Dark Currents (Intoxicating Fear Fanfic)

Dark Currents (Intoxicating Fear Fanfic)

DISCONTINUED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE

@chaotic-orphan

I: Dark Currents

II: The Edge of the Knife

III: Between the Lines

IV: Run Soon

Dark Currents (Intoxicating Fear Fanfic)

IV: Run Soon

@chaotic-orphan

Kit’s mind was a whirlwind of confusion, dread knotting in his stomach. Ambrose’s cryptic words echoed in his skull—shadows. What kind of shadows could possibly hurt someone? His pulse hammered, each beat a countdown that screamed at him to move. To escape.

Ambrose wasn’t a man who could sit still for long, and Kit knew that. He wasn’t the type to wait patiently by the window forever. Sure enough, Ambrose moved, his presence filling every inch of Kit’s small apartment. He paced across the worn floorboards with slow, deliberate steps, his eyes flicking over the cluttered bookshelves, the chipped counter, the blank ceiling. There was an energy about him—sharp, restless, like a blade barely restrained.

Kit’s apartment was a mess of familiarity, but now it felt foreign. The air was thick, heavy with the remnants of Ambrose’s words, and his perfume. The walls seemed to close in around Kit. The once comforting clutter—the stack of books by the couch, the faded photograph of Kit and the other heroes pinned on the fridge—felt like they were part of someone else’s life. His heart raced, every breath shallow, as if the apartment itself was pressing in on him, waiting for something to happen.

Ambrose paused by the kitchen, his fingers brushing over the surface of the counter. He picked up a chipped coffee cup from the sink, turning it idly in his hands. "You’re afraid," Ambrose said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence like a whip. His gaze flicked to Kit, sharp and knowing. "I can feel it."

Kit’s throat tightened, his pulse spiking. "Who wouldn’t be afraid?" he muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper. "You show up spouting crap about shadows and—"

"They’re not just shadows, Kit." Ambrose’s voice was low. He set the cup down, the soft clink of porcelain against the counter making Kit flinch. "They’re something else, I don’t know what, but they’re bad and they’re coming."

Kit stood abruptly, his legs shaky beneath him, the bed creaking loudly as he shifted his weight. He couldn’t stay here, not with Ambrose prowling around his apartment like a predator waiting to strike. He needed air. He needed to think.

Ambrose’s eyes followed him, tracking every movement, but Kit ignored the burning sensation of being watched. He moved toward the kitchen, gripping the edge of the counter as if it could ground him. His gaze shot to the door—his door. The escape route. If he could just make it out…

"You can’t outrun them, Kit." Ambrose’s voice followed him, soft and warning.

Kit’s pulse quickened. His eyes darted to the door again. Ambrose was still in the kitchen, pouring himself a drink from the bottle of whiskey Kit kept for rare occasions. The liquid sloshed into the glass, the sound somehow louder than it should have been in the quiet apartment. Ambrose was distracted, at least for the moment.

Now.

Kit moved silently, slipping toward the door. He’d lived here for years—he knew which floorboards creaked and which didn’t. His fingers curled around the doorknob, turning it slowly, carefully. The soft click of the latch felt like a gunshot in the tense silence. He froze, waiting, expecting Ambrose to react—to grab him, to stop him. But nothing.

His breath caught in his throat as he eased the door open, slipping into the hallway. The door closed behind him with a quiet snick, and Kit exhaled shakily, his heart hammering against his ribs. The dim light overhead flickered, casting long, distorted shadows on the cracked walls. The air out here was cooler, but it did nothing to ease the panic clawing at Kit’s chest.

He moved swiftly but cautiously, his footsteps nearly silent against the worn floor. The stairwell loomed ahead, spiralling down into darkness. Kit’s breath hitched. The shadows down there seemed different—thicker, like they were waiting for him. Watching.

Kit shook his head, trying to push the thought away. Focus. Just get out.

He gripped the cool metal railing, his skin prickling with unease as he descended the first step. The shadows at the bottom of the stairs seemed to shift—just a flicker, a ripple in the dark. Kit froze, his breath catching in his throat. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, a cold sweat breaking out along his spine.

At the bottom of the stairs, something moved.

It was subtle, barely more than a shift in the darkness, but it was there. A shape. Tall. Broad. Wrong. The shadows around it seemed to writhe, curling and twisting like smoke in water, unnatural and grotesque. Kit’s blood ran cold. His legs locked in place, every instinct in his body screaming at him to run, but he couldn’t move. He was frozen, paralysed by the sheer wrongness of what stood below.

The figure didn’t move, but Kit could feel it watching him. Its gaze was like ice, a cold, unblinking force that bored into his very soul. The shadows rippled again, and a tendril of darkness reached for him, curling like a finger beckoning him closer.

Kit’s breath came in short, panicked bursts, his heart pounding in his ears. Run. His mind screamed at him, but his legs refused to obey. He was rooted to the spot, the cold tendrils of fear creeping up his spine, suffocating him.

Then, a hand gripped his arm, yanking him back with such force that he nearly lost his footing.

"What the fuck, Kit."

Ambrose’s breath hitched, a small indicator that only confirmed his fears, vibrating through Kit's bones. Ambrose's grip was bruising, his fingers digging into Kit’s arm as he dragged him back up the stairs. Kit stumbled, his mind reeling from what he’d just seen—what he’d almost walked into. The thing. The shadows. They were real. They were here.

Ambrose didn’t say another word as he shoved Kit back into the apartment, slamming the door behind them with a force that rattled the frame. Kit collapsed onto the bed, his chest heaving, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His skin was clammy, his entire body trembling uncontrollably.

"You really thought you could just walk out of here?" Ambrose’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and bitter. He stood by the door, his eyes burning with anger—and something else. Fear, Kit realised, by the way his jaw tightened. "You think you can outrun them?"

Kit’s mind was a mess, his thoughts fragmented, disjointed. "I-I didn’t know," he stammered, his voice hoarse. "I didn’t—"

"You didn’t listen." Ambrose’s voice was cold, his words slicing through Kit’s panic like a blade. "I told you. I warned you. But you didn’t listen."

Kit’s hands shook as he tried to steady his breathing. "What… what the hell was that thing?" His voice was barely a whisper, terror clinging to every syllable.

Ambrose’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. "That," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "was one of them. One of the things that’s been hunting you."

Kit’s stomach twisted, nausea rising in his throat. "But… what? Why? Why me?" His voice cracked, desperation bleeding into his words.

Ambrose didn’t answer immediately. He crossed the room, pacing near the window, his movements tense and agitated. When he finally spoke, his voice was strained, as though the words pained him. "Because you’re not just some random guy, Kit. You’re connected to this, to them."

Kit shook his head, everything surging to the surface at once. "Connected? What the fuck are you talking about, Ambrose? I’m just—"

"No," Ambrose cut him off, his voice sharp. "You’re not just anything. You’ve never been ‘just’ anything." His eyes locked onto Kit’s, and the corners of Ambrose’s mouth twitched. "You’ve got something they want."

Kit’s skin crawled. "I’ve—?" He blinked, his breath catching in his throat. "What do you mean, ‘something they want’?"

Ambrose’s eyes darkened. "Power." The word hung in the air like a curse. "Your alter ego, Kit.” He exhaled. “Frankly, it’s been suppressed for far too long. You need to give it another break"

Kit’s breath hitched, the weight of Ambrose’s words crashing down on him like a tidal wave. His voice was small when he finally spoke.

"…What? No.” He took a breath. “Absolutely not. I can’t do this, Ambrose. I don’t know what’s going on. I—" Kit’s eyes pricked without warning.

Ambrose’s gaze softened, just for a moment, but it was enough for Kit to see something lurking behind the man’s cold exterior. "You need to let it go." Voice low, resigned. "We’ll prepare."

Kit swallowed hard, the shadows still flickering in the corners of his vision, the memory of that thing at the bottom of the stairs seared into his mind. "No. What do you mean? Prepare? Prepare for what? What’s happening, Ambrose? Why do I even have to—"

Ambrose’s eyes darkened, his voice heavy. "No time, Kit. We’ll have to run soon."

“Wha—”

yes I'm the fanfic writer 😭

YOUR KIND WORDS MADE MY DAY!!! I honestly did not expect such a positive response, gosh I was giggling and kicking my feet THE ENTIRE TIME. And nooo I'm not a writer, at least not a published one. I'm still very young and an amateur, and I really do not write often except for my school assignments lmfao.

But goddamn am I flattered! It is an absolute honour to be complimented, let alone fangirled over by an author of such enticing works---one I've been following and admiring for quite a while now! And thank you so much for the encouragement, being an author has been my childhood dream, so your words mean a lot to me!!

Maybe I will publish it

(I did.)

xx

OH MY GODDDDD!!!!! I can’t believe you don’t write, but writing is 90% reading so clearly you’ve got the chops for it!!! If you want to be an author, listen to Stephen King and Write!!!!! Start writing for fun (if you have the time) pick it up as a hobby, and then if you want to share more, then share more!!!!

Especially the whump community which is THE NICEST writing community I’ve ever been in which is so ironic because of the subject matter but if you want a nice place to start, I would recommend whump, or hero x villain writing on tumblr <3

I loved reading your fanfic, I can’t wait to read it AGAIN after replying!!! And follow your dream and write if it’s something you wanna do, and thank you for writing and sharing the fanfic, it was such an exciting read!!!

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

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

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

Whumptober No.6

Not realising they’re injured

Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms // Healed Wrong // "It's not my blood."

This one is kind of inspired by the prompts but not about any one of them? It’s in the rules, ✨it’s allowed✨

*~*~*~*~*

Hero didn’t stop until they were far enough away from Villain until they slowed and allowed themselves to catch their breath. They pressed their back flush against the brick wall, gasping out a hiss of pain as they grabbed the shaft of the arrow sticking out of their stomach, just above their hip.

Villain’s arrow was lodged inside and with every step Hero took it rubbed against their hip bone and sent jolts of pain ricocheting up their spine, every movement serving to further aggravate it. Hero released the shaft with a grunt, and went for the arrow in their shoulder first.

They bit their tongue to stop themselves from screaming as they snapped the fletchlings off the ends. Hero couldn’t help the whimper in the back of their throat at how painful even that slight movement was, but they couldn’t stop now.

Hero braced themselves and stepped away from the wall, huffing out a few laboured breaths before they pushed the arrow through their body. Hero stomped their foot, their neck muscles tense as they glared at the sky, letting out huffing breaths of pain and whining in the back of their throat until the arrow fell to the ground on the other side.

The wound started pooling blood but Hero tried their best to ignore it, staunching the bleeding with the wad of cloth bandages they kept on them at all times. It would have to do.

Hero side stepped to the corner of the alley, peaking out around the corner, expecting Villain to appear at the end of the Warehouses with their bow poised and ready, already aiming at Hero’s head, but… it was quiet. Silent.

Eerily so.

Hero glanced down at the leftover bandages, considering if they should even try to do anything with their hip but… no. They should wrap it tight and then continue out, looking for cover. They weren’t going to be able to fight Villain again like this, they were too crafty, too cunning and unpredictable, and unlike Hero, they could fight from the shadows and still devastate Hero with their arrows.

Hero wrapped the bandage around their hip, crossing and pulling it tight but not too tight, and tucking the end into a strip before they straightened again, scanning the warehouses across from them. If they could get between the next two warehouse, they would be home clean if they could make it to the street. Hero could lose themselves in the narrow streets instead of running through the wide open space, that only really gave Villain any advantage in the fight.

Hero waited, listened, and when they were satisfied they heard nothing, Hero stepped out of the alley. They had to be quick. They walked with strong steps, careful not to put too much pressure on their injured leg, even if every step no matter how light sent new volts of agony spiking through their body.

Halfway across.

Hero was doing good.

Then the warehouses turned, and Hero frowned and the ground rushed up to meet them. Hero shot their hands out and cried out when they took their weight on their bad shoulder, barely suppressing a scream.

What?! What happened? Did their leg go from under them? Hero pushed themselves up but the world spun again and they felt like they were going to get sick. The strength left them as they tried to push themselves up again but fell face down, and this time they did scream when the arrow lodged in their hip was pushed further inside them.

All energy had been zapped from them, the world dizzying, turning over itself and in and out of focus as Hero tried to blink. Had they lost too much blood? What was—

Loud, echoing footsteps sounded through the warehouse strip, deafening the closer they got to Hero. Hero saw them, Villain’s legs, their bow handing by their side.

“Hero, Hero, Hero,” Villain tsked, the words running together and echoing off Hero’s skull. Villain stopped beside Hero and crouched, slapping Hero’s cheek. Hero whined in reply. “Still with me, hmm?”

They could feel Villain’s eyes roam over them, but they couldn’t tell what they were thinking, what they were observing. Hero tried to speak but their tongue felt fat and heavy in their mouth so all they could do was whine.

A sharp slap to the shoulder and Hero cried out into the darkness, but they couldn’t move, they couldn’t struggle away. Thinking became too much of an effort and they had no idea what was happening to them. They flexed their fingers but only their pinky twitched in front of their face.

“Paralysis poison,” Villain supplied, as if reading Hero’s mind. Hero’s body suddenly ran cold with terror. Villain chuckled darkly. “Oh, don’t worry. I didn’t put it inside you, and it’s not permanent, no.”

Villain grabbed Hero’s shoulder and turned them onto their back none-too-gently. Hero could only glare up at them as best they could. Hoping they were threatening, bur probably not.

“See, Hero,” Villain said, walking their fingers down Hero’s neck to their shoulder and pressing in until Hero cried out. “I know all about your little habits, your frankly, unhealthy habits, because we’ve been fighting for so long. I know you take two sugar in tea with a dash of milk and you like the croissants on fifth for breakfast.”

If Hero could, they know their body would be trembling, but their body may as well have been stone with how still it was. Villain continued walking their fingers down from Hero’s shoulder to their hip. Hero let out a low whine of protest that sounded pathetic even to their ears.

Villain’s amused eyes met Hero’s terrified ones. They wanted to shake their head and beg Villain not to touch that wound. To their surprise, Villain didn’t touch the arrow, just prodded at the wound around it until Hero sang with screams of pain.

“And I know that you would rather disappear into the night, and live to fight another day when you’re bested, so I adapted. You probably didn’t notice in your pain, but I coated the shafts of the arrows with a paralysis poison that turns your muscles off for about an hour or two, long enough for me to hunt you and let the poison take effect.”

They dug their fingers into the wound until Hero was practically growling their screams were so guttural.

“Now, one arrow, sure, maybe you touch it, maybe you don’t, but two?” Villain whistled. “Two points of contact to deal with while running? I know you would rather have one weakness, so I coated them both and waited until you exposed yourself. And hey presto, here you are, and here I am.”

Villain leaned in closer to Hero’s face, smiling down at them with a cruelty creasing their eyes. “And this time, sweet Hero. There will be no running away. I’m taking you home with me.”

Villain laughed at Hero’s blank expression except for their wide, terrified eyes. “No? Okay, tell you what. If you object in the next five seconds, you can walk free. Is that fair? Ready? Five.”

Hero whined in the back of their throat, trying to make any other noise they could that would signal a protest because they couldn’t go home with Villain!

“Four.”

Nobody… Hero… what if they had more of the paralysis poison and just left Hero like this to do with as they pleased?

“Three.”

Hero tried to pant out sudden, sharp cries. Villain grinned wickedly down at them, running their gloved fingers over Hero’s cheek.

“So eager for me, Hero. Don’t worry, I’m eager two.”

Hero screamed and all that came out of their mouth was a whimper.

“One. No protest? Okay then. If you insist.” Villain slung their bow across their back, fastening it to the quiver before they scooped Hero up, one hand across their upper back resting on Hero’s injured shoulder to the shrieks of Hero, and the other under their knees. “Oh, I can’t wait until I get you home, Hero. You don’t know how many things I want to do to you.”

Hero screamed at their body to struggle, to wiggle free, to do anything, but the only part of themselves that Hero could move were their eyes that were fixed staring up at Villain as Villain carried them away. They glanced down at Hero, smiling with a terrifying glee.

“You really shouldn’t have been so predictable, Hero, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to catch you. And now that I have you…” Villain trailed off, stopping in front of a car. They clicked a button and the boot of the car raised. Fear shot through Hero as sudden as being dunked in an ice bath when Villain put Hero into the boot. Villain reached a hand down to stroke Hero’s cheek. “I am never letting you go.”

Dark Currents (Intoxicating Fear Fanfic)

I: Dark Currents

@chaotic-orphan

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Continued here