men who insist on blocking your way with their large frames at every opportunity they have. those who accidentally stand in front of you, and whatever object you want to get, ensuring you can't get by without asking them or pushing them aside. and those who conveniently appear when you need to get something that's high up.
men who annoy the shit out of you by insisting that you're just so much smaller than him. who look down at you with a condescending smirk as you angrily explain to him that you're not 'that' small. the ones who grab whatever you have and grin at you while they hold it high above you. forcing you to stretch and jump to get it back.
men who chuckle as you try to push them back and fight them off. who catch your smaller wrists in their large palm and easily pull you against them. men who insist on dropping their full weight over you - crushing you especially when you're in his bed.
men who when you snap back at how big, dumb and annoying he is, tell you that he has something even bigger to show you. who wrestle you down on the couch, bed, or floor, effortlessly, and pin you with one hand.
men who like to push their thick dicks inside your cunt. watching as you thrash about, scream, and beg him to stop, to slow down. men who think you sound sooo cute when he has you crying about how he's 'too big' how he needs to 'stop' or whatever. the ones who love the feel of your fluttering pussy around his hard cock. who enjoy your soft, small hands pushing against his chest. who can't get enough of your gummy walls, squeezing the life out of him.
men who love the size difference so much that it turned him into some kind of sick fuck. but you must be just as sick, since you always cum when he has you under him.
boyfriends; everyone here is over the age of 25 because I said so. just how I wrote this piece of fiction, I wrote them all as over 25
bnha: kirishima, shindo, katsuki, aizwa, ALL FUCKING MIGHT, fatgum.
The banging on the door hasn't stopped for the past minute and a half. Aurelius tries to ignore it, but accompanying it are the annoying strains of a certain human's voice demanding to be let in and asking what's up with Klaus.
When Eiden shifts to calling him names, the angel has had enough.
Outside the (newly-repaired) house, the front door swings open abruptly before an invisible force telepathically drags Eiden inside and slams the door behind him. He's floated to the living room and dumped unceremoniously on the couch before the shadow of the divinus falls over him, dark and menacing.
Aurelius looks disheveled, his hair in a mess and his shirt collar crooked. There's a fixed crease on his forehead as he fights with the ghost of his headache—which threatens to revive in full at the sight of the human in his house.
He narrows his eyes and applies enough force on Eiden's body to keep him plastered to the sofa.
-They’re running, escape is so close they can taste it, when a hand roughly grasps their wrist and they’re pulled into whumpers arms
-they’re hiding, shaking, hands over their mouth in an attempt to keep quiet. They shuffle away away from the entrance to their hiding place, dreading the possibility of being found. A figure comes into view. They press into the far wall and curl in on themself. When they’re grabbed and dragged out, they’re sobbing
-tiny whumpees engulfed by a hand, strong enough to crush them. They struggle and push, nearly getting out, when the other hand wraps around them, trapping them.
-whumpees too tired to move, being picked up and carried
- a hand pushing whumpees arm down, into a restraint
-whumpee suddenly being grabbed by the throat and pushed against the wall, gasping, surprise and fear plain to see on their face
-whumper grabbing their hair and pulling their head back to hold a weapon to their throat
-whumper taking hold of the chains fastened to their wrists
Alexei forced his eyes open at the word, spoken close enough that it made his eardrum buzz. It didn't stick. The world around him wouldn't hold still, and he couldn't stand to look at it, couldn't stand to be aware.
His eyes slipped closed.
"Hey!"
A hand tightened in his hair, forcing his head up. "I'm talking to you. You in there?" A disgusted sigh, and he was dropped again. "Ugh, show a little respect."
(Decked, resurrect, reflect.) It was hard to make sense of anything that was going on. What happened?
He'd passed out, somehow; he was drunk and in pain, but when wasn't he? He was indoors. The man from before was crouched beside him, trying to rouse him—
The man from before.
The party. Fuck, he was still at the party.
The man beside him flicked his cheekbone. Lex hardly flinched, wondering if Uriah would punish him if he reacted in self-defense. He wouldn't even attack, just let his body become too hot to touch, just push the guests away so he could rest.
But no, Uriah's shoes were a few feet behind the man, tapping impatiently, as if he were also expecting Lex to stand up and walk it off.
Stand up and let them have another go.
His chest tightened at the notion. What had he done to deserve this? ...Enough. But what had he done to deserve this from these people?
He'd understand if it was coming from a victim's loved one, from a hero who thought it was their duty, from a civilian who looked at him and saw a monster.
Here, it was without reason. A demonstration of power for those who already held so much; puppetmasters tugging greedily at a marionette.
"Uriah," the man whined above him. "He's not—"
"He's awake," Fox cut him off. "You just need to give him more motivation." Lex could hear the smile in Fox's voice as he continued.
Whumper’s hand against Whumpee’s throat, their fingers and thumb digging into the corners of their jaw. Perhaps just lightly turning their head back and forth, maybe flexing their control, maybe examining their prize.
hey! could i maybe ask of you to write me a little smutty something with a really possessive atsumu who just doesn't like the idea of having to share your attention with other people? he can be as needy, clingy and dominant as you feel would match it best. i just want to fantasise about him making me repeat his name over and over again as he marks me up 🥺👉🏼👈🏼
18+ ONLY | DARK CONTENT | MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
NOTES: tysm for requesting, i had so much fun writing this for you! i added a couple extra things, but i hope it's still to your liking <3; network: @hqintheclub
GENRE: smut
SUMMARY: you love him and he loves you, but this time you'll really see how deep it goes
CONTENT: [DC ⚠️ possessive behaviour; possessive thoughts; jealousy]; atsumu; f!reader; msby; established relationship; alcohol mention (atsumu and reader are not drunk); the act of marking with hickies (no description of how it appears on skin); dirty talk; mirror sex; impact play (x1 slap); manhandling; creampie; reader is called sweetheart and baby
WORDS: 3.1k+
It's off putting—a restless weight in Atsumu's chest that threatens his common sense. He shouldn't be feeling this way, knows it's not right, but that weight settles and digs its claws deeper the more he watches. Your attention is too precious, too valuable to be spent on anyone other than himself.
Maybe it started when Meian placed his hand on your lower back, guiding and welcoming you into his penthouse for yet another after-game party. It was an odd sight that had Atsumu's brows raising and his jaw tensing. Why did he have to touch you like that?
Or maybe it was when he heard you laughing at one of Bokuto's drunken jokes with that spellbinding voice of yours. It's downright intoxicating, and to this day still causes Atsumu's heart to race. So, if it's directed towards anyone else, he can't help but scrunch his face with distaste.
It could have been the way he saw your eyes light up when talking with Hinata. Anyone who has the pleasure of meeting your gaze would notice how alluring your eyes are—how can they not? Even Atsumu, who has stared into them countless times before, still gets lost in them.
It may also be the sweet smile you gave while complimenting Sakusa's spike from the earlier game, and Atsumu definitely saw him give you the faintest smile back. Why does Sakusa get to see your smile while hearing your words of praise? What about the set that he did so that spike could happen in the first place? Where's your words of praise for him?
It's all of that, and he's bothered. The nag is constant and an annoyance that makes him want to show everyone that you're his, and his alone.
Atsumu sits on the couch with an expression on his face that mirrors exactly how he's feeling inside. The energy he emits has the rest of the guests gravitating away, leaving him alone to mull in his silent jealousy. Last he saw, you were with some of his teammates, and he's wishing you would just come sit with him instead.
The mixture of voices around him is loud, and the music is even louder, but the thoughts in his head are screaming at him the loudest. He closes his eyes and curses underneath his breath, leaning his head back to regain some sort of control.
═ ❀ ═
Currently, you’re squished shoulder to shoulder between large-bodied athletes. Through their drunken haze, their voices and words are gruff and vulgar, and you want nothing more, but to go see your boyfriend. He made some excuse earlier to go “cool off” and you haven’t seen him since.
The conversation at hand seems to be going nowhere except in substanceless circles, and your mind keeps wandering back to a certain person. Carefully, you pry a heavy arm off your shoulder, and quietly slip away from the group—too caught up in whatever they're talking about to notice.
The lights are dim, and there's a sea of people, but you spot familiar tufts of blonde peeking from above one of the couches. Sneaking your way past the crowd, you stop in front of your boyfriend.
Taking a moment to yourself, you let your gaze roam over him. "Tired?" An innocent question naive to the ferocity of his mind.
The soft familiarity of your voice has his eyes instantly opening. "Baby," he straightens himself before interlocking his fingers with yours to keep you in place, as if afraid you would leave him again. "Not exactly tired." He places a kiss to the back of your hand, his piercing eyes never once leaving yours.
Giggling, you step closer towards him. "Then why are you just sitting here by yourself?" There’s a curious tilt to your head and you give his hands a reassuring squeeze.
He waits a moment before responding, "Just thinkin'."
Your smile widens, "About?"
"Things." He takes your other hand to place another kiss.
Your brows furrow at how vague he's being, it's not like him to be so indirect. "Things like?"
His strong grip tightens around before he pulls, and you’re suddenly falling into his lap. "Things like how I want ya all to myself, sweetheart." His voice is deep and smooth, but the overwhelming intensity in his tone makes your heart skip a beat.
"What do you mean? You already have me all to yourself." You tell him like it's the most obvious thing while hiding your face into his neck to press an endearing kiss to his jaw.
"Yes, but it seems like there's some people who don't fuckin’ see that." It's a whispered snarl underneath his breath that’s spoken through gritted teeth, and it’s barely audible when it gets lost in the surrounding noise.
You bring your face up to look at him, “Hm?”
The only response that comes to Atsumu’s mind is a kiss. It's frenzied, desperate, and the way his mouth locks onto yours only conveys more of his possession. That familiar warmth starts to dust your cheeks when you hear a low whistle and some laughter from somewhere behind, but you shyly comply and kiss him back.
Your kiss is chaste and sweet, a drastic contrast to what he's looking for and needs, and you gently break away. “They can see," you quietly hiss, eyes narrowing the slightest bit.
"So? Let 'em." A firm tone that he matches with a challenging spark that crosses his eye.
You bite at your lip while insecurity begins to gnaw at your composure, and you take a discreet look around. You're too focused on the potential stares and drunken hollers to notice your boyfriend's jealous pout.
A rough palm comes to the side of your face, firmly guiding you back to face him. “Eyes on me, sweetheart.”
You stare into his eyes, and your discomfort doesn't pass him. "Believe me, I want to. Just not here."
He grumbles in silent understanding, "Okay. Sorry," mentally berating himself for acting so stupid, but you stand and take his hand, pulling and leading him down a hallway.
You push him into the first unlocked room you see with a laugh, the music and noise muffling with the shut of the door.
He takes a look around and smiles, "A bathroom? Didn't think ya had it in ya."
Placing an open hand onto his chest, you give him a playful shove. "You're the one who's being so needy."
He holds his hands up in defeat, but grabs your wrist, keeping your palm pressed against him. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest with every breath, and his face only gets closer.
"Yeah, baby? Ya think? Well, it's not easy watching ya when it's not with me," he murmurs gently against your lips before kissing you once more.
The flutter in your chest only intensifies with the way his mouth moves against yours; it's long and fevered, but soon turns urgent, selfish even. Hands cup your cheeks, guiding your movements to satisfy his need of having you.
So lost in the way his mouth feels and meshes against your own, your knees buckle underneath the heavy tension in the room, but he’s there—catching and roughly pinning you against the door. It thuds against the frame, and you can hear the drowned out music and voices coming from the other side, reminding you of where you are and what you’re about to do.
Breaking away for the briefest moment to catch your breath, you lean your forehead against his chest. He lets out a frustrated groan that seems to border more of a growl, and slots a thigh in between your legs.
There’s a deep inhale against your hair and he pauses, “Ya smell different.” It’s a simple observation that seems to strike him harder than he initially lets on because it’s a scent that hints notes of an expensive cologne that definitely doesn’t belong to him.
Too dumbfounded by his tone and the nature of his statement, you stay silent. “Answer me, sweetheart.” He presses his muscled thigh against your cunt, warning you to respond.
The more pressure he adds, the more obvious your need becomes—gasping, digging your fingers onto his biceps, and pathetically grinding yourself back onto him for some relief.
Astonished eyes peer up at him. “Oh, I–It’s probably from when I was with the team earlier...Tsumu, what's gotten into you?" You ask him with all the innocence you can muster, but you would be lying to yourself if you said the way he’s acting wasn’t such a turn-on.
His hands continue to hold your face, and he leans over, resting his head against the door. “Again,” he bites out harshly.
You stall for what seems like forever, unsure of what it is that he wants, “Again?”
His face finds comfort hiding into the side of your neck, “My name. Say it,” his tone seems to soften, but the possessive edge still cuts deep.
There’s a warmth between your legs and your voice seems to be caught in your throat, but you gather your courage, “Tsumu,” it’s a breathy whisper, quiet and soft, but it’s all the motivation he needs to hear.
A sigh of his relief, hot and long rushes past, then there’s a feathery tingle that courses through your body—a barrage of lips and teeth dragging and sucking along your neck that sends your senses into a heightened overdrive. The more he pushes you against the door, the more obvious the heavy tremble of the bass is against your back; your head rolls to the side, biting your cheek to swallow down a moan.
He has your body mapped from the countless amount of times he’s touched you. If you were a canvas, and his lips a brush, there would be no doubt in either of your minds that every inch on your body would be covered with traces of him. But, he needs more, just that isn’t enough because having traces of another on you infuriates him to no end.
"Turn around, bend over the sink." His words are stern, and you obediently listen, while suppressing an excited smile.
There's a large mirror in front of you, it's intimidating, yet the thought of watching your boyfriend ruin you has you so enticed. You stare into the reflection, and he's looking right back. He's so handsome, but the darkening glint in his eye and ferality in his smile makes him even more deadly.
Large hands grip around your waist, then a muscled chest is pressing against your back, forcing you down and bending you further against the marble. It's cold, but his lips against the shell of your ear and his weight so deliciously pressing against you warms you in more ways than one.
“Think of me, and only me,” it’s a desperate plea that he emphasizes by leaving his claim along the column of your neck.
You watch his impatient hands pull off your shirt, exposing more of your skin for his taking. He's rough, almost angry in the way he sheds your body of your shirt and bra. He grabs hold of your upper arms, pulling you upright against his chest with so much ease, and with your bare tits reflecting back in the mirror for you both to see. Your hands react to cover yourself when shyness starts to creep, but he frowns and clicks his tongue in disapproval.
He pins them back to your sides, “Don’t hide from me.” Those same hands cup each swell of your breast, roughly kneading as if it would somehow erase all traces of other hands that have come before.
In the lewdness and obscenity of it all, and in some hidden darkened desire to watch your boyfriend have his way with you, you can’t bring yourself to look away. Your body relaxes against him, head weakly rolling against his shoulder, and you stare back into the deep reflection of his eyes.
“Atta girl,” he whispers into your ear, his lips once again grazing your neck, “Anyone else ever take care of ya like this?”
“N—No,” you gasp at the suction and soft pressure building against a sensitive spot underneath your ear, “Not like you, Tsumu.”
His smirk only grows, loving how you try to respond so casually, but your stammers and whimpers tell how you're barely hanging on, and it's all because of him. It makes him wild, seeing you crumble underneath his touch, for your thoughts to be filled with only him, and for his name to fall from your lips.
His mouth pops off with a wet smack, and your thighs squeeze together when you feel his fingertips graze underneath your skirt, but flinch at the quick slap to the side of your thigh. “Keep ‘em open,” he grits while rolling his hips against the curve of your ass.
His fingers hook into the damp crotch of your panties, peeling them down from your warm slick-covered cunt with a wicked smile. “So fuckin’ wet, baby,” his thumb rubs between your folds, “And who’s all this for, hm?” He coos with a feigned sweetness to satisfy his dark desires.
“All you, Tsumu,” you moan, staring his reflection dead in the eye.
“That’s right. All me, all me.” He places a long kiss to the side of your head, his hand gracelessly trying to undo the front of his pants.
He's impatient and needy. Thoughts from earlier rush in like a violent tide, he plays back every touch, laugh, gaze, and smile that wasn’t meant for him with an absurd amount of detail. Nobody except him can have you like he can; he's going to fuck you like nobody else ever has, and ruin it for anyone else to come because he'll make sure it's him you'll ever think about.
He lands a hand between your shoulder blades, pushing you down and folding you over the sink. Grabbing his cock with a heavy hand, he drags it between your folds, and rubs your slick along his length.
"Listen now," he strains his words with a few generous pumps with his hand, "Ya have no idea what ya do to me."
With the last of his resolve, he sinks himself into you, burying his cock deep inside, and watches your face in all its fucked out bliss. "Oh, fuck," he drags out the curse with a deep shaky breath while slowly pulling his hips back, then quickly slams himself into your tight little cunt with a resounding snap.
He rips a scream from your throat that echoes throughout the marble-covered bathroom, your hands grip onto the sides of the countertop, holding on for what’s to come.
"Not gonna go easy on ya, baby." His hands move to grasp around each of your upper arms, and he starts at an unforgivable pace, pulling you back into each of his thrusts while groaning with every slam.
It’s harsh, but the way his thick cock drags against your walls has you wishing he would never stop. Every slap of his hips against your ass is loud, and he hopes whoever passes the door can hear every one of his thrusts and every pretty moan he elicits out of you. You can feel his ridiculous strength in the way he's holding onto your arms and how perfectly solid and calculated his hips are when splitting you open.
“Anyone ever make ya feel this good, sweetheart?” He pants, pulling his cock out halfway, his fat tip dragging over a spot he knows makes you weak and stops, waiting for you to answer.
You shake your head violently, wanting him to continue his brutal pace. “Just you, only you,” you whine, squeezing your walls around him.
He silently beams and continues to fuck you, and watches your tits bounce with his every thrust.
"You’re fuckin’ mine, ya hear?" He lets go of your arms, and you fall forward against the counter, too caught up in your pleasure to bother with holding yourself up.
He follows suit and presses his chiselled sweat-covered chest against your back. His arms hug you tight around the waist, but his hips don’t waver, the continuous resounding snaps filling the bathroom.
He leans his head by your ear. “First,” he grunts, “I’m gonna cum inside this pretty little pussy.” His pace quickens the more you milk him for all he is, “Then—fuck, you’re gonna walk out there and not spill a single drop.” His hand slides down your belly, tracing your folds, before finally finding your clit, “But, before any of that. I want ya to cream on my fuckin’ cock.”
It’s a wild sensation that you can’t even begin to put into words, and a feeling that only he’s been able to awaken in you. “Yes, Tsumu,” your moans sounds filthy, and it shocks even yourself, but he just hums in content—the deep vibration against your back almost has you cumming on the spot. Every drag of his cock and flick against your clit works in tandem and is so impeccably precise, it almost drives you insane.
“C’mon, baby. Do it for me.” His thrusts turn shallow, and he’s grinding himself onto your ass, but his intent doesn’t disappear.
“Tsumu, I’m close gonna—,” he presses his lips against the side of your neck and lightly nips at your skin with his teeth.
You can barely finish your statement because you’re coming undone, unravelling yourself onto his cock, while screaming his name and your words of surrender.
"That's it, that's it," he praises, your walls spasm and convulse around him. “Shit, shit, shit!” Each of his words are emphasized with sloppy thrusts and stuttering hips, but it’s all he needs to empty himself into you and finally do what he's been meaning to do all night.
He blows load after load, making sure nothing is left because it's all for you. He rests his weight on top, trying to catch his breath and calm his mind. You’re here, you’re his, and it’s his cum that you're currently filled with. God forbid you were no longer his, but if anyone were to touch you, it's his touch that he hopes you'll wish for instead; if you were to kiss anyone else, he hopes it's the taste of his lips you try to find in them.
No matter how much of his claim he lays down, he has to admit how much of your own claim you have over him for just being you because there’s nobody in the world he would rather have. He’s more than aware of how twisted and selfish it is, but just as much as he’s ruined you, you've ruined him all the same.
if you enjoyed, a like/reblog/comments are appreciated!
I had a lot of fun writing this chapter! If you're confused at a certain part I did a little explanation in the endnotes on AO3!
Read it on AO3 if you'd rather! :D
Aitor came to in an entirely new place. His memory… was a little fuzzy. Pain came to the forefront of his mind though as he tried to take a breath. His hands, now un-ziptied, flew to his midsection as agony pulsed through the lower part of his ribcage.
Right. Beaten. Kidnapped. Beaten again. How could he forget.
He hissed as he waited for the flash of pain to calm. Swallowing thickly, his hands hovered around the injury but he was unable to actually touch it. He was stuck, frozen until the flare dulled down. God he hoped it would dull down.
His body relaxed ever so slightly as the pain, thankfully, faded enough for him to actually think. His eyes darted around, taking in this new space. A glare settled on his face as he realized he was in a cell, complete with bars separating him from the other half of the cold clinical room full of all kinds of machines he couldn’t hope to understand.
As he looked down at himself, he snarled as he found his body armor had finally been taken, leaving him in only his pants, button down shirt, and socks. Even the belt that had been around the outside of his shirt had been removed. He tried not to imagine the fuckers who’d undressed him. At least he still had on his original clothes.
He dragged his feet closer to him, glad to find that his ankles had been freed too. Getting up should hopefully be easier than last time. His hands carefully slid to his sides. Aitor held his breath, wincing as he slowly eased himself up into a sitting position. He was smack in the middle of the cell which meant there was no immediate wall to lean on. Already his arms were trembling from trying to keep him up.
The pounding in his temples was starting up again at the change in orientation. He groaned, leaning forward to sit on his hip. One arm gripped the fabric of his pants while the other rubbed a hand over his face as he tried to fight the rising nausea. It felt like someone was drumming against the back of his skull, sending wave after wave of ache across his head. He reached for the back of his head, surprised to be met with gauze instead of sticky bloody hair. His hand followed the gauze, finding that it wrapped around his forehead and back down to his injury. The old blood trail down his neck was still there though. He huffed, if that was still there they probably hadn’t looked past his outer layers.
Slowly, he slid over to the back wall, letting out a sigh of relief once he was leaning against something. It didn’t last long. His stomach growled, sending what felt like acid burning up his throat.
How long did Waltz expect him to live without food? Or water for the matter.
He jolted in surprise as the door outside his cell banged open. Two Renegades stood there. As they saw him, they snickered amongst themselves.
“He’s awake!”
“Let’s tell the boss.”
Aitor paled as they took off. God, he couldn’t take another beating. He wasn’t as resilient as he used to be and passing out so much couldn't be good for him.
He heard slow steps echoing off what must be empty halls. It could only be Waltz. His broken rib seemed to throb at the notion.
His brow furrowed. He didn’t want to be huddled against the wall when Waltz came in. Gritting his teeth, Aitor quickly pushed himself up, swaying heavily as his vision swam. His legs threatened to give out, forcing him to fall back. The wall was the only thing keeping him up as Waltz stepped into the room a second later. Aitor’s eyes were immediately drawn to the bag he had in hand.
“Good to see you awake. I’m sure you’re dying for something to eat but first,” he brought the bag onto the desk outside the cell, opening it and grabbing something from inside. “You need your medicine.”
Waltz began setting up equipment on the desk. Beakers and flasks and needles joining the instruments already there.
Aitor’s eyes widened as Waltz pulled out a familiar container.
Inhibitors, Aitor identified.
“What are-?” Aitor stopped himself to wet his dry throat. His voice was so raspy and sore he could have mistaken it for someone else. “What the hell… do you think you’re doing?”
“With the state of things, it's gotten a little harder to synthesize the ingredients needed,” Waltz said instead. “Luckily, I’ve always been resourceful.”
Aitor watched him handle the ingredients. He mixed and measured for a few minutes. Each second that ticked by made Aitor all the more nervous as well as unstable on his feet. He hated it, but he was going to have to sit down. Waltz was still enraptured with whatever he was mixing as Aitor slowly pressed his back to the wall and slid down to the floor.
He glared at Waltz. That sick fuck was going to try and give him whatever he was mixing. The inhibitors were especially worrying for him. He’d never taken them himself, even when he was younger and at his peak. Nowadays even if he wanted to, he worried the danger of death or cardiac arrest would be higher. He couldn’t take risks like that with a family waiting for him.
That choice might be taken from him, he thought, swallowing thickly.
The inhibitors were the last thing Waltz added to the test tube he’d been working out of. There was a quiet hiss from the tube shaped container as he opened it. He grabbed one injection of the three inside before closing it back. Aitor watched as he added the entire injection to the concoction, lifting it up to the light in the ceiling and swirling it a couple times. Waltz seemed to be finishing up as he took an empty needle and filled it with whatever the hell he’d made.
“You should feel honored. You will be the first test subject of your kind I’ve had to work with,” Waltz proclaimed, approaching the cell. “Maybe the reluctance will improve your chances.”
Aitor got back up as fast as he could, stepping to the farthest corner from the door. “Stay back,” he snapped, trying to hide how helpless he felt.
“Don’t worry. You won’t turn. This little cocktail would need something to feed off of to do that and you’re running on empty. No food. No water. No adrenaline left.”
“You ain’t getting that anywhere near me!” He snarled, eyes widening. Turn?? What the hell did he mean by that? What was he trying to give him?
Waltz chuckled. “I’m glad you’ve still got that spirit in you. You’ll need it, especially with a dose this high.”
Waltz unlocked the door and swung it into the cell. Aitor’s heart was in his throat and god was it making him feel woozy. Waltz was right, he was running on empty. How could he fight back?
He strode over; every step his face grew more and more excited. Aitor snarled when he was little more than 3 feet away and pushed himself to the side. This cell wasn’t that big, allowing him to catch the bars and regain some balance. Waltz lunged after him as Aitor tried to shove himself towards the door.
His chances had been slim at best. He’d known that. Yet even then, as Waltz’s hand snatched the back of his shirt and threw him to the ground Aitor’s heart sunk. He could die from whatever the hell Waltz was about to do to him.
A knee dug into his back, pinning him while hands pressed his arm flat to the ground. Aitor’s legs squirmed, socked feet trying to find traction on the smooth floor. Fuck, his chest. He couldn’t breathe. Another knee appeared above his shoulder blades. To Aitor’s dismay, he was facing away from where Waltz seemed to want to stick him.
“Get off me!” Aitor snapped, eyes wide. He was ignored.
When Waltz felt he was sufficiently pinned, he raised the injection up to Aitor’s forearm. The man’s squirming didn’t deter him in the slightest as he swiftly jabbed the needle into the muscle.
Aitor grunted at the sudden prick, whole body jolting. A chill went up his spine at the feeling of the liquid being pushed into his muscle. Fucker! Holy shit, what was about to happen to him?
Waltz stood, tossing the empty needle to the side. Quickly he closed the cell door, blocking Aitor from making another go at it, and stared down at his test subject.
Aitor gasped as every muscle in his body seemed to clench and tighten. He couldn’t stop himself from gasping as his lungs seemed to contract with everything else, broken ribs be damned. His vision grew black around the edges. His veins felt like a fire was running through them. He curled up into a ball on his side, fingers spasming as he tried to claw at the ground to relieve something. Most worrying of all, his biomarker was screaming.
In his pain filled world, he couldn’t remember why that mattered.
It was a relief when the black finally took over and he was out.
He woke up with a gasp, bolting up right before quickly laying back down as his chest burned. A groan escaped him as every muscle in his body felt sore, like acid had been pumped between each one. He closed his eyes, wanting to return to unconsciousness.
“Ah, excellent. You lived.”
He flinched at Waltz’s voice. He sounded too close. He was so exhausted though, he couldn’t manage to even open his eyes again.
Fingers forced one of his eyes open as a bright light overtook his vision. He hissed, eye watering before the next one was given the same treatment.
“Good reaction,” he mumbled to himself.
He pressed lightly on Aitor’s chest, making the Peacekeeper cry out, whole body tensing up with pain. Apparently this was good too as Waltz hummed in approval.
“Well commander, I’d say you have fared just as well as I thought you would. Two more of those will determine if you will fulfill your purpose though.”
Aitor couldn’t find it in himself to care. He was so tired. Not even the army had broken him down like this.
Waltz was saying something as he shuffled around somewhere nearby but Aitor was already passing out again.
Cursing and crashing brought him slightly to awareness. Not enough for him to open his eyes or process anything, but enough to groan at being woken up.
The loud noises stopped and hands were suddenly on him, blinding him for a moment, pressing different parts of his body. Before he passed out again, he heard something that sounded like, “One more, one more.”
The next time, he wasn’t even sure he had woken up. There was a screeching sound in his ear. He growled, one hand snapping out to try and get rid of the sound. Something stopped him, snatching his wrist before he could get rid of the screeching.
His eyes flew open and he growled, something deep and animal like. Wild eyes darted around, trying to find what was stopping him. He sat up with a snarl, jolting as he processed there was something alive near him.
It was alive and he was starving.
He shrieked a terrible ghostly sound and attempted to lunge at whatever was near him. He would catch it. He would destroy it.
It fought back though, slamming him back down with muscles much stronger than his. Still, he clawed at the thing, trying to kick and thrash, anything to get the upper hand.
A roar far more guttural than he’d ever heard made him pause. He recognized the sound as… something…
Still he bared his teeth at the thing that seemed far less enticing than it had a minute ago. And then something bathed the whole room in a blinding glow. He screeched, trying to cover his eyes as it felt like his skin was burning. He was dying.
The world faded away again.
Something was lightly slapping the side of his cheek. He grumbled and tried to smack the thing away.
“-you still in there lieutenant?”
He managed to pry his eyes open, but almost immediately closed them as the light in the room made his head throb.
“Tur-n tha- off,” he slurred. Jesus, his voice was raw.
He received a chuckle in response.
“Good,” fabric rustled as Waltz stood, “Now sit up. You can’t drink on your back.”
Aitor decided he couldn't be bothered to listen to him. He was really trying to fall back asleep. His body was so sore. He must have been too out of it to properly feel the pain now. If he woke up, it would all come rushing back.
He yelped, eyes flying open as two fists grabbed his shirt and hauled him up into a sitting position to lean against the wall. Automatically, his body tensed up to keep from falling. As awareness fully settled on him, he realized, hardly able to believe it, his chest wasn’t screaming at him like it had been.
“There we go. Now drink,” Waltz said, offering him a water bottle.
Even if his body didn’t hurt like it had, he was still deathly thirsty. His hand shook as he reached up to take it, no fear that it was a trick of some kind. His hands were having trouble gripping hard enough to open the cap. He was desperate for something to drink though. Sighing, he focused on gripping the top as hard as he could and twisting. A quiet crack as the seal broke was his reward.
Two streams dripped down his mouth as he drank desperately before he remembered how wasteful that was. He drank more carefully, ignoring how his stomach was cramping at suddenly having something in it.
When it was all gone, he took a deep breath, enjoying the ability to even do so. Jesus, what had happened? He’d been so broken down last he could remember.
His eyes widened as the injection popped into his mind. He scrambled to his feet, nearly falling on his face as his knees felt like jelly and his muscles protested. He pointed accusingly at Waltz, who was now outside the locked cell, and glared.
“What the fuck did you do to me?”
Waltz ignored him.
Aitor snarled, stalking over to the bars of the cell. His fist slammed against the metal, “What did you do?!”
Waltz continued to ignore him. Aitor was ready to yell at him when he caught sight of his forearm out of the corner of his eye. His stomach felt like a rock had just landed in it as he saw three nasty looking injection sites. Each had dark veins surrounding them, similar to the ones on Waltz’s face.
“What is this? What did you give me?” His voice was nearly frantic. He tried to scramble to find memories of the other two injections, but all he got was an impression of some animalistic hunger and darkness.
“I had to give you all the injections much closer together than I normally would. The fact that you survived is incredible. Congratulations lieutenant, you just might be the key I’m looking for.” Waltz finally turned to look at him. “I’ll bring you something to eat but for now, don’t strain yourself. You’re still quite… fragile.”
That didn't answer his question. It didn’t even comfort him. Waltz didn’t give him another chance to ask questions as he strode through the door, leaving him alone.
Heart pounding, Aitor stared down at the injection sites. Veins that dark were only seen on people about to turn but his biomarker wasn’t screaming. It wasn’t even beeping.
