Mello x Reader ! Love Beyond Law ! [FORBIDDEN LOVE]

Mama Im in Love with a Crinimal: ƬΉΣ CΉӨCӨLΛƬΣ ЩΉӨЯΣ

"So you sent the letter?" Mello asked looking out at the ocean.

         The sky was still dark, the crescent moon's glow casting a serene canvas over the water.

"I did, precisely," you responded. "She finally replied, essentially telling me to 'screw off,' or else she'd file a restraining order." You laughed, finding a strange satisfaction in the exchange. The letters had been worthwhile.

"That's a shame," absently tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. His gaze shifted from the ocean to his outstretched legs clad in high-top Converse, each shoe adorned with doodles. On his right foot, 'D.A.R.E.' mocked in sharpie—a reminder from Matt's antics during a wild shroom trip in the forest.

"It is. I was g'onna ask her to be the godmother." You voiced as he wrapped his arms around you from behind and tucked his head in your hair. Your ringed fingers lapped over each other.

"Well, we can always ask someone else—like Lucy, or Sharrel... or even that old lady who designed your wedding dress. You two get along well, don't you?" Mello's voice lengthened into a drowsy edge, perhaps from the soothing sound of waves rolling in the background or the occasional splash of water from passing cars in Santa Monica, remnants of the previous night's rainstorm. Giving him a side-glance as you rested your hand on his leg you couldn't be sure if his lethargy was due to exhaustion or the influence of the drugs the mafia sold on the side.

"I guess." You paused rather hesitantly as you considered the options. "But I'd rather not have Lucy or Sharrel as the godmother, and don't you remember the old lady doesn't even like kids."

"Yeah? Why not?"

"I don't know." You sighed, trying to think of other candidates. "Lucy and Matt, they're always blazing it up, and their breath... and Sharrel, shes cool and all but nah."

"You're too picky. Does it really matter if Lucy's a chain smoker?" Mello remarked casually, his hand rummaging through the picnic blanket until he found the box of chocolates and popped one into his mouth.

"Can't have her passing down that second-hand smoke to the little one." As you casually reached for the last piece of chocolate from the tin box. Truth be told, you didn't have many close connections in America. You had just immigrated, and while you were well-acquainted with many—or what they'd call "popular;" Practically holding regal status in the underground community, attending social events, even meeting the President of the United States, trust was a different matter. Letting people into your vulnerability was a deep-rooted challenge.

"So-then...How are you making friends nowadays in America?" He inquired lifting his head.

"Amazing" You responded sarcastically, placing your chin on your knees.

"I met this chill girl at that one vintage car show we attended, I think she's from—" In the distance, a homeless man was relieving himself in the corner where the grass grew tall. "Oh, gross." You hastily spat out the chocolate you were savoring into a napkin, suddenly finding its color unappetizing.

          An unseemly reminder of the rising rates of drug-use, you felt slightly guilty being connected to the stem of it— the West coast mafia, now California's largest producer of illicit substances, contributed to that poor-man's blight. Yet, the government slipped a blind eye thanks in exchange of the Death Note. It had been a year since the arrangement began and Kira was put to an end.

"What in heavens name," Mello glanced at what caught your attention, "Cover your eyes," he chuckled placing his hand over your eyes as he leaned in for a kiss. His first touch found your hips first, then moved to your waist. M's lips carried the lingering taste of chocolate and the delicate sweetness of the Russian Zefir biscuit you both had savored during your picnic.

"Hard to fathom it's been a year," you murmured through his lips as you grazed his cheeks with your fingertips, like delicate tendrils of smoke, traced the contours of his cheeks. The momentary laugh you relinquished. But damned you had become so twisted; laughter had become a sinful remedy as you had your elbows tied around his neck now.

"Since what?" He pulled away and reclining onto the plaid picnic blanket, his golden locks fanning out around his head like a halo in a Renaissance painting. While many wouldn't deem him a saint, in your eyes, he embodied divine grace of an angel wearing the mask of a mortal.

"Since a lot."You uttered something, but he didn't respond. You then realized he had rested his left leg over your knee, using it as a leg rest for a good nap. You looked down at his shoe and pulled out the pen you had lying around in your always-prepared pockets full of random items. With a mischievous grin, you doodled little hearts and scribbled "Chocolate Whore" on the side of his resting shoe.

"Hey, what are you doing?!" he exclaimed, rolling to his side and pulling his shoe off your knee.

             You laughed, seeing the playful annoyance on his face. "Just adding a little decoration," you said, trying to stifle your giggles. Your eyes met, and you noticed the small upturn of his lips, hinting at a smile. How cute, you thought.

"You better watch out, sweetheart. Mess around and you might find out," M quipped in a sarcastic tone, though his playful demeanor quickly faded into the background as you heard rustling beside you.

Turning, your gaze fell upon the exact homeless man, his shirt reading 'Nobody Knows I'm a Lesbian' and wearing ducky swim trunks, who had just been taking a dump staggering up the hill right towards both of you, clutching a needle in his fisted hand.

"Okay, what were you going to say then?" Mello asked nonchalantly, reaching for another piece of chocolate.

"Hey, snap out of it!" You shook his arm urgently. "What?" His voice carried an edge of confusion as he remained relaxed, hands behind his head and eyes glued to the stars. He lifted his head momentarily, then let it slump back into the blanket with a sigh. "Ah, shit, that bum's probably stoned."

"Let's just go. A gun pointed at him won't change a thing," Mello concluded, clutching his gun to his side just in case. You grabbed the single backpack you had brought to the beach, and together, you jog at a moderate pace towards the parking lot where the car stood alone.

"I could certainly go for something when we get home,"

        As the sun rose, behind your hand in hand swaying as you ran. The crack of dawn and its golden rays evoked memories of your mother's passing, perhaps the start of it all casting a familiar warmth through the hospital blinds. Though you wondered if she would approve of your current path, there was a comforting sense somewhere in your heart that she would be proud.

You had never imagined your life taking this turn—once nearly at your breaking point; a former Russian spy turned captor of the suspect, now finding refuge in Los Angelos. It was a far cry from the life you once knew back in Russia. Yet, here you were, savoring chocolate and Zefir biscuits, watching the waves dance under the morning sun as you flea from a Californian Crazybody.

'But Mama, I'm in love with a criminal

And this type of love isn't rational, it's physical

Mama, please don't cry, I will be alright

All reason aside, I just can't deny, love the guy' -Britney Spears