*puts my whole pussy into drawing a ship i think about approximately once a year* i really like them though this was a lot of fun.
for @dnkinktober day 3: frotting! also leather/latex i just realized mello is indeed wearing leather pants lets go. hot. and they cum in their pants xoxo
made his hair blue for fun and thought it went way too hard not to post 👇
Light has gotten his memories back, and though the Yotsuba case has ended, L wont take their handcuffs off. This makes thing quite difficult for Light when he steps into the same shower as L, with the knowledge that his greatest foe is naked and vulnerable beside him.
Written for @dnkinktober Day 16: Dacryphilia
Read here or on AO3
400 words
The scene is over but Light will not stop crying.
Light absolutely would not stop crying.
The scene was over. L had cleaned him up, washed away the blood and bandaged what needed to be bandaged. He’d wrapped him up in a soft blanket and kissed his temples and said gentle words. He had give him time.
And still Light was crying.
They were in their bedroom, which was lit with a soft evening light. Light was curled up around himself, sitting cross-legged on the bed, their after-scene blanket around his shoulders. There was a growing pile of tissues by his side.
He didn’t look unhappy, exactly. He was just crying.
He pulled another tissue out of the box and wiped at his eyes, and then his nose. “I’m sorry,” he said. His voice was wet and shaky. “I don’t know what’s happening.”
L looked at him. He was not an especially pretty crier. His face was blotchy. His nose was running, which was clearly embarrassing him because he’d wiped at it until his philtrum had gone red. And there were tears welling up in his eyes, over and over again, building until they tipped over the edge and poured down his face, following the same tracks as the rest, down his cheek and under his jaw. It made him look ugly. Made him look human.
It was, L could barely admit to himself, pleasant to look at. It sent a squirmy sort of tension curling down his stomach to the insides of his thighs. He didn’t want to feel this way — not after a scene, not when Light was clearly upset — but he couldn’t help it.
He liked to see Light cry. It was an effort not to press him back into the mattress and lick the tears off his face. To taste their salt. To watch Light twist beneath him, watch those tears pour faster. His chest would heave; his throat would convulse. He wouldn’t have his tissues to reach for and his face would grow uglier and uglier, wet with saltwater and mucus.
Maybe if the context were different he’d do it. Maybe someday he’d ask for it, even. It might be fun.
Light hiccuped, then covered his mouth.
L shook the thoughts away.
He laid an arm around Light’s shoulder, then tugged him close. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’ve got you. You’re fine.”
