SkySky

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It was quiet. Not the kind of silence Near usually filled with soft clicks of puzzle pieces or the hum of shifting data on a screen—this was different. Dense. Warm. Heavy.

He sat cross-legged on his bed, fingers tangled absently in the curls near his ear, head tilted toward you in that vaguely feline way he had when he was curious. He was watching you, but not with his usual detachment. Not clinical, not cautious. Curious. Intrigued. Wanting.

You knelt in front of him between the pale spread of his thighs, your hands resting on his knees. The room smelled like clean laundry, fabric softener, and faint tension. He hadn’t stopped you.

Not when you reached for his waistband. Not when your fingers toyed with the elastic. Not when you looked up and whispered: “Let me?”

His only answer was the slow release of breath from his nose. His hands stayed still in his lap, white against white, one fist curled lightly against the hem of his own shirt.

And so you leaned forward. Pressed a kiss just below his navel. Felt him tense—barely.

Not fear. Not shame. Anticipation. Controlled chaos.

You drew down the waistband of his pants, slow, reverent. Exposing inch by inch of pale skin, soft hair, the twitch of a cock half-hard from nothing but your nearness.

He was beautiful. Slender, flushed, delicate—and already leaking. And he was watching you. Not demanding. Not instructing. Surrendering.

Your mouth found the base first, lips brushing the skin gently, then higher— a kiss along the shaft, a tongue-drag that made him twitch.

His breath hitched. You heard it. Felt it. But he didn’t speak.

You wrapped your lips around the head and tasted him—salt, skin, heat—and his hips jerked once, so slight, but so telling.

Still no words. But his hand curled tighter. And when you began to take him deeper, your tongue pressed to the underside, your mouth slick and slow and worshipful, he finally made a sound.

“Hnn…” Soft. Startled. Like he didn’t know he could make it.

You moaned around him—just to feel it vibrate through him. He gasped again.

That hand in his lap lifted—hovered—paused—and then gently, so gently, brushed against your hair. Not guiding. Just… touching.

You hollowed your cheeks. Took more of him in. Let your throat tighten and your lips seal around the base with a soft, filthy slurp. His head tipped back. Eyes fluttering. Breath gone.

“You're…” It was the first word he managed. And even then, it died before it finished.

You pulled back slowly—licking the tip, swirling your tongue, teasing him with a soft smile as you whispered, “Am I doing it right?”

He blinked at you. Wide-eyed. Flushed. Breathing fast.

“That question is irrelevant,” he said, voice hoarse. “The sensation is overwhelming.”

You smiled again. “Good.”

And then you went back down. Slower- deeper. Letting him feel every inch of your mouth, the gentle suck, the slick pressure, the soft grip of your hand at the base keeping time with your bobbing head.

He twitched. He whimpered. Yes—Near whimpered.

A sound caught between shame and bliss, high in his throat, and his hips lifted just barely into your mouth. And when you swallowed around him? He moaned. Low. Quiet. Desperate.

His fingers were in your hair now, trembling—not controlling, not pulling, just anchored. Like if he let go, he'd fall apart faster. “I can’t think…”

His voice was wrecked. He said it like it scared him. And you moaned again, letting it vibrate along his cock until his knees trembled beneath your palms.

“I’m going to…”

You didn’t stop. You looked up at him, lips stretched around his length, eyes wide, and he shuddered.

“You’re letting me…” His words broke into breath. He came with a soft, broken cry, hips stuttering forward, cock twitching against your tongue as he spilled down your throat—and you took all of it, never breaking eye contact.

You swallowed. Licked him clean. Kissed the tip.

His chest was rising and falling like he’d run a mile. He looked dazed. Red in the face. Wrecked. Beautiful. And when you sat back on your heels, licking your lips, he blinked slowly and whispered:

“You… shouldn’t be that good at that.”

You laughed. “You think I’m done?”

He swallowed hard. And then— “Data must be re-confirmed. Repeat the experiment.”

His voice had a tremor in it now—thin, fraying at the edges of composure, like the logical scaffolding he always clung to had finally started to collapse. “Repeat the experiment.”

But it wasn’t a command-Not really. It was need, disguised in the familiar shape of a request. Something he could understand.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t ask. You only leaned forward again, hand curling gently around the base of him, feeling the last shiver of his orgasm still twitching through his skin—and you kissed him again. Not a tease. Not taunting. Devotion.

The tip was still wet and flushed, sensitive to the point of pain, and the moment your tongue flicked across the slit, Near gasped like he’d been shocked. “Nn—too soon—”

But his hand was already in your hair again. Trembling. Tight. Not pushing you away. Anchoring you there.

You hummed gently around him, taking him in slow—softer this time, tongue stroking him like a lullaby, mouth warm and forgiving as he writhed under it. You kept your movements fluid, careful, deliberately slow as his thighs tensed beneath your palms.

He couldn’t keep his eyes open. His head lolled back against the headboard, white curls mussed across his forehead, lashes fluttering. His other hand curled tightly into the sheets beside him, knuckles white.

“You’re… ah—still…” “I can’t…” “Why does that feel even better--”

You glanced up. God, he looked undone. Glazed eyes, flushed cheeks, lips parted like he was waiting to gasp again. And so you pushed deeper. Let the head of his cock press to the back of your throat—not forcing, just meeting, just letting him know you’d go further if he wanted it.

He made a noise then—one he’d never made before. A half-sob, half-moan that echoed in the silence like it had betrayed him.

“Please—please—slow, I—don’t—know what it is—” “Why it feels like—”

You pulled back, just a little. Mouth slick. Lips parted. Eyes meeting his as you whispered,

“It’s okay. You’re allowed to feel good. You don’t have to understand it.”

His breath hitched again. Like that—that more than your mouth, more than your hands—broke something deeper. And you went back down.

This time you stroked him with your hand while you sucked—slow, luxurious strokes of your tongue from tip to base, tracing the veins, the heat, the weight of him in your mouth. Every time he twitched, every time he gasped, every time his thighs shook under your fingers, you responded like it was gospel.

Your hand pressed to his chest now—right over his heart. He covered it with his own. Not speaking. Just holding. Because now it wasn’t experimentation.

Now it was worship.

You could feel it building again—his breathing starting to stutter, his legs tensing, his stomach fluttering beneath your palm.

“I’m… it’s happening again--I can’t stop it—”

You didn’t stop. You let him ride the edge, whimpering and helpless, as your mouth coaxed every ounce of pleasure out of his body.

When he came again, it wasn’t loud. It was shaking—the kind of climax that left you limp, destroyed from the inside out.

His hips jerked once. Twice. And then he just collapsed. Chest heaving- Eyes closed. Sweat glistening on his throat.

You stayed between his thighs, kissing his skin, gentle and slow, licking him clean with a soft hum in your throat. And when you sat back again, lips wet, flushed and quiet—he blinked down at you. Silent. Breathless.

“That… may have been the first time I lost complete control of a situation.”

You grinned. “Did you enjoy it?”

A pause. His eyes dragged down to your lips. “Yes,” he whispered. “Too much.”

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?) hes pretty tidy, but struggles with keeping himself clean, mostly after the whole kira deal, but he’s not hard to live with. he would love to settle down as well.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?) he’d make sure you’re okay. he took the time to think about how he felt and will give you the same time that you need. he’ll understand your reaction no matter what happens

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?) gets attached very easily, but doesnt think about marriage immediately. he would like lots of time to make sure hes not jumping into things like he does at work

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?) once you look past the seemingly endless enthusiasm, hes a pretty quiet guy. hes very soft with you, constantly worried he’ll do something wrong. once he gets past that, hes braver but still handles you like fine glassware

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?) hugs all the time. he LOVES hugs so much they're so warm and cuddly. his hugs are so good. he just puts everything he has into them

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?) pretty average i’d say, but if you get married he says it all the time

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?) jealous matsuda…. he's.. hot when he's jealous boom i said it. he gets mad and is easily wound up, but don't do it on purpose or he’ll get hurt.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?) he likes cheek kisses for you cus he gets to squish into the soft chub of your cheeks. in return, he likes to get little pecks wherever you can reach.

L = Little ones (How are they around children, how do they feel about having kids? Etc) he’s pretty good with kids, but he’s too worried to realise that

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?) its hard to get out of bed with matsuda, he’s so warm and cosy and his gravely voice sends his warm breath smoothly across your neck as he cradles you…. they’re perfect :(

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?) usually dancing. he likes to spin you around even if you're taller, and he loves swaying around as you're getting tired

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?) he’s an open person, but the more personal things are the more time he’ll take to share them, if at all.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?) he gets angry easier as time goes on with the kira case, but he’s good at cooling down. when he gets angry, he’ll apologize and kiss you, even if he didnt get mad at you. pls give him love

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?) hes usually pretty forgetful, but he remembers lots of random things about you like your shoe size or whatever.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?) when he first kissed you, for sure. it was really cold and you’d cuddled up against him, and he decided to kiss you goodnight.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?) he's mostly protective during an intense case, but he knows you’d come to him if need be. he likes protection if he's anxious, but it feels condescending to him otherwise

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?) he gives his all for every single thing

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?) he’s bad at folding clothes and laundry in general, but insists on doing it anyways

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?) he’s average here too, and he just makes himself look good for you!

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?) depends on wether or not youre together. if he has a crush on you he’ll feel lonely but if youre together, he’ll be sadder

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.) he jokingly proposes with candy all the time, and he wore his nicest suit when he actually proposed

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?) matsuda's pretty understanding, but he wouldnt want someone who puts work first all the time

Mello sits on the edge of your shared bed, elbows to his knees, head bowed. His blond hair falls in his eyes, shading his face. Although, his back was facing you, so you couldn't really see him anyway. 

You've been beginning to notice that something was troubling him. His stiff posture, the way his hands trembled slightly, and the way you can see his jaw clench every now and again. You didn't know what to do, Mello usually keeps to himself, he doesn't like confining in other people even though you say you're always there for him.

In truth, Mello's just insecure.

"Mello," you say softly, as you shuffle out from under the comforter, moving to sit next to him. 

For as long as you've known him, since Wammy's House, he's always been this way, hiding and bottling up, until he yells. Always, if you ever did bring it up, he'd always scoff and dismiss the matter with some sharp retort or a cutting glare sent your way.  You sit beside him, and the bed dips a little. He still does not look at you. It almost feels suffocating. "Mello," you repeat softly. "Talk to me." For a second, you're expecting him to withdraw, and snarl at you as he has multiple times before. But he catches you off guard instead. His shoulders slump, and his head lowers further yet. His voice, when he finally speaks, it's strained and your heart breaks. "I've... I've kept this bottled up for so long," he mumbles. "Since Wammy's...since it all went down. "I was always second," he continues. "Always in Near's shadow, no matter how hard I tried, no matter what I did. And then-this." His fingers ghost over the scar on his face. "Now I'm a fucking mess. I can't even look at myself sometimes." He finally raises his head and meets your gaze, and the raw pain staring back at you takes your breath away. You have never seen him like this open, so broken. It's almost too much to take in. But you don't flinch. Instead, you reach up, your hand trembling slightly, and you gently cup his cheek, running your thumb over the outline of his scar. He stiffens first, but he doesn't pull away. "You're not a mess, Mello," you whisper, "Not to me." His eyes widen, and for one long moment, he just stares at you, almost as if he's trying to process it, waiting for you to say something different, something hurtful. But you don't. You won't. "Everyone's always going to compare you to him," you continue. "But you're not second. Not to me. You're more than that." He breathes shakily, and for the first time in what feels like forever, some of the tension in his body begins to seep away. His hand comes up, smothering yours against his scarred skin, and he closes his eyes. "I hate it," he says very quietly. "I hate that this scar is all anyone sees now. I hate that I let it happen. I hate that I wasn't strong enough." "You are strong enough," you whisper, closing as your forehead presses gently against his. "Stronger than you think, anyway. You've been carrying so much for so long and that doesn't make you weak. And I love you, remember that, no matter how you look." Mello's breath catches, and you feel his fingers tighten around yours. "I don't want to feel like this anymore." "Then don't," you whisper. "Let me help you." You pull him into a hug, feeling the way he hesitates for a moment before his arms wrap around you, holding on tightly as if he's afraid to let go. His face buries in your shoulder. You'll always be there for your man.

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and likes are appreciated.

Light Yagami -

Well, it depends if he actually loves you or not, because then it’s two very different versions of Light Yagami. For this, we will say he does. I can go on about the other version later.

For one, dear lord, I feel like he would attempt to push you away from anything related to Kira, that and L. Anything related to the Death Note is shielded away from you. Hell, Light would go out of his way to come up with a better hiding spot for when you come over.

As much as I want to say he drops everything for you, he doesn’t. He is still the Ace Student Light Yagami, he has a strict Schedule to keep his grades up. So he does have specific days, and times were you come over (Sayu absolutely adores you, as you are the most normal thing about Light)

His mom absolutely loves you, she will make you lunch for when you stay in Light’s room for a hang out, and Mr.Yagami has heard good things about you, he does want to meet you but his schedule won’t allow it, especially as of late.

He is oddly affectionate at the oddest of times. However he is rather picky with it, he will only hold pinkies with you, kiss your temples, and just reject any kisses back, unless he is willingly kissing your lips. (There is a part of me that feels he is a massive germaphobe so) He does hold you when he is studying at home. He does crave your touch he just doesn’t entirely know how to accept it properly.

You two planned to go to the same University, just so you could see each other more often, even getting Light to Tutor you when you don’t understand something. His your genius boyfriend, he has too. Your words when he gave you a funny look. You were a little perplexed when there was two max marking students, one being your Light Yagami, and… some sloppier student. But then again, you weren’t one to judge.

When Light was placed on the Kira Case, you begged to join him. However he ultimately refused it, saying it was better for you. Sure, you may have not studied the criminal justice track as hard as he did, but he said it himself years ago, you two were a package deal.

L Lawliet - (I really hope you like sweet things)

L Lawliet does feel regret that you were stuck with him. Especially with how he acts some days. Which does mean you have to reassure him that you love him for all his quirks.

As much as the detective is not entirely known for sharing, you are absolutely given a taste of everything on his plate.

Now, on the Kira Case, you are by his side, however he goes through the upmost of care to especially ensure that your face isn’t leaked, nor your name. He would feel too much guilt if anything were to happen to you.

Anything you bake (if you do) is considered his favorite, until it’s ranked out by something else of yours. He is your biggest cheerleader

He has a bad habit of putting his cold feet on you, especially when you both are sleeping (you are he isn’t), he will put his feet under your shirt. It apparently makes him feel closer to you. (Even if he was under your skin that wouldn’t be close enough so) he is cold all the time so he is like a living ice-pack.

He’s as clingy as a puppy with separation anxiety. So expect him to be sitting on you, as he works.

He has stolen your clothes, on more than one occasion. Again, puppy with separation anxiety.

Misa Amane -

She LOVE LOVE LOVES YOU!!! that is not an understatement either.

As much as she loves you, you are never allowed to meet Kira. (That’s just for her) However! You are allowed to touch her death note and talk to Rem. (“Her two favorites are now each other’s favorites!”)

Rem tolerates you at best, much better than Light Yagami in her eyes.

Consider yourself her dress-up doll. She loves doing your hair, matching outfits, make-up, and nails.

Date nights almost every night.

She will always just consider you perfect.

Now, the Paparazzi have no idea who you are, which is surprising of Misa. But there are a bunch of theories about you despite being her phone background.

Prepared to be SPOILED ROTTENN!!!! Anything you eye for a little longer than the others, consider it yours. That luxury bag you wanted, its your gift tomorrow, because it was on your wishlist!

She is a tad bit overprotective over you, as she did lose her parents to a robber, so. There is that small paranoia that she will lose you too.

When doing stuff for Kira, she tells Rem to watch over you, to keep you safe.

Mello -

Now, at first glance, not much of you is to be seen in the relationship. As Mello is demanding in general. However, I would think it's a hidden soft-spot relationship, as Mello just acts like a hard ass all the time.

You are always sent out to shop for chocolate items though... he promises to pay you back (he never will)

He is pretty sarcastic and snarky, very competitive with you just in general, however, he is softer with you. He will let you win a few times if you play games together. (Dont accuse him because he will just deny deny deny, and he will just stop doing it for a while but then go back to it)

Every time you kiss him, he tastes Chocolate and Cigarette Smoke.

PLEASE REMIND HIM TO BRUSH HIS DAMN TEETH, BECAUSE I KNOW HIS ASS WONT

Dont expect that many dates from him, to be honest, sure he believes that quality time is the best date, however it’s just you two sitting around as he does his own things.

Near -

Like L, he is like a puppy with separation anxiety.

Expect him on you while he stacks his die towers tbh... apparently you add extra height to them.

He is a major gifter, but it's like.. small trinkets... that reminded him of you...like I'm pretty sure, you have a small Pokemon figure on your desk...it isn't your favorite but it's just what he gave you.

He will mirror your habits to see the things you like. EX: You like stargazing? He will start going with you more and more. Do you like baking? He will start asking to taste or help. Vinyl record collecting? He doesn’t understand it but hell, he has some habits you probably don’t understand. He doesn’t judge.

He has a personal finger puppet that looks like you. (He tends to place them next to each other alongside his own). They are always right next to each other

He absolutely melts when you mess with his hair. A large thing of putty in your hands

Matt -

Ehem… Backpack privileges go fucking crazy. You’re welcome, Ladies in the back who wish to be a backpack.

Like Mello, every time you two kiss, all you really taste is smoke.

I hope you like high-speed driving because I don’t think he slows down.

He lends you his protective gear, like a jacket and gloves. He likes you in his clothes just in general.

He also lends you clothes. No if ands or buts about it. You have to wear something of his.

He will lay on top of you. Sorry. (He is not.)

He plays with your hair, nonstop. His hands are always in your hair if it isn’t blocked by a helmet.

Teru Mikami -

You two definitely live together in one nice ass house. I’m just saying.

As a lawyer, he will practically give you whatever you wish. It’s almost sugar-daddy like if you weren’t dating him.

Expensive jewelry is a kinda must, more or less it’s really necklaces.

He loves just having experiences with you. Hell, he will take a week and take you to Tokyo Disney Sea (or whatever the DN Variant is)

He enjoys doing a routine with you before&after bed. He’d even help, he’d insist on helping you wash in the bath. Washing your back, hair, whatever you need.

He cooks. I’m sorry. He cooks. I would assume he is a very picky picky eater and as much as he loves you, he’s cooking.

Yall don’t cuddle all that often, as I feel sweat kinda makes him feel ick. However! Winter is the perfect time as he will allow it. He spoons you though. He will not be cuddled, he is the cuddler.

A/N: Hello! This is Elysium- This is not proofread at all, however, I hope you all enjoy my first post. I’m getting myself back into writing again, so expect more stuff like this. (And posting it obviously) I appreciate any feedback! Thank you so much? I hope you enjoy what I have to share 💙🪼

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he muttered, moving past you, shrugging out of his jacket. “Long day, that’s all.”

You followed. “Baby.” You caught his arm before he could escape fully into the bathroom. “Talk to me,” you murmured.

He swallowed, shoulders lifting in a useless shrug. “Sometimes I think they don’t take me seriously. I hear them.” His voice cracked on the last word before he quickly shook his head. “But it’s fine. Really. I don’t care.”

You frowned. “Matsuda.”

“Sweetheart, please—drop it, okay? I said it’s fine.” He slipped away from your hand, not unkind, but firm. And then he was retreating, mumbling something about a shower.

You let him go, for now. He disappeared into the bathroom, the hiss of water running filling the silence.

When he emerged, steam curling at his heels, the sight nearly stopped your breath. His dark hair dripped wet, plastered messily across his forehead, droplets trailing down over defined collarbones, chest, stomach. The towel sat low on his hips, clinging precariously.

You were, leaning in the doorframe of the bedroom, arms crossed, a knowing smirk tugging at your lips. “Come here, baby.”

He blinked, then padded over, obedient even in his stubborn moods. When he stopped right in front of you, his eyes found yours, soft brown flecked with something tired, something aching.

You slipped your arms around his torso, pulling him closer until your cheek brushed the heat of his damp skin. “Moody thing,” you murmured against him.

“I’m not—” he began to argue, but you felt it, the weight of his voice cracking.

You leaned back, loosening your arms only to let your hands slide up, framing his face. His wet hair stuck to your fingers. “Don’t argue with me,” you whispered, velvet sharpness in your tone.

His eyes softened, throat working. You pulled him down to you, closing the last inch between you, your lips pressing to his. The kiss was soft, but it carried heat, a deliberate fire that made him shiver against you.

He kissed back like he always did with you—gentle, almost reverent, like you were something he couldn’t quite believe he’d gotten to keep. His hands trembled faintly against your waist before he steadied, clutching you closer.

When you pulled back, your breath mingled with his. “That’s better.”

“I love you,” he whispered, voice cracking just enough to betray what he’d been holding in all day.

“I know, baby.” You smiled against his lips. “And I love you. More than they ever could understand.”

You kissed him again, deeper this time, letting him fall into you.

His damp hair clung to his forehead as he leaned into you, kissing you again until his body pressed flush with yours. Step by step, he walked you backwards down the short hall, his hand finding your hip like he needed to hold on.

“You wanna lay down?” he murmured, voice rougher than before.

You grinned up at him, all teeth and velvet confidence, a little devil smile that made his stomach knot.

“Oh, you are something, woman…” he muttered with a crooked smile of his own, a touch of awe underneath it.

Instead of letting him lead, you shifted your weight, turning him with a firm push. He hit the mattress with a soft bounce, wide-eyed for just a second before he let out a half-laugh, half-breath, looking up at you like he couldn’t believe his luck.

You hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your pants and slid them down in one smooth motion, leaving only your panties and his oversized shirt.

His eyes followed every movement, lips parting, breath uneven.

You climbed onto the bed without hesitation, settling astride his hips, your knees braced against the mattress, his towel the only thing between you. You leaned down slightly, your weight pinning him deliciously, and he looked up at you with a mixture of adoration and hunger.

“Sweetheart—” His voice was soft, reverent, almost pleading.

You tilted your head, brushing wet strands of hair back from his forehead with slow fingers. “Moody baby looks a little better already.”

That earned you a quiet laugh, his chest rising under your hands. His own fingers finally dared to skim over your thighs, trembling faintly but eager, like he always was with you.

And beneath it all, his eyes never left your face, like you were the only thing anchoring him, the only thing that mattered after a day that had worn him down. You leaned down, capturing his lips again. The kind of kiss that made your chest ache with how much of him you held. He melted into it instantly, sighing against your mouth like he’d been waiting all day just for this.

The subtle press beneath the towel, twitching up against you as your weight shifted.

His breath hitched, hot and shaky against your lips, his chest heaving as the kiss deepened. You shifted your hips just slightly, rolling them slow against his, and his soft groan vibrated into your mouth. “Mmh—love…” he whispered, voice tight, almost pained from how quickly you could undo him.

You smiled against him, your lips brushing his as you murmured, “I feel you, baby.”

He flushed instantly, the tips of his ears turning scarlet. “S-sorry, I—”

“Don’t apologize.” Your voice cut him off, low and velvet-smooth. You rolled your hips again, firmer this time, and the sound he made nearly broke him, breathless, desperate, his hands clutching at your thighs like he couldn’t decide whether to hold you still or beg for more.

Your oversized shirt hung loose as you straddled him, your hair falling forward, framing his flushed face. His eyes looked up at you wide, glassy with need, full of the kind of love that burned.

You kissed him again, swallowing his shaky breaths, keeping him trapped between your mouth and your body.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured against your lips, voice breaking, “you’re driving me crazy.”

And you grinned like the devil you were, shifting once more so he could feel just how much control you had over him.

Your lips stayed locked on his, soft but deep, pulling another low groan from his chest. His hands slid up, trembling a little as they gripped your hips, but he didn’t guide, he just held, letting you move the way you wanted.

You shifted against him again, slower this time, dragging the heat of your body right over his length where the towel strained. His breath caught, hot and shaky, spilling into your mouth as you kissed him harder.

When you finally pulled back just enough to whisper, your lips brushed his jaw. “So hard for me already, baby?”

His eyes fluttered open, wide and flustered, his face turning pink as he tried to swallow down a sound. “Y-yeah, I… I can’t help it, love. You—” He broke off with a sharp inhale when you rocked your hips once more, firmer this time, sending another shiver down his spine.

You smiled against his skin, trailing soft kisses along his jaw before returning to his mouth. “Good boy,” you murmured between kisses, velvet and commanding, “you feel so perfect.”

He whimpered softly, pressing up into you without even meaning to, his control slipping with every slow grind you gave him. Your fingers brushed through his damp hair, pushing it back from his forehead, and your tone softened. “You had such a rough day… and look at you now. Doing so good for me, sweetheart.”

His chest rose sharply, almost trembling at the praise, his hands tightening on your thighs like he was trying to anchor himself. “…God, I love you,” he whispered hoarsely, kissing you again with a mix of desperation and pure devotion.

You shifted back slowly, deliberately, until you were sitting right on his thighs. The towel loosened under your fingers, your nimble hands tugging at the knot until it gave way. The fabric slipped open just enough, leaving him bare beneath you, his length straining upward, flushed and needy.

You let your hips roll, rubbing yourself over him through the thin fabric of your panties, the heat of him pressed against you.

His head tipped back into the mattress instantly, a broken sound slipping from his throat. “My god—”

The sound made you laugh softly, low and dangerous, your smile wicked as you leaned forward to kiss his throat. “Look at you,” you murmured, voice dripping velvet, “so hard, so eager—all for me.”

He shuddered, a hand fisting in the sheets.

You rocked again, slow and steady, dragging the damp fabric of your panties against him, teasing yourself just as much as him. “Sweetheart,” you purred against his ear, “you don’t even know what you do to me when you’re like this. Wet hair, hot body, flushed and begging without a single word…”

His breath hitched, chest rising sharp beneath you. “I’m— I’d do anything for you, baby, I—”

“Mhm, I know,” you cut him off with another languid grind, pressing down harder this time, savoring the way he groaned. You kissed his lips again, tasting the tremble in his breath, keeping your voice low and eloquent against his mouth.

“You’re perfect like this. My beautiful boy, undone under me. Mine to love, mine to ruin, mine to take care of.”

His hands finally found your waist, gripping as though he’d fall apart without you. You leaned down, pressing your lips to the damp line of his throat, licking slowly over the flutter of his pulse before biting down gently. His breath came sharp and heavy, chest rising beneath you.

Your kisses trailed upward, hot and deliberate, along his jaw, the corner of his mouth, his cheek. He turned his head into it like he couldn’t help himself, lips parting in a shaky sigh.

Your hand slid down from his chest to his waist, tracing the tension in his muscles, until you found his hand gripping at you. You laced your fingers through his, guiding it higher on your body, making him hold you the way you wanted.

“Sweetheart…” he gasped, voice breaking when your hips rocked again, slick dragging over him with no barrier now but your thin panties.

You kissed his neck once more, your teeth grazing the curve of it. “Just let me take you apart. Don’t think about them, don’t think about today. Just me.”

He groaned, low and desperate, his hips jerking up into you without thought, seeking friction. You laughed softly against his skin, wicked and tender all at once. “You are so needy for me already.”

That lit him up, his grip tightening on your waist as though he was drowning under the way you moved against him. “I—I can’t…” he stammered, already unraveling, “I can’t hold it if you—”

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, your smile sharp, hungry, full of love. “Then don’t.”

You ground down harder, messy now, desperate now, your lips crashing back to his as he let out a sound that was half-moan, half-broken plea. His voice cracked into the air, hoarse and desperate, “Shit—please, just sit down on it.”

You pulled back only enough to see his face, flushed and trembling, his hair still wet and clinging to his temples. That pleading look in his eyes nearly unraveled you, but instead, you smirked slow, wicked.

“Oh?” Your voice dripped like honey, hot and teasing as you rolled your hips over him again, just shy of giving him what he begged for. “You want me to fuck myself with it, hm?”

He groaned, head tipping back against the pillow, knuckles white on your waist. “Yeah—shit, please,” he gasped, voice wrecked, soft-spoken desperation spilling from him.

You leaned down, lips brushing his, giving him a slow kiss that broke with a quiet laugh against his mouth. “My sweet boy,” you whispered, “so polite even when you’re begging.”

Your fingers wrapped around him, guiding his length up against your soaked panties, dragging the tip through your slick until both of you were trembling. His breath hitched, eyes squeezed shut as he tried not to lose it too soon.

“Feels like you’re begging me without words already,” you murmured, rolling your hips again, letting him feel just how close you were. “So hard, so perfect. You want me to take you in, want me to ride you until you forget every shitty thing they said about you?”

“Y-yes,” he gasped, nearly trembling under you, “please, love, please, I need it—”

The way he broke on the word need nearly undid you. You held him right on the edge, dragging his head against your soaked panties, rolling your hips so slow it was cruel. Every time his breath hitched, every moan that spilled out of him only made you smile sharper.

“Look at you. Begging so pretty for me,” you purred, brushing kisses along his jaw, your hand still teasing over him but never giving in fully. “All worked up, and I haven’t even let you inside yet.”

“Love…” he groaned, voice ragged, hips twitching beneath you. “You’re killing me.”

“That’s the point, sweetheart.” You kissed the corner of his mouth, smug and soft all at once. “You’re not going anywhere. You’ll take it when I give it to you.”

But then his restraint shattered. With a sudden thrust, his hips drove upward, hard and desperate. The thickness of him shoved past your panties, forcing a gasp out of you, your body jolting at the unexpected invasion.

“I—I cannot wait, I—fuck,” he choked out, eyes squeezed shut, as though even he was shocked at himself for snapping like that.

Your breath caught, your nails digging into his chest as you stared down at him, wide-eyed for a heartbeat. You hadn’t expected it, not from him—your softspoken man, desperate enough to push. “Hey!” you gasped, voice breaking with surprise and heat all tangled together.

His eyes flew open, wild and almost guilty, searching your face. “I—s-sorry, love, I—”

But the sight of him made a dangerous smile pull across your lips. “…Don’t apologize.” You ground down against him harder, your breath shaky. “Do it again.”

Your words broke something in him. The second you told him not to apologize, something desperate flared in his eyes. His hands shot to your hips, gripping hard, and then he pushed up into you again, rough, messy, nothing like the sweet, hesitant touches you were used to.

You gasped, the force of it knocking a moan from your throat as he bucked his hips under you. “Just like that,” you breathed, your smile curving wicked even as you trembled from the shock of it. “Good boy—take what you need.”

“God—baby—” he groaned, voice breaking, hips rutting up into you over and over. His breath came in short, harsh bursts, chest heaving like he couldn’t get enough air.

You leaned down, kissing him hard, swallowing the whimpers spilling from him as you let him lose it under you. “Yes, sweetheart,” you whispered hot against his lips when you pulled back, rocking with him, praising him through every frantic thrust. “Just like that. You feel so good, you’re making me feel so good.”

He whimpered, his brows furrowed tight as he clutched you closer. “I—fuck, I can’t—I can’t hold it, you’re—” His words dissolved into moans, ragged and desperate.

You dragged your nails down his chest, gasping as his rhythm grew sloppy, raw, overwhelming. “My beautiful boy,” you praised, voice velvet but breathless, “losing yourself under me. So perfect. So fucking hot.”

He let out another wrecked moan, head falling back, throat bared as he thrust up into you with everything he had left. His whimpers filled the room, broken and messy, his whole body trembling as he came apart beneath you.

And you kissed him through it, holding his face, praising him until all he could do was gasp and cling to you like you were the only thing keeping him alive. His chest was still heaving, breaths sharp and ragged, his skin damp with sweat. Head tipped back into the pillow, mouth parted, lips swollen from your kisses, he looked completely wrecked.

And yet, when you rolled your hips again, dragging yourself over him, you felt it: he was still achingly hard inside you. A dark, hungry smile spread over your lips as you leaned down, brushing your mouth against his jaw. “Still hard?“

A broken sound spilled out of him, half-moan, half-whimper, his fingers digging into your waist. “I—shit—love, I can’t… I can’t stop—” His voice was wrecked, breath still coming in those short, heavy bursts.

You kissed the corner of his open mouth, slow and deliberate, before whispering against his lips, “Good. Don’t stop. You’re not done yet, sweetheart.”

He whimpered again, the sound desperate, his body trembling beneath you as he tried to move his hips, messy, needy, still grinding up into you even though he was already spent.

Your hand slid into his damp hair, tugging gently to make him look at you. His eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide, but burning with something deeper.

“That’s it,” you murmured, shifting on him again, making both of you gasp at the drag. “You’re perfect.”

His lips trembled around another moan, his head falling back again as his breath caught in his throat. “I—I love you,” he gasped, broken, “I love you so much…”

His moans tore through the room, raw, desperate and shameless. Every thrust of his hips up into you came with another broken sound, his breaths hot and uneven against your throat when you leaned down. His hands gripped your waist tight, sliding up to clutch at your stomach like he was trying to anchor himself to you, hold you in place so he wouldn’t lose you. The harder he clung, the more his whimpers spilled out, choked and frantic. “Love—oh god—please—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” you gasped, grinding down on him, your nails dragging across his chest. “You’re so good for me, sweetheart. So desperate, so perfect—”

He cried out when you clenched around him, his body trembling under yours, hips rutting messily even though he was already spent. The sight of him—mouth open, eyes half-closed, begging without words, set fire through your veins.

It wasn’t just the way he filled you, the thick stretch hitting deep every time he thrust up, it was the sounds he made. The helpless whimpers, the stutter of your name on his lips, the hot and heavy breaths that hitched every time you praised him.

Your body tightened, heat building low and sharp, your rhythm faltering as the desperation in his voice undid you. “Fuck—baby, you’re gonna make me—”

Your climax ripped through you suddenly, violently, dragged out by nothing but the feel of him and the way he worshipped you with every moan. You came hard, clutching his face, kissing him rough as you broke apart on top of him.

He whimpered into your mouth, still clinging to your waist, still thrusting up weakly, desperate to give you everything even while you shook around him. When you finally pulled back for air, both of you wrecked and gasping, you whispered against his lips, voice shaky but sure: “You’re all mine. Every bit of you.”

And all he could do was nod, trembling, eyes wet, whispering back, “Always, love. Always.”

You finally let your body collapse beside him, the mattress dipping as you rolled onto your back. His hands reached for you instantly, fumbling and desperate, until you pulled him into your arms.

He let out a sharp inhale the moment his face pressed into your chest, cheek resting against the soft swell of your breasts. His whole body melted, trembling with the aftershocks, clutching at your waist like he couldn’t bear even an inch of space.

“You smell so good,” he whispered, voice hoarse and wrecked, every word muffled against your skin.

You hummed softly, still catching your breath, the sound vibrating in your throat as your fingers found their way into his damp hair. You raked through the wet strands slowly, tenderly, combing them back from his forehead.

His chest rose and fell too fast at first, but as you stroked him, he began to settle. His lips brushed lazily against your skin, just little movements that said more than words ever could.

His hand slid slowly under your shirt, fingers tentative at first, then firmer as they spread over your bare skin. The warmth of his palm against your breast made you draw in a sharp breath, your chest rising under his touch.

From where he lay half-tucked beneath you, his lips began trailing upward, soft kisses pressed against your jaw, then lower, finding the curve of your throat. Each one sent a shiver through you, your hand tightening instinctively in his damp hair. “Let me take this off…please,” he whispered into your neck, his voice low and wrecked, almost reverent.

The sound of him begging like that pulled a smile from you even as your own breath hitched. “How cute” you murmured, tilting your head to give him more of your throat. “Always so good with your manners.”

He kissed the spot where your pulse fluttered, shuddering against you, waiting. You shifted a little, guiding him with you, the shirt riding up as you both moved. His hands helped you, fumbling in his eagerness but still gentle, lifting the fabric over your stomach, over your chest. His mouth never left your skin, kissing higher with each inch revealed.

By the time the shirt cleared your head and was tossed aside, he pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes blown wide, lips swollen, chest still rising heavy. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, almost like he was afraid to say it too loud.

His hands were everywhere now, one sliding down under you, cupping you firmly from beneath as if to hold you steady in his grip, the solid weight of his arm pressing against your spine. The other dragged slowly over your stomach, savoring every inch of skin, fingers trembling with want but moving with deliberate care.

He shifted lower, his lips brushing over the soft curve of your stomach, kissing reverently, almost worshipful. His breath was hot, uneven, every exhale betraying how undone he already was. Then he moved up, pressing open-mouthed kisses that grew hungrier with each one until his mouth found your breast. His lips closed around you, tongue flicking, swirling, drawing another sharp gasp from your throat as your back arched.

“Baby,” you breathed, your hand tightening in his hair as he groaned softly against you. His tongue dragged higher, hot and wet, tracing your skin all the way up. Then his mouth sealed at your neck, kissing and sucking at the sensitive flesh there until your pulse raced under his tongue.

“Mm, sweetheart…” he murmured between the kisses, voice low and hoarse, “you taste..so fucking good.” The suction at your neck turned harsher, his teeth grazing you just enough to make your breath hitch, and then he soothed the spot with another wet, lingering kiss.

All the while, his hands never stopped roaming, one cupping you from below, the other stroking your stomach, sliding dangerously close to where you needed him most. His voice broke against your skin, soft and desperate, his lips brushing over the swell of your chest.

“You’ve been so good for me—” he whispered, the words shaky, reverent, “—let me be good to you.”

The promise hung between you, hot and trembling, as his mouth traveled lower again. He kissed across your chest slowly, leaving little trails of warmth, then let his lips close around your skin, sucking until heat bloomed under the surface. A sharp sting, soothed by his tongue, followed by another kiss.

Then another. And another.

Little hickeys, deliberate, dotting the places only the two of you would ever see, high on the swell of your breast where a shirt would cover, just above your ribs, beneath the curve where the fabric would never slip.

He groaned against your skin, the sound almost broken with need, as though every mark he left was a plea, a claim, and a devotion all at once.

“Mmh, baby…” you breathed, your fingers threading tighter into his hair as your back arched to meet his mouth. He kissed up to your collarbone, sucking gently until another bruise blossomed there, his tongue smoothing over it before moving higher. His lips dragged along the curve of your throat, sucking hard enough to make you gasp. Each mark felt like fire and love at once, the heat of him searing into you as he whispered hoarsely against your skin, “My beautiful girl.”

His lips trailed over you like a prayer. Every kiss was slow, reverent, each little suction mark pressed into your skin carrying the weight of all the things he couldn’t put into words.

“You’re everything to me,” he murmured, his breath hot against your chest before his mouth sealed over you again. Another bruise bloomed under his tongue, right beneath your collarbone, hidden from anyone else’s eyes.

His hand on your spine slid higher, holding you close, while the one at your stomach stroked you in languid circles, grounding himself in the feel of your body.

“I love you so much,” he whispered between kisses, lips brushing over the soft curve of your breast, his teeth grazing lightly before soothing with his tongue. “More than I ever thought I could love anyone.”

Your head fell back, a soft sound escaping you as his mouth moved higher again, kissing up the column of your throat, dotting you with faint marks along the way. He lingered there, sucking gently at the spot just beneath your jaw, making you gasp. He pulled back only an inch, enough to murmur against your damp skin, voice low and hoarse. “You smell like home to me.”

Your hand threaded tighter into his still-wet hair, tugging gently as your chest rose against his. He groaned at the contact, pressing his lips back to your throat, marking you again and again.

Little constellations of love and hunger scattered across your skin, over your ribs, between your breasts, your collarbone, the tender dip of your shoulder. Each one hidden, secret, belonging only to the two of you.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, kissing just beneath your ear, “I want you to feel me everywhere—even when I’m not there.”

His mouth claimed another piece of you, sucking until your breath hitched, then soothing it with a kiss as soft as a vow.

You tugged at his hair, pulling him up from your skin until his face hovered just above yours. His eyes never left you—dark, wide, so full of love they nearly ached.

“Such a good man,” you whispered, velvet and teasing but laced with truth, “covering me in your kisses.”

The way he looked at you then, like you’d hung the stars just for him, nearly undid you. He leaned down, pressing his mouth to yours in a kiss that was deep and consuming, hot with devotion, melting you into him until you both forgot where one ended and the other began.

You pulled him gently back down into your side, guiding his head to rest against you. His breath was still unsteady, his lips pressing one last kiss to your bare chest before he sighed, his body finally beginning to relax.

“Get some sleep, baby,” he murmured into your skin, voice husky and tender. “We have to wake early.” His hand slid lazily from your ribs, tracing down over the curve of your waist to your hip, holding you possessively but soft.

You let out a low, wicked hum, brushing your lips against his temple. “Yeah, maybe early enough to get a second round.”

That made him laugh quietly against your chest, the sound muffled and fond. You caught his lips again, slow and warm, before pulling him tighter into you. “I love you,” he whispered, already drifting.

“I know,” you murmured back, stroking through his damp hair as his breathing evened out, “and I love you.”

Wrapped around each other, bare skin pressed close, you let the quiet take over—warm, full, the promise of morning heat lingering between you as sleep finally claimed you both.

The morning light slipped gently through the curtains, warm and golden, spilling across the sheets where you still lay tangled. A soft clink on the nightstand was the first thing you registered—the faint sound of porcelain as he set down a steaming cup of coffee.

Then his presence followed. Tota, kneeling beside the bed now, his dark hair still mussed from sleep, only his briefs clinging low to his hips. He reached out with careful fingers, brushing them through your hair in long, tender strokes. His touch was so delicate it made you stir, your lips curling before your eyes even opened.

“Good morning, my love,” he whispered, voice husky and warm, his lips brushing the words close to your ear.

You stretched languidly, a satisfied hum leaving you as your body arched. “God—I’m sore,” you murmured, voice low with sleep, “and I feel your kisses everywhere.” Finally, your eyes blinked open, finding him kneeling there with that crooked little smile. You smirked up at him knowingly.

His chest rose a little faster at your words, the blush climbing faintly to his cheeks. His thumb brushed over your temple before he leaned in, kissing your forehead with a tenderness that almost hurt. “Good,” he whispered, almost reverent, his voice a low rumble that settled deep inside your chest.

You watched him for a moment, drinking him in—the faint marks on his throat, the way his muscles shifted as he moved, the quiet devotion in his gaze that never seemed to leave you.

With one last lingering look, he pushed to his feet, stretching briefly before padding toward the bathroom. The sound of water running filled the quiet morning, a soft, domestic hum.

Left in the sheets, the warmth of his kiss still on your forehead and the scent of fresh coffee curling in the air, you couldn’t help but smile, your body humming with the echo of his love and the promise of more to come.

When he came back, the quiet pad of his footsteps drew your gaze from the sheets. His hair was still damp from his brush, neat now, and the faint mint on his breath told you he’d just finished at the sink. Standing in the doorway, he looked relaxed in a way he rarely did anywhere else but here.

“You wanna drive with me?” he asked, leaning casually against the frame, but the softness in his tone betrayed how much he wanted you there.

“Yes, baby. Let me get ready,” you whispered, voice still heavy with the drowsy warmth of morning. You slipped out of bed, stretching before tugging his shirt, rumpled from the night before, back over your bare shoulders. The hem brushed the tops of your thighs, leaving your panties peeking beneath.

When you glanced up, he was just… staring. Not with hunger exactly, but with that wide-eyed, overwhelmed awe he always got when he forgot to mask how much he adored you. “One day,” he said quietly, almost like it slipped out before he could think, “I’m going to marry you.”

You paused beside him, lips curving into a slow, knowing smile as you reached for him. “Of course you will.”

You pulled him down into another kiss before he could say anything else, your fingers curling into the back of his neck. His breath caught, his lips molding to yours with that familiar softness, hot with promise. When you finally pulled back, you pressed your forehead to his, your smirk widening. “And I’ll make sure you’re the happiest man alive when you do.”

His cheeks flushed, his hands finding your waist as though he needed to hold you to believe it.

The drive was short, a comfortable silence hanging between you both broken only by the occasional brush of his hand over yours on the gearshift. When you arrived at the NPA, the shift into work-mode was almost immediate: badges clipped, posture straighter, the professional air slipping over you like armor.

But for you, the real fun began once you stepped inside.

The first time you crossed paths with him that morning, he was bent slightly over his desk, pen scratching across reports. You slowed just enough to pass behind his chair, leaning down as if you were simply checking a file. Your lips brushed his ear.

“Such a good boy,” you whispered, your voice velvet and low, “already working so hard.”

He jolted, the pen skittering slightly across the paper before he caught himself. His ears burned red, his head ducking lower over the document. “…Love,” he murmured back, barely audible, “someone will hear you.”

You smirked and kept walking.

The second time, you found him by the copy machine, papers stacked neatly in his arms. You brushed way closer than necessary as you reached for the tray beside him. Your breath ghosted over his ear. “Mm, all neat and organized too. Do you know how hot it is, baby, watching you be so perfect at your job?”

His throat bobbed, the stack of papers nearly slipping from his grasp. He avoided your eyes, muttering, “Please…” but the way his voice cracked told you he wasn’t asking you to stop.

By midday, he was a wreck. Sitting at his desk, glasses slipping down his nose as he typed into the computer with single-minded determination. You drifted close, pretending to drop a file on his desk. Your fingers brushed his shoulder, and you leaned down just enough.

“My good boy,” you breathed, every syllable molten against his skin. “Sitting so nice, getting all his work done. You have no idea what I’m going to do to you when we get home.”

He nearly choked on air, his hands freezing on the keyboard before he forced them back into motion, shoulders trembling.

From across the office, you caught his glance later, dark eyes flicking up, cheeks flushed, breath visibly shallow. He was holding himself together with frayed threads, but the way he looked at you said it all.

After work, he air outside was cool, humming faintly with the traffic in the street. You leaned against the side of the building, arms crossed, waiting. The doors finally swung open and there he was, tie loosened, suit jacket in one hand, his expression already wrecked with barely-contained need.

He didn’t slow down. His other hand shot out, threading into your hair, pulling your head back just enough to crash his mouth onto yours. The kiss was desperate, messy, full of the hunger he’d bottled up all day. His lips moved frantically against yours, teeth clashing, tongue pushing past your lips like a man starved. You smirked into it, breaking away only long enough to murmur, “Oh? What did I do to deserve that, baby?”

His answer came ragged, torn between gasps and kisses. “You—shit—you made me hard the whole day. Whispering all that stuff—” His breath shuddered as he kissed you again, hand tugging tighter in your hair. “I am so, so starved.”

Your laugh was low, sultry, brushing hot against his lips before you kissed him back, deep and commanding, your hands flattening over his chest. “Good,” you whispered against his mouth, your smile sharp. “That’s exactly how I wanted you.”

He groaned, pressing you harder against the wall, kissing you like he needed you to breathe. His suit jacket fell forgotten at your feet, his fingers digging into your waist with a desperation that trembled all the way through him.

You grabbed his side firmly, grounding him with a touch that made him falter mid-kiss. His lips hovered just above yours, his breath hot and ragged. “Come, let’s go home, baby,” you whispered, velvet and commanding.

He swallowed hard, nodding, eyes blown wide. You bent to scoop up his crumpled jacket, shoving it into his hand before tugging him toward the car. He followed without a word, his fingers twitching like he could barely stand not to touch you again.

The drive back was thick with tension, every glance he threw you full of raw hunger. His hand curling on the gearshift only to drift close to your knee, hesitating, desperate.

And you? You just smiled, one hand sliding deliberately over his thigh, slow enough to make him bite back a moan.

By the time the building lights of the city blurred past, his chest was rising too fast, his jaw clenched, his body humming with need. The only thing hotter than the way he looked right then was the promise waiting the moment you both walked through your door.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ full already? didn’t think so. my masterlist’s right here.

© ᴠᴇʟᴠᴇᴛɢʜᴏᴜʟ

“Two years, three months and… a week? Is that right?” he mutters to himself. “I believe so. That’s not exactly long in the grand scheme of things. But is it long enough?” As usual, he crouches with his bare feet on the seat, thumbing his lower lip with one hand while the other rests on his knee.

You’re used to the way L talks to himself when he’s working through something, so you don’t comment on his little monologue.

“Did you decide what to order yet?” you ask, slotting a postcard from Tokyo between the pages of your book to hold your place.

“Chocolate cream pie.” L’s eyes dart down to the makeshift bookmark. “Ah, you kept it?”

“Of course. I never throw out any of the postcards you send me from your trips.”

The barest hint of a smile curves his lips as his gaze lifts back to you, wordlessly letting you know that your gesture means a lot to him. Over the years, you and L have grown close; comfortable in each other's company, often seeking each other out simply to be near to one another. He’s the type of friend you can spend hours just sitting beside, watching raindrops slide down the windows, neither of you speaking, the silence between you as comforting as conversation.

L eases your anxieties and you– at least you hope– ease his. Though earning that trust and camaraderie has been a slow process; one which has taken two years… three months and… a week.

“That's how long it's been since we met, isn't it?” You ask, picking up your water to take a sip. “That's what you're thinking about.”

“Yes.” He picks up the sugar shaker and pours about a fifth of its contents into his teacup. “You should know, I'm debating whether to ask you if you would be willing to have sex with me.”

He doesn't even flinch when you splutter into your glass. Surely you heard wrong. “Huh?”

“It's something I'm considering,” he says, stirring the sugar into his tea, pincering the teaspoon with his thumb and forefinger and watching it intensely as he speaks. In all the years you've known him, you've never seen him grasp anything with his whole hand. “I've felt the urge and lately it's become quite persistent. And if I were to explore that avenue I would want it to be with someone I trust. That really only leaves Watari, which is out of the question, a handful of colleagues, which is… a little better but hm… no. Or you. And I'll admit, I have a significant desire for it to be you.”

The world stops spinning for a moment, your racing heart drowns out your thoughts. “Huh?”

“Don't worry. I haven't decided if I'll ask you yet.”

“Uh huh.”

He looks up with genuine concern in his eyes. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No! No… it's just… I didn't expect it.”

“Well that makes two of us,” he says, sipping the tea with an audible slurp. “A lot happened in Tokyo, as you’re aware. It gave me a lot to consider, and… if I’m honest, brought home the fleeting nature of life.” He takes another sip and then stares directly into your eyes. “I think I will ask you.”

“...okay…”

“Will you have sex with me?”

“Yes.” Your face heats as his dark eyes continue watching you, his expression completely neutral. You have to admit, in the two years, three months, and a week since you met him you've wondered about it, but it wasn't until he asked that you realized just how badly you want him. “Yes I will.”

“Thank you.” He lowers his gaze to the menu in front of him, worrying his lips with the tip of his thumb. “Maybe I want strawberry shortcake instead of chocolate cream. Hm… that’s a conundrum.”

“You could get both?” you suggest with a playful smile, trying to relieve a little of the tension you’re feeling. “You successfully cracked the Kira case, and got home safely. We should celebrate.”

His wide eyes dart to you for a moment, shock registering over his face as he considers it. “Yes, you’re right. Both. One for now and one for after we're done. That sounds like it could be nice.”

“You want to.. um…do it tonight?”

“Yes. I was thinking we could after we're finished here. Is that alright?”

You nod, still a little thrown off kilter by this sudden turn of events. But is it really all that sudden? You’ve felt something more than friendship toward L for a while now, and he’s comfortable around you, he likes to spend time with you; you’re soothing to him in a way, just as he is to you.

And, to be frank, L’s handsome. And completely unaware of it which only makes him hotter.

However, you can’t help but question whether it will change things between you. Will your friendship suffer for the sake of one night?

“I promise I won’t be weird about it,” L says, his gaze fixed on you once more. He always has had a way of figuring out exactly what you’re thinking, almost as if he can read your mind. But no, he’s just that smart and that good at reading people. “We can go right back to being friends afterward if we wish. Communication is key. And of course, if you’re in any way uncomfortable or hesitant–”

“I’m not. I want this.” Your sudden admission makes his eyes widen and your heart skip. Yes, you want it. You want him. Bad.

***

It’s a little after eight when L’s car drops you both off at a hotel.

“I figured a neutral place would work best for us,” he explains as you step into the elevator beside him and the porter presses the button for the top floor suite. “That way either of us can simply leave if…” he trails off, staring straight ahead for a moment before his gaze turns back to you. “I’m sure we’ll have… It’ll be… hm… is fun the right word? It sounds wrong.”

The air between you grows heavy as you stand side-by-side, the porter’s presence holding you back from saying everything you want to. An overwhelming need to reassure L, to make sure he knows that you want him to feel good in every conceivable way, from physical pleasure to comfort and safety, fills you, but the words sit behind a dam at the back of your throat.

When you glance over at L, he’s watching you, his wide eyes studying your facial expressions. And then he side-steps closer to you, the back of his hand nudging yours; such a simple and casual gesture that lets you know he’s there.

“Fun, yeah,” you say.

“Okay, so if you start laughing it means I’m doing well. Understood.”

He delivers the line so flatly it makes you splutter, drawing the attention of the porter. And just like that he sets you at ease; L, your strange, brilliant, enigmatic friend.

Your friend who takes you to the penthouse suite with every intention of fucking you but who first gives you a tour, opening the fully stocked refrigerator and telling you to help yourself.

“I asked them to provide refreshments. Sex burns calories and it seemed polite to make sure your energy reserves were replenished,” he says, pushing aside a plate of chocolate eclairs to place his strawberry shortcake from the diner into the fridge. He then takes you to the bathroom, instructs you on how to turn on the shower and adjust the heat. Then demonstrates the functions of the TVs remote control and the numbers to dial for room service as displayed on the phone by the bedside. And then–

"L… are you nervous?”

“Ah, is it obvious?”

“A little. But it's okay,” you say, gently taking his hand in yours. “I kinda am too.”

“I’m… struggling with the issue of initiation,” he says flatly, glancing down at your joined hands. “If you wouldn’t mind… taking the lead.”

“Okay,” you say, stepping toward him. “How about we start with kissing?”

“Kissing? Yes. We’ll try that.”

Your heart thrums as you lean in and L mirrors your movement, the space between you shrinking by tentative inches. L’s eyes remain wide open as you close the gap and allow your lips to touch his, an almost painful dart of excitement shooting through you at the sensation.

He inhales sharply, draws back, and then leans in once again.

His lips are stiff at first, but warm, and still taste faintly of chocolate cake. The first few moments consist of you kissing L, and him standing frozen like a deer in the headlights. Fearing he’s not into it you pull back, only for him to close the gap again instantly, this time his lips seeking yours. Only the very tips of his fingers rest on your shoulders, as though he isn’t quite sure what to do with his hands. His kiss is soft and shallow; little butterfly kisses which cause a giddy, tingling sensation to bubble in your chest.

His tongue shyly flicks against your lower lip, seeking affirmation and permission. And you grant it, winding your arms around his waist and pulling him closer, rewarded for your boldness with another low, approving groan.

His fingers cautiously slide up to your neck before coming to rest on your jaw. A quiet rumble of pleasure emerges from his throat as his confidence grows and his kiss deepens, and before long, L is kissing you like your lips contain the answers to every one of the world’s mysteries. Those little sounds of pleasure hum against your lips. And when you open your eyes to check whether his are still wide, you find he's closed them, his dark eyelashes resting on his cheeks, his expression serene and lost in the sensation of your kiss.

“Hm…” he mutters as you break apart for air. “I’m enjoying this more than I thought I would.”

“Good, me too.”

“I’m aware how clinical this sounds but I have researched different ways to approach this, and the universal consensus from both reputable and anecdotal sources is that we will both enjoy it much more if… you are… aroused.” He looks up and away for a moment, tracing the lower ridge of his lip with his thumb as if trying to recall something. “If you’re…wet.”

“Oh, well, yeah–”

L draws closer, his breath warm as he whispers by your ear, “I want to get you wet.”

The air catches in your lungs, a preemptive pulse of pleasure throbbing between your thighs as his lips begin to explore the sensitive skin of your neck. L has always had a way of putting things plainly.

“I’ve read that neck kisses help,” he mutters, his words muffled against your skin. “As well as stimulating your breasts and your clitoris with my fingers… and my tongue. The thought of that appeals to me. I would like to try it.”

“Hah… of course. You’re already doing… doing a good job…” you breathe out as he continues to kiss your throat, his unruly black hair tickling your jaw and shoulder, his fingers ever-so-gently mapping the curve of your cheeks.

After a moment he pulls back, studying your face before his gaze drops to your lips. “Really? Interesting. I’d thought it would be harder; pun not intended but it deserves to be recognized nevertheless. I do have an erection simply from kissing you. But while our genitals seem to already reached near optimal physical states for sex to occur, I would still like to continue, as planned, with exploration and cunnilingus if you’re happy to proceed–” His words are cut off as you return his gesture, kissing the firm column of his neck, your tongue sliding up the deep groove of muscle traversing its length. “Oh! Oh…”

“That good?”

He nods. “Extremely so-hoh.”

He’s so responsive to your touch, his breath catching in his throat, his fingers trembling against your upper arms. You very quickly become proficient at pulling gasps and breathy moans from him, every inch of him so incredibly sensitive. A choked groan emerges from him as your hands wander down to the hem of his shirt, your fingers caressing the warm, supple skin of his abdomen and the coarse trail of hair leading down to his waistband.

You break away from kissing his neck long enough to pull his shirt up over his head, your hands coming to rest in the subtle curve of his waist. He follows your lead, tugging at your top, breath heavy, hands clumsy and eager. The moment your skin is exposed he tilts his hips toward you, back arching so he can press his body to yours. Hungry for the comfort of your touch, your skin against his, your warmth, your softness. He soaks it in, his lips finding yours once more.

When he slips down his jeans without pulling away from your lips, his cock prods at you through his boxers, just as eager as the rest of him, and unmistakably large.

And he's so hungry for you, so keen to experience it all. The moment you unclasp your bra and toss it aside, his mouth is on your breasts, deep groans telegraphing his pleasure. He kisses them so softly, so carefully you find yourself arching up against his mouth, silently demanding more. Maddeningly gentle. Deliciously sweet.

Together, you shed off the rest of your clothes and stumble toward the bed. Sitting on the edge of the mattress while he bends down with you, unwilling to take his mouth off you for even a second. Your hands trace the lean shape of his body, his pale skin pebbling at your touch.

His kisses trail down your chest, your belly, your hips, his lips leaving tingles of pleasure in their wake. Slender fingers part your thighs as he crouches between them, his breath warm against your pussy. A quiet hum of contemplation rolls from his throat and he touches his fingertip to your clit. Those wide eyes gaze at you, somehow filled with both knowledge and innocence, and an unspoken question you hear loud and clear…

Is this right?

“Yes…” it’s all you can choke out before he sticks out his tongue and licks.

The sudden shock of pleasure pulls a gasp from you. His tongue is slippery, soft, warm, and hesitant at first until he gets the taste for you and a switch flips. If some part of you had worried that he wouldn't like the taste, you're dead wrong. L devours you, his tongue slipping between your pussy lips, dragging along your slit, circling and lapping at your clit. His groans reverberate through you, his face buried eagerly between your thighs, hands greedily keeping them apart, feathery black hair tickling your skin.

Perhaps it shouldn't come as a surprise he’s good with his mouth– you've watched him tie cherry stalks with his tongue after all– but the fervent hunger, his insatiable desire to taste you, that you didn't expect.

And apparently, neither did he. He pulls back briefly, his ashen cheeks for once a little pinker, his eyelids heavy and unable to tear their gaze from your pussy.

“This… might actually be better than cake.”

You laugh, despite your frustration at the loss of his touch. “Don't stop…”

“Oh! Right…” he leans in, placing a slow, open mouthed kiss on your clit, his tongue so soft and gentle you find yourself arching your back, rocking your hips against his mouth, desperate for more pressure.

Dark eyes flick up to you, and you can tell he's pleased, he enjoys your reactions. Just as he enjoys it when you run your hands through his hair, stopping at the back of his head, gently holding him against you. He reads your body language perfectly, picking up the pace, increasing the pressure, licking you with renewed fervor, driving you closer… closer…

“Mmhhh… hmmm…” he murmurs, fingers digging slightly deeper into the plush of your thighs when they start to tremble. Every breath huffs from his nose as he refuses to let up, his lips forming a tight seal around your clit as he licks and licks. The wet, sucking sound of his mouth against your tender flesh makes it all the better; so lewd, so utterly primal.

And when you cum, his eyes shoot back up to you, his expression a mix of shock and wonder at the sensation of your pussy pulsing beneath his lips. He doesn’t let up until you tell him to, and even then he’s slow to do so, sighing softly as he tenderly and affectionately kisses your throbbing clit.

When he rocks back on his heels, still crouched, he’s hazy-eyed, flushed, breathless. A creamy bead of pre-cum trickles from the tip of his cock as he licks his lips. “I enjoyed that far more than I expected I would. If you asked me to do it again, I doubt I’d hesitate.”

You nod, heat tingling beneath the surface of your skin. “You’re good at it.”

“Ah! Good.” He glances down at his weeping cock. “Are you still happy to continue?”

“God, yes.”

“Oh, we’re at the petnames stage already? I’m flattered.” He pauses, staring directly into your eyes. “That was an attempt at a joke, I believe I’m deflecting a little, trying to mask my nerves with humor.”

Oh L… you can’t help but feel so hopelessly endeared to him. This sweet, strange, wonderful man who just ate your pussy like it was his first meal in years, and yet still feels nervous when really you’re already completely satisfied.

“How about if I take the lead? You can just lie back and… feel…” you offer.

He contemplates it for a moment, tapping his thumb against his cupid’s bow. “Yes. I think I would like that. And you can have extra cake later for doing all the hard work. That was another attempt at humor.”

“Cake and sex? Win win.” You pat the bed beside you. “Come on, we’ll take it nice and easy. I’ll stop when you say when.”

“I’m very glad I asked you to share this with me,” he says as he climbs onto the bed and lies back, one hand resting on his stomach, the other still worrying his lips. “I feel… safe. Comfortable. There’s a sense of belonging here with you which makes this all far more pleasant and… a little less terrifying.”

“There’s no need to be scared,” you say softly, kissing the fingers resting on his lips as you straddle him.

“Rest assured I do feel safe with you. But… I do feel a little exposed laid out flat like this. It isn’t a natural position for me to be in. Would you mind if I…” He experimentally bends his legs, raising his knees so his thighs are flush with your ass. “Is this okay?”

It means you have to keep your weight forward, your hands braced on the pillow either side of his head and your chest flush with his. But it also means your faces are close; close enough to kiss, close enough that you can take his hand in yours, interlocking your fingers together on the pillow. “It’s more than okay.”

“This. This is nice,” he whispers,” the tip of his nose grazing against yours. “I feel good. Safe. Thank you.”

You treat him so tenderly he shivers as you kiss his lips, his jaw, then down his neck to his chest. His breath catches as your lips graze his nipple, and his hips jut upward against you. The moment the head of his cock nudges your pussy his eyes widen and his lips part.

“Certainly… very wet. And warm.” His other hand darts down to hold your hip, subtly urging you downward.

The tip of his cock feels almost impossibly fat against your entrance. You kiss your way back up his throat to look him in the eyes. “Yes?”

“Yes!” He quivers, nodding to reaffirm his consent, eyes wide, lips open around his heavy breaths. “Continue. I want to… feel… oh…” He freezes the moment you lower yourself onto him and feels your wet heat consume him. “Oh… you are… extremely warm. Soft. Hoh… wet…”

You kiss him softly, smiling that his usual eloquence has been reduced to a quiet stream of grunts and adjectives. His grip on your hand tightens the moment you rock your hips.

“Ah! It’s… it’s good…” he murmurs, his lips once again seeking yours, though even their deftness is lacking. His kiss is soft and uncoordinated, his moans muffled against your lips, his breaths catching in his throat before he can properly exhale.

And he feels good for you too. Not just the intoxicating stretch, or the way the pair of you slowly grind your hips together, faces so close you’re sharing the same air. For those few minutes there was never any Kira case, never any fear he would become nothing more than a name on a neverending list of victims. He isn’t even just a beloved friend you’re doing this with once so he can know what it feels like. He’s simply L… your L… and you’re together, right where you belong.

His eyes close and he inhales sharply, his cock throbbing inside you as he lifts his head and buries it in the crook of your neck, curling up as much as he can with your weight on top of him.

“Gya… shhh… ah! Ah!” He groans and hisses against your shoulder, his orgasm causing him to tremble. “D-don’t…” he gasps. “Don’t stop. Not yet. Stay with me. Please.”

“Okay,” you assure him, kissing him softly once more. “I’ll stay.”

And you do. You stay with him in bed for hours, kissing, experimenting, hiding from the world together. You stay with him and eat cake after that. And you stay with him in the hotel bed watching raindrops slide down the windowpane while he curls up in your arms and reiterates the simple truth…