*𝙴𝚕𝚒*

✧･˚ Eli | bsd & yap blog | intj | she/her ✧･˚

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ─────── ⋆･✧•⋆ ────── ˎˊ˗

✧･˚ * CHAPTERS ─

- Masterlist | Rules | About Me! 𖹭ˎˊ˗

- current inspirations ✧

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𓆩♡ Request info ♡𓆪

✧･˚ writing category: bsd x reader. before requesting, read my Rules post, and pay attention to the status in this post too! ･˚

⊰ Request status: open! inbox: open

⊰ Numbers of requests currently pending: 12

⊰ requests from the oldest to the newest:

lovemaking with dazai & chuuya after a trip

akutagawa with reader who's unaware of his occupation

hyperfeminine reader — new scenario

nsfw scissoring with yosano

༉‧₊˚.˗ˏˋ────── ⋆･✧•⋆ ──────ˎˊ˗𝄞⨾𓍢ִ

© mouthfroth — all rights reserved. Do not feed my work to ai. do not translate or repost my work on any platforms without permission or proper credit.

✧──────────✧

⊹ ꒰🍷꒱ ˖ watch ur back! — chuuya x fem!reader‎ 𓏲ּ𝄢

cw: sfw, crack, suggestive if u squint

a/n: gsjrjfsrh i love this idea smmm (˵˃ ᗜ ˂˵), enjoy! 𖹭 last div by tsumiinum ⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

♡ ｡ﾟ•┈ ୨ 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓸𝓷𝓼 ୧ ┈• ｡ﾟ♡

⋆‧𓏲ּ𝄢𓏲ּ ‎your pranks keep him on his toes in the best way. hiding his hat only for him to find it perched on your head while you strike a dramatic pose, swapping his wine with a non-alcoholic version just to watch his expression shift before he haules you into his lap, growling playful threats against your neck. he pretends to be annoyed, but the way his grip lingers and the soft curses laced with affection give him away. life with the mafia ia sharp and dangerous; you make the in between moments feel like something worth coming home to.

⋆‧𓏲ּ𝄢𓏲ּ tickle fights & wrestling matches happen constantly. you’ll pounce on him while he is trying to relax on the couch, fingers digging into his sides or attempting to pin his arms. he'll indulge you for a minute or two, trying not to let out hid laughs while letting you think you have the upper hand, before flipping you effortlessly beneath him. his hat will end up knocked sideways, his coat rumpled, and he'll be laughing that rare, rough laugh while you try (and fail) to escape. the fights always end the same way—his mouth on yours, hands firm on your waist, the playfulness melting into something warmer and more intimate. you love how easily he matches your chaos without ever making you feel silly for it

⋆‧𓏲ּ𝄢𓏲ּ sneaking up on him has become your favorite sport. you'll wait until he's pouring a glass of wine or reviewing reports, then launch yourself at his back with a laugh already bubbling out. he always senses you coming—but he lets you get close anyway, just so he can spin around at the last second, catch you mid jump, and pin you against the nearest surface with that smirk. “nice try, doll,” he'll mutter, voice low, while you squirm and giggled in his hold. you never win those surprise attacks, but losing to him feels like winning anyway.

⋆‧𓏲ּ𝄢𓏲ּ even on rough days, when missions leave him tense and quiet, you never let the mood stay heavy for long. you bounce into his space with that bright, relentless smile, tugging him out for a late night drive or challenging him to some stupid game that ends with both of you breathless and tangled together. he never tells you to tone it down. Instead, he pulls you close afterward, forehead pressed to yours, murmuring how you are the only damn person who can make him forget the blood on his hands for a while.

♡ ｡ﾟ•┈ ୧ 𝓭𝓻𝓪𝓫𝓫𝓵𝓮 ୨ ┈• ｡ﾟ♡

you never played fair, and chuuya had learned to expect it.

the second he stepped into the bedroom in nothing but sweatpants and a loose tshirt, you struck. you tackled him from the side like an overexcited linebacker, arms wrapping around his waist as the two of you crashed sideways onto the bed. he let out a surprised grunt, half laughing already because he knew exactly what was coming.

“the fuck- get off me, you menace-”

too late. you were already wrestling for position, legs tangling with his as you tried to pin him down. chuuya flipped you effortlessly, but you hooked an arm around his neck and dragged him with you, both of you rolling in a mess of limbs and laughter. his shirt rode up—perfect target.

“think you can relax, huh?” you teased, fingers already digging into his sides as you wrestled to stay on top.

“fuck-” chuuya let out out a loud, undignified laugh and bucked hard, nearly throwing you off the bed entirely. he grabbed your waist to steady himself and immediately regretted it—you used the grip against him, digging in right where his sides dipped. giggles burst out of you at the way his face twisted, trying so hard to stay composed while losing the battle.

he retaliated fast. one strong arm locked around your middle, pulling you flush against him as he rolled on top. the wrestling turned into pure chaos. you were squirming and kicking, him pinning one of your thighs with his knee while his free hand went straight for your worst spots.

you shrieked with laughter, head thrown back against the pillows. “chuuya- no no no-!”

“yes,” he shot back, grinning like a shark even as his own laughter kept breaking through while he hovered over you, hat long gone, red hair messy, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling. he leaned down mid tickle and pressed a quick, messy kiss to your open mouth, swallowing one of your giggles. the kiss was clumsy, teeth clicking because neither of you could stop laughing. he pulled back just enough to nip at your jaw, then attacked your neck with tickling fingers again.

you wheezed, tears threatening to spill, and tried to twist away. your hands shoved at his chest, then immediately snuck back under his shirt to tickle him right back. chuuya’s shoulders shook with suppressed giggles as he caught your wrists, but you kept wriggling, hips bumping, legs kicking.

another kiss—deeper this time, slower, right as your giggles started to die down. his tongue brushed yours, tasting the bright, breathless joy still bubbling out of you. then he smirked and went right back to tickling your sides.

“asshole!” you gasped into his mouth between peals of laughter, trying to curl into a ball. he wouldn’t let you, body draped heavy and warm over yours, one hand still loosely pinning your wrists while the other tortured you with light, maddening scratches.

eventually you tapped out against his chest, gasping for air. he finally relented, collapsing beside you and pulling you half on top of him. his chest heaved with leftover chuckles as he pressed one last, lingering kiss to the top of your head, fingers now gently tracing your back instead of attacking it.

“you’re ridiculous, woman” he muttered, voice warm with fondness.

you just grinned against his collarbone, still catching your breath. “you love it.”

“yeah, sweetheart” he admitted, voice rough with laughter and something sweeter. “i really fucking do.”

♡𐙚ּ ֶָ֢.

--

I wanted to know if we could get any Poe NSFW Headcanons? If you'd rather not it's okay, I understand

Have an amazing day!

⊹ ꒰🪶꒱ ˖ his greatest work — poe x reader ‎⋆‧𓏲ּ𝄢𓏲ּ

cw: nsfw, subby poe (not in all of the headcanons), praising, oral, marking, nipple play (not reader's)

a/n: hi, thank u! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) enjoy! ⋆‧𓏲ּ𝄢𓏲ּ

⊹ ࣪ ˖ he gets off on marking you where only the two of you know—inner thighs, under your collarbones, the curve of your ass. thin, precise bites and hickeys that he’ll trace with his tongue the next time he has you spread out for him, as if he's possessive in the quietest, most elegant way.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ loves having you on top so he can watch. hands gripping your hips, eyes half lidded and hazy, drinking in every bounce and roll of your body. he’ll guide you with those long fingers digging into your ass, occasionally sitting up to suck marks onto your chest and throat while you ride him.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ praise wrecks him. call him a good boy, tell him how pretty he looks falling apart for you, how well he’s taking everything you give him, and his cock twitches hard, hips jerking involuntarily. he craves verbal affirmation almost as much as touch. whisper how much you love owning him and he’ll whimper, eyes glassy, murmuring “please… more…” in that rich, trembling voice.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ he's sensitive everywhere, especially his neck and nipples. suck or bite marks into his throat and he’ll keen, head tilting back to give you more access. play with his chest and he’ll gasp sharply, back bowing off the bed. if you edge him—stroke him slowly, stopping right before he tips over—he’ll sob your name, hips bucking desperately, tears pricking the corners of his eyes from the overwhelming pleasure you give him.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ oral fixation. poe's obsessed with giving head. on his knees in front of you (or between your thighs if you’re sitting on his chair), he’s thorough and filthy about it. he takes his time, looking up at you through those messy dark bangs, cheeks flushed, because watching you fall apart is better than any praise. when you return the favor, he loses his composure fast—his fingers thread tight in your hair, his hips stutte, while low broken moans spill out.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ he runs warm to hot. once clothes come off, his skin is feverish against yours. he likes skin to skin as much as possible—pressing you chest to chest, tangling legs, staying buried inside you after he comes just to feel you pulse around him with your arms around his back.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ hair pulling kink goes both ways. he melts when you tug his dark lockd while he’s buried inside you, hips stuttering. in return, he’ll fist your hair to tilt your head back so he can bite and suck marks along your neck and collarbone.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ slow, deep thrusts are his default. he’ll grind into you with rolling hips, keeping you pressed tight together so you feel every inch. when he’s desperate, though, it does turns frantic—desperate snaps of his hips, the slap of skin echoing in his dimly lit room, his face buried in your neck as he groans your name like a prayer.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ he’s vocal when he cums. low, broken moans and your name spilling out in a beautiful sigh, body shuddering against yours as he holds you impossibly close. afterward he stays inside you for a while, just breathing you in, unwilling to let the moment end.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ poe doesn’t do quickies often. when he has you, he wants time—slow, devastating build up followed by deep, rolling thrusts that leave you shaking. but when the obsession spikes (or when he's just too horny to explain), he can be surprisingly rough; gripping your thighs hard, pounding into you until you’re both hoarse.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ when he tops, he prefers positions where he can see your face. missionary with your legs wrapped around him/up his shoulders, or you riding him while he sits up so he can watch every expression. eye contact is constant and heavy; he drinks in your reactions, and he won't say but they turn him on more.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ but ironically, if he subs, he's too shy for eye contact. of course, he secretly wants you to grab his jaw and turn his pretty face over to look at you—but who knows right? if he does hold eye contact it's brief because his eyes will fluttet and close because they're rolling back to the back of his head and he's too shy to let you see it.

‎⊹ ࣪ ˖ aftercare is cozy and almost routine. he’ll pull you against his chest, fingers gently carding through your hair, pressing soft kisses to your temple and shoulders. he cleans you up himself with warm cloths, then wrapping you both in his heavy, dark blankets. sometimes he’ll read to you in that low, soothing voice until you fall asleep, passages from his own drafts or old poetry, customized with lines about you.

♡𐙚ּ ֶָ֢.

--

⊹ ꒰🩹꒱ ˖ dancing alone (until you) ⊹ ࣪ ˖ — dazai x gn!reader

a/n: hii lovely, my reqs were closed on my inbox, but i opened them recently! no need to worry, enjoy! ♡𐙚ּ ֶָ֢.

♡ ｡ﾟ•┈ ୨ 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓸𝓷𝓼 ୧ ┈• ｡ﾟ♡

he found out by accident one night when he came out of your bedroom to.. linger and ponder a bit by himself, expecting whatever normalcy that could await him in the middle of the night. yet there you were—barefoot, moving through slow, elegant waltz steps like the music was inside your bones. he just leaned against the doorframe, watching with a quiet, unreadable expression reserved for times something truly caught him off guard. when you finally noticed him, he didn't tease. he simply said with a small grin, “don’t stop on my account.”

after that, it became part of your shared rhythm. dazai never pushes you toward public dancing. he understands that the shyness runs deep, and he respects the privacy of something that clearly means so much to you—even if he jokes and teases you about it. Instead, he starts making the nights yours. he’ll clear a little space in the living room without being asked, dim the lights, and put on a record or playlist heavy with slow waltz music—the kind that feels like it was written for two people who don’t need the world watching.

he’s good at it. years of pretending to be whatever the situation demands have given him natural grace, he's light on his feet, matches your preference for your dance's structure, and he leads with an effortless kind of confidence that makes you forget to feel self conscious. his hand rests on the small of your back is warm and steady, pressing you closer just slightly, thumb occasionally brushing in small circles that feel more intimate than any grand dip ever could. you fit against him like the music arranged it.

some nights he doesn’t dance at all—he just sits on the edge of the couch, long legs stretched out, and watches you with half lidded eyes. there’s no performance pressure. it’s simply him appreciating the version of you that only comes out at night, when the rest of the world is quiet. when you eventually reach for his hands, he lets you pull him up without hesitation.

you never feel exposed. with him, the night belongs to the two of you alone, and dancing becomes another language you speak when words aren’t enough, the kind that lets you move freely while he follows, leads, or simply holds you close, heartbeat steady against yours. the secrecy of it all, it feels like another layer of closeness.

♡ ｡ﾟ•┈ ୧ 𝓭𝓻𝓪𝓫𝓫𝓵𝓮 ୨ ┈• ｡ﾟ♡

you slipped into the living room well after midnight, the apartment wrapped in that deep, familiar silence broken only by distant traffic. moonlight pooled across the wooden floor like spilled milk, and you let the quiet pull at you. earbuds in, the waltz rose soft and steady, strings curling around your ribs. no audience, no lights, just the slow glide of your bare feet and the sway of your body. you turned, hips following the three count rhythm that always lived in your bones.

you spun once, twice, breath catching with the music, lost enough that you almost missed the faint creak of the bedroom door.

then long arms circled your waist from behind, warm and sure. dazai’s chest pressed to your back, his chin settling on your shoulder. your heart lurched as he nuzzled into the skin of your neck, heat flooding your cheeks and you froze mid-step. the music was suddenly too loud in your ears.

“sorry.. i didn’t mean to wake you,” you whispered, already reaching to tug the earbuds free, suddenly aware of how exposed you felt in the middle of the room.

his fingers caught yours instead, threading through them gently. “don’t stop on my account,” he murmured against your neck, voice still slurred with sleep. “you looked beautiful 'bella.”

the flush deepened. you tried to pull away, embarrassed, but he only drew you closer, one hand settling at the small of your back. “osamu…” your voice came small, shy, the way it always did when he caught you in these private moments.

he hummed low, turning you slowly to face him. moonlight caught his relaxed face—the soft edges of his smile, the way his eyes stayed heavy lidded and fond. he lifted your joined hands, the other resting warm on your waist, and guided you into the next step. you stumbled at first, flustered, feet unsure now that someone watched. your free hand hovered awkwardly before settling on his shoulder, fingers curling into his shirt.

“breathe,” he said quietly, forehead brushing yours for a second. “it’s just us.”

you swallowed, glancing away for a beat, but followed his lead. the first few turns felt stiff, your body too aware of his gaze, of how close his mouth hovered near your temple. every spin made your pulse flutter. yet he didn't rushed, didn't tease. he simply moved with you, steps light and unhurried.

gradually the tension eased, and you let yourself lean into him, forehead resting against his collarbone as you swayed. your steps grew surer, matching his without thought. when he dipped you, careful and slow, his hair curtaining your faces—a quiet laugh slipped out of you, breathless and relieved. he brought you back up and you tucked closer, arms winding around his neck, bodies pressed flush in the silver dark.

the waltz played faintly from your earphones, which were put away—but you barely noticed anymore. his breath warmed your hair, his hands steady and familiar on your waist. you danced until the song faded into silence, until the only rhythm left was the shared beat of your hearts and the soft shuffle of bare feet on wood. dazai didn’t pull away. he simply held you there, lips brushing your temple in a lingering kiss, the night wrapping intimate and close around the two of you.

♡𐙚ּ ֶָ֢.

--

⊹ ꒰🍷꒱ ˖ off the record — chuuya x fem!reader ♡

cw: sfw, nsfw, oral, headcanons & a drabble, fluff, cuddling

a/n: hi random nonnie, thank u for ur kinds words & support, it really means a lot to me (⸝⸝⸝- ᴗ -⸝⸝⸝ ;) i'll try my best to stay healthy (no promises/j), please take care of urself too, ok? (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈) hope u like these—enjoy! ♡

♡ ｡ﾟ•┈ ୨ 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓸𝓷𝓼 ୧ ┈• ｡ﾟ♡

⊹ ࣪ ˖ he keeps you mostly out of the public eye. not because he’s ashamed—his fans know about you, you'll come out from behind the curtains from time to time. they love you. he’ll sometimes drag you on stage to watch, then pull you into a quick, heated kiss at the ends, before going behind the amps because "you look too good standing in my spotlight.” but he'll keep your relationship more private because he’s viciously protective, you’re his private sanctuary in a life that’s 90% noise.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ after shows he’s wired. adrenaline and stage lights still burning under his skin. he’ll come straight to the green room or the hotel suite, tug you close without a word, bury his face against your neck and just breathe you in while the roar of the crowd still echoes in his ears.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ stress relief fucks are real. he loves having you ride him before concerts while he’s still half-dressed in stage clothes. hands gripping your ass hard, or when you blow hik right before he goes, deep throating him while blinking up at him with your too pretty eyes that he can't handle—he'll always step on the stage with his face flushed and glowing, hair always a little mussed.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ he flies you out whenever he can. private jet, his suite, cozy and warm, always with your favorite drinks and the snacks you like. when you fly together he'll pull you close and you'll listen to his soundcheck drafts and wips, waiting for your opinion. he ends up asleep with his head on your shoulder most of the times.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ you'll try on his outfits before his shows sometimes. it's almost like you're modeling them for him—flashy clothes, his button downs, sometimes his hat and tie alone and nothing else. something about seeing you in his scent and his name makes his control slip in the best way.

♡ ｡ﾟ•┈ ୧ 𝓭𝓻𝓪𝓫𝓫𝓵𝓮 ୨ ┈• ｡ﾟ♡

the hotel suite was dim, only the city lights bleeding through the floor to ceiling windows. chuuya was still wearing the black tee from the encore (i wrote this outfit based off the middle pic hehe), top buttons undone, the faint sheen of sweat on his sharp collarbones catching the low light. his hat rested on the nighstand in the corner.

you were sitting on the edge of the massive bed when he walked in. he didn't speak—just crossed the room in that measured stride, gloved fingers already loosening his tie. when he reached you he cupped your jaw, tilted your face up, and kissed you like the encore never ended. deep, hungry, tasting like expensive wine and the metallic edge of adrenaline.

“missed you,” he muttered against your mouth as he climbed onto the bed, voice rough and gravely from singing. one hand slides down your side, slips under the hem of the shirt you were wearing—his—and gripped your bare thigh.

"me too". you pulled him closer by the open collar until he was between your thighs, his head resting on your chest as you leaned back and down on the headboard.

you pushed his damp hair back, smiling at the way he leaned into your touch. “you were incredible. as always.”

“yeah?” his smirk was sharp, but his eyes were softer, almost reverent as they traced your face. he dipped his head again, slower this time, kissing along your jaw to that spot under your ear that always made you shiver.

“then let me show you how much i appreciate my biggest fan." he mummered before pressing his lips on yours once more. he pushed you back onto the sheets without breaking the kiss, tongue slowly pushing past your lips, gloves finally coming off so he could feel your skin on his.

the city sparkled far below, but in here it was just the two of you—his weight, his heat, the familiar scent of his cologne and stage smoke, and the way he said your name, no spotlight or crowd.

just chuuya, stripped of everything except the way he needed you.

♡𐙚ּ ֶָ֢.

--

© mouthfroth — all rights reserved. Do not feed my work to ai. do not translate or repost my work on any platforms without permission or proper credit.

⊹ ꒰🩹꒱ ˖ two can play that game, nsfw version ⊹ ࣪ ˖ — dazai x fem!reader ִֶָ.𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽₊ edging, bondage, choking, hair pulling

sfw version here 𐙚ּ

⊹ ࣪ ˖ dazai loves edging you until your thighs shake, until you're squirming, squealing, tears glistening on your lashes as you kick your legs—which just makes him smirk, but you turn it right back on him just as ruthlessly. you’ll straddle his hips, sinking down torturously slow while he’s still half-dressed, rolling your hips in tiny circles until his usual playful mask cracks and his hands grip your waist hard enough to bruise. you refuse to move until he’s panting and whining your name like a prayer and a curse.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ the bandages are never just aesthetic. you both use them. sometimes he wraps your wrists above your head, tight enough that the fabric bites, then fucks you slow and deep while murmuring how pretty you look trapped under him. other times you reverse it—looping the strips around his throat and wrists, pulling just enough to make his breath hitch. the way his eyes glaze over when you ride him like that, bandages taut between your fingers, is addictive. he cums hardest when you lean down and bite his neck right above the wrap.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ choking and breath play—you know exactly how much pressure he likes. your hand fits perfectly around his throat while you’re on top, thumb pressing over his pulse as you grind down. he’ll grin through it, eyes half-lidded, and buck up sharply to remind you he’s still dangerous. when he flips you over, his long fingers wrap around your neck with surgical precision—never too much, always right on the edge where pleasure blurs. you both chase that dizzy, floating high together, gasping into messy kisses when you finally let each other breathe.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ hair pulling is often. not harsh but with enough pressure to feel the sweet ache the morning after—he'll fist his hand in your hair when he's wrecking you from behind, pulling just enough to lift your head and hear that fucked out gasp that comes with it. you'll do the same to his when he's in between your thighs, pulling hard on his locks, nails digging into his scalp while you lock your thighs around his head, making him moan into your pussy and pull you even closer by your hips.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ he eats you out like a man starved for salvation. slow, thorough licks that map every sensitive inch, two long fingers curling against that spot that makes your vision white out, and when you cum he doesn’t stop—overstimulating you until you’re grinding against his tongue again, sobbing his name. you suck him off the same way, throat massaging his length with soft, then hard pulls, until he's bucking his hips into your mouth, head thrown back as his back arches. you don't pause after his orgasm either, going on and on, placing featherlight kisses on his sensitive, leaking tip, gently suckling just to hear his pretty whimpers and make him lose it ♡ ︎

⊹ ࣪ ˖ sometimes the sessions turn tender and overwhelming. he’ll tie your wrists to the headboard ans spend an hour worshipping every inch of you—sucking marks onto your inner thighs, licking the sweat from the hollow of your throat, pressing his forehead to yours so you share every breath as he slides back in. the eye contact is relentless. wjen you finally cum, clenching around him in long pulses, he follows with a broken moan, burying his face in your neck like you're the only thing anchoring him to this world.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ post orgasm, he’s clingy in the most him way—arms loosely wrapping around you like a cocoon, legs tangled, murmuring how your pussy is the only addiction he doesn’t want to quit. you trace the lines of his bandages with lazy fingers, occasionally dipping lower to tease his spent cock until he’s half hard again, ready for another slow, lazy round where time loses meaning.

♡𐙚ּ ֶָ֢.

--

IT'S ALRIGHT IF YOU DON'T WANT TO AND SORRY IF YOU ALREADY COVERED THIS

⊹ ꒰🩹꒱ ˖ two can play that game ⊹ ࣪ ˖ — dazai x gn!reader

nsfw version here ♡

cw: sfw, crack, getting high (mentions of shrooms), reader's implied to be in the agency, mentions of suicide/joke attempting, flirting ౨ৎ ˙⋆. ᡣ𐭩

a/n: this idea is sooo cute i giggled so hard writing these enjoy! ♡𐙚ּ ֶָ֢. ︎↻ & 💬 appreciated!

the biggest shock to everyone in the armed detective agency was not that dazai managed managed to get into a relationship. It was that he somehow found someone who enabled the exact brand of nonsense he usually gets yelled at for. you two are the kind of couple that makes everyone's eye twitch daily. you've both been labeled "do not leave unsupervised" in everyone's mind.

you got high with him once.. (well twice for him)—just like that episode in the anime. he had gotten the shrooms again, certian that this time, they were poisonous.. they were not. it was hell. he was standing on the desk, pointing and saying he's in the afterlife again—except the afterlife he was pointing at was you! you were giggling because he was turning purple.. before you swayed and fell on him with your full weight, crashing down. then you tried to strangle him with bandages.. he ended up mummifying you instead of atsushi, it was fun until kunikida knocked the high out of you both. you call him "zazai" sometimes. (sorry i giggled)

you ate dog food In front of a dog just to taunt it. both had to call in sick. no work? no problem. he's got you all to himself. only thing he'll take his time working on.

he's extra clingy with you. he knows you won't push him away—not even as a joke—he won't say it but he feels comfortable doing so. he'll whine and throw himself all over you, and he knows you'll just humor him or continue working with him attached to you.

you’re probably the only person who can beat him at his own game. dazai tries to annoy you. you annoy him back. he tries to make you flustered, you calmly flirt back and handle him like it's nothing. (he’d probably be more flustered by the casual confidence than the obvious response back.)

"it's beating your name in morse code. my heart, i mean." (pun intended, im crine it's not even a joke)

"sounds like a medical issue. wonder what you'd taste like if i put honey all over you and licked you up and down. that'd fix your heartbeat."

"..i.. ok."

you two have a ritual of going on 'dates' around the river he first threw himself in. (tsurumi river) mostly after work when the exhaustion is clinging to you like wet clothes—the sun is slowly setting, and the sound of water and the birds chirping is the only thing that can be heard. usually you just ear some sweets or a simple meal—but he did offer you the opportunity of jumping in with him. you accepted, you both jumped in the water but he quietly panicked and pulled you to the shore, laughing it off. but other times it's just his head on your lap or your shoulder, and your fingers playing with whatever part of him that's nearest like strings only you can tune.

speaking of dates.. dates are never normal. picnics turn into stakeouts, movie nights become live commentary battles where you both try to out-dramatic tge characters. but the real intimacy is in the quiet after—sitting on the rooftop at 3am, legs tangled, sharing a single pair of earbuds while the city hums below. no need for grand gestures—you both know the other would burn the world down in the most theatrical way possible if it came to it.

you know exactly how to dismantle his manipulation games when he tries them on you (which isn’t often anymore). one raised eyebrow and a deadpan “nice try, 'samu” is usually enough. he respects it, enjoys it, actually. you're not afraid to call his bullshit, you do it without flinching or getting hurt in the process. and he’s quietly obsessed with it.

“dazai osamu.” “yes, my beloved accomplice?”

“you’re being stupid.” “cruel. accurate, but cruel.”

“you’re welcome.”

dazai is used to people being entertained by him, annoyed and exhausted by him, or suspicious of him. someone who can play along without being fooled by him is different. it's not a hollow kind of match, where it's just giggles and shenanigans. you can laugh at the ridiculousness while still noticing when he’s avoiding/struggling with something. you understand that sometimes the performance is the point. sometimes life is absurd, and instead of fighting that, you’re both going to make it more absurd. and that combination throws him off more than anything.

♡𐙚ּ ֶָ֢.

--

YESS i love black butler, it's actually my first ever anime that i watched! (˶>⩊<˶)

⊹ ꒰🩹꒱ ˖ running on empty 𓍢ִ𖥔 — dazai x reader

cw: headcanons & a drabble, sfw, adhd, burnout

summary: adhd!reader who overworks and gets burnouts </3 og req post: 𐙚ּ

a/n: i don't have adhd, (not that i know of.. bruh), so i hope I've written it well, enjoy! ♡𐙚ּ ֶָ֢.

𝒽𝓮𝒶𝒹𝒸𝒶𝓃𝓸𝓃𝓈 𓍢ִ໋ 𖥔˖🪽་˚₊

dazai becomes aware of the patterns long before you hit your burnout. he’s terrifyingly observant, especially with someone he’s let close. you volunteer for back-to-back missions, your restless leg bounces under the desk when there’s nothing immediate to do, you’ll take pn even mundane agency errands just to keep moving because your mind won't quiet down.

he understands the adhd drive better than most people give him credit for. boredom isn’t just unpleasant for you. it’s a kind of static that builds until it shorts out your wiring. dazai’s own mind runs at dangerous speeds, so he recognizes the itch to do something. he channels it instead of letting you blindly fall into it—leaving subtle puzzles, case files, or even maintenance tasks around the apartment that require just enough focus to keep your hands busy without draining you.

he starts subtly inserting himself—showing up on the exact moments you’re about to sign up for another high demand job, leaning in with that lazy smile and some half-plausible excuse to pull you away before you can overthink and protest. he drags you into his own low effort cases that still feel like movement, or pulling you onto thw couch with a half finished bottle of whiskey and a lazy “help me think through this boring report, bella.”

burnout hits you like a truck. you feel guilty about letting the agency down, you can't get out of bed and you feel exhausted and drained. when it does, he goes unusually quiet and efficient. he cancels your remaining assignments without asking and essentially kidnaps you back to his place (or yours). he’s not overly soft about it—he teases you for pushing past your limits—but his hands are gentle when he presses his thumbs into the knots in your shoulders or when he makes you drink water without comment.

he becomes weirdly possessive of your downtime. If he catches you trying to sneak work when you’re supposed to be resting, he’ll physically remove the laptop or files, stare at you with the most deadass, blank expression until you're squirming and not reaching for them back. (all while clutching them to his chest). he'll then compensate by giving you the kind of focused attention that keeps your brain occupied without draining you—long, lazy kisses, quiet conversations about cases, or letting you vent about whatever’s rattling around in your head while he listens.

𝒹𝓇𝒶𝒷𝒷𝓁𝓮 𓍢ִ໋ 𖥔˖🪽་˚₊

your shoulders had gone rigid hours ago—the screen blurred, but stopping felt worse than pushing through. another report. another mission brief. just one more thing so the storm in your head would quiet.

warm arms slid around your shoulders from behind, palms settling light on your chest. dazai’s voice was low, close to your ear.

“you’ve been here since before I left for the stakeout.”

you exhaled, fingers still hovering over the keyboard. “im almost—”

“no.” his grip tightened, not harsh, just enough. one hand reached past you and gently closed the laptop. the sudden lack of blue light made the room feel softer, smaller. he gently spun your chair around to face him—hands braced on the armrests, caging you in. “you’re done.” his forehead pressed against yours, cool skin against your overheated one. “you’re shaking, belladonna. not from the work.. from fighting yourself.”

you exhaled shakily, the crash already hovering at the edges of your vision. he must have felt it too, because he straightened, slid his arms under you, and lifted you out of the chair without asking. he pressed you flush to him, effortless despite how boneless you suddenly felt. your protest died when he carried you the few steps to the bed and dropped down with you still in his embrace, your chest against his.

“osamu—”

his arms wrapped around your middle, “shh.” his fingers traced slow circles at the base of your spine, grounding. “I can hear your thoughts from across the room. they’re loud tonight.”

you let your weight lean into him as the exhaustion crashed over you in a delayed wave now that the screen was gone, your hands twitched with leftover restless energy as he finally felt your hands still on his back.

“stay here,” he murmured against the side of your neck. “let the boredom win for one night. I’ll keep you company.” his lips brushed your skin, light and unhurried. “besides… I get lonely when you disappear into that head of yours for too long.”

his heartbeat was steady against your spine, his breathing even. for once, the need to do something quieted under the weight of his presence and the lazy drag of his fingertips along your arm—intimate, steady, and just enough to fill the space without demanding anything back. he didn’t tell you to sleep. he just held you there, present and unhurried, until your thoughts finally loosened their teeth.

♡𐙚ּ ֶָ֢.

--

would it be possible to have Dazai with a really shy and innocent (in the sense that she likely won’t catch indirects and sometimes probably won’t understand when Dazai is joking lol) I think it would be rlly cute to be like a slow burn to nsfw?? Like them being best friends (not daring to say childhood friends because I’m thinking they know each other since 15 PM and are in ADA together now) and having some weird dynamic that no one actually believe they are not lovers since reader won’t push off Dazai flirting? Also I would rlly like if it’s reader like first time and first kiss :D

Srry if I wrote too much, I’m just not good explaining stuff. Please do not feel pressured to do it, also it can be however u like. thanksss

⊹ ꒰🩹꒱ ˖ the longest joke — dazai x fem!reader

cw: shy/innocent reader, suggestive, teasing & flirting, nsfw at the ends, nipple play, fingering, cowgirl, virgin reader (first kiss & first sex), mild suicide jokes (the typical)

a/n: i need this man

the rain drummed steadily against the agency windows as you sorted through the latest stack of case files, your fingers tracing the edges of the paper. at twenty two, you’d been with the armed detective agency for nearly seven years—long enough that the chaos felt.. almost routine. dazai had been there from the start, pulling you into the fold after a "messy mission" when you were both fifteen. he’d called it “fate’s little joke,” and you’d believed him because back then you didn't want him to live through that incident ever again.

you were best friends. that much was simple—what wasn’t simple was the way he leaned over your desk now, coat draped loosely over his shoulders, bandages peeking at his collar.

“belladonnaaa~,” he drawled, voice low enough that only you could hear, “if you keep looking so focused, i might have to distract you permanently. naybe tie you to this chair until you pay attention to me instead of those boring reports.”

you blinked up at him, cheeks warming. "osamu, the reports are due by tonight. kunikida will yell if they’re late again.” but you didn’t push his hand when it brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear. his smile deepened, private and genuine in a way few people ever saw. yor complete obliviousness—the way you calmly sorted paperwork while he practically offered to tie you up—had always been unreasonably adorable to him. It made the slow game you were playing feel even sweeter.

his teasing was just osamu being osamu—harmless, familiar. the others had long since stopped believing that. atsushi had asked once, eyes wide, stammering—if you two were secretly dating. yosano had smirked and said “the tension could power the entirety of yokohama.” you’d laughed it off, confused. dazai only smiled wider.

he stayed late with you that night, as he often did. the office emptied until it was just the two of you under the warm desk lamp. he spun a pen between his fingers, watching you work. “most people would’ve slapped me years ago,” he said lightly, spinning a pen.

you tilted your head. “why? you’re joking, right? you’re my best friend.”

his gaze softened, something deeper flickering. “of course. just joking.” but the way he looked at you said otherwise.

weeks blurred—missions, shared lunches, quiet evenings on the agency rooftop where he’d dramatically threaten to jump and you’d tug his sleeve with a shy “please don’t,” heart pounding for reasons you didn’t fully name.. he flirted relentlessly—calling you his reason for living one day, suggesting double suicide the next—but you took it as the strange poetry it was. you didn’t catch the way his gaze lingered when you blushed at his compliments, or how he always found excuses to touch you: a hand on your lower back guiding you through crowds, fingers brushing yours when passing files—mostly his undone work.

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་˚₊‧꒰ა ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

the first kiss happened after you'd come home from a short solo errand—to find dazai exactly where you’d left him hours earlier—sprawled across your couch like a starfish, coat discarded on the floor, long limbs taking up every inch of space. he hadn’t eaten properly since yesterday, and your worry was nagging at you as the takeouts you'd ordered sat untouched pn the counter.

you knelt beside the couch, hesitating. his chest rose and fell in slow, even breaths, bandages slightly askew at his neck. He looked younger like this, stripped of his usual flair. "'samu,” you whispered, touching his shoulder lightly. “wake up. you need to eat something.”

he stirred with a low, incoherent mumble, eyes cracking open to slits—just a bleary blink as he registered your face inches from his, lashes heavy, gaze unfocused in the dim lamplight. his usual sharpness was buried under layers of exhaustion. his hair was a mess, cheek creased from the cushion. for once, the genius detective looked disarmingly human.

“…belladonna?” his voice was rough with sleep, barely above a mumble.

“you haven’t eaten,” you said again, softer. your hand brushed a few damp strands of hair from his forehead. he didn’t move away. Instead, he shifted slightly toward you, still half-lost in drowsiness, his usual sharp edges dulled.

the air felt heavier. he lifted one hand slowly, fingers brushing your wrist, then your cheek—tentative, almost accidental in his sleepy state. he murmured your name like it was the only clear thing in his mind. the sound sent a flutter through you—warm, unfamiliar, spreading from your stomach up to your throat. your gaze dropped to his lips, slightly parted as his eyes drifted to your own, lingering there with quiet intent.

when he tugged you down the last inch, you didn't pull away. it wasn’t sudden. It was inevitable. his lips pressed on yours gently, warm and unhurried, tasting faintly of the tea he’d had earlier. you let out a quiet, muffled sound—surprised, but not quite. your heart hammered, and the contact sent a quiet rush through your veins. you kissed him back, shy and careful, one hand sliding on his chest where you could feel the steady beat beneath.

his hand shifted sluggishly, fingers brushing your jaw as if to anchor himself. the kiss lingered for a few heartbeats—a faint sigh from him that vibrated against you—before you drew back with a soft sound just enough to breathe. your face burned, hest flooding in. dazai’s eyes met yours, more awake but no less soft.

“you… haven’t eaten,” you managed, voice barely above a whisper, cheeks hot.

a faint, genuine smile touched his lips. “later,” he said hoarsely.

"...better than food." he thought.

the takeout sat forgotten for another minute.

from there, everything intensified. touches grew bolder in quiet corners of his apartment. you were already in dazai's lap on the couch, legs straddling his thighs. making out had become a sweet, casual habit since that sleepy night on your couch—the kind that left you both flushed and breathing heavier, though nothing further yet—until now.

his mouth moved against yours lazily, familiar now but never losing its spark. you kissed him back with that earnest way of yours—plush lips parting, a tiny whimper escaping when his tongue brushed yours. your fingers curled into his hair, disheveled strands slipping through them. clothes were already rumpled—your sweater pushed high around your ribs and your skirt bunched at your waist. his vest hung open, belt undone but not removed.

his tongue slid against yours until you sighed into him, while his hands roamed gently, sliding under your sweater and lifting it slowly over your head. the fabric whispered away, revealing your bra and the swell of your breasts. he traced the straps with his fingertips, then reached back to unclasped it—sliding it down your arms—leaving your tits bare to the cool air. dazai took his time looking without any shame—at your nipples already tight and pebbled, the plush curves rising and falling with your quick breaths.

“beautiful,” he murmured against your neck, kissing down your throat while he cupped them gently—thumbs circling and stroking until you whimpered. he dipped his head, sucking one sensitive peak into his mouth, while fondling the other before his free hand worked at the zipper of your skirt, sliding it down your hips. it pooled at your knees as he tugged it off completely, leaving you in just your panties—pretty, innocent white that clung to your hips, a dark patch growing in the middle. he traced the waistband, fingers dipping just beneath to feel the warmth of your skin, the slight tremble in your inner thigh.

your hands pawed at his shoulders, clinging as heat dusted your cheeks. “it's ok, you’re doing so well," he praised softly, kissing your temple. "so wet and ready for me already. my sweet girl.” he hooked his fingers into the fabric and slowly dragged them down. you lifted your hips to help, your face buried in his neck now, embarrassed and aroused, the movement pressing you closer against the growing hardness beneath his pants. the panties slipped away too, revealing the soft mound of your sex, already glistening with arousal, the delicate folds flushed and slick. you tried to press your thighs together instinctively, but he parted them gently.

you were a picture in his lap—lips swollen from all the kisses, breasts rising and falling with quick breaths, completely bare for him while he was still mostly dressed, presented like a present unwrapped. the contrast made his chest tighten with affection and desire.

he kissed you deeply again, one arm wrapping around your waist to hold you close as the other slipped between your legs. his fingers found your wetness, stroking slowly along your slit, circling your clit with feather-light pressure. you moaned into his mouth—overwhelmed sounds that went straight to his cock. “'osamu… it feels—” your voice broke as he dipped a finger inside, then two, curling gently to find that spot that made your hips jerk. you were so responsive, every new wave of pleasure showing on your pretty face: eyes half-lidded, lips parted, brows furrowed in sweet confusion at how good it felt.

when he finally withdrew his fingers, you whined at the emptiness. he responded by mouthing at your neck, then lifted you just enough to free himself. his hard cock slapped against his stomach, dripping at the tip. you hovered above him, hands braced on his chest, suddenly shy again now that it was really happening.

dazai reached up, cupping the back of your neck and drawing you down. his lips moved softly against yours, tongue brushing in gentle reassurance as the thick head of his cock nudged your wet entrance, slicking up with your arousal. “'s okay,” he mumbled between kisses, rubbing it against your clit until you were whimpering again, “we’ll go slow. just breathe with me.”

with your help, he shed the rest of his clothes then, and you couldn’t help but stare—his lean frame, the bandages, the hard length of him flushed and leaking, hungry eyes blinking up at you. the sight made your mouth water and your core throb. you nodded, hands twitching with nervousness. “please…”

you reached down, wrapping your palm around him to steady yourself, and slowly sank onto him. a shaky, high moan slipped from your lips as the thick head pushed inside you. tight. so incredibly tight. your gummy walls clenched hard around the intrusion, fluttering wildly, trying to adjust to the unfamiliar fullness that was almost nothing compared to his slender digits. you paused, trembling just a bit. his palms smoothed over your hot flesh, not pulling you you down—just holding you there, letting you breathe through it.

the rest was slow and careful. the stretch burned sweetly, intense in a way that made you gasp and your nails dig into his shoulders. Inch by inch he filled you, pausing once more to kiss you deeply, letting you adjust. “breathe, love. fuck- you feel incredible… so tight and warm.” his control was ironclad, even as sweat beaded on his skin.

a broken mewl left you when you finally seated yourself fully, ass flush on his thighs, his length buried to the hilt in your fluttering core. you stilled, panting softly. dazai’s palms stroked your sides, thumbs tracing the curve of your hips as he gazed up at you with soft, dark eyes—“that’s it, just like that… you’re doing so good for me."

your thighs pressed tight against him in response, clenching involuntarily. every tiny shift sent sparks through your sensitive nerves—almost too much, yet perfect. he groaned softly beneath you, hips twitching once before he forced himself to stay still.

shyly, experimentally, you rocked forward. the drag of him inside you was devastating—hot, hard, rubbing against places that made your vision blur. a moan escaped you, louder this time, and you repeated the motion, hips rolling in a slow, tentative rhythm. skin met skin with quiet slaps, growing wetter, messier with every glide. your juices coated him, dripping down your thighs, making the sounds filthier as your folds dragged along his cock.

pleasure built quickly, new and devastating. your moans turned sweeter, breathier, small whimpers when the head of his cock kissed your swollen cervix. “shh, I’ve got you, sweetheart, you’re so pretty when you break like this, so mine” he mummered, voice mind-meltingly sweet against your ear. one hand stroked your hair while the other held your hip. the praise melted you further, your body softening around him as the discomfort ebbed into deep, throbbing pleasure.

every thrust made your tits bounce prettily as you keened sweetly, slowly speeding up—faster now, still hesitant but growing bolder. you rode him properly—up, and down, then again. your pussy swallowed his dick again and again, squeezing him deeper with every lift and drop. heat pooled and twisted in your lower tummy, a knot twisting, building with each slick slide.

you could feel it—the crest of pleasure threatening to crash over you. your core tightened, fluttering wildly around his aching length. “osamu—” you gasped, voice slurry and barely coherent. his hand rubbed fast little circles on your clit before he answered with a low moan, hips finally canting up to meet you, driving himself deeper on your downstroke.

that was all it took. your orgasm hit hard, pussy creaming around him in pulsing waves, gushing cum that spilled down his cock and soaked his skin. "fuuck- 'm cumming-" you cried out, head thrown back—milking him as you rode through it, high-pitched moans tumbling from your lips as the pleasure dragged on and on.

he followed not long after, a deep grunt tearing from his throat. his cock twitched inside you, spilling hot ropes deep in your sensitive, tender heat, painting your walls white. you kept moving through it, slower now, drawing out every drop until you were both spent and shaking.

afterward, he pulled you against his chest, arms wrapped securely around your smaller frame. his fingers traced soothing patterns down your back while he pressed gentle kisses to your forehead, your temple, your lips. “sweet girl,” he whispered, voice low and adoring. “you were perfect, bella. felt like heaven.” you nestled closer, shy and sated, a soft, fucked out smile on your face. "mhmm.. you did too, felt so full.."

the others could keep their assumptions. though this—whatever it was between you—had always been building to something real. and dazai, for once, wasn’t joking.

♡𐙚ּ ֶָ֢.

--

rhis is meant as a compliment ok i lovw ur writing

that's the goal mhehehee