#sub geto

Running a farm sure is difficult. You had to wake up early everyday and get lots of physical work done. Not only that, you also had to care for all of your hybrid animals, each with their own individual needs and problems. You did hire employees to help lessen your workload, but there were still things only the owner can solve. Like today, having to deal with the mystery of one of your best cows producing results atypical of him.

“Ahhn— ahnnghh~ ♡ mmHghff, n-not so roughhhh..!! T-too much too g-guuud ♥︎♡” He mewled, nails digging into his own thighs as he whimpered around the stretch. His knees were raised up to his chest and your cock already bottomed out inside him, causing him to kick his legs futilely. It’s been so long since he last had someone else play around with him in the hay like this. Just the tip alone was enough to make his eyes roll back, his mind all fuzzy with pleasure.

Now with the entire thing inside, his couldn’t hold back his voice anymore, “ahh.. ah—ahNgh, ha,,uuhNnh~ b-big, so biiig ♡ so deep~ h-hurts~!!♡♥︎♡” At this rate, he could swear you were fucking his stomach, reaching places he only gets to experience with you. No matter what he moaned out, he couldn’t fool no one with that big, stupid grin plastered across his face. “You are kind of pissing me off.” For some reason, you felt like you were being played by him. “Spread yourself wider.”

He did as you said, using his hands to hold his legs apart, faint red lines appearing from where he gripped too hard. The hay below was digging into his back and getting into his hair, yet he didn’t care one bit. He couldn’t think of anything but you right now, not when his lovely, favourite farm owner was personally showering him with so much love! You don’t even know how long he’s been waiting to get manhandled by you again.

And fuck, he wasn’t just imagining it, he could totally see the belly bulge apparing and disappearing from his lower abdomen with each thrust. “mhhHffgg~ r-right there, ahhNn～ I-I’ll do anything, so pleassee!! Ha-harder, more, gimme all of it~♥︎” Someday, he was going to make you snap. “Don’t get cocky. I wouldn’t be here fucking your desperate self if you weren’t acting like some bitch in heat.” You snapped at him. That’s right, you were supposed to investigate his milking problem, but the upper half and not his lower, stupid half.

It’s not like you didn’t try solving it in a civil manner first. At first all you did was asking if anything happened or if he felt sick, while he was using the milking machine as per procedure. He replied no to each and every one of the questions, yet only produced a quarter of what he usually did, so it’s understandable that you got concerned.

“Maybe… it’s because of the machine?” That cow hybrid suggested upon your inquiry, gently pulling the pumps off of himself and holding his squishy tits with both hands. It was obvious that these got bigger over the course of the last few days. “Are you saying we should try hand milking?” You wondered, and he nodded quickly. You even felt like his eyes lit up for a split second. So you decided to give it a shot, since you did start off in the traditional way first and just recently adapted the more modern method.

You then quickly proceeded with the experiment and began tracing your fingers around his areola. After a few circles, you pinched his nubs softly with two fingers, trying out the flow. Nothing much happened apart from the low, breathy gasps coming from the male, which was why you began pulling and twisting a little. But once you started doing that, he just immediately moaned out, “aAaHnngg~♥︎♡♥︎ mMhnnh— uHhn,, huUhmff ♡”

After having his nipples sucked by the machine for so long, they were already super sensitive. Then to have his favourite caretaker the one he really really liked ♡ hand milking him again? Who could blame him for getting hard! By then he was already leaking precum onto the hay below. Your fingers were just so skilful, so much more intimate and warm than any device could ever hope to replicate. He just adored having your hands on him. “G-gentle… nghhHgg, l-love it~~ mhmm~! ♥︎”

He glanced down at the spot between his legs, a small puddle of precum already forming there. “I-I can’t help it…! It feels too good when you touch them.” Seeing that the wrong part of him was getting milked dry, you felt this realisation clicking inside, “did you suggest the hand milking just to get off? Don’t you know I have other things that needs to be done too?” The boy stayed quiet for a bit, before smiling sheepishly, noticing your hands were still on his nipples, “nnhhGahhh-ahnn!!♡♡ ha-haaa,, maybe…?”

Needless to say you were at your wits end with him, which is what got you into your current situation. With you holding his waist while slamming your hips against his, lewd squelching sounds echoing through the barn. “You know, this is how you get real cows to produce milk. By breeding them.” You whispered, his walls squeezing your length all snuggly. “Will it work for you too? Though I’m starting to think you were faking it all for attention.”

The way you stared down at him gave him chills. Oh how he loved it when you frowned at the sight of him, your eyes focused on him only. His words were slurred as he babbled with his tongue lolled out, “n-noo, no..!! M’wasnt, i r-really couldnt~ nGhhn ♥︎” look at that, he was thoroughly enjoying himself, wasn’t he?

“So, you are telling me you didn’t see this coming?” He didn’t answer, but his body revealed everything you needed to know. “Cheeky bastard.” You sighed and pulled out until only the tip remained inside, before slamming it all back in, making him curl his toes. “GuuUhhGnn~♡♥︎♡ ah-HnnGh—!!“ His moans turned into a whine when you abruptly grabbed him by the chin, “Since you’ve got so much time on your hands, fix that milking problem.”

“Yuu are sho… mhmm..!!! sho mean…!” He gasped out while you were still squeezing his cheeks. His hands finally released his now bruised thighs and landed on his nipples, his legs wrapping around your waist. The spot where he gripped them before has been decorated with a bunch of red nail-indents. “Ha-haaahh~ like this?” You did let go of him the moment he fulfilled your command.

Unsurprisingly, he kept smirking while he rolled his nips between his digits, licking his lips as his own sweet milk flowed down his wrists. The entire barn smelled of sex and warm, fresh milk. “hey… isn’t this suuuuch a-ahh~ waste?” He brought one of his soiled hand up to his mouth and sucked his own fingers clean, sticking his tongue out afterwards, “you want to make money with this, no? Heh… nghh ♡ So we shouldn’t waste it…!”

He was actually hoping for you to touch him yourself again, but to his dismay, you instead handed him the pumps of the milking machine, forcing him to reapply them to his own chest. “You think I’m that stupid? I won’t fall for the same trick twice.” You raised his hips up a little, getting a better angle before pounding into him even deeper, with surprisingly quicker thrusts. “AhNghhn ♥︎♡ d-don’t stop, ahhh so guuud, too good mghhnnff, m’love you, love this, right t-there ♡♡♡!”

You were hitting his sweet spots with the accuracy of someone who knows how to play his body like an instrument. The way you abused all his favourite places, rolling your hips with each rut into his sloppy hole…? It was simply heavenly ♥︎ his moans bounced off the thin wooden walls of the stable, echoing back at him, though he didn’t care at all. He was getting the privilege of being fucked by you, why would he be ashamed of that~?

Even the low humming of the milking machine was like music to his ears, the soft pressure of the suction pumps constantly stimulating his chest. His body was like on fire. Wherever you touched, heat would blossom beneath his skin. His vision was swimming, brain melting from the absolutely overwhelming ecstasy. It was to be expected that he’d sooner or later reach his limit.

“I’m close… ah~ I’m c-close, hnNhh, gunna cum, m’cummin’~♥︎♡!!— ah, n-nooo!” Right before he could shoot it all out, you wrapped your hand around his neglected cock and pressed your thumb into his slit firmly, denying him his much anticipated climax, “don’t you dare cum before I do. I’m not done breeding you yet.” “Wa— n-no…! L-lemme cum, I wanna— ah, ahNhhhgg, uHHhn!!!”

With that being said, poor thing was forced to endure the ruined orgasm and deal with the consequences of his actions. Shudders coursed through his spine as he cried out with each thrust, pleading so, so so so sweetly for his release. But you stayed firm the whole time, saying you were only going to let go of his now weeping cock once you’ve emptied your load inside him.

This time, you were going to fill him up until he learns how to behave. It didn’t stop him from trying his shot by begging even more submissively though. “P-please… cum already… b-breed me, fill me♥︎ hnNgh, like you said…!! I-I can’t anymore, m’wanna cum, ahh please~♡♡♥︎”

Gradually, you approached your own limit. He’s been getting really good at squeezing around you, shaking his own hips in a poor attempt to speed things up. You took a glance at the machine, then back at him. It seems your little ‘breeding therapy’ bared fruits, there was so much more milk coming out of his tits now. It was filling the tanks up all nicely. The same couldnt be said about his face though. With tears, sweat and snot running down his chin, his eyes glazed over and pleasure-ridden— even his pupils turned into little hearts♥︎!

One of his hands was just shy of grabbing your wrist, the other one clutching at anything within reach. His body was shaking heavily, his breath hitching audibly when you suddenly quickened your pace and mumbled, “fuck… I’m close.” Shortly after you also finally let go of his swollen dick. The shade was an angry red as it leaked precum everywhere, twitching with a mind of it’s own as he whimpered, “y-yes, yes…!, finally, ah- ahnGhh I-i’ve been wa- ah— waiting, gonna cummm ♥︎♡♥︎ f-fuck me harder, Nghh~ deeper, fill me up with your babies ♡♥︎♡”

Soon enough, both of you tipped over the edge. With you filling him to the brim, making his belly distend even more, and him making a mess everywhere. His head thrown back, eyes rolling until only the whites remained, thick ropes of cum coming out of his still jerking cock, splattering everywhere. “MhHmghhn~~ ♡♥︎” he bit down on his inner cheek, tasting the metallic tang of blood on his tongue as he heaved heavily. Chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.

You also took a moment to catch your breath, before pulling out of him with a quiet pop. The moment you left him empty and wanting, your cum began spilling from his entrance and dripped down his ass in an undeniably erotic display. His hole fluttered and clenched around nothing, small whines of residual bliss slipping past his lips from time to time. You couldnt help but chuckle at the debauched display, mocking him, “so that’s why you couldn’t produce any milk… it’s because you are such a slut that you need a dick to perform.”

After fixing yourself up until you were presentable again, you stuffed a plug vibrator inside him, to keep your seed trapped inside him. Then you turned it on to the max level alongside the pumping machine, since his breasts were carrying the milk from multiple weeks. This earned you a meek sob from the cow hybrid, but he was way too tired to even argue! All he could do was lay still while letting himself be milked like a good, obedient cow ♡

He still had so much more left until dry anyway, so it wouldn’t be a problem to set the timer to a few hours, no?

toji. f

You’d been asking him for twenty minutes, shamelessly relentless, until Toji finally let out a heavy sigh and shifted over you. Even then, he refused to give you his full weight. He braced his knees on the mattress on either side of your head, his thick, scarred thighs framing your vision as he hovered just inches above your mouth.

"You're annoying, you know that?" he grumbled, his voice a low, gravelly vibration in the dark room.

You didn't answer, just tilted your chin up and caught him. The moment your tongue swiped firmly against his slick heat, the tension in Toji's heavy frame snapped. He didn't stay hovering for long. As you worked your tongue in broad, demanding strokes, his hips started to drop. He began grinding down against your mouth, a slow, desperate roll of his hips that forced you deeper against his center.

His breathing roughened, turning into sharp, jagged hitches. He gripped the headboard, his knuckles turning white as he chased the friction. You added two fingers, sliding them inside and hooking upward. Toji's breath hitched violently. He was practically riding your face now, his heavy muscles twitching with every frantic thrust of his hips as he ground down onto your tongue.

Then, without warning, his entire body stiffened up.

Toji let out a sharp, breathless gasp. His back arched, and a sudden, heavy rush of hot fluid sprayed directly across your mouth and cheeks. It wasn't just a leak; he was actively squirting, his internal muscles pulsing frantically around your fingers as the sheer volume of it coated your lower face.

The room went dead silent, save for the sound of his ragged breathing.

Toji froze completely. The strength gave out in his arms, and he dropped down, his knees taking his weight as he stared blindly at the wall. He looked down at you, his usually sharp green eyes blown wide in absolute, stunned disbelief. He was completely speechless, a dark flush rapidly climbing up his thick neck and spreading across his scarred chest. He just stared at the wet mess on your face, his mouth slightly parted, trying to process what his body had just done.

You pulled your fingers out slowly and swiped the back of your hand across your chin, catching the slick fluid. You looked up at his shocked, flushed face and smirked.

"Damn, Toji," you said, your voice low and cocky. "Didn't know I could work you out like that."

His jaw snapped shut. For a long, heavy second, he just stared at the wet mess covering your lower face. The deep red flush burned all the way to the tips of his ears.

"Shut up," he finally grated out, his voice a full octave lower than usual, completely raw. He dragged a heavy hand down his face, deliberately breaking eye contact. "Don't act like you did something special. I just... it's been a long week."

You didn't wipe the smirk off your face, letting your eyes drop meaningfully to where his thighs were still trembling against the mattress.

"Stop looking at me like that," he snapped, though the harshness of his tone was completely ruined by the way his breath caught at the end of the sentence. He shifted his weight, suddenly hyper-aware of his own body and the undeniable evidence he'd left all over you. He reached down, his large, calloused thumb aggressively wiping at your chin and cheek, trying to scrub away the proof. "Wipe your damn face. You look stupid grinning like that."

You chuckled, catching his wrist and leaning up to kiss the inside of his palm. He flinched, but he didn't pull his hand away.

"I'm serious," he warned, his chest still heaving as he finally forced himself to look back down at you. His green eyes were dark, defensive, but blown wide with lingering heat. "You utter a word of this to anyone, and I'm putting you through a wall. You just caught me off guard. Don't let it go to your head."

He let out a rough, shaky breath, trying to summon his usual intimidating aura, but he was still straddling you, completely laid bare and visibly shaken.

"Now are you gonna get up," he muttered, his voice dropping into a needy, impatient growl as his hips twitched involuntarily against you, "or are you just gonna lay there looking smug all night? Because I still have an ache you need to take care of."

You didn't argue. You just reached up, gripping the back of his thick neck, and pulled him down. He didn't resist, collapsing his heavy frame over yours. He caught your lips in a quick, rough kiss, tasting the salt and slick of himself on your mouth without a single complaint.

He broke the kiss just as fast, turning his head to bury his flushed face deep into the crook of your neck. He let out a long, heavy exhale, his massive chest expanding against yours as he snuggled closer, his solid weight pinning you to the mattress. He was still trembling slightly, his arms wrapping around your shoulders in a tight, grounding hold.

"Just shut up and touch me," he mumbled into your skin, the last of his fight completely drained out of him.

satoru .g

The sheets were a tangled wreck underneath you both. You were twisted up in a breathless 69, Satoru’s ridiculously long legs straddling your shoulders while his face hovered right over your hips. He had your cock in his hand, his lips parted to finally take you in, but the second your tongue swiped firmly against his slick heat, his jaw just slacked.

He was far too distracted by what you were doing to his pussy to actually focus on sucking your dick. He tried, ducking his head down, but as you dragged your tongue right over his most sensitive spot, he let out a sharp gasp and lost his grip entirely. He ended up just panting hot air against your thighs, his long fingers abandoning their task to twist deeply into your hair instead.

"Hold on, let me—ah!" Satoru gasped, a breathless, exhilarated laugh bubbling out of him as he failed to focus for the third time. "You’re doing that on purpose. You’re not even letting me start."

You didn't let up. You gripped his thighs, holding him steady as you worked your tongue in broad, demanding strokes. Satoru was incredibly vocal, his hips rolling eagerly and shamelessly against your mouth as he completely surrendered to the sensation. The room was filled with the wet, heavy sounds of the friction and his ragged breathing.

He arched his lower back, pushing himself deeper against your face. You took the invitation, sliding two fingers deep inside him and hooking upward to hit that internal sweet spot, keeping a relentless, punishing pace with your tongue.

Satoru’s breath hitched violently. He completely abandoned the idea of the 69, his head dropping back against the mattress as he practically rode your face. His long frame arched completely off the bed, his thighs trembling uncontrollably against your cheeks as the overstimulation built up higher and faster than he was ready for.

"Yeah, right there," he stuttered out, his voice pitching higher. "Don't stop, don't—fuck!"

A violent, full-body shudder ripped through his long frame as the last of his control completely broke.

Satoru let out a loud, sharp cry, his fingers pulling taut against your scalp. His hips buckled hard, and a sudden, heavy rush of hot fluid sprayed directly across your mouth, chin, and cheeks. He was shaking, his internal muscles clenching in frantic, wet waves around your fingers, completely coating your lower face.

He collapsed down onto your legs, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. For a split second, there was total silence in the room, except for the sound of the bed creaking.

Then, Satoru shot up. He pushed himself onto his hands, craning his neck to look down at your face. His bright blue eyes were blown incredibly wide, but there wasn't a single hint of embarrassment in them. Instead, a massive, thrilled grin broke out across his flushed face.

"Holy shit!" he laughed out loud, completely breathless and amazed. "Did I just do that?!"

You pulled your fingers out slowly, swiping the back of your hand across your slick chin. You looked up at his wide, excited eyes and smirked, your tone perfectly cocky and satisfied.

"Damn, Satoru," you teased, your voice low. "Didn't know I could make you flood like that. Look at the mess you made."

"Are you kidding?! That was incredible!" he beamed, completely unashamed of the sheer volume of slick covering your face.

He shifted his long frame immediately, abandoning the 69 entirely to slide his legs down and fully straddle your waist. He leaned down over you, practically vibrating with lingering adrenaline, and didn't even hesitate before pressing a wet, messy kiss right to your lips. He tasted himself on you without a second thought, his tongue swiping lazily at the corner of your mouth.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his flush deepening but his grin turning distinctly teasing. He reached out, tapping a finger right on your slick chin.

"You look really good wearing me, by the way," he hummed, his tone playfully arrogant. He let out a happy, exhausted sigh and dropped his weight, snuggling his face right into the crook of your neck. His heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against your chest, and his arms wrapped tight around your shoulders.

"You're an absolute genius," he murmured happily against your collarbone, his hips still twitching involuntarily against you. "But now I have to clean up my mess. So lay back, because it's my turn to focus... and I'm going to take my sweet time draining you completely dry."

choso. k

You had him pulled right to the edge of the mattress, his back flat against the sheets while you knelt on the floor between his legs. It was an incredibly vulnerable position, and Choso was visibly hesitant. His hands were gripping tightly at the bedsheets, his knuckles turning stark white, and every time you leaned in even an inch, his thighs would reflexively try to snap shut against your sides.

"Wait," he breathed, his voice tight and nervous. A dark, heavy blush was already dusting his pale cheeks, spreading down his neck and over his collarbones. "It's... I'm already too sensitive right now. Maybe we should just—"

You didn't let him finish. You reached out, gently but firmly catching his wrists, prying his fingers away from the bunched-up fabric of the sheets and pinning his hands flat to the mattress by his sides. Then, you slid your arms under his knees, hooking his pale legs securely over your shoulders. It opened him up completely to your view, leaving him entirely exposed.

Choso let out a shaky, embarrassed whine, turning his head sharply to the side so he wouldn't have to look at you. He squeezed his eyes shut, his chest rising and falling in shallow, nervous hitches.

"Just relax for me," you murmured, leaning in close enough that your breath fanned over his slick skin.

The moment your tongue traced a long, slow, deliberate path right over his center, Choso let out a startled, high-pitched gasp. His entire body jolted like he’d been struck by lightning. He was so incredibly pent-up and sensitive that even the lightest, teasing pressure felt like a massive shock to his system. He tried to squirm backward, instinctively trying to pull away from the overwhelming sensation, but your grip on his hips kept him anchored right at the edge of the bed.

"It's too much," he whimpered, tears immediately welling in his dark eyes and spilling over the bridge of his nose. "Please, I can't... I can't take it, it's too much..."

He was pleading, shaking his head against the pillows, but his body was completely betraying him. Even as he cried out for you to stop, his hips were instinctively bucking upward, his breathing turning into wet, ragged gasps as he chased the very friction he claimed was too intense.

You answered his frantic movements by sliding two fingers deep inside his soaking heat, curling them upward to hit a steady, rhythmic pace while your tongue worked him over without a single ounce of mercy.

Choso became a complete wreck. He was sobbing openly now, sweet, musical sounds of pure sensory overload leaving his lips. His head thrashed against the pillows, his dark hair a tangled, sweat-dampened mess. His stomach muscles jumped and twitched with every stroke of your tongue, the overstimulation rapidly pushing him past the point of rational thought.

"Please!" he sobbed out, his voice cracking as his toes curled so tight they cramped. "Ah! I'm—I'm gonna—!"

A violent, full-body shudder ripped through him as he finally shattered.

Choso let out a loud, ruined wail, his back arching off the mattress so hard he practically lifted himself into the air. A sudden, heavy rush of hot fluid sprayed directly across your face.

The heavy, intense rush of it left him completely drained. His body went limp, collapsing back onto the mattress with a heavy thud. His chest rose and fell in sharp, desperate gasps as the last of the tremors worked their way through his thighs.

All Choso could do was lay there and pant.

Then, Choso slowly opened his tear-filled eyes, peering down at you through his damp lashes, his chest still heaving. When he finally focused on your face—when he saw the sheer volume of slick dripping from your chin and painting your cheeks—his breath hitched violently in his throat.

He froze completely. A look of pure, unadulterated shock washed over his pale features, his lips parting in silent horror. The red flush on his face that seemed to consume him entirely.

You pulled your fingers out with a soft, wet pop, slowly swiping the back of your hand across your slick chin. You looked up at his horrified, flustered face, letting a slow, incredibly self-satisfied smirk cross your lips.

"And here you were begging me to wait," you teased, your voice low and perfectly cocky in the quiet room. "Look at the absolute mess you just made of my face. You must have really been dying for this."

A pathetic, utterly mortified squeak left his throat.

"I—I'm so sorry!" he stammered, his voice trembling with sheer panic, shame, and overwhelming embarrassment. He immediately scrambled upward, his shaking hands reaching out to frantically cup your jaw, his thumbs trying to wipe at your slick-covered cheeks. "I didn't mean to—I don't know what happened! I'm so sorry, you're covered in it, I ruined everything, I—"

You chuckled, catching his trembling wrists to stop his frantic, messy apologies. You leaned forward, tilting his chin up, and pressed a quick, wet kiss right to his trembling lips, tasting the salt and slick of him, shutting him up instantly.

Choso melted into the kiss the second your lips met his, a soft, needy whimper vibrating in the back of his throat. When you pulled back, his eyes were wide and beautifully dazed, his blind panic instantly replaced by a heavy, adoration-filled heat that he couldn't hide.

Before he could find his voice to start apologizing all over again, he just gave up. He slumped forward with a heavy sigh, sliding right off the pillows to wrap his arms tightly around your neck. He buried his burning, tear-stained face deep into the crook of your shoulder, absolutely desperate to hide from your cocky gaze.

"You're terrible," he mumbled into your skin, his voice muffled and shaky, though he was clinging to you like a lifeline, his bare thighs still trembling where they bracketed your waist. "Please don't look at me right now... just hold me for a second."

mahito

You had him hoisted up onto the edge of the heavy wooden desk, standing squarely between his legs. Mahito was leaning back on his hands, swinging his bare heels against the back of your thighs and giggling that manic, grating laugh of his. He was treating the whole thing like a game, his mismatched eyes bright with chaotic amusement as he looked down at you.

"Is this supposed to be intimidating?" he teased, a wide, stitched grin stretching across his face. He tilted his head, completely unbothered. "C'mon, you look so serious! Are you really going to just stare, or are you actually going to—ah!"

His mocking laughter was completely cut off the second you stepped in close and dragged your teeth lightly up the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. You didn't give him what he wanted right away. Instead, you took your time, deliberately teasing him. You mapped out the patchwork lines of his skin with slow, agonizingly light laps of your tongue, completely ignoring his slick center while hovering just inches away from it.

Mahito shifted on the hard wood of the desk, his grin faltering. "Hey. Stop messing around. That tickles."

You smirked against his skin and traced a slow circle just outside his heat, blowing a warm breath over him. Mahito’s breath hitched, a sudden, involuntary shiver running down his spine. His hands gripped the edge of the desk tighter.

"I said stop playing," he grumbled, his voice losing its playful edge, dipping into something much more impatient and needy. "Just do it already!"

"Impatient, aren't we?" you hummed.

Then, you finally gave it to him. You gripped his thighs, your fingers digging firmly into his pale skin to hold him in place, and buried your face against him. The second your tongue swiped firmly and relentlessly against his core, the change in him was instantaneous.

The playful arrogance melted entirely off his face, replaced by a look of wide-eyed, frantic overstimulation. He jerked backward, his spine snapping straight, but you didn't let him retreat. You worked your tongue in sharp, demanding strokes, refusing to let up the pressure. He wasn't used to being overwhelmed, usually twisting and reshaping himself out of any corner, but his body was completely betraying him.

"Wait, wait—stop!" he gasped out, his fingers tangling desperately into your hair. He tried to squirm away, letting out a series of high, breathless whines, but his hips were instinctively bucking forward against your mouth. "I can't—it feels too—!"

You answered his frantic movements by sliding two fingers deep inside his soaking heat, hooking upward to hit that deep, internal pulse.

Mahito’s entire body went completely rigid. His breath caught violently in his throat, his jaw dropping open in a silent scream as the sheer intensity of the overstimulation shattered his chaotic facade. His heels dug sharply into your lower back, his pale thighs trembling uncontrollably against your cheeks.

Then, the tension finally snapped.

A violent, full-body shudder ripped through him. Mahito let out a loud, high-pitched cry, his back arching off the desk as a sudden, splash of warm fluid sprayed onto you.

The heavy rush left him entirely drained. He collapsed forward, his chest heaving as he gasped for air, his forehead coming to rest heavily against the top of your head.

Mahito slowly pushed himself up, blinking rapidly as his dazed eyes finally focused on your face. When he saw the sheer volume of slick dripping from your chin and painting your shirt, his breath caught in his throat.

He froze completely. The manic, unhinged curse was rendered completely speechless. A look of pure, unadulterated shock washed over his patchwork features, his mouth falling open. A dark, violent flush erupted across his pale cheeks, burning right through the stitches on his face and spreading all the way down his neck.

You looked up at his horrified, flustered expression, letting a slow, incredibly cocky smirk cross your lips as you wiped his essence off you. You didn't wipe all of it away, letting him stare at exactly what he’d done.

"Well," you teased, your voice low and deeply satisfied in the quiet room. "That’s certainly one way to finally shut you up."

A pathetic, mortified squeak left his throat.

"You talk all that big game," you continued, stepping into the space between his thighs and crowding him against the edge of the desk. "But you completely flood the second I put a little effort in. Didn't know you had it in you to make such a massive mess of me. Look at you. You made a puddle."

"I—what?!" he stammered, his voice trembling with sheer panic and overwhelming embarrassment. He looked entirely stripped of his usual bravado, his shaking hands hovering in the air as if he didn't know what to do with them. "I didn't—I don't even know what just happened! You—you cheated! You did something weird to me, you must have used a cursed technique, I—!"

You chuckled, catching his trembling wrists to stop his frantic, messy excuses. You leaned forward, tilting his chin up, and pressed a quick, wet kiss right to his trembling lips, tasting the salt and slick of him, shutting his rambling up instantly.

Mahito melted into the kiss the second your lips met his, a soft, needy whimper vibrating in the back of his throat. All the fight left his body. When you pulled back, his eyes were wide and beautifully dazed, his panic instantly replaced by a heavy, pliant heat.

Before he could find his voice to start arguing again, he just gave up. He slumped forward with a heavy sigh, sliding right off the edge of the desk to wrap his arms tightly around your neck. He buried his burning, flushed face deep into the crook of your shoulder, his chaotic energy entirely snuffed out.

"You're so mean to me," he mumbled into your skin, his voice muffled and shaky, though he was clinging to you like a lifeline, his bare thighs wrapping securely around your waist to hold himself up against you. "Shut up... don't look at me right now... just carry me to the bed."

suguru. g

You had been begging him for weeks. Every time you backed him against a wall, cornered him in the kitchen, or tried to pull him down onto the bed, Suguru would just offer that perfectly serene, frustratingly composed smile of his. He’d brush a hand through your hair, gently kiss your forehead, and murmur, "Soon. I just want it to be the right time and place. We shouldn't rush these things."

He was incredibly private, highly protective of his own vulnerability, and utterly obsessed with maintaining total control over himself and his environment. He hated the idea of feeling exposed or caught off guard.

But tonight, his elegant little excuses had finally run out.

He was seated deep in the plush, dark velvet armchair in the corner of his dimly lit bedroom, his long, dark hair tied back loosely. You were kneeling on the floor right between his parted thighs. Even now, with his legs spread for you, he was trying so hard to maintain that aura of untouchable grace. He rested one elbow on the armrest, his chin propped on his knuckles as he looked down at you through half-lidded, heavy brown eyes.

"Satisfied?" he hummed, his voice smooth and incredibly patronizing. "You’ve been relentlessly impatient, and now you finally have me exactly where you want me. Just do try to be gentle, won't you? I'd prefer not to make a mess tonight."

His arrogant, perfectly constructed little speech died instantly in his throat the second you bypassed his thighs and buried your face directly against his soaking heat. He tried to quickly muffle the sharp gasp that escaped him, biting down hard on his lower lip, but you weren't going to let him stay composed. Not after making you wait this long.

You gripped his thighs, your thumbs pressing firmly into the muscle as you dragged your tongue in long, deliberate, punishing strokes over his center. Suguru tensed violently, his hips involuntarily jerking upward against your mouth as his lower back arched completely off the cushion.

He tried to recover his composure, forcing a shaky exhale through his nose. He reached a trembling hand down, his palm finding the top of your head in a soft, patronizing pat—a desperate attempt to pace you. "Ah... you certainly don't hold back, do you?" his voice wavered, entirely losing its smooth edge. "That's... slow down a little, sweetheart, I can't—"

But the gentle head pat immediately turned into a white-knuckled, bruising grip in your hair the second you slid two fingers deep inside him, hooking upward to find the deep, internal ache he’d been so desperately hiding.

Suguru’s facade entirely crumbled. His hips buckled, lifting completely off the velvet cushion as he tried to chase the angle of your fingers.

"Wait, please, you're—ah! God, fuck!" he choked out, his voice cracking into a high, ruined pitch.

He was completely overstimulated, his long, muscular legs trembling violently against your ribs. He tried to pull you closer by your hair and push your shoulders away at the exact same time, his body entirely confused by the sheer volume of pleasure. A ruined, desperate whine tore past his lips, his head throwing back against the chair as his toes curled into the carpet.

Then, the final, stubborn thread of his control snapped.

Suguru let out a loud, melodic cry. His entire body locked up tight, and a sudden, rush of hot fluid met your awaiting mouth, completely coating your tongue in the sudden.

The intense rush of it left him completely hollowed out. He slumped forward in the armchair, his chest heaving with ragged, wet gasps. His hands slipped out of your hair, falling limply into his lap as the last of the intense tremors wracked his frame.

For a long, heavy moment, the only sound in the quiet bedroom was his open-mouthed breathing.

"So this is why you've been avoiding me for weeks," you teased, your voice low and deeply satisfied in the quiet room. "You were terrified I'd make you completely lose your mind. I've never seen anyone drench a chair this fast. Look at what you did to my face."

A pathetic, utterly mortified groan escaped his throat.

"Have a little mercy..." Suguru rasped out, his usually eloquent vocabulary completely deserting him. He looked utterly stripped of his pride, his shaking hands coming up to frantically drag down his burning face. "I had no idea I was even capable of that. God, you're wearing half of it. Please, don't gloat, I'm already entirely humiliated."

You chuckled, catching his trembling wrists and gently pulling his hands away from his face, refusing to let him hide. You leaned forward, crowding into his space between his thighs, and pressed a quick, wet kiss right to his trembling lips.

Suguru melted the second your lips met his, a soft, needy whimper vibrating deep in his chest. All the tension drained out of his rigid posture. When you pulled back just an inch, his brown eyes were wide and beautifully dazed, his intense embarrassment entirely replaced by a heavy, pliant heat.

Before he could try to find his composure again, he just completely surrendered. He slid right off the edge of the armchair, his knees hitting the floor right in front of you as he wrapped his long arms tightly around your neck. He buried his burning, flushed face deep into the crook of your shoulder, his perfectly kept facade completely destroyed and abandoned.

His trembling hand came up, instinctively finding the back of your head to offer a soft, shaky pat—his usual comforting gesture, though right now, he was entirely the one who needed it.

"You win," he mumbled into your skin, his voice muffled and shaky, though he was clinging to you like a lifeline, his bare thighs bracketing your waist on the floor. "I severely underestimated you. Now just... hold me, and let me pretend this didn't happen."

naoya. z

The bedroom was stifling, the air heavy with the frantic, wet sounds of his undoing. Naoya was pinned against the headboard, his pale legs hooked over your shoulders and his ankles locked behind your neck in an involuntary, white-knuckled grip. His hair was a sweat-slicked mess, and his dark eyeliner was completely ruined, dragged across his cheekbones in jagged streaks by the tears he couldn’t stop.

"Stop... I said stop!" he choked out, his voice cracking. He tried to shove at your shoulders, but his arms were shaking so violently his hands just slid off.

You didn't listen. You gripped his thighs tighter, your fingers digging into his skin, and buried your face back into his soaking heat. While your tongue swirled in heavy, demanding circles over his center, you slid two fingers deep inside him, stretching him wide and hitting that internal sweet spot with a punishing pace.

The double assault was too much for his nerves. Naoya’s entire body spasmed, a sharp, broken cry tearing from his throat. His hips buckled, his muscles clenching greedily around your fingers even as he tried to pull away from the friction.

"Just one more, Naoya," you murmured against his skin, your voice a low vibration that made him sob.

"It’s not... ah!... how you won't stop! You're... ngh!"

He was completely overstimulated, his nerves frayed, yet he arched further into the touch. His toes curled, and his breath came in hitched, needy whines. You increased the pressure, your tongue flickering faster as your fingers worked him into a frenzy.

"One more," you repeated, your teeth grazing him lightly.

"No! No more, please—Aaaah!"

He went rigid, his back arching off the bed as the next wave hit him. His thighs twitched uncontrollably against your ears as his body finally gave up, then came the gush of slick, coating almost the entirety of your lower face.

He let out a ruined, melodic cry, his hands flying up to cover his face in shame. He was sobbing openly now, his frame vibrating with the force of the climax. You finally pulled back, tasting the salt of him on your lips as you looked at the state of him—the smeared makeup, the trembling limbs, and the soaking mess on the bed.

"You're such a pretty mess, baby," you murmured, reaching up to wipe a stray tear from his cheek. "Look at you. All that big talk, and you’re just a leaky little girl for me, aren't you?"

Naoya visibly cringed at the endearment, his lip curling in a sneer that was half-furious and half-shattered. A deep, frantic blush climbed all the way to the tips of his ears. He squinted at you through his glassy, tear-filled eyes, his face a brilliant, humiliated crimson.

"What are you looking at, idiot?" he snapped, though his voice was entirely too shaky to carry any real weight. He squinted at you through his glassy, tear-filled eyes, his face a brilliant, humiliated crimson. "Don't call me that... it's pathetic. I'm not some dumb woman or a bitch for you to talk down to."

"Funny," you teased, your tone perfectly cocky as you deliberately let a drop of his slick run down your chin. "Because you're the one on your back, drenching the sheets because you couldn't handle a little tongue. For someone who hates women so much, you sure do scream like a girl for me."

Naoya visibly recoiled, his lip curling in a sneer that was half-furious and half-shattered. "I do NOT—!"

"You do," you interrupted, leaning in until your nose brushed his. "You’re pouting like a bratty little princess just because I made you lose your mind. It’s cute, Naoya. Really."

"I am NOT cute!" he hissed, his voice cracking with indignity. He reached out with a trembling hand, grabbing your collar and tugging you upward with a weak, desperate jerk. "Wipe your face. You look disgusting. You're filthy, and it’s your fault I’m like this anyway."

Despite the insult, he didn't let go of your shirt. His legs remained wide, his heels digging into the mattress as he pulled you closer. His eyes darted to your zipper with a desperate, impatient hunger that betrayed every word of his bratty protest.

"Well?" he whispered, his voice dropping into a needy, demanding rasp. "Are you just going to stare at me and say stupid things all night, or are you actually going to finish this? I'm not waiting any longer. Hurry up and give it to me."

"Say please, then," you hummed. "Tell me you want it, pretty girl."

All that Geto can register is how hot it is.

The fiery sun beating down on him, threatening to burn each piece of skin exposed by his loose tunic.

Sweat is practically pouring from all over his body, his once shining black hair now sticking to his forehead, cheeks and neck.

His vision is blurring, his head aches and he feels as though he might faint any second.

A faded voice barks something from somewhere and Geto gets a sharp push on his shoulder.

He looks around, dazed, locking eyes with a short old man dressed in robes that were obviously unnatural on him.

The idiot shouts at Geto to move forward, shoving him along to catch up with the person in front of him in the unending line of men.

As Geto walks, he observes the others in the lines next to his. Each man is completely different to the one before him - some are thin and stalky, others bulging with muscles and towering over everyone.

Geto wonders how these behemoths had gotten tangled up in this situation with him.

The majority of the men in these lines have all been captured from some foreign place that was unfortunate enough to be overpowered by the same brutish, greedy army that Geto had faced.

Some of the men are impoverished natives to the land Geto currently stands on, clinging to a tiny thread of hope that they might be able to prove themselves in whatever horrific trial awaits them. Geto empathizes each one he walks with.

Geto himself is already a warrior. An adept soldier for his homeland with a strong and agile body, which already places him above most other people here. But he knows that whatever trial awaits him in this small, over-crowded arena is going to be much worse than anything he's used to.

────────────────────────────────────────────

A gladiator.

That's what he's called now. He's no longer Geto Suguru, he has to earn that name back.

He's exhausted, on the brink of collapsing, and the same old man from earlier is yapping in his ear as he's ushered out of the arena. He physically can't focus on what the man is saying, he's only gathered that he's being taken to a much larger place to fight.

He did well in his battles today. The majority of the people he entered with in those lines this morning can't say the same.

He lets himself be manhandled into a jittery metal cage atop a cart, alongside a few others. They all seem to be in a similar state to Geto, which reassures him slightly.

He passes out for the bulk of the journey, stirring when masses of shouts and cheers flood in around him.

"Good morning, handsome," a youthful voice teases at him.

It earns laughs from the others he cooped up with.

Geto's tired eyes fall on the jokester - a young man, who must be around the same age as him, with a tall, lean frame and pure white hair that's been tainted by dried blood. As if this wasn't unique enough, the man's irises are a sparkling blue, far too bright considering what they've witnessed in the past day.

He observes the others sitting with him, whose appearances are dull compared to the white-haired boy. They also seem to be the same age as Geto, possibly slightly younger, with one possessing flat blond hair and a gloomy expression and the other having dark brown hair and matching eyes.

The brunet beams back at Geto as if he's not just been through the most horrific scenes.

"You've been knocked out the whole way!" he states cheerily. "You're lucky, you're just in time to see the parade!"

Geto blinks, confused.

"Parade?" he mutters, throat dry and stinging.

"Yeah, apparently the emperor's son is coming back from a visit from far away." the man with sparkling eyes explains, his tone indicating that he has little respect for said emperor's son.

"The people love him, they say he's gonna be an even better emperor than his father!" the brunet pipes up again, his claims making the other two roll their eyes in disdain. "By the way, what's your name? We haven't had the chance to get to know you yet."

Still quite out of it, Geto has to take a moment to think about his answer.

"Geto," he eventually replies, voice cracking.

The others introduce themselves - the brunet being called Haibara, the blond Nanami and the one with white-hair being Gojo.

Geto twirls his thumbs as the cart falls silent, feeling as though there is little point in trying to become friends given their likely futures.

He shifts to look through the metal bars and, sure enough, he's met with a bustling city. Exquisite banners and ribbons decorate the streets, with commoners and elites alike clapping and yelling excitedly.

When Geto takes a closer look, he notices that many of them are cheering at them and the multiple carts in front of and behind them, rather than one particular cart. The emperor's son must not be here yet.

The deeper they're led into the city, the more trumpets and voices fill Geto's ears, making it hard for him to focus.

The cart carries them further in until eventually it rests. The door to the cage is yanked open, with the young men inside being shouted at to get out.

Geto steps out first and he's instantly hit with dust attacking his eyes and throat. As he's coughing and frantically blinking the dust away, he hears a close voice behind him.

"Holy shit..."

It's Gojo. Geto turns around to ask him what's wrong and he, too, is left starstruck at the sight of a giant amphitheatre, adorned with statues of gods and goddesses, dominating the city's skyline.

As impressive as the sculpture is, Geto shudders imagining the size of the arena this building must hold, and the terrors that he'll have to fight in it.

────────────────────────────────────────────

The living area in the gladiator school is not as depressing as Geto thought it would be.

He has his own bed, which he's thankful for, though he doubts he'll be able to get much sleep each night.

The training area would have been his favorite place if it wasn't for the fact that members of the public were able to spectate the gladiators inside.

That's currently happening. Geto stands in the corner, watching as groups of gladiators spar with one another. There's a distinct tension in the air and everyone seems to be acting overly-aggressive, as if they're performing.

Geto wonders if there's someone special in the audience. He glances up to the rows of people. He can't identify anyone by face or name, however his gaze lingers on a young man dressed in a white toga with purple lining. The man is slouched in the chair, legs spread wide in a manner that must be disrespectful, compared to everyone else sitting up straight and proper.

While he isn't familiar with the local dress codes, from these details Geto supposes the young man must be important in some way.

From here, Geto can feel a sort of charm exuding from him, typical of a young noble. Even those sitting around him seem to be uneasy. Though it has little effect on him and he concentrates back on the sparring. He has no reason to care for such people.

────────────────────────────────────────────

You hate gladiator fights. Each time you're forced by your father to attend one, you're reminded of how wearisome they are.

You much prefer attending plays and banquets or visiting bath houses and brothels. You know, things more suited to the emperor's delinquent son.

However, your father has stressed how important it is that you start taking interest in the fights, especially since he is eager to make you his heir. You have proven yourself as worthy to hold the title of emperor, regardless of how little you wanted it.

So here you are - sat watching filthy, sweaty hunks of men uselessly swing swords at one another. Each gladiator looks the same to you - at least six feet tall with too much muscle to do them any good. That's partly what makes you hate the games so much.

With the fighting men losing more and more of your interest, you scan the idle gladiators filling the rest of the training area. Perhaps you can find someone you'll look forward to seeing in the arena later. Not because of their brawn, but more so because of how pleasing they are to look at, which is really the main reason you attend gladiator fights.

It just so happens that you clock a pretty boy with jet black hair that falls past his shoulders, hidden in the corner. Like you, he's surveying your fellow audience members. Even from afar, his toned body is apparent. The brown tunic he has on is hideous and you'd like to see what he'd look like in something a bit more flattering.

You make a mental note to keep an eye out for him in the arena before going back to viewing the gladiators duking it out.

You do so a second too early, just missing your pretty boy's gaze landing on you.

────────────────────────────────────────────

A day later, Geto and hundreds of other gladiators are locked in the grim tunnels under the amphitheatre.

Geto’s heart is racing beneath his thin tunic as he paces at the bottom of the steps leading to the arena.

He’s next to go out.

Just him. Out of all of the gladiators available, Geto is the sole opponent to whoever, or whatever, is waiting for him.

He thinks he’s going to be sick.

His companions that he arrived with push through the others to encourage him.

“Don’t worry about it, Geto! You’re strong, we know you can beat whatever’s out there!” Haibara exclaims.

While Geto gives a slight nod in gratitude, Haibara’s encouragement doesn’t work that well.

Gojo opens his mouth to offer some more comforting words, but he is cut off by the crowd suddenly erupting into cheer. They even begin chanting something Geto can't quite make out.

"What's going on?" he asks, nerves building.

“It’s alright,” Nanami reassures him. “It’s likely just the emperor arriving.”

As if the thought of the emperor himself watching Geto risk his life is reassuring to him in any way.

The crowd’s chants get louder, Geto can now make out what they're screaming.

"[NAME]! [NAME]! [NAME]!"

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, desperate for the event to just be over with.

A booming voice pierces through the noise. Geto struggles to hear what the voice is saying, however he is able to figure out that his name is being announced when the heavy metal doors leading to the arena are hauled open.

With a bone-chilling screech from the metal echoing throughout the tunnel, Geto can barely acknowledge a sword being thrust into his hand.

His heart drops and he immediately looks to Gojo, who stares back at him with wide, almost scared eyes.

Gojo gives him a sympathetic smile before Geto walks up the stairs. He receives several shouts of 'good luck!' and 'you got this!', which do little to soothe him.

At the top of the steps, Geto takes a deep breath and steps into the arena.

────────────────────────────────────────────

Immediately upon laying his feet on the beige sand, Geto is overwhelmed in every sense.

The light blinds him as it reflects off the sand and the screaming crowd rattles his eardrums.

After taking a moment to adjust, Geto looks around at those above. Thousands, no, tens of thousands of people are seated around him, applauding and hollering at him like he’s a circus animal.

He hears the metal doors slam shut behind him, a wave of claustrophobia running through his veins as he realises he has no escape.

He clutches the sword in his hand, both now coated with sweat.

When he looks up into the podium, his gaze fixates on the emperor - a ruthless and intimidating man who, despite his grand lifestyle, is clearly physically fit and commands respect. Geto resists the urge to launch his sword right at him.

Then Geto’s eyes fall on the younger man sitting next to the emperor. His uninterest in the upcoming game is evident in the way he’s slouched in his chair, his head resting lazily on his palm. Geto's eyes widen as he notices the striking similarity in this man’s posture to the man in the training arena.

What gets him the most, however, is the fact that everyone in the stadium is currently cheering for him. For Geto Suguru.

His feelings are mixed. These scum of the earth believe they have the right to cheer him on when they're so thirsty to see him get slaughtered? Pathetic.

Though at the same time, the sound of thousands of people all shouting his name, cheering down at him out of all the gladiators available, makes him feel like some sort of champion.

A small smirk tugs at the side of Geto's mouth.

The name of his opponent is announced, but Geto is too far away to properly make it out. Instead, he watches intensely as another pair of giant doors opposite him begin to open.

He has to swallow down the bile that rises in his throat when he sees a huge, muscular man walk into the sun. The man's hair is the same colour as Geto's, however is much shorter and falls down his face like ink.

His experience over Geto is evident as he leisurely makes his way to the centre of the arena, each step taken with an almost rehearsed confidence - like the man knows he's going to win.

Geto doesn't let the man get into his head, readying himself for the fight.

However, nothing could have prepared him for the speed at which his opponent darts towards him. Geto only just manages to block what would've been a devastating slash to his chest, jumping backwards with wide eyes.

The larger man only tilts his head, almost in curiosity, before chuckling smugly.

"No need to try too hard, kid," he taunts, voice low and menacing. "I won't be too hard on ya."

His belittling words enrage Geto, who swings at his shoulder with all the power he can muster. All it takes is for the man to quickly step sideways for Geto to miss. The younger boy has no time to prepare for his opponent's powerful leg smashing into his stomach, knocking him back and onto the ground.

What makes it worse is the humiliating "Ohh!" from the crowd as Geto goes down.

As the fight goes on, the heat begins to work against Geto.

Each movement becomes a blur and the loud audience gets drowned out by a shrill ringing in his ears.

Eventually, he ends up on his back on wet crimson sand with no more strength to pick himself up. The last thing he remembers is a distant call and a tough foot colliding with his face that knocks him out cold.

────────────────────────────────────────────

Geto wakes, sore and dazed, surrounded by grey.

There's someone hitting him-- No, they're...patting him?

He lifts his head, which feels like it has weights attached to it. His vision is still foggy, though he can make out the shape of a person, much smaller than him, sitting beside him.

As his brain clears a little, he can feel them repeatedly pressing his arm with something. Something that scratches against his skin.

He looks down, blinking away the fuzziness, noticing that there's a thick bandage around his chest and stomach.

"What..?" his voice is small and rasped - he almost doesn't recognise it.

"You're awake?" the person next to him speaks.

He looks to them, able to see clearer now, and sees they're a young woman, close in age to him.

She has short brown hair and holds a damp cloth, which she is using to wipe away dried blood on his skin.

At the sight of his own blood, memories of the day flood back to him.

He lets out a shaky exhale, struggling to believe that he's actually alive.

"I lost...didn't I?" he asks, throat dryer than the sand he passed out on.

The medic halts her movements for a beat.

"I wouldn't call it losing," she answers, continuing to clean his arm. "You fought a much more experienced gladiator and survived."

Geto considers her words.

"You're lucky [Name] was there, otherwise your opponent probably would have kept beating you."

He looks back at her, confused.

"[Name]?"

The young woman finishes up her work and folds the cloth, holding it in her lap.

"He ordered the fight to stop, much to your opponent's disappointment. It caused a big commotion, you’re real famous now."

Geto can barely understand what is being said to him.

The son of the emperor stopped the fight? Right before Geto would have been killed?

"Why?" he asks again.

She simply shrugs, standing up to leave.

"Maybe he's taken a liking to you," she comments before leaving the cell and walking away.

Immediately, a guard locks the cell door and follows the young woman to accompany her out.

He stares at the empty space she had occupied, pondering what she said. He clutches a thin shirt that has been left for him to wear, though with how weak his body feels he doubts he's able to lift it over his head.

Instead, he opts to use it as a depressing pillow to sleep on as he lays down on the unforgiving stone seat in the cell.

He falls asleep in agony and discomfort that night. Regardless, part of him hopes that if he was lucky enough to avoid death, he'll be lucky enough to get out of this nightmare.

────────────────────────────────────────────

A few hours later, Geto is awoken again, this time by someone battering against the door of his cell.

"Get up, crazy bangs, you've got a visitor!" a rough voice calls to him.

Limbs still burning in agony, Geto sits up, eyeing the guard that's unlocking the cell door.

It creaks open and a figure clad in heavy robes enters.

Something in the air shifts, like the stone walls are holding their breath. It's too dark to make out the features of the figure, but Geto can tell from the silhouette that it's a man.

The man signals something to the guard, who hands him a lantern. The soft glow illuminates the man's clothing, a toga with gorgeous purple lining and accents - a dead giveaway of the importance of this man, and something he’s seen before.

Geto can tell who you are before even looking up at your face.

You hold the lantern still, taking your time to admire this gladiator's beauty in complete silence. You bring a hand up to gently hold his chin between your fingers, tilting his head up towards you to get an even better look.

Geto tries to pull away from your touch, yet your grip is strong and his lack of strength makes it easy for you to harshly tug him back. There's nothing he can do.

“Just as I thought,” you murmur. “Pretty.”

Geto shifts anxiously, face heating up. For the first time, he gets a proper look at the son of the emperor. Your features are sharp and strong, yet exude a certain elegance fitting for the heir to the empire. Your perfect, unmarred skin nearly shimmers against the light of the lantern. Geto physically can't bring himself to look away, no matter how much he might want to.

"You did well against that savage," your voice is smooth, firm, nearly lulling Geto back to sleep.

You take another moment to analyse his beauty. Despite having the body of a warrior, his face is gentle. Almost beautiful.

The way he glowers at you, acting all scary when in reality he can't do anything to overpower you right now, makes your heart skip a beat in excitement.

"You're too pretty to be a gladiator," you speak again, not breaking the eye contact between you two.

"You think you can handle me like an animal just cause you're the son of the emperor?" he hisses, his eyes glowing like wildfires beside the lantern. "I'd like to see how you'd cope in the arena."

His words are coated with venom, yet they hardly intimidate you. In fact, you're tempted to coo at how cute you find his pitiful attempt.

All it takes is a single strike to the side of his face for the gladiator's confidence to melt away.

"Don't talk back to me."

Your voice is monotonous, as if you have no reason to suspect Geto will defy you. Such is the power that comes with being the heir to an empire.

Geto's face burns, both from the impact of your hand and from embarrassment. He can no longer bear making eye contact with you, even when you take hold of his jaw again.

You crouch down, kneeling between his legs, face inches away from his. He keeps his eyes fixed on the floor.

"It'd be a shame for this to be wasted..." you whisper. Geto's sure you're talking to yourself, but he can clearly hear the seductive intent.

He now realises that his survival was no act of divine intervention, but instead a result of your curiosity. Your interest. Your lust.

You tenderly guide Geto's head up once more, signalling that you want him to look at you again. Feeling hopeless, he has no choice but to adhere to your wishes.

When his eyes meet yours, you don't say anything. You only offer a small smile to him - one that contradicts the poisonous things you've said to him.

You let him examine you like a frightened stray to a kind passerby that felt sorry for it. You don't rush him to do anything, though it's not like you're giving him a choice to make.

Your hand traces up his jaw and down his neck, carefully tucking some of Geto's ebony locks behind his ear. The medic you'd sent in did a decent job of cleaning him up with just a wet cloth, but the poor guy looks a mess. It saddens you to see such alluring beauty be spoiled by the stains of violence.

Dark circles frame his tired eyes that still haven't left yours. Eyes that seem to be trying to read your expressions, determining whether or not you can be trusted.

But you're not quite here to make friends with the young gladiator. Not today.

"I'd like to find a better use for this pretty face."

A pit forms in Geto's stomach as you withdraw your hand and stand up. This one is much larger than when he was about to enter the arena, possibly due to the complete uncertainty around what you're about to make him do. Or rather, what you're about to do to him.

You turn to the guard who's still standing awkwardly at the door of the cell. Geto had forgotten he's there.

"Are you expecting me to let you watch this free of charge?" you snap.

At this, the guard hurries out of the cell like a little mouse.

You wait until you hear the door at the end of the hall slam shut to turn your attention back to Geto, who catches the way your eyes immediately soften upon laying on him.

"Don't worry, your neighbors are still cooped up in that arena," you reassure him, sensing his apprehension. "So you can make as much noise as you want."

The lantern flickers.

Geto stares back at you, thinking through his options.

If it truly is just you and him in this hallway of cells, what's stopping him from pushing you away? From throwing you against the wall and beating the shit out of you? Even though the guard from earlier is likely posted outside the hall, surely he would be more concerned about your wellbeing than Geto escaping?

He knows you know this too, from the way you're motionless above him, hands planted at your sides. Waiting for him to make his choice.

So why can't he do it? Why does he find himself glued to this unbearable stone seat?

At his lack of movement, you smile gladly. You take a step towards him, his nose now nearly buried in your robes, and still Geto doesn't move.

You cup his warm face in your hands, smiling down at him like a proud parent.

"Don't worry, pretty. I won't be too rough."

You move your hands to grasp the hair on the back of his head, silently beckoning him to act. But Geto remains frozen in place, looking up at you, dumbstruck.

You cock your head slightly.

"Do I have to do all the work myself, Geto?"

The sound of his name shocks Geto into action and he shakily reaches for your toga. He slowly bundles up the fabric, staring at your muscled legs that are getting more and more exposed.

He bites his lip to stop himself from salivating when he sees the bulge underneath your loincloth. You offer him a hand and hold the bundled fabric to keep it from falling, allowing your partner to get to work.

He pulls your undergarment down and audibly gasps when your manhood is revealed.

He wraps one hand over your length, a deep blush coating his cheeks when he sees you harden. He timidly begins stroking up and down. Geto can't stop himself from letting out a small moan at the sight of your sex growing heavier and more erect each with each motion.

Regret fills his mind with each pump of his hand. He shouldn't be doing this. He should be running out the cell and away from this life, into the freedom he once had.

But fuck, something about you keeps him entranced.

He keeps going until you're fully hard, his own dick twitching when he sees drops of pre leak from your tip.

Just as he's about to lick them off, one of your hands returns to the back of his head and shoves him towards your heat.

He yelps cutely in surprise, with no choice but to nuzzle into your balls. He whines at your musky smell, lapping at your base and gradually getting closer to your tip.

"Don't keep me waiting, Geto," you tease, arousal coating your voice with a dangerous growl.

Not wanting to risk angering you (though that would probably turn him on more), Geto takes you in his mouth midway, sighing at your dick's weight on his tongue.

He starts to bob his head along your length, maintaining his hand movement on the area he can't fit. Without even registering what he's doing, he brings his other hand up to stroke your balls.

You sigh in satisfaction, scratching the back of his head in praise.

"That's it Geto. I knew you'd be good at this~"

Pleasure drips from your husky voice, spurring Geto to go faster. The makeshift scalp massage you're giving him makes him hum around you, sending vibrations into you that only make his mouth feel a hundred times better.

Wet slurps mixed with your pants echo through the chamber.

Geto picks up the pace more, taking more of you into his mouth until he's able to fit your entire girth inside. It's nearly too much and he whines around you as tears fill his eyes.

"Shh, not much longer, baby~ You're doing so good for me..."

Your praise goes straight to Geto's dick, which is now throbbing against his clothes. He desperately ruts against the hard stone, which manages to bring him some relief amongst the pain.

As his brain starts to go mushy from your thick scent, you take over and start pistoning your hips. Geto immediately goes limp in your hold, gagging and moaning like a whore as your dick repeatedly slams into the back of his throat.

He hangs on to your robes for dear life, squeezing his eyes shut as he braces for your climax.

When it does rush through you, you pull out until just your tip is left in Geto's hot mouth and watch in delight as he takes your load down his throat.

Soft whimpers escape him as it becomes slightly too much, your release dripping out the sides of his mouth as you pull out.

“That’s it, swallow it all, Geto.”

His face scrunches up at the taste but he eventually swallows it all down. He peers up at you, almost wanting your approval.

You tuck another tangled piece of hair behind his ear. He squirms, clearly agitated from his throbbing boner.

You chuckle softly at the sight, stroking his cheek with your thumb.

“Get up,” you mutter, but it’s more than enough for Geto to listen.

He rises from the discomfort of the stone seat.

Your arms snake around his waist, gently turning him around so that his back is facing you.

Anticipation transforming into panic, Geto grabs your wrist tightly and whips his head round to look at you.

“N-No, wait—!”

“Shh…” like you’re hushing a kitten screaming and swiping its claws at you, you press yourself against Geto, trapping him against the wall.

The protrusion of the stone ledge makes him lean forward, his round ass now perfectly settled against your crotch.

“Not like this! Please, my lord—“ Geto babbles, still not thinking to push you away.

Your soft hand travels up his spine, giving delicate rubs to his back over the bandage. Geto winces at the sting. As much as you'd love to ruin him here, you pity Geto just enough to decide not to shove your dick inside of him right now. That likely wouldn't have a nice outcome for either of you.

You do, however, opt to snake your other hand up Geto's side, then push his bottoms down. You tug his undergarment down as well and relish in the perfect view you have of Geto's sweet ass.

His well-built muscles provide a delightful size and shape and you massage one of his cheeks.

He whimpers at the feeling of you groping him yet continues to do nothing to object. He would be lying if he said he didn't like it and the raging boner swinging between his thighs is enough evidence of that.

"My lord~..." he gasps as he feels your hot length slide between his ass-cheeks, fully erect again just from the sight of him presenting himself to you.

You grind slowly and deeply against him, his supple flesh providing blissful stimulation to your dick. His warmth completely envelops your sex and you rest your head against his shoulder to listen to his lovely sounds.

When he senses you close to him, he subconsciously turns his head towards you, bumping his nose against yours. His eyes are shut, likely since he's too embarrassed to make eye contact. You aren't happy with that.

You place your hand that was groping him onto the side of his face, cupping it and bringing it even closer to yours.

"Eyes on me, pretty," you purr, delighted at the way he swiftly opens his eyes and locks onto yours.

More fresh tears threaten to spill from the compromising position he's in.

You want to make him cry even more for you, so you move your other hand from his back around to his angry dick, continuing to grind against him.

He lets out an open-mouthed moan at the pleasure your heated hand gives him as you jerk him off, uncaring about starting slow.

"Doesn't that feel good, baby?" you hum against him when he nods frantically. "Mmh~, tell me how good it feels."

"Ah! F-Feels so good, m-my lord~!" he pants, breath fanning against your skin and filling your ears with loud moans and gasps.

You grin. It seems Geto has made the decision for you about whether you should keep him in your quarters and bed him.

The image alone of him writhing and screaming in your bed from the pleasure you're bringing him is enough to edge you closer to your orgasm. Or perhaps he'd look better bent over your balcony, releasing moans for all the city to hear?

You suppose there's time for all of that later.

Right now, the only image that matters is Geto clinging to the rugged wall in front of him as your wet dick slides between his ass, your precum coating his gorgeous mounds in glistening stickiness.

You lick your lips at the slick and dirty sounds produced by your motions. You lift your head off Geto's shoulder, looking down at your dick disappearing between Geto's thick ass. Your dick throbs, ready to paint it in your cum.

Geto isn't faring much better either, knees shaking as he desperately ruts into your hand like an dog in heat. When your cock throbs between his cheeks, Geto whines in excitement, waiting to feel your hot semen spurt onto him.

At a particularly heavenly grind, your orgasm crashes into you, causing you to completely pin him against the wall as cum coats Geto's backside.

Geto moans into the stone as he joins you in your high, cumming all over the wall as he spasms in your hold. He presses his hips are far back into yours as he can, trying to get every last drop of your release onto his body.

Even as you both come down, you keep grinding shallowly against each other, like you don't want this moment to end. To be honest, that's quite true.

Before he's fully caught his breath, you grab Geto's chin and pull him in for a messy kiss over his shoulder. He moans into it, grasping the fabric over your chest to steady himself.

After you pull away he gazes up at you, eyebrows furrowed as he worries over what you're going to say or do next.

He watches silently as you reach over and pick up his shirt that's been lying on the stone seat for hours. He's about to be thankful that none of his release got onto it until you dab it against his behind, cleaning the cum off. You keep the image of his soft ass jiggling with each pat in your mind for later.

When you meet his eyes again, he's glaring at you.

"Don't worry, baby, I'll get you a new one," you chuckle, moving a piece of hair over his shoulder and onto his back to see him better. "Maybe even something better."

You back away, taking his shirt with you and leaving him frozen, naked, in the cell.

He quickly pulls his remaining clothes back up and wipes away the evidence of your activities before the guard returns to lock his cell again. Although, he's pretty sure the guard is aware of these activities from the way he avoids looking at Geto.

The next day when Geto's training, he makes sure to put extra effort in. He has to win his next fight to see how you'll reward him.

“Fifty million,” someone called from the crowd.

“Sixty,” another countered.

The numbers climbed higher. Suguru’s stomach churned, but his expression remained blank. The money didn’t matter to him. It never had. No amount of wealth could change the fact that his life was no longer his own.

Then a voice cut through the din, smooth and commanding, “One hundred million.”

The room fell silent. Suguru’s head lifted ever so slightly, his dark eyes narrowing as he tried to find the source. A figure stood near the back of the room, dressed in sleek black. 

You didn’t bother hiding your face like the others. Why would you? The confidence in your posture, the weight of your gaze, made it clear you had no reason to fear anyone here.

The auctioneer hesitated for a moment, then slammed the gavel down with finality. “Sold!”

Suguru’s shoulders stiffened. His fate had been sealed once again.

　　　　　　　　　୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

You didn’t speak to him until you were alone.

The holding cell where he’d been delivered was cleaner than most—if only marginally. A single cot, a sink, and a mirror bolted to the wall were all it offered. Suguru sat on the cot, his hands still bound, as he listened to your measured footsteps approach.

The door creaked open, and you stepped inside, shutting it firmly behind you. You took a moment to survey him, your sharp gaze sweeping over his thin frame and dirt-streaked face.

“You’re skinnier than I expected,” you said at last, your tone almost conversational.

Suguru didn’t respond. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor.

“You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?” you continued, crouching in front of him. Your voice softened, but there was an edge to it—a predator’s patience. “But you’re not broken. Not yet.”

His jaw tightened.

You reached out, and for a moment, he thought you were going to strike him. Instead, your fingers brushed his chin, tilting his face upward until his eyes met yours.

“Do you know why I bought you?” you asked.

When he didn’t answer, your grip tightened, your thumb pressing against his jaw. “Answer me.”

“…Because you can,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse.

You smiled faintly, though there was no kindness in it. “That’s part of it. But the real reason is your potential. You’re not like the others. You’re… special.”

Something in your tone made his stomach twist.

“I’ve seen what you can do,” you continued, releasing him and standing to your full height. “Swallowing curses? That’s quite the party trick. Dangerous, too, if you don’t know what you’re doing. But don’t worry—I’ll teach you. I’ll show you how to control it.”

He frowned, his brows furrowing. “Why? What do you want from me?”

You chuckled, the sound low and rich. “You’ll see soon enough. But for now…” You reached into your pocket, pulling out a key. “Let’s get those cuffs off.”

The sudden gesture of “kindness” threw him off guard. He flinched slightly as you stepped closer, but you only unlocked the cuffs, letting them fall to the floor with a heavy clink.

“There,” you said, stepping back. “Better, isn’t it?”

Suguru rubbed his wrists, his gaze wary. He didn’t trust you—he couldn’t. But for the first time in years, he felt the faintest flicker of… something. Not hope, exactly. More like curiosity.

　　　　　　　　　୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

Over the next few months, Suguru learned to navigate the strange, suffocating dynamic the two of them shared created. You were cruel but patient, demanding but generous. You pushed him hard, forcing him to confront the creatures that haunted him, but you also gave him food, clothing, and a bed that didn’t smell like rot.

At first, he fought you—quietly, subtly, but it was resistance all the same. He avoided your gaze, answered your commands with silence, and clung to the scraps of defiance he had left. But you were patient. You didn’t need to break him quickly.

One night, after a gruelling session, you found him sitting in the training room, his back against the wall, his head tilted back as he stared at the ceiling. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, his dark hair sticking to his sweat-damp skin.

“You’re improving,” you said, stepping into the room.

He didn’t look at you, but you saw the tension in his shoulders.

“You’ve come a long way,” you continued, crouching in front of him. “But you’re still holding back.”

“I’m not—”

“You are,” you interrupted, your voice firm. “You’re afraid of your own power. Afraid of what it means.”

You reached out, your hand settling on his shoulder. He stiffened beneath your touch, but he didn’t pull away.

“But that’s why you have me,” you said softly, your thumb brushing against his collarbone. “To guide you. To take care of you.”

His breath hitched, and you didn’t miss the way his body leaned ever so slightly toward yours, like a moth drawn to a flame.

“You don’t have to be afraid, Suguru,” you murmured, your voice low and steady. “Not with me.”

For a moment, he let himself believe you.

　　　　　　　　　୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

The tension between you came to a head one evening as you sat together in your private quarters. The room was warm, the fire casting flickering shadows on the walls. Suguru sat cross-legged on the floor, his hands resting on his knees, his posture stiff but his gaze distant.

You watched him for a long moment before speaking. “Do you know why I haven’t sold you yet?”

He blinked, startled by the question.

You leaned forward, your elbows resting on your knees. “Because I see something in you. Something no one else ever has.”

His brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face.

“You think you’re weak,” you continued, your voice softening. “But you’re not. You’re strong, Suguru. Stronger than you realize.”

He looked away, his jaw tightening.

You stood and crossed the room, kneeling in front of him. Your fingers tilted his chin upward, forcing him to meet your gaze. “You’ve given me everything except one thing,” you said, your tone laced with quiet command. “Your trust.”

“I…” His voice faltered, his throat dry.

“Do you trust me, Suguru?” you asked, your thumb brushing against his jaw.

His heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing. He wanted to say no, to push you away, but the words wouldn’t come.

You smiled faintly, your hand sliding down to rest against his chest. “Good boy,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his.

His breath hitched, his body betraying him as he leaned into your touch, his resolve crumbling under the weight of your presence.

And when your lips met his, he didn’t pull away.

For a moment, he lets himself sink into the sensation of your lips pressed up against his. But that feeling is fragile and fleeting, cracked the moment your hand slid lower, resting just above his waist. Suguru’s breathing faltered, his dark eyes snapping to yours, wide and uncertain.

“What are you—”

“You’ve come so far, Suguru,” you murmured, cutting him off as your thumb brushed the sensitive curve of his hipbone. “But there’s still more I need to take from you.”

His chest tightened, his pulse pounding in his ears. “You—”

“Shh,” you whispered, your voice soft but commanding, your other hand pressing firmly against his shoulder to hold him in place. “Don’t think. Just feel.”

Suguru’s fingers twitched against the floor, his body stiff beneath your touch. He wanted to resist, to push you away, but his limbs felt heavy, sluggish. 

You’d spent months unravelling his defences, picking apart the walls he’d built to protect himself, and now, in this moment, he realized he had nothing left to fight with.

Your lips brushed against the corner of his mouth, a teasing, fleeting touch that made him shiver. “You’re mine, Suguru,” you said, your breath warm against his skin. “Every inch of you belongs to me. Say it.”

He shook his head weakly, his jaw clenching in defiance. But when your hand slipped beneath his shirt, your fingers splaying across the hard planes of his stomach and the softness of his plush chest, he couldn’t suppress the quiet gasp that escaped him.

“Say it,” you repeated, your tone sharper now, your grip firm as you pulled him closer.

“I’m…” His voice cracked, his throat dry as shame and reluctant desire churned in his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to meet your gaze as the words slipped from his lips in a broken whisper. “I’m yours.”

The smirk that curved your lips was triumphant, your hand trailing higher to press against his racing heart. “Good boy,” you murmured, the praise dripping with satisfaction. “You’re finally starting to understand.”

He let out a shuddering breath, his head tilting back against the wall as you leaned over him, your weight pressing him into the hard floor. His body was tense, his fingers curling into fists at his sides, but he didn’t pull away as your lips found his neck.

You kissed him softly at first, your mouth warm and insistent as it moved along his skin. But when your teeth grazed the sensitive spot just below his ear, he couldn’t stop the quiet sound that escaped him—a low, shaky moan that made your grin widen.

“That’s it,” you murmured, your hands sliding lower to hook into the waistband of his pants. “No more fighting. No more pretending. Just let me have you.”

His breath hitched as you tugged the fabric down, the cool air brushing against his flushed cock. He bit his lip, his face burning with shame as you pressed closer, your hands mapping every inch of his trembling body.

“You’re beautiful like this,” you said softly, your tone laced with both affection and possession. “Completely mine. Doesn’t it feel good to give in?”

Suguru didn’t answer, his breath hitching as your hand wrapped around his embarrassingly hard cock, your touch firm and deliberate. His body betrayed him completely now, his hips jerking into your hand as his resolve crumbled.

“Look at me,” you commanded, your voice sharp enough to cut through the haze clouding his mind.

He hesitated, his eyes flickering with defiance even as his body obeyed, tilting his head to meet your gaze.

“There you are,” you murmured, your smirk softening into something almost gentle. “Good boy.”

Your praise sent a shiver down his spine, his body trembling beneath your touch as you stroked him with practiced ease. His breaths came in short, uneven bursts, his head falling back against the floor as heat coiled low in his stomach.

“You’re perfect like this,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his in a teasing, fleeting kiss. “So sweet. So obedient. And all mine.”

He wanted to hate you. He wanted to hate himself. But as your hand moved faster, pulling him closer to the edge, he couldn’t think about anything else—couldn’t feel anything but the urge to cum into your warm sticky hand, the weight of your gaze pressing down on him until he couldn’t breathe.

When he finally broke, his release spilling over your hand in hot, shuddering waves, you caught his gasp with your mouth, swallowing the sound as you kissed him deeply. His body sagged beneath you, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths as the tension bled from his limbs.

You pulled back slightly, your lips curved in a satisfied smile as you brushed a strand of hair from his sweat-damp face. “What a privilege it is to serve, isn’t it?”