#obsessed with it. love it. kiss it

[ranticore]

my personal copies of my books are a little different from the widely distributed versions and i have to visually distinguish them so i don't send the wrong files to people, and i've done that by omitting the poem at the start of each book and instead putting in a quote from my very favourite article that matches the energy of the book's focal character

Said the Black Horse

The Viper Mourned

Book 3

[w-intent]

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

#Nicola Understood The Assignment

[diary-of-a-quarantined-yandere]

I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you. I will kill to kiss you. I will kill to kiss you. I will kill to kiss you. I will kill to kiss you..I̵̛̛͇̰͔̳̟̦̩͐̒̒̏̄̚͘I will kill to kiss you. I will kill to kiss you. ̷͍̗̻̰̹̝́̓̑̍̀̏͆̏ẁ̵̻̱̤͇͍̱̅͐̍̅̅̀͘͘ḯ̵͍̰̹̲͍͎̹̯̓̐̿̓̆̄̈́͝ͅl̴͉̀͂̈́̃̄͌͒̽̚ļ̶̧̯̯̲͙̦̑̿̽̚͜ͅ ̸̯̟͆͆̓̑̂̊̚͜k̸̨͙͉̞̺̬̳̉͆̓̈̽͂̍͘͘̚i̷̯͎̯̇̽͐̈́̎͐̒̐̕l̸͎͐̚ĺ̵̺̥͖̥͒̔̋͗͌͒̍ ̵͚̙̗̑̂͊͗ͅt̶̛̹̤̳͛̒̌̔̂̿̅̽ǫ̴̲̘͈̰̺̝͌̐̾̕ ̴͔̥̘̝͖͇͓̦͉́̎̎̀k̶̡͓̥͍͓̝̙̊͛̈́͘i̵͙̩̺̮̦͖̖͍͛́s̴̡̹̳͎̠̗̞̭̞͐̅̍͝͝s̵̨̨̨̢̢̡͓̭̜͈̓̆ ̷̨̖͍̝͙͓̼̬̐͒̆̐̂̇̇͑̌͝y̷̨̺̞͕̦̦̔̄͂̍̿ŏ̸̖͊̀͋͆͆͝͝ṳ̴̡̡͔̝͖̰͆͜.̷̝̪̮̺͍̖͔̋̄̾̈́̎̇́̈͗̏ ̷͕̾̂́̀́̂̄̂̉͝I̴̮͒̑͂̑́̍́̀͋ ̶͚̲̩͈̝̩̓ẅ̵͉̯́i̵̧̤̱̺̮͚̖̒̒̓̐l̵̤̜͈̹̊͊͌͒̕l̵͔̺̘̼͎̤̠̞͙̯̓͑͂͂ ̸̺͎̦̲̩͕̟͂̃̽́̅̽̓k̴̗͎̖̯̹̈͐ḯ̶̧̙̥͈͚̰̪̥̀͒̓̇͛̊͆͝l̸͖̺̫̺̺̱͈̱͑̋̚l̶͕̓̑̚ ̶̦̼̰̈́͒͂͊t̷̡̥̟̤̭̳̉̋̂̂͐͂͠o̷̡̬̟̝̿̅̑̌̏̒͘ͅ ̵̢̹̹͚͍͆̔̿̆k̸̪̟̱̪̞͆̐́̊̀̉̍́̔͝ỉ̷̛̮̜̈́̆̿͌̾̕s̷̡̰͔̯̠͎̯̰̜̮̑͋̔̓̾s̷̟̜̒͑̀́͆ ̷̢̧̘̦̳̼̜̟͌͝y̵̟͐̽o̴̧̧͍̳͖̎̈͛u̷͓̍͋́͠.̷͎̖̺̙̫͐͋̈́ͅ ̸̢͖͙̺̹̫̊͌͒̉̚͝Ì̸̧̡̞͕̲͔̳͖̦̑̏̿̎͋̀ ̸̠̟̻̬͔́ẉ̷̣̲̼̒̽͛̄̓̑͆̽̚i̷̳̪̫̞͇̳͇͈͂̄̅̀̚̕͘͝l̷̤̗͎̽̾̽͝l̶͚̺̘̀͑̀̔̾̅͝ ̵͖̟͖͙̭̭͉̒̉̈̎͜͝ķ̶̛͓͚̱̠͎͕͋̈́͋͂i̵̳̜̭͖͗̉͒̓̐̉͂̆͘͝l̸͖͇͈͂̇́͌͂͝l̵̡̜̪̩̙̘̂͂̀̂̈́̏̈́̂ ̶̠̩͓̀̎͒̀͗̈̍̓̚ͅt̸̛͙́̀̒̾͝o̵͙̞͔̤̲̮̅̇̐̍͌̃̅ ̸̨̘̈́̽́̄̒͂̄̒͂͝ķ̸̰̮̱̣͎̪̪̆͜ḭ̸̛̭̖͕̖̪̤͎̮͎̋š̸̛̩̰̦͕̰̿͒̈́̔̈́͘s̸̳̦̺̏̄̈̍ ̶͈͓͖̠̃̅y̸̛̥̙̝̍̽̈́̊̋̾́͑̍ͅͅͅơ̶̢̞̙͓͎̣̳̙͉̊͌̄͐̇ư̷͎̲̼̮̪̝̪͛͐.̸̣̲̳̼͎̪̳̩̭͂̇̾̀̈́̿͜͝ ̷̣̥̜̥͎͍̞̼̻̗͂̃͆̆͘͠I̶̭̅̓̒͐̇̇̓̑́͝ ̷͈͇̫͂̓̇̿̍̅͛w̴̧̦͑̐̽i̴̧͔̘͔̠̠̍̀́͘l̶̢̹̙͔̰̳̘̫̻̱̏́͛̀͠l̵̢̠̤̤̄͌̾̔̕ ̴͉̝̈́̎k̴̲̮̙̻̭͉̲̗̣̬̇̎̑͘͘i̴̪͕̙̪̻͚͔̊l̶̠̟͕͉̪̓̉̾̽̂͝͠l̴̳̲͝ ̴̨͍̜̘̤̈́͊͌͛̉̈͒̓t̸̩̤͎̖̲̔̑̔̑̈́͆̕̚o̶͍̖̺̦͔̿ ̷̨̨̭̠͙̠̗̟͕̯̎͗͐̃͠͝k̴̘͛i̶͓͍̭̻͙̮͍̞͗͗̋̏ş̷͕̟̹̯̊͑́͊͑̐s̵͕̰̓̆̅̑͂̽̕ͅ ̵̫̝̫̜̦̹̼͚̱͗͊̎̎̎͌̒̓̎y̴̧̲̥̱̺̅̂́͋̂̇̉͠ō̶̱̼͍͓u̵̬̥̔.̶̙͈̍̂̕͝ ̸̥͉͕̍͜I̵̫͙͇̘̞͗͊͆̑̒̒́̅̀͠ͅ ̸̝͖̜͚̻̞̣̟̘̂̈́̊̂̍̎͊̄̾ͅw̷̡̘̠̙͕̪̗͈̣̟̌̒i̶͔̱͎̔̑͆̄̎l̷͚̖̰͇̜̯̩̃̎͐͗̓̄͊̽͘l̷̼̳̑̚͜ ̸̨̼̘̣̫̜̀̈́͂͆k̵͔̀̂̽̅̑̎̏̂̉ȋ̸̱̺̟͆̆̇̂l̷̡̛̛̗͖͔̗͇͕͋̿́͊̋͛͘̕ḷ̸̑̽̈́̾̀͊͊̍̓ ̵̲̩͚̝͎̣͕͖͉̓̿t̸̡̂̀̂̌͑͠͠ŏ̵̤̗̭̺̟̍̌̽͂̆͛̇̕͝ ̴̬̭̈̽̎̐̏̽͐̈́̚k̶̛̹̣̦̞̞͒̈͑̔͌̆̀͜͝ì̷̪̗͙̯͛̔̀̈́̅̍͜s̷̟͎͉̖̗̲̮̣̋̄̈́̽͑̀̎̅̀s̵̹͕͇͕̥̘̥̳̭̻̈́̑̈͐̀̐̈̕͝͠ ̴͕̖̱̣̀͒y̷̦̹͖͊̌̓͒̚o̸͚̤̦̺̲̦̅u̶̧̮̲̤̻͚̪̣̞̇̑.̶̣͇̂̔̓͑̃̂̈́͆ ̶̨̢̰̭̪͚̣͎̩͙̾͌̄̆̽͋̓Ī̶̢̛̝͍̭̜͇̜͚̊͑͊̇̒̐̄̚ ̴̡̘́w̷̝̩̋̑̈́͋̊̐͛͜ỉ̵̧̗̼̗̪̱͙̮̙͑̑l̵̘̦̈́̐̇ḷ̵̟̒͑̄͌̕ ̷̧̩̰̞̬̥̮͈͒̇̀k̶̢̢̟̩͋́̏̈́i̵̢̝͍̐̄́̓̈́͋̑̕͜ļ̴͚͍̟̮̟̀ͅl̷̩͙̔͗͌͑̐ ̸̺̊͜t̵͍̅̒o̵̢͍̘̤̩͉̫̩͊͑͒͑̌̀̀͋̃͠ ̶̢̥̰̒̽̀̉̈̀͛k̵̪̈́͆̍̊͘͝ì̶̪͑͗͠s̷͙͉͂̏̍͋̑̚͜͝s̴̗̖͉̋́̇̇̑̕̚̕͝͝ ̸̣͙͙̆͂̓̈́̆ỳ̶̭͝o̴̮̪͍̲̣̠͙̫̮̗͊͐͂͛͗͋̈́̐u̷̟͔͂̈́̌͊͒̄̔.̷̟̀̂͌̉̌̀̕͝ ̴̡̰͈͖̪͓̹̲̽̀̇͜Ĩ̸̱̜̠̑̃͒́̍̚͝ ̷̰͉̜͍̭̱̟̫̀͌̃̓̾͗̓͝w̸͖̭̺̓̋̐͑̓̈̄͠ỉ̶̢͔̫̠̘̟̻͕̑̍͠͠͠ͅl̸̤̓̽̾̔̓́̆l̸̹̪͙͇͔̘̈́̕ ̸̨̜̙̖̝͚̪̅̑ͅk̶̞̊́̒͒͋̿͝i̶̧̢͇̙̫͚̭̥̲̼̒̀͐̎́̑̔l̶̯͔͖̫͔͐l̶̯̭͉̭̝͖͈͈̃̐̔̉̀̀͐͝ ̴̣̉͝͠ț̸̺̝̫̜̣̠̯̀̃́͘͜o̴̡̫͔̺̣̼͖̤̿͆ ̶̢̡̡̘̣̖̲͉̓̅̆̕͠ͅk̵̟̞̇̅̔̌̊́̔̈́͠͠i̸̩͎̠͚̲̮̇͗̌̌̈͋̓͘͜͝s̶͕͓̱̩͈͒̆̃̑͐͘͘͠ṣ̸̠̅́͐̄̓̕͝ ̸̝̻̯̦̲̼̻̓̓̓͛͒͜͝ỳ̴͚̗̻̤̲͆̀̏̌̾̉̌ͅo̷̘̯͇͂̈́̏u̴̡̩͖͖͎̦̒̒̔̋́̐͐͂͆͜.̴̙̮̥̗͈̻͈̞̗̦̐ ̴̧̮̹͍̾͝I̵͖̊̑͋͂̍̄̒̂̍ ̸̨͕̲̳̱̙̼̓̊͒̑̕̚͠w̶̻̦̮͇̿̔͋̊̄͊͆͝î̵̛̗̜͇̈̈́̎̀͒͊̚͠l̵̻̭̿̓l̷̡͚̞̬̄̒͋́̽̕ͅ ̷̡̛͍̼̜̝̄̎͛̓k̸̨̪̗̺̼̳͍͔̈́̂́̈̎͑ị̴͔̱̲͓͇͎̮̫͓̓́͑͐l̴̛͕̗̫̰̗̙̆͛̿̽̕ͅl̸̢̞̳̱̿ ̵̮̮̼̗̰͕̺͚̃̈͘̚ͅt̴̬̞̠̣̣̹̩̲͙̞̅̽̀̑̈́̄͒̆̚ǒ̸̩̔̽̉̕̚ ̶̛͖̫̜̰̜̥̣͕̍̽̐̔͑̇̓͝ͅk̸̳̫̩̆́̍̃ḭ̷̼̩̊̾͒͝͝s̴̻̠̻̙̜͙̐͐̎ͅs̸̡̗̖̾̈́ ̸͉̼̌̀̐́͝ỹ̸̝͚̣̗͉̰̦̜̤͂o̴̧̹͉͋͝ū̸͍̤͍̀͗̀̈́.̴̨̠͚͕͚̮̦̝̻̃͑̕

[wordswithloveee]

[tlou-obsessed]

Siblings actually feeling like siblings is my absolute favourite thing in shows:

siblings sharing one braincell:

The same crooked smile:

And in the first 10 minutes or so you already know the dynamic between these two, Joel knows Tommy will tease him endlessly about the t-shirt being inside out, being an older sibling, when making a mistake I look at my younger siblings first because I just know they are gonna be insufferable about it. But Tommy respects the hell out of Joel, he immidiately puts out the cigarette when told so, this is responsible older brother Joel, who will bail him out of jail...

He's also the person he looks to, to make the decisions que 'What are we doin', Joel':

also the fact that they got two guys with patchy beards is dedication to me, they wanted these two to be genetically brothers:

These two walking in sync never fails to get me, they are walking the exact same way:

Also haven't seen each other in quite a while and doesn't miss the chance to tease little brother:

all I have to say is Gabriel and Pedro were dedicated to show us they were brothers and I love them for that.

[hairmetal666]

Everyone in the league knows about Eddie Munson. He has the makings of a great pitcher, except for the fact that his slider has a 75% chance of sliding too high and his fastballs mostly end up in the dirt. His technique is wild, flailing, unrestrained. Which is why Steve is beside himself when he learns about the trade.

The owners, they think that Steve being the best catcher in the league means he can work with Eddie, settle him, make him a real prospect. Steve's input isn't needed with the decision already made, but Munson--with all his tattoos piercings and leather--looks like he'd rather hock a loogie at Steve than take directions from him.

And Steve is the best in the league, the glue that keeps the team together. They're a well-oiled machine, and Eddie is--Eddie is a squeaky wheel.

They meet for the first time, briefly, in the locker room. He's seen the guy before, of course, but now, like this, he can't help but be intrigued by his pale skin and long curls and brown doe-eyes, his lightly muscled frame. And they're in the locker room, Eddie with just a towel around his waist, exposing his toned chest and stomach and the black swirl of his tattoos.

"Steve Harrington!" Eddie reaches out a hand. "Great to meet you, man."

"You too. Excited to have you with us." The handshake is quick and firm and Steve is trying not to be surprised about how excited and genuine the guy sounds, keep his mind away from thinking of how Eddie is naked aside from the towel.

With only a few weeks until the start of the regular season, Eddie starts pitching to Steve. And Steve, he so expects Eddie to fight and grumble and refuse, that his head sort of spins when, on the first day, Eddie claps him on the back with his glove, says, "where do you want me, cap?" and that's that.

He wants to say that they dislike each other, that they're a bad fit, that Eddie is full himself and refuses constructive criticism.

Instead.

Instead it's easy.

Eddie doesn't complain, doesn't argue, just watches Steve, learns him, takes his advice and notes and implements them as much as he can. They like each other, have an easy rapport, get each other. He's tight with all the pitchers, but Eddie is different. They settle each other.

They're best friends. They hangout constantly. And he doesn't have a crush; he doesn't. It would be unprofessional. They're best friends.

But sometimes, sometimes he thinks he catches Eddie looking at him. It's impossible. Of course it's impossible. Eddie couldn't be into the guy Sports Illustrated called "baseball's Ralph Lauren model" in the intro to Steve's Body Issue photo spread. And it doesn't matter one way or the other because Steve won't make a move. He won't jeopardize the team like that.

They don't touch. He touches everyone on the team, often, and Eddie particularly is a physical guy, but aside from that first handshake, he keeps his distance. Steve's afraid--even though it's silly, he's afraid--that once they start touching, he won't be able to stop, and he can't let that happen.

The team is good, competing for first place in the National League. Eddie's success has made everyone else better.

It's late July, they're in first place in the league, and Eddie's pitching a perfect game. There's only been 24 perfect games thrown in the history of Major League Baseball, but it's the eighth inning and Eddie's doing it.

A pitch goes wild, veers high over the umpire's head. Eddie's shaken, Steve can tell with how his fist tightens compulsively around the ball. The next pitch swings wide, towards the batter's knees.

The count is at 2 balls, no strikes, and he can see, even from behind home plate Steve can see, that Eddie's losing it. He heads for the mound, refuses to let it end like this. He closes the distance between them, has a quick internal debate before he puts his hand on Eddie's lower back. They've never touched, this is it, this is--warmth bleeds from Eddie's skin, through the fabric of his jersey, goes straight to Steve's head.

Eddie frowns. "I don't think I--"

"You're going to do it, Ed. I know. I can feel it." He pats his chest, over his heart. "It's gonna happen."

Eddie's breathing settles and it's only then that Steve realizes he's rubbing circles into Eddie's back with his thumb. He's not sure when he started, doesn't want to stop, loves being able to feel.

"Okay," Eddie says.

"Okay."

Steve removes his hand, heads back to home, still tingling with the warmth of Eddie's body even as he crouches behind the plate.

He closes out the inning with three definitive strike outs. The crowd goes wild.

They take the field for the top of the 9th, the crowd is screaming, ready for this, the energy zipping through every player on the field.

It goes by in a blur. Nine pitches. Eddie's perfect game is wrapped up in nine phenomenal pitches.

As the ump calls the last out, there's a moment of complete and utter quiet in the stadium, Steve's heart a pounding hum in his ears, before pandemonium breaks loose. There's screaming, fireworks, someone is crying--

All he can see is Eddie. Eddie's who's thrown his glove to the dirt, is barreling towards him with a triumphant smile bright on his face. Steve stands, runs to close the distance. He sees the moment that Eddie decides to jump into his arms, catches him easily--will always catch him--but his legs are tired and the momentum gets him, sends them tumbling back into the grass.

They're both yelling, laughing, smiling hard enough to hurt. Eddie's hair has fallen out if its tie, tumbling around his shoulders, and Steve gazes at him, can't help it, in this moment can admit that he's so, so astronomically in love.

It's only then Steve realizes that the laughter's stopped, that Eddie's gazing back. Brown eyes shining bright with happiness, cheeks flushed pink, lips parted. Thoughtless, he reaches up to caress Eddie's cheek.

The team reaches them, streaming around them, yanking Eddie and Steve to their feet. The celebration stretches around them, the moment slipping away. He wants to finish what they started but there are interviews, champagne showers, congratulations, that keep them apart. Sometimes, from across the room, their eyes meet, and there's heat there that's new, that sparks something low in Steve's gut.

Hours pass, and finally he finds himself alone in the locker room. He's just pulled on his t-shirt when the door shuts behind him. He spins, finds Eddie, waiting, watching.

He crosses the room without a word, can't not, not now, not after everything. They grapple for a second, the wanting so strong that it takes a second to settle, to find each other. They kiss hard, desperate, seething with desire.

Steve hopes it never ends and it doesn't, just tapers into soft kisses, gentle nips. He can't bring himself to step away.

"Is this for real ?" Eddie whispers.

"I've been insane about you since the trade."

Eddie's smile is blinding. "I used to have those pictures of you--the ones with the little red shorts?--in my locker in the minors. Feel like I'm living in a dream right now."

It lights him up inside, knowing that Eddie wants him, has wanted him. "Let me take you home and show you just how real it is?"

He snorts, but his dimples deepen, eyes shining. "What a line, sweetheart."

"Yeah well, the baseball field isn't the only place where I hit home runs."

[florallylly]

eddie munson stumbling over his words, speaking absolute gibberish to steve and steve's eyes have just glazed over bc he's already named their children in his head

[w-intent]

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

[manderleyfire]

BOYD CROWDER & AVA CROWDER in 'JUSTIFIED' (SEASON 2)

I lied for you taking that mining money. This is different, Ava. I guess me taking you in and building you up was a mistake. Just set you back to square one. That's not true. You took me in, and you healed me, Ava. You give me a reason to wake up in the morning. For that, I'll be eternally grateful.

[fennethianell]

I had this image stuck in my head for weeks, and I was finally able to draw it out.

soft TylerKate ❤️‍🩹

[neonlazycat]

LDR moon by @spadillelicious

Guys.....I caved in

[w-intent]

[yayll]

~ a little something about Beast Dazai and his inability to let you go ~

Your hand trembles as you're about to knock on the massive office doors and you wonder if you're about to make the biggest mistake of your life.

You got too close working for this terribly lonely man, and now you're knocking at his door with the only solution you can think of to put an end to your silly infatuations that have gone on for longer than you'd want to admit and can possibly handle. You open the door slowly, and walk into the elegant and massive office space, your eyes falling right onto the dark haired man in all black hunched over the desk, scribbling away as if he didn't hear you come in. You walk quietly, and when you reach the wooden desk, your voice comes out soft and firm.

"Dazai, sir? I wanted to speak to you about something sensitive, if I may."

You chew on the corner of your bottom lip, but quickly compose yourself when you see the face of the man you've spent so much time with, the unfortunate love of your life. if it weren't for his Maroon scarf, he'd look like nothing but a black void. A burnt Black cat. He looks up, narrowed eyes scan you as he takes a sip of his tea, replying in a monotonous tone.

"What is it?"

"After much consideration, I think.. I need to leave the Port Mafia. We've worked together for quite a while now, and I can assure you it's not about the quality or enjoyment of my work. You don't even have to acknowledge this beyond me simply saying it, I just have to confess something that makes my heart ache. You make my heart ache. I know how unprofessional that sounds and that you have no use for such affections, but I can't keep pretending. It's why I think it's time for me to move onto something else otherwise my work will become disrupt-"

A lifted finger is shoved into your face, signaling you to stop, and so you do. Of course you do. You always had a habit of word vomiting when you were anxious. Dazai is staring down at his tea, and he stays quiet for a long time, trying to pick what emotion he can mask his real outraged ones with. Finally, he flashes you an unbothered look, his eyes half lidded as they taunt you. A cruel smirk curls onto his lips.

"Oh? What an awful time for your honesty! I'm currently drowning in work and responsibilities, ones that you're supposed to aid me with, actually. Thus, I have no use for your confession." He simply says.

You can feel a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. You expected this. Looking down at your shoes, you chew on your lip again.

"I had to tell you.. Like I said, you can just forget about it."

"Well you see, that's the problem. I can't forget it. The moment you uttered those nasty little words to me, I realized I have to carry the weight of finding a new secretary. And I resent that."

He looks away for a brief second, his words are bitter and laced with what sounds like remorse and irritation.

You cross your arms and sigh, your voice comes out lower than your confidence.

"I just thought that we were... I suppose I should have never dared to assume you'd ever see me as more than a-"

He instantly leans over his desk, now placing a finger on your lip, his voice just above a whisper.

"... And though these feelings you have for me may be inconvenient, it doesn't mean that they're unwelcome."

He lets his finger rest on your lips for just a second too long, meanwhile you're frozen in place feeling like your chest is going to collapse in on itself. His voice becomes softer.

"Sit, please."

You sit down, now facing each other. It's quiet for a few moments as you both study each other's expressions. This form of intimacy was unusual to everyone else but the two of you, having spent countless hours in the past working across one another without uttering a single word, yet communicating in perfect sync. You were a part of each other's routines, a never ending spiral. Dazai feels himself teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something peeling away at his very soul. He's usually so arrogant and domineering, but in this instant, he suddenly feels an exhaustion wash over him trying to keep that going. He's kept it going for so long, he forgot that he doesn't like doing it with you. You don't deserve to be a part of all of this, and he doesn't deserve to want you.

Oh how he loathes his true identity: A simple man. A human man. Your man.

When he can't take it anymore, he slowly creeps his bandaged hand on top of yours, applying light pressure, but his eyes don't dare look into yours. Not yet. Finally, you break the silence, staring down with furrowed brows at the way your hands fit around one another. You mutter under your breath, tired of being vague.

"What are we to each other, Dazai? I mean really?"

"Do I really need to spell it out for you?" He snorts, trying to cling to the last of his cruelty but failing as he lets his emotions sway his judgement.

You sigh, flipping your hand over so that your fingers can fully intertwine.

"I just don't know how I could ever take up any space in your mind. I didn't think you noticed whether I stayed or left."

He looks up, flashing you a mildly offended look, his sharp eyes narrowing. He scoffs quietly, dropping your hand and standing up from his desk. He walks over to you, his full height now looming. He bends down and scolds you.

"What an obscene thing to say. You're invaluable. You have always been occupying my mind, every minute, every second, every microsecond. I always notice. I'd notice even if I was on my deathbed."

Your breath catches in your throat, and you finally manage to swallow the lump that's building up as you stare up at your reckoning.

"I just- I'd never try to leash you, sir."

His eyes soften, and he tilts his head slightly. You drive him mad with the way you don't realize what a dog he is for you. His voice comes out strained.

"You wouldn't need to. And don't call me that. You know my name, and as your superior l'm ordering you to address me properly."

Your cheeks flush, and you part your lips, letting out the breath you can't stop holding. A faint smile appears on your face, and you stand up slowly to meet him.

"You're like the moon, you know? You control everything like the tides. You control me, Osamu."

He shakes his head, and sighs deeply. If only you could see how wrong you were. He steps closer, moving his hand up your arm gently as he trails his way to your collarbone with ghost-like strokes.

"Did you know that sometimes when I'm laying in bed, all alone after a long day of controlling things, my only thoughts are about you?"

He confesses, sincerely. Dazai brings his face inches from yours, his voice now becoming a pleading whisper. His hand travels down to your waist, gripping it gently.

"Do you find it hard to believe that you bring me to my knees, the big scary Port Mafia boss? Because if so, you're a great fool! I love spending my time with you. I quite literally need you by my side in my times of need and at any random and mundane moment that passes. It brings me unimaginable joy when you nag me to get more sleep, especially when I don't listen because I can't wait to hear you say it over and over again. I don't like it when you have plans, or when you report to anyone else but me. I want you to stay with me tonight and every single night after and I don't care how awful this sounds. I don't care about you having a life outside of me."

Your throat feels tight, eyes wide at the fervor of his words alone. You reply with a shaky breath.

"Every single night after?"

"Every. Single. Night. After..."

"As if we were together?"

"We are together." He declares as if it were obvious this entire time.

Hearing Dazai be so blunt makes your mind fog over quickly, a whiplash of feelings that you never thought would ever see the light of day suddenly surface. He feels the same, realizing how much he's given away to you in such a short amount of time, but for him it's been rotting inside for years. He's been held together by the glue of your support too long not to kneel for you now. It's over for him, he's run out of masks to wear. He slowly guides your body backwards towards the opulent leather couch at the center of the room. You stop when you feel yourself backing up into the cool pebbled hide, and he slowly lowers you down onto your back with his arms supporting you. He delicately hovers over you, looking deeply into your eyes as he takes in the way your bodies feel against each other. For a moment he worries he might actually be trembling.

His breath hitches when you place a hand on the bandaged side of his face that covers his left eye. You stroke the fabric lightly, eyes twinkling with unfiltered adoration. He thinks about the only other person who's ever looked at him with such reverence, and how painful it is not to be able to tell his best friend he's in love. He leans into your touch, humming softly and closing his eyes as he molds his lips deeply into yours. It's not a kiss of sexual desire. This is a kiss born of romance and intimacy, a mutual oath of surrender. cold bandaged hands instinctively wander your body, starting at the waist down to your hips, and slowly exploring the plush of your thighs, kneading them. He runs them higher, lightly tracing your ribs with his index finger while the other hand cups your face. Dazai's mouth moves gently, and slowly pulls away from yours with a soft whine. His fingers trace your jawline as he stares at you. You taste like milk and honey. Like the moon and rain. He smiles at you, eyes sparkling like the night sky. You feel his heartbeat against your body. Every single pore of your skin is connected.

"Please— don't leave the Port Mafia, and don't leave me alone... Not tonight. Not ever. I'd become a tyrant without you."

"Is that also an order?" You murmur in between shallow breaths, dreamy eyes trained on him.

His eyes flicker over to your lips for a moment, then return to your eyes. His voice drops to something that resembles a soft whimper.

"Noo. No, it's not. I could never demand anything from you. But if you'll allow me to act selfishly, I just want to make you happy, to see you smile. I want you to keep greeting me with that tea you make every morning before our meetings. I also never want to hear you call me 'Sir' again. I am not your boss or your friend... I'm so much more than that. We've always been together. We will always be together— Is this too much?"

You shake your head, smiling uncontrollably at the way Dazai rambles in this moment, it's a side of him you've never seen in all the years you've known him. A stark contrast from the detached and cruel presence that frightens others on an almost daily basis. This seems like a person pretending to be the boss of the Port Mafia, an almost perfect imitation. You're not sure what barriers within him had to break for him to become the mushy and needy mess you see before you and what it all means in the long run, but you dismiss it for now. You get the feeling this might be the real Osamu Dazai. And that excites you.

"Never too much. I'm here and I'm staying. I would always stay."

He chuckles, it's a broken shaky laugh bordering on a sob. He buries himself in your neck, smiling against your soft skin, nibbling on it. He lightly runs his tongue against the mark he leaves, and slowly lifts his gaze to meet yours

"... I know you would. You always do."

You tilt your head, and hum in mild confusion at his odd little comment.

"Do you know something I don't?"

He flashes you a knowing smile and speaks prophetically as he lightly traces a finger over a large vein on your neck, following it down to your soft chest. He murmurs lazily while bringing his lips down to where he won't be able to get them off for the rest of the night.

"I know everything, silly.~"

The Port Mafia can wait, he's going home first.

[sweetsouldhavernas]

Tony DiNozzo and Ziva David ↳ UNDER COVERS