretched, his limbs cracking as he woke them up. The exhaustion from yesterday’s overused powers had dissipated overnight, leaving Kit a bit more refreshed than usual. Actually, no. Not refreshed. He felt great! Normal. Aside from a mild headache but there was no bone deep tiredness in his limbs.

It felt strange, but in a good way. He clicked his fingers and a small blue bolt formed between them. Before he could be relieved, the bolt sparked violently, red tongues of lightning forked out of the blue until Kit dropped the charge.

Shit.

Kit walked out of the room, and opened a few doors before he found a bathroom. Ignoring the luxury of the room, Kit froze in the doorway. A mirror hung above the sink and reflected Kit’s bright red eyes back at him.

“No, no, no, no, no!” Kit muttered, half-running to the mirror and pulling his eyelids down. “Stop it. Stop it. Snap out of it!”

Kit slapped himself in the face and checked again but nothing. He turned the tap on, maybe he just needed to splash some water in his face. Yeah. That was it.

The water was cool over his fingertips and refreshing as it splashed his face, but when he looked up again all he saw was red. Kit slammed his hand down on the edge of the sink, glaring at his own face in the mirror.

This was all Ambrose’s fault! Before him Kit’s powers were under control! Always under control, but now… this thing with his eyes it made him sick. His electricity was supposed to be blue not red.

“Fuck!” Kit cried, smashing his fist against the edge of the sink again. “Stupid!” Punch. “Fucking.” Punch. “GAAH!” Punch. Punch. Punch.

Ambrose paused with his mug halfway to his lips in the kitchen, hearing a slight commotion upstairs. Mallory must be awake. Then slow, heavy footsteps not even an elephant would make down the stairs.

Kit got to the end of the staircase and looked right and left. The two halls looked identical, both grand and leading different directions. Kit just wanted a coffee… he trudged to the left, trusting his instincts.

From his right, he heard Ambrose: “in here, Mallory.”

Kit was about to throw a tantrum like a toddler, but instead he walked past the staircase and town the hall to the right. On his left he saw a kitchen from some ostentatious show house, like something you’d see on TV, but he ignored it and focused on the Villain sitting at the kitchen island.

His black eyes glinting with amusement as Kit stormed in, going straight for the kettle. Or well, he would’ve gone straight for the kettle had his knees not hit the floor with an echoing thud.

Kit hissed. “What the fuck?”

Ambrose frowned where he sat and stood, walking around the counter to see the hero on his knees in just his boxer shorts and t-shirt, staring up at Ambrose with wide red eyes glowing.

“Morning.” Ambrose said, then a smile came to his lips which bubbled into a laugh at the hero’s confusion. “Oh, I completely forgot.”

“Forgot what?” Kit snapped, trying to move his legs back and stand but he couldn’t. His knees were glued to the floor as if all gravity had amassed in his kneecaps that now seemed to weigh ten tonnes.

“God it seems so faraway now,” Ambrose murmured, being the cryptic fuck that he was.

Small streaks of electricity cackled from Kit’s eyes. “Forgot what?” He asked through clenched teeth. “In case you didn’t know, Rosey, I’m not exactly a morning person, so if you could undo whatever the fuck you’ve done, I’d appreciate it.”

“But you look so good on your knees,” Ambrose told him, reaching a hand out and ruffling Kit’s hair until Kit slapped his hand away. “Like a good puppy.”

“Oh fuck off, dickhead! Let me up.”

Ambrose’s black eyes danced with amusement. “Only if you ask nicely.”

Kit rolled his eyes. “Oh fuck off. I’m just going to fucking crawl I guess.”

“Ki—it,” Ambrose sing-songed, his voice moving like flute notes through his ears. He recognised the coldness of Ambrose’s powers pulling at his mind, the threat of what he could do.

Kit huffed out a breath. Crossing his arms over his chest. He didn’t look at Ambrose as he mumbled: “can I get up?”

“What was that?” Ambrose asked, putting his hand to his ear like a pre-school teacher. “I couldn’t hear you over the coffee brewing.”

Red eyes snapped to black. “Can I get up? Please?!”

“Of course you can get up Kit.”

This time when Kit moved his legs, his knees didn’t keep him rooted to the spot.

“Dick,” he muttered under his breath, forcing himself not to shoulder check the villain as he passed him on the way to the kettle. “Can you undo whatever that is?”

Ambrose hummed. “I’ll have to get back to you on that. It was a measure to teach you manners.”

Fuck off, Kit thought venomously. I just want a coffee. Kit didn’t answer as he zeroed in on the kettle, and plugged it in.

“Oh, I already made a pot of coffee,” Ambrose said. Kit glanced over his shoulder at Ambrose, stare hard. Ambrose gestured to the counter on the opposite side of the kitchen and Kit was about to throw a fit. He wanted to throw the kettle at the man’s head, but he knew he just needed a coffee and then he’d be fine. So he restrained himself and walked to the coffee pot.

The smell of the coffee went straight to his heart. “Is this… drip coffee?” He asked as he poured the black liquid into the cup that was set out for him.

Ambrose scoffed behind him. “I know you’re used to living in squalor, Mallory, but I don’t keep instant coffee in the house.”

“Wow. I’m not complaining,” Kit said, turning to the island and going to sit beside Ambrose. “I mean, I don’t live in squalor, but drip coffee would be nice every morning.”

Ambrose’s black eyes went to Kit’s face as he sat into the stool. Kit was too busy looking at his bare legs to notice. “I forgot my trousers,” he grumbled, feeling the tips of his ears going pink.

Ambrose waved the comment away. “I’m sure you had more pressing issues this morning?”

Kit raised his pained gaze to Ambrose. Black eyes searched Kit’s red ones with a mildly contained annoyance. “I was hoping there wouldn’t be any lingering effects of yesterday.”

“Lingering effects?” Kit repeated incredulously. “Lingering effects?! Oh I’m sorry if my overworked powers are inconveniencing you in any way, Ambrose. I’m so sorry—”

Ambrose waved him away. “Okay, you’re being dramatic.”

While Kit continued speaking over him, sarcasm dripping from every syllable: “so very, devastatingly, sorry that my powers are all out of whack because a fucking sadistic piece of shit just loves to push me until I can’t go further.”

“Apology accepted.”

Kit scoffed, shaking his head and took another gulp of his coffee. Fuck it tasted so good, it almost made him calm down. Almost.

“But the fact of the matter is we have more pressing issues.”

A sardonic smile slid its way onto Kit’s lips, resting his chin in the palm of his hand and gesturing between them. “What is this “we” you speak of?” He asked, red eyes alight with amusement.

“Mentor, Kit. I’m talking about Mentor.”

Kit’s face dropped as he straightened. “What is this we you speak of?” He repeated tightly.

“Mallory—”

“No,” Kit spat venomously, running a hand through his hair. “No, I am not talking about Mentor with the person who destroyed his mind for fun. No. We’re not doing this.”

“Kit— it’s important, we need—”

“STOP SAYING WE!” Kit roared, slamming his hands down on the table. Red sparks erupting around him as his anger grew. He wanted to smile at the look of fear that flashed across Ambrose’s face as the electricity spit and spewed around him, like a thousand hungry tongues hissing at the air around them.

“There is no we, Ambrose.” Kit continued, his voice echoing slightly with static as if he were speaking through an old radio. “There has never been a we. The only thing that joins you and me is Mentor, and that’s a very thin line because you didn’t know about our connection until what? This week?! You have no fucking right to speak to me about—”

“Mentor is my father.”

The silence would have been deafening if Kit’s electricity didn’t stutter and stop with a pathetic jolts like an old man’s fart. Kit’s mind screeched to a stop with a record scratch, before running ten miles a second because what the fuck did Ambrose just fucking say?!

Kit just stared as Ambrose clenched his hands into fists and loosened them again, repeating the gesture as if he were reaching for something he couldn’t quite touch. It felt as if Kit’s eyelids were torn with how wide they stared at the villain in front of him because this was some fucking sick joke, right?!

“It’s not a joke,” Ambrose said quietly, a wry smile on his face when Kit’s immediate thought was: get out of my head. “It’s not a joke, Kit. I wish it were.”

“You’re—” Kit began, but didn’t have enough breath in his lungs to finish the sentence, his eyes prickling with tears that he refused to let fall. “You… you’re lying. There’s no… you don’t even—”

Kit wasn’t making sense. They were all half formed thoughts spilling from lips as he wondered whether he should kill Ambrose where he stood now, or later.

“You don’t even share the same last name,” Kit settled on, his mind reeling. Ambrose met his eyes finally and Kit wished he hadn’t. He didn’t want to see the vulnerable humanity lingering in Ambrose’s black gaze, the hard tilt to his brows. The confession seemed to strip Ambrose of everything that him, well… Ambrose, and left a man, no a boy, not much older than Kit sitting before him. “You don’t even look alike! You’re not— you can’t be—”

Ambrose sucked in a breath through his nose, burying his face in his palms and rubbing his eyes. “I can show you my birth certificate if you’d like.”

Kit sprung to his feet because he didn’t know what else to do. His body was wired — no alive — with a restless energy that he couldn’t quell or control and the only way he could do something about it was somehow related to jumping off the stool.

“You— you! There’s— you can’t be Mentor’s son! Mentor didn’t— doesn’t have a family!”

Ambrose scoffed, running his hands down his face until they settled around his cup in front of him, his gaze distant. “He would say that.”

“You’re lying.”

Ambrose turned his head to face Kit, though he didn’t really look at him. More like through him. A wry smile pulled at the edges of his eyes.

“Believe it or not, Kit. The fact remains the same.” Ambrose took a sip of his coffee or tea or whatever, while Kit just stood uselessly staring at Ambrose and trying to logic a way to this being some joke, or ruse. “I wish it wasn’t true either.”

“You— you—” Kit stuttered, his hands balling into fists at his sides. Ambrose widened his eyes slightly, raising a placating hand towards Kit.

“Hey, Kit. Calm down.”

Don’t tell me to calm down, Kit wanted to say but he couldn’t get the words out. He couldn’t stop shaking, his entire body felt as if he just drank a vat full of caffeine and it wanted to go, go, go. It was as if someone had just jump-started every nerve in his body, every muscle contracting, every blood cell oxygenated and his body felt far too small as everything seemed to constrict inside of him and there wasn’t enough space and his veins felt ready to burst and—

“HEY! KIT!” Ambrose screamed from far, far below Kit. He wondered distantly what was happening, why Ambrose felt so far away. Why Kit felt like he couldn’t breathe and yet never felt more alive at the same time. “FUCK!”

KIT PLEASE! STOP! Ambrose cried in his mind, but there was no power behind his words. It wasn’t a command, which Kit recognised was strange. Ambrose wasn’t one for allowing free will and all.

Still, there was something wrong. Something very wrong with this picture and Kit couldn’t quite put his finger on what. Every time he tried to narrow it down, the thought ran like water through his fingers and he couldn’t really feel his own body anymore.

Kit crashed down to reality when his head cracked off the tile and he groaned. Ambrose was on the floor beside him, far enough away that the sparks didn’t reach him that were still spluttering from Kit’s body, but why was he on the floor?

“Kit? You with me?” Ambrose asked, black eyes wide with… that couldn’t be concern, not in Ambrose’s eyes. Kit must be hallucinating. Maybe this was all just a dream, a terrible bad dream and he would wake up and everything would be fine.

Instead, Kit groaned in pain, trying to push himself up. His muscles wouldn’t listen though and just shook uselessly beside him, not supporting his weight.

“Kit, talk to me, please.”

“Shut… up… dick.”

“You just thrashed my kitchen, Kit, I think I’m allowed to speak to you.”

Kit blinked, rolling onto his back. “I— what?”

Ambrose didn’t have to answer for Kit to see the scorch marks in the ceiling of his perfect kitchen, or the cracks in the shapes of lichtenberg figures in the walls. Kit winced, glancing at Ambrose who looked to be lost in concentration.

“Ambrose… I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“I know.”

“No,” Kit protested, raising his hands in front of his face. They sparked and hissed like Kit was in overdrive, hooked up to his own nuclear reactor, a steady stream of small bolts charging the air around his palms. “I’m not doing this.”

Ambrose nodded, tapping his temple with his index finger. “I know,” he said again, and got to his feet. “The best thing I can think to do is the power dampeners.”

Kit sat up with an effort, pressing his back against a counter in Ambrose’s ridiculously massive kitchen. “Did they work?”

“No, knocking you out, worked. Though I doubt you want to do that every time this happens.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Well, then. Power dampeners it is.” Ambrose said with a breath. “Does the circuit still close if you wear the two of them on one hand?”

Kit shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t tried it. Usually when you’re catching criminals you want their hands bound too.”

“Hmm, I assume it would work the same. Only one way to find out, right?”

Kit nodded, pushing himself to his feet. Only then did he see the real extent of the damage he did. The stools were scattered around the room, appliances ripped out of sockets. Half of the kettle was melded to the door of the microwave, the microwave itself looked like a crushed aluminium can.

Kit glanced down at his fingers, at the red lightning. Did he really do all this without realising?

His mind went back to his Academy days, when he had first arrived and was only learning how emotions tied to his abilities. It was Superhero who sat down with him and taught him that in order to master his gift, he had to cut off the link between his emotions and his abilities, or he wouldn’t get anywhere as a hero.

This red lightning, it seemed, burrowed all the way down to Kit’s emotions — his negative emotions — anger, rage, hatred, confusion. How could he stop something he could barely recognise the warning signs of?

“Don’t think too much about it, Mallory. Let’s just do one thing at a time. The power dampeners.”

Kit nodded. “Right. The power dampeners.” He repeated, glancing down at his bare legs. “And trousers.”

Ambrose smiled. “Yeah. Might be a good idea.”

Kit walked back out of the kitchen, when by the door Ambrose stopped him again. “Kit, if you want fresh clothes, feel free.”

Kit stopped in the door, glancing over his shoulder at Ambrose who looked mildly embarrassed at the offer. It was a strange thing to see on him. He didn’t quite meet Kit’s eye, his hand wound tight around the back of a chair, while the other brought the mug to his lips.

Kit could tease the villain about it. Usually he would, but he felt gross and shit, so he just nodded. “Cheers.”

Ambrose raised his head, meeting Kit’s eyes and nodded slightly. Then Kit took off down the hall and up the ridiculous stairs and into the first room he found last night. He wanted a shower, he decided when he picked his jacket off the ground, taking the power dampeners from his pocket and tossing them on the bed.

Something to relax his muscles and clear his head. That would be heavenly right about now. Kit grabbed his jeans and threw them on the bed too. He bunched a fistful of his shirt and brought it to his nose, and winced at the smell. Yep, okay. He needed a shower.

He turned in the room, taking it in for the first time. It was huge, as was everything in this stupid house. He walked to the wardrobe that was tucked into the corner of the room, opening the doors. He expected suits and tailored trousers, but was pleasantly surprised when he saw a couple of old hoodies hung up. One of them an old Harvard sweatshirt that had the initials O. Ambrose embroidered into the chest.

It felt like important information, but Kit didn’t really care. His mind racing with the fact that Ambrose was somehow related to Mentor. His son? Why wouldn’t he tell Kit that he had a son? Why weren’t there any pictures or mentions of him ever?

It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense.

Kit sighed, closing the doors to the wardrobe and opening the long door beside it. Inside were shelves of t-shirts and sweatpants and jocks and socks.

Kit took what he needed and walked to the bathroom, searching for towels before he locked the door.

“Mallory,” Ambrose said from outside.

Kit walked over to the door to see Ambrose outside, two towels in his hand. “Oh. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Kit grabbed them and closed the door, locking it and turning on the shower. He ignored the flash of red he saw in the mirror. He stripped and stepped into the shower, and almost gasped at the pressure of the water drumming down on his shoulders and head.

It was so good. Better than a hotel’s pressure good, better than Kit’s shitty apartment shower anyways. He let out a long, soft sigh of relief as he felt the rushing hot water unwind the knots and pressure in his muscles. He could die under the water and he would die happy.

He washed the memories of the last day away. God was it only a day? The stress from work and Superhero’s babying treatment of him after his illness, mixing with the pains of being with Ambrose for any amount of time.

Kit rubbed his neck and collarbone where Ambrose had choked him yesterday, still feeling a phantom tie wrapped around his throat like a weighted shadow. His gaze trailed down to his arms where the cuts Ambrose had forced him to make were glaring up at him. They had scabbed over at this point, almost healing. The scabs turned yellowish-green under the water, then a purple red beneath it.

All this pain, all this… abuse Ambrose had subjected him too. Was this the price for meeting Mentor? He knew it was too good to be true when Mentor chose him, out of everyone in his year, to personally apprentice under.

The man who little by little, wore down his walled defences while building his strength and magic and confidence. Who made sure he ate everyday, who taught him the value of nutrition and how to make a proper cup of tea…

Kit slammed his fist against the tiles of the shower, hot tears mixing with the water on his face. Ambrose was a monster. He couldn’t be related to Mentor. Mentor… Mentor was a saint. He saved the entire city!

He trusted Kit!

Why wouldn’t he tell him that he had a son? Why keep it secret?! Especially someone as powerful as Ambrose, you’d think he would scream it from the rooftops.

But… but… Mentor was alone when he chose Kit. No trace of a family anywhere in his house, no other heroes mentioned it. He was alone, like Kit, and they made a family together. With each other.

Kit knew it was true, that it was real. It was the only thing he had ever been sure of in his life, so why! Kit banged his fist against the tiles again. Why was there an ache in his chest as if his heart was poisoned?! Why was there a voice in the back of his head that sadly told him that Ambrose wasn’t lying?!

Why!

Why!

Why!

Why!

Why?!

Maybe Mentor was the villain from last night. Maybe Kit never really knew him at all. Maybe Mentor only trusted him with a very small part of his life.

Either way Ambrose had the answers. Kit needed to face them, no matter how painful they would no doubt be, to hear him out.

He scoffed, sniffing. “Listen to yourself,” he muttered to the tiles, his voice uncharacteristically empty. “Hearing Ambrose out? What’s wrong with you?”

Kit sniffed, wiping the snot from his face. “Pathetic.”

He glanced to the shelf in the shower and grabbed the shower gel, staring at the bottle. It wasn’t a 3in1. Kit raised his eyes again to see other bottles in the shower. Kit stared. His brain buffering as his hand reached out to grab another bottle.

Shampoo.

Fancy looking shampoo.

Ambrose just wasted his money on fucking everything didn’t he? Was his toilet paper sheet gold?

Kit shrugged, putting the shower gel back and squeezed out some shampoo onto his hand. It smelled good. It smelled fancy.

Kit quickly showered and dried himself, wrapping the towel around his waist as he walked out to his room. Kit changed into a new t-shirt he borrowed from Ambrose and pulled on his jeans and jacket and runners.

The power dampeners he fastened around his right wrist, feeling his powers immediately diminish. When he locked the second one around the same wrist he snapped his fingers on his left hand. Nothing.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

One problem down.

He pocketed the key and left the room. Ambrose was standing in his kitchen, also dressed, his hair wet from a shower. Ambrose wore a loose sweatshirt that looked soft and black cargo pants that tucked into his boots.

Kit held up his hand triumphantly as he fell to his knees. “The power dampeners worked.”

Ambrose raised his head from an iPad, one eyebrow quirked in amusement. “And you have pants.”

“Mission successful!” Kit beamed, not caring that he was still compelled to kneel in front of Ambrose like some servant to a king.

“Good.” Ambrose said with a nod, sliding the iPad across the counter top. “You can stand, Kit. I have some bad news.”

Kit groaned, pulling himself to his feet. “What now?”

The frustration died in his throat when he saw the headlines: Water Hero kidnapped by new Supervillain, Superhero reports.

“What?” Kit asked with a breath, looking at Ambrose. “What is this?”

Ambrose stood with his arms across his chest, a hand on his mouth as he shrugged with one shoulder. “That villain last night—”

“But why would he take her?” He said “he” instead of Mentor because his brain didn’t equate the two. “That doesn’t make any sense!”

“I don’t know.”

“There has to be a reason?” Kit demanded, scrolling through the article.

“I already checked,” Ambrose said with a shake of his head. He waited patiently until Kit fact checked that there was no mention of why the villain took her. Kit turned his sad eyes to Ambrose again, putting the iPad on the counter. “I think we need to go see Mentor.”

Kit deflated at the suggestion. He knew that this was coming. That eventually they’d have to go and see Mentor and check to see if he really is — if he could be…

Fuck.

Kit didn’t want to think about it.

He steeled his expression and his resolve. “Fine. You can explain everything on the way.”

Ambrose nodded stiffly, not fond of sharing his past with the Hero, but maybe, it was time to share everything, especially if that new supervillain is Mentor.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

Orphanage roll-call (lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer r @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @acer-gaysimpstuff @m3rakii @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @blood-enthusiast @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @andtheysaidspeaknoww @dutifullykrispyland @mononeigbour @tippytappytyping @stefaniesblogs @shinokoro @bedtimescenarios @whatwhump

[avengerscompound]

Finding Home - Chapter 6

Finding Home: A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist Previous //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers x OFC (Daisy Adams)

Word Count:  2258

Warnings:  Angst, mentions of torture, violence, major character death, mentions of sexual abuse/rape, pregnancy, smut (vaginal sex, oral sex, pregnancy sex, Bisexual MMF threesome)

Synopsis:  Daisy Adams has abilities. She can read minds. Force her thoughts onto others. As a child, she is taken by Hydra and raised as a weapon. Daisy finds another and speaks to him in his dreams. He has been taken too. He wants to return to the man he loves. Can she get them back together? Will she even want to once she realizes that she’s falling in love?

Chapter 6

Weeks passed. I started to be able to feel Bucky more and more often. I wasn’t able to push back into him again.  I was afraid to try too hard to be honest. That one time was scary. I had never just been in someone before. I wasn’t sure that I wanted to develop that side of my abilities.

It got to the point that I almost constantly had these feelings that were completely unrelated to what was happening around me. I was having trouble telling which were my feelings and which were his. I kept my mind open for him though. I wanted to find him. This was our best chance.

Steve pulled away from me after that night. He was having trouble being around me at all. The reminder of the connection I had with Bucky just pushed all the guilt he had over losing him, and falling for me to the surface. He was experiencing some pretty strong survivors guilt too. I didn’t know how to help him.

I started spending more and more time around Thor and Natasha. Thor because when I was him it was quiet, and he was kind. Natasha because she understood me. I needed that most of all.

It was late. Natasha, Clint, Thor and I had stayed up well after most of the others. They were drinking and being all melancholy and the baby was keeping me up. I had tried jogging around to put it to sleep, but it was restless. Bucky was up where ever he was, and I was getting a lot of fear from him today. I eventually gave up and lay down on the couch.

“The child still won’t calm?” Thor asked.

“Nope.” I sighed. “Guess I’m not sleeping tonight.”

“May I feel?” He asked. I nodded and he placed a hand on my stomach. “You need to rest little one.” He said to my belly.

“Daisy, can I ask you something personal?” Nat said she was a bit drunk and slurred her words a little.

“Sure. Given you don’t have secrets from me, that’s only fair.” I laughed.

She giggled. “Did you get pregnant the only time you’ve had sex?”

“No. I’d had sex before Bucky. Not exactly a fun late-night story though. I was around men a lot. They started thinking things like ‘I bet she’s fucking tight’ when I hit puberty. I didn’t know what that meant. So I asked one. He showed me.” I shrugged. They looked horrified. “Sorry. That was a downer. My life has been a bit of a shit show, but let’s face it, I’m not the only one in the building that’s true for.”

Clint gave a sarcastic laugh. “That’s true. What a fucking mess we all are. We’re the heroes. I wonder what the villains have all been through?” He got up and took Nat’s hand. “Want to go to bed?”

She got up and said goodnight to Thor and me, and they left the room together.

“It feels like the baby has finally stilled,” Thor said. “You should get some rest.”

I looked at him, wondering what he was thinking. It was strange not knowing. “Will you be okay?”

He laughed. “Of course. Go sleep.”

I went and got ready for bed, and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

They’d caught me. I struggled against them, but somehow they were stronger than I was. I don’t know how that could be possible.  I was being strapped to a chair. How could this be happening again? I need to get out. I need to find Steve.  Where is Daisy? I can feel her. Why isn’t she helping me? Daisy! Help me!

I lash out. Something strikes me in the side. A  surge of electricity courses through my body. My cybernetic arm goes haywire. The pain it causes me is worse than anything I’ve felt before, including when I lost my arm in the first place. It’s like my arm is being torn off and taking my spine with it. I scream.

“Daisy! Wake up!” Steve yelled shaking me. Someone was screaming. Was it Bucky? Did they find him? I sat up and realized it was me.

I looked around my room, everyone was here. “What happened?” I asked my voice raw.

“Was that real?” Steve asked, “Was that happening?”

I blinked up at him and he shook me again.

“Cap, hands-off,” Tony said putting his hand on Steve’s shoulder.

Nat sat down on the bed beside me and put her hand on my forehead like she was checking me for a fever. As soon as she touched me, it was like I got yanked into reality. My head was pounding. It felt like my left arm had been flayed. I held it up to check it was still okay. Nat grabbed a handful of Kleenex from the box on my bedside table and pressed them to my face, tilting my head back. My nose must have been bleeding again. I could taste the blood in my mouth.

“Whatever you were just dreaming you projected it to all of us,” Nat said.

I felt the weight of the bed shift next to me. I glanced over and Steve had climbed on, kneeling beside me.

“Was it real, Daisy?” He asked.

I shook my head and started to cry. “I hope not. I don’t know. What good does it do to know? I don’t know where he is.” Steve wrapped his strong arms around me and held me to him. I sobbed against his chest.

“Okay everyone, crisis is put on hold. Let’s leave them alone.” Sam said and gestured to the door.

“Will you be okay?” Nat asked me. I nodded and everyone left the room leaving me alone with Steve.

Steve stroked my hair as I composed myself. “That was really scary, Daisy. Everyone saw what was happening.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.” I sniffed.

He chuckled softly. “I know you didn’t. That’s part of why it was so scary. You’re much more powerful than you think you are.” He paused for a moment. “Was it just a dream or is that happening to him?”

“I don’t know. My arm hurts like it happened.” I closed my eyes and tried to focus on Bucky. I found him. He felt calm. That’s all. Just calm. “I think it was just a dream, Steve. I can feel him. He’s okay.”

He seemed to relax around me, and he kissed me on the crown of the head. “What happened?”

“I have no idea. Pregnancy dreams are dangerous if you’re telepathic? Maybe I linked in with a nightmare he was having.” I shook my head.

We sat like that for a little while. My nose seemed to clear and I threw the tissues into my wastebasket near my bed.

“I should go,” Steve said, but he made no move to let me go.

“Don’t.” I breathed.

He sighed and shifted so he was lying on his back. I shuffled down next to him and lay on my side facing the wall and pulled my comforter up over us both.

“Daisy …” Steve said.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to explain. I know. It’s confusing for you. I get it.” I was sick of hearing it, both out loud and in his head. I shut him out completely. It took more energy than I would have liked, but I couldn’t take it anymore.

He rolled over and draped his arm over me, his hand gliding down my body. It skimmed over my breast, I think unintentionally, sending a little jolt through me, and rested on the swell of my stomach. I shifted back so I was pressed against him, and he pushed his arm under my head so I was resting on his bicep.

He kept stroking his hand back and forth over my belly. The fabric of my sleep shirt pushed up and he trailed his fingers over my bare skin. It sent a little shiver through me and I wriggled against him. His groin was pressed against my ass and I felt his cock twitch.

“Steve. I want you to stay. I need you to hold me. Please. But touching me like that isn’t fair. You know how I feel. I’m sorry if holding me confuses you, but I’m scared. Can’t you just be here for me?”

I felt his breath hot against my neck, I turned my head towards him and he captured my mouth with his. It startled me. I can’t remember ever truly being startled before. We kissed, it was slow and deep. His hand went to my breast, kneading it, rolling his thumb over my nipple. I felt his cock hardened, pressed against my ass. I reached back, tugging at his hair. He broke our kiss with a growl and started nibbling down along my neck. I let my head fall back, my eyes closed.

I opened my mind again. I wanted to relax. I also wanted to see what he was thinking. Thoughts of me on all fours, him driving into me, of me on my knees sucking his cock, of him holding me up against the wall fucking me, filled my head.

I moaned, pushing into his hands. My cunt tingled and I could feel my wetness soaking through my panties. I put my hand on his as he stroked along my belly. Our fingers laced together and I moved his hand down, pushing his thick fingers under the waistband of my panties and between my folds. I worked my fingers with him, guiding him in circles over my clit. He started grinding against me and I let his hand go and reached behind me, slipping my hand into his pajama pants. I stroked his cock along its length using just my fingers and then took him in my hand, pumping up and down his shaft. He groaned and pushed his hips against me.

I pushed the image he had of me sucking his cock into his mind. Offering that to him. He pulled back from me, shaking his head like he was trying to clear it.

“Stay out of my head, Daisy.” He scolded.

“I’m sorry. I – I thought you might like – I’m sorry.” I stuttered.

“It’s okay. I know. Just please, let me have my thoughts.”

“Do you want me to do that? I can give you that.”

He made an angry growl sound and returned to kissing my neck. He pushed two fingers inside of me. I gasped arching into him.

Steve worked his fingers in and out of me as he rubbed his thumb over my clit. My core clenched as the beginning of an orgasm pooled within me. I somehow managed to wriggle out of my underwear. As I did Steve moaned and when they were free, he pulled his hand from my pussy, pushed his pants down and pressed his cock against my ass.

I tilted my hips back towards him and moved one leg forward. He took hold of my hips and shifted me so his cock was aligned with my cunt. Slowly he thrust back and forward, his cock sliding up and down my crevice. I whimpered reaching back to him, leaning my face towards his. His mouth met mine. As we kissed he pushed into me. I clenched around him and we both groaned into the kiss.

He thrust slowly. In and out. One hand moved to my clit and he rolled it under his fingers as he penetrated me. His other hand was at my breast, pinching my nipple, squeezing my flesh. We kissed, our tongues dancing together. I felt helpless, wrapped beside him. I was completely engulfed by his body. I couldn’t catch my breath, and I started making a helpless whimpering sound into our kiss. I clung to the back of his neck, gripping it tightly as his muscles strained against me.

I laced my fingers with his at my breast. My orgasm built, my core spasmed and I came. Every part of me tensed up. He released my mouth, and I cried out.

“Oh god, Steve.” I moaned.

He pulled out, rolled onto his back and then lifted me so I was straddling his waist. I took his cock in my hand and then lowered myself down on it. He put both his hands on my belly and held them there as I rocked against him.

“I’m sorry I took so long, Daisy.” He panted.

I shook my head, lent forward and kissed him. He moved a hand to my cheek and when I pulled away he stroked my jaw with his thumb.

“I want to be there for you. For the baby.” He said.

“I know.” I panted. “You will be.”

He gripped my hips and thrust upwards with a grunt. His body tensed, and he came. His cock pulsing into my core. Spilling inside of me.

I climbed off him and lay down beside him, my head on his firm chest. He ran his fingers through my hair and rested a hand on my belly.

“I’m going to take care of you both.” He said, he sounded angry. Frightened. I scanned him. He kept the thought of me and the baby so close to the thought of Bucky. He was afraid of losing us the way he had lost him.

“We’ll find him,” I said. I suddenly felt really tired. My fell eyes closed. “You’ll be together again.”

// NEXT

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (I)

The Old Fairground

Masterpost // continued from here

*****

“Well, well, well,” the smiling voice bounced off the rotten wooden walls and echoed back to Kit’s ears. He turned in place, eyes scanning the emptiness of the old fairground. Worn, paint chipped kiosks, remnants from long ago, left maze-like walkways through the pier and created plenty of shadows for Omen to hide, to watch Kit from.

Kit stood straight, forcing his breaths to calm and to try and hone his instincts and senses. He needed to keep his wits about him if he had any hopes of surviving this encounter with his mind intact.

A rush of wind to his left. Atlas stepped back and to the right, whirling, hands raised and electricity crackling as quick as a flame set to a pool of oil. There was no one there. His heart thumped heavily in his chest as he forced himself to recognise that information and turned again, scanning his surroundings. Every opening between the kiosks, Atlas turned, hands outstretched ready to attack, but there was nothing. The emptiness of the old fairgrounds was eerie, but Omen had to be close, close enough for Kit to hear him over the lapping of the waves beneath the rickety, creaking boardwalk. He had to be on high alert.

“I didn’t expect Archangel to send his apprentice. Will wonders never cease?” The voice sounded so close to Kit; Omen’s voice normal as if he were chatting over a coffee in a cafe somewhere. He wasn’t shouting to be heard over the wind and the waves. A shudder ran down Kit’s spine.

“I must have scared him off and he sent you as mere entertainment for me, hmm? For sport? Are you truly that expendable, Atlas?”

“You must have me confused with someone else,” Kit called out into the darkness. Attempting to be brave. Surprising even himself when his voice sounded strong, sure, confident. “I don’t usually talk a lot during my assignments.”

“Pity.” Kit’s hairs prickled on the back of his neck. Within a second, he rounded on his heel, leg up and deadly as it whipped through empty air and found nobody. Kit could see his breath reflect on the chilly Autumn night air and pretended it wasn’t a hitch in his breathing, but more a controlled labour. As if he was in control. “I love a good chat before a fight. Really gets the blood pumping. Perhaps we can shake it up for you, hmm? Good to be out of your comfort zone. You’re not even a fully licenced Hero yet, are you Atlas? Rather a little heroling.”

Atlas fought the urge not to snap at the villain at the insults, his fear manifesting as anger as he continued, boot-clad footsteps creaking wood underfoot as he meandered through the maze of kiosks. He was getting closer and closer to the pier and the end of the amusements, coming up on the old arcade.

Come on, Kit scolded himself. Get it together. Don’t let him get to you. Cool head, as Noble would say. “Or we can do this the good ol’ fashioned way and you can face me. Stop hiding in the shadows like a coward. Or are you just that ugly?”

The fairground went quiet after that. A whistle of wind blew through the creaky floorboards under Kit’s boots as he searched the pier, slowly turning in a circle, as waves lapped against rocks beneath the boardwalk, the rusty creak of the cars on the Ferris wheel were the only sounds for a long, unsettling while as he waited. He reached the wooden railings that overlooked the sea and peered over them into the black waters below reflecting moonlight up at him like the edge of a knife.

“I’ll tell you what, Hero,” said Omen, and Kit could hear the smile in his voice as he turned his back to the sea. “Since you want to jump the gun so much and get down to brass tax, I’ll give you a little hint as to where I am.”

Kit’s heart thundered against his chest at Omen’s suggestion. He didn’t want to face Omen at all. Maybe he was a little too convincing. Maybe he sounded a little too brave. No… no, Tempest was here. He had to help her. From her last communication, it sounded like she was hiding somewhere. If he could find her and get out before Omen found either of them then everything would be fine… right? Yeah… like Archangel said: it’s not always about catching the bad guys.

Carnival music started up, followed by lights of every colour that seemed to ignite like flood lights on a football field, one by one. The string lights of the kiosks first, then the lamplights, followed by the trail of twin orange and blue lights on the floor as they ignited in succession leading to the derelict, metal arcade building. The white metal and wood building glowed eerily in the moonlight, the roof white from seagull poop. As the wind carried from the sea through the pier, the metal whistled and creaked along with it.

Kit cursed, he loved this place when he was younger, and seeing it ignited in faded orange and blue lights seemed like an insult to the memory of the arcade’s former glory, as if Omen was mocking the remnant, digging up a corpse and displaying it in some macabre travelling museum of Kit’s past. He swallowed as he steeled himself and forced his legs forward. Tempest could be hiding somewhere inside, and the lights will help Kit find her quickly.

He'll be fine, it will be an in-and-out job, like all the missions he has done before. He will be fine. He will be okay, just like all the last missions.

Though the closer Kit got to the old arcade, the more the state of the building greeted him; most of the old arched windows were broken or smashed, glass littering the boardwalk beneath, a mix of broken bottles and actual glass from the building. Graffiti painted the white exterior the circular domed building, some of it actually added to the ambience, while others were just a few spray-painted tags.

He pushed open the doors with an eerie squeak, the music louder here near the speakers of the fairground. Which meant it would be harder for him to hear Tempest and get out before they encountered Omen… shit. Kit balled his hands into fists and forced himself to step into his old haunt that seemed so strange and foreign now he was older. Omen couldn’t have found a less creepy spot, no? No. That would simply be asking too much. Kit rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck before he stepped through to the turnstiles into the arcade.

When Kit got to the metal turnstiles and placed his hands on either side to hop over, Omen spoke again: “let’s play hide and seek, hmm? I’ll hide; you seek.”

Kit clenched his teeth, set his jaw and vaulted over the turnstiles, stepping into the dark arcade. The cord of orange and blue light permeated the walls and ceiling, like veins, while the rest of the walls were made up of different panels of black. Still a lot of places for Omen to hide, but at least it was less maze-like than the pier. At least here Kit had a chance. Some machines were alive like no time had passed at all, light emanating from their dust sheened screens, while others had no power going to them.

Kit grimaced at the noise filling the arcade along with the music that blasted overhead. He’d never be able to find Tempest like this and if Omen was hiding amongst the arcade games, he was fucked.

Omen and his stupid mind games.

Kit wanted to slap his forehead at not realising sooner how clear he could hear Omen. This whole time he was taunting Kit from his own mind. Poking about and taking up residence like walking into people’s minds and meddling was something completely normal and acceptable. Noble’s face flashed across Kit’s thoughts. Did Noble realise that Omen was a telepath before it was too late, or was he caught on the backfoot. Kit should have realised sooner, Archangel always told him that. He was a good hero, but if he wanted to be great, he needed to be on guard, he needed to know the powers of his fellow heroes and villains alike and plan around them. He frowned and pushed the image of Noble out of his mind. It wouldn’t do to think of him now. Not when there was Omen to worry about.

Telepaths always creeped Kit out anyways.

But he couldn’t think with the noise drowning out the sound of the sea, never mind lowering his chances of hearing Tempest amidst the chaos, or a potential Omen sneak attack. That was another thing… nobody knew Omen’s fight style, so there was no data for Kit to even remember to use to his advantage with the villain.

He stopped beside the Castlevania arcade game and curled his lip back over his teeth. Fuck this. Kit clenched his fists and pulled at the charge in the air. He could feel the currents under his feet and in the wires of the arcade games bend to his will, following his command as he drew the energy towards him. The currents under his feet danced up his feet, tingling like a pleasant shiver up his veins, reinvigorating his body. The lights cut out and flashed, dimming and buzzing as Atlas pulled and pulled at the power; the carnival music shut off first, followed by the sounds of the arcade games, filling the young hero up and up and up until he was bordering on overflowing with power. Only then did he stop. The lights flickered briefly and then settled, although a bit dimmer, and finally Kit could hear himself think. Crackles of blue lightning cloaked Kit’s fist and made him feel a little better about his inevitable, encroaching encounter with Omen.

Kit barely adjusted to the power flowing through his veins before a scream rang through the arcade. Atlas took off running the instant he heard it, heading towards the sound, his gut twisting in knots at the thought of what Omen may be doing to Tempest. Noble’s face flashed across his mind again, unhelpfully, and the fire villain’s words almost choked him. He wouldn’t let Tempest suffer the same way Noble had. He needed to find her and quickly or… Kit slowed to a walk as the screaming faded.

What if Omen was making this in his head?

What if there was actually no one?

What if this was a trap?

What if, what if, what if— what if wasn’t good enough. Not good enough to warrant Kit to not, at least, try help. If there was a possibility Omen was hurting Tempest Kit had to save her. He took an oath to protect people. To protect the innocents in the city. Even if the thought of facing Omen made him want to get sick. And this wasn’t any innocent, it was Tempest; one of his friends and allies when he joined the Hero Commission. She was a year ahead of him in the academy, but Kit took extra classes above his year, training with older trainees because how quickly he adapted, and because Noble saw his potential and wanted him to be able to take on anyone.

Any threat, any villain, any hero… including Omen.

Noble trained Kit to be able to take Omen down.

Another scream and Kit turned to the left and took off, running through the employee’s only door. A series of offices were on the right side of the hallway and Kit looked in each window as he ran past.

“TEMPEST?! Where are you?!” he called, throwing caution to the wind. Omen knew he was here anyways; there would be no point in going for a stealth approach.

“Atlas?! Atlas? Is that you? NO! Atlas, Run! Get help! Don’t—” Kit could feel the blood drain from his face at her voice. She sounded terrified, but that just meant Kit had to push himself faster. He fuelled the excess power to his legs as he shot forwards, heading in the direction of her voice.

Fuck!

Kit didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to go home and hide under the covers and cry and not deal with Omen. But he was a hero, he signed up for this… he had to do this, to face the faceless monster who plagued his nightmares for the last year.

When he got to the end of the hallway, he saw a pair of double doors that opened out to the pier again. He swallowed hard, pushing against the handles of the glass door, and walked out onto the boardwalk. The wind whipped at his hair as he did, strands blowing across his eyes and mask as he glared at Omen, eyes drifting to Tempest who was kneeling in front of, and to the right of, Omen, a gun held to her temple.

She shook her head, blonde hair flying in the breeze, trembling as she took Atlas in. “No, Atlas, what’re you–” her blue eyes burned as she stared at him, her face contorted between relief and knowing distress. “I told you to stay away.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I couldn’t leave you,” he said, hoping he injected enough sincerity into his voice that she could hear it over his voice changer. He turned his attention to the villain then who stood casually behind Tempest. His appearance alone would strike fear into the hearts of lions.

His face was pale, alabaster skin glowing in the moonlight and the darkness of the pier which contrasted the darkness to the rest of his features. He had chin length raven hair slicked back, a few strands framing his face. Eyes so dark they looked almost black, and his lips a pale red, more naturally pigmented than anyone Kit knew.

Omen smiled when he set those horrible dark eyes on Kit, sending shivers down his spine. “Hello Atlas. You found me.”

God, his voice was so much worse up close.

Before it was normal, neutral, but in reality, his voice had depth to it. A mocking lilt and a knowingness that made Kit feel exposed. Too exposed. Of course he was feeling exposed, the fucking villain could read every one of his thoughts. Kit focused some energy on keeping his mind as blank as possible.

“Yeah,” said Kit, swallowing hard, the blue sparks cackling up his arms. He was thankful for his mask which at least obscured his face from the monster. “I found you. So, I win hide and seek, right? How about you let Tempest go as a prize?”

Omen tilted his head to the side, a smile growing on his lips as he considered the hero’s offer. But it was Tempest who answered first, jerking one leg up so she was on one knee about to push up: “no! Atlas, you can’t! You’re not even–” she cut herself off with a grunt of pain as the villain whipped his revolver across her head.

Kit jerked forward, but the instant he did, Omen had the pistol aimed at her head again and his black eyes flashed at Kit, daring him to step closer. Kit stared, helplessness buzzing through his veins along with his overcharged power, longing to be released. Atlas kept his feet rooted to the spot, not daring to get Tempest hurt with his recklessness.

“No,” Omen admonished with his silvery voice, sick amusement dancing across his features. “How about a trade, hmm? You for her.”

“Atlas don’t—” Tempest let out a shrill scream without Omen even lifting a finger. Kit started forward again, but Omen pressed the gun harder to the screaming water hero’s head, raising dark eyebrows in warning.  

As if saying: do you really wanna do that?

Kit held his hands up in surrender before he thought about the consequences and said: “Okay fine. Fine! Let her go!”

Omen didn’t move for a moment. Tempest continued screaming and crying, and Kit fought the urge to step in to help. If he moved quick enough, he could get Omen with a bolt, and he’d drop the gun at least… but then he’d have to deal with Omen’s rage and his power.

And Kit knew he wasn’t brave enough to do that either... but, no– he had to, or what kind of hero would he be? He shivered as Noble’s disappointment flashed across his face and Kit swallowed his fear. But before he could do anything, the villain moved first.

Omen straightened his head and drew the hammer of the gun back with a click. Tempest stopped screaming and fell limp to the boardwalk. Kit moved instantly towards her, but Omen stopped him with a light: “ah-ah, Atlas. Trade, remember? You for her. Leave her.”

Kit couldn’t fight his frustrated huff. “At least let me—”

“No,” Omen’s tone was so final it caused Kit to pause. His heart pounded heavily against his chest, blood rushing in his ears as he turned his head to face Omen, eyes pleading. He might as well have been trying to talk to a brick wall. “Come along, Atlas.”

“I’m alright here,” said Kit voice shaky, standing protectively between Tempest and Omen. He had to do something, and surely Archangel had finished with the Arson villain and his accomplice and was on the way right? Any moment now he would hear the beat of wings and Archangel would come and save the day, right? And they could all laugh about it later, if Kit could just stall long enough… Omen turned, dark eyes finding Kit’s all humour draining from his face.

Omen let out a dark, humourless chuckle. “Cute that you think I can’t touch Tempest with you like that. You want to test it?”

Kit didn’t move. He swallowed hard, planting his feet on the boardwalk. Omen’s eyes narrowed as familiar cackling swelled around Kit’s fists, up his arms to his shoulders and engulfed his body. His light brown hair standing up on his head.

Omen grinned a hollow, wolfish smile. His lips turning up but his eyes still that intense, black emptiness… Kit’s hands grew clammy as Omen turned to face him. He stood casual, one hand in his black overcoat while the other held the gun at his side.

“Alright little Hero. Give it your best shot.”

Kit didn’t need to be told twice. He threw both his hands forward, palms facing Omen as blue electricity gathered in his palms and shot towards Omen. The arc travelling at the speed of light before—

Kit screamed, his body spasming as he dropped to his knees, drenched in sea water. Kit put his hands out to catch himself before he faceplanted, coughing out a gasp of air.

His mind moving like sludge.

How… how did…?

The answer was the cerulean boot of Tempest stepping in front of Kit. Fuck. Tempest could control water. Fuck fuck fuck. If she was under Omen’s control…

“Tempest…” Kit tried and immediately another blast of water hit Kit harder than a canon. He was thrown back a few feet onto his back and gasped as the wind was ripped from his lungs. This time Kit saw the tunnel of water swirling above him before it blasted down at him.

He rolled to the side, springing to his feet, glaring at Omen who grinned behind Tempest. Using her as a fucking puppet. Kit couldn’t use his powers, not unless he wanted to fall unconscious within a few seconds. Fuck. How did Omen even know?! Apart from almost hitting the villain with a bolt two seconds ago, but that was two seconds of reaction. Kit had barely debuted to society. He couldn’t know what Kit’s powers were already… could he?

“Alright there, Sparky? Or do you want to try and hit me again?”

“You fucking—” a rope of water coiled around Kit’s throat and yanked him towards Tempest. Kit was on his knees as another tonne of water hit Kit from above and drowned him in it. Kit could barely breathe, let alone think how he used to best Tempest in training as his brain struggled for oxygen. Omen walked up next to Tempest smiling down at Kit.

“What was that, Sparkles? I couldn’t hear you.”

Omen didn’t wait for answer. He turned to touch Tempest’s temple and Tempest crumbled to the ground. A puppet with her strings cut. Kit reached out, a hand on Tempest’s pulse and he sighed, sitting back on his heels.

Alive.

Just unconscious.

The relief was short lived, replaced by a vivid fear gripping him in it’s cold vice as a thin, lithe finger came under Kit’s chin and tilted his head up to look into those void-like eyes. Kit felt the hairs on his body stand up as a chill tan through him like ice spreading through his veins, seizing his limbs, rendering them motionless. Useless.

Not his limbs.

Not his limbs, his mind cried as his feet pushed him to a standing position.

His legs pushed against gravity without Kit’s say so. His heart cracking against his ribs was threatening to break them it was pounding so hard. Kit licked his dry lips, the taste of sea salt coating his tongue.

His body moved by another’s command. Kit tried to battle Omen’s easy control, but he didn’t know what to look for to fight him off. Panic was the only thing Kit had control over in his brain and it wasn’t exactly helping.

Omen’s too-red lips spread slow, creeping across his face into a horrific, charming smile. His black eyes betraying his inhumanity.

“Aren’t you full of surprises, Sparks. I’m sure you’ve heard the stories of those who go against me, yes?”

Kit swallowed but didn’t answer. He didn’t want to look at Omen, but he couldn’t turn his head away. He couldn’t move. Rooted to the spot because that’s exactly where Omen wanted him. Noble’s face flashed again through Kit’s mind, turning his stomach. Is this what he felt? This hideous helplessness?

“Oh yes,” said Omen, tone reminiscent, a hint of mockery coating the back of his throat. “Old Noble went mad trying to stop me, poor dear.”

“You drove him crazy! You weaponised his own mind against him,” Kit snapped, hatred colouring his tone. Omen smirked.

“I was going to do the same to you,” said Omen, his voice flowing through Kit’s ears like liquid silver. Kit couldn’t help the spike of fear that gripped him. He would have flinched if Omen wasn’t keeping his limbs rigid. “It’s a favourite of my many gifts. Not at all fit for combat like lightning or water, but I can break you without breaking a sweat. Even before I took your body you couldn’t lift a finger against me.”

Kit scoffed, his lips curling back into a snarl. “Think very highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. I’m not an idiot,” said Omen. “But you think even higher of me, Atlas. Noble’s fear was easy. Powerlessness. Inhibit his control of his power in his brain like a little switch and let his fear do the rest. But you?”

Omen stepped closer and Kit wanted so much to step back but Omen didn’t allow it, and Kit’s limbs didn’t move despite his brain screaming: danger, danger! DANGER!

“Your biggest fear is me,” said Omen, his voice taking on a revered quality to it. Omen moved his hand down from Kit’s chin to his throat. Kit flinched this time and tried to take a step back, but his legs just trembled with his lack of movement, body fighting brain, his throat bobbing under Omen’s grip. Omen let out a soft laugh of surprise, his black eyes going back to Kit’s as he tightened the grip on Kit’s neck. “It’s intoxicating.”

“Archangel will send reinforcements,” Kit tried, his voice cracking, betraying his own disbelief. “He’s on his way right now. He’ll know—”

“Let Archangel come,” said Omen dismissively. “We’ll leave Tempest here for him to find.”

Kit’s heart skipped a beat. “W- we will?”

Omen laughed again, dark eyes drinking in Kit’s fear. “Oh yes, Atlas. I could grow used to getting drunk off your fear, there’s no way I’m letting that go. You’ll have to come with me.”

Kit felt tears building behind his eyes as Omen spoke. Omen grinned as he raised a crooked index finger up to catch a tear as it fell onto Omen’s knuckle.

His dark eyes drew Kit’s in as Kit tried to fight off Omen’s command of his body. “No... no. Please no,” he begged, his body shaking violently under Omen’s compulsion as he tried with everything in him to fight him. He sent electric currents down to his legs, trying to push himself free. He managed to take a terrified and laborious step back, his breathing doubling like he had just climbed Everest. Omen’s eyes widened a little before the cold grip of his power fell like tar over Kit’s limbs again, locking them down permanently.

“Yes, Atlas. Absolutely yes. Don’t worry. There's nothing you can do about it anyways," Omen said, tapping Kit's temple. "Not while I have this wrapped around my finger. And of course it will be terrifying for you, so feel free to cry more, heroling."

Kit clenched his jaw tight, wishing he could slap the villain away from him but he couldn't help the dread that settled in his stomach like an anchor. "You’re going to forget the road trip there however, you understand, I can’t have you telling tales.”

“Omen please—” Kit cried, and it was the last thing he remembered before Omen shut his memory down and blackness descended on his mind.

*****

Continued Here

OH BABY WE'RE SO BACK, THE BOYS ARE SO BACK

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[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (XVII)

Unforeseen Side-effect

Part One // Masterpost // Continued from here

~*~*~*~*~*~

Kit sat up with an effort, his entire body tensing as he moved. Aftershocks still singed his nerves as he moved, eliciting sharp hisses of pain.

What the hell was that thing, that red lightning? And why did he only get it around Ambrose?

“I assume that it’s a wild manifestation of your abilities,” Ambrose said from the kitchen. Kit rolled his eyes, about to curse the villain out if a sudden wave of nausea didn’t hit him and stop him in his tracks.

The world was spinning, lethargically slow, and closing his eyes didn’t exactly help matters. What the fuck was that red lightning? Why did it leave him so… weak?

Kit stopped beside the couch, pressing his back against it while he caught his breath and stifled the whine that threatened to spill from the back of his throat.

“You are as pale as a ghost,” Ambrose told Kit with a smirk. “Except for those eyes of course. And your veins.”

Kit’s eyes widened. His veins? What was Ambrose talking about now? Kit brought his hands in front of his eyes, any colour left in him draining as he saw the same angry, neon red colour had permeated all of his veins. Kit rolled up his sleeves, and there they were. Then the cuffs of his jeans, and the veins were there too.

“You’re like a walking glow-stick.”

“For fuck’s sake, just shut up.” Kit said with a groan, gfalling to his hands and knees and pushing himself to get up. He froze, hitting an invisible wall and plopped back down to his arse again. Red eyes met Ambrose’s black ones. “Can you let me stand up?”

I thought you told me to shut up, Ambrose’s voice sounded in Kit’s mind, the same stupid smirk on his same stupid face.

Kit banged his head against the couch with a groan. “You’re such a dickhead! You can give commands through thoughts! Why are you even here?! Why do you love to torture me?” Kit demanded, his voice turning hysterical. “Is this all part of Supervillain’s plan? To drive me mad too?”

The humour vanished from Ambrose’s face in the blink of an eye. “Do I look like I work well with others, Mallory?”

Kit blinked, his eyebrows pinching together, forming a furrow between. “What?”

Ambrose walked forward, closing the distance between them, stopping in front of Kit’s outstretched legs. “Do I look like I take orders from people?”

“No?”

“Then why,” Ambrose began, his voice darkening. “Would you think that I would throw my lot in with Supervillain of all people?”

Kit bent his knee and pushed himself into a straighter sitting position. He threw his hands up in a helpless gesture. “Then what the fuck were you doing on the docks that night?”

Ambrose’s features hardened. “The night I met you?”

“No, the other night on the docks.” Kit deadpanned.

“That wasn’t my fault,” Ambrose said with a shrug. “You can blame that preppy little water hero, what was her name again?”

“Tides.”

“That’s it,” Ambrose said with a click of his fingers. “Tides. The perfect foil to your electricity, Kit. Maybe I should bring her over someti—”

“If you touch her, I’ll fucking kill you.” Ambrose raised his brows, slightly taken aback. Maybe it was the vibrant crackle in his eyes or the echo in his voice, but something about him at that moment didn’t feel like Kit. It felt like something else. Something… wild.

“Promises, promises,” Ambrose said with a wave. “You can stand, Mallory. Clearly, we need to have a long overdue conversation.”

Ambrose walked back to the kitchenette, and grabbed two mugs from the cabinet preparing their coffee and tea. Kit slowly, achingly slow, got to his feet, his entire body zapped of energy. He dragged himself to his table and settled heavy into the chair, ignoring how breathless he was from such a light movement.

Ambrose joined him a few minutes later, neither of them speaking to each other. Ambrose set the coffee in front of Kit, and Kit said: “thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Ambrose told him lightly. Ambrose stood again and walked towards Kit, reaching out.

Kit flinched back, throwing his hands up, red eyes pleading. “No, Ambrose no more, please.”

“Relax, Mallory. I’m just undoing the tie.” Ambrose told him. He waited until Kit relaxed, his hands lowering, a wary glint in his eyes as Ambrose started forward again. He quickly undid the knot in the tie, Kit refusing to look at him, instead focusing on the wall behind him. He could smell Ambrose’s expensive cologne from the space between them. It smelled nice, but it was deathly silent.

It was awkward, to say the least.

Ambrose finished with a flourish, gently pulling the fabric from Kit’s throat, sending shivers down his spine. Ambrose folded the tie neatly as he sat down again opposite Kit. When his black eyes flicked up to Kit’s he let out a low whistle, his eyes going to the red bruise around Kit’s throat. It would fade in an hour or two.

“What?” Kit snapped.

A ghost of a smirk flashed over Ambrose’s lips as he picked up his steaming mug. “Let’s just say you have a necktie of your own, now.”

Kit rolled his eyes. “Oh fuck right off, Rosey.” Kit took his own mug and took a sip of the steaming black coffee. His arm spasmed as the liquid met his tongue and spilled coffee all over his arm. Kit hissed, cursing as he wiped the liquid off, humming the pain away.

Ambrose’s dark eyes narrowed over his cup. “Aftershock?”

Kit shook his head. “I don’t know what this is,” he said weakly.

“Hmm.” Ambrose set his mug down on the table, clasping his hands on the table in front of him. “In any case, we need to discuss your theory on Supervillain.”

“You said you’re not working for him.”

Ambrose didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely not, but I am interested to hear your theory.”

“That night on the docks,” Kit repeated.

“I didn’t start a fight with Tides on the dock, Kit. She started a fight with me. I was simply defending myself.”

“And I’m sure you forced her to radio for help, right?”

Ambrose blinked. “No.”

Kit scoffed. “Sure you didn’t.”

“No,” Ambrose said again, straightening his spine. “I didn’t. If I did, I would tell you, Mallory. I’m an honest man.”

“She radioed Superhero and I while we were fighting a fire Villain that was threatening to burn down the residential area in seventh.”

“I never told her to do anything like that, Mallory. I wanted a quiet night. Tides somehow recognised me, and then I had my fun with her.” A shadow of a smirk passed over Ambrose’s face. “Though she wasn’t half as fun as you were.”

Kit frowned. “But that night there was— it felt like there were a series of co-ordinated attacks across the city.”

“Except I didn’t attack your water hero. How many times must I repeat myself?”

“Sorry if you’re a little hard for me to trust right now, Rosey!” Kit growled, slamming his hand on the table. The red in his veins pulsed and burned brighter. Even the blood vessels inside his mouth were emitting light, as if he had just swallowed the sun. “All you’ve done since I’ve met you is torture me, use my own powers against me, broke into my apartment—”

“Kit—” Ambrose said, but sparks flew from Kit’s body as he continued, getting angrier and angrier. Burning hotter and hotter, the light getting brighter and brighter.

“Laughed at me while you beat me, terrorised my every waking moment, kidnapped me and tied me up so you could hurt me some more, or shall I go on?!” His voice crackling at the end like static over an old radio that had lost signal.

“Kit, you need to calm down.” Ambrose said softly, eyes weary at the sparks and heat that was coming off the hero in front of him.

“Wow, look at you, Rosey. How far we’ve come. You’re scared of me for once,” Kit said, planting his hands on the table and rising to his feet. “Good.”

Kit raised his hand, pointing his index finger at Ambrose and raising his thumb, curling his hand into a finger gun. Then he lowered his thumb with a soft: “pew.”

Ambrose went hurtling back against the wall to Kit’s room, cracking the plaster on impact. Ambrose groaned as he fell to the ground, forcing his eyes to focus, but his brain was fried. Everything was coming too slowly for him to react.

Kit stepped around the table, following the telepath. Each step sent jolts of energy through his limbs but Kit couldn’t help it. He kind of liked it. This raw power coursing through him. It made him feel in control.

He ignored the voice in the back of his head telling him to stop. That this was wrong, that this wasn’t him. Oh this was Kit alright. This was all of Kit’s bottled up emotions, finally breaking free and showing Ambrose who really had the power in their relationship.

Kit stopped in front of Ambrose, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and yanking him to his feet. He shoved him against the wall, not shocking him, not yet. He just wanted to savour the look of fear in the villain’s face for once. The villain’s disheveled state, where strands of his perfect hair fell over his face, out of his control.

“Mallory, this isn’t you,” Ambrose told him.

Kit tilted his head. “Aww, is that really all you can think of in your defence, Rosey? It’s hard to think with electricity shocking your nervous system, isn’t it?”

“Kit—”

“Kit’s not home right now,” Kit cut in, chuckling darkly. The sound echoing in static across the apartment. “Or, well, he is. He’s me, I’m him. Let’s just say, his compassionate, heroic side isn’t steering the ship at the moment.”

Ambrose clenched his jaw. “Then which part am I speaking to?”

“The one that you created, Rosey.” Kit told him with a threatening purr. His smile widened as Ambrose paled. “The beaten, pathetic, powerless one that gathered every time you told us — not to use our powers. Every time Kit reached for them and couldn’t find them, guess what happened? I was born. A well of kinetic and potential energy, bubbling under the surface, safe in Kit’s subconscious.” Kit laughed and Ambrose flinched. “I liked you, Rosey. You just kept building, and building, and building me up until I spilled over. But y’know what? I like being in the driver seat. It’s fun being conscious.”

Ambrose didn’t know what to do as he stared at the monster in front of him. The monster that he created? Nobody had ever had side effects like this before, well, none that he of. Certainly not enough to make another personality emerge in the subconscious, but then again…

Ambrose set his mouth into a thin line. Kit was top of his class for a reason. Mentor chose him for a reason, and if Kit wasn’t lethal enough with just his skills his ability — electricity — was pure energy, pure force. It would take a lot for Kit to be able to control it, let alone suppress it. Ambrose vaguely recalled studying electricity in school, and all the different types of it.

No, that’s not what he should focus on.

His mind quickly poured over Kit’s words again until he found it, the important information. “Kit’s not home right now. Or well, he is. He’s me, I’m him. Let’s just say, his compassionate, heroic side isn’t steering the ship at the moment.”

Perfect. That meant all Ambrose had to do was reach in and pull the real Kit out to the forefront of his mind. Put him back in control.

Ambrose reached into Kit’s mind, quickly searching the strange cavern until he saw him. Not Kit, but a pulsing ball of blue electricity buried deep in the darkness.

“Mallory!” Ambrose called, his voice echoing in Kit’s mind. “Mallory wake—”

Ambrose screamed as he was pulled out of Kit’s head. It felt as if his body was burning under a stream of molten lava, singeing every nerve and fibre of his being. Every muscle seized and contracted, robbing every thought from his brain before eventually it stopped and he fell forward. His head fell onto Kit’s shoulder, his body riding out the aftershocks with a cry.

“Naughty, naughty Rosey. It’s rude to ask for someone else to join us when the fun’s only beginning! You get to play with Kit all the time, I never get to play with you.”

“Kit—” Ambrose said with a breath, his voice coming out weaker than he had ever heard it.

“Don’t worry. I know how much volts it takes to kill a human, and I only used a fraction of that on you, Rosey. See? We’re still friends! I would be nothing without you.” Kit grabbed Ambrose’s head and straightened him back against the wall. “So, how about we make this party really fun and use half the amount it takes to kill—“”

Kit shut up suddenly, stepping back. Ambrose slid heavy down the wall, mind racing. He had the right mind to glance up at Kit to see a resolute expression grace his lips.

“Ambrose, put me to sleep. Now! Fucking—” Kit dropped to his knees, screaming as red and blue sparks erupted around him. No, not around him. From him. Ambrose looked away, throwing his elbow up to shield his eyes. “AGGGGHHH! NOW! DON’T—”

Ambrose took a sharp breath and slammed his hand out. He reached into Kit’s mind and pulled the plug. Kit’s muscles went rigid, his arms dropping to his sides before he fell to the ground. Ambrose let out a gasp, falling forward to his hands and knees.

Ambrose sucked in a breath, his muscles trembling to keep him up. Fuck.

He pushed himself back onto his arse, eyes locked on the unconscious hero in front of him. His body still pulsed with energy, but at least he was out cold. Ambrose pressed a hand against his chest, still feeling the burn from Kit’s hand on his chest.

He glanced down, brows pinching together when he saw the char mark in the shape of a handprint on his shirt. Ambrose scoffed. “You little shit,” he said to Kit. “This shirt costs more than your apartment.”

Ambrose got to his feet with a groan. It has been a long time since somebody hurt him like that. Well, not counting all the times when Kit had surprised him. He let out a breath, that sounded eerily similar to a laugh, when he remembered Kit knocking him out and waking up tied up and gagged. Oh, those were the days.

He walked over to Kit’s coatrack by the door and rooted around in his overcoat pockets until his fingers touched the metal rings. He pulled them out and released them with a dull thunk.

He personally preferred not having to use Kit’s power dampeners. They weren’t exactly a tool that Ambrose needed. Besides, it was much more fun to force Kit to inhibit his own ability, but Ambrose had told him not to use his powers. He had done that, and somehow, the other Kit somehow managed to access his electricity to overpower Ambrose.

Ambrose walked over to the Hero, staring down at him with something unreadable crossing his expression. This was the kid that Mentor took under his wing, huh? He could see why Mentor would choose him, of all the heroes in the world, never mind the city, he’s the Hero Ambrose chose too, coincidentally.

Entirely coincidental.

It was strange.

There was something about Kit, something about him that drew people in like moths to a flame, but looking down at him now, Ambrose took in how young Mallory looked.

He was everything Ambrose wasn’t; where Ambrose was pale, Kit had a honeyed tan to his skin, and where Ambrose was dark haired, Kit’s hair was light brown. Not to mention the differences between Kit’s ridiculous haircut and Ambrose’s. Honestly, would it kill him to run a comb through his hair every once in a while?

Then again Mentor always had a soft spot for broken things, and who could ever compete with some scrappy orphan?

Ambrose sighed as he crouched in front of Kit, reaching forward to grab the boy’s wrists. A jolt of electricity passed through Ambrose’s arm and he cursed, yanking his hand back and shaking it.

“Even unconscious you’re still a pain in the ass,” Ambrose muttered, carefully reaching forward again and snapping the cuff around Kit’s wrist without touching him. The brightness in his veins dimmed and went out completely after Ambrose snapped the cuff on other his wrist.

He touched Kit’s hand again, testing the waters, and there was no shock or jolt that ran through him. Good. Ambrose got to his feet, satisfied that Kit wasn’t a live wire anymore and walked towards Kit’s bedroom. He opened the wardrobe and grabbed one of Kit’s sweaters, then paused, stretching the fabric.

God. The boy didn’t look this skinny. Ambrose had broad shoulders, something he was proud of, but at the moment he wished he was the same build as the young hero. He put the sweater back in and pulled out a larger hoodie. It was ugly but it’d do.

All of his insulators were back at his house, which meant he’d have to take Kit back too. He needed answers. He needed to understand why Mentor chose Kit, why he took him, why he raised him to follow in his footsteps.

He needed to know why Kit thought Ambrose was working with Supervillain. Too many unanswered questions for his liking, too many variables, and all of them hinged on the volatile hero in front of him. Well, Ambrose never got to where he was today without a little hard work.

At least, he noted, it was dark outside, so he could throw the unconscious hero into the backseat without too many questions.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

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 @acer-gaysimpstuff @m3rakii @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @blood-enthusiast @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @andtheysaidspeaknoww @dutifullykrispyland @mononeigbour @tippytappytyping @stefaniesblogs @shinokoro @bedtimescenarios @whatwhump

[chaotic-orphan]

Haiiiii !!! Do u have character descriptions for the characters in intoxicating fear?? Would LOVEE to draw fanart if that’s chills ^_^

Intoxicating Fear Introductions

Hello yes I do!!! It is absolutely chill to do fanart for them!! PLEASE TAG ME IN IT I CAN’T WAIT TO SEE!!!

I can actually do a little reveal now for this of my boards for Hero and Villain WHO HAVE NAMES NOW.

Hero — Kit Mallory

Hero’s name is Kit Mallory and he has not been having a great time… his description?

This kind of vibe, like a golden retriever but make it suffer. He’s tall— like 6ft, this kind of floppy light brown hair and his smile used to be so bright before Villain. He just turned 20 a month before Villain took him, and he wears oversized clothes and layers to make himself appear bigger and bulkier because he is a self-conscious little bean. Especially next to Superhero who seems to dwarf him.

Kit is look wise based off of Andrew Garfield in the Spider-Man movies. He is determined and always wants to do good and help others more than beat the shit out of bad guys, that’s why he didn’t debut for so long. However he has no trouble fighting when he is defending someone like Other Hero or trying to defeat a Villain, he holds nothing back.

Villain— Ambrose

Then of course we have Villain, my boy.

Villain’s name is Oscar Ambrose, but Hero only knows him as Ambrose.

His looks are mostly based off of young Tom Riddle in Harry Potter, but with more ✨style✨ For example in the top left is his casual outfit and the kind of thing he wears around Kit’s house. He loves his suits and his shirt and pants combo because he can intimidate people dressed like that.

I think Young Tom riddle just captures Ambrose’s charisma and malice perfectly, because he is very boy-next-door, someone your mother would approve of you bringing home but there’s just something off about him.

He, of course, adores this. That he is unapproachable and he likes to show it off with how he dresses, speaks and presents himself. He lives off of fear day-to-day but having someone to satiate it around the clock is simply Christmas for him. Ambrose is older than Kit, he’s around 25, 6ft 4, towering over Hero and broader too. He is cruel and his eyes are dark and look into your soul, his lips just a little too red. My favourite sadist.

His hair is dark and almost silky looking, closer to black than dark brown but brown nonetheless, and he has his own board for his hair because he is meticulous about it. He also has a slight stubble that has been growing ever since he brought Kit back to his own house to torture him.

I must stress this is huge for him because he is so well groomed but he is just having too much fun with Kit to shave. His hair is more like the two top pictures below, perfectly styled and curled just behind his ears, but the same kind of cold perfection of the bottom two as well as a more similar colour.

And that is it!!! I was going to just drop in the names on the next update but this ask gave me an excuse to fangirl for a bit over my boys!!! Again please tag me in whatever art you make!!!