miliky

You tried to defend him, screamed for so long you could barely speak for the next few days after that. Maru never spoke up once that night, the sweat rolling across his back enough to drench the carpet below him. He ended things a few days later, said your mother was right, that you deserved someone who already had their life together. He didn’t listen to a word you said, walking away from your fervent cries and complaints.

Against his wishes, you still tried to keep in contact with him, sending him stupid messages and pictures every day just like you had when you were dating. Maru resisted at first, replying to your texts with playfully angry messages, promising to block you even though he never did. The two of you kept talking like that, the excuse of you just being friends straining with every text you sent. Recently, it was hard not to notice the decline in his texts, each one you sent only getting a reply by the next day.

Your friends wouldn’t stop teasing you; Gossiping loud enough for you to hear every time you opened up your empty phone, already cackling the minute you brought him up. One of them eventually got tired of your sad girl shit, pulling you aside one night in your room. She whispered conspiratorially in your ear, giving you ideas you were previously pretending to be too mature to consider.

Technically, you hadn’t gotten all of your things from Maru’s place; A few hair ties, old hoodies, and a bunch of socks were probably still lying all over his floor. You never raised a fuss about those things because you barely needed them, and a small part of you thought of it as leaving a little something for him if he ever missed you. Now, if you really wanted to see him so bad, you could go there under the guise of wanting your things back.

That’s what you keep saying to yourself as you stand in front of his apartment, glaring up at the tall, pristine white building. It had to have been a new building. You still remember Maru living with his mom while the two of you were dating, not that you minded, but this was a lot different from the quaint little home you were used to. You gaze down at your phone for the tenth time that morning, looking over your messages with him. This was the right address. Taking in a deep breath, you suck in every bit of nervousness still flowing through your veins, before taking the elevator up to the floor you needed.

Your breath hitches when the front door opens. Maru’s standing there, surprised look written across his features like he’s just woken up, black tank top practically slipping off his shoulder, ridden up enough to give you a good look of his abs. You can’t stop the way your eyes rake over his body, he’s built a lot more muscle since the last time you actually saw him. His hair’s a little longer now too, the temptation to run your fingers through the pitch black strands nearly taking over your soul.

“..Hey”

He finally snaps out of it then, rushing to adjust his top while the door opens wider. “Hey! Sorry, come in”

The inside is just as nice as what you saw on the outside; Light wooden panelling covers the apartment floor, the main living room couches are a nice dark grey colour, perfectly suiting the paintings hanging along the wall. You’re surprised, there aren’t any clothes or shoes scattered all over the house, your ex-boyfriend’s previously messy behaviour nowhere to be seen in the tidy space. Things click into place when you finally notice the doors lining the apartment’s walls.

“You have a roommate now?”

“Huh?” Maru pauses at what you think is his room door, turning back to you with a lazy yawn. “Oh yeah I do, he’s not here right now. He’s at work”

His room is a lot more of what you’d expect from him, barely any furniture or decorations, the only thing making the room look lived in being the dirty clothes littered all over the floor. That makes your heart squeeze painfully; You used to be the one hanging all of your pictures and figurines everywhere, decorating the room until it was practically yours.

You find your way over to his wardrobe, bending over to look inside a light blue paper bag seated on the floor. It’s your old hoodie, nestled inside the bag with a neat card on top, a hastily drawn heart written across the stark white card. Your hand comes up behind your legs, your skirt too short to let you bend too much. Even with that, you swear you heard Maru let out a shuddering breath, his face a nervous shade of red by the time you turn back to him.

“Found that a while ago. I was gonna bring it to you when you texted me first..”

You clutch the bag closer to your chest, showing him a genuinely grateful smile. The light pink dusting his ears only makes you smile wider. A peaceful silence hangs between both of you for a few moments, the tension in the air forcing both of you to try and focus on literally anything but each other. Your eyes finally snag on something different to talk about, a neat black suit hanging from the handles on his closet.

“Oh, you work now? Is that why you haven’t been replying to my messages?”

You mean it as a joke, but the slightly hurt tone that leaks into your sentence immediately negates any of that. Both of you rush to speak over the other, your faces burning brighter the longer you try to talk. Maru eventually gets to explain that he’s been working as a civil servant, leaving work at odd hours, too exhausted to take a shower, let alone look at his phone.

“I wouldn’t just ignore you, you know that..”

Both of you fall into another bout of silence, longer this time, embarrassment flooding through your body until it crawls up the back of your neck. Your fingers tighten on the straps of the paper bag; You’d gotten what you technically came for, exhausted every topic of conversation you could think of. It would be weird if you stayed any longer. You count your mission today a failed one, the defeat ringing loudly in your ears.

Your legs move as if on autopilot, carrying you towards the room door in four long strides, irregardless of how much you want to slow down and stay here as long as possible. Something gets in the way of your exit, a hand firmly gripping your upper arm, stopping you from walking any further. Maru’s staring at you intensely, eyebrows drawn together, lips creased in a little pout that does something to your heart. He’s flushed an even brighter shade of red now, his hand trembling a little as he lightens his grip.

“..Stay a little longer, please?”

You’re pressed against the wall closest to the door, the paint digging into your back with every jerky movement. Your arms wrap around Maru’s neck, dragging his sculpted body even closer to yours as your lips weave together in a desperate kiss. The kiss is sweet; It tastes like strawberries in this addictive way that makes you want to never let go, your body shivering as he slips his tongue into your mouth, swallowing the high-pitched whine you let out.

His hands are all over you, gripping the fat of your thighs from underneath your skirt, spreading a sultry heat along your skin. You’re barely supporting yourself on one leg, the other wrapped firmly around Maru’s hip, making it easier for him to grind up into you, moaning into the warmth of your mouth. He sneaks a hand under your shirt, unclipping your bra with ease, his other hand coming up to grope your chest, rolling your nipple between his fingers until it pebbles under his touch.

A thin line of spit separates you two when you finally pull apart, your thumb sliding it’s way into his mouth as he stares down at you, eyes glazed over, spit slicking his lips, desire burning in his irises. You stop him when he leans in again, giggling lightly at the frustrated groan he lets slip. You watch him struggle a little longer, placing a firm finger against his chin every time he leans in to kiss you, revelling in the little pecks he plants along your collarbone, silently begging for permission. You finally let him kiss you a moment later, his reactions too cute for you to keep denying him.

“P-please.. I want you so bad..”

You run a careful hand through his hair, shifting the strands back until his head snaps into the space behind him, his adam's apple bobbing nervously.

“You have to tell me exactly what you want babe…”

He breaks out of your hold, pressing his lips against your skin like a man starved, each kiss punctuated by his desperate pleas.

“Want to taste you… want you to cum on my tongue..”

…

Maru has you pinned against the bed, his head buried deep between your legs. He’s been nipping at your inner thigh for what feels like hours now, letting the tip of his nose brush against your clit but never actually giving you what you want. You watch him snake a hand down under the sheets, palming the tent in his sweatpants while he burrows his face even deeper in your underwear, licking a stripe from your entrance to your clit, dampening the dark grey fabric.

He gives in to your whining a second later, taking the edge of your underwear in between his teeth before ripping the garment clean off, leaving your pussy bare. You barely have a second to react before he’s pushing his mouth against your slick mound, flat tongue dragging in between your folds, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking like he plans to suck your soul out.

Your hips jump instinctively, making Maru moan so hard the vibrations send another wave of pleasure through your veins. He’s humping the mattress now, slow and needy, cock trapped in the tight fabric of his boxers, damp patch in the middle of them already staining the dark material of his sheets.

“Hngh.. Maru, slow down..”

He doesn’t seem to want to listen to you, muscular arms keeping your thighs trapped against his mouth, stopping you from wriggling away. He barely even responds to you, groaning into your pussy before he sticks his tongue further inside, fast, sloppy strokes that hit the spot, making your toes curl. His nose still bumps against your clit with every touch, sending shivers up your spine.

His hips never still, rolling slow circles into mattress, his body moving automatically. The damp spot on his underwear grows bigger, precum spilling further onto the sheets. Even from where you’re laying, you can see the head of his cock slipping out with each thrust, making even more of a mess the longer he goes on.

Maru lets out a breathless whine when you finally get a good grip on his hair, dragging his head back until you can get a good look at him; He has this dazed look on his face, pupils blown, face burning brighter than the heat between your legs. He dives back down into you, focusing his lips on your sensitive clit while he slides two thick fingers into your cunt, curling them in the exact spot you needed. His tongue flicks over your clit, keeping a brutal pace that immediately makes your back arch, a sultry heat coiling in your abdomen.

“Oh fuck yes — right there! M’ gonna cum..”

Your thighs clamp over his head, the pleasure slowly getting too much for you to handle. Your hips are practically floating off the bed, grinding into Maru’s fingers with such a burning intensity, your thighs soon start to ache. The feeling takes over your body, sharp sensations that crash through your form, scorching your limbs like they’re filled with liquid fire. Slick coats Maru’s mouth, dripping down his chin as he fucks you through the after shocks, lapping at your sore cunt, softer now. He moans like he’s the one in your position, his hips stuttering into the bed, once, twice, before they still.

Much to your horror, Maru doesn’t move from his position, panting hard into the heat of your cunt as he keeps licking, slow, but still sensual enough for your hips to twitch. Your hands find his hair instinctively, pushing against his head while your already sore clit aches under his attention. He doesn’t move an inch, splaying his hands against your thighs, keeping them spread open just for him.

“One more- please.. just cum…”

Tears prick in the corner of your eyes, the pleasure too much for you to handle. Your cunt clenches around nothing, almost begging for more stimulation despite the tiredness creeping in on you. Your second orgasm comes quicker than the first, ten times stronger as it locks your limbs in place, a broken whine echoing through the walls of Maru’s room as your hips rock against his face, attempting to soothe the constant ache between your legs.

You watch him crawl his way up your body, burying his head in the crook of your neck as his hips continue their relentless pursuit for pleasure, grinding into your inner thigh. He’s still achingly hard, the tip now peeking through his clothes. He shivers when you reach down, finally freeing it from the black fabric.

Maru leans away from you, peeling off the tank top now clinging to his abs from sweat, but your gaze is locked on his length. It was massive, almost nearing eight inches with a thicker base, one you knew would tear you apart in seconds. His cock twitches under the pressure of it’s own desire, angry red tip leaking even more pre onto your shivering cunt.

Your thighs squeeze together on instinct, a twinge of fear replacing the heat boiling in your veins. Maru swiftly puts an end to that, hooking his arms around your thighs, spreading them back open as he drags you back to him, your pussy flush against the base of his length, the heat making your back arch painfully.

“Don’t- Don’t run from me.”

His eyes are glazed over; Stare locked on the space between your thighs, as he rubs his cock in between your slit, the light slapping of his hips meeting yours only making you wetter. Slick coats the length of his penis, making each thrust slippery as he slides between your folds, leaning into the feeling, your thighs now pressed against your stomach. The tip of his cock catches your clit a few times, both of your heads falling back, your moans weaving together in the warm air of Maru’s room. His thrusts start getting sloppier, more and more precum leaking onto your stomach the faster his hips move.

It feels like it’s been hours before his hips still, his hand shooting downwards to grip the base of his cock, each breath coming in harder as he angles the tip at your entrance, prodding the aching hole until you finally scream his name, your thighs clenching in anticipation.

A slow whine crawls out of your throat, his fat tip slipping into your entrance, the burning sensation of being split apart courses through your body. Maru has your wriggling hips pinned against the mattress, fingers digging into the skin as he pushes agonising inch after inch into you, drool coating your lips at the stretch.

“Hngh f-fuck.. look at you.. so tight for me”

Your glassy eyes roll to the back of your head, he’s not even halfway in and he already has you screaming. Maru plants his arms on the opposite sides of your head, licking at the tears now rolling down your cheeks, his hips stuttering against the fat of your ass. Your pussy clenches tight around his cock when he finally bottoms out, each curve and vein digging deeper into your walls, drawing a low growl from your ex-boyfriend.

He only takes a second to let you adjust, shuffling back and forth on his knees before he’s snapping his hips forward, pounding his way deeper and deeper into your cunt until he finds your g spot, curling your toes at the brutal pace.

Your hands carve their way across his broad back, nails scratching deep into the skin, leaving bright red gashes that make him whimper. Maru leans into you, cock still smashing into your drenched cunt as he takes one of your boobs into his mouth, rolling his tongue around your nipple, sending shock waves straight to your clit.

Your arms grip the head board, head lolled back over the pillow melting into your neck. The room seems to be getting hotter, your skin sizzling under the weight of Maru’s thrusts. Your eyes finally snap open when an acrid smell invades your lungs, pressing against your senses. Maru is still looming over you, keeping your hips flush against his; But his eyes are completely glazed over, milky white irises somehow still gazing down at you, the thick, mustard coloured gas leaking from his lips the second thing you notice.

It hangs over the room, almost making it harder to breathe. When it finally settles in your lungs, it feels like a fire’s been lit under you. Your hips jumping to meet Maru’s as you claw at the sheets under you. He takes the hint immediately, slamming into you with renewed vigour, the wet slap of your hips colliding resounding in your ears. His hand comes down to touch you, thumb sliding over your aching clit, drawing his name into the sensitive nub as your cunt spasms around him.

Three sharp thrusts and you’re cumming, hard. The coil wounding tighter in your abdomen until it finally snaps, your limbs digging further into the mattress as you struggle to control them, pathetic mewls and moans crawling out from your lips despite your attempts to suppress them. Maru never slows down, each thrust bruising your cervix as he speeds up even more, holding onto your thighs tighter as he spills into you, breathing hard over your still trembling form.

You barely even get a second to breathe before you feel your body turn, flipping you over onto your stomach, that familiar stretch taking over your bottom half as Maru snakes a firm arm under your neck, squeezing hard enough for you to see stars. The pressure of his body on yours makes you lightheaded, his bruising pace forcing your sensitive nub against the mattress.

“F-fuck Maru, wait..!”

He’s not even listening, growling into your shoulder as he litters your skin with bite marks. You can feel him drooling all over you, needy whines punctuating each thrust as the tip of his cock kisses your cervix. Maru lifts your head up until you can see his face again, the crimson blush rapidly spreading across his cheeks, blood freely flowing down his nose, mixing in with the dust still floating out from his mouth.

You watch him lean down, slotting his mouth against yours, the yellow dust pouring into your lungs faster than before. It makes your body tingle, nipples erect against the cold air as your cunt clenches down harder on him, Maru groaning into your mouth while he fucks you harder into the mattress. The dust continues to fog up your mind, smothering your form in an unbearable pleasure that travels down to where the both of you are connected, sending another orgasm crashing through you.

Maru cums soon after, the feeling of his seed filling you up forcing a soft whine out of your wrecked throat. He finally pulls out of you, flipping you back over onto your back, manhandling your tired body until your legs are dangling over each shoulder. His tongue finds your cunt before you can even think to protest, scooping up his own cum before fucking it back into you. You hiss at the contact, your hands weakly swatting at his shoulders, doing absolutely nothing to stop him.

He curls his tongue between your folds, spreading your sopping cunt with two thick fingers, weaving his lips around your clit. Your body is too tired to fight for long, melting into the soft sheets under you, letting the sensations take over you. He flattens his tongue against your slit, mixing your juices even more with his cum as it coats the inside of your thighs. It hurts, it hurts so good that your fifth orgasm comes just as easy as the first four; Warm liquid gushing out from your sore pussy, landing on Maru’s already waiting tongue.

Your body gives up on you in that moment, every bit of energy you previously had quickly drains out of you, spilling onto the bed under you. You reach a hand out to your boyfriend, trying to get him to lay down with you; But he slides away from your touch, watching as your tired arm flops back onto your stomach. The last thing you feel before your vision finally fades, is Maru’s tongue flicking over your clit one more time, dragging a small whimper out of you before you’re out like a light.

…

The room is dark when you open your eyes again, pale grey light filtering in from the only window in Maru’s room. Still foggy with sleep, your mind wonders what time is it, trying to remember where you dropped your phone before you got into bed. You remember falling asleep on your back, but you’re on your side now, staring into the wood of your boyfriend’s closet while your body is still trying to catch up. A sharp slap wakes you up fully, bringing you back to a tight stretch between your legs, your cunt clenching down painfully without even thinking.

You feel an arm strapped to your side, digging into your stomach as it holds you in place, coming up to squeeze your boobs. Your head snaps back against a solid chest, the pleasure immediately plunging your mind into a frenzy. Through half-lidded eyes, you can see Maru staring down at you, eyebrows drawn in concentration as his hips slam upwards into you, drawing another wanton moan from your throat. The dust that was previously overflowing from his lips has mostly fizzled out, a few strands still curling around both of your bodies.

“Mmph.. Maru?”

His lips crash into yours, swallowing whatever protests you were about to utter, a firm hand splayed against your right leg hanging over his hips, keeping your pussy spread wide open for him. With all the cum leaking out of your poor abused hole, coating the inside of your thighs with a light sheen, it’s clear he’s been fucking you the whole time; The very shape of his cock moulding your insides.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head the second his fingers find your clit, rubbing the sore nub in quick circles, hasty hearts until you’re screaming again, another orgasm crawling up the heat in your stomach. Through the sounds of Maru’s hips slapping against your ass, you swear you can hear someone bang on the room door, yelling out your boyfriend’s name before he turns his head, shouting back at the door, telling whoever was behind it to shut up.

He pulls out of you a minute later, ignoring the broken whine you let out while he flips both of you over, until you’re the one on top of him, steadying yourself with two hands splayed against his sculpted chest. Maru guides your hips, lifting them up for a second, before letting them drop back onto his cock, the sensation making your back arch in the air.

It doesn’t take long for you to get the hang of things, the inside of your thighs thrumming painfully as you roll your hips against him, bouncing in his lap like your life depends on it. He bucks his hips off the bed, meeting you in the middle with a lewd slap. You watch him reach up to hold you, his big hands cupping each breast, kneading them hard enough to make your vision go white, each hard slap he lands on your nipples sending electricity straight to your cunt.

“Gonna fill you up so good.. fuck- you’re so pretty..”

The praise makes you keen, your pussy fluttering around him so hard his head falls back into the mattress, a broken whine forcing itself out of his throat. Your body feels like jelly now, your hips following the brutal pace Maru sets, his fingers digging into the fat at your sides as he basically uses you as a flesh light.

“Please! F-fuck m’ cumming m’ cumming m’ cumming!-”

Your moans mix together in the air, getting louder and louder until you’re certain the whole apartment block can hear you. The pressure that was steadily building in your bladder finally releases, cum gushing all over his cock, dripping down his stomach as your thighs start to shake, your eyes rolled so far back in your head, your vision nearly goes white.

You feel Maru grabbing at your hips, his own pace stuttering as your cunt continues to clench around him. His legs tremble harder than your whole body, toes curling deep into the sheets while light tears flow freely down his face, mixing with the drool dripping down his chin. Still sensitive, you feel his cock twitching inside you, though nothing actually comes out.

Your body crashes on top of his, burying your face into his neck as he flops a tired arm onto your back. You’re still connected at the base, both of you too tired to pull each other off. Aside from the blinding exhaustion, something sweet swirls around in the depths of your heart. After all this time, you’d somehow jumped to the conclusion that Maru wouldn’t want you anymore, that you’d come here just to embarrass yourself and go home.

L Lawliet—Ryuzaki to his colleagues, Ryu and other less formidable nicknames to you—was a peculiar man. Anyone could tell just by looking at him that he was either brilliant, a freak, or a brilliant freak. At Wammy's, when he was still being fleshed into the notorious brainiac he was at present, he was evidently isolated. He not only preferred to be alone but to be enriched by himself because that was the only person who made sense to him, who made him feel understood—his own ego and id.

Well, himself and you.

You were this pink, soft, kind bundle of everything L wanted out of a partner—and he realized that at a remarkably young because of you, and was reminded of how you qualified to be in his circle quite frequently because of how you were just... you. Girlish, lovely, compassionate, an overthinker. Always carrying around some stuffed animal and bombarding him to take a break from encyclopedias in order to join your murder mystery tea party (it was always a trick, the murderer was either you or him every single time). While he was hoarding toys and reading in corners and hiding in the quiet parts of the courtyard, you were right beside him.

And then you grew into a full-fledged woman, still as adorned in femininity and princess-ish attributes, and you saw all the strange things he did at seventeen, all his struggles, the whole past it took for him to become the man he was—and you never strayed from his side.

To be honest, you were in the same boat as him because you didn't find any of the other kids appealing, and no toys or games stimulated you the way those things would the average child. You two were both extraordinary, so in recognition of that you stuck together. Watari, while assisting L in grooming his skills, did the same for you, and at the ages other young adults were earning degrees, growing their family, starting their lives, you and L were renowned consultants for some of the most eccentric, gory, and complicated crimes.

Neither of you wanted to admit it but through your closely shared childhood and aversion to being away from each other for too long, you perhaps had accidentally nurtured an unhealthy codependent relationship and a bad case of separation anxiety—but as stated, neither of you wanted to say that aloud.

L especially didn't want to admit to you that he had grown almost obsessive over you. He loved you, he very much did, yet he never explicitly told you that he inexplicably thought of himself as your romantic counterpart. He was under the impression it was stated in the air, unspoken and solid. Any time someone flirted with you, showed the slightest interest into anything besides platonic or professional relation, he was there, demanding some tedious, extreme task, demoting them, doing something to get rid of this stranger who thought they could stake a claim in you...

Used to his habits, you hardly paid him mind. It was cute to you, really, how protective it was. It didn't become clear that he believed himself to be your automatic boyfriend until he acted oddly about the news that you had a date once.

At times, you worked cases separately and usually traveled a lot (much to L's displeasure), so when you had time to be stuck at the hip again, you babbled about everything you could think of, and he sat at his desk, twiddling his toes, eating an exotic sweet, half working and half listening—calm, collected, until—

"A date?" he'd asked. "What do you mean a date? A fake one, you must mean—because why do you need to go out on a date? Is it to get information for your case?"

"No?" You laughed, a strand of hair looped around your manicured nails. An open file sat in your lap for your light reading pleasure. "It's with a guy I met at a coffee shop. He asked for my number and called me pretty, so—"

"Cancel it," L had demanded without missing a beat, eyes back on his too-bright computer screen already.

"Excuse me?"

"I asked for your number at one point. I tell you you're pretty all the time. I can take you on a date. Statistically, I'm the most suitable man you know. I meet the criteria you most likely have for a suitor, so I'll take you out if you really want to spend your time like that. Watari can find a restaurant and show somewhere."

You'd shook your head with a sigh, then cancelled your date within the next hour. And you were glad to, because part of you was definitely secretly hoping he would turn a tad possessive and give you some kind of lead on what he thought of your evolved relationship.

When the Kira case emerged, L evidently called your number off his speed dial, not caring whatever the charges were to his bill, if you were in or out of the country, what damn case you were working—he wanted you in Japan on the next available flight ASAP. Not only did he want you close to him because a figureless serial murderer was remotely killing people somehow and the stakes were too high to risk you, he wanted you by his side because he knew he needed an ace up his sleeve to narrow down his suspect list and the parameters of the case—and you were the perfect trick.

Pretty in your mini dresses and heels, glasses perched on the bridge of your nose, a roster of numerous solved freak cases looming with you, you took L's base of operation by storm. His colleagues and subordinates definitely had a thing for you—not only were they glad to have a woman around, they had a gorgeous piece of eye candy watching over their shoulders as they tried to catch a mass murderer with a suspected god complex.

The one problem—L kept you stuck on his arm. He was a jealous guy, and it was dangerous everywhere, he couldn't let you go off on your own. So at every turn of events and change in the case, he had you by him. While surveilling the Yagami household, you were sat in the floor by his chair, reading or watching the cameras. When he attended university for two seconds to make contact with Light, you waited in his car, entertained by Watari's stories or card games. He kept your legal name locked out, your sensitive information unreachable, your existence totally sealed off from Kira and protected by his obsessed loving hand.

Additionally, when the Task Force building went into the full effective living situation with Misa and Light, L had you planted right in his room. And when you learned you'd be staying with him, you couldn't help but prod him about it.

"Ryu?" You'd leaned over his shoulder as he, of course, stared at a computer and the papers on his desk for the thirteenth hour of the day. Empty cans and plates littered with crumbs sat around the room—you were accustomed to how messy (and akin to a loser college boy...) he could be, but you still scrunched up some at the state of your surroundings.

Tapping your heel against the floor as you waited for him to reply—he always took a moment, you knew to be patient—you snaked your arms over his chair and hugged his head, your jewelry clinking softly. "Ryuzaki..."

When your breasts pressed against the back of his head he instinctually leaned back and let out a comfortable sigh. He was shameless, resting his head on your chest without hesitation. "What is it?"

"Tell me," you said, "if this facility can house sixty plus people... why am I rooming with you?"

He hummed, biting his thumbnail, eyes never moving off the screens. "Safety reasons. You know. And because of conflictions with the suspect list."

You smirked slightly, one hand rubbing his chest absently. "Do you need to survey me constantly like you do Light? Do you think I'm Kira?"

"God no. And you don't think I'm Kira obviously. Do I really have to explain why I put you in the same room as me?"

"Yes, if you're going to keep not cleaning up after yourself."

He paused, eyes half-lidded. Then said, "I'll have a cleaning service come by every weekend."

"Twice a week, Monday and Friday," you said. "And... the cameras in every nook and cranny? In the bathroom?"

"I need eyes everywhere constantly."

"In our bathroom and bedroom, though? What if I need to take a shower or change?"

"You and I will be the only ones to review our room's footage."

"You and I?"

He smirked slightly then. "Yes. Me and you."

There was a sexual element to your relationship with L that was undeniable. He didn't care to ogle at you in public. When you found the time to dawdle around with Misa or indulge in a hobby, he was usually around, gawking at just how gorgeous you were. He frequently sat by your make-up-and-glitter-littered vanity and watched you get ready, calculated how long you would take and predicted what cutesy outfit you'd wear (and what underwear you'd chosen). Besides how he enjoyed your appearance and his obvious half sapiosexual, half lovesick fixation with you, the sexual element shone through in the more explicit instances that eventually occurred between you two.

On countless nights, he beckoned you over, out of bed or away from analysis, and simply felt you up.

Of course he gave you this sad, begging that guilt-tripped asked you if it was all right to touch you, and each time you saw his tired, mopey face staring up at you from his chair you gave up in. You allowed him to sit you in his lap and squeeze your plush sides, for him to leave love-bites on the fat of your biceps and thighs and neck, for him to hum and kiss against the soft, round angle of your chin, all while he murmured praises and worship to you that nobody would expect from the Ryuzaki.

"I needed this so much, darling, you have no idea. Oh God, thank you so much. I'm sorry if you can feel how hard I am, you're just so beautiful and perfect... I can't help myself. Will you let me touch you more?"

Then, after he convinced you to lift your skirt or dress, or to slip out of your pants, he'd rub your clit while quietly begging you to just let him be inside of you—and when you agreed to cockhold him at his desk at night, he was too late resisting the soft moan that escaped his lips.

And for being a big fat virgin, he was a good fuck to you. He didn't look into nude mags or watch porn—typically, when he needed to masturbate he'd pull out a photo of you (you asleep in his favorite pink nightie of yours) and take care of himself in the bathroom. If he was feeling sly, he might steal a pair of your lacey panties with the little ribbons on it and jerk off, then leave them in your laundry hamper. He wasn't sure if you ever noticed those extra stains on your underwear.

After you two ventured into the world of being skin-to-skin and L actually slipping in and out, in and out, in and out of you, he was a goner. He begged you for quickies during any downtime, tried to get you to sneak away when nothing interesting was happening, was down for you every single night, ready to eat you out.

He especially loved when you let him simply look and touch. Usually when you were tired or didn't want to move, he'd get your permission, undress you while kissing down your entire body and then just grope and grab. Gently of course, though sometimes roughly—at which you whined and tried to push his stubborn paws away. Your hips, tits, ass, throat, thighs. He loved your body and couldn't help but want to explore it.

Your breasts were his favorite. He was a boob man through and through. Maybe it was due to his dire sweet tooth or his oral fixation, but he was over the moon when you let him simply lick and nip at your chest, or let him rest on your bare tits so that he could suckle on you whenever he felt like it.

Tsukishima Kei was not a man of many words. This was, by now, common knowledge among anyone who had spent more than five minutes in his company — his brother, his teammates, the poor first-years he needled during practice. What was less commonly known, because he made sure of it, was that the absence of words didn't mean the absence of feeling. It just meant he'd found other ways to say things.

It took Yamaguchi pointing it out, of all people, for Tsukishima to notice he was doing it at all.

"You know you never actually say it," Yamaguchi said one afternoon, tossing a volleyball between his hands as they waited for the gym to clear out.

"Say what."

"That you like them. You just—" Yamaguchi gestured vaguely, searching for the word. "Do things instead."

Tsukishima adjusted his glasses, which didn't need adjusting, which was exactly the kind of thing Yamaguchi was talking about. "I don't know what you mean."

"You carry their bag when it's raining. You memorized how they take their coffee. Last week you skipped stretching early just to walk them to the station." Yamaguchi shrugged, entirely too pleased with himself. "That's not nothing, Tsukki."

Tsukishima didn't respond, but he thought about it the whole walk home. He thought about it while he brushed his teeth. He thought about it lying in bed with his earbuds in, some documentary about ammonites playing at half-volume, and eventually admitted, privately, that Yamaguchi had a point he was never going to admit to out loud.

The problem was this: Tsukishima had never been good at declarations. Big, obvious, sweeping gestures felt like exaggeration, and exaggeration felt like lying, and Tsukishima did not lie about things that mattered. So when it came to you — the person he'd been quietly, steadily falling for over the better part of a year — he'd simply done what came naturally: paid attention, and acted on it.

The trouble was that paying attention and acting on it apparently didn't count as saying it. Not according to the internet, anyway, which he absolutely did not spend forty-five minutes searching that night for reasons why some people needed to hear things and others needed to be shown them. He found a term for it — something about "love languages" — and scrolled through the list with the particular scorn he reserved for things that were probably true but phrased annoyingly.

Words of affirmation. Acts of service. Quality time. Physical touch. Gifts.

He was, unmistakably, an acts-of-service person. This was not news. What was news — mildly unwelcome news — was the possibility that you might not run on the same frequency.

You were in his class, and you had a laugh that came out sideways, like it surprised even you. You weren't from the volleyball world at all — you ran the school's astronomy club, of exactly four members, and had once cornered him after class for twenty minutes about the difference between a meteor and a meteorite because you'd overheard him correcting someone about dinosaurs and decided, apparently, that this made him a fellow pedant worth knowing.

You talked more than he did. Considerably more. And you said things — actual, spoken-aloud things — like "that was really cool of you" and "I like spending time with you" and "you looked nice today," easily, like they cost you nothing.

Tsukishima had noticed, somewhere around month four, that every time you said something like that, he went quiet in a way that wasn't his usual quiet. And he'd noticed, somewhere around month six, that you'd started saying those things a little less often — not because you felt them less, he didn't think, but because you'd stopped expecting anything back.

That was the part that sat wrong with him.

He brought it up the only way he knew how, which was badly, and sideways, and three days after he'd actually decided to.

You were on the roof during lunch, your usual spot, sharing a carton of milk because you always forgot to bring your own drink and he always brought two out of habit now.

"You don't have to keep giving me half of that," you said, waving off the carton he held out.

"I bought two on purpose."

"I know. That's what I mean." You smiled, but it was a smaller smile than usual, the kind you gave when you were setting something down gently so it wouldn't seem like a complaint. "You're sweet about it. You just never say so."

There it was. The opening he'd been circling for three days.

"I looked something up," Tsukishima said, which was a strange enough sentence coming from him that you turned to look at him properly. "About why people... express things differently."

"Okay." You were clearly trying not to look too interested, and clearly failing.

"You say things. Out loud. All the time." He kept his eyes on the water tower across the roof, because this was easier if he wasn't looking directly at you. "I don't. I do things instead. Apparently that's — a category. A whole category people write articles about."

"Tsukki, are you telling me you researched me?"

"I researched the concept," he said, with as much dignity as he could summon, which was not much, because his ears had gone red and you'd clearly noticed. "The point is. I'm not going to suddenly become a person who says things every five minutes. That's not — I'd sound insincere. Like I was performing it."

"I don't need you every five minutes," you said, gentler now. "I just like knowing you mean it. That's all it's ever been."

"I do mean it." The words came out flatter than he wanted them to, more clipped, and he felt the familiar frustration of his own face refusing to cooperate with what was actually happening in his chest. "I mean it when I bring the milk. I mean it when I walk you to the station even though it's out of my way. I meant it the entire month I spent learning the bus schedule to your grandmother's place because you said you hated changing trains alone at night."

You had gone very still.

"You did that a month ago," you said slowly. "You never told me that."

"You weren't supposed to know. I just wanted you to not have to change trains." He finally looked at you, and immediately regretted it, because you were looking at him like he'd said something enormous. "That's — see, this is the problem. If I say it, it sounds like nothing. A bus schedule. But if I just did it and never mentioned it, it would've stayed nothing, and apparently that's worse."

"It's not nothing," you said. Your voice had gone thick in a way that made his stomach drop with something that wasn't quite dread. "Kei, that's — you've been quietly rearranging your evenings for a month because of one offhand thing I said. That's not nothing, that's—" You stopped, pressed your lips together, blinked hard at the sky.

"Don't cry about a bus schedule," he said, but there was no bite in it.

"I'm not," you said, and were, a little, and laughed at yourself for it, that sideways laugh he liked more than he'd ever admit. "I just — I didn't know. That's the whole thing, Tsukki. I didn't know, because you never said."

"I'm saying it now."

"You are." You wiped at your eyes with the heel of your hand, still laughing. "Kind of a long way around it, but you are."

Tsukishima considered this, the milk carton still held loosely between you, your shoulder close enough to his that he could feel the warmth of it even through his blazer.

"I'm not going to become someone who says things constantly," he said again, because it felt important to be honest about his own limits rather than promise something he couldn't deliver. "I'll probably still mostly show you. That's just — how I work."

"That's fine."

"But I can say it more. The actual words. When it matters." He paused, weighing something, then added, quieter: "It matters now."

"Then say it," you said, not unkindly, just plainly, the way you said everything.

Tsukishima looked at the water tower again, and then, because avoiding your eyes had never once made anything easier, he looked back at you instead.

"This is about the maximum amount of vulnerability you're getting out of me today, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't make a whole thing out of it," he said, and you had the audacity to smile at that, which did not help.

"Noted. Go on."

"I like you," he said. "More than I know how to make sound as big as it actually is. That's the — that's the honest version. The rest of it, the bus schedules and the milk and walking the long way to the station, that's just what it looks like when I try to hand it to you in pieces instead of all at once."

You were quiet for a moment, which for you was practically an eternity.

"That was a lot of words, for you," you said finally, voice a little unsteady.

"Don't get used to it. My quota's used up until at least next spring."

"I won't." You bumped your shoulder against his, small and deliberate, and left it there. "But I'll take it. All of it. The pieces and the words both."

Tsukishima didn't say anything else. He didn't need to — he handed you the rest of the milk instead, and you took it, and understood exactly what he meant by it, which was, he was starting to think, the whole point of learning any language at all: not that everyone had to speak the same one, but that somebody bothered to listen closely enough to translate.