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Ada men’s favorite position— ♪♫♬ . . .
Feat : Osamu Dazai, Atsushi Nakajime, Ranpo Edogawa, Doppo Kunikida
Warn&Note: NSFW/SMUT CONTENT, Cursing/Profanity, Out of character, minors DNI, No pronouns used for reader, pet names, Praise, overstimulation, mentions of pregnancy/breeding, cringe, I’m new to tumblr so don’t expect anything, rushed, lazy, bias.
⋆. 𐙚 ̊
— 001. Osamu Dazai
You don’t really remember exactly what happened and how you got into this situation—not with his thick cock repeatedly pounding into your tight hole, moans and whimpers leaving your pretty lips. However that wasn’t the only sounds being heard, small grunts and heavy breathing could be heard from your boyfriend, Osamu Dazai. His dark chocolate brown hair was damp from sweat and sticking to his forehead, his eyes were pinned down on the person beneath him. A mixture between desire and excitement in his gaze, he couldn’t help it. They looked gorgeous underneath him, moaning and panting while his cock continued to pound away in their hole.
Dazai had you in a matting press; your ankles rested on his broad shoulder and his hands were attached to your hips. Gripping your hips and pulling you back on his cock when he had pulled back before slamming back into you, each thrust seemed to get deeper each time. It was almost overwhelming. Your chest slightly recoiled with each pushing thrust and Dazai couldn’t help but notice. He felt proud of himself that he could make you feel like this, he smirked slightly before he ran one of his hands up from your hip to your chest, groping it lightly, his thumb running over your nipple teasingly. He loved this so much, the power he held over you and the fact that you let him do this to you, he felt so lucky.
“..Mmh, c’mon bella…you can take it..”
— 002. Nakajime Atsushi
You couldn’t even comprehend that your sweet and innocent boyfriend, Nakajima Atsushi, was absolutely feral during sex. The only sounds being made was moans, whimpers, and skin slapping against skin. Atsushi’s eyes rolling back and a little bit of drool falling out of his mouth. He was trying to be gentle, he really did, but his tiger instincts overpowered over his mental state and the only thought in his mind was to breed you. His cock continuously pounded into you with his thighs slapping against your back thighs. It hurt, yes, but you didn’t even notice from the amount of pleasure that had overtaken your body and the pure bliss of moans that were heard.
Atsushi’s fingernails dug into your hips without even noticing it. You were in doggy position while he pounded from behind, your ass was in the air while your face was in the plushy pillows. Atsushi whimpered and he sped his already quick thrusts, his fingers beginning to create small bruises on your hips which he was sure to make up for it. Your moans also increased, trying to catch your breath while his cock pounded into your tight hole. Your eyes half-lidded and full of pleasure. After a few more thrusts; it got a little sloppy. His movements slowed down and he let out a whine before pulling your hips closer too him, his cock burying deep inside you before you felt a warm and stick liquid leaked inside you, he had cummed. He slowly began to pull out, his cock growing soft.
“M’sorry lovely, was I too rough?..”
— 003. Ranpo Edogawa
Soft and pretty whines and whimpers could be heard from the man underneath you, Ranpo Edogawa. After a particular difficult case, he had wanted nothing more then his pretty partner to get on top of him and ride him. So here he was, underneath his partner, hands grasping their hips and thighs. You on the other hand, bounced on his cock—small huffs and moans leaving your lips. Ranpo’s cock leaving and entering you over and over again.
Your bare ass slapped against his thighs each time you slammed down on him. Ranpo almost couldn’t take it, his eyes rolled back and a bit of drool at the corner of his mouth. It was kind of amusing seeing the greatest detective in the world blissed with pleasure and overwhelmed from the overstimulation. Ranpo kept on mumbling and pleading with you to go impossibly faster, he couldn’t help himself, it just felt so good. His cock being squeezed by your tight hole with each thrust. His hips began to slowly grind up a bit and try to thrust up as well, meeting your bouncing.
— 004. Doppo Kunikida
Both you and you’re boyfriend had been at it for the last hour, huffs and puffs leaving his lips, his blonde hair damp and sticking to his forehead from sweat. Who knew that your idealist boyfriend, Doppo Kunikida, was so rough and quick during sex. He hadn’t even cummed yet while you we’re approaching your second climax. It was overwhelming yet so pleasant as well—you wanted more of him. Kunikida let out a grunt as he felt you tighten around his cock, his grip on the back of your knees tightened and he continued to pound into you like there was no tomorrow.
Kunikida had put you in a missionary position, his slim hands wrapped around your back knees and pushing them down so that they were almost touching your shoulders. His hips moving in a thrusting movement to meet your tight hole each time. His hair was damp and his low pony tail was loose and slightly falling out, his glasses were a little foggy, and his body was almost shiny like from sweat. Kunikida sometimes couldn’t help himself, especially when it came to you. So here he was, pushing your knees to your shoulders while pounding inside of you, his movements quick and rough. How he loved you so much.
“…mph..ngh..”
WELCOME !
[ Requests are open | can be anonymous ]
⇨ Fandoms — Bungou Stray Dogs
It's not good enough that I like this character, I want him naked on my bed
I need to feed my obsession.
tethered in red - dazai x reader
bound by a deepening obsession, the story follows a mission gone wrong—an ambush laced with betrayal, bloodshed, and the terrifying possibility of loss. as the world around you burns, dazai holds you like it’s the last time—loving you with a desperation only born from death. its raw. its unhinged. its the kind of love that destroys and saves at the same time.
warnings: 18+ explicit content, graphic violence,injury, blood, obsessive love, breakdowns, nsfw, angst, betrayal, possessiveness, mentions of death.
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
the cigarette between chuuyas fingers burned low, the ash hanging off the end like a whisper away from collapse. you were sitting on a rooftop just outside the port mafias southern compound, the wind stirring strands of your hair across your face, the dying sun bleeding out behind the yokohama skyline.
your back ached. your ribs were still sore from last week’s assignment. but that wasn’t what made you uneasy.
it was him.
dazai sat beside you on the ledge, one leg dangling, the other pulled to his chest, his chin resting atop it. his eyes were fixed on the city, but you knew he wasn’t seeing it. he was far away. somewhere in the dark, fucked-up parts of his mind that not even you were allowed to follow.
chuuya flicked the ash off his cigarette, exhaling a long drag. “he’s been like that since yesterday,” he muttered, nodding toward dazai. “ever since Mori called you in.”
your stomach twisted. you knew the pattern. the summons. the silence. dazai always shut down right before something bad.
you reached for him anyway.
“osamu.”
his eyes didn’t move. but he answered.
“hmm?”
“is something wrong?"
a pause.
and then, softly, “no.”
⸻
the elevator to moris private chambers always felt like a descent into the underworld. your stomach dropped as the lift sank below the normal levels, into the depths where sunlight and mercy couldn’t reach.
the hallway outside his office was cold. clean. the kind of sterile that hospitals tried to mimic but never quite captured. like a morgue pretending to be a sanctuary.
you knocked once.
the door opened itself.
inside, mori sat behind his desk, tea steaming gently beside an untouched chessboard. elise stood nearby in her doll-like form, eyes unblinking, mouth curled into a cruel half-smile. the air tasted faintly of antiseptic and copper—like blood scrubbed just a little too late.
“come in,” mori said, gesturing.
dazai walked ahead of you. his shoulders were tight, his hands buried in his pockets. you followed in silence, every instinct screaming at you to turn around.
“you’re both here because i trust you,” mori said, steepling his fingers. “there’s a traitor. a former associate named yanagi. he’s been leaking intel to the government. we believe he’ll be at a decommissioned shipyard tonight. the location is secure, minimal risk.”
you frowned. “then why us?”
mori smiled, and it made your skin crawl.
“because i want to be absolutely certain he doesn’t walk away.”
that was the first red flag.
the second came when dazai asked, “you said minimal risk. you're sure?”
mori didn’t blink.
“positive.”
but dazai didn’t believe him.
you could see it in the way his fingers flexed. in the flicker in his eyes. in the silence that followed.
“fine,” dazai said at last, before adding on coldly, “but if anything happens to her, ill ensure you regret it."
moris smile never changed.
"oh. i'd expect nothing less.”
⸻
the docks were drowning in mist. the air was wet, thick with salt and steel. you and dazai moved like shadows through the decaying ruins of what used to be a shipping port — cranes long dead, containers left to rust like forgotten coffins.
something felt wrong.
the silence was too complete.
your heart thudded in your chest as you scanned the area. “we are being watched,” you whispered.
dazai didn’t answer.
then the fog shifted.
masked figures on the rooftops. behind the crates. lurking in the shadows.
too many.
far too many.
it was a setup.
you didn’t have time to shout before the first bullet shattered a pipe beside your head, spraying steam and fire. dazai tackled you to the ground as a barrage of gunfire tore through the air.
then came the knives.
the screaming.
the blood.
⸻
the world erupted into hell.
bullets split the fog, hot lead searing through steel and air. your body moved on instinct—rolling behind a rusted crate, your breathing ragged, ribs screaming. dazai was already on his feet, two guns drawn, eyes wild like a cornered wolf. not a strategist. not a trickster. a killer
you counted eight, then ten.
too many.
this wasn’t a takedown.
It was an execution.
your fingers shook as you reloaded. “they knew we were coming,” you hissed, throat raw.
“no,” Dazai spat, his voice lower than you’d ever heard it. “mori knew.”
that truth tasted worse than blood.
the first wave came fast—black masks, gleaming knives, footfalls like thunder on wet steel. dazai moved like water, bullets slicing through skulls, a knife in his off-hand spinning a man’s body into the air like a ragdoll. blood sprayed across your cheek—warm, thick, coppery.
you didnt have time to think.
you stabbed upward into a chest, felt the rib crack. pulled free. kicked. shot. the violence was mindless, primal. you didn’t know who you were killing anymore. only that it was you or them.
and then it happened.
a blade slid into your side.
you gasped—eyes wide—as warmth flooded your ribs.
you turned, instinct firing too slow, too late.
the masked man grinned behind blood-stained teeth—his knife lifting again.
but dazai screamed.
the kind of scream that tears through your spine and nestles in your bones.
it was raw. animalistic. like something in him snapped.
he was on the man in seconds. tackled him. pinned him. punched him. over..
and over.
and over.
blood coated dazai’s knuckles like war paint. the man’s skull caved in before he was even dead.
and dazai didn’t stop.
you reached out, voice trembling. “osamu—stop—”
but his eyes were gone.
gone.
lost in a place no one could reach.
you had to grab his wrist to pull him back to the surface.
he blinked.
breathed.
his chest heaved like he’d been drowning.
and then he saw you. really saw you.
the blood at your waist.
the pain in your eyes.
his hands were shaking.
“oh god,” he whispered, “you’re bleeding—you’re bleeding—”
you collapsed into him, darkness curling at the edges of your vision.
⸻
you came to in the back of a black sedan, the engine roaring like a beast through the night.
rain lashed against the windshield in violent slashes, the sky sobbing above Yokohama.
dazai was holding you, cradling you.
one hand pressed against your side, the other brushing your damp hair back from your face.
he was covered in blood.
yours. theirs. his own.
you blinked, throat dry. “…are we dead?”
chuuya barked a laugh from the front seat. “not yet. almost wrecked my car picking your dumbasses up, though.”
you tried to sit up. dazai stopped you with a gentle but firm hand.
“don’t move,” he whispered. his voice was wrecked. hoarse. strained. “you’re still bleeding.”
you looked at him.
really looked.
his eyes were wild. his pupils too wide, his jaw clenched tight.
you reached for his face. “you saved me.”
his hands tightened on you like he was scared you’d vanish. “no. i failed you. i let him send us into that trap. i didn’t see it. i should’ve known.”
your vision blurred again—not from pain this time, but the sheer weight of his guilt.
“it’s not your fault,” you murmured.
but he didn’t answer.
just held you tighter.
⸻
The Safehouse — 3:02 a.m.
the room was warm.
quiet.
the chaos was gone, but it lived inside your skin now.
the safehouse was nothing more than an old warehouse in the outskirts of the city—converted into a loft with makeshift walls, one bloodstained couch, a mattress on the floor, and a single bulb casting soft yellow light.
you lay on that mattress, wrapped in clean bandages, sweat still clinging to your skin from the fever. your side ached like hell.
dazai sat beside you, shirtless, arms slicked in dried blood and fresh bruises. he hadn’t left your side in hours.
“why are you still here?” you whispered.
his head tilted, eyes tired. “where else would I go?”
you looked at each other
and in that silence, something broke.
he leaned down—slow, unsure at first—until his forehead pressed against yours.
“i thought i lost you,” he whispered, his voice so quiet it cracked. “i thought you were dying in my arms and i couldn’t do anything.”
his lips brushed your brow. your temple. your nose.
“i wanted to kill them all. i did. and it wasn’t enough.”
your hand rose to cup his jaw. “i'm still here.”
his eyes closed.
and when they opened—something unhinged glowed behind them.
“you don’t understand,” he murmured, “i need you. if you ever die, i die with you.”
you shivered.
not from fear.
but from knowing he meant it.
⸻
dazai hadn’t stopped touching you since the moment chuuya dropped you off. he hadn’t let you stand, hadn’t let you breathe without his hand ghosting your skin like he needed confirmation that you were still real.
his fingers trembled where they rested on your hip, just above the edge of the bandage that wrapped your ribs. he looked down at you like you were a dying star, burning too hot—too bright—and about to vanish.
you saw it in his eyes.
that brittle kind of love that turns to ruin if it’s not touched back.
you shifted, your palm brushing over his bare chest. "osamu,” you whispered. “im here.”
that’s all it took.
he kissed you.
not gently.
this wasn’t a kiss, it was a collapse.
a collision of everything unsaid—all the times he didn’t say he loved you because he thought he’d lose you anyway. his lips bruised yours, frantic and deep, his body already pressing you down into the mattress like he needed you to anchor him to earth.
his voice was hoarse against your mouth. “i need you. i need you right now.”
You nodded silently.
that was all the permission he needed.
⸻
nsfw
touch like prayer.
dazai stripped you slowly, even though his hands were shaking. he pulled your shirt over your head like he was peeling back armor, revealing battle wounds he blamed himself for.
his fingers ghosted along your side, where the gauze clung tight. his lips followed, kissing everything except the wound. reverent. careful. like if he touched it, it would kill him.
“i almost lost you,” he murmured, breath hot against your ribs. “and I haven’t even—god, i haven’t loved you enough yet.”
you cupped his face. “then love me.”
and oh. he did.
he kissed your neck like it was sacred. bit lightly beneath your ear, then soothed it with his tongue. he pressed his mouth to your shoulder, down your collarbone, until your skin was flushed and trembling beneath his touch.
and then—your back.
he guided you onto your stomach with a tenderness that broke you.
his mouth followed the line of your spine.
one kiss at a time.
vertebrae by vertebrae.
a trail of heat and worship.
“you don’t understand,” he whispered, voice shaking, “you are the only thing in this world that makes me want to stay.”
and when he pushed inside you—it wasn’t slow.
it was urgent.
raw. desperate.
his breath hitched in your ear, hands digging into your hips like he was holding on for dear life.you gasped, body arching into him, feeling everything.
the stretch. the fullness. the emotion.
he moved like he was memorizing you.
“you feel so fucking good,” he groaned. “perfect. i don’t deserve this— i don’t deserve you.”
your hand reached back to find him, to tangle in his hair, to ground him.
“'samu” you whispered. “please. i need all of you.”
he lost it.
thrust harder. deeper.
your breath caught with every snap of his hips, every low, desperate moan he pressed against your skin. he worshipped every inch of you—your back, your neck, the shell of your ear—like he was imprinting himself onto your body.
abd you—you burned.
your body sang for him, trembled beneath him, opened to him like he was the only thing that ever made you feel whole.
when the first wave hit, it shattered you.
you sobbed his name, nails clawing at the sheets, as your orgasm ripped through you—hot, sharp, endless.
but he didn’t stop.
he couldn’t.
bot when he was this close to losing everything.
he flipped you gently, kissed the tears from your cheeks, slid back inside while you were still sensitive and trembling.
round two was even worse.
even deeper. slower. but devastating.
he looked into your eyes the whole time.
watched you come undone again.
held you while you cried into his mouth.
and still—he didn’t stop.
your legs shook. your throat was raw from moaning his name. yoy couldn’t think anymore—couldn’t speak. you just felt.
he finally came with a gasp like a man dying.
your name on his tongue like a last prayer.
he held you after. breathless. sweating. shaking.
his voice cracked against your neck. “youre mine. i don’t care if it’s selfish—i need you to be mine.”
you nodded.
“always.”
and in the silence that followed—he kissed you again.
softer this time.
but no less desperate.
⸻
thank u for reading!! if u made it this far lmk what u thought as this is the first fic ive ever wrote 🙏🙏
guy who is learning something new about himself
been catching up to bsd after years and years || on twt
Here’s a 6+ characters fanarts challenge that I did on Instagram/Twitter! Honestly have not drawn so many characters in a single piece for a long while, it was challenging but fun to do!
"Where's Varlaine" "where's Varlaine" WHERE THE FUCK IS NATSUME BRO
Corridor
I love drawing dark Dazai and alcohol
I've been experimenting with my style (again)
Terrible night
I wasn't sure if I liked this old art of mine, but I'll leave it up to you
They bumped foreheads