#dn x reader

it was a dinky hole-in-the-wall bar tucked away in a corner of the city that most people forgot existed. the music wasn’t loud enough to dance to, just a low hum designed to keep your own thoughts from ringing too loudly in your head.

the drinks were mediocre—bottles slightly too warm and pours a little too shallow—but they did the job if you needed to get trashed. more than anything, it was the kind of place you went to disappear after a bad day.

that’s why you were there. you were wearing a simple black dress; nothing showy, especially since the place was half-empty, but it was enough to make you feel decent. the goal was simple: get a little numb and forget your moronic co-workers existed. you hadn't come looking for trouble, or even a conversation, but the night seemed to have other plans for you.

the plans came in the form of two men at opposite ends of the bar, both of whom had just ordered you a drink at the exact same time.

to your left was a guy who looked like he’d walked off a runway and straight into a dive bar. he was tall, with hair as white as fresh snow and a pair of dark sunglasses perched on his nose despite the dim lighting. he leaned back against the mahogany, sporting a grin that was equal parts sleazy and effortless. he looked like he owned the place, or was about to buy it.

conversely, the man to your right was a complete contrast. he sat hunched over his stool in a way that looked painful, his spine curved like a question mark. his dark hair was a mess, and even from a distance, the heavy bags under his eyes were prominent. he didn't offer a flashy smile; in fact, he didn't even look at you. he just sat there in a plain white tee, staring into his glass, slowly swirling the liquid around like he was looking for something at the bottom of it.

they were nothing alike, and yet, the heat that coiled in your stomach was exactly the same.

Suspiciously cozy

L x Reader

Previous Fic (this is part two!)

You wake up drooling.

Not your best moment. But also not your worst, because when you lift your head and blink the sleep out of your eyes, you realize you’ve drooled directly onto L’s shirt.

His white shirt.

The one he hasn’t changed in at least three days, which might make this your problem now.

“...Sorry,” you mumble, wiping at it half-heartedly.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull away. Just stares at the faint damp patch like he’s calculating how long it’ll take to dry—or how many viruses are in your spit.

You squint. “...Are you analyzing my saliva?”

“Yes,” he says.

You nod. “Cool.”

In the distance, you hear Misa—probably trying to break her own handcuffs again. Light is muttering in his god complex but make it sexy voice. Something about justice. You don’t listen.

Your attention is on L, who still hasn’t moved, his bony wrist still linked to yours, his shirt riding up slightly from where you’d curled against him all night.

You yawn and sit up halfway, tugging your arm gently. “Bathroom.”

He doesn’t budge.

“…Ryuzaki. I need to pee.”

“I am aware,” he says, making no attempt to stand.

You stare. He stares back.

“...Do you want me to just go here?” you threaten, absolutely bluffing.

He sighs like a man who’s seen too much. “No. Fine. Come along.”

You both shuffle to the bathroom like condemned prisoners, which… is kinda accurate. You close the door behind you, yank the cuffs against the hinge.

He turns around. Respectfully.

You pee with him standing two feet away, back turned like the world's most awkward lamp. He’s silent. You hum.

This is fine.

Later, back in the surveillance room, Misa’s curled up dramatically on the floor, whispering about how unfair it all is, and Light looks like he hasn’t slept in 72 hours because he’s probably trying to outmaneuver a literal death god with just his cheekbones and a superiority complex.

You, however, are sitting in L’s lap now. Again.

He’s not stopping you. Again.

“Are you using me for warmth?” he asks flatly.

“No,” you lie, snuggling deeper into his warmth.

“You’re suspicious,” he says.

“You’re comfy,” you counter.

Light makes a strangled noise like he’s dying. “I swear to god, Y/N, if you are Kira—”

“What?” you blink. “You’ll write my name in your diary of edgy thoughts and judgment?”

L lets out a short laugh. Like, a real one. It’s tiny and weird and sounds like it startled even him.

Misa glares. “Why do you get to sit on him?!”

You grin, sleepy and smug. “Maybe I’m his emotional support parasite.”

L doesn’t deny it.

You lean against him again, tugging gently on the handcuff chain like it’s a friendship bracelet and not police-grade steel.

“If I am Kira,” you say, lips barely brushing the shell of his ear, “what would you do?”

L doesn’t move. His voice is soft, low, unsettling in its calm.

“…I’d stop you.”

You smile. But you don’t say anything. You just lay your head back down on his shoulder and pretend this is normal.

(time skip)

The air feels heavier today.

Not in a dramatic, end-of-the-world way (though, technically, that’s not off the table). More like everything in this room is running out of oxygen. Misa’s given up yelling and is sulking in the corner, Light’s voice has gone quiet and sharp like a knife left in ice water, and Ryuzaki… well.

Ryuzaki hasn’t moved from his chair in three hours.

You’re draped sideways across it, wrist still cuffed to his, cheek smushed against his knee. You can feel him thinking. It’s like a static hum under his skin.

“You’re awfully still,” you mumble.

He tilts his head, dark eyes flicking to you. “You’re awfully calm for someone who may be executed.”

You yawn, lazily. “If I’m executed, you’re gonna miss your pillow.”

A pause. Then: “Hm.”

That’s all. Just “hm.” Like he’s cataloguing your heartbeat or your sarcasm.

Light breaks the silence. “I’ve been thinking. The real Kira is obviously using Misa as a pawn. And Y/N’s behavior…” his eyes flick to you, cool and deliberate, “…is suspicious at best.”

“Aww,” you coo, stretching. “You noticed me.”

Light’s jaw tightens. “I’m serious.”

“Me too. You did notice me.” You grin. “Does that make me Kira or just charming?”

Ryuzaki’s thumb brushes your wrist absently, right where the cuff bites against your skin. “You do realize,” he murmurs, “that if you are Kira, all of this—” he gestures vaguely: the handcuffs, the late nights, the sugar cubes “—ends with your arrest.”

“If I’m Kira,” you say softly, “you’d already be dead.”

For a second, there’s no sound. Not even Misa’s quiet sniffles. Not even Light’s low breathing. Just the tiny clink of the chain between you.

Ryuzaki leans forward, his face inches from yours, hair falling in messy shadows. “Is that a confession?”

“No,” you whisper, eyes half-lidded. “It’s a reminder.”

You don’t move back. Neither does he. His gaze slides down to your mouth, then back up to your eyes. Unreadable. Always unreadable.

“You’re strange,” he says again, but this time his voice is different. Quieter. Almost fond.

You tilt your head, smiling just enough to be dangerous. “So are you.”

Light makes another strangled noise in the background. Misa mutters something about soap operas. None of it reaches you.

For a heartbeat, it’s just you and him. Suspicion and warmth, cuffs and quiet. You’re not sure if you want him to figure you out or not.

(time skip)

The clock on the wall ticks too loud.

Misa’s curled up against the far wall like a paper doll someone forgot to color in. Light’s still talking—he’s always talking—but his voice sounds tinny, like it’s coming through a phone line underwater.

Ryuzaki hasn’t let go of your wrist. You’re not sure if that’s because he’s cautious or because he’s forgotten to.

His thumb moves again, a ghost of a circle against your pulse. It’s not comforting. It’s not not comforting, either.

“You’re staring,” you murmur.

“I’m observing,” he says, like it’s a correction.

You tilt your head back to look at him. Upside-down, he looks younger. Or maybe you just look hungrier.

“Observing what?”

“The way you breathe.”

Light snaps his notebook shut with a sound like breaking bone. “Enough,” he hisses. “We’re wasting time. If Y/N isn’t Kira, then they’re protecting Kira. Either way—”

“Either way what?” you interrupt, voice flat.

He stares at you, jaw flexing. “Either way, you’re dangerous.”

Ryuzaki’s fingers tighten just enough to remind you of the metal between you. “I’m aware,” he says, but you’re not sure which one of you he means.

The chain clinks again, a quiet heartbeat.

You shift, leaning up until your faces are almost level. “You want me to crack?” you whisper.

“I want the truth,” he whispers back.

For a second, you think you see it—the tiniest flicker of something soft in his eyes, like he’s as tired of the game as you are.

You smile. It’s small. Sharp. Not an answer.

Light’s voice cuts in, sharp as glass: “Stop playing with them, Ryuzaki. It’s reckless.”

But Ryuzaki doesn’t move away. His eyes stay locked on yours, steady and searching.

“Reckless,” he repeats, low. “Perhaps.”

You’re close enough now that if you breathed any deeper, your lips might brush.

“So?” you ask softly. “What are you going to do about it?”

He doesn’t answer. He just watches you, and the room holds its breath.

(time skip)

It’s quiet again. Not peaceful quiet—loaded quiet. Like something is about to snap.

Misa fell asleep an hour ago, curled like a cat under her coat. Light’s pacing in circles, ranting about probabilities and manipulation and justice, but no one’s listening anymore. Especially not Ryuzaki.

You’re still cuffed together. Still sharing the same breath.

He hasn’t moved in a while—again. His posture is lazy, but his mind is sprinting. You can feel it in the way his fingers twitch every so often. In the way he keeps glancing at you, like you’re a puzzle with one missing piece and it’s starting to piss him off.

You’re leaned back against the wall now, knees pulled to your chest. His arm follows yours automatically, the chain pulling taut between you.

“You’ve stopped pretending not to watch me,” you say, voice low.

He doesn't deny it.

Instead, he shifts. Closer.

You feel it before you see it—the way the air changes when someone gets too near. Your skin prickles. Your breath stills.

“You’re dangerous,” he says again, almost thoughtfully. “But I don’t think it’s in the way they think.”

“How do you think?”

His eyes flick to your mouth. Quickly. Deliberately. Then back up.

“I think,” he says slowly, “you want me to trust you.”

You lean in just a little, lashes low. “Do you?”

The space between you is barely the length of a thought now. You can see the tension in his jaw. The slight hitch in his breath.

“I haven’t decided,” he murmurs. His voice is quiet enough that you could pretend you imagined it.

Your heart stutters. Not out of fear. Something else.

You shift closer, until your knees brush. “Do you want to?”

His gaze drops again. Lips. Eyes. Lips. Eyes. His hand tightens around yours—not forcefully. Just enough to feel it.

The moment holds. Suspended. A breath, a heartbeat, a choice.

And then—

“Ryuzaki.” Light’s voice, sharp and unwanted.

You both flinch like the spell broke.

Ryuzaki leans back an inch, but it’s enough to feel like a mile. His eyes don’t leave yours, though. Not yet.

“What?” he says, without looking away.

Light says something about leads. About Misa. About logic.

You don’t hear any of it.

You’re still stuck in that breathless second where it felt like the world might tilt off its axis.

He didn’t kiss you. You didn’t kiss him. But something happened.

And you know—next time—you might not stop.

(time skip)

It ends the way all things do. Not with a bang. Not with a scream. Just a moment too quiet to ignore.

Misa’s gone. Light’s gone. The room is empty, and the chain between your wrists is the only thing still tethering you to this game.

Ryuzaki sits across from you, eyes as tired as you’ve ever seen them. You’re both bone-deep exhausted. Not just from the case. From each other. The tension.

He hasn’t spoken in twenty minutes. Hasn’t let go of your wrist either. You’re not sure if he knows he’s still holding it.

You break the silence first. “You’ve figured it out.”

His eyes meet yours. Still unreadable. Still a wall you want to climb and burn down at the same time.

“I’ve ruled out Misa,” he says. “And Light.”

You raise an eyebrow. “But not me.”

He tilts his head. “No.”

A pause. Long enough to feel like a verdict.

You smile. Just barely. “Then why haven’t you handed me over yet?”

“Because,” he says softly, “I still don’t know if I want to be right.”

Your chest tightens. Painfully. He never says things like that.

The air between you stretches thin, pulled tight with everything unsaid. Everything felt.

“If I was Kira,” you whisper, “would you hate me?”

He looks at you like he’s trying to memorize you. Like he already has.

“I don’t know,” he says. “But I wouldn’t be surprised.”

You laugh once, breathless. “Charming.”

He leans forward. Not quickly. Not hesitantly. Just… inevitably. Like gravity.

His forehead rests against yours. Gentle. Fleeting. His hair brushes your cheek. His breath ghosts your mouth.

You could kiss him. You want to. He could kiss you. He won’t.

“This was never supposed to happen,” he murmurs.

“You cuffed yourself to me,” you say, barely audible.

“I know.”

You close your eyes. Just for a second.

His lips don’t touch yours—but they almost do. And that’s somehow worse.

When he pulls back, it feels like something’s been left behind. Or taken.

He reaches into his coat pocket. Pulls out the tiny silver key. Unlocks the cuff.

Your wrist is bare.

“You’re free,” he says.

You look at him. “No, I’m not.”

He doesn’t smile. Neither do you.

You leave the room. You don’t look back.

He doesn’t follow. But he doesn’t stop you either.

And that’s how it ends. Not with proof. Not with a confession.

Just the ache of something that almost was— and the weight of someone who almost knew you.

“Come back.” He says.

“Did you remind yourself of what i’ve done”? You say without turning.

He physically turn you around to face him.

“Yes.”

And this time, when he kisses you, you let him.

Pairing: Miheal Keehl/Mello x reader

Fanfiction Masterlist

Death Note Characters & The Romantic Gestures That They Do

Multi Fandom: Romantic Gestures That They Do

𝐥 𝐥𝐚𝐰𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 (𝐠𝐧)

I was thinking maybe reader is crying over a TV series where his favorite couple gets married and he doesn't understand 😝

18th birthday celebratory flufftober ~Day 29~

Prompt(s): "Our wedding will be better."

Character: L Lawliet

Manga/anime: Death Note

Warnings: nothing

(Y/N): your name

(Y/N) was crying under the eyes of her boyfriend, L.

She was half-lying on the couch in the hotel room which served as headquarters for the Kira hunting team, where she and the detective were alone at that time, in front of the television, where the latest episode of her favorite romantic series was playing. She had reached her favorite moment, the main couple's wedding.

Thus, as he was finishing analyzing a video which might have identified Kira, the man had heard sobs coming from where she was. He had moved quickly, but always rationally -he never, never lost his rationality-, to reach her, finding her with her head bowed on her knees, her hands covering her eyes, and the show paused.

"What's going on?" It was a pointless question: he already knew the reason for her tears, it wasn't the first time she had cried so hard over that episode. Yet, he wanted his theory to be tested one hundred percent. Was it perhaps a trait of all detectives, to have to verify whether their theories were correct? Probably.

"They got married, and their wedding is so cute! I want my wedding that way too! And then he said her really beautiful vows, why can't you be as sweet as him?" Ouch, that hurt.

He would have glossed over the last sentence...

"Come on -He murmured, gently stroking her head, one of the greatest gestures of affection he had ever made- don't cry. How will you manage at our wedding?"

"E-eh?"

"Our wedding will be better, so get ready."

"W-wedding?!" L nodded.

"You want to marry me?!" He nodded again.

While (Y/N) was blushing furiously and her eyes widened, not surprising the man at all, he continued: "I've been thinking about this for a while now".

For a few seconds, silence fell, broken only by the hum of the television, still paused. The woman tried to speak, but the words seemed stuck in her throat.

"You... Do you think about it? -She finally managed to say, her voice cracking- Really?"

"Yes -He replied without hesitation, sitting next to her on the couch, bending his legs in his usual uncomfortable position- I've weighed the pros and cons: the likelihood I'll be more efficient, mentally and operationally, with you by my side is very high." She stared at him, torn between laughing and crying again.

"That's not exactly a romantic statement."

"I'm aware of that -He turned slightly toward her, his dark eyes unusually sincere- but it's the most honest I can make." (Y/N) put a hand to her chest, feeling her heart pounding.

"So... aren't you saying it because I'm moved by a series, are you?"

"No: I'm saying it because I love you." The sentence came out simple, flat, as if the detective was stating an irrefutable fact, and for that very reason it hit even harder.

The tears returned, but that time they weren't of sadness.

"You're terrible..." She whispered, throwing herself against him and holding him tightly.

L remained rigid for only a moment, then returned the embrace, resting his head against hers: "I know. But will you still accept?".

She nodded frantically, laughing through her sobs: "Yes. A thousand times yes".

"Good -He pressed a light kiss to her temple- Then we can continue the episode: I want to analyze that marriage." She burst out laughing.

"You're impossible, L."

"But you'll marry me anyway."

"Yes, I will."

💮 Rules 💮 Masterlist 💮

Pairing: L Lawliet x f!reader

WARNING: SWEARING AND FLUFF

The rainy English sky outside the windows of Wammy’s House was always a miserable, bruised purple. Inside, the grand library smelled of old paper, floor wax, and the distinct, cloying scent of pure refined sugar.

You sat cross-legged on the plush Persian rug, meticulously sorting a pile of stolen sugar packets by color. Across from you sat L.

He wasn't "L" yet. He was just a pale, oddly shaped boy with shadows under his eyes that looked like someone had smeared charcoal under them with a rough thumb. He was currently balancing a sugar cube on his knee, his chin resting flat against his upraised shins as he stared at you with wide, unblinking irises.

"You're doing it wrong," he mumbled, his voice already possessing that characteristic scratchy monotone. "The blue packets have a higher artificial sweetener content. They should be categorized by chemical weight, not by the pigment of the paper."

"Shut up," you said, though there was zero heat in it. You pushed a bright pink packet toward him. "Color coding is prettier. If it’s pretty, it tastes better. It's a scientific fact."

L blinked slowly, reached out with two fingers, pinched the pink packet, and brought it straight to his mouth. He bit the corner off, threw his head back, and poured the raw crystals directly onto his tongue. He chewed thoughtfully, his expression completely blank, before letting out a soft hum.

"Inconclusive," he pronounced. "However, because you insist on hoarding the strawberry-flavored candies from the kitchen pantry, and because your teeth are going to rot before we turn twelve, I have decided your designation is no longer your given initial."

You paused, a yellow packet hovering in your hand. "Oh yeah? What is it then?"

"Gumdrop," he said flatly.

You blinked. "That's stupid."

"It is highly accurate," L retorted, shifting his weight to stack three sugar cubes on top of his big toe with terrifying precision. "You are small, excessively sweet, sticky when you spill juice on yourself, and generally bad for my dental health. Therefore: Gumdrop."

A bubbly laugh burst from your chest, bright and loud enough to echo in the damp, quiet corners of the massive library. L didn't smile—he rarely did—but the slight tension in his shoulders relaxed, his toes curling slightly to keep the sugar tower from collapsing.

That was your routine. You were the bright, chaotic sun to his cold, analytical moon. While the other kids at Wammy’s House found L creepy, intimidating, or entirely unapproachable, you just saw a boy who forgot to blink and needed someone to make sure he didn't accidentally starve while calculating the probability of a chess match. You brought the noise; he brought the quiet. You brought the energy; he consumed the sugar.

But the peace at Wammy's House never lasted for the kids who didn't fit the rigid mold of a genius successor.

The day it broke was just as gray as any other. You had been dragged out of the playroom by Watari, his face grave and kind, leaving L sitting alone on a stack of encyclopedias. A wealthy couple from London—diplomats with perfectly pressed suits, fake, blinding smiles, and a desire for a "bright, lively child" to fill their empty estate—had signed the papers.

You didn't understand the finality of it until your small suitcase was packed and sitting by the front heavy oak doors.

"I don't want to go," you whispered, tears prickling the corners of your eyes, your usual bubbly demeanor completely evaporating into a cold, heavy dread. "Watari, please. I don't want to leave."

"It is a good home, child," Watari said softly, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. "They can give you a normal life. A life away from... all of this."

You wrenched yourself away, sprinting back down the grand hallway, your sneakers squeaking violently against the polished hardwood. You took the stairs two at a time, bursting into the library.

L hadn't moved. He was sitting in the exact same spot, his knees pulled to his chest, staring at the empty space on the rug where your sugar packets used to be.

"L!" you sobbed, running over and dropping to your knees in front of him.

He didn't look up immediately. When he did, his dark eyes were completely unreadable, a wall of pure, clinical detachment pulled down over his face.

"Your adoption papers have been finalized," L said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. "Statistically, children who leave Wammy's House have a eighty-four percent chance of adjusting better to normal society than those who stay."

"I don't care about your stupid percentages!" you yelled, a heavy, suffocating sob ripping from your throat. You grabbed his oversized white shirt, wrinkling the fabric in your fists. "Are you really just going to let them take me? Say something! Tell them I need to stay!"

L looked down at your hands clutching his shirt. For a fraction of a second, his fingers twitched, as if he wanted to reach out. But he didn't. He stayed perfectly still, a marble statue of a child.

"It is illogical to fight a binding legal contract," he muttered, his voice dropping an octave, sounding incredibly small. "You are going to a wealthy family. You will have access to better sweets."

"You're a jerk," you wept, dropping your hands. The anger flared hot and sharp in your chest, a desperate defense mechanism against the pain of being abandoned by your best friend. "You're a heartless, robotic, absolute piece of shit, L!"

The heavy swear word—one you had smuggled from listening to the older boys in the courtyard—cut through the quiet library like a knife.

L flinched. It was a tiny movement, just a slight widening of his eyes, but to you, it felt like an earthquake. He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the floor.

"Goodbye, Gumdrop," he whispered.

"Don't call me that," you choked out, standing up and wiping your face with the sleeve of your sweater. "Don't ever call me that again."

You turned on your heel and ran. You ran down the stairs, out the front doors, and straight into the back of a sleek, black luxury car. You didn't look back at the second-story window, where a pale boy with messy black hair pressed his forehead against the cold glass, watching the taillights disappear into the English rain.

I forgot to mention, he's a kid here, there are five chapters. The second chapter will come later this week or the next week sorry guys!!

Taglist!!!:

W/C: 2.5K

Summary: So what if your boss is awful? What if he uses you? That's not true at all, Mello's not as bad as everyone says he is, right?

Go back to masterlist: Here

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, and just for a second weapons, suggestive, mistreat, mild angst, no comfort.

✮☆⋆˙ᯓ★ᯓ˙☆✮⭒✮☆⋆˙ᯓ★ᯓ˙☆✮

2:43 A.M.

The green light coming from your clock was starting to piss you off, you hadn’t been able to sleep lately, even though work had been exhausting, missions were almost always practically resulting in chaos and persecutions, and your boss hadn’t stop being a jerk.

It’s not that Mello was quite literally a bad person, sure, his moral compass was a bit off center, but he wasn’t a villain, that wasn’t what troubled you. What troubled you was his double intentions with you. When anyone else was around, he acted just as what he was, a leader, yet, when moon came down, more likely around midnights, he called you, messaged you, whatever.

And now you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

It all started a few months ago, he told you that he wanted to see you, demanded for you to come to his place, it wasn’t something you had seen coming, and still, reluctantly, you did, you couldn’t get fired, not from this job.

When you arrived, you knocked his door, not knowing what to exactly expect, being requested at this time could only mean one thing, you hoped it wasn’t what your brain had been overthinking. A few minutes passed before you could even hear a noise, did you knock the right house?

But then, he opened it, you were welcomed by a sight of vulnerability, or something close to that, his blonde locks were slightly messy, his clothing was the same, only his vest being opened up.

His eyes stared at you; he regretted this already; you better not talk about this later. Without warning, he took your hand and dragged you inside, not even giving you a chance to speak, he didn’t want unnecessary speech or to do an explanation.

You yelped in surprise, you didn’t exactly know him, but it was unlikely to not even say hi, and smelled like alcohol, had he been drinking? That could explain the call. Maybe you were being a creep by analyzing such small details.

Once inside, you were greeted by the smell of cigarettes, and chocolate, the latter was similar to Mello’s own scent. You didn’t want to intrude or come out as noisy, it was only curiosity, his floor was made out of dark oak, he had nice furniture, two couches with a coffee table, and a TV, you assumed the other room was his kitchen.

He stopped walking, not minding your inspection, he noticed it instantly anyways.

—…Sit. I’ll bring you water.

You nodded, not daring to disobey in any manner, tension filled your muscles, and even your bones, huh, you didn’t know they could feel like that. Sitting in the most awkward way you had imagined, you waited.

He didn’t imagine you’d actually reply. He didn’t even know what to do now, of course, he had told you to come with an idea in mind, but actually doing it was completely different, it was late, why where you up? Had he awakened you? That didn’t really matter.

You could have said no, though. Ignoring the fact that he was your boss and what control implied on his words.

He hated himself, he had done that since always, but this time he did so even more, you had nothing to do with his issues. Yet he had already thought of this situation, just never acted on it.

Would asking you to “sleep” with him be too direct? Of course it would be.

His head was spinning, he’d kill Matt later for that, drinking had never been a strong spot, hell, he was even more able to manage smoking a whole pack of cigarettes than just one shot; he’d probably wouldn’t have called you if it wasn’t because of how his body was feeling and his mind; specifically, the latter.

This was your fault as well, if you weren’t so…

What a distasteful thought he just had, he wouldn’t be asking for your presence each time he had a moment alone.

Filling the glass, he returned to the living room, leaving you for hours wouldn’t do.

You looked up at him, with what he recognized was fear, he didn’t like that. There was nothing to be afraid of, partially.

Offering the object, you grazed your fingers with his as you grabbed it, slightly shaking.

—…T-thanks.

He scoffed at your tone, in a way that sounded like he was judging your guts, he kind of was.

—Why did you respond? It’s late already.

—I… Uh… I was awake, and, when I was hired, I was told your calls were in top priority, so um, it sounded logical to come.

He rolled his eyes at that, of course you would’ve said that, you were so stupidly obedient, it came off handy most of the time, but right now it was messing with his nerves, you hadn’t done anything wrong, actually, he was just in a mood.

You two had never really had a moment alone. Sure, he knew you for a while already, at least two years, and well, missions had been there, times where you two were at the back of a car while Matt drove, you made sure to be alert of any possible danger; you were almost a trio with him and his friend, not quite, but similar, yet an intimate moment? Not even once.

He sat without restrain on the opposite side of the couch, his cheeks were warm, alcohol was still running through his veins, it made him feel stupid, he hated feeling stupid, he hated feeling.

—…Why… Why did you call me?

You hoped his answer wouldn’t be what you thought, you didn’t think he was the kind of person to just call a coworker out of nowhere just because, but… you had never seen him in such way that he’d have other intentions.

—…

Nothing.

You tensed again, deciding you wouldn’t get any context, you took a sip from your glass, not without doubting about the contents first, fuck it, even if you noticed there was something, he’d probably get away with it anyway, better do it like this.

Telling you to go back home would be a waste both of your time and his. He didn’t like losing time, or opportunities.

—Stress, that’s why.

Bad start. That’s it.

—So…

The pause between your words was awfully awkward.

—You called me because you want to uh, blow off some steam?...

You came off far more direct than you would’ve preferred.

He hummed, leaning on his palm as he looked at you with suspicious, usually he’d have that position, but with a smirk on his face, not this time, he only had a subtle smile, filled with a mild amusement.

You were in no state to disagree.

What happened after that became somewhat blurry, or more likely, you just didn’t want to remember any of it, it only made you feel even shittier. But it hadn’t got out of your mind, hell, you were practically begging each night to get a message from him.

It’s just, the way he had treated you, keeping control of the situation, without saying anything that came out as aggressive, his words just sounded demanding, as instructions you couldn’t dare to ignore.

He shut you mid-way into it. Not fully, only a hand gripping your throat, getting track of your pulse.

The mere thought got your face turn into a reddening mess.

But all of that only happened inside four walls, there was no more to your relationship than you being a relaxing toy for him to play with. You knew he was using you, but you couldn’t admit so, it didn’t feel like so.

He could’ve messed with anyone else, someone prettier than you, hell, you didn’t even know why you were the one he decided to hook up with, there was nothing remarkable on yourself, you were average at best.

The bell notification got you out of your trance, as you looked at it, it was Mello. A smile creeped into your face, you probably looked pathetic watched from afar, like a dog wagging its tail to their owner

You don’t know when or how it happened, but those late-night meetings had become something to you (even if he was intoxicated in most of them), he had gotten a way into your heart, there was no exact moment that caused it, it just started existing.

The message was simple: I need to see you.

He had gotten a sense of confidence with you, and silenced the soft voice that had some ethics, he knew that anytime if he needed so, he only had to say a few words and you’d be there, willing to help.

You stood up faster than what you would do with a simple alarm.

So now, once again, you found yourself laying on his mattress, letting him bite your neck while kneading the skin around your hips, you felt soft. There was no need to say much, you just let yourself play with his hair, it was like silk, the action comforted you when he was harsh, which was most of the time.

You avoided talking about your situationship, not ready to put some end to it, but the way you always admired him, said a lot more than some sentences. You always stared at his scar, he had it since you met him, never spoke about it, you wondered if he was sensible to the touch, or how it got there.

You actually felt bold for the first time ever, and actually caressed it, finger sliding through the skin, gently as if it would get worse if you place too much pressure, big mistake, he immediately stiffened and bit you down harder, almost piercing your skin.

—Don’t.

That was new. He looked up at you when saying so, almost frowning, or at least that’s what you thought, the darkness made it harder to distinguish. The subtle ache on your neck made you flinch, but didn’t gave it another reaction.

He continued as usual, didn’t mind talking about it or acknowledging it, again, you had nothing to do with his issues, and that would stay the same.

If he had it was his fault, a constant reminder of not trying enough, of not being enough. He could’ve prevented that accident, he could’ve been the owner of the notebook, there wouldn’t be any way to know he was even if someone had the eyes, there was no photo of him anywhere, Near had returned it, and assured him there was no more copies.

No, that would’ve been another mistake, it would’ve been a risk, one that could’ve ended even worse, he didn’t understand completely how did the Shinigami world or rules functioned.

…His mind had other things to deal with as well.

Tomorrow there’d be an important assignment, one that could mean either if he could get out of this rabbit hole he had messed with years ago, or stay in it, that wouldn’t be as easy as saying.

His childhood was somehow worse than being in the mafia. The constant comparison, competition, all his insecurities came from there, his actual motivations… Not even all the spite he held for Near could fulfill that pit in his heart, he didn’t… Did you know how it felt to be miserable? How had world treated you when you were young?

Asking you was out of place but, surely you should’ve had something, there was no way you were just as obedient as you were just because.

—Um… Mello?

He almost forgot you were there, that he was supposed to do something with you rather than just stare mindlessly into the void and keep still, he hadn’t moved since you touched him. It hadn’t stop being difficult to control his body while being in this state, his mind could only work on one thing at a time.

He returned to the action, lowering his face just for a fraction of second, then tilting it in an unsettling angle, lapping his tongue against your jaw. You tasted like nothing, one would think your skin would keep a salty flavor, but it was simple, just like water. Did you shower before coming to him?

Even if it felt nice, you knew there was something off, Had you really messed up that badly he zoned out? What were you thinking?

You didn’t… want, to push him away, but you didn’t feel in the mood anymore.

And it seemed like he didn’t feel like it neither.

He sat on your lap, keeping his hands on your chest as if keeping you in place, his mouth pressing and forming a straight simple line, a long exhale escaping from it. The way you stared up at him didn’t help at all.

…

Both of you were sitting on his bed now, fully dressed as you hugged your knees. He hadn’t told you anything else after getting off from you, you didn’t mention leaving, and he hadn’t offered so.

You hated that he smelled so much like wine right now, why couldn’t he smell like something that reminded you of anything sweeter, calmer? Why did he only call you when he was like this?

He must be mocking you, telling you how much of an idiot you are for thinking that perhaps all of this could mean he actually didn’t mind your company, he hadn’t been fully sober in any of these.

But right now, oh, he was almost about to drink more, his brain had decided that today he wouldn’t stop thinking about his past, about the future, about you, and he was starting to lose the effect.

You had always held this gentle attitude with him, no matter if he was being a jerk or not, you were patient, waited for instructions. In fact, you don’t have to be in his house right now, or in any time, you being here was a clear example of it.

Sometimes it helped, to be treated with kindness, some others frustrated him, he was no fragile glass that would shatter at slightest motion. Him actually thinking about his attitude meant accepting them, or at least not denying them, he had raised his voice at you more times than what he would’ve preferred.

Or pushed you when you were on his way, give you a weapon in a very harsh way, treated you as some sort of assistant instead of a backup. Insult you multiple times, only because wasn’t going the way he had planned, a list of his poor way of treating you could go on and on.

—…You should go.

—…?

You turned your head to face him, eyes wide open, opposite to your past half lidded ones, it was late, he couldn’t blame you for being sleepy.

—…I don’t think this is working in any way.

Ouch.

—Wha- what?

He scoffed, anger getting to his brain, but not because of you, just… in general.

—Was this b-because I touched you? I’m sorry! It won’t happen again!

You were starting to panic, why? It’s just like you wanted the first time; he was just letting you go without having to involve any further.

—…It’s not that. Just… leave.

…

The door was opened; he hadn’t locked it. You sighed, not knowing what the hell did leaving mean to him, if it meant something. But you did, following his wish, it’s not a big deal, you told yourself.

A/N: Hello! I'm sorry for the delay, but I made it slightly longer than my usual I suppose? Anyways, I have an issue, I always write and up wanting to do something more detailed and great and ughhh, I don't know if I should make a part two or just leave the "angst" as it is. Weirdly enough, I dont feel like this one says much, just pretty filled with dumb small stuff. ANYWAYSSSS, love you, drink your foods, eat your drinks, sleep well!