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SFDGSFHGTDYFH LMAO OK that's totally fair about the armpits let's pretend i never mentioned it i'm shy 🤣 can i have something with body worship and yushi instead? giving receiving both idc whatever you want!!!! i just need that man oh god especially now that he finally has dark hair again!!!!!!
aaand here it is anon! sorry for the waiting and thank you so much for your request <3 hope you enjoy ittt
tokuno yushi ⓘ sub!yushi (?), he's whiny and sweet, worshipping, blowjob, rimming, cum eating
skye! this one was cute, thanks anon <3 i could see yushi in all that ughhh i want a whimpery ushi all to myself :(
the room was bathed in a soft, amber glow, the air thick with a heavy, expectant silence that seemed to vibrate between you and yushi. he sat on the edge of the bed, his shoulders slightly hunched, fingers twisting nervously in the fabric of his sheets.
yushi had always been a creature of quiet modesty, a man who blushed at the slightest compliment, but there was a hunger in his eyes that betrayed his shy demeanour—a desperate, silent longing to be seen, touched and utterly adored.
“you want it?” you whispered, your voice a low vibration tht made him shiver.
yushi nodded slowly, his gaze flickering up to yours before darting away, a deep crimson flush creeping up his neck and staining his cheeks.
“yes… please, dear,” he breathed, the request barely audible, yet laced with a vulnerability that made your chest tighten.
you began slowly, wanting to savour every inch of him.
you knelt between his legs, your presence a grounding force that seemed to center him even as he trembled. you started with his hands, taking one of his slender fingers into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip before sucking it deep into the warmth of your throat.
yushi let our a sharp, hitching gasp, his back arching slightly. he tried to pull his hand away out of instinct, but ended up pressing his palm firmer against your cheek, a soft moan escaping his lips.
“you’re so beautiful, ushi,” you murmured against his skin.
the compliment made him whimper, his head falling back as he surrendered to the sensation. you moved your lips upward, kissing the sensitive skin of his wrist, then the inner crook of his elbow, leaving a trail of searing heat. every time you paused to admire a particular curve of his muscle or the softness of his skin, yushi would let out a small, shaky breath, his eyes fluttering shut.
he was overwhelmed, his senses flooded by the sheer intensity of your focus on him.
as you moved higher, your hands slid beneath his shirt, palms grazing the smooth expanse of his stomach. he jumped slightly at the contact, a small sound of surprise leaving his throat, but he didn’t pull away. instead, he leaned into your touch, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts. you traced the line of his ribs, your fingertips dancing over his skin, worshipping the lean strength of his torso.
“look at me, yu,” you commanded softly.
he opened his eyes, his pupils blown wide with arousal, his gaze hazy and unfocused. you reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, tossing it aside to reveal his chest. he instinctively tried to cover himself, his arms crossing over his torso in a gesture of modesty, but you gently pried his hands away, pinning them to the bed beside him.
“nuh uh, don’t hide,” you whispered. “i wanna see all of you.”
yushi let out a broken sob of pleasure, his chest heaving. you leaned in, your tongue darting out to lick a slow, deliberate line from his navel up to his chest.
he bucked beneath you, his hips twitching instinctively. you spent an eternity there, sucking on his nipples, teasing the sensitive peaks with your teeth until he was sobbing your name, his shy facade completely shattered by the onslaught of pleasure.
your hands wandered lower, sliding into his waistband to free his cock. it sprang forward, hard and leaking a bead of precum at the tip. yushi groaned, his face burying itself in the pillow to muffle his cries, his entire body shaking.
you didn’t rush, treating him like a deity, your hands cupping his balls, your thumb rubbing the sensitive underside of his shaft.
you leaned down, your lips brushing against the head of his cock. yushi let out a strangled cry, his fingers gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles turned white. you took him into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the rim before sliding deep, engulfing him. the sensation was overwhelming for him. he had never been the center of such raw, unadultered desire.
he began to thrust upward, his movements clumsy and desperate, his breath coming in loud, jagged gasps. “please… more… dear—i can’t… oh god,” he whimpered, voice cracking.
you looked up at him while still holding him in your mouth, your eyes locking onto his. the sight of him—flushed, trembling and completely undone by your worship—only fueled your hunger. you increased the pace, your suction tightening, your tongue working tirelessly to drive him toward the edge.
but instead of letting him snap, you pulled back just as he began to peak, leaving him gasping and desperate, his cock twitching violently in the open air. yushi let out a strangled, needy whine, his hips jerking forward instinctively to find the warmth of your mouth again.
“please…” he whimpered, his voice a broken thread. “don’t stop… please, i need it… dear.”
you chuckled low in your throat, the sound vibrating agaisnt his thigh. you didn’t give him the release he craved, instead, you shifted your focus. you slid down further, your tongue darting out to lick the sensitive skin of his perineum, then moving further back to the tight, puckered entrance of his ass.
yushi let out a sharp, high-pitched cry, his back arching off the bed as he felt your tongue swirl around his hole.
he had never been touched there before, and the sensation sent a jolt of electricity straight to his brain. he tried to shyly press his thighs together, to prevent you from going further, but you firmly pried them wide, pinning his knees back toward his chest to expose him completely. you stared at the delicate, pink flesh of his rear, worshipping the sight before diving back in.
you used your tongue to probe the entrance, licking in deep, rhythmic strokes that made your boyfriend sob. he was completely exposed, his shy nature warring with the primal need for ore. he began to thrash his head from side to side on the pilow, his fingers digging into the mattress as you sucked on his hole, your tongue mimicking the motion of a cock.
“p-princess… it feels… too much… i can’t…” he wailed, his voice echoing in the quiet room.
while your tongue continued to ravage his ass, you reached up with one hand to grip his cock, pumping it in a fast, tight rhythm. the dual stimulation was too much for his fragile composure. yushi was a mess of contradictions—his face was buried in the sheets, trying to hide his shame, while his body was bucking wildly, begging for the friction.
you slid your tongue deep into his ass one last time then moved back to sitmulate his cock, sucking the head into your mouth. the combination of the internal pressure and the intense suction on his glans snapped something inside him.
yushi’s entire body went rigid. a loud, guttural scream ripped from his throat as he finally erupted. thick, hot ropes of cum shot into your mouth, splashing against your cheeks and chin, while his internal muscles clamped down hard around your tongue. he shuddered violently, his toes curling, his breath hitching in a series of jagged, sobbing gasps as the orgasm tore through him in waves.
you didn’t let go until the very last drop had left him. as he slowly slumped back into the mattress, completely drained and trembling, you spent a few more moments licking the remaining cum from his shaft and the lingering moisture from his ass, ensuring every single part of him felt adored.
yushi lay there, his chest heaving, his eyes glazed and unfocused. he looked utterly ruined, his skin a deep, mottled red from head to toe. he tried to pull a sheet over himself, a flicker of his usual shyness returning, but he was too exhausted to move his arms more than an inch. he just looked at you, his lips parted, a look of pure, blissful submission etched onto his face.
murata fuma ⓘ tattoo artist!fuma, tatted fuma!, highly suggestive, dirty talk, fuma is lwk a perv
skye! i'm going through some things now and that's why things might seem off for a while... you know how much i love making layouts and decorating my profile and all, but i just can't now :( i have some things written (and things i forgot to post earlier like this one) so you'll still have content for a while!
the dim glow of the tattoo studio’s neon sign filters through the half-drawn blinds, casting a hypnotic haze over the room. you’re reclined on the leather chair, your button-up shirt opened, exposing your torso, the skin untouched like a blank canvas, waiting for fuma’s needle. no bra today for better access, you told him with a sly smile earlier, and he nodded, dark eyes already glazing over with that intense focus mixed with something hungrier.
the air hums with the low buzz of the tattoo machine, a rhythmic pulse that syncs with your quickening heartbeat.
fuma leans in close, his breath warm against your side as he adjusts the stencil one last time. his fingers, calloused from years of gripping needles and inks, trace the outline lightly, sending a shiver up your spine.
“perfect placement, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly, like velvet dragged over gravel.
oh and he’s shirtless too, in this heat, his own tattoos rippling across his broad chest and arms—ornaments and pokémons coiling around his biceps that flex as he preps the machine. you can smell him: ink, clean sweat, and that faint cologne that always makes your stomach twist.
the needle bites first at the edge of the design, a sharp sting that makes you gasp and grip the armrests.
fuma’s free hand is there instantly, sliding up your ribcage, his gloved thumb brushing the swell of your breast just enough to tease without crossing the line.
“shh, baby,” he whispers, masked lips hovering near your ear, his words a soft exhale that distracts more than soothes. “breathe through it. you’re doing so good for me.” his touch lingers, palm flattening against your skin, warm and steady, as if anchoring you while the machine whirs on.
he pulls back slightly to wipe away the excess ink, his eyes locked on your chest, pupils dilated like he’s entranced by the canvas of your body. the way your breasts rise and fall with each breath, nipples hardening in the cool air—it’s pulling him under, you can see it in the subtle hitch of his jaw, the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips.
but his hand doesn’t falter; the needle dances with precision, etching delicate lines that curve just beneath the curve of your breast, framing it like an invitation.
another pass of the needle, deeper this time, and the pain flares hot. you whimper, arching slightly, and fuma’s fingers curl possessively around your side, dipping lower to caress the dip of your waist.
“that’s my girl,” he breathes, voice dropping to a husky timbre that vibrates through you. “taking it like you were made for this. fuck you look so damn edible right now.” not sweet, that one—raw and edged with lust, his words painting pictures in your mind of what he’ll do once the gun is set aside.
his thumb circles lazily over your skin, inching upward to ghost the underside of your breast, a feather-light touch that sends sparks straight to your core.
the studio feels smaller now, the world narrowing to the heat between you, the steady drone of te machine a hypnotic backdrop.
fuma’s focused, excellent as always—his lines are flawless, the shading building in smooth gradients that will heal into something breathtaking. but his gaze keeps flicking up to meet yours, dark and stormy, like he’s fighting demons, fighting the urge to abandon the tattoo altogether.
he leans in again, wiping the area with a cool cloth, and his masked lips brush your collarbone in what could pass for an accidental kiss. “you’re distracting me, you know that?” he whispers, sweet this time, laced with affection. “all this bare skin… makes me want to mark you in other ways.”
pain spike as he hits a sensitive spot, the needle tracing the inner curve, and you bite your lip to stifle a cry. fuma notices, of course—his hand slides higher, cupping the side of your breast fully now, squeezing gently to pull your attention.
“eyes on me,” he commands softly, not-so-sweet authority threading his tone. “let me take care of you. imagine how it’ll feel when i’m done—my art on you forever.” his fingers knead the flesh, thumb flicking perilously close to your nipple, which pebbles under the indirect attention. the caress is deliberate, distracting, turning the sting into a throb that echoes lower, between your thighs.
he pauses to reload the machine with black ink, his body pressing closer in the confined space, the hard line of his thigh against yours. you can feel the tension in him, the way his cock twitches in his jeans, straining against the fabric as he steals glances at your exposed chest.
hypnotized, yeah—that’s the word. but he doesn’t stop; the needle resumes its work, filling in the delicate filigree that swirls like vines hungry to climb higher.
“god, i love how you trust me with this,” he says, voice tender now, whispering against your skin as his lips graze your shoulder. “my hands on you, making you mine in ink and touch.”
the pain builds in waves, each buzz a reminder of vulnerability, but fuma’s there, countering it with strokes that roam—down your side, over your hip, then back up to tease the edge of the tattoo.
“breathe, love,” he coos sweetly, but then his whisper turn wicked: “or don’t. i like hearing you moan like that. makes me hard just thinking about bending you over this chair later.” his free hand dips briefly to your inner thigh, squeezing the soft flesh there, a promise of more explicit distractions to come.
the air thickens with suggestion, your body responding despite—or because of—the bite of the needle.
minutes stretch into an eternity of sensation: the precise pricks etching permanence, his caresses mapping your curves like he owns them, whispers weaving a spell of sweet devotion and filthy intent.
“so beautiful,” he murmurs, genuine warmth in his eyes as he outlines the final flourish. “so strong, letting me do this. can’t wait to trace you with my tongue tonight.” then, darker: “and fuck, if you squirm any more, i might have to pin you down right here.” his fingers trail upward again, brushing your nipple this time—direct, electric—drawing a gasp that’s half pin, half pleasure.
finally, your boyfriend sets the machine aside, the sudden silence deafening. fuma’s hands linger, one still cupping your breast, the other wiping the fresh tattoo clean with careful swipes.
he’s breathing heavier now, gaze devouring the red, inked skin beneath your curves. “all done,” he says, voice rough wth restraint. “you were perfect.” but the way he leans in, lips hovering over your left breast, suggests the real tattooing—the one with his mouth and body—is just the beginning.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Hi Riku, I hope I'm not bothering you. I just saw your post titled "who in &team is most likely to have a tit obsession with let's say slightly bigger than average reader's tits" and I really liked it. Could I ask the same question, but with smaller tits? Tysm 🩶
yuma is all about the visual and the "line" of a body. he has a very refined, almost artistic eye, and he would absolutely adore the sleek, elegant silhouette that comes with small breasts. for him, it’s about the grace of the form. he’d love how a simple oversized shirt hangs off your frame or how a tight crop top emphasizes your ribs and the slight curve of your chest. in bed, he’d be obsessed with the way your breasts fit perfectly in the palm of his hand. he’d spend an eternity licking and sucking on your nipples, treating them like precious gems because they are so prominent and accessible.
euijoo is softer and more affectionate, and for him, small breasts would be about the "cuddliness" factor. he’d love the feeling of you curling up against him, your small chest fitting snugly against his torso. it feels more intimate and delicate to him. he would be the type to gently massage your breasts with a soft touch, admiring how petite you are. his approach would be more about the tenderness, though he’d still be completely captivated by the sight of your small, firm peaks hardening under his gaze.
fuma is disciplined and attentive. he would appreciate the practicality and the "fit" of a smaller chest. he’d love the way your body feels streamlined under his hands when he’s pinning you down. there’s something about the firmness of small breasts that he would find incredibly stimulating. he’d likely be the one to experiment with different positions to see exactly how your chest reacts to gravity, enjoying the way they shift slightly as he fucks you from behind or pulls you on top of him.
im sorry but you will NEVER convince me that fics w dead dove / rape / pedophilia / incest etc is normal or in tandem w personal preference. it is very clearly fetish content that perverts within fandoms use to justify their degeneracy bc tell me why there r rapist!character headcanons???? like these people are obv making this content for weirdos to jerk off to and it kills me that this is so normalized within fandoms bc its “just content”, it’s always deeper than that and you’re just using fiction as an outlet so you don’t go to jail, you all should be put on a list
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
idk if u have done this already but could you do &teamies reacting to the reader calling them a good boy ? ^^
the phrase good boy acts as a psychological trigger for yudai, fuma and nicholas, though each man reacts to the praise through a different lens of desire and submission. while the words are the same, the internal collapse they trigger varies from desperate need to quiet surrender.
yudai is the type to fight the effect until he can't anymore. he likely carries himself with a certain level of pride or stoicism, making the moment he is called a good boy a total breaking point. for yudai, the phrase is a tool of domestication.
when he hears it—especially after he has struggled to complete a difficult or degrading task—his composure shatters. he doesn't just accept the praise; he craves it with a hunger that borders on pathetic.
the words strip away his defenses, leaving him panting and eager, his body instinctively leaning into the touch of whoever is praising him. for yudai, being your good boy means he has finally earned the approval he secretly starves for, turning his strength into a tool for your pleasure.
fuma, by contrast, sinks into the role with a fluid, almost instinctive grace. he doesn't fight the submission; he leans into it, finding a profound sense of peace in the relinquishing of control.
when fuma is called a good boy, his eyes glaze over, and his breathing slows, falling into a trance-like state of obedience. it is a reward that validates his utility. he finds erotic satisfation in the power imbalance, the words acting as a leash that pulls him tighter toward his pretty little master.
for fuma, the phrase is a signal that he is performing exactly as expected, and that validation fuels a desperate need to do even more, pushing himself to the limits of endurance just to hear those two words beautifully whispered in his ear again.
nicholas experiences the phrase as a sharp, electric jolt of arousal. where yudai is desperate and fuma is serene, nicholas is reactive.
being called a good boy triggers an immediate, visceral response in his body—a tightening in his chest and a sudden, heavy ache between his legs. he is the most likely to react with a soft moan or a shudder, his body betraying how much the praise affects him.
for nicholas, the phrase is a mark of ownership. it tells him exactly where he stands in the hierarchy, and that clarity is what turns him on. he thrives on the feeling of being "handled", and the verbal confirmation that he is behaving correctly sends him into a state of high-voltage readiness, making him a pliable, eager toy for you.
while yudai, fuma and nicholas react to the phrase with a sense of surrender of ownership, euijoo, yuma and jo process the good boy trigger through a different set of emotional and physical vulnerabilities. for them, the phrase isn't just a reward: it's a catalyst that unlocks specific, hidden facets of their sexuality.
euijoo reacts to being called a good boy with a sudden, overwhelming wave of tenderness that quickly curdles into raw, needy lust. he is the most likely to be emotionally affected by the praise, his eyes welling up or his lip trembling when the words are spoken.
for euijoo, it feels like a warm embrace and a strict command all at once. it makes him feel seen and cherished, which in turn makes him want to be completely used. when he hears those words, his body goes soft and pliable, his inhibitions vanishing instantly.
he becomes an open book, desperate to please you in any way possible, whether that means taking your fingers down his throat or arching his back to offer his ass, all while looking up with wide, pleading eyes, begging for more of that validation.
yuma views the phrase as a challenge and a victory. he has a playful, perhaps slightly bratty streak, and for him, being called a good boy is the ultimate prize after a period of tension or defiance. he doesn't just sink into the praise; he preens under it.
when he finally earns the title, a smug, heat-filled shiver runs down his spine, and his cock throbs violently against his underwear. for yuma, the words are the "click" of a lock falling into place. it transforms his playful energy into a focused, intense desire to serve.
once he's branded a good boy, he becomes obsessively attentive, his movements becoming precise and eager as he tries to maintain that status, pushing himself to be the most efficient and satisfying toy in the room.
jo experiences the phrase as a total mental shutdown. he is often the one who tries to maintain a facade of competence or coolness, but good boy is the kill-switch for his brain. the moment the words hit his ears, his thoughts scramble, leaving him in a state of pure, mindless arousal.
he doesn't think, only feels. the phrase strips him of his autonomy, reducing him to a creature of pure instinct. jo's reaction is the most physical—his breath hitches, his toes curl, and he often finds himself instinctively kneeling or bowing his head without even realising he's doing it.
for jo, being your good boy means he no longer has to carry the weight of decision-making; he's simply an object for your pleasure, and that liberation sends him into a state of shivering, high intensity heat.
for harua, taki and maki, the phrase "good boy" acts as a psychological key, unlocking reactions that range from a fragile, desperate need for approval to a primal, animalistic surrender. while the others might find peace or arousal, these three experience the phrase as a profound shift in their internal power dynamics.
harua reacts to good boy with a fragile, almost heartbreaking intensity. he carries a deep-seated need for external validation, and when those words are spoken, it feels like a lifeline being thrown to him.
his reaction is characterized by a sudden, breathless stillness; he freezes, his heart hammering against his ribs, as if he's afraid that moving might break the spell. for harua, the phrase is an emotional anchor that grounds him in a state of absolute devotion. it transforms his desire into something sacred and desperate.
he doesn't just want to be fucked; he wants to be owned and kept. when he's called a good boy, he becoms an eager, shivering mess, clinging to you and whimpering, his body trembling with the need to prove his worth through total, selfless submission.
taki experiences the phrase as a spark to powder keg. he possesses a high-energy, almost frantic nature, and good boy is the only thing that can truly center him—by completely overwhelming him.
the moment he hears it, his energy shifts from chaotic to focused, laser-beaming all his attention onto you. it triggers a visceral, physical hunger; his pupils dilate, and he begins to pant, his cock leaking as he instinctively seeks you.
for taki, the phrase is a reward that fuels his stamina. it pushes him into a state of hyper-responsiveness where he will do anything—no matter how degrading or exhausting—just to hear the words again. he becomes a whirlwind of activity, sucking, licking, and rubbing himself against his beautiful princess with a manic, desperate eagerness.
maki processes good boy as a total collapse of his ego. he often presents himself with a certain level of confidence or detachment, but the phrase acts like a physical blow that knocks him off his feet. it is the ultimate "off-switch" for his pride.
when he's called a good boy, he doesn't just submit, he dissolves. his muscles go slack, his gaze becomes glazed and vacant, and he sinks into a state of heavy, drugged-like arousal. for maki, the phrase is a permission slip to stop pretending and simply be a toy.
he becomes incredibly passive and receptive, his body opening up instinctively. whether it's his mouth working relentlessly as you ride his face or his ass relaxing to take a thick plug, maki becomes a mindless vessel of pleasure, his only goal being to remain in that state of praised, mindless oblivion.
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