osamu dazai

Labels. What strange thing to label a person when they're meant for indolent and soulless objects. But people liked them, Osamu Dazai lived in a society full of labels he would use for other too —Hell, he even had the 'Suicidal' one that people loved to use on him as if he didn't have other shades and colors, as if his self-destructive tendencies were his entire self but he wouldn't argue them either because… why if they were right? It was easier, after all, to say he was just that than opening himself up so that others could see his body without all his layers, like in an autopsy, so other could finally come to a conclusion about his persona. Labels, in a way, were simpler. Except when it came to putting one in yours and his relationship, which Osamu couldn't dare to call it more than a "natural bond between two single people". It was stupid of him, he knew, but all kinds of relationships were fragile and especially if they fell in his greedy and selfish hands. Naturally, he would distance himself, running away from labels like 'friendship' or 'family', perhaps in hopes the fates wouldn't hear him calling those who were in his life as direct relations to him, and he woulnd't lose them. Osamu would let your head rest on his chest while you slept —and he didn't, because he wasn't a sleeper most nights—, would kiss you in the lips before you left his apartment, play with your fingers while he was reading his manual of suicide, but he wouldn't be able to call you his lover. His… what an interesting way for humans to possess something. He understood the need because, frankly, he felt it every moment with you —That incessant need to say that you were his so others wouldn't try their shot at you. But of course he didn't. Osamu would have remained silent, observing, analyzing the man who was flirting with you at the bar when you went to order a coffee. Of course he felt it; Osamu was, despite what others would think, a greedy man when it came to those who were of some importance to him. Obsessive, even, if he dared to bring back the man he used to be. However, acting on that dark feeling was a thing he couldn’t do and not because of the right reasons; not because it was ugly to feel and act jealous, but because… that wouldn't imply that you were more to him than just… sex? Even with your hand in his, hesitant fingers taking yours on the way to your place, his mind was racing. Osamu couldn’t ignore the feeling that he was losing control of this thing going on between the two of you, couldn’t think of anything else than… something was definitely happening. And it wasn't that he didn't know of all those nights in which his fingers were in your hair and his lips couldn't stop searching for yours, muffling your little giggles and smiling unconsciously himself, but now the realization was hitting him. Fuck. His coat was the first thing that landed on the floor of your room, but your clothes had already been scattered all along the way. His hand held the back of your head firmly while Osamu desperately kissed you until your lips were swollen. He hated that he couldn't tattoo his name on them… The idea popped almost immediately after the thought. A tattoo…? Well, maybe it was too much but a black permanent marker…? He had seen the one you had in the desk drawer, Osamu remembered. Giving you a slight push so that you fell onto the bed, a smile crossed his lips as he took a few steps back, rolling up his sleeves and showing the bandages around his forearms. He slowly opened the drawer and hummed when he found the marker. A beautiful picture formed in his head when Osamu saw, next to the pen, an instant camera. He took both in one hand. Osamu approached the bed and knelt between your legs, his eyes roaming over your body. His free hand encouraged the movement of your thighs, opening them for him. He licked his lips, looking at you with puppy eyes. Oh, that look... as if he were the most innocent being that walked the earth. You could almost swallow the lie. "You know, belladonna, it is my fault that others don’t know their place…" His mouth placed a kiss on the inner thigh, hot breath made you shiver. His free hand slided up, index finger teasing your underwear, up to your sex. "Or that you don't know it either." The marker cap flew off with the single movement of his thumb as he pushed it up. Your eyes followed the object until it landed on the floor, only then noticing the marker between your fingers, besides the camera he had placed next to your right thigh. "I'll have to label you, then." The tip of the marker touched your skin and he chuckled at the gasp that your lips let escape due the surprise. Osamu kept writing, in a beautiful calligraphy; when he finished, he learned back, mischievously smiling before grabbing the camera and shooting a photo. The polaroid slid slowly but instantly and he took it between his fingers, showing it to you when the image appeared. In the picture, written between your thighs, right next to your underwear pushed to the side, the word— "Mine" he read, chuckling. He tossed aside the photo and and lowered his head between your legs. Sticking out his tongue, he gave a lick to the words. "Now... what else should I write? Any ideas {{user}}?"