yokohamapound

[yokohamapound]

just so you know the BSD characters being compared to different animals made me kick me feet. Adorable!!! My first thought for Chuuya was a Orange Cat™️ but your thoughts also fit😭😭😭

might send more asks about ts it is so funny

Now you point it out...he does have a LOT of orange cat energy. 😂

[yokohamapound]

Hi, I absolutely love your writing. It’s so good. This may be an odd request but if it’s okay. Can it be any character with a black cat reader or just her personality type.

I LOVE YOU BYE. 🫶

I LOVE YOU TOO

Characters: Kunikida Doppo, Dazai Osamu, Nakajima Atsushi, Yosano Akiko, Nakahara Chuuya, Fukuzawa Yukichi

Contents: gn!reader, usual Dazai stuff

Kunikida Doppo

Were Kunikida to be an animal personality type, it would probably be a German Shepherd. (But one that failed its police dog training because he doesn't like taking orders.) He can certainly appreciate the sleek and independent aspects of a black cat—he's a busy man, he values someone who has their own shit going on and doesn't need him to pick up the slack for them.

Your aloof and mysterious side can throw him off a little. You're not a complete enigma like that one pain in the ass he works with, but he feels like he has to work for the information he learns about you.

He calls to apologise and tell you that he's working late. You calmly reassure him that you had back-up plans, so you'll just go to one of your evening classes.

He blinks. "What evening classes?"

"Heian textiles," or something equally esoteric.

You're affectionate, but sometimes hard to pin down. Loyal, but part of worlds and groups he has no idea about. He likes a little mystery, or he probably wouldn't be a detective.

Dazai Osamu

Ah, the Cheshire Cat to your black cat.

Always wearing an enigmatic smile, speaking in riddles, and prone to disappearing. That's Dazai for you.

Dazai was intrigued the very first time he took your hands and asked if you'd like to take a double dip in the Yokohama River, when you slipped your hands out of his grasp and told him that you don't enjoy swimming.

You seem to be immune to his flirting. Not in a way that's oblivious or cold, but you have a neat way of side-stepping his quips with pithy one-liners or by subverting the meaning of what he said. It's like you're metaphorically holding him at arm's length and watching him try to weasel his way closer.

Rather than being frustrated, it's just giving that damn schemer a challenge. He can't rile you up or break you down, and you have this cool, aloof vibe that draws his eye.

The day he unlocks the affectionate, loyal, warm side of the black cat personality feels like winning the lottery to him.

Nakajima Atsushi

White tiger and black cat, but somehow Atsushi is the one stumbling over his words when he tries to speak to you. Your cool, reserved demeanour is subtly intimidating for him, even if you're not actually harsh or cold.

At first, he's hyper aware around you, nervous of every move you make, anxious and eager to please. But what Atsushi comes to learn is that cats of any colour respect people who respect themselves, don't run roughshod over other people's boundaries, and don't constantly clamour for attention.

Ergo, he does eventually calm down.

Your calm, understated, self-possessed nature does start to rub off on him a bit, with mixed success.

"O-oh, let me get that for you—Wait. I mean, um, just let me know if you need any help. I have some free time."

His attempts at nonchalance are pretty endearing.

Yosano Akiko

Yosano is herself a black cat archetype, but one that likes to get her claws out. When the two of you first meet there's an intense thrum of energy—two felines recognising each other, assessing each other.

It's unlikely for there to be any (metaphorical) hissing and clawing. After a moment, Yosano smirks.

"Finally. Someone around here who won't give me a headache."

The two of you out together (as friends or together) are enough to draw every eye as you slink into wine bars or nice restaurants, utterly unconcerned.

Yosano will never be one to judge you for your guarded nature. With a history like her own, she isn't exactly the oversharing type either.

And perhaps when you start letting some of your walls down, she can lower some of hers too.

Nakahara Chuuya

Chuuya being dog-like is a common theme. When Chuuya was first recruited (yoinked) into the Port Mafia, Dazai insisted that Chuuya had to become his "dog". And Chuuya's loyalty, once earned, is never broken, no matter how terrible a person you are.

He's also kinda small and yappy, so...

Your seemingly aloof demeanour puts him on edge at first, as does your tendency to be mysterious and enigmatic. In some ways, it reminds him of how Dazai used to act, though you're nowhere near as annoying.

"What's yer problem? Lookin' down yer nose at me, hah?"

Don't worry, his temper can burn itself out as quickly as it ignites, but for a while, it is a bit like a chihuahua barking at a cat sitting on a fence.

Eventually, he figures out that you're a good listener, quietly loyal, independent, and lowkey. A calming foil to many of his more explosive personality traits.

He no longer questions it when you silently join him for things, providing him with your calm, uncomplicated company.

"Oh, it's you." His tone is dry. "Guess ya want me to buy lunch, huh?"

Fukuzawa Yukichi

No way I could answer a cat ask without adding in the cat-lover.

Fukuzawa is used to cats and their mannerisms. He'll feel an odd sense of comfort and familiarity when he first meets you, even if he's never heard of a "black cat personality".

Without quite realising what he's doing, he starts to employ some of the tactics he uses when he encounters a new cat.

Not quite offering you bits of chicken or wiggling a feather toy along the ground, but some of the more subtle ones.

It's when he catches himself slow-blinking at you that he realises what he's doing and feels a rush of embarrassment.

Until you slow-blink right back.

AO3 | Other Blogs: Bleach | BNHA | Naruto | JJK

[yokohamapound]

hi jem!! i see that it says your asks are open in your pinned post and all, but some people consider asks and requests to be separate things, so i wanted to be absolutely certain before requesting!! are requests currently open?

Hey, lovely! Yep, requests are open!

[yokohamapound]

Ooh, a new BSD blog! :D How about the reactions of Dazai, Ranpo, Chuuya, Akutagawa and Fyodor when they see their female S/O in fancy attire for the first time? Like if they're going to some formal events together as a couple.

Hmm, it's almost like you knew I am addicted to fancy clothes...this sent me on a deep dive through my extensive Pinterest board.

Characters: Dazai Osamu, Edogawa Ranpo, Nakahara Chuuya, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, Fyodor Dostoevsky

Contents: fem!reader, possessive, controlling Fyodor

Dazai Osamu

Dazai is the type of man to enjoy seeing you in everything you wear, especially when you're puttering around the apartment in just one of his his shirts, but seeing you in formalwear is something special.

Maybe it's another award ceremony for the Armed Detective Agency, a fancy gala that requires you to wear something more upscale than business casual. Dazai has a suit he can fall back on—probably something in a dark blue or a shade of camel, because black reminds him too much of his time in the Port Mafia.

He's waiting in the living room for you to come out of the bedroom, periodically whining for you to come out of the bedroom and pay attention to him.

"I'm going to die of neglect out here," he calls forlornly. "And I always wanted us to die togeth—"

The door slides open, and Dazai cuts off his wailing, looking over his shoulder. There's a moment of silence—yes, actual silence from Dazai—as his gaze moves slowly up your legs, his eyes getting progressively wider as he takes in the slinky little number clinging to your curves, how the neckline reveals the arch of your throat. Your make-up, those smoky eyes and glossy lips...

"I don't want to go," he blurts, shuffling over on his knees and wrapping his arms around your waist. "Let's stay home. I'll pour you sake and feed you grapes."

Edogawa Ranpo

Ranpo doesn't tend to make a big deal about what you wear. He notices of course, because he notices everything, but he'll only comment if you're wearing something particularly cute or if he's deduced something interesting from your choice of attire, which usually goes like:

"Are you wearing that skirt 'cause you wanted me to notice you waxed your legs?"

"Ranpo, even if you know something, it doesn't mean you have to say it."

"What? You wanted me to notice and I'm noticing. It's not my fault you're not subtle," he says, grinning around his lollipop.

"Right, because I'm the one that's not subtle."

He's fiddling with his tie as the pair of you get ready for a formal event thrown in the ADA's honour (normally he'd complain about going to something so boring, but Fukuzawa promised him there'd be a buffet and lots of people wanting to praise him) and complaining that he can't tie it and he doesn't want to wear it.

"Oh, you big baby," you chide playfully, sauntering out of the bedroom, heels clicking as you fix one of your earrings in place "You wear a tie every day."

Taking the ends of the tie, you start to weave it into a simple Windsor knot, glancing up to see Ranpo gawking at you, his pretty green eyes wide open. For once, his brain isn't processing information at warp speed. It's crickets in there, like he's short-circuited.

"That good, huh?" you ask, tightening his tie. "No deductions, smart boy?"

"Uh..." Ranpo falters a bit as you draw him closer by his carefully knotted tie. "Nope."

You give him a kiss and release him. He's grinning like a Cheshire Cat as he follows you to the door.

"Hey, is there room for snacks in your clutch?"

Nakahara Chuuya

If you're Chuuya's girl, you'll never want for the finer things in life, but that first, first time he sees you all dolled up is very memorable. Even if you have cash of your own, he would have handed you his shiny black card, pressing it into your hand with a kiss and a grin.

"Let me treat ya. Don't even look at the prices."

After some credit card BDSM—that plastic rectangle got used and abused and it liked it—you came back to the penthouse laden with shopping bags, your hair freshly styled, a mani pedi, and a facial. By the time Chuuya comes to pick you up, you're dolled up to the nines.

Chuuya walks in, calling out for you, only to stop dead in his tracks when he sees you. You've got your back to him, carefully fixing the edge of your lipstick in the vanity mirror, when you spot his reflection.

"Hey, babe, almost ready," you say, turning to face him.

A slow grin breaks out across Chuuya's face. He reaches up and pushes his hat back, as if to see you better, his blue eyes wide.

"Fuck me, doll," he says, his voice coming out rough. "You look incredible..."

You make a show of checking your beautiful antique watch. "I don't think we have time for that right now, but when we get home..."

Chuuya lets out a groan, pulling you toward him by the hips. You won't let him smudge your fresh lipstick, so he leaves a love bite on your throat instead, like a promise for later.

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke

Akutagawa swears by formalwear (even if his taste in formalwear is over a century out of date), so he's no stranger to being suited and booted. Perhaps the two of you have been tasked to infiltrate a high society soiree as part of Mori's plans, or perhaps you are his undercover bodyguards while he attends one himself.

Akutagawa dislikes clothes shopping, so he flatly refused to accompany you to buy a dress for the occasion. This is probably for the best. It's a lot less stressful to shop with Gin and Higuchi than it is with an irritable, murderous Ryuunosuke dogging your heels and glaring daggers at the sales assistant.

Which is to say, he has no idea what you are wearing until you show up to the gala. He's watching Mori from near the wall, his hands thrust into the pockets of his long black coat. Disinterested.

His pale grey eyes sweep over you at first, mistaking you for another of the wealthy partygoers.

Then they snap back, going wide. Akutagawa stands there as if he's been locked into place as you saunter over to join him, a flute of champagne in each hand.

The way the dress moves, how it flows or clings to the various planes and curves of your body, how you move while you wear it, as if you've become a new, elevated version of yourself.

"Sorry I'm late," you say, handing him a champagne flute. He's surprised enough to take it without muttering that he doesn't like champagne. "The boss did say to arrive separately."

"...what are you wearing?" he finally manages to say. "You look—"

"Ridiculous? Yeah, I know, but this is what we have to wear to these stupid things. I can't even get away with hiding a gun under this thing."

"No—"

Too late, you've already moved away toward the buffet to grab a couple of hors d'oeuvres for you and him. Akutagawa finds his voice a little too late.

"You don't look ridiculous."

Fyodor Dostoevsky

I can guarantee with 100% certainty that Fyodor knows exactly what you're wearing, because he took you to the exclusive boutique in order to purchase it—after he had you model several dozen gowns for his appreciation and approval. He had to spend all that money he stole from the Guild on something, after all, so there were shoes and jewellery into the bargain.

There are staff to pamper you: a hairstylist, a nail tech, and a make-up artist, all under strict orders not to speak to you or dare look you in the eye as they primp and doll you up.

"Doll" being the operative word, because you look like a porcelain doll by the time they're done with you.

Airy layers float around you as you carefully pick your way down the sweeping staircase, ankles wobbling in your slightly-too-high heels, giving you that vulnerable, fawnish air that Fyodor likes so much.

He stands at the bottom of the stairs, cool violet eyes watching every tentative step. His masterpiece is complete.

"Myshka," he purrs at the sight of you. "You look perfect."

He offers you his hand, cold fingers closing around yours as you stumble off the very last step and into his arms. He makes a soft, slightly mocking sound of amusement in the back of his throat.

"Careful, darling," he chides, his hand settling firmly, possessively in the small of your back. "I can't have you falling for anyone but me."

The humour carries a note of truth. Fyodor's finger traces along the line of your jaw, curling beneath your chin and tipping your face up toward his. His breath ghosts over your lips.

"I will have to dress you this way more often."

AO3 | Other Blogs: Bleach | BNHA | Naruto | JJK

[yokohamapound]

Hi! This is gonna be a wierd request but I just got really bad injuries on my fingers and I can't use them without being in immense pain (text to speech has become my best friend) so you think you can write something with B S D characters with an S slash O that can't use their hands after a mission/accident without being in a ton of pain? I just need some fluff to read while I recover. Thanks!

Hi, lovely. Sorry it's taken me so long to get to this one, and I hope you're doing well!

Characters: Dazai Osamu, Nakahara Chuuya, Nakajima Atsushi, Kunikida Doppo, Edgar Allan Poe

Contents: mentions of injury, medication, doctors, physical therapy, gn!reader, no graphic details

Dazai Osamu

Considering he spends 99% of his time in bandages, it's a safe bet that Dazai's injured his hands a time or two, so he'll get what you're dealing with.

While he likes to play the clown and act lazy and immature, this is only really an act—he can definitely step up when he needs to, and he's very capable...or he just manipulates other people into picking up the slack.

You won't have to worry about things around the house, because he'll just get Atsushi to do it!

As for looking after you, Dazai will actually do that himself. He'll skillfully change the bandages on your fingers after rubbing in whatever topical medication or painkiller your doctor has prescribed, an intent, focused expression on his face, even while he chatters.

"I need you to get better soon," he quips. "I want to hold hands without protection."

He grins, because he knows you can't hit him.

Nakahara Chuuya

Chuuya hates that you got hurt on the mission, and lowkey blames himself for it, whether he was there or not. He's a damn executive, isn't he? He should be able to prevent these things happening to his s/o.

What makes him feel even worse is that he can't just stay home and look after you—Mori won't give him that kind of leeway. What he can do is put money toward the problem.

It's not ideal, but having the best team of doctors (not Mori), surgeons, and physical therapists available is going to make rehabilitation go a lot smoother. Having stuff like food delivered, laundry and cleaning outsourced, and the latest in smartphones for text to speech is a godsend.

He also has you sending him voice notes all day, because he's used to the constant flurry of texts back and forth and he doesn't want to go without hearing from you.

Nakajima Atsushi

Atsushi will wait on you hand and foot. You won't need to lift a finger (literally, please don't) because he'll be vibrating with anxiety at your side, just in case you need something.

You'll probably have to tell him—gently—when he starts overdoing it, not letting you do anything for yourself. He doesn't mean anything by it; he just hates seeing your face scrunch up in pain.

He keeps trying to ply you with ochazuke—tea on rice—because it's his ultimate comfort food, but he'll have to feed it to you, because using chopsticks with injured fingers is a bitch. He apologises constantly because it feels awkward, even though he reminds himself of all the times you've helped him.

"I promise I won't make airplane noises," he jokes, holding up a spoonful of tea-soaked rice for you to lean forward and take a bite. "Heh. You're kinda scary when you glare like that."

Kunikida Doppo

Depending on where you are in the timeline, Kunikida has very real experience with the loss of use of his hands, though he lost his hands entirely. Temporarily, yes, but the end result is the same and hre remembers vividly the feeling of helplessness and frustration when you are unable to do things for yourself the way you are used to.

Kunikida shows love through organisation. Your medications, wound redressings, doctor and physical therapy appointments will all be rigorously scheduled in his notebook. He'll drive you to them himself, and chivvy you through any recovery exercises you need to do.

Most helpful of all, he can use his Special Ability to create specialised tools for your recovering hands—utensils, pens, etc with an altered grip so you don't have to move your fingers more than necessary.

Kunikida is more than happy to look after you, but he understands on a personal level how important it is to restore to you a sense of independence and autonomy.

Edgar Allen Poe

Like Chuuya, Poe can simply use his wealth to mitigate a lot of the pain, discomfort, and frustration caused by your injuries, and he will, but he's also got the time (and gothic, brooding hero dedication) to look after you personally.

With a side dish of melodrama of course.

"How can I serve you in your time of need, my dear? Do your hands pain you terribly?"

"Well, yes, but I was wondering if you could help me set up my audiobook—"

"I'll read to you myself! No inferior voice shall touch your ears!" He trails off, then peers at you over the top of your book. "My, this is rather..."

"It's smut, Ed."

"Indeed... Shall I fetch your headphones, dear?"

Honestly, Karl is your most useful companion here. He's pretty good at opening doors or prodding buttons with his little raccoon hands.

[yokohamapound]

this is my first time requesting! >_< i love ur style of writing! may i request a headcanon of a soft dom brat tamer reader with ranpo? please and thank you! :)

Hey! I hope these are okay! <3

Characters: Edogawa Ranpo

Contents: gn!reader, soft dom/brat tamer!reader, sub!Ranpo, light bondage, oral, light spanking, sex toys, overstim, aftercare

Edogawa Ranpo

If there's one thing we know about Ranpo, it's that he likes to be taken care of. Ranpo enjoys solving complex mysteries, being right, and eating snacks. He's not interested in the rest of the mundane details, so if you want to be in control, that's fine by him!

A soft dom is more suitable for him in the bedroom—he's not going to enjoy extreme bondage or harsh corporal punishment. No whips and chains for your boy, please.

But someone who can take a firm, loving hand with him and make him behave? That could be very, very effective...

Ranpo is a brat in bed, no doubt about it. He's cheeky, demanding, and impatient. You might be tempted to indulge his every whim because he's so damn cute, letting him get his way all the time, but after a while he'd find himself getting bored with that. Part of the reason he acts the way he does with you is because he expects some pushback.

The first time he leans in to steal a kiss and you catch his chin in your hand, telling he has to earn a kiss, his eyes open wide, pretty and green and interested. In true Ranpo form, he turns his face away, sulking.

"I don't want one now, anyway."

You notice him watching you from the corner of his eye. Time to pull out that cherry lip balm and apply it, slow and generous, so he can catch the scent of it, imagine the taste. Ranpo's mouth waters at the sight of your lips, glossy like candy.

"Hypothetically speaking, what would I have to do...?"

It starts fairly slowly—small, but tangible shifts in your bedroom dynamic—but you can tell it excites him. Kisses are freely given during the day, but at night he has to earn them, which he does with much gleeful complaining.

The first time you tie his wrists to the bedposts and blindfold him, he realises his deduction skills are a little bit hampered if he can't see. He can't quite predict where you're going to touch him. He squirms as you work your way down his body, mapping him out with hands and lips and tongue. His nipples are surprisingly sensitive, as are the insides of his thighs. But you skirt around his cock, which stands stiff and begging for attention, the tip already weeping precum.

"C'mon," he whines. "This isn't fair."

"Use your words. Ask me nicely."

He gives a groan of protest. His cheeks are flushed, but you see how his thighs spread, hips pushing up in supplication.

"Touch me. Please."

"Good boy."

Oh, that's another thing—your boy's praise kink is off the charts. Those two words are enough to set Ranpo's cock twitching even without stimulation, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip to stifle a moan.

He loves playing up his brat role, huffing and whining, or just doing things you haven't given him permission to do, because as much as he loves praise, he also loves the feeling of reassurance when he's lovingly put in his place with a light spank onn his ass, or some delay to his gratification.

Or even being made to sink down on his knees and apologise with his mouth. Face buried between your thighs, licking for all he's worth, your hand gently tangled among his dark locks as you tell him how well he's doing, how sweet and smart he is, how talented his tongue, your voice laced with pleasure. Ranpo's mouth is flooded with your taste, his head filled your words, his autonomy in your hands for an hour or two. By the time you let him up for air, his face is smeared with your fluids, his cheeks flushed and his eyes glassy with arousal.

Even as a soft dom, sometimes you have to carry out a (pre-agreed) punishment, because your brat has misbehaved one too many times and gentle correction isn't cutting it.

That's when Ranpo gets turned over your knee. He'll whine and protest of course, but you make sure he can't squirm away. It's less about the sting of your hand coming down on his ass, and more about the loss of control, the loss of your approval. Your spanks are firm enough to turn his backside a light shade of pink, to give a little sting, but you have to go and complicate things... The little rubber ring around his cock buzzes incessantly, vibrations running down the underside of his shaft. Every impact from your hand jolts through him, surging along his cock. Intense pleasure mixes with mild pain in an intoxicating cocktail.

You push him past cumming, even when his thighs are trembling, the sheets are soaked from his seed, and he's almost drooling, clutching the sheets and swearing he'll be good for you, so good...

Aftercare is absolutely essential. He needs to come up out of that subspace, and he needs careful handling. Snacks and sweet milk tea, and your arms to crawl into. He'll always nap after a session, devour everything in the cupboards, then suggest you go out to this fancy dessert place he knows—you're paying, of course.

[yokohamapound]

i am SCREAMING I’ve been stalking your Bleach blog for ages and now you’ve started writing for the series I’m an absolute slut for? MA’AM. With that out of the way, may I request headcanons, scenarios, anything about my absolute best boy Poe? I give you my soul. My everything. I love you.

Welcome to my BSD thirst blog. <3 And, of course!

Characters: Edgar Allen Poe (ft. Karl)

Contents: gn!reader, Poe being dramatic, social anxiety, Ranpo being Ranpo

Edgar Allen Poe

There's no way this reclusive, hyperfixated genius is going to make the first move, so you're going to have to chase the bats out of the gothic arches of his heart and start the dramatic pipe organ solo (innuendo not intended) yourself.

That's not to say he's oblivious to love. Once a seed is planted, he will obsess over it and nurture it until it grows as thick as ivy over his metaphorical haunted mansion. Just look at the lengths he went to to get revenge on his one true rival, Ranpo. A passionate heart beats under that cravat!

This man pines. He pines like a mountain forest. He pines like a 90s set of bedroom furniture. He is all longing and pining and heartache once his feelings for you have taken root.

Don't feel bad for him—he lives for this shit.

There are probably several melodramatic novels and poems hidden in his desk dedicated to you, who he considers as far out of reach as the moon. He is but a mortal man, basking in your opalescent glow and knowing that he shall never—!

And then you ask him out.

Poe blinks owlishly at you from beneath his mop of dark hair, then asks faintly, "Karl, did they say what I think they said?"

The raccoon chitters something that must be confirmation, because everything between Poe's collar and his hairline turns a deep crimson, and his one visible eye looks liable to pop out of his head. Poe's mouth falls open and something akin to a whimper comes out.

...just give him time to process, and don't make any sudden moves. It's like Poe's the small, furry animal, rather than Karl.

Make some tea. Put your feet up. Read a good book.

Eventually Poe comes shuffling over to you, wringing his hands. "As to your previous request, my dear... Karl and I have agreed that I should accept your hand—er—I mean, your suit. Provided that you still wish to...to..."

"Date?"

"I was going to say 'court', but yes, that. I would be delighted."

He's giddy for the first few days, bordering on manic as he flits back and forth between clutching your hands in his and spluttering compliments and lamenting that he doesn't know how he got so luck and surely something will come along to ruin it?

Karl is the voice of reason, communicating in a series of squeaks and chirps that only Poe (and Ranpo) can understand.

Speaking of Ranpo, he saw it coming from miles away, so he's glad he doesn't have to listen to any more of Poe's soliloquies about how you're too good for him.

"Only problem is," Ranpo says, adding sugar lumps to his tea on the date he's crashing, "now that you're together, he's just writing sonnets about your eyes and your thighs—"

"Ranpo!" Poe yelps. "It—! That—! You only found that because you were rifling through my personal papers!"

"I wanted to make a paper airplane."

Poe makes a sweet, if melodramatic boyfriend. He's a bit inconsistent in his moods, cocky and outgoing one minute, pensive and depressed the next.

One thing you can rely upon, however, is that he'll perk up like an underfed houseplant moved into a patch of sunlight whenever you show him the smallest amount of attention or affection, all wide violet eyes and tremulous smile.

Adorable.

[yokohamapound]

Bungou Stray Dogs characters responding to you answering their question with, "Don't worry about it, Kitten."? 😆

You always have the best asks. 😂

Characters: Dazai Osamu, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, Nakahara Chuuya, Nakajima Atsushi, Edogawa Ranpo, Fukuzawa Yukichi

Contents: gn!reader

Dazai Osamu

Dazai has to stop his lazy chatter or his whining for a second to try and parse whether he heard that correctly. He lifts his head from where it's slumped on a cushion, the rest of his gangly body splayed out on the couch. He mentally replays the last few seconds and yeah, you said what he thought you said.

A slow, sly grin creeps its way across his face as he sits up, eyeing you where you're making coffee in the kitchen. His brown eyes sparkle with amusement and mischief. He's not used to his own brand of flirting being directed back at him and he's delighted.

Long arms wrap around your waist from behind, and the point of his chin comes to rest on your shoulder.

"If I'm your kitten, shouldn't you be petting me and hand-feeding me crab?" he wheedles.

You scoff, lifting a hand to ruffle his warm brown waves. He gives a pretty good impression of a purr, at least until you flick his nose, retorting, "Don't make me get the spray bottle."

Fyodor Dostoevsky

Fyodor doesn't react immediately.

His question was likely not something related to his plans or any major operations, or you wouldn't have answered him so flippantly. Perhaps it was a casual enquiry as to your day, or just asking what you were doing.

He leans slowly back in his chair and turns to look at you, his eyes glinting violet-red in the dim light of his screens.

A soft huff of amusement cuts through the quiet hum of electronics. His gaze takes you in from head to toe.

"You do like your little games, don't you, myshka? Just remember, that if I am the cat, you are the mouse."

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke

You'd better be his s/o if you're going to pull this, because he has killed people for less.

When your words register, Akutagawa's eyes widen, white showing all around the grey. A blotchy flush appears on his pallid cheeks.

"What did you just say to me?" he asks, venomous.

If there is anyone else who was close enough to hear it, they are probably dead. Akutagawa's black coat ripples, Rashoumon stirring in response to his anger and embarrassment.

Akutagawa slaps a tendril of Rashoumon over your mouth.

"...never say that again, fool."

He stalks off in a huff.

Nakahara Chuuya

Chuuya has a moment of BSOD, where he's not sure what he just heard. His head whips toward you so fast that his hat almost flies off. His eyebrows crash down into a scowl, while heat creeps up his neck and turns his ears crimson.

"Oi, what'd ya just call me?"

"What's wrong, kitten?" you repeat.

He sputters, annoyed and flustered and not entirely sure how he should react to that. Chuuya, being Chuuya, he aggressively adjusts his hat and straightens his shoulders, as if he can shrug off what you just said.

"I ain't no damn kitten."

Don't try and attach a bell to his choker.

Nakajima Atsushi

Completely clueless.

He just stops what he's doing, the earnest, cheerful look on his face melting into one of blank confusion.

"Um, did you just call me...?"

He's too embarrassed to say the word out loud, his cheeks pink.

"Call you what, kitten?"

You're enjoying this far more than you should, you sadist.

Atsushi swallows, looking around to make sure no one else hears you call him such an embarrassing nickname. He'd never live it down.

"Uh, is this because of the tiger thing?"

Edogawa Ranpo

Ranpo is leaning back in his chair, his feet propped up on the desk, a lollipop lodged firmly in his mouth. He's a little bored because there are no fun cases to solve, but he has candy, and you're nearby, so things aren't too bad, as far as he's concerned.

He doesn't even bat an eyelid when you address him as "kitten". He's halfway toward being a cat already.

Taking the lollipop from his mouth and waving it through the air, he declares, "Meow."

You should also get him a pair of cat ears. He'll wear them without a trace of shame.

"Hey, if I'm your kitten does that make you my Discord daddy?"

Fukuzawa Yukichi

I doubt anyone has ever had the balls to say something like that to Fukuzawa before, so first I must congratulate you on your cojones (metaphorical or otherwise).

He turns toward you, his stern face expressionless. After a moment, one of his eyebrows quirks up.

"Not in public, dear," he intones.

You're left spluttering, the tables so neatly turned on you. Never underestimate Fukuzawa.

[yokohamapound]

New Bungo Stray Dogs anime illustration for the year of the snake 2025. Happy New Year!

[yokohamapound]

I may have done something that I shouldn't have — @jujuicykaisen

[yokohamapound]

This is very silly - but what would the reactions be of the ADA to you, a friend, abruptly crashing through the ceiling?

“Hey, Ron.” “Hey, Billy.”

Characters: Dazai Osamu, Kunikida Doppo, Nakajima Atsushi, Izumi Kyouka, Tanizaki Jun'ichirou, Edogawa Ranpo, Yosano Akiko, Fukuzawa Yukichi

Contents: gn! reader, falling through ceilings

Dazai Osamu

Dazai does a credible job of masking any surprise when you come collapsing through the ceiling. Do you know why? Because he isn’t surprised at all. He’s sitting on one of the green couches in the reception area, his headphones cupped over his ears, when the ceiling splits open and dumps you into the office.

His eyes flicker open briefly as your form rushes past him to tumble to the floor at his feet in a cascade of insulation and plaster. 

You’ll never know whether or not he deliberately loosened that board in the loft before he sent you rooting around up there for whatever obscure object he wanted from storage, but you have your suspicions, and he knows you have your suspicions. 

“Nice of you to drop in. The vacuum’s around here somewhere. Best not leave that mess or Kunikida will go through the roof, and then we’ll have a skylight.”

Kunikida Doppo

Kunikida is just trying to get through his day, to follow his schedule, and make sure that all his paperwork is filled out correctly and on time.

Imagine his despair when you crash through the ceiling tiles and land on his desk. He stiffens, then expels a deep, bone weary sigh as plaster dust settles on his shoulders and hair, making him look like he’s turning prematurely grey—which he might, at this rate.

He removes his glasses and takes out a small cloth to polish the dust off them, before placing them back on his face and pushing them back up the bridge of his nose with his fingertips.

“I presume you’re not injured?” When you assure him that you’re winded but nothing’s broken, he nods. “I’m going to have to fill out another purchase order for building repairs. I really don’t have time for this.”

Nakajima Atsushi

Poor Atsushi. He’s just minding his own business when you come crashing through into the office. His jaw falls open, but he’s only shocked for a moment. His hero complex kicks in and he throws himself forward, slamming into the ground a moment before you do and letting his own body break your fall. 

Martyr much, Atsushi?

“Are you okay?” he babbles, when you roll off him. 

He’s fussing like an old woman, trying to pat you down to make sure nothing is broken. 

“Do you need to go to the hospital? What happened?!”

Yosano Akiko

Yosano’s been with the Armed Detective Agency for long enough that she’s seen almost everything in her time. You stepping on a busted floor panel up in the lift and falling ass-over-teakettle through the ceiling?

No biggie.

She emerges from her medical room, already snapping on a pair of latex gloves with alarming efficiency. Her eyes glint.

“Oh, dear. That looks like it hurts. Shall I make it better?”

“No! No, I’m fine, just winded!”

“Now, now, you might have broken something…”

Izumi Kyouka

For all her apparently stoic, emotionless demeanour, Kyouka hasn’t lost her startle reflex. When you come tumbling in from the loft, she immediately suspects it is some kind of targeted attack from the Port Mafia, the Guild, the Rats in the Hall of the Dead, the Hunting Dogs (dude, the ADA has got to up their life-insurance policies), or even some new threat.

She launches Demon Snow into attack mode, only to realise it’s you face-planting amidst a snowdrift of broken plaster and crap from storage. 

“...”

Kyouka stares at you.

“You should be more careful.”

Gee, thanks, Kyouka.

Edogawa Ranpo

Ranpo’s been waiting for this to happen to someone ever since he noticed the hairline crack running along the ceiling plaster. The second he heard someone tell you to go upstairs and rummage through those boxes of old files, he’s been counting down the moments.

“Five, four, three, two, one…”

On cue, you come tumbling down from the attic. 

He pops a chocolate truffle into his mouth and looks over at you from his desk, where he’s lounging back in his chair with his feet up on the wooden surface. 

“Hey, now you’re down here, could you get me a soda?”

Tanizaki Jun’ichirou

It takes Tanizaki a little while to notice the ceiling bulging. He yelps when you come tumbling through, scattering paperwork and Naomi and pens everywhere.

Another graduate from the School of Martyrdom, Tanizaki’s solution is to fling himself forward to try and catch you. With mostly ends up with getting in your way and sending you to the floor in a tangle of limbs.

Naomi, seeing this, immediately rushes up to the attic to have her turn. 

Fukuzawa Yukichi

I don’t know why, but I feel like Fukuzawa is highly attuned to the sounds around him, down to the vibration of the air. He’ll feel a disturbance (in the Force) before the ceiling cracks open. Perhaps a few grains of plaster dust will trickle down and alert him to the impending disaster.

His head jerks up. He knows you were sent up into the loft/attic of the office building on some errand. It doesn’t take even his honed instincts to put two and two together.

In a blur of motion, surprisingly fast for a man of his years, he springs forward and extends his arms, snatching you from mid-fall before you can splat on the office floorboards. He holds you aloft, a stoic expression on his face as a piece of ceiling tile lands on his head and cracks apart.

“Are you well?” he asks, stern, followed by: “Did I not tell you to watch your step up there?” 

[yokohamapound]

Replies

I've been terrible about replying to some of the kind messages I've received and I don't want to spam your dashboards, so I tend to reply all in one post once in a while. 💌

Hello! And thank you so much! I'm sorry it took me so long to reply to your message. 💖

Thank you! My writing sort of ebbs and flows between writing a lot and not writing much at all, and between different fandoms and my own personal writing so it's never been very consistent. I'm just glad people are around and still happy to read my stuff when I start posting again. 💖

I can't actually take credit for that! T'was all down to my friend @amostimprobabledream who guest-wrote that post. Do check out her blog if you like her writing! And I'm glad to be back! :D

✨ BACK ON MY BULLSHIT ✨

[yokohamapound]

BSD Characters React to Getting Shat On By A Bird 🕊️

No, I'm totally not writing these to make myself feel better after getting bird-splattered on my way home from work. T-T

Characters: Osamu Dazai, Nakahara Chuuya, Kunikida Doppo, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, Nakajima Atsushi, Sigma

Contents: 💩

Osamu Dazai

Dazai might react in one of two ways.

If he's on his own, it's a muted, annoyed kind of disgust. He just feels the impact and sighs.

"Ugh, really?"

He might shove his head into the Yokohama river to try and wash it out. Whether or not he remembers to pull his head up again is another story.

If he's around other people, however, Dazai hams it up more than a pig in a blanket.

His whole body clenches, his shoulders hunching toward his ears and his hands hovering near his hair but not quite touching it. His face is an exaggerated rictus of disgust.

"Get it off, get it off, get it off! Eww!"

He runs at Kunikida and tries to wipe it off on him, only to get himself punted across the room. That isn't enough to stop Dazai, though. He'll theatrically pour water over himself, retching, gagging, and bemoaning his bad luck and the cruel fates for doing this to him.

Nakahara Chuuya

Thankfully, Chuuya's lovely red hair is safe from the bird shit thanks to his hat, but on the other hand, his hat. He freezes as soon as he feels the splatter against his hat. Reaching up slowly, he takes the brim of his hat between thumb and forefinger and lifts it off his head.

Chuuya's face contorts with anger and disgust. There's shit on his hat. There's shit on his hat.

He resists the urge to drop the hat in disgust, since that might damage it further. Instead his ire snaps upward toward the bird that just ass-bombed him. Little does it know that its victim is not bound by the laws of gravity. Chuuya can follow it.

And that he fucking does.

He shoots into the air, cracking the asphalt underfoot, and goes gunning after the hapless bird, which is probably terrified to find a pissed-off ginger zooming after it at mach speeds.

Later, once the bird is 'taken care of' Mafia-style, Chuuya will take his soiled hat to a specialist cleaning place. Yes, he's got a hat cleaning place—this is Chuuya we're talking about.

Kunikida Doppo

Kunikida does not have time for this. Perhaps it is a personal failing, but he didn't account for the potential of being shat on by a bird en route to the office in the morning. Now he's standing there with egg on his face and crap on his hair, regretting his life choices.

Frustration builds in him like a volcano, but he forces himself to take a deep breath. As long as he is calm and rational about this, it should not impact his precious schedule too much.

Thankfully, he does have all manner of supplies to hand. Namely a water bottle and a handkerchief to try and clean himself off as best he can in the nearest reflective surface. He uses his handy dandy notebook to conjure up a solid shampoo bar and cleans himself up.

All in all, he only ends up being three minutes, thirty-seven seconds late to the office. No one even notices, but Kunikida is left irked for the rest of the day. Also, he doesn't know how but he's sure Dazai is behind it somehow. Maybe he's been teaching the birds how to target blonde men with glasses, preparing months in advance for just this day.

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke

Akutagawa goes still, and his eyes go very, very wide, until you feel like you're staring down tunnels into the Abyss. The bird guano is stark white against his dark hair. His nostrils flare.

"RASHOUMON."

A tendril of darkness slices from the back of his coat and slashes the bird in midair, sending feathers spiralling down to dust the earth around him.

He stares down at the offending creature's carcass like an god of dark justice.

"Foul beast."

Growing up in the slums, Akutagawa was used to being dirty, covered in mud, blood, and all kinds of filth, but he will not take the disrespect of any man nor beast, least of all a pigeon.

Nakajima Atsushi

This is not the first time for poor, unfortunate Atsushi, and probably not the last. He flinches when the splatter lands on top of his head, automatically closing his eyes. He's used to being spat on or having food poured over his head.

"Ah, jeez."

At least the bird crap isn't personal.

Atsushi probably just snips off the locks of befouled hair and then scrubs his hands. His hair is already a tufty mess, and he's usually too busy running around for the Agency to run home and shower again. That is, until Kunikida hears what happens and sprays him with disinfectant.

Sigma

Poor Sigma. Doesn't he have enough on his plate without being target practice for a bird who doesn't eat enough fibre? He's under enough stress already.

The bird shit is the tipping point, and he might just cry.

His face twitches when he feels it. The cold dollop on his head, ruining his pretty hair, making his neck want to retract back into his spine. His eyes widen as he looks upward to see the feckless offender flying away, soon lost to the horizon as it flies beyond the reach of the Sky Casino.

Sigma gags, his hands fluttering a little as he doesn't know what to do. He's only three years old and this has never happened to him before.

He runs toward his private quarters, lest anyone see the General Manager looking so undignified. He flings himself into his bathroom and sticks his head directly under the shower, running the water as hot as he can stand.

He washes it twice. Thrice. Then wraps it in a hair mask and huddles in his quarters with a stiff drink and his hair in a towel. Poor thing.

[yokohamapound]

ok but like consider,, dazai, akutagawa, kunikida and atsushi (or anyone else u wanna add my request is mainly for akutagawa and kunikida) working alone and you open your coat to reveal you're just wearing lingerie underneath <3

Ah, such a classic move! <3

Characters: Kunikida Doppo, Dazai Osamu, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, Nakajima Atsushi, Nakahara Chuuya

Contents: gn!reader, exhibitionism, semi-public sex, mild derogatory dirty talk

Kunikida Doppo

Kunikida is often to be found working late in the Armed Detective Agency’s office, especially after the conclusion of a case. Or if Dazai has been especially a pain in the ass that day and prevented Kunikida from keeping to his packed work schedule. Kunikida is not the type of man who’ll let the day’s work slip over to tomorrow. That’s how nations start to crumble (according to him). 

Hours after the rest of the agency have gone home, even Fukuzawa, Kunikida is still there, typing away at his laptop, the glare of the screen making his glasses seem opaque. His only concession to the late hour is a half-drunk cup of coffee sitting beside the laptop. 

His head twists around when the door to the agency office opens. Who could it be this late at night? Atsushi coming to check up on him? Dazai coming to sleep on the couch again? He tenses when he sees the tan colour of a trenchcoat through the wavy glass of the office door, but his shoulders loosen when he sees you in the doorway. 

“What are you doing here so late?” he asks you, turning back to finish that last bit of paperwork. “And what’s with the coat? You’re not trying to dress like Dazai now, are you?”

He hopes not. Kunikida doesn’t need to be jump-scared like that every time you meet up with him. He’s only half-listening when you give him some excuse about being cold. Faintly, he picks up the sound of high heels clicking against the polished floorboards as you make your way over to him. He catches a hint of perfume as you come to stand at his shoulder. 

“I’m almost finished,” he grunts, his fingers flying so fast across the keyboard they seem to blur slightly at the edges. He’s tired, and it must be late indeed if you’ve come to pick him up. He turns his head to ask about what you two should pick up for dinner on the way home, when his jaw falls open like someone pulled out a screw holding it shut.

You’ve allowed your trenchcoat to fall open, revealing your body clad in scraps of structured silk and lace. Something classy and timeless, in soft cream or sultry black. It’s like something out of an old movie or a vintage catalogue. Kunikida’s glasses steam up briefly, before he slams his laptop closed.

“Doppo,” you chide, faking a gasp. “You didn’t put a period on that last sentence of your paperwork. You can’t just leave it…unfinished like that.”

Kunikida pulls off his glasses, his expression stern. “This time,” he proclaims, his voice deep and momentous, “I’ll make an exception.”

Kunikida drives you home, driving so close to the speed limit he’s practically edging it, with one hand buried firmly between your thighs. If you’re very misbehaved, he might use his notebook to conjure something to keep you…occupied…on the drive home.

Dazai Osamu

You went one better for this and stole Dazai’s trenchcoat. Let’s leave it up for debate whether he knew what you were up to and let you steal his coat to pull off your little performance—it’s more fun that way. 

Because it’s Dazai, you arrange to meet at a bar for a date. Preferably one where he’s not already run up a tab or been slapped by all of the female bartenders and waiting staff. There are a few of those left in Yokohama, you just have to look really hard for them. 

When you arrive, Dazai is sitting on a barstool, one foot propped on the footrest, his elbows on the bar. He’s sans trenchcoat, dressed in his dark waistcoat, with the sleeves of his blue pinstripe shirt rolled up to his mid-forearm, revealing the bandages wrapped around his wrists. Spotting you in the reflection of the bottles behind the bar, he glances over at you. Dazai’s dark eyes sweep over you from head to toe, and he immediately knows there’s something interesting going on beneath that trenchcoat.

“You know,” he drawls. “I lost a coat just like that this morning. It’s quite the startling coincidence, don’t you think?”

He's so intrigued that he even cracks open his wallet to buy you a drink (shocking, I know). Dazai's eyes are glued to the sight of you cinched into his coat. His eyes drop down when you sit on the barstool beside him, crossing your legs. His fingers tighten around the cut crystal of his glass. 

"Is that...lace?"

At your smug confirmation that is indeed lace, Dazai knocks back his drink. No time to savour the liquor. He pinches the hem of the trenchcoat and lifts it up a little further to see the stocking clinging to your thigh. 

Dazai's eyes glint dangerously in the dim overhead lights of the bar. 

"Bella." His voice is a lusty purr as his hand runs up your thigh, fingers plucking at the top of your stocking, tracing circles into your soft flesh. "I'll give you a thirty second head start. When I catch up to you..."

I hope you can find somewhere relatively private in the next thirty seconds. 

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke

If you thought it might be a good idea to copy the move above and wear Akutagawa’s trenchcoat over your lingerie, let me gently pry that idea from your eager little hands. It is not a good idea, and it will not end well. Just get your own trenchcoat. Maybe in a nice shade of camel?

Akutagawa waits impatiently for you in the middle of town, watching the civilians amble around between stores, his eyes narrowed in irritation. He doesn't know why you asked to meet him here, but it feels like a waste of his time. He decides he will wait only five more minutes before he leaves.

A flicker of something pale from the corner of his eye. It's a Pavlovian response—Akutagawa's head whips around. Instead of his former master, he instead spots you click-clacking toward him in a pair of heels, wrapped in a light trenchcoat. Hair? Done. Make-up? Flawless. 

Akutagawa's forehead furrows, his voice pitched low with annoyance and confusion. "Why are you wearing that?"

You're used to his pricky demeanour by now and it doesn't faze you. You turn so you are facing away from the crowds, slowly untying the belt. You peel open the front of the waistcoat enough to give Akutagawa a glimpse of what lies underneath. 

Black lace. Smooth skin. Silk. 

His throat tightens, and for once it doesn't signal the onset of a coughing fit. Akutagawa's eyes widen, his teeth and fists clenching.

"What in the hells are you wearing?" he demands.

"Lingerie," you say, retying the the belt of your trenchcoat. "Don't you like it?"

Akutagawa knows every alley and alcove of Yokohama. Every blind spot and dead end. He puts this knowledge to good use as he manhandles you into the nearest semi-private spot. Bands of Rashoumon wrap around your wrists and ankles, pinning you up against the alleyway wall. 

Akutagawa's pale hands tremble with suppressed excitement as he unties the trenchcoat and peels it open again. The sight of you, dressed in such a lewd fashion and bound, makes his cock harden fast enough to make him dizzy. His voice is low, curt.

"If you insist on dressing like a harlot, I shall treat you like one. After all, that is what you wanted, is it not? My attention."

Please don't worry about making any noise. He'll simply use Rashoumon to gag you. <3

Nakajima Atsushi

Oh dear, are you trying to give the poor boy a heart attack?

Atsushi is at the Armed Detective Agency office alone. Perhaps it's lunchtime and the rest of the agents and staff have retired downstairs for coffee and lunch at Cafe Uzumaki. Atsushi needs to finish his report, or he's flat broke and doesn't want to have to mooch of Kunikida in the cafe again, so he's eating some cold rice balls at his desk.

He sputters on a mouthful of onigiri when the door swings open, popping up like a daisy from his desk, expecting it to be a client. He sags in relief when he sees it is just you, hastily brushing some grains of rice from the front of his shirt.

“Hi!”

Oh, he’s so chirpy to see you. It really is adorable. Look at how the smile blossoms on his face. There are practically sparkles coming off him as he heads toward you. 

Only for Atsushi to stop in his tracks when you casually untie the front of your coat and flash him the sight of your body in sweet, pink-and-white lingerie. You’re frosted in lace and frills like a little cupcake, and Atsushi’s brain jams like the printer.

“H-buh? Whuh? You…you…”

His face burns crimson, standing out stark against his white hair, and he whips his head around to make sure there is no one else in the office, even though he’s relatively sure he’s alone. Atsushi grabs the front of your coat and covers you up, flushing when you laugh at his embarrassment.

“What are you wearing?” he hisses, his eyes wide as saucers. “Why are you wearing it here?”

“I thought it would be a nice surprise~”

“It is,” he stammers. “It’s very…it’s so nice.” He opens the coat a little, peeking at what lies beneath, before closing it again, his ears burning. “But…but not here. Maybe at home?”

You give an airy shrug. “Perhaps you can tell Kunikida you weren’t feeling well so you had to go home early?”

Smash cut to Atsushi fake-coughing down the phone to Kunikida. 

Nakahara Chuuya

It's late. Yokohama is a glittering sprawl beneath the windows of Chuuya's plush office. The office is dim, save for the light of his laptop screen and the recessed, moody red lighting of his shelves. He eases away from his emails, rubbing at his eyes, and crosses the room to pour himself a whiskey from the cut glass decanters. 

For Chuuya, 'working late' often involves taking a few heavies and going to threaten someone, not sitting and trawling through emails, but now and then he needs to engage with the corporate bullshit that comes with being an executive. 

The buzz of his personal phone draws his attention. He scoops it up, his thumb tapping the screen. He has his gloves made custom so they work with touchscreens. A text message from you pops open and he grins, leaning against the edge of his desk. 

The image is simple, but evocative. Smooth skin under red lace. He's not even entirely sure which body part it is, but it's tantalising all the same. He's sure he'll find out after your dinner reservation that evening. Steak, of course.

A knock sounds at his office door and he lets out an annoyed grunt, immediately locking his phone and laying it facedown on his desk. 

"Yeah, come in."

His annoyance evaporates the moment you saunter in, all high heels and cinched black trenchcoat. And damn, is that red lipstick? It is. 

"Hey, doll. Whatcha doin' here?" 

He's running his gaze over that trenchcoat, trying to imagine what you're wearing underneath. His smile widens into a full-blown grin when you turn and lock the door behind you. 

"Don't know where this is comin' from, but I like where it's goin'."

You make a show of it, untying the knot on the belt, letting the smooth fabric rasp as it slides against itself. First baring one shoulder, then the next, shimmying the coat off you like its a fur stole. It crumples to the ground, leaving you in all your glory.

Chuuya drags a hand down his face, letting out a low, ragged laugh that sounds just this side of feral.

"Fuck, dollface..."

Bro launches himself at you, pushing you up against the back of his office door. His gloved hands slide over your bare skin, gravity starting to make less and less of an impression on you as he floats you. His mouth crushes against yours. 

Unfortunately, you miss your dinner reservation by several hours. 

[yokohamapound]

how ab head cannons of how good bsd men are at taking bras off like kinda ranking them ig

i have my own theories ab it so maybe we can compare them?

My magnificent friend, @amostimprobabledream, is guest-posting on this one! She's the one who got me into BSD, so this blog is entirely her fault!

Characters: Dazai Osamu, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Edogawa Ranpo, Tanizaki Jun'ichiro, Kunikida Doppo, Akutagawa Ryunosuke, Nakajima Atsushi, Edgar Allan Poe

Contents: Yiddies

Dazai Osamu

The obvious winner here. The Pro. The champ.

Dazai is a slut, and when they aren't threatening him for not paying back his tab, he's perfectly able to have the ladies falling at his feet. He's definitely got plenty of experience with getting a lady out of her clothing and scoffs at pitiful men who can't figure out how to unhook simple clasps. Fools! Barbarians!

He can do it one-handed. He prefers it when you wear front-clasp bras because he takes it as a sign you're just as eager for him to get at your boobs as he is. Imagine those pretty fingers easily working the little hooks~

He does sometimes wear your bra on his head as a joke. So you know, that's a risk you run.

Fyodor Dostoevsky

Listen this man has been around, okay? He almost single-handedly toppled the Port Mafia and Armed Detective Agency, he can handle a silly contraption of cotton and underwiring.

Fyodor doesn't like to tear at your clothing like a beast. He has class, okay? Instead he might as you to strip for him - just picture him lounging back in his seat, wineglass in hand while he watches you with those hungry, purple eyes of his. It's worth it just for that to put on a little show for him.

He likes to kiss you as he does it, distracting you as his nimble, pale fingers get to work. He's so skilled that he can actually unhook your bra without you even noticing and you'll find it discarded on a chair or the floor like a magic trick.

Edogawa Ranpo

Hmph, of course he can take off a bra! Don't be silly!

Ranpo is the ultimate detective, after all. A silly little hook in a piece of clothing isn't going to stump him. However, Ranpo is also lazy when he isn't motivated and while if he's focused on getting you naked, he'll probably whine for you to just take the bra off yourself - you're faster at it, he's seen the way you fling the thing off after a long day like it's a snake, so why not? He just wants to see your boobs!

Don't worry, he more than makes up for it once your bra hits the ground. He's very good with that mouth of his.

Tanizaki Juni'ichiro

Yes, he is good at taking off bras… No, I will not elaborate.

Kunikida Doppo

Yes, he does know how to take off a bra. The problem is that Kunikida rarely gets to practise on actual, living women - he's only done it on a bra just lying limp in his hand or on a mannequin. Doing it while in the throes of a heated makeout session is quite different.

You'll be there, getting all hot and heavy, and suddenly feel a tugging at your bra and a lot of frustrated huffing and puffing. He'll bark at you to hold still - not in a sexy way but in that "maths teacher" voice he still has buried deep. It's rather a mood-killer.

He's also one of those irritating people who won't let you just take the damn thing off yourself - he feels like he has to prove he's worth of touching your boobs by conquering the bra. Also, Dazai would never let him live it down if he couldn't do it.

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke

Not only does Akutagawa not know how to take off a bra, but he's too prideful to ask you to do it. Instead he has a very impractical solution of just using Rashomon to slice it off you. He's too impatient to bother with fiddling around with it - remember this is a man who doesn't even know the name of the frilly thing he wears on his neck.

Don't wear your nice bras around Akutagawa, or just go for a sports bra you can pull off over your heard. Nothing is worth your fancy, expensive new lingerie being ruined by a horny goth boy.

Nakajima Atsushi

I don't even think Atsushi has been near a bra before, let alone touched one. He has no idea how they work - he actually thought it was held together by little magnets. He'll try but he gets nervous and will tug at the material, scared of accidentally tearing it. He knows bras are expensive, he's heard Yosano and Lucy complain about it enough times.

He'll be astonished if you can do it without even looking.

Edgar Allen Poe:

Faints if you even mention the word 'bra'. You'll have to fan him awake or fetch the smelling salts.

[yokohamapound]

Don't mind me, just currently rolling around screaming. <3 My exceedingly talented bestie wrote this for me and I'm now going to cease functioning for a while.

Before I fade to silver(Bram Stoker x Reader)

For contest winner @librarianqueen! :D The silvery moonlight lit the forest path like a beacon guiding your slippered feet onwards. Dead leaves rustled as you walked, the wind blowing through the trees. The vicar, your lone company in the cool light, wheezes as he struggles beside you. Ordinarily the sound would be of considerable irritation to you, but the present moment, it is a small comfort to know that you are not alone. Especially considering where you’re headed. The castle looms into view above the skeletal tree branches. Grey stone that looks forbidding in the night, like the skin of a corpse. The man, your groom, is waiting for you by the front doors. Lord Bram Stoker watches impassively as you and the vicar approach him, a figure dressed entirely in black. The rumours appear to be true. He is handsome in a pale, eerie way. His long silver hair flows in the wind, and as you draw closer it strikes you how tall he is. “You came alone?” He asks with the slight tilt of his head. His voice is smooth and deep, with the faintest trace of an unfamiliar accent. You nod, your throat suddenly feeling dry. You didn't want a fuss. The thought of some long-winded ceremony bidding you farewell, the pompous mayor's voice droning on and on, and citizens who had never even met you before coming for the free buffet and pretending to mourn your impending absence…it was more than you could stomach. You would not be used to feed their collective ego. So, you politely declined the offer and insisted that the only required the vicar to accompany to officiate the proceedings. But now, standing alone before the vampire lord, who has your life in his hands, it was like the bravery was being leached from you through the cold ground, sucking it away alongside your body heat. The vicar was so insignificant in this equation that you may as well have been all alone with him. Bram seems to understand your reasoning for not having any friends or family with you, and unspoken look of mutual distaste for the town passes between you. You had not been surprised when your name had been brought up as a possible tribute to offer the vampire. You stood unattached in the town and had no strong ties there – in other words, in the eyes of the counsel, you were expendable. “May I begin?” The vicar asks, and Bram finally broke eye contact with you to glance boredly at him. “You may.” He replies, as if granting a great favour.

The vicar begins to read out the wedding vows in his croaky voice, but they mean nothing to you. The words slide over you like water as you stare at what is meant to be your future husband, unable to comprehend this is really happening. It seems that any moment you’ll wake up in your bed, probably drenched in sweat. It's only when Bram takes your hand in his do you finally jolt back to reality.

“With this ring, I do thee wed.” he intones gravely, locking eyes with yours. You reply with the words that had been drummed into your head, all for this moment. Your lips tingle as you say;

“With this ring... I do thee wed.” His pale fingers slide the ring onto yours, a lone diamond glinting in the metal band like a tear. The vicar shuts the heavy, leatherbound book in his hand with a cough. It’s like a punctuation on this whole affair. “May god be with you.” He says to you, even if he knows it’s unlikely. He nods stiffly to Bram and hurries away as fast as his decrepit state will allow. You watch him swallowed up by the darkness of the forest, before you turn back to Lord Bram, wanting to ask him what happens next, yet you can’t bring yourself to say it yet – you want to relish your last few minutes or freedom and – possibly- life you have left. “Come inside.” Bram says, turning away from the woods, uncaring about whether the vicar will make it back safely or not. “It is chilly out here.” You nod, surprised by his courtesy and simultaneously grateful for an excuse to get out of the biting winds, and follow him through the thick, heavy doors of the castle. They boom through the deserted entryway as they close and you crane your neck to look about the place – it looks enormous, especially compared to what you’re used to. You wonder if he lives here all alone or if he has servants to talk to. You turn to Bram, biting your lip anxiously. His eyes are tracking up and down your frame and you have the instinctive urge to cross your arms over your chest. He has a right to look at you if he wants, you just married him, but his stare is unnerving and you’re aware of his power even if he isn’t actively using it. There’s a subtle sort of magic that thrums in the air like music. “It has likely been a long day for you, preparing for this.” Bram says, glancing towards the staircase. “I can have someone show you to your room if you would prefer to rest- “ “Wait, you’re…I mean, I’m staying here? To live?” you say, feeling stupid, but you’d thought you were going here as an…offering. You weren’t expecting to be treated like a guest. Bram doesn’t look unduly surprised by your confusion and simply sighs, giving a little shake of his head. Moonlight glints off his hair, giving it an almost ethereal glow. “I am not surprised they did not explain to you what would happen once you stepped over the threshold to my castle. Rest assured; whatever you may have been told, I have no interest in harming you. What I want from you is…” He reaches out a hand and his fingers trace your throat. You stare at him, sucked in by the deep ruby colour of his eyes and you find yourself unable to move away, even if you wanted to. “My blood.” You breathe, feeling your heart picking up the pace of its frantic beating. “Yes.” He says, more softly than before. “But, if you do not want to become like me, I will not transform you. I simply require sustenance that only someone like you can provide.” “I can…become one of you?”

The thought of transforming into a vampire, one of the undead, should be horrifying, but…your own life hasn’t been terribly exciting up until now. Just a powerless human girl. And being offered up as a wedding gift to Lord Stoker proved to you how easy it was to be ripped away from everything you’ve ever known, how little you mattered to the people around you. But if you became a vampire, turned by Lord Stoker himself…well. That’s a different thing entirely. “If you wish it,” Bram replies, reaching out to cup your cheek. “Who am I to deny my wife?” Butterflies take flight in the pit of your stomach. Being in wedding clothes hadn’t really made you feel any less like a pig for slaughter, more like a costume than a real, binding ceremony. It wasn’t as though anybody in the village thought you would live a few minutes past the wedding vows.

But now… “Then yes.” You say in a breathy voice, your heart pounding loudly, you feel like it’s taken a trip to sit in your throat instead. “I want…to be like you.” Even though he said he wouldn’t mind your choice either way, there is approval on his carved marble face as he looks down at you. He seems pleasantly surprised by your answer and he moves closer to you, until the gossamer material of your dress brushes his all-black attire. “Then hold still…” he says, his voice lowering slightly, husky with want. You nod and tilt your head for easier access to your throat. With one hand still on your cheek, he moves closer, silver hair tickling your skin. When his fangs sink into the fragile skin of your throat you like out a squeal – it’s like being pierced by twin icicles, the sensation a shock of cold that sends shivers running down your back, flesh breaking out in goosebumps. But gradually, the pain starts to ebb away. Bram’s touch is firm but gentle on you as he laps at your throat, the blood bursting on your tongue like flowers opening. Your body trembles beneath him but you don’t buck, don’t fight to get away. You sink into the sensation, and gradually a warmth washes over you in a soothing tide. A pulse throbs between your legs as Bram holds you in a passionate embrace like a lover, a growl in his throat as he drinks and drinks and drinks. Oh god… you think, wondering if he’s going to drain you dry or even kill you. Who would punish him if he did? Who would even learn of it? And just at the moment where you feel like you might pass out then and there in the entryway, he stops. He leans back and pulls you upright but doesn’t let go. You take a moment to reorient yourself, blinking, taking note of your body and how it’s faring. You’re still breathing, your heart is still going a mile a minute, but you’re not dead. You don’t feel dead. “I…that’s it?” you ask, looking at him – a dribble of blood shines in the corner of his mouth. “Have I transformed?” He chuckles and swipes some of your hair out of your face. “Of course not. It takes time to transition from human to vampire, but it is the beginning. You will be weak for a little while, as your body begins the process, but rest assured, you could not be in a place better equipped to care for you.” You can’t help but giggle a little at that, probably because you’re light-headed and giddy, but…the townsfolk all thought you were going off to be drank from and tossed aside, or perhaps even killed, and now you’re under the protection of a handsome, mysterious vampire lord who wants you to stay by his side in relative comfort. If those other girls knew what they could have had, they’d be pissing blood with envy. You think gleefully, almost wanting to clap your hands like a child at a birthday party – it’s like reverse schadenfreude. But Bram is right, you do feel light-headed and weak now, despite the euphoria. When you slump in his grip he takes action, stooping and easily picking you up, one hand supporting your knees and the other your back. You make a choking noise and look at him. “Lord Bram, this isn’t- “ “Nonsense. I would hardly force my bride to walk up all these stairs after her first blood drain.” He replies in a stern voice that makes you wriggle, biting back a grin. “Converse your energy instead of protesting.” You sink into him as he carries you upstairs, glimpsing the moon peeking through the window as you pass, and a smile crosses your lips as you slowly feel your eyes begin to close. You should get used to being a nocturnal creature, but for now, you fall into the embrace of your husband and the night, dreaming of diamonds sparkling in cool silver, sharp teeth and glinting stars.

[yokohamapound]

pls don't die u r my reason to live

Not dead yet, my dude. Just tired. 😂