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kurokawaia · 2 months ago

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── KUROKAWAIA'S KINKMAS - ¡!

* ˚ ✦ Welcome to Honey's first Kinkmas!! ೃ⁀➷ FANDOMS INCLUDE :: This contains a various amount of fandoms within Anime and/or Manga, such as; Bungou Stray Dogs, Naruto, Sk8 The Infinity, Hunter X Hunter, Attack on Titan, Demon Slayer, Tokyo Revengers, Mo Dao Zu Shi, Bleach, death note .ೃ࿐

Please fill out this form to be tagged (here), when i put you on the taglist, if your age isn't in somewhere on your profile showing you are 18+ i will not add you to it !! make sure its easily visable too! in your bio or pinned! if i can't find it there, i will not add you!! (taglist closes on the 30th of November)

DECEMBER 1 - DAZAI OSAMU (2k+)

MAIN KINK :: GUNPLAY ╰┈➤ extra kinkss; slight choking, overstimulation

WARNINGS :: yandere? dazai, controlling, Forced confinement, psychological manipulation, power imbalance, dark themes, dubious consent, overstimulation, gunplay, getting fucked by a gun on a desk, mean!dazai, slight choking, sucking the gun + more

fandom: bungo stray dogs

DECEMBER 3 - ARMIN ARLERT (1.1k+)

MAIN KINK :: Dry humping ╰┈➤ extra kinks: handjob, blow job (oral -> male receiving)

WARNINGS :: afab, x fem reader, dry humping, sub!armin, handjob, blow job, oral -> male recieving, cum swollowing, hair tugging, nicknames for armin 'min' 'minny'?, pet names for the both of you 'baby', begging, praise + more

fandom: attack on titan

DECEMBER 5 - FEITAN PORTOR (k+)

MAIN KINK :: BONDAGE ╰┈➤ extra kinks; marking, biting

WARNINGS :: afab, x fem reader, dom!feitan, marking, biting, bondage, tied up, use of rope, tightly tighted up, bruises, blood, rough sex, mean sex, possessive sex, missionary? + more

fandom: hunter x hunter

DECEMBER 7 - UCHIHA SASUKE (1.1k+)

MAIN KINK :: SOMNOPHILIA ╰┈➤ extra kinks; breeding

WARNINGS :: x fem reader, somnophilia, sex while you are asleep, piv, cervix fucking?, breeding, consent is given before hand, no protection

fandom: naruto

DECEMBER 9 - SAKURAYASHIKI KOARU (CHERRY) (2k+)

MAIN KINK :: MASTER DYNAMICS ╰┈➤ extra kinks; painting, degradation, praise

WARNINGS :: afab, x fem reader, dom!cherry, painting, bondage, degredation, praise, doggy?, desk sex, size difference implied, restriction, master dynamics, oral-> female reciving, pet names 'master' 'pet' 'good girl' + more

fandom: sk8 the infinity

DECEMBER 11 - KURAPIKA KURTA (1.6k+)

MAIN KINK :: FACE SITTING ╰┈➤ extra kinks; chain usage, overstimulation, praise

WARNINGS :: afab, x fem reader, face sitting, chain usage, overstimulation, praise, oral -> female receiving, cunnilingus, bondage (chains), restriction of movement (chains), slight temperature play? (chains), cervix kissing/fucking, fingering + more

fandom: hunter x hunter

DECEMBER 13 - LIGHT YAGAMI (3k+)

MAIN KINK :: VOYUERISM ╰┈➤ extra kinks; degradation

WARNINGS :: voyeurism? exhibition? fingering, light begging, light praise, degradation?. dom!Light x sub!Fem!reader, L looking at the camera while this happening + more

fandom: death note

DECEMBER 15 - KENPACHI ZARAKI (900+)

MAIN KINK :: SIZE DIFFERENCE ╰┈➤ extra kinks; breeding, rough sex

WARNINGS :: afab, x fem reader, size kink, rough sex, manhandling, no protection, breeding, reader is shorter, reader is smaller than kenny, misogyny?? kenny likes how your his wife, how you prodive the food for him etc.. + more

fandom: bleach

DECEMBER 17 - AGATSUMA ZENITSU

MAIN KINK :: FOODPLAY ╰┈➤ extra kinks; bondage, praise, titty fuck

WARNINGS :: afab reader, x fem! reader, foodplay, maple syrup, titty fuck, bondage, restriction, praise, sub!zenitsu, oral-> male recieving + more

fandom: demon slayer

DECEMBER 19 - LAN WANGJI

MAIN KINK :: DOM/SUB DYNAMICS ╰┈➤ extra kinks; bondage, cnc, biting, size kink, cockwarming

WARNINGS :: afab reader, x fem! reader, bondage, cnc, size ink, cockwarming, overstimulation, smaller!reader, timid!shy!reader, dom/sub dynamics + more

fandom: mo dao zu shi/the grandmaster of demonic cultivation

DECEMBER 21 - SANO MANJIRO (1.5k+)

MAIN KINK :: THIGH FUCKING ╰┈➤ extra kinks; marking/biting

WARNINGS :: afab reader, x fem! reader, nsfw, thigh kink, mating press, slightly rough sex, piv, prone bone, no protection, cum eating, slight manhandling, implied orgasm denial

fandom: tokyo revengers

DECEMBER 24 - AIZEN SOSUKE (2.8k+)

MAIN KINK :: BABY TRAPPING ╰┈➤ Breeding, yandere, manipulation, coercion

WARNINGS :: x fem reader, afab, yandere, coercion, manipulation, baby trapping, no protection, missionary, fingering, cervix kissing, NC cumming inside, + more

fandom: bleach

DECEMBER 25 - UCHIHA MADARA (3.7k+)

MAIN KINK :: CORRUPTION ╰┈➤ extra kinks; virginity taking, discrimination, breeding, degradation

WARNINGS :: corruption, virginity taking, discrimination, breeding, size kink, madara is mean, degradation, x fem reader, restraining (using hands), prone bone, slight choking? afab, she/her terms, reader is timid / shy / scared / inferior / shorter than madara, CNC, Old ideologies regarding birth! + more

fandom: naruto

Schedule : (UTC +8 time !!) will be posted 4:00pm every stated date

(the red gif animated line is made by @/cafekitsune)

the MDNI 18+ banner, the Izana banner is made by ME, so do not use it

the rose banner has been found :here: and :here:

the fading red banners can be found here adn here

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osamucide · 2 months ago

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FLAVOR PROFILE—gn+afab!reader, alternate universe - PM boss!Osamu Dazai, interrogation+torture, psychological manipulation, noncon to dubcon—not safe, sane, or fully consensual, perv+sadist!Dazai, knife play, blood play, tiny bit of choking, degradation, cutting, scratching, biting, marking, mindbreak, debatable whether Dazai kills reader at the end? all around depraved, DEAD DOVE/DARK CONTENT—PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION

ABV—3.8k

BAR OSAMUCIDE IS STRICTLY AN 18+ ESTABLISHMENT. FAILURE TO PROVIDE VALID ID/AGE IN BIO UPON INTERACTING WILL RESULT IN REMOVAL FROM THE PREMISES. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.

“So, here we are.”

It’s only a matter of time ‘til you start talking, was the last thing the redheaded mafioso told you as his grip on your hair loosened and you slumped forward into the chair once more. We’re gonna kill ya anyway. Just not before the boss gets his hands on you. Don’t you wanna make it easier on yourself?

You really do. You do want to make it easier on yourself. But you pledged your loyalty to your misfit faction of gifteds threatening the Port Mafia’s turf as of late—in a rather alarming way, it’s worthy to note—and as one of their highest profile members, as a leader and exemplar of the values of honesty and fairness that you promised to uphold and instill in your society as part of that pledge, you can not, in good conscience, betray what you know. What you call home.

There’s a cause at stake that is larger than your life. What kind of leader would you be if you crumbled? If you failed a cause that’s meant and hoped to outlive you anyway?

It’s your own fault you got caught to begin with.

It’s your own fault for thinking you could go out on recon in the dead of night by yourself. You’ve long known better that the Port Mafia doesn’t sleep; what you hadn’t known or expected was to run into the ruthless commander of the Black Lizard in a warehouse during the hours too late to be considered night, too early to be considered morning. The boss takes the liberty of reminding you.

“I think we’re all lucky Akutagawa’s built up some restraint over those impulses of his, hm?” he continues, his sharp dress shoes clicking cleanly against the concrete floor of wherever it is you’re being held. It just meant they already had their sights trained on you specifically before you started sneaking around—longer than you’d anticipated, and longer than you’d been prepared for. Had you brought along a few of your subordinates, you might’ve stood a chance—well, maybe against a group of low-ranked patrolmen. But that wasn't the case, and now, here you are. Caught.

You're hunched over, wrists at your back, ankles bound, the way Nakahara left you; assured fingertips—softer this time, but only marginally so—find the spot on the crown of your head that he favored earlier and you find yourself held up by your hair once more, wincing through a crusted-over bloody nose into the eyes of the boss—Osamu Dazai.

What strikes you first, aside from the sting curling across your scalp, is the utter emptiness in his stare—the first brown irises you think you've ever seen entirely devoid of warmth. He regards you with an expression you can only place through your blear as distaste—maybe a little boredom, then maybe a contradictory twinge of amusement when you sniffle. You're wholly unsure. All you know is it feels like whiplash when he lets you go and your chin snaps back down to your chest.

"Pretty thing," you almost don't hear him say; you're focused on registering the cuffs falling away from your wrists, the way your upper body is sent forward, and the fact that you can use the momentum to propel yourself up—or try, rather, but you're absolutely concussed and you forget your ankles, having lost feeling now from the restraints, are still attached to the seat. Your palms hit the concrete, the back of the chair knocks into your lower back and you yelp; suddenly you're a pathetic, twisted mess facedown on the ground.

He's chuckling. You can't imagine it reaching those eyes.

And if he's going to strip you of your dignity by laughing, well, at least you were upright before. Now, as your elbows give beneath your own weight, there's tears springing to your eyes; you're sure if they were to fall they'd streak through a layer of grime. And it's not from the pain—no, if you were going to cry from the pain, you would've a lot long ago. You can't remember how long you've been in here, and there's no window, no clock to give you any grace, but it has to have been at least a couple of days. Your body threatens to cry from the sheer humiliation of being crumpled beneath this chair, unable to scramble up—as your cheek hits the floor, a tear crawls across the bridge of your nose and you swear you can hear it echo as it splatters—while this man laughs at you.

By the grace of some god, you feel your tingling feet and ankles coming back to life as he undoes the bindings around them. And you scramble, not unlike a bug, when he lifts the chair off of you and tosses it aside, but still, your body fails you, and he's walking around you to crouch down near your face.

You see him before you feel him; the Port Mafia boss is willing you up by your arms, setting you on your ass, almost sympathetically, as you combat your sniveling. Still crouched, he speaks again only when you look to him, your eyes brimming with disgust.

He speaks softly, like he almost feels sorry for you as he does. "You're free to go, if you can get up."

But you're not stupid enough to try again. The tingling has morphed to the stage which it starts to almost hurt; you don't trust your feet, and only when you try to draw your knees up to your chin do you realize how badly all of your muscles tremble—too badly to make it up the daunting set of stairs that lead to the exit of your chamber. You wish he wouldn't watch you. You'd surely try if he left you alone. You'd look for something, anything, around you that you could use against him—there's nothing in the room other than your chair, a solid oak dresser with drawers against the wall, and your limp, abandoned bindings. You'd shoot him if your gun hadn't been confiscated first thing, and if he wasn't undoubtedly armed himself. Anyway, he gazes at you, intently, still swirling back and forth across the line that separates boredom from amusement. You won't get away with anything beneath his stare.

So you don't try. Your ass hurts, too—that damn chair wasn't forgiving at all, and your palms sting when you touch your own skin. You ache all over, in every joint, like you've got some mutant strain of the flu, and your head pounds with icepick intensity. It's a struggle just to look at him, despite the dimness, despite your desperation. So you don't. You curl in on yourself, and you don't cry. And he stares.

He hums, standing back up. His eyes on you—they feel like ice.

"Chuuya couldn't get anything out of you," he sighs, recounting it like he's briefing you on the morning news. "But you look pretty close to breaking. I'll have to thank him for getting you started."

"Kill me." You mean to spit it at him, but your voice shakes out, hoarse. "You won't get anything from me. Just kill me."

"Oh, but that wouldn't be as much fun yet." He's smiling; you could almost mistake it for a kind expression if it wasn't for those eyes. He's reaching for you again, deceivingly soft—you know it's deceit, how he gathers you up onto your feet with near-gentleness and leads you over to the dresser. He doesn't look strong, but he must be; you're mostly dead weight when he picks you up to sit you on the wooden surface, let you lean back against the wall.

You know what comes next for someone like you when you're faced with someone like him. You don't know what he's rifling around in one of the dresser drawers for, but it hardly matters; he's shuffled himself between your knees, and your closed eyes will not be enough to shut him out; you're already so exhausted. You're already dead, and you try to take comfort in that fact while he picks up your wrist, trails his fingers over it like you're as fragile as you look.

It's when you feel something cold against your forearm that your eyes snap open again, searching.

He looks sharper than the knife. It's a switchblade, glinting as it lays flat against the vains in your wrist; Osamu Dazai's lips twitch into a smile for the first time you've ever seen as you glance between him and it.

"Please don't," you whisper, but it's too late.

One horizontal slash against your arm. At this point it almost feels familiar, like a routine injection. A shot of whisky. You wince, but don't whine.

It's deep enough to pour. Your blood is warm as it circles your wrist like a bracelet, warm as it soaks through the knee of your pants when he drops it like you're a ragdoll to pick up your other one.

"You can cooperate and they won't have to match," he mumbles casually, tracing the tip of the knife across your palm like a pencil across paper as he studies your face.

You close your eyes again, tilting your head back. This isn't the worst of what you've experienced down here. It'll take more than a few slashes on the wrist to make you talk.

Before you can assert that, another one. Opposite arm. They match.

He clicks his tongue like he's disappointed in you. Like he doesn't like having to do this. But when you open your eyes again, that little smile is still there, cracked into his pale face.

You don't have to say it'll take more than that. He knows.

That's why the tip of the blade presses into the space between your collarbones, above the neckline of your shirt.

You suppose you've been lucky to keep it on this long.

So when he drags the knife down, slicing cleanly through the fabric and catching the skin of your chest, abdomen along it a couple times, you don't budge. You don't let yourself look scared. You don't twitch at the hand gripping your thigh hard while he nudges the tattered piece of cloth down your shoulders to expose your heaving chest. That's the most glaring giveaway—your breathing. And now that your shirt is gone, he can see it clear as day.

"Shame Chuuya had to go for your nose." That almost sympathetic tone is back. His thumb comes to swipe at the blood dried above your lips. You jerk your head away, but fall back into his hand when the icepick stabs again. Fuck, it hurts. Your head hurts worse than anything, probably thanks to said nose shots. Your heartbeat is in your temples. "But it's okay. You're still pretty."

You'd be flattered under other circumstances. It's true you could say the same about him, but it's all clouded, hidden beneath the malice he inflicts upon you with such ease.

That smile widens.

"I might have to mark it up, though," he remarks. That false regret—it makes you boil. "Which is too bad."

You've bargained down here, but you figure through your haze, through your bleeding arms, to try again. "You don't have to do this. We can reach an agreement."

"An agreement, you say," he zeroes in on you, hands on either side of your hips as he leans forward to meet you at eye level. "An agreement. What would that look like for you?"

"You can kill me," you concede, breathless. "Let me tell my men to stand down and then you can kill me. It can be over. We won't have to deal with each other again. Ever."

Osamu Dazai looks at you thoughtfully, like he's considering, like he hadn't thought of that as an option before.

You are, unfortunately, stupid enough to let a flicker of hope arise inside you. Even if you die—when you die, you can spare yourself from more suffering and your faction will back off. You will let yourself be the example of what will happen, and no one part of your cause will be subjected to this treatment; you're okay with that, you're okay with being a martyr, if it only means it can all be over—if it only means it won't happen ever again.

Dazai looks to you again. Cold. "You can tell your men to stand down," he begins, fanning that flicker.

You take a deep breath.

"...After I'm done with you."

You're not fully sure what that means until his fingers are popping the button on your pants.

He's got no intention of letting you die in anything less than agony, you realize, no matter what you say.

Tears well up again. You shake your head, kick at him with your weakened legs, but he dodges you easily, picks up the knife again as your trousers settle beneath your knees and you mutter no, no, no over, over. He pushes them off, with your underwear, to the ground and kicks them away, grabbing your flailing hands and holding them to the wood as he threatens you with the restraints once more.

"You're gonna fuckin' talk either way," he growls through his teeth, the first hint of frustration finally seeping into his demeanor, into his eyes. It's gone in a second; gone, replaced with that stale amusement, more chilling than the frustration perhaps, and you almost wish for him to be angrier, more explosive like the executive named Chuuya had been. This quiet rage that seems to be his trademark is far scarier. You can't bite back at it. Especially with your bare ass against the dresser, you can't find your own volatility. It's stuck in your chest. He disarms it, like magic, with each conspiratorial smile, each gentle caress. You can't get around it.

You get your wish when one of his hands grips the column of your throat, throttles your hammering skull back against the wall. You finally whine at the pain. Your hands flail still, clawing at him more out of instinct than anything, but the switchblade is enough to chase you away as he leans into you, pins you in place with his hips—pathetic, as you collect cuts and gashes across your knuckles, fingers, palms while he undoes his belt.

You can feel his throbbing tip against your pelvis as he scoots you closer to him by the small of your back; the blade flips in his grasp and finds a path to hover, pointed over your eye and you catch his wrist as he tells you—

"Keep squirming and this goes through your eyeball right to your brain."

What else can you do but let all your tense limbs fall to rest? You feel him poking you uncomfortably, hotly as you crane your neck away from the knife; you're caught. You're really caught, more than you have been the entire time you've been down here. Squirm one way, suffer another. You're stuck between a rock and a hard place and the hope you had, so brutally snuffed out by his cutting words, all dead now, like you will be soon, almost lets you look at him like a man you could want. You would, certainly, under normal circumstances. But you're bleeding, you're concussed, your body is giving up and he's the most powerful man in Yokohama and the way his bangs curtain over his eyes after he pushes them back has you, in your delirium, hesitantly linking your ankles around his waist and it's numbly and distantly infuriating, the relief that washes over your body when you drape onto him, but it's relieving no less, and he's almost beautiful to you if you just don't think too hard about any of it.

Don't think too hard about any of it.

Steal it back from him—look like you could like it through the dwindling coherence you have, and maybe you can steal it back from him.

You find yourself smiling, too. Annoying, he thinks—he knows what you're doing. He holds the blade over your eye which falls shut and opens again in an unconcerned blink that could almost be considered sultry—you must be demented. He knows what you must be thinking. Knows what you must've snapped to.

So he flips the knife again—holds the blade, carefully, handle out, and dips it down to your cunt.

He wants to stab you when you roll your hips against it.

It would embarass you, how quickly you get yourself wet from grinding your clit on the handle of his blade, if you weren't so close to total depletion. Maybe, you think, if you grind hard enough you can get him to cut himself with it; you've never gone down without a fight, and just because you're at your wits end doesn't mean that'll change.

In fact, you channel it into everything you can give. You grind on the handle, and he watches you, cold eyes wholly unamused but now totally focused on you. You'll be a project. You'll make it difficult.

Good thing he likes a challenge.

Dazai's smug again when he pulls the knife back up and shoves the handle between your teeth; "Suck," he instructs you, and you do, widening your drooping eyes, swirling your tongue, urging him forward with your legs around his waist.

It's what you seem to want, you think he mumbles before he's pressing himself into you remorselessy; it hurts, the stretch—he harshly bypasses the ring of taut muscle at your entrance, plunging into you deep, and you whimper around the handle of the knife and he pushes that deeper, too, into your throat, and you gag as he splits you open and the tears finally fall. Not because it hurts or because you're overwhelmed but because you know, through all of it, you're going to break him the same way he and his men have broken you—even if not to the same degree, it'll be enough. A little victory to die with.

And he starts fucking you, fast.

With what little strength you have left, you tear the buttons of his shirt open. A bandaged torso, a chest heaving just as much as yours now—you look at him, ravenously, and he twirls the knife one more time to tell you to watch it, watch your hands, and as he fucks you he's grunting in irritation at your response, and the blade is at your throat, pressing uncomfortably close just like his tip had against your tummy and your moans are open-mouthed, loud, shameless as your nails rake up his chest, throat, and land in his hair. Your blood smears across his neck, across his shoulders.

"You're—ngh—you're fucking crazy," he hisses at you as you clench, arch, press your forehead to his almost like you're lovers. You have to be fucking crazy. The worst part for him—he isn't stopping you. Not that he can't, he just isn't; you're not supposed to enjoy this, but you're lapping your own blood up from his milky skin as the threat of a slit throat is suspended between the both of you and you're kissing him, kissing him and biting his lip, clashing your teeth; he tastes both of your blood and he's pressed the knife harder into your neck in his shock because you should be screaming, begging for him to stop but you're not—you're meeting his heavy thrusts with enthusiasm, deranged in your hysteria.

He's dredged up enough of your wetness now that you're squelching around him. You dig your teeth in deep when you feel the sting from the blade on the delicate skin of your neck; he's losing himself as much as you are yourself, and you're smiling still, smiling as finally as he wraps a cruel hand beneath your thigh and pushes it up to hit you deeper and the pleasure registers through the revenge and the hot, sticky blood. He might cut you to death before you cum but not before he does because you pull back and he's ruined—the most dangerous man in Yokohama, the boss of the Port Mafia, Osamu Dazai is crumbling to ruin inside your dripping cunt; you could laugh—you will laugh, when this is over, and you hope it'll haunt him until the day he's in his grave—but for now, you can only dig your fingernails into his scalp (a little more of his own medicine) and moan, gasp, sob over the way he drags himself in and out of you deliciously. It feels like heaven compared to everything you've been through at the hands of his subordinates in the last thirty-something hours.

Since you're not begging him to stop, you should be begging him to let you cum—but you're not doing that either, and the resolve of the boss of the Port Mafia is shattering, slowly—too quickly—as he pounds into you harder, harder, harder. Bandages coming unwrapped, sweat dripping from the perfect, pointed end of his nose; you lick that up too, gently as you can through the way he jostles your body with each of his movements.

"This the only way you get pussy, huh? Capturing and forcing it? Ungh—Pathetic fucking man," you groan out, smirk playing on your face as you fight the way your eyes roll back. Impossibly harder, faster.

"Sh-shut the fuck up, slut," he spits back at you. Those cold eyes burn.

"You're fucking a dead bitch," you taunt. You think he'll break you. You think you want him to. You think he already has. You have to do it back. "Slut."

The knife presses harder into your throat. You can feel the blood flowing freely.

"Talk or I'll fucking kill you before you cum." But his voice, so smooth and suave and bored and casual earlier, is so broken now, so clipped. "Tell me where those six fucking friends of yours are. I'll find them anyway."

Six friends—your executives and subexecutives. It pulls you out of the moment that he knows how many of you there are. But you put on a good show; you're a good leader who will die with their secrets. His threats are empty to you. You clamp down on him, you clasp your teeth into his jaw, his shoulder as his thrusts slow, still bruising but slow as you feel him coming unraveled—it's enough to send you over, too, blacking out and hearing only your own voice as you sob, squirt a pitiable orgasm onto his stomach but it's one nonetheless and his seed is filling you, warm. You come back to and find his eyes one last time as they fly open, glazed over. He's gorgeous. He really is. You don't mind that he's the last thing you'll see. How unfortunate he couldn't be the death of you in some other way. Maybe in some other life.

A final long slash to send you unconscious. A smattering of sizzling red across his face.

He watches your body collapse at the foot of the dresser. You could've been the death of him too, in some other life—he saw it in your eyes.

How unfortunate it all is.

Osamu Dazai, the boss of the Port Mafia, stands and stares at you, your weakening pulse, for a long time before he gets to cleaning up your blood.

#um. sorry #dazai x reader #bsd dazai x reader #dazai smut #bsd smut #bungou stray dogs smut #dead dove do not eat #kinktober 2024 #nnnsfw.ᐟ #with love—reid

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fyodere · 9 months ago

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actor!dazai au + hate fucking

I hope nobody catch us (but I kinda hope they catch us)

“she wanna go viral . . ?

keep fucking for hours

that pussy got power ”

— P POWER

₍^. .^₎⟆ ── content warnings / tags : nsfw content (mdni), actor!au, dazai is mean, nasty absolutely filthy smut, reader is a new name on acting scene, semi public sex, child star dazai, rivals with benefits, hate fucking, petnames, degradation, dazai is a sadic, unprotected sex, dirt talk, light dom/sub dynamic ♡

﹙ 🔪 ﹚── synopsis : Fighting for a spot on the entertainment industry was rough, but co-staring another film with Dazai was rougher.

Now you’re at the after party, all the paparazzi and interviewers are gone. You can finally relax now. At least, that was what you thought.

“Meet me in the bathroom.” Dazai whispered to you and quickly vanished, you were used to his superstar behavior, but it still annoys you.

You always fight on set and hate each other. What’s up with him now?

﹙ 🧥 ﹚── author's note : OKAY IM SO EXCITED FOR THIS i absolutely loved writing the whole rivals with benefits thing. it’s just too hot. i hope y’all enjoy it <3 my requests are always open so don’t be shy!

. . . ꒰ ꐦ › ﾛ ‹ ꒱

Fighting for a spot on the entertainment industry was rough, but co-staring another film with Osamu Dazai was rougher. For years, you had clawed your way through auditions, rejections, and fleeting moments of success, all in pursuit of that elusive breakthrough role. And just when you thought you had finally made it, fate threw you yet another curveball: co-starring in another film with the enigmatic and notoriously difficult Dazai Osamu.

The after-party buzzed with energy as celebrities mingled, champagne flowed, and laughter filled the air. For you, it was both a relief and a moment of triumph. Landing a role alongside the enigmatic Osamu was a career milestone, but it came with its own set of challenges.

As you sipped your drink, a familiar voice cut through the chatter. It was Dazai, his dark eyes glinting mischievously as he beckoned you with a subtle gesture. You rolled your eyes, accustomed to his dramatic antics. Despite their on-screen chemistry, behind the scenes, you both clashed like oil and water.

Reluctantly, you slipped away from the crowd, your curiosity piqued by Dazai's clandestine summons.

The tension between you and Dazai was palpable from day one of filming. Both of you were fiercely talented and fiercely competitive, each vying for the spotlight in every scene. The set became a battleground of egos, with sparks flying whenever your characters shared the screen.

Now, amidst the glitz and glamour of the after-party, with the paparazzi and interviewers finally gone, you hoped for a moment of respite. But as you leaned against the bar, nursing a cocktail and trying to unwind.

As the night wore on, you found yourself swept up in Dazai's whirlwind scheme, the lines between enemy and ally blurring in the face of ambition. And as you stood on the precipice of this daring venture, you realized that sometimes, the greatest battles were fought not on the silver screen, but behind the scenes, in the shadows where dreams and egos collided.

Dazai was a star since childhood. After starring in a movie at the age of 5, his career was an unstoppable ascent with no contenders. Every role, every appearance, no matter how small, made the project take off. Having Osamu in a project was synonymous with success.

At least, it was until he turned 15.

At 15, Dazai found himself on a thin line brought about by the consequences of fame. Surrounded by a world of drinks and nighttime dangers, Dazai felt embraced by the dark side of fame.

At 18, Osamu stepped away from his acting career. He needed a break from the spotlight and to clean himself from all the vices he had started in his adolescence. The media portrayed him as a comet in eruption disguised as a shooting star—if the media didn't want Dazai Osamu, then it wouldn't have him. Dazai distanced himself from screens and public scrutiny.

Now, at 22, Osamu was preparing for his comeback to the prestigious world of cinema, and when the cast was announced, people were stunned. Dazai's return after 4 years away from the stage. The return was so sudden that the media had no choice but to remind the public of Dazai's difficult phase.

His return was in a minor role in a drama film, the same film where you were one of the stars. You're a model represented by Fyodor Dostoevsky who landed this role by chance. It was a simple equation: good agents, beauty, charisma, and connections. There was no way your career could go wrong.

Despite the glitz and glamour of the entertainment industry, the atmosphere on set was anything but glamorous. From the moment filming began, it was clear that the animosity between you and Dazai was more than just a clash of egos—it was a full-blown feud.

Every interaction was laced with tension, each scene a battle for dominance. Behind the camera, snide remarks and passive-aggressive jabs were exchanged with alarming frequency, as you and Dazai vied for control of the spotlight.

But as the days turned into weeks, a begrudging respect began to simmer beneath the surface. Despite your mutual disdain, there was no denying the undeniable chemistry that crackled between you on screen. And as much as you hated to admit it, Dazai's talent was matched only by your own.

Yet, even as you grudgingly acknowledged each other's skill, the bitterness between you remained palpable. Every success felt like a personal affront, every compliment a thinly veiled insult. And as the pressure mounted, so too did the intensity of your rivalry.

But amidst the chaos and conflict, a glimmer of opportunity emerged. As filming progressed, it became increasingly clear that the success of the project hinged on your ability to set aside your differences and work together towards a common goal.

And so, begrudgingly, you and Dazai began to cooperate—not out of friendship or camaraderie, but out of sheer necessity. As the stakes grew higher and the deadline loomed closer, you found yourselves reluctantly setting aside your differences in pursuit of a greater good.

But, returning to the premiere of the film you were starring in: the after party was perfect. Only the most renowned people, the most coveted celebrities, all of it without any paparazzi or interviewer to disrupt the moment. That was the perfect opportunity to establish connections with the big names in the media. But, honestly, at that moment, all you wanted was to enjoy good drinks and soak in the energy of the place, having a well-deserved rest.

Navigating the treacherous waters of the entertainment industry had always been a challenge, but nothing could have prepared you for the tumultuous journey that came with co-starring in another film alongside the enigmatic Dazai. The tension between you two was palpable, a constant undercurrent of rivalry and animosity that colored every interaction.

Now, amidst the glittering lights and pulsating energy of the after party, with the paparazzi and interviewers finally gone, you hoped for a moment of respite. A chance to unwind and revel in the success of the film, to bask in the glow of your hard-earned achievements. But fate had other plans.

As you sipped your drink, a familiar voice sliced through the air, pulling you from your reverie. It was Dazai, his words laden with urgency and mystery. "Meet me in the bathroom," he murmured, before disappearing into the crowd. His abrupt departure left you both bewildered and irritated, a perfect encapsulation of your tumultuous relationship.

You and Dazai had always clashed on set, your fiery personalities and fierce ambition fueling a rivalry that bordered on hatred. Every scene was a battleground, every interaction a test of wills. And yet, beneath the surface animosity, there was a begrudging respect—a recognition of each other's talent and determination.

But as you made your way to the designated meeting spot, the backstage area cloaked in shadows and secrecy, you couldn't help but wonder what game Dazai was playing now. What could he possibly want from you?

As you rounded the corner, you found Dazai waiting for you, his expression inscrutable. The air crackled with tension, the weight of unspoken words hanging between you like a veil. And in that moment, you realized that whatever lay ahead, it would be anything but predictable.

You walked to the bathroom concerned. What the hell Dazai would want with you? You hate to admit it, but you’re kind of curious.

“Oh, well.” You said looking at the tall man with brown hair and mysterious eyes. “The demon prodigy want to talk to me. What an honor. Should I thank God for this?” You said with the voice dripping sarcasm as you roll your eyes.

The bathroom was empty and quiet. The place reeked of cigarette smell. Dazai was waiting there with a slight smile on his face. As soon as he saw you, he quickly put out his cigarette and threw the bud to the dumpster.

“Why so nervous?” His tone was taunting. He was leaning against the wall while talking to you.

“Why wouldn’t I?” You retort. “I’m trying to enjoy this after party but, damn, you really want to ruin everything.”

“Ruining it… or making it more interesting?” Dazai crossed his arms and smirked. His tone was still annoying. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. Like always.” Dazai muttered. You could see he was trying to make you angry.

“I wanted to talk with you in private. Since we’re having another film together. I want to propose something to you, since our reputation is on the line…” He said slowly.

“Our reputation?” You said laughter than you planned. “Oh, please. You’re the one who couldn’t resist to alcohol at 15. You’re the one who fucked up your image to the midia. Don’t put me into your twisted games.”

“Just listen before you go all ‘I hate you!’ On me, I get enough of that from the paparazzi.” Dazai said with a fake laugh.

Dazai stayed silent for a few seconds.

“You know how the rumor mill always says we are both in a relationship?” He sighed. “That’s not a problem to me. In fact, I believe it’s even better for us. I want you to pretend to be my girlfriend and feed the media with the idea that we are dating—“ You abruptly cut him off.

“Oh, don’t even come with this. I get enough bad ideas from my agent. I don’t need even more.”

Dazai's smirk widened at your reaction, his gaze unwavering. "I understand your hesitation, but think about it," he urged, his voice taking on a persuasive tone. "This could be mutually beneficial for both of us. Imagine the headlines, the buzz surrounding our 'relationship.' It would catapult us into the spotlight like never before."

You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. "And what about the fallout when the truth inevitably comes out?" you countered, your tone dripping with skepticism. "We'd be crucified by the media, branded as frauds and manipulators. Is that really the kind of attention you want?"

Dazai's expression softened slightly, a hint of vulnerability flickering in his eyes. "I know it's risky," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "But think about what we could achieve together. With our combined talent and charisma, we could dominate the industry. This could be our ticket to the top."

You hesitated, torn between your reservations and the tantalizing prospect of fame and success. The allure of the spotlight was undeniable, but at what cost? Could you really trust Dazai to have your best interests at heart, or was this just another one of his manipulative schemes?

As you weighed your options, the air between you crackled with tension, the silence stretching taut with unspoken possibilities. And in that moment, you knew that whatever decision you made would irrevocably alter the course of your career—and perhaps your life.

For a moment, you considered leaving, quitting the project before it even began, but the thought of walking away from such a high-profile opportunity filled you with dread. Instead, you looked back at Dazai, your expression unreadable. "I guess I have no choice," you said ironically. "If you insist on being such a jerk, I'll play your game. But remember, you're the one who's going to end up regretting this. Just wait until I show my true colors, and the world sees what a fucking asshole you really are."

With those words, You turned your back on Dazai, ignoring his derisive snort as you walked out of the room. You could feel his eyes burning into your back, and for a moment, you wondered if you had made the right decision. But then you reminded herself that you didn't need to like him; you only needed to tolerate him. After all, there was no way you could afford to lose your job over their petty feud.

Osamu couldn't help but smirk as he watched you storm off, your back rigid with anger and defiance. He had never cared about your opinion, but he still found himself curious about your reaction to his antics. There was something about your fierce determination and independence that intrigued him, and he couldn't help but wonder what would happen if you ever decided to fight back against him.

Without thinking, Dazai grabbed you by the arm. “Hey, I’m still talking to you, belladonna.” He smirked. “Don’t think you could run away from me so easily.”

“Huh? Get lost!” You said firmly. “Don’t you dare touch me.” You gnashed your teeth while stepping closer to him, stepping on his foot.

Dazai’s grin widened as he felt your foot press down on his foot. It was clear that you were furious, and he reveled in the knowledge that he had managed to rile you up so quickly.

"Oh, come on, sweetheart. You know you love it when I tease you like this," he said, trying to sound casual. "It's part of my charm." His smile turned mischievous. "Besides, I think I deserve some credit for getting you to stay after all."

“Oh, don’t be so cheeky.” You said while rolling your eyes. He was still holding your arm, like he didn’t want to let you go.

"I am being cheeky, hmm?" Osamu retorted, his voice low and dangerous. "And you know it. Don't play innocent, sweetheart. We both know you secretly enjoy the attention I give you."

"I do not!" You spat, glaring at him. "You are such a jerk."

"Is that so?" Dazai asked, his tone still light and carefree "I am?" Osamu arched an eyebrow. "You really believe that, don't you?" He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. "You know you want me to keep doing it, right?"

"Shut up! I hate you, demon prodigy. You know how much I dislike you?” You said stepping on his foot even more heavily. Putting your face close to his.

Osamu laughed, the sound harsh and unpleasant. "So, you say you hate me?" He took a step closer, pressing his body against yours. "Well, I hate you too, sweetheart. But we can't seem to get rid of each other, can we?"

He moved his hand up to cup your face, turning your head so their gazes locked. "But that doesn't mean I can't make your life miserable, does it?" Your faces were to close, a single word could make your lips touch.

The air between you seemed to crackle with tension as Dazai looked into your eyes. His thumb brushed over your lower lip, tracing its outline. "If you don't want me to keep bothering you, then you should tell me to stop. If you do, I'll back off and leave you alone."

“Just shut up.” You said and finally pressed your lips against his.

Your tongues tangled together, Dazai's fingers digging into your hair, pulling your head back slightly. He was rough, demanding, and yet there was something undeniably compelling about the kiss.

As if he couldn't help himself, he deepened the kiss, taking control of the situation completely.

Osamu gripped you tightly, using all his strength to hold you in place. When he pulled away, he let out a loud laugh, a harsh bark of humorless mirth. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" Osamu broke away from the kiss, leaving you panting and gasping for air. His breath was hot against your skin, his eyes dark and hungry.

Osamu smirked, the smug expression making your blood boil. “I think you're enjoying it,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “You know what? I'm going to keep doing it until you beg me to stop.”

He grabbed your hands and pulled you above your head, pinning you against the wall. “Now, let's see how long you can last before you give in to my charms, hmm?”

Dazai leaned in again, pressing his body against yours once more. This time, he didn't use his tongue; instead, he bit down hard on your bottom lip.

“Fuck…” You said between heavy breaths.

“Mmm, that's my girl.” Dazai grinned, showing off his teeth. “Keep screaming out your protests, sweetheart. I love it when you fight me like this. Makes it all the more fun.”

With that, he licked at your lower lip, sucking it into his mouth. Then, he released it, only to bite down harder. The pain was intense, almost unbearable, but it also had a strange sort of pleasure attached to it.

Osamu's hand moved to your breast, cupping it through your dress. He squeezed it gently, then twisted it, causing her nipple to pierce through the fabric. The sensation was both excruciating and exquisite.

“A-Ah! Fuck!” You yelled, tears beginning to form in your eyes.

Osamu laughed softly, his smile growing wider. “You're so cute when you get mad,” he said, still holding onto your breast. “But remember, you asked for this, sweetheart. You wanted to play with the big boys, right?”

He released your breast, letting go of it. Instead, he began to run his fingers up and down your spine, making sure to tease you wherever possible. As he did so, he gave you breasts a rough tug, forcing your chest to arch upwards.

“Now, tell me, do you want me to continue or should I stop?” he asked, his tone casual and nonchalant. Osamu knew that he could push you to the breaking point, but he also knew that you would never say no to him.

You were breathless, your heart racing. Your cheeks were flushed, and you couldn't help but feel hot and bothered by his actions. It was clear that he enjoyed tormenting you, and you found yourself wondering if you should just let him have his way with you.

You hesitated for a moment, trying to decide whether or not to answer his question. Finally, you spoke, your voice barely audible over your panting. “... Fuck. Just keep going.”

Osamu nodded, his grin widening even further. “As you wish, my dear,” he said, giving you another hard pinch between your legs. This time, however, he made sure to rub against your thigh, pressing it against your sensitive flesh.

The sensation was incredibly intense, and it left you feeling exposed and vulnerable. But you didn't seem to mind; instead, you moaned softly, your body reacting to the stimulation.

Dazai's hands roamed across your back, tracing every curve and line. His fingers brushed against your skin, leaving trails of heat and desire in their wake. He grabbed hold of your ass, squeezing it tightly, before giving it a sharp smack.

“I'm going to fuck you, dear.” he whispered, his voice low and seductive. “I'm going to make you mine, and I'll never let you go.”

He leaned in close, his lips brushing against hers.

The sensation of his finger pressing against your entrance made you shudder, your skin feeling sensitive and exposed. It was then that you realized just how vulnerable you was in this situation, and it scared you. But for some reason, it was addictive.

Still, you didn't back away from him, even though you knew he had the power to hurt you. Instead, you just looked at him, you eyes wide and pleading.

“Please, Osamu. Please, keep going.”

Osamu chuckled, his amusement evident in the twinkle of his eyes. He leaned back slightly, keeping his finger pressed firmly against your entrance as he glanced up at you.

“You're adorable when you beg, sweetheart. So cute and pathetic. But you know what? You asked for this, so you get exactly what you deserve.”

Without warning, he pulled his finger out of you, leaving you aching and needy.

Osamu chuckled, his smile wicked and predatory. He continued to tease you, gently rubbing your clit and pushing his finger deeper into you tight hole.

“You're such a good girl, aren't you?” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “So obedient and submissive, like a dog. Always ready to do whatever your master tells you to do. But I bet you haven't ever asked what your master wants, right? I mean, it's only fair to ask before you start serving him, isn't it?”

The moment he pulled out, you whimpered, your body desperate for more. You wanted to cry out, to beg him to continue, but you knew it would only encourage him further. So instead, you just watched him, waiting for his next move.

As he sat up, you noticed something odd about his expression—it was almost as if he was enjoying himself. And yet, there was something cruel about the way he was treating you, something that made you want to run away from him.

But you couldn't leave. Not when he had you trapped in this bathroom.

“Dazai…” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “What do you want from me?”

Osamu laughed again, a harsh sound that echoed through the small space. His gaze never left hers as he spoke.

“I'm doing this because I hate you,” he said simply. “I think you're a terrible actress, and I can't stand the sight of you. Plus, it's fun to see you squirm and beg for mercy.

He reached over and grabbed your arm, pulling you close enough that your bodies were practically touching. He let go of you, however, and stood up, taking a few steps backward.

“Now, come here, belladonna. I want to fuck you until you beg for my cum.”

You sit down on the cold sink of bathroom and spread your legs, waiting for him.

Osamu smirked at your submission, a dark satisfaction curling deep within him. He walked towards you, his every step heavy with purpose and determination. When he finally reached you, he took hold of your hips and began to push your legs apart, making sure you were fully exposed and vulnerable.

He leaned in close, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered in your ear. “You know how much I hate you, right? Well, I hate you even more when you look like this, all pretty and helpless. It makes me feel powerful.”

With that, he released your hips and took hold of your thighs, lifting them off the ground and exposing your cunt completely.

As soon as he lifted your legs, you could feel his hardness pressing against your sensitive flesh. You shivered, feeling the chill of the air on your most intimate parts. Your heart raced, fear coursing through your veins. But still, you didn't try to stop him or fight back. Instead, you waited, your eyes wide and filled with fear and anticipation.

Osamu smirked once more before pushing into your tight, wet entrance. The sensation was intense, almost painful, but he continued to press forward, slowly filling you with his thick member. He gently rocked his hips, causing his cock to rub against your walls in a way that felt both rough and pleasurable.

As he did so, he couldn't help but grind out words against your neck. “Fuck, you're so tight. You'll be begging for my cum soon enough.”

The pressure inside you grew unbearable, but you tried not to let it show. Instead, you bit your lip and tried to focus on something else, anything else. All you could think about was how much you hated him, how much you wanted to make him suffer. But the thought of doing so only made you feel guilty and ashamed.

Osamu moaned softly, his voice low and rumbling against your neck. His hands clenched tightly onto your thighs, keeping your legs raised and exposed as he continued to pound into your with fierce intensity. He was determined to get what he wanted, and he would do whatever it took to make you suffer.

The sound of his moans echoed throughout the bathroom, the only thing breaking the silence besides their heavy breathing. Despite the fact that he was clearly enjoying himself, there was no love or affection in his actions; rather, it was all fueled by anger and hatred.

The tension in the room was palpable, and you found yourself unable to move or speak. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, and every time he moved, it caused your insides to writhe and protest. The thought of having sex with someone you hated so much was sickening, but at this point, you had no choice but to endure it.

You tried to bite down on your own lip, hoping to muffle some of the sounds of discomfort that were escaping your mouth. But it was no use; your moans were too loud and too frequent for you to keep quiet. And even though you knew that he would only use it against you later, you couldn't help but give in to the pleasure, however small it may be.

Osamu groaned out loud, his voice rough and strained as he felt his orgasm approaching. It was almost painful, the way he had to force himself to continue moving. But he wouldn't stop until he had finished, and when he finally did, he collapsed on top of you, his weight crushing you against the bathroom sink.

He pulled out of her with a grunt, his eyes still closed as he tried to catch his breath. Then, without warning, he reached up and grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. When you opened your mouth to say something, he cut her off with a harsh glare.

"You think you can get away with your little tricks?" he growled, his tone dark and threatening. "Well, guess again."

He felt his climax approaching, so he released all inside of you, and as soon as you left, Dazai let out a sigh, his face twisting into a scowl. "Fucking hell," he muttered under his breath. "Why does she have to be so difficult? It's like pulling teeth to get anything out of her. This is going to be a nightmare." He plopped down on the couch, rubbing his temples in frustration. "I swear, sometimes I wish I could just strangle her and be done with it."

#bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd smut #dazai smut #dazai x reader #writing prompt

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kyouka-supremacy · 5 months ago

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BSD Official Guidebook Gongeroku - characters profiles

Finally stopped procrastinating Got around to arranging the profiles from the fifth official guidebook Gongeroku. Thank you so so much @justplaggin for helping out fix my messy translations, your help was immeasurable (╥﹏╥) Except for young Oda, I didn't include profiles that only listed age / height / weight since they didn't feature any info we didn't know already.

Other guidebooks profiles by @/looking-for-stray-dogs (listing here for easy access / having them all in one place): Shinkaroku; DEAD APPLE; Tenkaroku by me.

Untold Origins arc

Ranpo Edogawa Age: 14 years old Height: 160cm Weight: Unknown First thing he does when he wakes up in the morning: Praise himself for being a great detective A habit he can't help: The marbles in Ramune are so pretty, he has to take them home If he wasn't at the detective agency, what would he be doing now?: Can't even imagine Where does he see himself in 10 years?: Supporting the president, just like he is now

Yukichi Fukuzawa Age: 32 years old Height: 186cm Weight: Unknown First thing he does when he wakes up in the morning: Take a deep breath and let the energy flow to his abdomen A habit he can't help: Walking by sliding his feet, keeping the unwavering figure of a swordsman A moment recently that made you feel just how much Ranpo has grown?: The average number of candies he eats went from 18 to 17. Where does he see himself in 10 years?: Thanks to his subordinates' efforts, the city will have become peaceful, increasing his spare time a little.

Sakunosuke Oda Age: 14 years old Height: 165cm Weight: Unknown

Canon

Osamu Dazai Age: 22 years old Height: 181cm Weight: 67kg What color would you compare yourself with?: Colorless and transparent. Because I don't see any value either in living or in wearing colors. Where do you see yourself in 10 years?: Hopefully passing away

Atsushi Nakajima Age: 18 years old Height: 170cm Weight: 55kg What color would you compare yourself with?: White. My hair is white, and Akutagawa's is black, so, a color as different as possible. Where do you see yourself in 10 years?: I wonder if I'll still be alive in this bewildering city…

Kyouka Izumi Age: 14 years old Height: 148cm Weight: 40kg What color would you compare yourself with?: Gray, rather than white. It was black before, and now I want it to be white, but the past still has meaning in itself. Where do you see yourself in 10 years?: Continuing to support Atsushi

Doppo Kunikida Age: 22 years old Height: 189cm Weight: 78kg What color would you compare yourself with?: The color of steel. The materialization of flawlessness and unshakeable ideals, steel. Where do you see yourself in 10 years?: According to my notebook, my salary will have increased by 47%, my subordinates by 4, my medals for contrubuting to peace by 3… (explanation continues for 30 minutes)

Ryuunosuke Akutagawa Age: 20 years old Height: 172cm Weight: 50kg What color would you compare yourself with?: Black. It's the color of the overcoat that Dazai-san gave me. Where do you see yourself in 10 years?: Becoming the strongest ability user in Yokohama

Chuuya Nakahara Age: 22 years old Height: 160cm Weight: 60kg What color would you compare yourself with?: Red. Kajii once said that the fastest forward-moving things appear red from behind. Where do you see yourself in 10 years?: Expanding the mafia's territory to cover the whole country

Fyodor Dostoyevsky Age: Unknown Height: Unknown Weight: Unknown What do you want to eat now?: Appetite… I do not experience something like that. Something you always do before going to bed?: Pray to God What color would you compare yourself with?: The white of snow from my hometown If you could be born again, what would you want to become?: Most things, I've already become. A reward for hard work would be... : Listening to classical music all day

Saigiku Jouno Age: Unknown Height: 181cm Weight: Unknown What he believes are his strengths and weaknesses: His strength is his good hearing, his weakness is that he can't see. Motto: Send Tetchou flying Something he wants right now: Not being held responsible even if he torments a criminal to death Something that recently made him laugh: The captain was able to quietly approach and tickle him

Tetchou Suehiro Age: Unknown Height: 184cm Weight: Unknown What he believes are his strengths and weaknesses: His strengths are that he is the embodiment of justice and has a will of steel, his weakness is that he can't read people's true intentions. Motto: Justice of steel Something he wants right now: Enough space at home to put his weight training machine Something that recently made him laugh: The last time he laughed was when he was a baby, so he doesn't remember.

Michizou Tachihara Age: 19 years old Height: 176cm Weight: 62kg What he believes are his strengths and weaknesses: His strength is that he has a strong ability, his weakness is that he's not very smart Motto: Orders make me who I am Something he wants right now: A cool motorbike like Chuuya-san's, for commuting to work Something that recently made him laugh: Unintentionally giving the military police internal audit department a mafia-style glare

Teruko Ookura Age: Unknown Height: Indefinite Weight: Indefinite What she believes are her strengths and weaknesses: Her strength is her love for the captain, her weakness is that she can't see anyone but the captain. Motto: The society's dog, the strongest dog Something she wants right now: The captain's used socks Something that recently made her laugh: During practice, Jouno and Tetchou challenged the captain at the same time, but were beaten at their own game

Ouchi Fukuchi Age: 45 years old Height: 190cm Weight: Unknown What he believes are his strengths and weaknesses: His strength is being physically strong. His weakness is that he is too strong, and didn't develop a habit of delegating things to his subordinates. Motto: World peace Something he wants right now: A comfortable disguise (because people ask for his autograph wherever he goes) Something that recently made him laugh: All five of them (Hunting Dogs) having a pleasant talk

Nikolai Gogol Age: 26 years old Height: 184cm Weight: 68kg What he believes are his strengths and weaknesses: His strength is his talent for magic, his weakness is his fickle nature. Motto: Be as free as a bird Something he wants right now: Someone who understands him A reward for hard work would be... : Applause and praise from a crowd of people

Sigma Age: Unknown Height: 177cm Weight: 62kg What he believes are his strengths and weaknesses: Strength: being someone who battles on even in difficult circumstances. Weakness: everything else other than that. Motto: Ordinary people have their own, ordinary ways of fighting. Something he wants right now: A home to return to A reward for hard work would be... : Patting himself on the shoulder and saying “good job.”

#Thank you so much again Jay 🥺🥺🥺🙏🙏🙏😭😭😭#bsd ada #bsd hd #bsd doa #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd the untold origins of the detective agency #bsd s4 #bsd s5 #bsd translation #mine

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