#intimate Whumper

[chaotic-orphan]

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

[a-living-canvas]

Part I

Little Italy II

"Dad…it hurts…"

Whumpee clung onto Whumper, straddling his lap as Whumper pressed the knife against his side. The other hand gently caressing Whumpee's back.

"Shh…boys should be strong. You don't cry over something like this."

Another cut and Whumpee winced in pain. He gripped tight on Whumper's flannel shirt, burying his face against his chest as he smelled the familiar scent. It comforted him somehow.

"There, there. I'm here for you. Just take a deep breath, okay?"

Whumpee nodded shakily, "O-okay…"

Whumper hummed in approval, he put the knife down before digging the wound with his nails. 

"Ouch! Ouch!" Whumpee shrieked in pain, his fingers loosened the grip on the shirt from exhaustion. Whumper smeared the blood across Whumpee's skin, looking down at him with an empty expression.

He wiped the tears gently with his thumb before cupping Whumpee's cheek and brought his face closer to him. "Come on, let's clean you up."

As they both entered the bathroom, Whumpee sat on the toilet seat. He was still crying and trembling as he watched Whumper discarded his own shirt that was stained with blood. And that's when he saw it, Whumper's back, full with scars and bruises. 

Burn marks from cigarettes and a few degradation words that almost faded.

The sight…tugged Whumpee's heart in a strange way.

"Dad…?"

Whumper hummed in acknowledgement. "Yes, son?"

"What happened to you…?"

…

…

…

"Don't worry about it."

~

@nothing-but-glitter-and-lashes @failgiao891 @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @possumhoe @heyyitsworld @risk606 @jennyyy007 @theforeverdyingperson @valravnthefrenchie

@electrons2006

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

The Five Stages of Grief

Denial - "This can't be happening" // "I'm going to wake up any minute...it's only a nightmare..." // "None of this real, it can't be!" // "There's been a mistake!" // "They...they wouldn't leave me like this, they'll come rescue me, they will!"

Anger - "You can't do this to me!" // "Fuck you, you fucking psychopath!" // "I don't have to listen to you!" // "You're a goddamn coward!" // "Let me out of here so I can break your neck!" // "You'll be sorry when they come find me, creep!"

Bargaining - "Please, no, anything but that!" // "N-not the cattle prod, please, I'll do whatever you want!" // "No, don't hurt them! Hurt me instead, I can take it!" // "I'll let you touch me however you want just please don't use that!" // "I'll tell you whatever you want if you just let me go!"

Depression - "Do whatever you want, what's the point?" // "I don't think I have anything left to scream for you" // "Just kill me and get it over with" // "Just...just leave me alone..." // "Why are they taking so long to find me? Don't they care? Don't they love me?"

Acceptance - "I knew I deserved this..." // "I'll be good, I promise" // "I love you, too" // "They were never looking for me, were they?" // "Yes, sir/ma'am" // "What do you mean 'leave'? I can't leave, that's against the rules"

[loonybun]

living weapon who’s never been treated as anything other than an object and has never been shown a drop of sympathy or compassion suddenly falling into the hands of a carewhumper. they’re given privileges, comfort, affection.

…and it is the most uncomfortable they’ve ever felt in their entire life. this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. this isn’t what they were made for.

[paingoes]

Whumper decides to leave whumpee out in the cold to punish them. They don’t realize just how cold or long it has been and become panicked when they realize whumpee has developed hypothermia. Whumpee wakes up in whumper’s bed, wrapped tightly against their chest as they try to restore whumpee’s temperature.

[painsandconfusion]

We love a nice gun barrel tracing a jaw

[martyr-inthedark]

Bedroom

Let's just say Whumpee isn't kept in a dingy, dark, poorly-kept basement (or cell, or cage...).

Instead, Whumpee is kept in a beautiful bedroom. Maybe with the softest mattress, the fluffiest pillows, blankets made from quality furs and silks. The room is cleaned every day by Whumper's servants who bring Whumpee dinner and snacks are brought hot from the kitchens. But, freedom is limited, and true safety is nonexistent.

Guards are stood on a 24-hr schedule just outside the heavy spruce doors. Should Whumpee choose to stroll through the property, guards must accompany them. Servants were not discouraged from physically or otherwise abusing Whumpee, and were directed to report Whumpee's every move, every mistake, to Whumper. Whumpee wore a beautifully adorned collar, gold with radiant gems and small spikes on the inside it that bore a constant reminder of their situation. Whumper found it in his pleasure to pull on the collar and drag Whumpee back to that cursed bedroom should Whumpee make one wrong move in public. The next time Whumpee is allowed out, they are covered in bruises and freshly carved scabs.

The bedroom where the fire pokes are heated. Where iron shackles attached to the bedposts. Where clothes could be stripped. Where they could be drugged and left abandoned for days at a time. Where Whumpee could be forcibly held under their bathwater for two seconds too long. Where Whumpee had no choice but to relive the horrors of their day through nightmares. Where Whumper could sneak into their bed at night and take advantage of a sleeping Whumpee.

Where even the bed, with its velvet purple canopy and white furs, isn't safe.

[whump-in-the-closet]

when whumper puts two fingers under whumpee’s chin and tilts their head up

that’s it

thats the post

[bedtimescenarios]

Whumper comforting Whumpee after torture.

They polish the bloody knife, place it back in its case, and walk back towards a cowering, shaking Whumpee.

Whumper pulls them into their arms, carefully caressing their face and playing with their hair. Whispering comforting phrases in their ear, yet they're still laced with the hint of a threat.

"Shh... shh... It's over for now."

"You look so pretty all covered in blood."

"You've taken it so well."

"You're so tired... don't fight me, I'm done for today."

"Those screams of yours... Good job, today's were so beautiful. I can't wait to see what tomorrow brings."

This soon becomes routine. At first, Whumper has to hold Whumpee down, they're thrashing around, scared and miserable and tired. Soon, that exhaustion overcomes them. They sink into the arms of the person that hurts them, allowing themselves the only comfort they'll ever receive now.

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Dude I see so much of average drugged whumpee just being spacey and out of it, but I raise you, a drugged whumpee that’s happy. A whumpee dosed with a euphoria drug that has them wonderfully higher than a kite, laughing, looking at streaming shimmering hallucinations around them, blissfully relaxed and unaware that whumper is behind it

bonus points if whumper flees from wherever they’ve been hiding, leaving a happily drugged whumpee behind as a “present” for caretaker

(content warning: nudity, the vague references to non-con touching)

YES. YES. YES.

I ADORE happy little drugged out whumpees! And Caretaker finding them like that? Especially when it’s such a far cry from whumpee’s typical personality? I could explode.

It’s all about the dichotomy between their behavior and their situation. Anything would be more fitting. Helpless terror as they shiver in the corner, hiding from horrors only they can see. Numb listlessness because their body is overburdened by exhaustion. Those all make sense, they fit.

But joy? Near manic euphoria, a smile stretching across their pale and dirty face? They’re not screaming or crying, but laughing, a drunken giggle that bounces against cold walls.

I think there’s an extra layer of helplessness there that is absolutely amazing. They’ve been stripped of their freedom, their dignity, and even their ability to properly respond to their situation. They’re not even given the right to anger or sadness. They’re trapped in an unthinking joy, and they can’t even begin to understand why it’s a bad thing.

And left as a prize? Absolutely. I love the idea of Caretaker finding them like that, at their most vulnerable. Presented like a trophy. Wrapped in thin silk and rope too weak to bind them under normal conditions, bruises peppering otherwise bare skin.

It’s humiliating, it’s painful, but Whumpee has no awareness of that. They simply feel good, relaxed and peaceful in a way they haven’t been for months. They’re barely aware of the exposed state they’re in, too out of it to even feel shame. They can’t remember the mocking words Whumper spoke as they pushed the needle into Whumpee’s skin, can’t remember the sicking mix of fury and terror they felt in those first few minutes, laying there with nothing to do but wait for the drug to kick in. All that’s left in their head is pink, sparkling joy.

Finally, Caretaker arrives. Whumpee doesn’t register the look of horror on Caretaker’s face. They barely respond as they’re searched for injuries, barely respond to Caretaker’s presence at all. When they do respond, it’s with slow, slurred speech, the words incoherent and muddled with uncontrollable laughter.

It sends a chill up Caretaker’s spine. It’s a state they’d neve expect to find Whumpee in, a state Whumpee would never allow themselves to be found in. It's frightening, seeing Whumpee act so unlike themselves.

Knowing that Whumper was around them in this state makes Caretaker sick. Knowing that Whumper had them at their most vulnerable, was free to mock them, touch them, do anything, and Caretaker wasn’t there to stop it, makes them feel sick.

It makes them sick to think this is all part of some game to Whumper. It makes them sick to think that they’re playing along, that saving Whumpee is somehow part of Whumper’s plan. But there’s nothing else Caretaker can do.

Caretaker removes their coat and drapes it over Whumpee’s body. Carefully, they pick Whumpee up, not trusting them to walk in their state. Whumpee’s body is warm despite being left on the cold floor, skin flush as the drug works through their system. Whumpee’s shivering, though they don’t seem to notice that either.

Whumpee presses themselves into Caretaker’s chest, humming contently. Caretaker holds them close with trembling fingers, and swears to never let them go again.

[whump-mania]

More Whumper Lines

In honor of my first Whumper lines post getting over 1,000 notes, here’s some more! And in some fun categories!

Tag me if you end up using any!

~

Playful/Cheery/Lighthearted

1. “Aw, that was cute. I almost felt that excuse for a punch. Why don’t you try again?”

2. “My favorite part is right before you lose consciousness.”

3. “Caretaker, you know how to do stitches, right? No? Oh well.”

4. “Hm. Your blood’s darker than the last one’s was.”

5. “Sounds like Whumpee’s having fun in there…would you like to go join them?”

Dark/Violent/Rough

1. “Get the fuck over here or I’m dragging you.”

2. “Look at me. Look at me while I hurt you.”

3. “Nothing you say is going to stop me. I have a job to do, and I don’t give a shit how it happens.”

4. “Don’t you get it? I’m not being careful. I want this to hurt you.”

5. “Stay still, you motherf—Stay STILL!”

Creepy/Intimate

1. “Come on, scream like you mean it…there we go. Much better.”

2. “It’s so cute when you fumble with your keys everyday when you come home.”

3. “Your pretty little screams are only for me to hear, understand?”

4. “It’s a shock to me that you’ve never considered modeling. I mean…red just looks so good on you.”

5. “Ah, you remember this scar, don’t you? The day we met…god, what I’d give to break you like that again.”

Reluctant/Hesitant

1. “Look, I’m—I’m sorry, I just need to get this over-with. Bite on this.”

2. “They’ll check for bruises. I have to.”

3. “I’m sorry, boss, I’ve…I’ve never done this before. I-I’m trying.”

4. “Don’t look at me like that when the others are here. Please. They’ll know I’m faking it.”

5. “I’m sorry, I had to say it—you know that’s not how I actually think of you, right?”

[whumpdaydreamerx]

Whumper forcing Whumpee to swallow something, whether it be a sedative, poison, maybe even the key to their own chains.

Whumper’s hand covering their mouth so they can’t spit it back out. Whumpee’s half lidded eyes pleading with Whumper as they maintain eye contact. Throat taut and Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as they struggle.

Clamping their eyes shut as they finally give in and whatever it is makes its way down to their stomach.

[fern-writes-whump]

You know what? I don't give enough credit to comforting actions paired with violent ones. I'm not talking about after either, I mean soft touches while hurting whumpee

A knife in one hand and the other stroking whumpee's back

tying whumpee in an uncomfortable position and petting their hair

injecting a sedative/poison and singing a lullaby

putting a blade through whumpee while hugging them <3

a hand on their cheek and the other around their throat

[distracted-obsessions]

There's something about a Whumpee that just gives in. They'll make the concessions, they'll say whatever you want, do whatever you want, anything to just stay alive. And at the end of the day, they have to remind themselves: I'm not bad, I don't deserve this, I don't love them. I don't. I don't...

[whumpwordsoftheday]

“Every time I start to get bored of you, you give me that look, that wide eyed scared look, and I just can’t resist keeping you around for a little longer”

[a-crumb-of-whump]

Content: Creepy/intimate whumper, bruises/injuries, manipulation.

"Why do you hate me?" Whumpee sobbed into Whumper's chest. "What did I ever do to you?"

Whumper held them closer, allowing their tears to soak their shirt as the two cuddled against the headboard of the bed. They could feel where each of their captive's bruises were from the tensing of their muscles whenever they touched a certain spot on their body.

"Oh, honey. What on earth makes you think I hate you?" they whispered. "I don't do this to just anyone, you know. You get it because you're special."