Im Here With You (it Hasnt Been So Easy Being Lonely)

・❥・I’m here with you (it hasn’t been so easy being lonely)

: ̗̀➛ l lawliet x gn!reader

: ̗̀➛ cw: angst, allusion to sex, reader is referred to having a "plush" body like once

: ̗̀➛ wc: 800+

: ̗̀➛ author's note: holy crap it's been 3 months since I've posted anything... sorry about that. anyyways enjoy this little one shot about L.

reader is a civilian and doesn't know L's name

In the bright light of early dawn, you run your hands over an empty spot on the bed warmed only by the forgiving sun. He’s left already. It wasn’t uncommon for him to leave without saying goodbye. He told you earlier on that he hated goodbyes, so you both agreed to this arrangement. You weren’t so keen on the idea when he first brought it up, but you hated the idea of him not being with you at all more. He would return in a few weeks time and you would quickly wipe away your tears and he would ignore the streaks left on your cheeks as he greeted you. But the first day was always the hardest. Just when you were getting used to him being around, making enough breakfast for two and waiting to wash his white shirts, he would leave. 

You gingerly slip out of bed and slumber towards the kitchen. Taking out a pan and two eggs, you busy yourself with making breakfast but you can’t concentrate. Your mind slips away to him. What was he doing that he couldn’t share with you? What was so dangerous about his job that even one little slip up on his part would cause him to disappear for months? In the dead of night, when all the buildings quiet down and their people sink into slumber, he would whisper prayers against your skin. Though you never understood a word he said, between your half lucid mind and his soothing Russian tongue, you could sense a tone of reverence in his voice, hands squeezing your waist and head bowed between your chest. 

The smell of burning eggs invades your nostrils. You let out a heavy sigh and begin to scrap away at the charred bits of yolk. 

Weeks pass with no call, not that he ever calls, and soon long nights turn to long days as trees begin to straighten up and cicadas poke their heads out of the ground so they can dance with the rise of the sun. Kids run around with ice cream dripping down into their chubby hands and on the concrete where little ants graciously scoop up the liquid gold and offer it to their queen. Shirts stick to backs and eyes squint in submission to Helios galloping through the sky. You’ve never been a fan of summer, but he always made it better. Waking up early in the morning to get berries at the farmers market, and buying every sugary dessert at the carnival and getting on the chair swing ride. 

It was so peaceful up there. People shrunk to the size of ants, scurrying across in search of food, the bright lights blurred together forming a constellation below just for you. Your feet swayed in the wind, the light breeze caressed your cheeks providing a much needed respite from the stuffy carnival floor. His hand inched closer to yours, long fingers ghosted against yours asking for permission, and you opened your palm welcoming him home. He didn’t say anything, being a man of few words, but he squeezed your hand in thanks. Thanks that you have stayed with him for this very moment to happen. His messy hair got pushed back, better revealing his onyx eyes holding only love and adoration for you. 

That night he told you he loved you. Amongst the shrills of children and the rumble of wobbly roller coasters, he proclaimed his devotion against the back of your hand held to his chapped lips. You walked home together, smiling and giggling like fools, with bellies full of sweets. 

You stumbled through your bedroom door, clammy hands hastily ripped off clothes eager to feel skin against skin hot to the touch. All efforts of looking suave on both parties flew out the window as a carnal need took over. Teeth clashed against each other in a messy kiss as your hand carded through his hair and then settled on the nap of his neck. His hand held your cheek as the other pushed the small of your back against him. He curled over you, protected you, devoured you. The need for oxygen overtook, and you parted as a string of spit connected his lips to yours. He stayed close, his forehead bumped against yours, and let out a shaky pant as you took a deep breath, in tandem with each other pushing and pulling. You fell against the bed, yanked him with you, and felt him smile against your skin. 

In the afterglow, wrapped up in fuzzy blankets and the cool moonlight, he said, “this is the happiest I think I’ve ever been.” You held him tighter, kissed the crown of his head, and drifted off to sleep. 

He will return soon enough. He has too. And then you’ll go to the carnival and eat funnel cake until you’re sick and share syrupy kisses on the ferris wheel and laugh and smile. For now you wait, ignore the dreaded emptiness in your chest, and wait. He will return. And you’ll wipe your tears. 

remember when light was just imagining L as like his ultimate detective wet dream fantasy. because I do.

Hey babes! How has your day been?

I read something a bit recently where a character slips into their native tongue when they're having sex, and I was wondering what language you think L would talk in when he's too flustered to translate in his head and what he would say tp you

Anyways thank you for sharing your amazing writing! I haven't stopped thinking about your drunk L oneshot, so thank you so much for posting it!

I am so happy someone asked, honestly. I could and might just write a headcanon regarding the specifics of Drunk L but I’ve been having a lot of writers block recently so it was a lot of fun. Apologies in advance for anyone who has/does/will ever speak Japanese, French/Italian, or Russian; I don’t know a single lick of any of those languages so this piece was carried by Google translate and websites claiming to know phrases in those languages. Also, there’s sex mention in this one, just FYI.

Really depends. Probably one of the first questions he’s asking early in a relationship is whether you speak more than one language, and if you do he will not use that one. If you do not speak a language other than English, it depends on how flustered he is. In level of severity it goes Japanese, French, Russian, with Russian being the most severe.

These are not hard and fast— there is bleeding over between languages because duh— but this is how it usually goes:

Japanese: Really nothing important; it’s most likely just an observation that really has nothing to do with the task at hand but is just a thing that he noticed. Typically how it goes is he’ll say something in Japanese and then say some wild, out of nowhere thing that then turns out to be true. Word of advice: if he is totally on board with an activity, says something in Japanese, and then is suddenly not on board with that activity and is quietly trying to remove you from that activity, let him remove you two from the activity; there is a reason that has nothing to do with his enjoyment of the activity that you guys shouldn’t do that thing.

Example: one time the two of you were watching a stupid home renovation TV show hosted by a married couple. In the middle of a conversation regarding the aesthetic merit of white on white, he mumbled, “彼女は彼の視線に会っていない,” around his drink. When asked what he said, instead of telling you, he claimed that the seemingly happy couple was going to be divorced by the end of the year. He went on to predict that the man would still be in love with her years into the future but the woman would have lost all interest by then and would ask to break it off. Sure enough, two months later, the tabloids were reporting on their totally not at all expected break up.

French (+ Italian but he is no longer fluent): this has something to do with you. You can’t prove it because you don’t speak French or Italian, but it 100% has something to do with you. This is going to be your mushy shit, the “you’re so beautiful”s and the “I love you so much”s. This is also where most snide remarks and insults are going to stay; if he’s looking at someone else and he’s speaking French, odds are whatever he’s saying isn’t particularly kind. Once and a while he’ll grumble out a “Vaffanculo a chi t'è morto” at the TV or at a particularly ridiculous lie or slight, but you’ll never hear him say anything longer than a sentence in Italian. This also qualifies for any sort of rant; if he’s talking for a long time in French he’s probably not thrilled about whatever he’s talking about (usually this something regarding general police incompetence on a case he’s working on, the details of which you are not allowed to know.)

Example: The two of you watched a movie together on the couch, his head laid on your lap and your fingers gently scratching his scalp. You were talking about something you noticed— an actor you liked, some discrepancy in the script— when his hand found your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Tu es un ange. Qu'est-ce que j'ai fait pour te mériter?” When you asked him what he asked, he apologized and claimed it was something to do with the topic at hand, even though you could tell from his tone that he was lying.

Russian: Incredible shock/pain/sex stuff. If he’s having an issue with a word, it’s probably an issue of translating a Russian word to English, which happens almost never in his professional life but at least once a week when in your company. If he is legitimately having some sort of panic, he’s communicating that in Russian. If he is fucking you and he’s out of it to the point of not being able to talk properly, it’s in Russian. If something catches him completely off guard and he doesn’t know how to respond or react, it’s in Russian.

Example: Once, after a particularly long period away from you (about 3 months with little contact) he came back rattled. You left him morning after he arrived to go pick drinks up (coffee, tea, what have you) without telling him. You came back, holding your drinks, when you saw your boyfriend digging through a duffel bag up of work stuff. He looked up at you, blinked once, and let his eyes close, slumping over the bag. “Где ты был?” His words came out harshly, shakily, and quietly. “ты забыл свой телефон. а если бы ты поранился?” After being told where you had gone and reassuring him that nothing happened, he calmed down.

scared animal that you are

Imagine you go to L's hotel room to help him with a case. Watari lets you in and informs you that he's heading out but L will just be a few minutes, so you sit and wait for the detective to show up.

You zone out until you hear L's dulcet, "Oh, hello..." from behind, so you turn and he's there.

Fresh from the shower, hair tousled and still damp, beads of water running down his chest. And dear god, the fluffy white towel wrapped beneath his hips is slung so so low. Your eyes are immediately drawn down the dark trail of hair running from his navel and disappearing beneath the hem.

"Did Watari already leave?" L asks, scratching the back of his head and revealing the soft, damp patch of black fluff covering his armpit.

"Mhm..."

"That's unfortunate. He left his umbrella. He's probably going to need it later..."

"Should I run it down to him? I might be able to catch him?"

"He'll be fine." He heads to the fridge where he squats down and pulls out a plate with a slice of cake, turning with a smile and gesturing as if to ask if you want any.

"No thank you."

He shrugs, "Okaay, but if you change your mind you can help yourself."

And then he stands and the towel slips.

He doesn't say anything, just makes a little "oop" sound as he walks away to his hotel bedroom, cake in hand (and fully on display.)

A running list of places you might find batstarion has dozed off in:

The cooking pot at camp. Gale almost cooked him once by accident bc the lid was on it, and he didn't know Astarion was in there. (Or did he?)

Has been known to crawl into a chest for nap time when the rest of you are taking too long exploring a place.

In the pouch you keep all of your coins in. (It makes him feel wealthy.)

Your backpack, of course. Nestled very sweetly between all of your sharp and pointies and poisonous herbs.

Your pillowcase. You'll go to lay down and feel a lump of fur start to wiggle about, and think it's a rat or something at first.

Draped over someone's head like a little fluffy hat.

Your shirt. This one is obvious, but I had to mention it. Just be careful not to forget about him and squash the poor guy.

The pile of laundry you have in your tent just bc it smells like you.

Fully immersed in Scratch's fur or the owlbear's feathers. It won't be on purpose, usually, he'll just be chilling, and one of them will come over and flop down on top of him for a nap.

A jar of blood that he was sipping on. Lost in the sauce.