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this has been in my brain. all weekkk...

L who has to work on a case with someone who looks way too similar to his ex that died years ago(for whatever reason)—LIKE! their face; eyes, nose, lips. the same! hell even the way they move and talk.. it's familiar. so so familiar.

but it's also so? wrong? their hair is a different shade of *insert hair color* and its styled/cut differently, their look of confusion and small surprise when they catch him staring—they don't stare at him with that softness they (dead ex) used to, and it doesn't feel the same when they call his name.

i wonder what he'd be thinking when he firsts sees this.,.,.,... reincarnation? doppelganger? how he'd act (around them and/or when alone)?

I love when other people come into my inbox and give me angst. This is shorter than what I would usually put out but it’s whatever.

He had never really hated someone before. It was an odd thing to realize in the moment; given his line of work one would think he would have hated someone before the person sat next to him. He tolerated murderers, torturers, psychopaths. He had gotten to know— not personally, but enough so that he felt familiar with them, their work— powerful men whose thoughtless decisions ruined lives. He had met monsters of all stripes, monsters like him, and he had disliked them and resented them and tried to pick them apart to understand their brutality, but he had never truly hated another person because intentions could be understood and understandings reached. He knew people too well to hate them.

But he hated the person sitting next to him. Selfishly, he knew he had not hated anyone like he hated them.

It was you. Of course it was you. It wasn’t a matter of reincarnation— you had not died long enough ago for it to be something that spiritual— but you were sitting next to him, thumbing through a case file— a case file for arguably the most well known case of his career— like you weren’t dead and buried and gone. And it would be one thing if the detective just looked like you— he could explain a doppleganger with numbers and data and facts rooted in the real world— but your mannerisms were the same, and your speech patterns were the same, and you both held your papers in the same way, and it was like he was back on your couch watching you riffle through your mail, like you were going to glare at him over the stack as if he were the one sending it all.

“I’d rather you didn’t stare at me.”

He pursed his lips, looking back towards the television screen. The others had left for dinner; the only reason the detective had stayed behind was to review footage of the Yagami household with him. He took a deep breath, trying to refocus on the information on screen. “Apologies. I was lost in thought.”

“You’re making a habit of it.” The detective propped one foot on the coffee table, setting the file next to them as they slumped down in their seat. “If you have a problem with me, I’d rather you just say so.”

He fiddled with one of the cuffs of his jeans. “I don’t have a problem with you,” he lied. “You just look like someone I know.”

He felt their eyes— your eyes— study him. “Is that why you seemed so surprised to see me when we met?”

“Probably.”

They hummed in acknowledgement. “You care for them, I suppose.” It wasn’t a question; he never had been the best at hiding his emotions around you. “Deeply, I’d guess.”

“I did.”

“My condolences. Cared, then.” They leaned forward briefly, taking a cup off the table.

“Yes.”

“Did they die?”

“Yes.” He held his hand out absently. “Hand me the remote, please.”

They did. “How long ago?”

He took a deep breath, sighing as he rewound the tape. “Not long. A month or so before the killings began.”

They watched the screen. “Were you there for it? When they died, I mean.”

“No.” He leaned forward in his chair intently, eyes fixed on a box carried into the house by Sachiko Yagami. “I managed to catch the funeral between connecting flights, though.”

He sincerely doubted the detective was at all focused on the footage. “How’d they die?”

“Accident.” She was opening the box with a surprising amount of ease.

“Did you love them?”

The answer was easier than it ever had been when you were still there. “I do.”

The tense was caught again.

The room was silent for a moment.

“Do you need me to drop the case?”

They at least had the decency to speak a different language. He swallowed his gut reaction. “No.” He pushed a piece of hair out of his face. “You’re an asset. This case is too important for me to let my personal feelings hinder its progress.”

His nightmares had become more benign since your death. It was a small change, but a notable one to him. Fewer mobs, more hospital beds. He had heard your death was a slow, drawn out affair; the result were dreams that dragged in their horribleness. He wondered, if you were still around for him to say, if the look you would have given would have been similar to the one they were giving them.

He chose to believe not. “Mark down that time stamp,” he said. “I’ve seen that somewhere before.”

a little distraction

» synopsis - ⟡⋆˙ as you're watching your boyfriend work, your presence ends up distracting him.

» word count - ⟡⋆˙ 3.1k

» contents - ⟡⋆˙ lawliet x f!reader, fluff, established relationship, kissing, slight nsfw? (nothing too explicit), suggestive themes, making out, L being touchy 😳

» notes - ⟡⋆˙ woweee! hello everyone! welcome to the very first L fic on this acc 😮‍💨 i actually wrote a while ago but it has been dusting in my drafts but here it is! i watched death note back when i was a teenager and IMMEDIATELY fell in love with this man, and now he's back in my heart so i couldn't resist writing this 🤭 anyways hope y'all enjoy, happy reading!! (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)

» m.list - ⟡⋆˙

Focused on his computer screen, L’s fingers tapped away in a steady rhythm. After some time, he caught sight of you sitting beside him from the corner of his eye. His typing slowed, and he turned to glance at you.

“Is there something you need, or are you here just to watch me work?” he asked in a quiet, monotone voice.

“Just watching,” you replied with an innocent smile. “You look cute when you’re focused.”

A small, low hum leaves L’s lips as you say that, his dark eyes returning to his laptop screen as he goes back to typing. However, a faint, almost invisible heat soon creeps onto his cheeks. A rare yet warm smile tugs on his lips from your compliment, which he almost always tried to hide with his usual, blank expression.

“…Do I now?” He mutters, quietly and monotonously as he continues to type.

“Are you blushing?” you teased, leaning forward with a playful smile, tilting your head to get a closer look at him. “Oh my god, you’re actually blushing.”

Another low, quiet hum leaves L’s throat as you lean forward to try and see his face, which only makes the heat on his cheeks worsen. 

He feels suddenly embarrassed that you’d call him out, though it’s not the first time you’ve managed to do so and embarrass him. He’d never show his embarrassment, of course, so he merely continues with his work as if nothing happened.

“What a ridiculous implication…” He denies quietly, but his voice is wavering slightly.

“No need to be shy, L,” you joked, nudging his shoulder lightly with yours before settling back into your chair. “It’s only the two of us here.”

“Yes, yes... I’m aware,” he muttered quietly, relaxing a bit when you leaned back in your chair instead of hovering over him.

You hummed in response, your gaze shifting to the screen.

“Found anything yet?”

L glanced at you once more as you spoke, sighing at your question.

“Nothing of importance yet… It’s starting to feel like we’re chasing after a ghost at this rate…” He mutters with a tired huff.

A hint of a frustrated frown etched on his features. He hated this feeling of chasing a mystery, it annoyed him that he couldn’t find any important details for his work no matter what he did.

“Do you… Do you still think it’s... Light?”

A low hum escaped L’s throat once more, pondering your words before responding.

“Yes... I’m still quite convinced that it is him... But I can’t say for certain yet,” he murmured, a hint of uncertainty coloring his weary voice. 

In his mind, however, there was no doubt that Light was Kira. Yet, convincing others without solid proof remained a challenge.

“Hmm.” Your gaze shifts back to your boyfriend, “I don’t know how you do it. I’d feel like my head would explode.”

L let out another small huff at your remark, feeling a slight amusement creeping in.

“I’m flattered that you hold me in such high regard,” he muttered sarcastically in his dull, tired voice, followed by a small yawn.

Despite his fatigue, he persisted in his diligent work, only pausing occasionally to stretch his back.

“It’s true!” You smiled softly. “I really do admire you, you know?”

Hearing you say that causes L’s hands to freeze on the keyboard for a moment, his dark eyes widened just ever-so slightly. He’s still not used to receiving such sincere compliments or any at all, it’s a rare occurrence to get a genuine compliment without any teasing attached.

After a while, he finally relaxes slightly as a soft, faint smile curls onto his lips, only lasting for a few seconds before returning to his work. 

“I appreciate that… Thank you.” He mutters quietly.

You and L continued to sit in silence, broken only by the soft sound of his typing and the occasional click of his mouse. His fingers moved rhythmically across the keyboard, his eyes fixed attentively on the screen. Despite his focused demeanor, his stoic expression couldn’t hide the fatigue evident in the shadows under his eyes.

You silently admired the way he worked, observing his disheveled hair and slightly droopy eyes from exhaustion.

Though, as perceptive as ever, L sensed your gaze, but he attempted to disregard it, a faint warmth tinged his cheeks. Eventually, your persistent staring caused his hands to halt their typing altogether.

A quiet huff escaped his lips as he glanced briefly at you, a slight frown on his face.

“What are you staring at now?”

You didn’t reply immediately, your eyes fixed on him with a mixture of admiration and curiosity. His fingers continued their rhythmic dance across the keys, and despite the interruption, he remained focused on his task.

“Not staring,” you corrected him, a knowing smirk playing on your lips. “Admiring.”

L's expression softened imperceptibly at your words, though he tried to maintain his usual stoic demeanor, feeling a twinge of embarrassment. His dark eyes glanced downward briefly before returning to the screen, where he resumed typing.

“Well, I appreciate the interest,” he murmured, his voice still tinged with exhaustion. “But please, try not to distract me too much. I need to focus.” he continued, hoping his response would put an end to your staring, even though a part of him secretly enjoyed the attention.

“I know,” you replied softly, a small smile playing on your lips as you allowed him to immerse himself back into his work.

Though, it didn't take long before he asked. “Must you stare so intently?”

“Yes,” you answered bluntly.

He let out a quiet huff, meeting your gaze with a stern look.

“Well... If I’m that fascinating... Why don’t you come a bit closer?” His tone shifted subtly, a low chuckle accompanying his words. A rare mischievous smile crossed his lips as he watched your reaction with growing interest.

You beamed at his invitation, leaning closer, your eyes locked with his.

His small smirk widened as you moved nearer, sitting up slightly, a fluttering feeling stirring in his chest. Your faces were closer than usual, yet he made no move to pull away. In fact, his dark eyes briefly flickered down to your lips before meeting your gaze once more.

“Are you going to kiss me?” You whispered innocently.

A very faint huff of laughter leaves L’s lips at your question. “I thought that was quite obvious….” He says quietly and monotonously, his voice laced with a rare hint of teasing. 

His dark eyes bore into your face for a moment before he leaned in swiftly, pressing his chapped lips against yours with unexpected tenderness. You sighed softly against his lips, savoring the feeling of his touch. L pressed closer, bridging the gap between you further as he continued kissing you, he’s initially hesitant but gradually relaxing into the gentle press against your lips. 

Suddenly, the office doors slid open, startling you both. You quickly pulled away, eyes turning towards the doorway to see Matsuda standing there, eyes wide with surprise.

“I-I’m sorry—” he stammered, cheeks flushing pink.

A quiet huff escaped L’s lips, tinged heavily with annoyance at the interruption that had disrupted his rare moment of affection and intimacy. His dark eyes narrowed slightly as he refocused on Matsuda’s figure in the doorway, swiftly regaining his composure. His blank, cold demeanor returned almost instantly.

“This better be important.” He says with a quiet edge to his voice.

“O-Officer Yagami wanted me to give you these,” Matsuda explained hastily, making his way towards both of you and handing L a stack of papers.

He bowed slightly, clearing his throat awkwardly before straightening up. “I-I’ll get going now.” Matsuda shifted his eyes to you, offering you a bow as well. “Goodnight, Miss [last name].”

With that, he turned around and hurried out of the room.

L took the bunch of papers handed to him, glancing at its contents without a word. It only takes him a single glance at the papers for his eyes to light up in thought, immediately distracted by what he’s seen.

A quiet hum leaves his lip as he examines the documents in his hands before placing them on his desk. He’s suddenly distracted from his affection towards you, and now completely focused on the papers.

“These could have some promising leads…”

“What is it?” you asked curiously, trying to catch a glimpse of the papers. 

L quickly lifted them, tilting them slightly so you could see. He continued scanning through the documents swiftly, his finger pointing out specific details on the pages.

“Information about Kira, his kill patterns, and the victims,” he explained, his tone quiet yet tinged with excitement. The fatigue and sleepiness that had been evident earlier seemed to fade away as he focused on the pages.

You nodded in understanding. “Ah…”

L's eyes moved rapidly across the text, absorbing each word. His hand absentmindedly ran through his black hair, his attention completely absorbed by the information. He was now fully engrossed in what he had discovered, having momentarily forgotten the affectionate moment you had shared just moments ago.

“Well, I’m going to bed,” you announced quietly, rising from your chair and stretching with a soft groan. “I’m tired.”

Upon hearing your words, L finally tore his gaze away from the papers and turned to look at you. He tilted his head slightly as he observed you standing up and stretching.

“So early?” 

“Why? Want me around?” you retorted with a smirk playing on your lips.

L didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on you with a hint of surprise at your teasing.

After a pause, he finally spoke with a small huff. “No. You’re distracting me,” he muttered, returning his attention to the papers

“You weren’t exactly complaining when we were kissing,” you pointed out, your smirk widening, giving his cheek a small poke. “But as you wish. I’ll get going.” 

A quiet ‘tch’ was the only response L offered to your teasing poke, though strangely, he didn't seem to mind it.

“Good... Don’t cause me another distraction,” he muttered quietly, his eyes fixed on the screen once more.

“Goodnight,” you said softly, leaning down to give him a chaste kiss on his cheek.

L paused for a moment as you approached, closing his tired eyes as your lips met his cheek. A faint blush tinged his cheeks, warmed by your simple gesture, though he tried to maintain his stoic expression.

“...Goodnight,” he murmured quietly.

As you turned to leave to retreat to his bedroom, L’s hand gently gripped your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. He stood up slowly, leaning his head against your shoulder, enveloping you in a tender hug.

It was an unexpectedly affectionate gesture from him. His breath brushed gently against your neck as his eyes fluttered shut, holding onto you in a rare moment of vulnerability.

“What’s wrong?” You asked quietly, concerned by his uncharacteristic display of emotion.

He doesn’t give any explanation or words in response. He simply clung to you silently, relishing the attention and affection.

“L..?”

Suddenly, he mumbled some quiet words, his voice soft and slightly embarrassed. “...Just stay with me a little longer... Don’t leave yet,” he murmured quietly, leaning back slowly.

“Oh…” a small smile tugged at your lips. “Of course.”

He watched you intently in silence for a moment before slowly sitting down and gently tugged you onto his lap.

“Come here for a moment…”

A surprised gasp escaped your lips at his sudden display of affection and clinginess. 

“You’re so touchy today,” you teased, a surprised smile playing on your lips.

L doesn’t respond with words, only huffing quietly as his arms continue to cling onto you. Though, you feel him bury his head into your neck, his lips slightly grazing your skin as a slight blush appears again on his pale cheeks.

“I just feel… Somewhat affectionate today, is that a problem?” He mumbles against your skin somewhat monotonously, his hot breath brushing over your neck. Despite his dull, tired voice, you can hear the hint of embarrassment and shyness in his words

You chuckled softly at his remark. “Not a problem at all, just surprised,” you replied, your fingers gently brushing through his hair.

A very faint sigh leaves L’s lips when your hands thread through his dark, slightly messy hair, closing his eyes as he enjoys the soft sensation. His arms tighten around you just slightly, burying his head even more into your neck.

“Mm…” Is his only response, feeling incredibly comforted with your presence.

A small chuckle escapes your lips. “Weren’t you the one who said not to distract you?”

He doesn’t respond with words, but you feel him shift slightly, pulling himself away from your neck as he looks at you with a softness in his eyes that was rare and endearing.

“You’ve got work to do, remember?” you teased lightly.

L simply shook his head slightly, his voice gentle when he finally spoke. 

“It can wait.”  He muttered, gently pulling you closer. One of his hands slid under your shirt, resting against your skin, seeking the warmth and comfort of your touch.

You quirked a brow at him. “What are you doing?”

He looks up at you with an almost innocent glance, his hand slightly sliding down your side until he can gently grab your waist as he leans in close to you.

“...Touching you.” L mumbles plainly, as if it was an obvious answer.

You couldn’t help but smile at his straightforwardness, feeling the warmth of his hand against your skin.

“Just touching?” You teased, a small smile forming on your lips.

A small huff escaped L’s lips at your teasing, slightly embarrassed by his own affection and the swiftness of his actions. He looked up at you, his eyes peeking through messy black strands partially covering his face.

“Yes... Just touching…” he replied, his hand under your shirt slowly moving higher.

You hummed in response, your breath hitching as his fingers ghosted dangerously close to your chest. 

A small, breathless laugh left L’s tired lips at your reaction, a subtle yet amused smile appearing as he looked at you quietly. His thumb brushed against your chest, caressing your skin softly while his other hand gently gripped your waist.

“...You like that?” he muttered quietly, his tone soft yet slightly amused.

When you nod subtly, he hums quietly in response, his eyes softening as he watches you with a surprisingly affectionate glance, as if enjoying your reaction to his touches. He lifts his other hand to your back, pulling you even closer to him. L notices the way your body reacts, slightly amused yet encouraged by how you swallow heavily when his breath brushes over your neck. He lifts his head from your shoulder slightly, bringing his lips closer to your neck, gently brushing them over your skin.

You let out a small sigh as he slowly and gently trails kisses along your neck.

“L…” you murmured under your breath, the sound encouraging him to continue. Gently pressing his lips against your neck, the way you say his name so breathlessly, yet so gently, makes him melt inside.

“Mm...?” L hums against your skin.

“W-What if someone comes back?” You stammer, a hint of concern lacing your voice.

“They won’t,” he murmured, his confidence and the way he kisses your neck sending a shiver down your spine. “Don’t worry.”

A small gasp escapes your throat, both at his remark and the sensation. “But—”

“But what?” L interrupted smoothly as he softly moved the collar of your shirt to the side, gently placing kisses along your shoulder as he pulled you closer to him. 

“We can’t do this here—”

L pauses for a moment, going silent as you say that. Despite pausing for a brief moment, a small scoff escapes his lips as he looks up at you with a slight amused glance.

“…And why not?”

To the average man, it would be common to worry about how intimate and passionate moments can’t happen in public, which you were implying, but L… L honestly could care less…

“I…” Unsure of what to say, you remain silent.

“That’s what I thought…” L mumbles with a soft amused bite to his voice, bringing his lips back to your neck once more.

You inhale sharply at the contact of his lips on your neck once more, giving you no time to recover. Though succumbing to the feeling of pleasure would be nice, you can’t help but pick up the sounds of footsteps nearing. Panicking, you push him away, jumping off him.

The door slides open as Watari enters silently, pushing a small cart of sweets towards you both. L’s expression briefly shows disappointment as you push him away just as he was beginning to enjoy your attention.

“Ah, Watari... Welcome,” L mutters quietly, his voice carrying a slight monotone edge, turning his head to acknowledge him.

“Miss [last name], I wasn’t expecting you to stay the night. Is there anything you need? I can fetch it for you,” Watari asks softly as he stops the cart beside your boyfriend.

You wave your hands frantically while shaking your head. “U-Uh, no! Thank you, Watari. I was actually about to go to sleep.” 

“Very well, just let me know if you need anything,” with a slight bow, Watari quietly exits the room.

L watches him depart. Then, he shifts his gaze back to you with a soft yet tired glance. Taking a small bite of his snack, he places his other free hand on the small of your back, gently urging you to come closer.

“Now that we’re alone... Why don’t you come back here?” he murmurs quietly, his voice low and intimate.

“No way, we’ve been interrupted twice already. Next time, we might not be so lucky, and someone could get traumatized.”

“Traumatized?” he echoed quietly, a hint of disappointment in his voice, accompanied by a soft huff leaving his lips. L gives the smallest eye-roll before returning to his snack, taking another small bite. “All we’re doing is kissing.”

“We weren’t just kissing.”

L goes silent for a moment, his eyes returning to you slowly.

“...We weren’t?” L mutters with a slightly sarcastic yet monotone voice, tilting his head to the side as if asking you to elaborate on what you said.

“You were literally groping me just now!” You retorted.

L gives a small scoff in response. “So? I didn’t hear you complaining,” he shrugged casually. “Besides, it’s only the two of us here, remember? Don’t act all shy now.” He echoed your earlier words to him.

Turning around, you wave a dismissive hand over your shoulder. “Whatever, I’m going to bed.”

L rolls his eyes slightly, reaching forward to pull the cart of sweets closer to him, grabbing something else to munch on. He watches your retreating figure and mutters to himself.

“...Tch. You tease.”

Hello.

I don't know if you are taking requests, but if you do, I would be more than happy if you could do a one shot with L x female reader making love and then be caught during the act by some members of the Taskforce. I understand if you dont want or dont have time to write it so no pressure :)

Have a nice day.

This ask may or may not have had me in a choke hold. Possibly. Maybe. I can neither confirm nor deny. Anyways, enjoy.

This is dumb.

The statement applied to most of the things that were happening. It was dumb of you to agree to come to a foreign country because your boyfriend asked you to via letter. It was dumb of you to agree to wear a stupid mask because he was paranoid. It was dumb of you to get in the car that brought you to this giant, expensive-looking hotel, dumb of you to go through as much security as you did, and dumb of you to not even bother to buy an English-to-Japanese book so that you could at least ask the men and one woman there what all the computers were for. But you were dumb, so you showed up and introduced yourself in what you were sure was obviously bullshitted Japanese, trying not to appear as out of place as you so obviously were. Your boyfriend- who, upon your arrival, had not even bothered to look up from his computer– spoke to the group, the only indication that it had anything to do with you being his vague gestures in your direction, presumably explaining what you were doing there, only to be lead by him into a bedroom and told quietly to stay there and not come out until he said.

For a week, you had no idea what was going on, your boyfriend– who apologized endlessly for the circumstances and encouraged you to explore the city while he found some opportunity for a break– keeping you as far from the group as could reasonably be expected. From what you were able to see going to and from the building masked, they were mostly police officers, the exceptions being a nineteen-year-old boy and a girl a couple of years older than him who was, by your best estimation, in an incredibly tenuous, one-sided relationship. None of them spoke to you or looked at you longer than a few seconds, which was certainly strange but not entirely unappreciated. You figured this must be what your boyfriend did for work, so you knew the procedure; do not ask questions and keep to yourself while they did their thing.

On day eight, he managed to take some time away. He explained, first of all, that he had not invited you; Watari had insisted that you stay as “motivation, a fact which seemed to endlessly frustrate him– “Неправильно подвергать вас опасности, потому что я не мотивирован; что с ним не так?” He went on to say that he would in no way be insulted if you wished to leave, that he would take care of any fares necessary to get you out of the country safely and quietly, and that if you decided to stay you would be willingly putting yourself in mortal danger.

“Well, am I good motivation?”

“That is not the point.”

“If I’m good motivation,” you said simply, “I would rather stay.”

This was also dumb, a fact that he did not fail to point out. “If you get hurt on my account–”

“Then I’m an idiot for sticking around. That’s not your fault.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not. It’s my poor decision to make.”

It was, so you stayed. This was without his open resistance and reluctance– you usually only saw him for minutes at a time– but it was— in your opinion at least— nice to spend any regular time with him at all. Despite his encouragement to be as far from him and his work as possible, you didn’t leave your room much (if only because not speaking Japanese was an issue when in Japan) and you took most of the time to catch up on your old hobbies and try out all the interesting foods that part of the city had to offer.

On day twenty, he had a night off. Not exactly a night off— he insisted it was just working in a different room— but what that meant in practice, the bit that stood out to you, was that the two of you were alone in a room with him, His focus on analyzing what looked to be financial documents while you passively watching a TV show on tape, some crime show that he openly had no interest in.

You left him alone, mostly. You had no intention of interrupting his work; the sooner he was finished, you supposed, the sooner he would take a rest. To say that the sight of him did not inspire concern— the clinical sharpness in his eye dulled by a combination of boredom, exhaustion and stress— would be a lie. You often thought that he looked more skeletal than human after particularly long times away, but he seemed spry and chipper then compared to how he was now; if you didn’t know better, you would think that his eyes were acrylic lenses.

“Is something wrong?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“You’re staring at me.” He sounded detached. “Is there something wrong?”

You looked down at your hands. “You look horrible.”

“What else is new?”

“Worse than normal.”

“That’s rude.”

“It’s true.” You rolled over onto your stomach, your face closer to his, you laid on the bed with him sitting on the floor at the foot of it (which he did at his insistence). “You aren’t even sleeping the way you usually do. You haven’t stayed here long enough to sleep in weeks.”

“That’s because I haven't slept.”

You slid your body a bit off the bed, arms dangling towards the floor. “You don’t think you can get work done like that, can you?”

“Watch me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever, Ryuzaki.” You pressed your hands flat against the ground to keep yourself from falling over. “When were you going to tell me your name? They get to know and I don’t.”

“Never. It’s not my name.”

“That’s how people get your attention, though.”

“You didn’t want an alias.” He turned the page. “You wanted my name.”

You let yourself go down onto your forearms. “I guess that’s fair.” You were now about eye level with his lap.

“What are you doing, exactly?”

“Dunno, but I’m here now.”

He glanced over at you, face softening ever so slightly. “Tu es un beau fou.”

You met his eyes, trying and failing to hoist yourself up. “What?”

“I said you look like an idiot.”

You huffed. “Whatever.” Resigning yourself to your fate, you let yourself collapse at his side, face flat against the carpet. “The floor is very soft.”

“Good.” He took one last look at the paper, sighed, and set it aside, stretching his legs out in front of him. “How have you been?”

You managed to get yourself back into a semi-normal position. “Lonely,” you answer honestly. “It’s hard being in a country where you don’t speak the language.”

His response sounded genuine. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You smiled brightly. “This was my own decision and I’m sticking to it.”

“Stupidly.”

“That’s neither here nor there.” You waved him off. “More importantly, how come you haven’t been sleeping?”

He rested his head on your shoulder. “Work.”

“You sure do work a lot.”

“Mhm.”

“I can’t imagine you’re very efficient.”

He looked up at you. “How do you figure?”

“People aren’t typically very efficient when they’re on the brink of death all the time.”

He scoffed. “I’m not on the brink of death.” You could hear a shadow of hysteria in his voice. “I've got at least five more days before I have to deal with that, and who says I’ll live that long if I take care of myself, anyhow?” He gestured to the papers. “That’s the first time I’ve put those down in a month and I still feel like I have no time.”

You brought a hand up to his hair, scraping your fingers against his scalp gently. “I’m assuming I’m not allowed to ask what the issue is?”

“It’s not that you’re not allowed to ask. I just won’t tell you.”

You nodded, expecting as much. “Is there anything I can do?”

He smiled. “Do you know anything about how Japanese taxes work?”

“Not even a little.”

“Then probably not.” He wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing his forehead into your shoulder. “I’m sorry that you were brought here.”

“I’m not.” You pressed a kiss into the top of his head. “I’m happy to spend time with you; I like knowing that you're nearby, even if I can’t really come down to talk to you.”

He exhaled slowly. “I’ve put you in a great deal of danger.”

“How do you figure?”

He paused. “I am currently working on a project that people would rather I not work on.” You could feel him take a portion of your shirt into one of his hands, playing with the fabric. “So long as I care for you and I am working on this project, your life is in danger. That’s why I told you to forget me if I didn’t come back; if someone suspected that you were involved in me and might care if I died, they would come for you too.” His arms tightened around you. “I can’t allow myself to fail. You won’t be put in danger because of me.”

You reached your other hand over, gently detangling his hair; you can’t tell when the last time he combed it out was. “So to motivate you, I’ve basically been made into a lowkey hostage?”

He nodded.

You sighed. “Well, that sucks.”

“Mhm.”

You pursed your lips together. “There’s nothing I can say that won’t either put an incredible amount of pressure on you or make you feel like shit, is there?”

“Probably not.”

“Cool, cool. So I’m probably going to die?”

“Probably.”

“Awesome.” You offered the only idea you had to improve the mood. “Wanna fuck?”

“Desperately.”

He was on top of you in an instant, your wrists pinned above your head as he seemingly tried to swallow your soul through your mouth. A free hand crept its way up your shirt, grabbing onto the flesh underneath as he pressed himself against you with fervor and desperation nearly unrecognizable to you. He has certainly grown more confident in your time together, but your boyfriend was not typically so obviously consumed by lust or fear or whatever you supposed this was, his touches always at least mildly tentative. Such was not the case now; as his lips made their way down to your neck, sucking marks into your skin, you could feel in every squeeze and tug and whimper just how needy he was, so insistent on having as much of his skin touch yours that you were forced to wonder if he thought you were ice or wax, that you would melt away otherwise. You tried to match him to the best of your ability, letting your knees fall apart so that he may press himself further against you, but in comparison to his suffocating greediness, your responses were barely anything.

An airy laugh passed your lips, chest rising and falling heavily in response to him. “You sure are eager.”

One of his hands fell to your hip, giving it a quick squeeze before taking hold of your waistband. “What gave you that impression?”

You lifted your hips to allow him to slip your shorts off. “Do you want me to—“

“No, thank you.” His response was not harsh, but it was somewhat forceful. “For tonight, I would appreciate it if you let me take the lead on this.”

You looked up at him, his face flushed with exertion and excitement, fingers twitching around your wrists in anticipation. A smile melted across your face, and craned your head upward, pressing a kiss against his cheek before relaxing back into the carpet. You wrapped your legs around his waist. “I’m all yours.”

There was a part of you that was proud; not necessarily of the fact that your boyfriend now possessed any amount of stamina, but instead that the two of you had reached a place where you were capable of making him forget everything apart from you: his work, his fears, the circumstances that brought the two of you here. You were proud of the fact that you managed to be with him for as long as you had, that despite his work he still managed to leave time for you. You loved, more than anything, that he cared for you this much, that he feared losing you as much as you did him, that your feelings were mutual.

You were not proud of the fact that the two of you were so careless as not to check whether the door was locked.

It was one sort of embarrassment to be caught being drilled into the floor by a parent, another by a friend. It was a completely separate matter to be walked in on, clinging to your lover for dear life, by his coworkers. You did not know the names of the people who found you— the blonde girl in the bad relationship, her boyfriend, a younger-looking guy with black hair— but you certainly remembered their faces after the blonde girl poked her head in, sent with the other two to check on him, only to see the two of you fucking on the floor.

You could not see his face. What you did see is the girl immediately turn around, closing the door and presumably telling the other two the situation, saving you from the embarrassment of trying to cover up for a bunch of professional-looking men. Based on the way his grip around you tightened and the way he froze in place, however, you could make a fairly accurate guess.

Seeing as he was not moving in any capacity, you gently rolled on top of him, dismounting him with a peck on the forehead. If you were not incredibly concerned for him, you would have burst out laughing at his expression; he looked as if he was experiencing every stage of grief at once, completely catatonic. You got up, grabbed your shorts, walked to the door and prepared the best acting performance of your life.

Seeing you peek out from behind the door, the blonde girl— who had obviously been having a very heated debate with her boyfriend— spun in your direction and bowed deeply. “お邪魔して申し訳ありません!” Her voice was surprisingly earnest. “お二人が恋人だったとは知りませんでした。 もし持っていたら、ノックしていたでしょう。”

You poked your head out from behind the door properly, enough so that you could still hide your boyfriend while not seeming overly suspicious. “I’m real sorry.” You smiled sheepishly. “I don’t speak Japanese. Do any of you speak English?”

“I do!” The black-haired man, the one who everyone yelled at, bowed nearly as deeply as the blonde. “We’re so sorry for interrupting. We had no idea the two of you—“

You cut him off. “We aren’t.”

The blonde girl stood up straight again, moving behind him to be beside her boyfriend. She asked him a question, and he closed his eyes, concentrating as he answered.

The incompetent man looked up. “You’re not?”

“We aren’t.” You leaned against the doorframe, still wearing a shirt. “Well, we are, but not like that.”

He blinked. “Huh?”

You smiled. “I’m his whore.”

His face warmed. “I beg your pardon?”

“He hired me.” You shrugged. “I fuck him for money.”

The boyfriend raised his hand as his coworker (?) struggled to comprehend the information he just received. “What do those words mean?”

You tilted your head to see him better. “I have sex with— what’s his name? Ryuzaki?” You gestured behind you vaguely. “I have intercourse with the other guy for money.”

He nodded seriously. “I see.” He paused. “What?”

“Well, he’s an adult man with urges and he obviously doesn’t have the time to go out and meet people.” You rubbed the back of your neck, crossing your legs. “So he hired me a bit ago to help with that. Not great in bed, but he’s a good tipper.”

The boyfriend translated. Black Hair looked oddly distressed. Blondie’s face went from confusion to amused understanding. She offered her hand to shake. “Hello!” She smiled brightly, pronunciation noticeably awkward. “I’m Misa Amane! It’s good there’s another girl here!”

“Oh, introductions.” Black Hair waved nervously, looking down at his feet. “Matsuda. Again, we are so sorry.”

“Dude, don’t even stress.” You let go of Misa’s hand. “Honest mistake; if I didn’t get the paycheck I wouldn’t think he was the type either.”

“Still,” Boyfriend cut in, “it was terribly rude of us not to knock.”

“It’s whatever, really.” You looked between the three of them. “So, did y’all need anything? I’m guessing he’d like to finish, but I can pass on a message.”

“It was nothing important!” Matsuda was quick to answer. “We just wanted to check on him since he hadn’t been out in a while!”

“Oh.” You nodded. “Cool.”

“Cool!”

“Cool.” You slowly started to close the door. “Imma do that then. Thanks for stopping by.”

“No problem!” Matsuda’s responses were obviously somewhat driven by nerves.

“Cool. Bye.” You shut the door, locked it, and sat down next to your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend looked as though someone had just told him he had a terminal illness.

“Hey, buddy.” You crisscrossed your legs. “How’s it going?”

He covered his face in his hands. His voice was dead. “Why was that the excuse you decided on?”

You shrugged. “Do you have a better explanation for why you would be plowing—“

“Please do not describe it.”

Your smile widened as you laid down next to him. “You’re going red.”

“Is that an unreasonable reaction?”

“No, but I’m going to give you shit about it anyway.”

He let out a distressed laugh. “And why is that?”

“Because I know you think I’m going to die now— which I am not— and making you embarrassed will probably help distract you.”

He rolled over to face you, hands falling away. He was, in fact, tearing up with embarrassment. “I hate that you’re right.”

“I am.” You did not bother to ask if he would like to continue, instead wrapping your arms around him and bringing his head to your chest. “Your coworkers seem nice.”

“Two of them are murderers.”

You paused at that. “Well,” you sighed, “we can’t all be perfect.”

He snorted. “You are going to die and it is absolutely going to be my fault.”

You brought a hand to his head. “Why would anyone kill some prostitute you hired? You’re rich enough to afford to get someone from a different country and it’s totally out of character to put someone you cared about genuinely into harm’s way unnecessarily; if my killer has any common sense they won’t do shit.”

“To say that he has sense is a very bold assumption.”

“Hypothetical murder man has enough sense to not be arrested for premeditated murder.”

He hugged you tightly, face buried into your shirt. “Because he’s a cheater.”

You had no idea what he was talking about. “A good cheater, apparently.”

“Do not compliment your murderer in front of me.”

You laughed airily, struggling a great deal to offer comfort considering the— by your estimation— inherent absurdity of someone murdering you of all people because of your connection to your boyfriend. “I think maybe today we should not talk about murder, considering the rest of the things going on right now.”

“I concur. Would you like to talk about your being my live-in prostitute now?”

“I think you should go to sleep.”

One of his hands slipped under your shirt, tracing shapes into your skin. “Nightmares.”

“Fair point.” You sighed. “Can you at least try and relax? I really don’t want you to keel over.”

“If I did, your chances of dying because of me would go down.”

You rolled your eyes. “The same moron that’s murdering literally just some hooker isn’t going to care if you’re dead, love.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Maybe let’s aim for both of us not dying.”

You heard him smile. “Imagine.”

It was a dumb thing to hope for. He knew that much, at least. But it was nice to pretend that it was not, that this would end in any way other than tragedy.

It was an inevitability, but one he could ignore for a night.

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.

NSFW. L x F!reader. Vaginal sex, cunnilingus. L realizing he has feelings for you. Approx 2.6k words.

Stress impaired neural circuitry and was detrimental to cognitive function, and L couldn’t afford to lose brain power.

His most recent case required it all. The longer the case went on the more his brain seemed to fog, and the more it fogged, the longer it would take to catch the murderer. There was only one thing for it: you.

He needed you, craved you, couldn’t get you out of his mind. No matter how hard he tried to focus, the image of you appeared; a temptation he couldn’t get past. 

Put simply, he was horny. 

He dreamed of you in the few hours of sleep he stashed away from the relentless pursuit of victory. Vivid dreams of your scent, your touch, the sound of his name on your lips. He awakened from those dreams flustered and panting, his spend soaking through his jeans. But no matter how graphic and convincing those dreams were, it couldn’t compare to the real thing. To You.

With you it was never just sex. L was very fond of you, comfortable with you, his heart was made lighter by your company. You'd been friends for a while, then good friends, and then close friends who indulged in sex together. And lately your relationship was evolving into something else. Something neither of you had stuck a firm label to. Not yet.

He had Watari call you and patch you through to his line.

“L? Is everything okay?”

The moment he heard your voice, he felt the fog clear just a little. Enough to know this was exactly the right thing to do. “Yes of course. But I need to see you. How soon can you fly out to me?”

“Uh…”

“I would like to have sex with you.”

“... I’m on my way.”

Two days later you knocked on the door to his hotel room thousands of miles from home. You'd dropped everything to be there, and the gravity of that was not lost on him. 

The moment you stepped through the door he wrapped his arms around you, holding you to him in a desperate and much-needed embrace. 

“I appreciate you coming,” he said, relief immediately flooding through him, as if your arrival was the antidote to a toxin which had been slowly seeping into his system in your absence. “I need to switch off my brain… for a short while at least. And you’ve always been rather adept at making me feel at least a little mindless.”

The sound of your gentle, never unkind, laughter made him smile. As did the way your arms tightened around his rounded shoulders. “I missed you too, L.”

“Ah, well, yes, of course I missed you. Having you here while I’m working on a case is too much of a distraction. Yet being apart for too long also obstructs my focus.”

“We need to find a balance, don’t we?”

“Yes.” he hooked his index finger over his bottom lip and glanced at the ceiling. “Perhaps a schedule. Though as you know, I do tend to sleep quite heavily after sex, and that will need to be factored in when calculating the amount of time I can spend working.”

You smiled at him, and he realized just how much he’d missed the sight of it. “Do you have time set aside now?”

“Of course. I have the next eighteen hours blocked off.”

“Eighteen hours?”

“Yes… as persistent as my urges are, I have no intention of rush– mmh—”

Your lips on his silenced him, physically and– at least momentarily– mentally. Your kisses never failed to raise his heart rate and his temperature. They were devastating. Wonderful. Addictive. He was hardly aware of the little muffled moans escaping him as you backed him toward the couch and had him sit. 

“Is Watari here?” you asked, straddling his lap and running your fingers through his wild raven hair. 

A subtle smile curved L’s lips as he gazed up at you, dark eyes drinking in the familiar yet exciting sight of you. Only a matter of minutes together and already he felt the weight on his shoulders lifting. “No, Watari has his own room. We're alone.”

“Good.”

God, the heat in your kisses then, the hunger which tightened a coil deep beneath his navel. The sensation of you sucking on his lower lip made him shiver, the gentle touch of your fingertips on his neck gave him goosebumps. It was wonderful. Every touch, every second, every kiss. He clung to you tightly, his bare toes curled against the carpet, breaths labored, pupils so dilated they nearly drowned out the gray of his irises. 

A moan of protest escaped him when you pulled back, leaving his lips feeling swollen and tingly.

“You’re very cute, L.”

“I’m cute? Hm… Interesting word choice.”

“It’s true. You’re so very cute, and so very, very sexy.”

“Sexy…” he repeated back as you trailed kisses down his neck. “I’ll admit, I’m inclined to believe you. You’re making me feel many things right now and sexy is certainly among them.”

You grinned against his collarbone. “What else?”

Goodness, your kisses made it hard to breathe. But when you were around oxygen seemed superfluous. He needed your lips more than he needed to fill his lungs.

He tried to put into words the way you made him feel; hot, breathless, complete, present, safe, happy, loved. But the only sound he managed to choke out as your hands slid beneath the hem of his shirt to caress his stomach was a strained, fractured moan.

You chuckled quietly. “Good, that's what I was hoping.”

Eloquence out the window, he let his hands and his lips speak for him, fingertips gliding up your back, pushing up your shirt, making you shiver. The sensation of your skin beneath his palms was so lovely he never wanted to feel anything else. 

Early on in your relationship he’d mastered the art of smoothly unhooking your bra, and he did so now, stroking his fingers along your upper back, feeling your shoulder blades flex beneath his hands as he lifted your shirt up and over your head. He set your garments aside so carefully it made you smile. Well, it wouldn’t be polite to simply toss them.

And you pulled his shirt off too, setting it on top of yours before your hands slid over his chest and abdomen. You were so greedy for him; gentle and adoring, but unmistakably hungry. Squeezing, stroking, holding, making up for the weeks you’d been apart. Every touch left a desire for more in its wake. And the intimacy of your bare skin on his, the way your hardened nipples prodded and brushed against him every time you leaned in to deepen your kisses… heaven. Perfection.

You made him feel incredible. So good he couldn’t help but squirm beneath you, his cock aching and so desperate for your touch he couldn’t bear it. And you knew him well enough to see it in his eyes; the almost pained expression pinching his brow, the way his mouth turned down as he succumbed to the sensation of your lips on his throat, your tongue warm and soft, slippery against his clavicle. 

L wasn't quite sure when he had come to realize the wonderful truth; that you needed him as he needed you. It wasn't a sudden dawning, more an intrinsic fact which became second nature to him. Being with him, kissing him, grinding yourself against his lap was simultaneously as indulgent and as necessary for you as it was for him. You were working out your own stress, clinging to him as he was to you. Adoring him as he adored you.

You'd missed him; you’d said as much but he could feel it. It was apparent by the way your kisses lingered, the desperation of your touches, the ragged quality of each overwhelmed breath. And that feeling, of being needed, wanted, craved, was almost enough to make him lightheaded.

“Beautiful…” the word tiptoed from his tongue and into the heated air between you. It was all so beautiful; you, the sensations, him, that moment, all of it. 

He’d spent the majority of his life contemplating the very worst facets of human behavior; analytical detachment as much a necessity as an inevitability when the world around him was saturated by cruelty, violence, and death. But you… no he could never detach from you. He was wholly and willingly consumed by your loveliness, your beauty, your imperfections. All of you. 

He heard himself groan in protest as you clambered off him, but he needn’t have worried. You simply finished undressing before unbuttoning his jeans, tugging them down his slender thighs as he arched his back and lifted his hips off the couch to ease your endeavor. His erection tented his boxers, aching and twitching at the sight of you stripping off your underwear, and the arousal glistening at the apex of your inner thighs. 

“So wet,” he said, tapping his lower lip with his thumbnail, his dark eyes hungrily drinking in the sight of you. “You're excited.”

“Of course. You turn me on, L.”

“Clearly. I enjoy it immensely.” He glanced down at his erection, and the little wet patch soaking through the fabric of his boxers. “And… oh, hey… likewise.”

Goodness, he enjoyed the way you smiled. Even at a time like this when he was in real danger of ruining the mood. You didn’t roll your eyes or barely tolerate him, and you didn’t simply appreciate him for his intelligence, his money, or even his looks which you had very quickly seemed to have acquired the taste for. It was all of him for you too. 

Love, he was quickly learning, was all about those little moments. The awkwardness, the fumbling, accepting someone as the flawed and wonderful person they were. Every little thing he adored about you was reflected back in your eyes: personality, humor, mannerisms. He adored you down to your very core and there was no doubt in his mind that you felt the same way about him.

He stood from the couch, stepping out of his boxers– hopping on the spot to keep his balance as he unhooked them from his ankle– and stood before you completely naked. 

“As much as I would enjoy sex right now, I’d also very much like to taste you.” He scratched his belly as he headed toward the bedroom door. “And I feel we’d benefit from moving to the bedroom. There’s room there to maneuver. The bed is comfortable and… If I'm honest, I’d enjoy lying with you. Particularly being held by you. You’ve given me quite the fondness for cuddling you know.” 

Of course convincing you was unnecessary. He’d only ever have to ask to move to the bedroom and you would've headed straight there. But he liked the way the color rose in your cheeks when he mentioned his desires, and the way your smile took on new meaning. The little flirtatious glance you gave him as you slipped by him in the doorway made his heart pitter patter. The way you sat on the bed, parting your thighs and inviting him to indulge in you made his cock ache.

All his life he’d been treated as something other– he'd felt it too– but with you, crouching between your feet, breathing in the heady scent of your arousal as your breath hitched in anticipation, he felt like any other lovesick fool. And for that he was endlessly grateful; a gratitude he expressed by leaning in and kissing your clitoris. He knew how you liked it. Hot, open-mouthed kisses, heavy on the tongue, making out with your sex as you moaned and sunk your fingers into his hair and writhed beneath his lips. 

Dear God, the taste of you. If only cunnilingus provided adequate sustenance, he’d never touch anything else again. He’d live between your thighs, lapping at your core, devouring you, parting your folds to drive his tongue into your entrance, enjoying the way you bucked your hips toward him, always seeking more. 

Ordinarily he’d take his time, savor the slow-build toward your climax, but he was starved, desperate to sink into your heat and be enveloped by your presence which he’d denied himself for far too long. He dragged his tongue along your slit, circling your clitoris before surrounding it with his lips and sucking upon it.

“Oh fuck,” you gasped, heels pressing against his backside, thighs trembling. 

Your reactions only ever served to bolster his confidence. Your pleasure was as much a boost to his ego as any successfully closed case. And he was just as relentless in its pursuit, demanding, licking, sucking, groaning against your pussy, his dick throbbing almost painfully, dripping precum onto his thighs. 

And then you came, and it was a miracle he didn’t follow suit. 

Your gasps, your moans, the way you tensed and shuddered and cried his name. The sudden flood of heat emanating from your core, the throbbing spasms, all of it. Wonderful. Perfect. Utterly utterly maddening. He simply had to be inside you. 

Your throes had barely subsided when he crawled onto you, his mouth still dedicated to worshiping your form, following a path from your pelvis, over your stomach, your chest, your throat, and finally your lips, where you groaned at the taste of yourself on his tongue. And all else was meaningless. The case, the stress, whatever came tomorrow. None of it mattered. Because you were there. Because the sensation of you, of sliding into you, the way your body adjusted to accommodate him, the way your brow pinched then smoothed, and the sound of his name on your lips pared him down so completely to the true form of himself, to someone he hardly recognized. 

Only when he was with you like this was he allowed to be just a man. Not a detective. Not an unsettling, infallible genius or a freak or a creep or a weirdo or whatever labels were thrust upon him. Just a man whose lungs emptied when he sheathed himself inside you. Just a man whose thrusts were uncoordinated and sloppy because it all felt so overwhelmingly good. Just a man with butterflies in his belly when you held his face between your hands and finally, finally uttered the words you’d both been dancing around since God knows when. 

“I love you.”

Such a lovely sound. The gravity of it folded him. He collapsed into you, trembling, rolling his hips against you in the quest for release, his breath blowing hot and hard against your throat as he responded in kind. “I do too. I love you. Isn’t it… Isn’t it incredible?”

Perhaps he wasn’t making any sense. But he meant all of it, the simple words and their world-changing intricacies. In every imaginable way. He loved you. 

Overwhelmed with the need to be closer, deeper, he pushed up your thighs, spreading them, pressing his pelvis tight against yours until his cock was completely buried inside you and neither of you could draw full breaths. Deep, unbridled, fractured groans tumbled from his lips, his forehead resting on your chest as he arched into his thrusts, watching his cock slide into you with fascination and awe. He loved every aspect of it. The scent of your body, the off-kilter rhythm of his thrusts, that he could hear your wetness even above his own moans and yours. So good. Messy and undignified, uncoordinated and beautifully, perfectly human. Mountains of sugar couldn’t hold a candle to the indulgence he found in you. 

His pleasure grew, billowing behind his navel, a flurry of clenching muscles and firing nerves. And he simply had to have something in his mouth, his lips latching onto your nipple, tonguing it frantically as you cried out in bliss beneath him. And then he was filling you, his cock throbbing and leaking and stuttering inside you. Incapable of analysis or even thought beyond simply you.

It was you. Only you. Always you.

Afterwards you held him so adoringly, stroking your fingers through his hair, telling him how good he felt and how much you loved him. And what a wonderful feeling it was to be so utterly adored. Such tranquility in allowing himself to be just a man.

“Thank you for coming,” he said, curled in your arms a little while later, once his trembling subsided and left a pleasant humming tingle in its wake. Safe and relaxed and at peace. “Pun unintended.”

“Awful,” you teased him, as lovers are wont to do. “I’m taking the next plane home.”

“Ah, well, that’s a pity. We still have seventeen hours before I need to get back to work. And, it seems, today at least, little to no refractory period.”

“Is that so?”

“It is so. So I'd appreciate it if you indulged my awful humor a little while longer. Might I suggest keeping my mouth otherwise occupied?”

Your smile, your gentle, never unkind laughter, the way you flirted with him… just you. Goodness, seventeen hours would never be enough. 

If you liked this check out my Masterlist! I write a lot!

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.)