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#l lawliet x you angst

p0ssywhippedcream · 9 months

Text

Your throat burns something awful and no matter how many times you try, you can’t swallow the lump in the back of it. L’s hands are in his pockets casually as he watches you from across the room. He’s sure you’re bluffing, otherwise he’d show some emotion, right?

“L, are you even listening?”

“I hear you, do you?”

“What?” It comes out more of a sigh.

“Hear yourself, do you?”

“You better not be saying I’m talking crazy for wanting my boyfriend to give me affection.”

His face gives nothing away still, large eyes unblinking as if you’re discussing something minute.

“You know I don’t have enough time and you’re demanding more.”

You throw your hands down from where they had been conjoined in front of you, “No, I’m asking that when you are present with me, you’re actually there. You barely touch me anymore, you hardly talk to me if it’s not an emergency or a favor!”

“So.. you want to have more sexual intercourse.” His thumb is between his lips, lips you haven’t kissed for weeks and lips you want to sew shut to see him struggle like you do when he shushes you to silence.

You’re standing in front of the bed, he’s by the door where’s he been since he came in and you tried to talk to him about his neglect.

“Sure, I don’t know. Just acknowledge me when you spend time with me.” You huff out, irritation pinching your expression.

“If you don’t know, why are you starting a fight?” He asks like it’s a genuine question and not a dig at your attempts at communication that have gone without comprehension. He quirks his head to the side, stepping forth to examine you head-to-toe like you’re a piece of evidence. His gaze is far away, two weeks in the future on a date he’d been awaiting for months but to you it just looks like he’s spacing out, lately a consistent state when he’s around you. It drives you crazy, the insane itch of hatred crawls up your spine and vibrates off of you.

You shake in rage, knowing it’s intentional your crazy smart boyfriend is pretending to be confused until you drop it. It won’t work this time.

You’re done explaining, done begging and suddenly all the fight dies. Your shoulders slump and your expression relaxes, a smirk twitches on L’s face, gone before you can point it out.

You turn around and march towards the closet, soft and purposeful as you reach the bag you’ve packed. You swing it over your shoulder and watch the faint victorious smile fall from his face when you emerge.

You don’t say anything as you pluck your phone from the bed, walking towards where he stands beside the door.

You remember every time you’d pleaded with him and he spun your words like a web around you, sticking you in meanings you both know you hadn’t intended. Every time, he would urge you to get some rest, pecking your cheek before disappearing out of the room and leaving you with teary eyes, trying to make some sense of this so loveless love you lived in.

You stopped by his frame, noting the close friendship between his eyebrows as he tried to mentally explain away your behavior. Ever so slowly, you lifted yourself up on tippy toes and pecked his cheek, leaving a harsh red stain before opening the door and leaving him forever.

You’re not sure if he’s crying, if he misses you but you are sure you’ve done enough of both of those while dating him and now that you’re free, you’re not going to waste anymore time on him.

And as he watches you on street cameras, climbing into a taxi and fading into the traffic, he wishes he’d spent more free time with you and not planning for the perfect proposal.

248 notes · View notes

lawlietscaramels · 20 days

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Married ╾ L

I made the mistake of Thinking.

There are some parts that don't seem very L-ish to me, perhaps because of the perspective I wrote from.

Angst.

　★━━─・‥…━━━☆

It was only a little thing.

Lost between the aisle and vows, the rows of empty seats that weren't really rows or seats because does a tree really fall if nobody needs it for timber?, it was only a little thing.

L cut the cake and he gave the first slice to you. It tasted like frosting and unevenly cooked chocolate batter. It was delicious.

L took you home. You failed to consummate. Can you fail, if you don't try? It was only a little thing, of no matter. You were tired. You cuddled instead. Both start with C. Interchangeable. You had a husband. You only had to hold him close.

One year later – just under – and it was winter on the other side of the globe. Summer where you sat, winter where L crouched. It was cold in a big bed alone, but what's to be expected married to a workaholic and you only needed a little thing, that voice call every other week.

Very soon, he returned.

Everything was perfect. It WAS perfect, what a little thing, that capitalisation, but how it changes the meaning. L returned, and because he did, everything was naturally perfect. Meant to be perfect, because you were meant to be. L held you close for a minute. Your husband. You only had to hold him.

Yellow. That was the colour of the cushions you bought together. Yellow. L's favourite colour wasn't yellow. Considering the shade and pattern, it wasn't yours either. But they brightened up the place. Brightened up the mood.

Only at night did the colour sap out with the warmth, dark blue through the house. Dark blue between the two bodies on the bed. Space.

Until death do us part. It's only a little thing. A promise, we will part.

Four more months and four more days. Kisses on the cheek when cooking dinner. Trying to be closer. He scooped you up in his arms one day and took you dancing around the kitchen, held your hand.

Only for a night.

Random, wasn't it? How we met? you asked. Random, wasn't it? How we fell in love?

Everything that seems random, seems chaotic, has pattern and reason when viewed in a big enough frame, he answered, and went back to his ramen. No magic. Only a little thing, that bit of wonder in life. L, do you see the magic? is what you ask, hand left hovering above the paper towels. But L, do you understand me? Do you sympathise? is what you mean.

Verfremdungseffekt, he tells you with a grin, and just laughs when you don't understand.

Even the prosperous inevitably decay said your grandma, sic transit gloria mundi if you had asked L, all that's fair must fade said the writer. Same phrase different words. Same words different phrase?

Regardless, the autumn leaves always begin colourful, dancing in the dusty wedding photos on the mantle, but they fade by the end of the season. Outside the brown leaves crunch, die, are ready for white snow to hide away the misery. A little thing, a leaf. How little in the breeze. It falls off the tree to die. It's only a little thing.

Awake all night. Usually that was L's job but tonight it was yours. Look at his face. His body, curled up in defence. His face, the tightness in his expression even in sleep. Look. How closed off he was. You reached out and brushed his hair. He turned his head away.

No matter. You turned your head away and stared out the window. No magic. No yellow cushions to brighten it up. A cold chill, L's skin, the thin blankets and the air. Winter. Winter where you sat. L was as far away as the summertime. Spring was fair. Autumn was bitter. Winter was dead. Summer had hope. Perhaps you ought have been married in summer. But it was still autumn, the last day, so very close.

Dull. But you had a husband, and you held him close for a night. He gave you the cake. A little thing. Danced with you. But there was dark blue space. A little thing again. Verfremdungseffekt. L, you say and he doesn't stir, L, do you hear me?

Air void of an answer. It was cold. L's skin was cold. There were warm clothes in the cupboard. There were warm cafés in the nighttime. What music was out there tonight?

December. Winter.

A little thing.

You left.

　★━━─・‥…━━━☆

𝖎𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊𝖉 𝖎𝖙 ˏˋ⋆˖⁺˖⁀➷ 𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖊 𝖗𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌 + 𝖋𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖔𝖜

tags → @maevearcher @rinneroraito

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lydiablack-m · 1 year

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Rain |L Lawliet x Reader|

Pairing: L x Reader

Warnings: Angst, death, major spoilers

Word count: 1k

A/N: English is not my first language so I’m sorry for any mistakes. You may read this imagine in the original language here

Sharp rain lashed the windows, it seemed as if the sky had opened and the water from the heavenly springs, rested for thousands of years, broke out of the darkness at once and headed to earth in an endless stream to drown, wash away the sins of humanity, cleanse the souls of people or destroy them.

Everything came down to a dead point. The investigation stopped after the capture and death of Kira. All the accumulated material of evidence and clues collapsed because of the one line in the Death Note: "he will die in 13 days."

The networks that L tightly wove around Light became entangled, and the feeling of approaching danger was getting stronger and stronger over us every day.

L was more silent than usual, his antics and brilliant guesses on the case disappeared. This damned God of Death did not give any useful information, all L's attempts to get her to talk, to ask about the notebook ended in failure. L grew more and more gloomy, it was as if a death mark rose over him, becoming brighter every day, he himself seemed to felt it.

I opened the last message again, as if something new might appear in it, but the same brief words were shining on the screen.

"Y/n, come to the roof. We need to talk."

I put the phone in my pocket and headed to the stairs. The rain beat relentlessly through the panoramic windows, it felt like this building did not exist at all, every step was easy, as if I was walking through that gray air outside, as if it cost me nothing to push off the ground and take off now. My head was spinning from the monotonous sounds of falling drops and aching, inexplicable anxiety.

I pushed the iron door leading to the roof with shoulder, and the next second the wind whistled in the doorway. With an effort, I opened it and look around, covering eyes from the wind and small drops.

L stood near the metal tower, which was crowned with a satellite receiver, and looked at the sky motionless.

His clothes soaked through, water was streaming down his face, dripping from his hair, seemed like he had been standing here for a long time before my arrival. It was pointless to call him, for the noise of the rain and the howling of the wind, my words would simply be lost in the air, there was nothing left but to go out to meet the cold streams and the open gray sky.

“The bell is ringing louder than usual today,” he said, still staring intently into the sky, when I approached him.

“I know.”

We looked into the sky of heavy endless clouds, showered with daggers of cold drops, and it seemed as if there, far above us and in the whole expanse of the air dome, the measured beats of the memorial bell could be heard, making the heart freeze and further distancing us from the reality where we are standing on the roof of a 30-storey hotel in Tokyo, waiting for news that the unknown will bring us, closer than ever to destruction.

“Lately, it has been ringing incessantly. Do you understand what this means?” he said tonelessly.

“Yes,” I replied, keeping my eyes on the dark sky.

The rain was lashing at my face in furious gusts, my T-shirt stuck to the body, water dripped from the jeans into the sneakers, but it didn't bother me at all. It was as if the whole moment enchanted me, and I stopped feeling anything but unity with this rain, sky and air, nothing else mattered.

All the future past and present have been reduced to one point, into one vessel of the storm, heralding the end of the days of this world.

L turned and stared intently into my eyes.

“I don't want you to die.”

His voice seemed to come from far away, and it took me a moment to understand the meaning of his words, looking at him with unseeing eyes.

L seemed to understand my confusion and hastened to add:

“I think he's going to kill me and then you, and I don't know... For the first time in my life, I do not know how to prevent it,” he sighed heavily and looked up to the sky again.

“I made too many mistakes, let Light get too close... It's all my fault. I shouldn't have dragged you into this investigation. Now, because of my shortsightedness, we are both going to die. I'm sorry.”

I looked up. For some reason, a painful feeling crept into my heart again, suddenly memorable episodes from childhood began to flash before my eyes, those moments when the soul, as well as now, trembled with delight and at the same time was torn with longing in powerlessness to comprehend this moment of merging with the eternal largess of centuries, as if the ancient secret of life was hidden in these moments and one step, one breath each time was missing to let in this all-encompassing wisdom, to become one with infinity.

“It was an honor for me to work with you, but I consider the opportunity to call you my friend to be an even greater joy and the main achievement of my life,” I said.

As if in oblivion, my lips moved by themselves, but at the same time I was clearly aware that the said was right.

L looked at me somewhat surprised.

“Thank you. You are the only person who has become really close to me, whom I really trust. I'll be glad to die next to you.”

He suddenly seemed so lonely and mournful. His life has always been full of cruelty and injustice, he has always been an observer of it, but he has never lived himself. It's a pity that we won't have time to change anything.

I quietly went over and hugged him. He flinched in surprise, but hugged me back.

“Thank you. If it rains like this in heaven, I'll be happy to be there with you.”

...

Thump.

I fall on one knee, there is an unbearable pain in my heart.

Thump.

He lies in front of me and gasps for air.

Thump.

I am pinned to the ground, but rush closer to him.

Thump.

I grab his hand and look into those eyes for the last time.

Thump.

“I'm sorry...”

Thump...

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heyheydidjaknow · 2 years

Text

I’m not dead. This is an incredibly niche market, I know, and not what’s typical for this blog, but it’s here and it’s here to stay. L honestly deserves more x reader stuff and if I’m the one who has to encourage it I’ll be the one to do it.

Am I Invited?

Your boyfriend was an odd man.

You were quite fond of him, but the fact that he was far from normal was emphasized by anyone and everyone he was willing to meet in person. Even if those who had seen him had decided to hold their tongues, you would have known how odd he was. When you had met him, you had understood that much; the only reason you had met him at all was because he and who you assumed was his father had come to the coffee shop in which you worked. He had worn a mask obscuring his mouth– his father had claimed that it was due to a cold– and he had not spoken a word to you, instead studying you silently as you filled the order for them. Despite disheveled black hair and dark circles, he was pretty in a quiet, Victorian way, and you had a desire to speak to him in part because of how little he seemed to get out.

He was there, apparently, to study. He had been ordered a cup of coffee with ten or so spoonfuls of sugar– you had decided his father seemed not to be the type to make that sort of joke, and so you had made it as asked. When you brought him his drink, you decided to make a move.

“Here’s your sugar with coffee,” you had teased, placing the cup and a parcel in front of him.

He had stared at you a moment, scrutinizing you, before averting his eyes.

Awkward, you had cleared your throat. “Hey, man, I’m hardly one to talk.” You had smiled. “I can barely handle coffee without a mountain of add-ons. I’m a pussy; I drink tea.” Clearing your throat, you gestured to the paper bag. “That’s on the house, by the by. I hope you aren’t allergic; those cookies are the best thing we sell.”

On your word, he pulled the pastry from the bag: a simple peanut butter cookie by all accounts. Wordlessly, he broke off a piece and handed it to you.

It took you a second to understand what he was doing. “Oh, no, I couldn't possibly.” You put your hand up in protest. “It’s yours.”

He did not remove his hand.

You glanced around, awkward before taking the piece and popping it into your mouth. You were hardly opposed to cookies. Your smile grew meak. “What,” you laughed, “think I’d give you a bad cookie?” You tried to regain your confidence. “You wound me”

You were startled by how clear his voice was. “No, that’s not it.” He pulled down the mask, taking a bite out of the confectionery, swallowing quickly, and pulling his mask back up. “I was just checking something.”

“Oh.” You nodded, confused.

He took another bite of the cookie, uncomfortably nonchalant. “This is quite a good cookie. Is it made here?”

Your eyes shift to the side, any assuredness you had gone. He was studying you. “They’re made on-site, yeah.” You resisted the urge to slide your hands into your pockets. “The recipe’s ours, too.”

“Is it old?”

“The recipe? Yeah.”

There was silence.

It dawned on you how oddly he sat. He was not so much sitting, in fact, as he was crouched on the chair, feet flat against the seat. If it was a struggle to balance in such an unnatural position, he did a good job of hiding any difficulties he had maintaining it.

You slid into the chair across from him. It was a slow day anyhow. “This is a small town,” you pointed out. “We don’t get many new faces.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“How so?” You rested your head on your hand, quietly satisfied at his letting you sit.

He shrugged. “I would assume it would be bad for business.”

“People like the atmosphere.”

“Sure,” he pointed out, “but I would imagine that you would want to have as many customers as possible.”

“Not necessarily.” You smiled. “If the atmosphere changed the people who come in would probably stop or complain if they didn’t have personal ties to the place itself. That’s not good for business either.”

“I suppose.”

Talking to him was a bit like pulling teeth. You took it he was not approached like this often. “Are you going to school nearby?”

“Why do you ask?”

You gesture to the folders stacked next to him. “I assumed that was for a project.”

He considered what you said for a moment too long. “Yeah.” He nodded. “Journalistic writing would count, I suppose.”

“Sounds like a blast. What on?”

He took a sip from his coffee. “Homicide case.”

Your smile widened. “So I was right. Which one?”

“You wouldn’t have heard of it.” He reached over seemingly absentmindedly, finger peeling at a corner of the topmost folder and letting it spring back into place. “It’s recent.”

“Try me.”

He stared at you for a moment, sizing you up. “Why do you want to know about it?”

“I dunno.” You shrank a bit under his gaze. “I want you to keep talking, I guess.”

He blinked, his head cocking to the side ever so slightly. “Why?” His voice was softer than before.

“I like it.” You forced confidence forward. “You have a nice voice, and I think you’re attractive, and you seem interesting.”

That was how you got his number.

The only time he ate decently was when you saw him. You knew this because he had lost weight; whenever he lost weight, it was because he had not eaten well enough or was stressed over his work or the news. He was doing both, you were sure, and though you had little time with him before he would fly back off to who knows where you were hardly about to let him leave on an empty stomach.

You saw him less than when you were younger. You never saw him much before– not as much as you had the first month you two had “been together”-- but weekends turned into single days, and once a week turned into twice a month. You never said anything. You doubted he was getting on with someone else; he did not seem the type, despite what your friends had to say on the matter. What did they know? They had hardly spoken a dozen words with him. You did not even mind much. You could survive without him comfortably enough.

He would not stop staring at the television screen. You were sure his eyes would roll out of his head from how long he paid attention to it. International news. Not that he did not know any of what was being said anyhow— he always seemed to know exactly what was going on in the world at a given moment— but he never wanted it off. Even as you set a bowl of stew in front of him, he barely glanced over at you long enough to register it.

You sat down next to him, tapping him on the side of the head as you dug into your own bowl. “Soup’s up,” you tell him, turning down the television. “You’ll waste away if you don’t eat.”

“Will I?”

You smiled, taking the bait. “You will. Your body will shut down and go into cardiac arrest and I’ll have to call the ambulance to come to drag you off.”

He did not smile much these days, but something like it tugged at his lips. “Oh, you don’t say?”

“I do.” You took another bite of your stew. “And with how much work you do it’ll kill you, and I can’t afford to help chip in much for the funeral, so it’ll be a shitty little thing and you’ll be made fun of it for it by the other dead people.”

He balanced a chunk of meat from his stew, watching so it would not fall. “Oh, so there are more dead people now.”

“Don’t be stupid,” you wave him off. “Of course, there are more dead people.”

“Of course.” The spoon was slid into his mouth.

“Of course.”

The spoon came out clean. With a quiet hum of satisfaction, he began to eat. “‘Ts good,” he said around his food.”

“It’s beef.”

“I’m a fan.”

You nodded. “Good. You’ve gotten uncharacteristically thin.”

“Rapid weight loss is often a symptom of high anxiety.” He swallowed. “That’s probably why.”

You took another bite of stew. “Work?”

“Work,” he confirmed.

“What is it now?”

He paused. “How to put it…” He swallowed another spoonful. “An issue’s come up and neither I nor anyone in my department quite understands what it is. It is unlike anything we have ever had to deal with in the past, and despite how many resources are being put into solving the problem, we are no closer to a solution.”

“What sort of problem?”

“That’s the question.”

You blinked. “So is it a problem or not?”

He smiled dryly. “It’s certainly causing trouble, but it’s difficult to define, seeing as I hardly know exactly what it is outside of the fact that it has seemingly infiltrated every corner of the company.”

You take another bite of stew. “You really should quit,” you swallowed. “Your job, I mean. It’s bad for you.”

He considered it. “It would probably be better on my health, but I don’t think I could even if I wanted to.”

“Why?”

“Because it is one of the very few things that give my life meaning.” He picked up the bowl, tipping his head back and drinking the rest of its contents. “I have no other skills outside of my job, you understand; I would be essentially nothing without it.”

It was odd how he described what he did. He never told you what it was, exactly, but he always talked as though whatever it was was an integral part of himself, like it was more than just a job. You knew enough not to ask; he had always been secretive in this regard, and you knew it would do you little good to pry. “That’s not fair.”

“It is.”

“That’s not true.” You smiled. “Personally, with or without your job, I think you’re pretty great. And if it’s as big as you make it out to be, I’m sure someone else would hire you if that was what you wanted.”

He pursed his lips. “I’m not sure that’s even something I would want,” he mumbled, almost to himself. “Again, it is essentially my whole life, what I do.”

“But it doesn’t have to be is my point.” You let your head rest on the back of the couch. “You can do whatever. You’re still pretty young; the world’s your oyster.”

“Shakespeare.”

“Hm?”

“That idiom. It’s Shakespeare.”

“What, really?” You smiled. “See? You could go into etymology if you wanted.”

He chuckled. “I think I may go insane if I did that.”

“Oh come on,” you push him gently. “It’s not that boring.”

“I would disagree.”

You give him a look. “Then how come you know where it comes from, wise guy?”

“I had to read Merry Wives of Windsor.”

“Oh.”

He watched you curiously. “Why are you making a face?”

Your cheeks heated up. “I’m not making a face!”

“You are, as a matter of fact.”

“It’s just like why?”

“Oh, it was hardly by choice.” He shrugged. “My caretakers insisted. Personally, I’ve never been much a fan, but it would hardly make sense if I did not pick up on at least some of it.”

“Bastards.” You stuck your hands in your pockets, settling in. “What else did they make you read?”

He thought for a moment. “Well, all of Shakespeare–”

“The fuck you mean all of Shakespeare?”

He blinked. “What do you mean what do I mean?”

“How many things has Shakespeare written?”

“Surprisingly few.” He very quickly seemed to tally on his hands. “Thirty-seven is the generally accepted number, I believe.”

“That’s a lot!”

“I’m well aware. I didn’t enjoy it much at the time.” He settled in next to you, leaning his body against yours. “But apparently an extensive knowledge of English literature was vital to my education.”

You draped an arm across his shoulders. “Your caretakers are just the lives of the party, aren’t they?”

“I don’t believe they’ve ever attended one.”

“Look at you, being snarky.” You leaned into him. “I’m so proud.”

He reached over, pulling you into his lap. “I can be snarky.”

“So has been demonstrated.”

“I can be snarky generally too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You learned very early on that when dating your odd boyfriend you were best to not ask too many questions. Not about work, not about his personal life outside of you, not even about where he stayed when he was not with you. You had never been to his place, never seen it. He went away a lot for his job, and the two of you talked a lot on the phone, but you had learned from how little he volunteered information to not ask him to divulge too much to you. In exchange, as a way of keeping things fair, he never asked too many questions about your life, never commented on your home or your loved ones unless asked, and gifted you hush money—which he never called hush money but always felt like it for how much of it you received— and offered you an unusual amount of legal expertise.

Your conclusion: your boyfriend was some sort of government worker/spy/lawyer.

“You know I’m using you, right?”

You looked up from your phone. The night of that conversation— the last conversation you have had with him, about two months ago— was on the last night of his week-long stay at your place. You had gone out of your way to make him good food before he went back to his diet of carbs and nothing else. He had been quiet all day, fidgeting more than usual, clingier than what was typical. You had asked him about it throughout the day, but he always brushed it off. “Hm?”

He had that look in his eyes that he did when you first met, that cold, calculating stare that made you feel like a patient on an operating table. He repeated the question.

You set the device face down on the table. “Use how?”

“Emotionally. Physically. Psychologically.”

“I mean,” you shrugged, “I wouldn’t say using—“

“You should if you don’t. It’s the appropriate word.”

You leaned against your hand, elbow on the table. “What’s your definition of use?”

“Any, really.” His shrug, a mirror of your own, was stiff. “For our purposes, let’s define the term as ‘to exploit one for one’s own advantage.’”

You could play this game. You laced your fingers together, leaning forward. “And how would you define exploiting, love?”

“‘To use in an unfair and selfish way.’”

“You would consider yourself selfish?”

“Impossibly so.” He never looked away from you, then. “Incredibly so. Our relationship is largely one-sided.”

You swallowed. You knew he noticed. “How so?”

He considered the question, eyes lowering ever so briefly before meeting yours again. “Well, it’s fair to say that you’re a caring partner. You’ve provided for my every emotional need for the past five years, you’ve let me stay in your home, you’ve cooked for me, cared to remind me of my humanity.” He folded his arms on top of his knees. “And in return for your unflinching hospitality I’ve largely neglected you; I’ve refused to tell you anything meaningful about my upbringing or my work or even who I associate with. I’m not traditionally attractive— I understand,” he cut off your protest, “that beauty is subjective but for our purposes, I’m not objectively beautiful— and I haven’t so much as let you stay with me. I only spend time with you for a week every two months or so, which is ridiculous considering how long we’ve known each other. Any reasonable person would be right to leave.”

You shifted in your chair, eyes focused on your fork.

“Why are we still in a relationship?”

“I like you.” You shrugged, picking up the plastic utensil and turning it over in your fingers. “I’m allowed to like you, aren’t I?”

He exhaled, a poor imitation of a chuckle. “I can’t imagine it goes much farther than a skewed cost-benefit analysis.”

“So what if it doesn’t?”

“That’s incredibly foolish of you.”

“So what if it is?”

“Don’t you find an issue in that?”

“So what if I don’t?”

He opened his mouth, sighed, looked down. He mumbled something.

“Pardon?”

“You don’t even know my name.”

You stopped your fiddling. “You’ve never offered it.”

“That’s my point.”

You inhaled slowly, trying not to get yourself riled up. “Are you trying to break up with me?”

“No.” The response was immediate.

“Why are you telling me all this, then?”

He paused.

“That’s what it sounds like.”

“Do you have any idea what I do?”

You chuckled, leaning back in your chair. “I mean,” you sighed, “I have something like an idea.”

His eyes are not cold like they were before. Dull, maybe, but that was nothing new. “Take a guess.”

“I dunno.” You buzzed your lips. “Spy? Government worker? Assassin?”

His lips twitched upwards. “Assassin?”

“Hey, you asked!”

He smiled. “Let’s go with that.”

“What, you're an assassin?”

“Sure.” He leaned forward. “I’ve been asked to kill someone very important.”

You blinked. “I got it right?”

“No, but the comparison is somewhat apt.” He chewed on his thumb nail absently. “I’ve been tasked to kill someone very important. Because I’m killing someone very important, I’m going to be in a lot of danger.”

“Are they a dick at least?”

“I’m being serious.”

You crossed your arms behind your head, trying to relax. “If you’re an assassin, aren’t you always in danger?”

“This particular person is unusually dangerous.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

“And because I’m going to be in a lot of danger, I may never see you again.” He broke eye contact. “I’m unable to get out of this, and this person has to die.”

You swallow. “Sure.”

“If I don’t get in contact with you for a month, I want you to assume that I’ve broken up with you.”

“And if I don’t agree?”

He sighed. “I can’t exactly force you to, can I? But you will be setting yourself up for disappointment.”

You looked up at the ceiling. “Am I invited to the funeral, at least?”

He considered the question. “Yes.”

You swallow again, hating the taste in your mouth. “Okay.”

He looked at you again. “Would you mind too terribly if I came over there?”

You said nothing. Your voice would crack if you did.

He took your silence as a no, standing from his awkward posture and kneeling at your feet. He placed his head on your lap, looking up at you. “May I have your hand?”

You let one of your arms down.

His hand was shaking as the fingers interlaced with yours. “I highly doubt that anything will happen. It never has before.”

Your eyes slid shut. You did not want to cry.

“I just want you to be prepared if something does.”

You never saw him again after that night.

Previous Works

#death note #l #l x reader #ryuzaki lawliet #lawliet x reader #l lawliet #death note lawliet #dn lawliet #death note x y/n #death note x reader #death note x you #y/n #this is angst #one of these days it’s not gonna be angst #but that day is not today unfortunately

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gojoandtojisleftnut · 2 years

Text

𝗟 𝗟𝗔𝗪𝗟𝗜𝗘𝗧 | 10:34𝗽𝗺

Pairing: L Lawliet x female reader

Genre: angst

A/n & possible tw: I love him. That’s all. (Spoilers). The girl name given has a meaning behind it. -> fem!reader, crying, death, pregnancy.

Bare feet walk through the hallway. The leg of his blue jeans scrape against the gray carpet. Gentle strides guide him towards your bedroom door.

He opens the door quietly revealing your sleeping figure. Black tank top showcasing your shoulder blades, gray sheets draped over your thighs, giving him a peek of your black underwear.

He comes over to you ever so quietly stepping on to the bed, walking towards you and eventually sitting down in his signature pose. You look so peaceful sleeping. But he knows he’s probably got a few days left.

The rain is pouring outside. He knows it makes you sleep easier. A small tear escapes his tired eyes falling next to your arm. L rarely expresses his feelings. It was something you had to get used to and learn how to cope with. But you did help him express himself a bit more over time.

You start to stir in you sleep. Making L’s breath hitch. A soft whimper leaves your lips while rubbing your eyes, “L, are you okay my love?” “We’ll part ways soon Y/n”. You knew this will eventually happen, since he started working on the Kira case. Tears start to spill from your eyes as well. Getting up you put your hand on his cheek looking at him deep in his eyes. “Lay down with me.” You say letting go of his cheek.

L lays with you, long arms holding you tight to his chest. You could feel his heartbeat so you lift your left hand and place it where his heart rests. Letting him know that you’ll still hold it and protect it even though he might not be there anymore. “I love you. Even though I might not tell you enough.” “I love you too L, forever.” Small sobs escape your mouth, slender fingers wiping the tears from your cheeks until you’re sound asleep.

November 5th is the day both L and Watari died. You knew it was Light who’s behind this. You never doubted L once. If he believed Kira was Yagami then so did you. The days go by slower than ever. A void is not filled and you miss him deadly. Their deaths have taken such a toll on you. Especially your boyfriends. When you saw him collapse you felt like a part of you was stripped away.

The grieving has started to to take a physical toll on you as well. Every morning you throw up and feel dizzy. You blamed it all to your mental state until you missed a period.

It was almost 11pm when you saw the two red lines on the test. You stared back it crying holding it tight to your hands. You put your coat on and ran out of your house. Rain pouring outside, but you didn’t care. You slowly open the gate of the cemetery and run towards L’s grave.

It wants next to Watari’s and kind of hidden away from the others. He always liked his own personal space.

“My love..” you fall to your knees in front of the stone. Your tears mixing with the winter rain. “I’m so sorry if I only found out sooner. You could at least known that we would have a baby together. I’m so sorry. But I’m so happy. Our baby will always be a reminder of you. Of us... Watari? I hope you’re happy too.”

—

It was a beautiful August afternoon. A light breeze flowing your dress. “We’re here.” You whisper and get down on your knees once again. “This is Ichigo. Ichigo, this is daddy and this is papa Watari.” you face the small pink bundle towards the two graves. The little girl cooing. “She’s beautiful isn’t she L? She looks just like you. My little blessing.” Tears started to flow once again from your eyes as you looked down at your babygirl. You prayed all nine months she would look like her father. That’s all you wanted.

And she did. Black eyes, black hair, full lips. She’s the perfect copy of him. The perfect reminder of him. And you’ll forever make sure she knows it. And you’ll forever make sure she knows how great he was.

“We love you. Both of us.”

#l lawliet #L #l lawliet angst #death note #anime #l lawliet x female reader #angst #death note x reader #death note x you #death note x y/n #death note angst

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p0ssywhippedcream · 2 years

Note

Could I possibly get some angst where L loses his composure and lashes at the reader because he's stressed? It can be angst to comfort if you're more comfy with that :)

Of course you can, lovebug! I honestly love angst but nobody ever requests it so thank you! <3

It’s been a long day, for both of you. You’re walking on eggshells and L’s mindlessly covering the floor in them with his grumpy mood.

He’s pacing right now, thumb between his lips and gnawed at roughly for the fourth time in 15 minutes. You’re holding a tray of snacks and watching him from the doorway. You’re worried about him. He’s had rough cases, sure, but right now he looks like he’d glare you through the floor if you tried to help.

It’s always like this when cases arise where there’s some kind of parent-child situation. His righteousness overfills and his moral compass skews more than usual, leaving him a frustrated, exhilarating wreck at the end for you to take care of.

You step into the room and his head whips around to stare blankly at you, questioning your audacity to enter his sacred space.

“Hi, sweetheart. I brought some snacks, maybe you’d like to take a break?”

His eyes narrow and he turns his face away from you.

“Of course not, don’t be ridiculous. I’m far too busy for a break.”

You nod and weave around his body to put the food down on his desk nonetheless, knowing he’ll still appreciate the gesture.

“Okay, well it’s here when you want it. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

His cold eyes are locked on the tray.

“I thought I just told you I don’t need a break, am I incorrect to believe you heard me?”

You stutter, confused. “Well, yes… I just assumed you’d want to eat sometime.” You always end up doing so anyway is left unsaid but heard.

“I don’t.”

“…”

You stand there, unmoving and kind of stuck not knowing where to go from here.

“What are you doing? I said I don’t. I said I’m not taking a break. You’re just standing there as if I’ve said nothing, a little disrespectful, don’t you think?”

Geez, where did the entitlement come from?

“You don’t mean that. You’re stressed.” You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself more than him, maybe you are.

“Of course I’m stressed, Y/n! Are you as stupid as you look? You’re not making this any easier. You should leave now before my focus is ruined entirely.”

You can’t even fight it, your legs are moving before you can think. He’s never this cruel, never to you. You’re aware you’re not as smart as he is but fuck, does he have to rub it in?

The sound of the door slamming wakes him from his trance and he turns to look longingly after. He hadn’t expected you to actually leave, you always stay with him during hard cases. How insensitive of you to leave him during this time of difficulty, do you even care about him?

Two people stand incredibly hurt by one another on different sides of a door. A tear slips from one’s eye, a audible crunch from the others mouth as he chews on his nail. When he finally sits back at his chair, he doesn’t care about your feelings anymore. He can’t afford to, he has to focus on this case. You can wait, justice cannot.

When you finally leave the building to go on a walk, you’re over it. You’ve forgiven mentally, given excuses for him before he can even apologize but the words still linger..

Still create painful illustrations of insecurities you’d buried prematurely, taking chunks of your confidence easily. The zombies of your past come back for you, eating you alive on a park bench as you question your devotion to your boyfriend. The ghosts of his past haunt him as he stares at a broken child’s face on his computer monitor, driving him to dedicate another sleepless day to solving the case.

Your face is hardened, stone cold and uncaring. You don’t even notice you’re crying until you feel your shirt become cold with tears. You smear them carelessly, angrily really, and fight the urge to scream.

How dare he? How dare you? How dare life? How are you supposed to go on feeling like this? How can everyone else just go about their day in pain? How do you forgive and forget? How do you live?

L’s fingers mindlessly pluck a strawberry from the tray, he’s through four before he realizes you were right. He’s through nine before the guilt settles in. He’s through the whole bowl before he lets himself grieve.

He stares longingly at the door, waiting for you to return so he can love you. He sent you out so he could focus but right now, all he can think about is the pain you must be in. He has no idea.

A pigeon lands on a sleeping person, crumpled on a park bench and shivering in their thin clothes. They’re completely unaware of the terror their boyfriend feels nearly four miles away as they rest, the eye bags almost as bad as his finally relaxing. They’re also unaware of the buzzing of their phone. They’re at peace, troubles far from their thoughts but nearby in physicality.

A pigeon flies away as a group of men approach the park bench. The phone buzzes more urgently. The person sleeps ever soundly. The case remains unsolved.

#holy shit this got dark #I hope you guys see the cool little thing I did with the last line #I thought it was neat #but Jesus Christ #the implications #hope you like how angsty it got 😭#oph.posts #ticket time #24 hour ticket #🎟️ time #l lawliet x reader #l x reader #death note #deathnote x reader angst #l x reader angst #l lawliet x reader angst

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rancidpancakebatter · 6 months

Text

Picnics at Sunset - [L Lawliet]

Pairings: L (Death Note) x Female!Reader

Summary: You knew that You cared for Ryusaki very much. You knew you trusted him with your life, and you always felt better when he was around. You knew that you desired his attention and approval more than anyone else’s. You knew that he was beautiful and kind. But you didn’t know if he felt any of those things about you. You didn’t know what those things meant. Or rather, you feared what they could mean, and what that would do to the both of you.

Word Count: 14k words

Content: Swearing, Mentions of death, nudity?, friends to lovers, first kiss, Use of Celcius, touch of angst (it's death Note, come on), Sappy thoughts of love

( Masterlist )

A/N: I have so much to say, but I'll try to keep it brief. I'm sorry this is so long, but so much of this show cuts to long internal dialogues within a conversation, and I tried to capture that. I think I did well, but it is a little long-winded. I don't know if I'll do a lot of writing for this character, but he got stuck in my head recently, and this was the only way I knew to let him go.

You sat at your desk, the computer screen you had been staring at for the past three hours was beginning to hurt your head. You leaned back in your chair, rubbing your eyes; then silently cursing as you felt your mascara smear against the pads of your fingers. You needed a break and something other than a slice of cake in your stomach. You looked to your right out of habit, ready to tell your friend that you were taking a break and he should do the same, but his chair was empty.

You looked around the room.

“He stepped outside,” a voice said.

Behind you was Matsuda. You jumped when he spoke, not realising he was there, and he apologised for startling you.

“Yeah, we should get you a bell,” you suggested.

“Yeah, maybe so.” Matsuda laughed. “You know, if you want to bounce ideas off of someone, you can talk to me. I know I can’t come close to Ryusaki’s intelligence, but I’d like to think I have something to offer.”

“It’s okay,” you reassured. “I didn’t really need anything from him, just wanted to see what he was up to.”

“Well, I think he just needed some space to think. You know how he is.”

“That I do,” You agreed, “And I know If he wants to be alone, he’ll have no problem telling me himself.”

Matsuda laughed again, “I’m sure you’re right. But I have a feeling he won’t shoo you away. He has a soft spot for you.”

Just the idea of L turning you away had you put out. You crossed your arms, turning away with a huff. “Not if he knows what’s good for him.”

You heard Matsuda chuckling behind you, wishing you luck.

You marched up the stairs, down the hall, and got in the elevator, heading for the roof. As you made your way, you couldn’t help but admire the walls around you. The building L designed was quite impressive. You greatly enjoyed the glass elevator, preferring it over any others. Once you passed the tenth floor, the city could be seen. You were usually greeted by blinding sun and clear blue skies, but today, the sky was an enchanting apricot colour, blanketed by thick pink clouds heavy with rain. The sun was peaking from behind the silver buildings as if waiting to see you before finally saying goodbye. You waved to the people below, wishing them well on their oblivious wayfaring.

Soon you reached the top floor, and you pushed open the door to get to the roof access. The door to the roof was already opened, so you called out.

“Ryusaki! You out there?”

You were greeted by silence and tried again.

“I’m alone!”

Only then did you get a reply, “Did you bring any food?”

You chuckled, stepping out onto the roof. “No, I’m sorry.”

L stood out in the open, basking in the fading light and staring at the sky, unbothered by the cold air blowing. He was slouched over and hands firmly in his pockets. He turned his head to you, and the vibrant sky poured over his pale skin, drenching the soft canvas in the colours of monarchs and sunflowers. The light danced around his prominent eyes, flames in a ring of stone. His lips looked kissed by a dreamsicle. You looked away, finding your way back to reality.

“Did you want me to go back and get something?” You offered, throwing your thumb back towards the door.

“No,” He said, turning back to the sun, “Watari should be up soon.”

Before you could question, you heard the door open and close and the clinking sound of plates as they made their way up the stairs.

“Hello, dear,” The old man greeted with a smile.

He carried a tray with a full tea set in one hand and a wicker basket in the other, with a blanket draped across his arm. You watched as he laid it out on the ground, pulling plates and silverware from the basket along with a candelabra. Ryuga settled himself as Watari lit the candles, then gestured for you to do the same. The only clear spot to sit was right beside him, and you took it as gracefully as possible.

“I have brought sandwiches and various tea cakes,” Watari explained, “along with Keemun Mao Feng tea and honey. I hope you enjoy.”

You both thanked him and he left, closing the roof exit behind him. L sat, perching next to you, watching as you admired the display.

“It’s all my favourites,” You observed. “Why did you ask him to bring this?”

His thumb came to rest on his lip, gauging your reaction.

“I knew you would be getting hungry soon. I told Watari to bring some acceptable food if you didn’t grab any on your way up.”

You furrowed your brows in innocent confusion, “How did you know I’d come?”

His head turned away and you notice his feet shuffling, a tell for his anxiety.

“You always do.” He said with a shrug.

Your heart thumped affectionately as he turned his head, and your gaze fell back onto the band of sterling silver in his eyes. You smiled fondly at the man, and he had to look away. He busied himself with the basket, pulling out nicely wrapped sandwiches in brown butcher paper. He read the options out for you and passed you your selections. He then reached in and pulled out a white box with a blue bow. He began to tug at it, then stopped, offering it to you.

You giggled, unravelling the satin ribbon. When he pulled off the lid, a tiered display stand stood with ten layers of tiny cakes with an array of colours, creams, and toppings. L looked over the selection with a careful eye, then chose a spongy square with a raspberry on top. He pinched it between his fingers and brought it to his lips. You watched his selection process as you braided the ribbon into a piece of your hair, presenting it to your friend with a smile. He nodded in approval, and then you finally took a bite of your sandwich, moaning as the myriad of flavours filled your senses.

“Oh my god, this is delicious,” you said, pushing it towards Ryusaki, “You’ve gotta try it.”

His chewing stops as he eyes the sandwich in front of him like it were a loaded gun.

“I’m okay.” He said politely.

You accepted his dismissal, taking another bite from your sandwich, but still curious about it.

“Why don’t you eat anything but sugar?” You asked through a mouthful of sourdough.

“Well,” Ryusaki began, “Desserts tend to be more homogeneous in texture and taste. I find most ‘real’ food reduces my deductive skills by approximately twenty-five percent.”

You looked up at the beauty of the ending day around you and breathed in the air of the city.

“Do you need your deductive skills right now?” You asked softly, eyes still trained on the sky.

Moments passed in peaceful silence. You could hear a dog barking and the mummer of the life teeming below you. People going about their everyday lives, despite the horror of this new world. You tried to join them now and then, encouraging Ryusaki to do the same– to have a life outside of, despite of Kira. From your peripherals, you saw him spread his knees apart, sitting in a cross-legged position. You watched as he continued adjusting, trying to find a comfortable position. When he settled, you turned your eyes to his.

“Would you like some tea?” You asked.

He nodded his head, and you poured him half a cup from the teapot, filling the rest with cream and sugar, just the way he liked it. He thanked you when you passed it to him, fingers brushing briefly. You could tell he was a little uncomfortable, probably much more in tune with the “loss of thought” he was experiencing than any other person would be. He held his cup in both hands, elbows resting on his knees as he looked into the wheat-coloured drink. You left L to his thoughts, knowing he would share them if he deemed them important. You instead focused on tucking the rest of your sandwich away, opening another to try. You were happy Watari cared enough to cut them into little triangles.

“What are your plans after the Kira case?”

You nearly choked on your sandwich, not expecting the question. You wiped at your mouth with a napkin, trying to grab your composure.

“I haven’t given much thought to it,” you said, “but I know it will be a bittersweet moment when we catch him.”

Ryuga sat up a little, his interest piqued as he took another sip of his tea. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well,” you began, “I’ve met a lot of great people by working on this investigation. I don’t imagine our paths will cross much once this is all resolved, even if we do survive. But it makes me happy to think that one day they’ll get to walk into their front doors and hug their families without the fear of them being ripped away as collateral damage.”

“Not to mention,” You continued, “at the risk of sounding selfish, this job has some really nice perks. I’m compensated well, I get free room and board, I haven’t done my own laundry in four months, and I can even get company-provided gourmet picnics on the rooftop. There’s a lot to miss.”

“I must admit, I will miss the camaraderie,” L said softly. “But I fear the fallout from Kira’s arrest more.”

You knew what he meant. If he was right, and Light and Misa were Kira and The Second Kira, then it would destroy the task force. Matsuda’s heart would shatter, as would Mogi’s, though he’d hide it better than the former. Chief Yagami would likely suffer another heart attack, or perhaps snap entirely. And while you yourself didn’t want to believe it, you couldn’t deny what you knew was true. With the proof of shinigami's existence and an otherworldly murder weapon disguised as a harmless notebook downstairs, nothing could be ruled out. You questioned what other powers came with the notebook, and how those powers transferred.

Bribing Ryuke into answering all your questions was easy enough. It turns out he had never known the taste of a Fuji apple, only enjoying the common red delicious. One was enough to get him hooked. You presented everything you had learned about ownership of the notebook, how it can be passed, and how it affects the user. You and L had come to the same conclusion: sometime in Light’s confinement, he transferred ownership, as did Misa. You knew for sure when Misa visited Light the other day in the lobby.

At the beginning of the investigation, he refused to toy with her emotions, as it went against his code. And you found it comforting, knowing Kira would have no problem doing that, and Light was immediately opposed. For months, he made no effort to show affection to Misa, rebuffing any advance or innuendo she made, but you watched as he brought her into a hug. You watched as she melted into it, savouring the sparring touch and every word he whispered into her ear. You knew he hadn’t magically fallen in love with the girl, but was using the love she had for him.

Yes, Light had changed, and the repercussions were terrifying.

Ryusaki was silent. By now, the sun had set, and the moon began climbing up a ladder of stars. The candlelight flickered, making shadows jump and jive across your friend’s face. The shifts were jarring, but the gentle lighting softened his hardened edges. Your eyes traced the slope of his nose, down his plush lips, and his long neck. You wished to stretch out a curious finger to replace your itinerant eyes.

“Would you like a cake?” Ryusaki asked, changing the subject. You allowed the distraction, deciding you would bring it up again later, but not know.

You selected one with orange filling and chocolate drizzle. It was delicious, falling apart in your fingers as you ate it. You heard a soft chuckle leave your friend's mouth and you looked up at him confused. He said nothing, instead motioning towards his face. You tilted your head, not understanding what he meant. Before you could ask, L brought a napkin to the corner of your mouth, gently rubbing it across your bottom lip.

Your heart stopped beating and your lungs stopped breathing. His touch was like the flames of the flickering candles, igniting the skin he polished. His eyes flicked up to yours and you were lost in a pool of obsidian, his pupils vast in the stary night.

“There,” he said softly, “all gone.”

You searched for your voice, and it came out in a breathy whisper, “Thanks.”

He continued, unbothered by the unprecedented physical contact while you took a sip of your tea, in hopes that would help your unsteady heart. Before you had much time to recover, He spoke again.

“My favourite colour is blue.”

You blinked dumbly, at the man as he readjusted uncomfortably.

“My favourite cake is Strawberry Vanilla Sponge Cake,” He continued, “and I sing in the shower.”

You laughed out of shock, and words continued to spill from his mouth like he couldn’t stop them.

“If I could have a superpower, I would want invisibility. I think four-leaf clovers are ridiculously overblown, but I admire their inherent whimsy. I really like The Beatles, which is very embarrassing as I am British. But even more so because I listen to ‘We Can Work It Out’ when I get frustrated. They bring me a sort of comfort. I’ve always wanted a cat. I think it’s funny when they’re given people names, or named after ridiculous things. If I had one, I’d get a tuxedo cat and name it 3,4,4,5-tetramethylcyclohexa-2,5-dien-1-one.” You open your mouth to ask what that was, but he answered it before you could, “It’s a cyclic dienone, more commonly known as penguinone, and though it has no applicable uses, it’s funny.”

You shake your head, trying to make sense of his sudden urge to tell you all of these things. In his unblinking eyes, you saw something close to desperation and it confused you, forcing you to look away. You missed the way Ryusaki’s face fell.

“Are you…upset?” he asked cautiously. “I’m sorry if I overshared.”

“No, no,” You reassured, trying to alleviate some of the guilt that filled your chest at his apprehension. “I’m just confused”

“I was trying to establish trust,” he explained cooly.

Your brows furrowed, “Do you think I don’t trust you?”

“No, I-” he paused, releasing a sigh that moved his shoulders.

“Ignore me,” he said sadly, “Nothing I say lately seems to make much sense.”

Your heart shattered at the uncertainty in his voice. He usually spoke with such conviction. To hear him unsure, insecure in sensibility– his intelligence, really –it made you nauseous.

“Ryusaki,” you began, but he looked away.

“Ryusaki,” you tried again, this time resting a hand on his shoulder, “your sense is still very intact. You’re not the crazy one.”

He looked at your hand, where it rested without hesitancy.

“Look,” you continued, “Someone is trying to kill you. And it could very likely be your best friend. You’re making more sense than anyone else would in your situation.”

Suddenly his eyes shot to yours. There was a small fire burning there, and you worried that you had upset him. You began to remove your hand, but he rested his on yours, keeping it pressed against his shoulder. Your heart leapt at the contact, and you prayed he didn’t notice. Though, if you knew anything about Ryusaki, he did and already tucked it away as useful information.

“Light Yagami is not my best friend.” He said simply, “You are.”

You couldn’t fight the smile that sprouted from the sentiment.

“Really?” You asked in disbelief.

“Of course, I wouldn’t lie about that.”

Your smile grew more teasing, “But you didn’t even chain yourself to me.”

L smiled too, “I didn’t have to.”

Time passed in silence. It was a bit awkward, your hand remained on his shoulder as the candles burned. You were getting chilly, the night air nipping at you through your t-shirt. L’s hand kept yours still, you were much too nervous to move it away. Especially when you could see your friend thinking very hard.

He suddenly turned toward you, removing his hand and jostling yours. His thumb came to his lip, running it across and moving the muscle.

“There are a lot of social customs that I haven’t gotten to participate in, due to my isolated childhood, and even more so because of my dangerous career,” he said, “for instance, I had never had friends until this investigation, and now I have three. But that also means I haven’t experienced a lot of the common experiences that come with friendship.”

He looked you over, trying to gauge your reaction thus far. You seemed at ease but attentive. His eyes darted to the blue streak in your hair, and felt a warmth blossoming in his chest. He was amazed by how light-hearted you could be, despite the heavy burdens you carried. You shone so brightly, he was almost embarrassed to ask you to share.

“I was wondering if you would be willing to help me with that. I think it’s important to my development, and general understanding of the human condition.”

You were delighted to hear that he was thinking about such “trivial” things. As you became closer to L, you quickly realised that he lived a very lonely life. You could tell he had convinced himself that was what he wanted, but you knew a life of work wasn’t enough, and he deserved more. You always encouraged him to take care of more than his brain; to value his body and his spirit as well.

“Of course L,” you nearly cheered, “what did you have in mind?”

You waited patiently for his response, trying your best not to shrink under his gaze. You were sure that his eyes were a large reason as to why he made such a great detective. When he focused his eyes on someone, it made them feel see-through; like he could see everything that made up that person. Like he could read your thoughts.

“Can I-“ he began, then stopped. It was rare to see him trip over his words. “I would like- would it be okay if we hugged?”

Lightning struck across the sky, and you flinched, startled by the sound. You looked up into the dark, trying to find the flash of light you knew was long gone. You spotted the thick, rolling clouds hovering above you, and you hadn’t noticed before. Then the thunder rumbled, and the cry was resonant, penetrating your bones as it rolled through you. Then slowly, rain began falling from the sky. A few drops landed on your face, and you could feel them beginning to stick to your clothes.

When your shock faded away, you looked back at your friend. He was looking at you intently, hunched over like always. You opened your mouth to respond, but L spoke before you.

“Let’s step inside,” he said, resting his hand on your shoulder like you had before, “you’re shivering.”

You hadn’t realised that you were, but as you looked down at your hands, you couldn’t deny the tremble. He stood and began packing up everything on the blanket, refusing your help when you offered even though the rain had picked up. It was steady now, easily soaking through your clothes and his in turn. Once everything was tucked away, he guided you inside, opening the door for you.

As you walked down the steps, your mind spun around his words. He had asked to hug you, someone who you thought would be pretty averse to physical touch. You were surprised he let you lay a hand on him at all, and even more surprised when he reciprocated the action. It could’ve just been an experiment, a test to see how it made him feel, but you found yourself reviewing your own results.

You hadn’t really touched L before. There was no reason to. Even when he fell out of his chair over the whole “Shinigami” thing, you let the others crowd him. Your hands had maybe brushed here and there when passing sweets or documents, but intentional, prolonged contact was never made until today. You couldn’t deny his behaviour had been odd lately, though that was to be expected with the stress he was under. You wondered if he was indulging out of curiosity or a fear of missing out on life.

You jumped again as another bolt of lightning struck across the sky, followed by the soft beginnings of rain, now slowly collecting on the glass walls around you. You began walking down the hall and jerked your head to beckon Ryusaki, who seemed deep in thought. You watched the rain grow, drops colliding and running down the glass. You stopped to trace the tracks left, your body shuttering against the cold.

“I’m sorry,” your friend spoke quietly, as there was no one but you here, and no reason to raise a voice. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

You looked at him with shock, but he refused to look at you.

“Ryusaki, I haven’t felt uncomfortable around you since we started this investigation. Why would that change now?” When he didn’t respond, you bumped his shoulder with yours, “Seriously though, if you ever do make me uncomfortable, I won’t let you live it down.”

“Good,” he said, nodding his head. “I’ll hold you to that.”

You both continued to stare off into the distance in silence. You began breathing out hot puffs of air and drawing in the condensation. Meaningless shapes littered the space as you got lost in your thoughts.

You felt stuck between knowing and knowing nothing. You knew that You cared for Ryusaki very much. You knew you trusted him with your life, and you always felt better when he was around. You knew that you desired his attention and approval more than anyone else’s. You knew that he was beautiful and kind. But you didn’t know if he felt any of those things about you. You didn’t know what those things meant. Or rather, you feared what they could mean, and what that would do to the both of you.

Your thoughts were interrupted once again when you felt a weight on your shoulders, and you looked down to see pale, slender hands embellished with tendons and glistening in the light. Your jaw dropped slightly, seeing him appear so close behind you in your shared reflection.

“You’re still shivering.” He didn’t look at you, his eyes obscured by his shaggy hair, “A blanket should help.”

You offered a kind, timid smile in thanks, turning to face him. Your cheeks filled with blood though you couldn’t quite pin down why. Maybe it was just because he was touching you again when he’s never really done that before. Or maybe it was the fact that he was concerned about you. Or maybe it was the intimacy of it all, how close he was and how gentle his touch was.

His hallowed, all-seeing eyes met yours and you lost your breath. You wanted to look away, feeling pierced by his gaze, but you couldn’t– you wouldn’t. “If this isn’t sufficient, let me know. It’s my fault you’re cold.”

“No, it’s not,” You chuckled as he adjusted the material on your shoulder, “I walked out willingly. Yeah, you baited me into staying with food and tea, but I saw your plan, and I decided to go along with it.”

L smiled shyly, “I never could fool you.”

Your brows furrowed, and your heart sank.

“Can.” You corrected sternly. “You never can fool me.”

“Ah, Of course.” L said, removing his hands from you and tucking them back into his pockets, “You’re too observant for me to keep a secret. You’re always the first in the room to know what I’m thinking.”

He didn’t directly address his slip-up– referring to himself in the past tense as if he had died –so you didn’t either, instead filing that away under “more things to bring up later”.

“What can I say?” You teased. “Great minds think alike.”

“That they do,” he muttered, though you could tell his mind had taken him far away again.

You turned back to the window, and he joined you there. The rain had picked up, the heavy clouds drawing nearer. Your body buzzed with the electricity in the air. You could feel the winds of change surging through the city, and it filled you with determination.

“You should change,” Ryusaki whispered, “you’ll catch a cold.”

“Please,” You said, rolling your eyes and landing on his. “We were out there for less than an hour, and it never dropped below four degrees.”

“That’s still rather cold,” He hid his eyes from you, and you missed the sparks he carried there. “Not to mention the addition of rain.”

“If you’re so worried about my immune system,” you quipped, “studies show that hugs can actually help fight illness.”

That got a reaction out of the man, whipping his head to look at you.

“Is that so?” He asked, amusement teeming in his thin, grey irises. “Is it the exposure to more germs?”

“Possibly,” You admitted, “But it’s mostly the stress relief. Hugs reduce your cortisol and noradrenaline levels, improving blood pressure and general heart health. Also, with both of our body heats working together, it might help warm me up.”

L brought his thumb to his lip again, pondering your words.

“Maybe you have a point.” He muttered, “Perhaps we should test this theory.”

You agreed but neither of you moved, both too afraid to make the first move. You had hugged people before. You had hugged your family and many friends, so hugging Ryusaki shouldn’t be that nerve-racking, and yet, your body was buzzing just at the concept.

Suddenly, L Spread his arms, his figure drowning in his baggy sweater. It happened in slow motion, or at least it felt like it did. He dove towards you, wrapping his arms tightly around you, unintentionally pinning yours to your side, and his chin landed on the crown of your head gently.

You tensed, not expecting him to just go for it. Your face was pressed into his chest, your nose brushing his collarbone because of how his sweater had shifted. You were suddenly self-conscious breathing on him, trying your best to make sure your lungs were expanding and contracting naturally, but you could feel the awkwardness in your muscles.

“I don’t think this is working,” He said, his jaw moving against your head, “Your heart rate has only elevated. This seems to be…bothersome to you.”

He slowly removed himself but remained close, focusing his trying eyes on you, hands back in his pockets. “Please, tell me how you feel.”

“Well, firstly, you surprised me.” You couldn’t help but chuckle. Laughter bubbled up due to his unwavering gaze that affected you, though you didn’t want to concede to that. “And second, I’m not sure that counted as a hug. You trapped my arms, so I couldn’t reciprocate it properly.”

“I see,” He said, not showing any emotion you could detect (And you had gotten pretty good at reading L at this point). “What can I do better?”

His determination was…adorable. He was adamant about this, about hugging you better. You wouldn’t have thought this was something he ranked so highly in importance, and you felt flattered.

“Open your arms again,” You instructed, scooting closer.

He followed your orders, his head tilting to the side in curiosity. You took a quick breath, then brought your arms around his waist, then rested your ear between his pecs. There you heard his heart. You expected a steady thrum, but instead, the muscle beat like a kick drum without cause. But you supposed if you only fed your body sugar and caffeine, your heart would go crazy too.

He was also much comfier than you expected his skin and bones to be. His frame felt right in your arms, and a word flitted through your mind: safe. He was safe here in your arms, and you felt safe here too.

You remembered then that he was still standing there with his arms fully extended, like an owl stretching their wings.

“You can wrap your arms around me like before now,” You said into his chest.

He did as you said, and you felt an instant relief. Your blanket was wrapped around him, and you were surrounded by L. He was soft, like the petals of a Gardinia– like the ones your mother used to grow. He smelled like chocolate and strawberries, though with his diet, you were sure he sweated out sugar. In the refracted light the droplets cast, it looked just like that, like sugar crystals dancing across his skin.

Your nose picked up hints of lavender you recognised as the fabric softener Watari swore by. You wanted to bottle the sents and wear them yourself. You found yourself snuggling in closer, drawn in by the comforts of L.

You sighed in contentment, closing your eyes. His heartbeat stabilized, beating slower but strong. Slowly, he adjusted himself, bringing his arms tighter around you and turning so his ear rested against you and not his hewn jaw. Many moments went by like that, with nothing but the instrumental played by the rain, steady breathing, and hearts beating. As time went on, your heartbeats began to sync, beating together. You felt warmth spread throughout you at the thought. You liked this. You liked being close to Ryusaki.

“How long do these usually last?” He whispered into the rich silence.

“It depends on the friends, everyone’s comfort levels.” You replied thoughtfully. “Some people only hug for a few seconds; others hold each other like this. But it’s recommended that you get at least four hugs a day.”

He hummed, considering your answer. “I definitely haven’t been fulfilling that quota.”

“It’s okay,” You said through a laugh, “Me either.”

“Perhaps,” L said, putting on his detective voice, “If you have found this as enjoyable as I, we could do this more often– try to reach that benchmark more. The act of hugging seems to increase my oxytocin levels, which feels different than the dopamine confections give me. If it affects you the same way, I think that could be good for us both.”

Your laughter danced across this skin. “I can’t believe you can feel the difference between happy hormones.”

“Of course I can.” He said, completely unphased by your disbelief. “Dopamine feels more like I’m doing a good job, and Oxytocin is…”

You waited patiently while he found the words.

“Oxytocin makes me more…sentimental,” He landed on.

“I guess that makes sense,” You mumbled into his chest. “Weirdo.”

He chuckled at the title that would have hurt coming from anyone else.

“I would be okay with that,” You said, addressing his proposal, “If we hugged more often.”

“Great,” He said, and you could hear his smile. L could feel how the cold continued to cling to your skin. Although hugs were supposed to help fight illness, he doubted it was a cure. “We should finish up then so you can change.”

He released his hold on you and began to pull away, but without thinking, you held on tighter, your brows furrowing.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

“I’m not sure,” you said honestly. “I just don’t want to leave this.” L brought a hand to his chin, cradling it and trying his best not to jostle you. “Is it the hug that you want, or is it me?”

Your eyes bugged at his question. Immediately, you let go, creating distance as you jumped back. You reacted as if he had struck you instead of asking a straightforward question to better understand the situation.

Your mouth opened and closed a few times, not unlike a fish plucked from the water.

“Well, I- It’s uh…I mean- heh -what?” You stumbled. Again, L’s shark skin eyes bore into yours, dissecting every stutter and stammer.

“I believe the question was fairly easy to comprehend.” He said plainly, “I asked if it was the hug you wanted or me.”

You felt blood rush to your cheeks.

“I understood the question,” You weakly defended.

L’s head dropped once again to the side, his hair flopping loosely as he moved but still weighing down over his face.

“Then answer it.”

You swallowed. He had cornered you, baiting you by insinuating you weren’t as intelligent as he thought and getting you to confess that you in fact were not confused. But in truth, you were. Because it was true that you were extremely touched-starved. You had dedicated the better half of the last year to catching Kira. You hadn’t had time for much else. You weren’t exactly popular before either.

You were a criminal, a cyber-robinhood. You had stolen from several pharmaceutical companies and redistributed their funds to families in need. You thought it absolutely abhorrent that the companies could make money off of cancer and diabetes, depriving people of medicine they needed, not wanted. You had done it with your best friend, who was killed by Kira.

She had taught you the ropes and how to hide yourself from the authorities. She, however, had crossed the line. She began targeting government officials, leaking their private messages and phone records to the public. You would have thought that would align with Kira’s morals, but you guess not because she died of a heart attack in your arms. You hadn’t made a friend since, not until Ryusaki.

You didn’t want him to leave you too. You were terrified that he would be ripped away from you, much like your friend before. But it was more than that. You wanted Ryusaki to live. You wanted him to have a full life, one of joy and contentment. One where his intelligence wasn’t weaponised. One where he could let his guard down and not break his back with his posture. You wanted him to drown in hugs, to never be deprived of comfort again. And you wanted to be by his side to see it.

You had become very attached to the man before you. You admired him, respected him. You found yourself trying to be more like him in many ways. And you felt pride every time he mimicked you.

“I don’t know.”

L was unconvinced, leaning in closer, “Yes, you do. But you won’t say.”

You stared into his eyes, words eluding you. What could you say? You weren’t even sure what you wanted, what your answer would be. He looked at you curiously, awaiting your response. When you had none, he sighed.

“Fine then,” He said, turning his investigative gaze away from you. “I will escort you to your room. Hopefully, that will satisfy you.”

You had requested a room here at headquarters and were unsurprised when L told you that he had already built one for everyone on the task force. You had all but moved in during the Kira case. You hadn’t meant to, but it was just easier than taking the train alone after a late night of investigating. With no one to stop you, you would stay up until three ante merīdiem, studying and analysing trends. Sometimes you would crash at your desk, but usually, you would drag yourself away when you noticed your eyes becoming heavy. But now, your apartment was more of a formality than anything else. L knew this and made no comments on the matter. He was happy you stayed here instead, and that the rooms weren’t a complete waste of time and effort.

As you travelled through the silent halls, you brought your blanket tighter around your shoulders, tensing your jaw so your teeth didn’t chatter. Ryusaki seemed unbothered by the cold. He showed no signs of discomfort other than the way his shoulders folded forward more than they usually did. You wondered if he was just suppressing them or if he truly wasn’t cold. But then you saw a small shiver travel down his spine.

“You never told me,” you said softly, “what you were doing out there?”

His steady pace was unwavering, his bare feet gently padding across the tiled floors of the hall.

“Thinking,” He replied but offered nothing more.

“Of course you were thinking, that’s all you know to do. ” You joked, “What were you thinking about?”

He took a few more steps, then stopped. You continued forward until you were standing side by side. He stared ahead, but you turned to face him. You watched as his face remained flat, unchanged.

“I was thinking about my death,” he said plainly, continuing his previous pace. “I reviewed my mental record of my will, noting necessary amendments. Due to recent events, I felt it something I reconsider.”

Your stomach twisted at his casualness, and you looked away. How could he say that and have no feeling about it? Or rather, rationalize whatever feelings he had about the situation away?

“You-” You began, your words tripping over the lump in your throat, “you shouldn’t talk like that. You’re not going to die.”

You said it with finality, though your friend heard the subtle desperation, the fear beneath your bravado.

He stopped again, and when you turned to him, he turned as well. His eyes seemed almost hollow as he spoke.

“We all die. And I happen to find myself in a position in which I am taunting the reaper.”

L did a lot of staring, and this one you took as a personal challenge. He knew what you meant, and he was purposefully not addressing it. You weren’t backing down; you weren’t folding for him. The other members of the task force often forgot that he was human; you refused to forget. While he was smarter than anyone you had ever met, he wasn’t a supercomputer. He had hopes and dreams; he had fears.

“We’re here,” he said, interrupting this game of blink.

You hadn’t realised you had arrived at your room and hesitated at the door.

“Would you like me to step inside?” He offered.

You nodded.

“Very well then.”

He opened the door and you stepped in. He closed the door behind him, then stood a few feet into the room, scratching at his leg with his foot. You made your way to your closet, selecting a new shirt and some sweatpants, then went to your dresser, selecting new undergarments.

L looked to the wall after catching a glimpse of the lacey bra you balanced from your finger. You looked to your friend, ready to ask him to turn around, when you noticed his head already turned and a slight rosy hue crawling up his exposed neck. He was usually so devoid of colour; the splash of pink was a nice touch. You wondered what had flustered him and if it had anything to do with you. The thought made you excited, but you chose not to acknowledge that.

“I’m changing now,” You said, turning away from him.

L tried his best to keep his eyes off of you, but soon, your hands were in the air as you peeled off your shirt, and his curiosity won. His eyes traced over the exposed skin, counting the vertebrae up your back. His breath hitched slightly as you reached behind you and unlatched your bra. He caught himself imagining what it would look like if you were turned around and ripped his eyes away again. After all, you were his friend, and it was inappropriate to think such things about a friend. Especially one that trusted him enough to change in front of him. He would rather die than abuse your trust.

Soon, you were wiggling out of your pants, and his eyes betrayed him, following the movement of your hands. The cotton panties you wore were nothing special, plain and purple and a bit cheeky. It clung to the shape of your ass beautifully. His eyes bugged involuntarily, and he decided he could no longer trust himself to be facing you and turned his body.

As he faced the wall, he considered your interactions today. You had sought him out and then joined him outside despite knowing the discomfort the cold would bring you. Meaning you valued his amusement more than your comfort. You entertained his tangents and encouraged him to try new things, which meant that his general well-being must be something of importance to you. Why else would you go out of your way to protect it?

Yes, you wanted him to be happy and made that a responsibility of your own. You coached him through a new experience and reassured his insecurities about it. He had hugged you for two minutes and thirty seconds, but you had held him for two minutes and thirty-nine seconds. So you enjoyed the physical comfort, and obviously desired more, as you only stopped when he shocked you.

That’s right, you pulled away when he asked if you "wanted him." So enjoying his company was fine, but once "wanting" became a part of the equation, you rejected it. Or tried your best to. But you didn’t deny that you still desired his presence, allowing him to escort you to your room, where you took off your clothes in front of him.

When he looked at the incidents individually, it could all be chalked up to you being a good friend– one who trusted and respected him –but he was a better detective than that. He also knew to look at the big picture. In his mind, he replaced himself with other people, like puppets in a play, and saw how your reactions changed.

He found it hard to believe that you would allow someone else on the team to hold you for two minutes, lure you into the rain, or risk them seeing you in your underwear. Which begged the question, why do you treat him differently? How does your perception of him differ from the others?

Then it became abundantly clear, and he was shocked. The conclusion he came to seemed ludicrous, and yet, it was the only one that made sense-- the only one that stood with the evidence. How could this be? There was only one way to know.

He called your name and you hummed in response, putting on a new shirt and turning to face him.

“You evaded my question.” He remarked, still looking at the wall. “However, I think your evasion– and the several events surrounding it –has given me a more clear understanding of the answer you were guarding.”

You felt a general unease, not sure you liked the direction his inquisitive mind was heading. You wrung your hands anxiously in front of you, looking at the back of his head. You should have known L wouldn’t let that go.

“I told you I didn’t know.”

He turned quickly, catching you off guard. He was once again very close to you, his eyes dancing with curiosity and a bit of pride. It was a look you saw when he presented a theory based on new evidence he had finally made sense of that had previously baffled the team. You knew he was confident in whatever he had deduced and was more amused by your responses, watching carefully with a thumb pressed to his lip just a few inches away from your face.

“But I don’t think it was the complete truth,” he pressed, “which makes it a lie of omission.”

“I didn’t lie,” You quickly defended.

“But I saw it: a realisation flitting across your face. You looked at the evidence and came to a conclusion. You have some idea as to why you reacted to my question the way you did, and you have an answer. Does the answer put you in a position of vulnerability perhaps?”

You gaped at him, unsure how to respond. However, he continued to think aloud, answering your question for you with his own ramblings.

“Yes, that must be it. In answering whether you merely wanted more affection or me, it would force you to admit that you had a need that wasn’t being met. And since we had already discussed our general lack of affection in day-to-day life, revealing that you felt you wanted more hugs would not make you uncomfortable… no, it has to be me that you want. That’s the only reason you would react that way. Which makes me wonder, in what way do you want me?

“My phrasing may have impacted your response, as ‘want’ can mean different things in certain contexts. However, if you thought of me in a strictly platonic sense, you would not have assumed I meant anything more than my company. There is, of course, the possibility that previous interactions in male friendships lead you to believe I meant something else, but I think it is more likely that you interpreted it romantically because you have– on some level –romantic feelings for me. And by answering the question honestly, you would have revealed that.”

He paused for a moment before asking, “Am I right?”

Your brain was spinning, repeating every word he had said. He waited patiently as you mulled it over. You tried to disprove his theory, picking each line and defending the opposite, but it became harder and harder the longer you went on. You weren’t sure how you saw the man in front of you. He was your friend, someone you respected and cared for. You valued his opinion and you listened to his advice. But you couldn’t deny that you found him attractive. You had since you first met him.

After your friend had died, it didn’t take you long to piece together that it was Kira who killed her. You brought your theory to the police, but they didn’t take you seriously. Apparently, there had been many false reports of Kira's murders, and yours was the fifteenth report that day. You continued to argue, but you didn’t even get past the front desk. That night, when you got back home, you decided you would do everything you could to catch the killer. You broke into the police database– which was entirely too easy –then followed up with everyone they suspected. You used your skills to hack into the suspects' computers, scouring through their histories and files, but didn’t find anything incriminating. Except for one man.

He was too innocent, not even a record of porn on his computer. Most of his search results were quiz questions with brief breaks spent streaming funny videos. He was a studious pupil and the son of a cop. You consulted the police’s notes often and were surprised when they claimed it could be a student. Then soon after, the pattern of killings changed, further proving the theory.

You were convinced it was Light Yagami, but you needed more. So you tried to hack into L’s computer. You knew from the police notes of the meetings that L called in using a computer, meaning he had to have a Wi-Fi connection to talk to them in real time. It took you a while to hack the secure connection, and even longer to get into the computer. You felt defeated– outsmarted –when you realised the only thing on the device was whatever system he used for the calls and whatever connection he used for that was heavily encrypted.

You thought nothing more of the event until you were picked up off the street a few weeks later. You were grabbed and bound, the assailant immediately gagging and blindfolding you. The drive was long, and you were taken somewhere with winding hallways and cold rooms. You were restrained to a table, straps keeping you upright, and then your gag was removed.

You yelled in anger, cursing your capture and illustrating all the ways in which you would make them suffer for treating you this way. You only stopped when a robotic voice filled the room. It asked who you were, but you ignored its question, connecting the dots.

“You’re L,” You said plainly, “The renowned detective. You’ve solved every case you’ve ever taken on. And you apprehended me– confining me and taking away my vision –meaning you must think I’m Kira. You know who I am, that’s why you’ve taken me in.”

He confirmed your suspicions and listed out the crimes you had committed, and your behaviours that made him suspect you. You couldn’t deny his deductions, and instead of trying to prove your innocence, you told him about your own mission to catch Kira. You even apologised for trying to hack him as well, “but you understand, I had to try.”

He kept you tied up for a few, very long days, then let you walk around the room, giving you access to a bed and a few books. Now and then he would check in on you and offered to make amends for the misunderstanding. You only requested that he hear you out.

You told him about your theories and how you were disregarded by the police. He was the first person to tell you that he believed your friend was murdered and that it had more to do with them talking out against Kira online than the crimes they had committed. And that only angered you more.

Soon, he began to trust you. He showed you his face. He was nothing like you imagined, but everything you expected. He was odd; he looked almost sickly and was very deadpan. But he had a sense of humour, one that was just as odd as him. He was straightforward forward, and you didn’t have to wonder what he was thinking, as he often shared his thoughts. He was kind, having an obvious affinity for sweets, but always willing to share with you. He asked about you and your life, and you could tell he was cataloguing everything you had to say. He listened so intently when you spoke.

You only grew closer, looking forward to your meetings in the following weeks, and were elated when he told you about the new headquarters and how he wanted to introduce you to the rest of the team. He was impressed by your resourcefulness and intellect, but more importantly your passion. You were driven by revenge, but soon that changed. L believed in you, and you wanted to honour that.

Despite his quarks, you saw his soft underside, and it drew you in more. He was fascinating to you, alluring.

Was that normal for a friend? To simply see them and feel better, to seek out their company? Yeah, you guess it was, but you didn’t think it was as normal to think your friend is pretty. Friends don’t trace jaw lines or let their eyes linger on outstretched fingers and moving lips. Is that what you were feeling? Was your confusion and nervousness a result of an unrealised crush on your friend?

“Oh, I see,” Ryusaki mumbled, “It wasn’t an intentional lie; you only just now realised.”

You hated that he could read you as well as he could, and suddenly his proximity was suffocating. You stepped back, hiding from his gaze in your hands. It was bad enough that you had feelings for your best and only friend, but to come to that realisation in front of them –when they have the uncanny ability to practically read minds –was mortifying. You were cornered and unsure what to say. You didn’t even have time to consider what you wanted to do about your feelings before they were made known.

You could try to deny it, but you didn’t think that would work. Not against L. So you decided to look deeper. You had pieced together how your interactions proved you liked him, but how did L fare? You compared his behaviour towards you to the others. He was kinder with you, often wording things gentler to you than he would care to for anyone else. He provided confections to everyone, but he only offered you bites from his plate. He was more candid about his feelings with you, as well as his thoughts.

While he often toyed with the investigators, constantly testing their deductive reasoning and loyalty, L only asked what you thought to question his own conclusions. He valued your input more than others on the team, and you knew the task force was aware of that. if you were in the room, Ryusaki was always within arms reach. He never strayed far. He asked about your personal life, and he encouraged you to take breaks. He smiled and laughed around you, something you didn’t see in front of the others. You had seen L’s soft side, but only because he had shown it to you. He was vulnerable with you. But was that just friendship?

No, no there was more. Today, he cared for you, feeding you and treating you to a picnic. He apologised for your condition, completely disregarding his own. He did his best to atone for the wrong he felt he had done, going as far as to wrap you in his own warmth. He didn’t need to. He sought out the contact. Contact he didn’t look for elsewhere. Contacted he requested and asked for more of, in a less than graceful way. Tripping over words was out of character for the normally articulate detective.

He then stayed by your side, escorting you to your room, again, disregarding the fact that he too was cold and rained on. Furthermore, any other friend would have turned away from you while you changed, but he faced you. You remembered the blush on his face before you changed. Either the idea of you undressing or something he saw you were changing into caused that response. You had difficulty believing this came from a general lack of experience with women.

If Misa changed in front of him (which is an unavoidable event which has already happened with her room being monitored the way it is), you doubted he would have much of a reaction. Yes, you were sure. His flustered state was a result of you.

You removed your hands from your face and looked at the man of your affection. He wore a curious look, and you smiled.

“You’re not upset,” he observed, “Usually, people respond badly to my blunt deductions about their emotions. I expected you to yell or deny, but you’ve done neither.”

You chuckled lightly, “I don’t think there’s a way I could have denied that without further confirming your conclusion.”

“Well, your initial response of hiding from me was sufficient.” he said with a bit of smugness, “But I’m curious as to why you no longer feel the need to.”

“I don’t need to hide my feelings if you already know they exist,” you stated calmly, “And I’m sixty-seven percent sure you share my feelings, making them much less frightening.”

Rysuaki’s hidden eyebrows raised, and his eyes widened. You watched smugly as he said nothing, revelling in the pride of shocking even the great L.

You explained how you reached that conclusion, knowing that would be his first question. When you finished, he looked up to the ceiling, reevaluating the evidence. You watched as his careful mind picked apart your deduction and this time you allowed yourself to appreciate his unique beauty.

You traced the slope of his nose, following it down to the tendons in his neck and where his collar bones poked out from his baggy sweater. You greedily observed the way his clothes hung from his body, nearly swallowing him whole.

“It is true, I am rather fond of you. I made that more obvious than I intended, however, there’s nothing to be done about it now.” He admitted, “I can’t say I’ve ever had much of a love life or much experience with romantic feelings. I’m not sure how to proceed.”

You patted the spot next to you on the bed, and he crossed the room to join you. To your surprise, he sat with his feet on the floor, hands on his thighs.

“I think this a good place to start,” you said warmly. “We don’t have to do anything about it yet.”

He nodded but didn’t look at you. You could see the gears churning in his head, then you noticed his hands. There were impressions left in his thighs from his strong grip. Was it possible he was nervous? You couldn’t hide the delight the sight brought you. You thought it was adorable that you were something that could cause him so much grief. But you hated it too.

You placed your hand on his and he tensed slightly, but didn’t push it away.

“Hey,” you said softly, “Take a breath. Really, I don’t want you to stress over this. You have enough on your plate.”

He looked at your hand, his face level, silently assessing, and you allowed him the space to do so. His hand twitched a bit under yours before he turned it over, his palm meeting yours and his slender fingers weaving between your digits.

“What if-” he paused, as if not sure he should say what he was thinking. He took a breath as you instructed, then continued. “What if I want to do something about it?”

You couldn’t contain the smile that spread across your face, and you didn’t feel a need to.

“Then I would ask what you wanted to do.”

"It's not about what I want." He looked at you, eyes wide and panicked. “What if doing something is stupid and puts you in danger?”

You had never seen L so worked up before, and you were stunned for a moment. You realised he was letting you in, even more than before. He was letting you see his fear, something you're not sure he’s shown anyone willingly. And in this moment, you were reminded that he was just a young man. That his life had barely begun. Yet he had seen horrors you couldn’t imagine.

“If Light is Kira,” he continued, through gritted teeth. “then you are already endangered enough. But if our relationship is now romantic, he may use you to get to me. He would have no problem killing you if it brought him closer to his goal, and we both know that.”

“Ryusaki…” you tried, rubbing your thumb against the back of his cold, clammy hand. “He already knows I care for you. The others have been teasing me about my favouritism for months now. If he thought I knew anything, or that you would tell me anything, he would have already done it. If he could, he'd probably force me to write your name in the book somehow, so he didn’t have to do it himself.”

The fire in his eyes fizzled, and now he looked deflated again as if his anger was the only thing giving him the energy to fight.

“Then, I can’t tell you anything,” he concluded, “and that doesn’t make for a very strong relationship. One of secrecy where I’m forced to keep you at a distance…no that won’t do.”

He let go of your hand, looking away and rising to his feet. You felt that familiar tug in your heart, the one you felt at your desk when you realised he wasn’t beside you, the same feeling when he tried to end the hug. It felt like he was leaving you, and this time, it made you angry.

“Fuck that!” you said a little harsher than you intended. L turned to look at you in surprise; you had never raised your voice to him before (Aside from that time he arrested you and you didn’t know it was him you were cursing). “I refuse to let Kira make any decisions for me. That bastard doesn’t get to stop me from doing anything I want. And I want this, I’ll fight for it.”

You spoke with a vicious resolve, and L had to admit, it was intriguing.

“I’m done letting him ruin my life. I’m taking charge. I know there’s a way to prove it, to get him to confess. We can do it. We’ll catch that monster and frame his head on the wall.”

L was studying you; you could see it in his analytical eyes.

“‘Monster’ you say…” he wonders aloud, “There are many types of monsters; the one we face now... he’s a lying monster: He’s cunning, posing as a human, though having no understanding of the human heart. He works hard, but only to appease his own hubris. He seeks friendship even though he does not truly know how to love. I had once said, If I were to encounter such a monster, I would likely be eaten by them... because, in truth, I am that monster.”

He locks eyes with you, his gaze resolute.

“Tell me, honestly, how can you hate Kira and care for me? We are the same beast.” His body towered over yours, the shadows of the light obscuring his face under his hair. He was almost intimidating. “I do not fight for justice but my own amusement. How many lives have I disregarded all because I didn’t find the case challenging enough? How many people have I endangered solving this one? I allowed who I believed to be Kira intimate knowledge of the case, all because I thought it made the game more fun. I view people as disposable, just as Kira does, and manipulate them just as freely. Kira and I are cut from the very same cloth. Yet, you despise him and respect me.”

Your stare was hard and unforgiving. Rage shook your body, and L was sure that you had changed your mind. You hated him now, just as you should.

“No,” You said sternly, “You can lie to yourself all you want, but I won’t allow you to lie to me.”

You carefully lifted his chin, forcing him to hear you.

“You are flawed, yes. You certainly have an ego, but that doesn’t make you a monster. If you were presented with the power of the death note, you wouldn’t use it to make yourself a god. You don’t always fight fair, but the criminals you chase don’t either, and it would be silly to try for the high road. That is what makes you such a great detective. You do what needs to be done. But that’s not why I care about you.”

You saw a flicker of surprise on his face before he buried it once again.

“I care for you. Not L, the world’s greatest detective. I care for the man who treats me kindly and listens to my woes. I care for the man who checks in to make sure I’ve eaten and taken breaks. I care for the man who is so terrified of himself, he hides away from the world. I care for the man who was cursed with a brilliant mind and raised in a world of evil. I don’t care that you’re a genius, I’d love you dumb. I’m not interested in what you can do for me. I just want you.”

You watched as the man closed his eyes, unable to face your reverent judgment.

“You could step away right now, and I’d never think less of you. You could imprison Light, right or wrong, and I would stand by you. You could tell me that you don’t want this, and I wouldn’t fight you.” You moved your hand from his chin to rest against his cheek. “But if you bow down to Kira– admit defeat when your heart is still beating –I’ll never forgive you.”

His eyes snapped open, and he scanned your face, looking for a lie, but found one.

“We live in a world where gods of death are real,” you continued, “And that knowledge has made me realise even more that nothing in life is guaranteed. Nothing other than your own resolve. I chose life, and I wish you would choose the same.”

“You speak as if I am trying to kill myself.” he scrutinised.

“Since the arrest of Higuchi, you’ve stopped investigating," You pressed, "but we both know it’s not because you think we’ve stopped Kira. There’s still a second notebook- a second Kira. And I’m sure you’ve noticed the change in Yagami, almost as if coming in contact with the book has turned him back into Kira. I see the way he looks at you, the way he studies you. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

“I have,” he confirmed.

“Then why? Why have you stopped trying to catch him? If he is actively trying to catch you– to kill you –and you do nothing to stop it, you are killing yourself. You’re allowing him to win. And I can’t– no, I won’t catch him without you.”

“You wouldn’t avenge me?” He asked curiously.

“I’m here for my own selfish reasons,” you reminded him, “If you die, then everyone I have left will have been taken by Kira. What motivation would I have left to stop him?”

“I see…” he said flatly, “so if Kira is to be caught, we must both live to see it happen.”

“Yes, but more so, I would blame you for your death. Avenging you wouldn’t be possible, as you and your killer would be one and the same. I would hate you.”

His hand joined yours, guiding it away from his face and holding it at his side.

“I’m not sure I could rest knowing you hated me. Not when you’re the only person I trust and the only person I can say I’ve ever cared for– besides Watari, of course,” He said softly, “But in all honesty, I’m not sure what to make of it. I can’t control you, and I have no desire to, but allowing you to grow any closer to me is dangerous. And I would hate myself if anything happened to you.”

His fingers traced over the creases in your hand as he spoke, memorising the fate lines.

“But I can’t deny the attachment I have for you.” he continued, “It clouds my judgement, and I spend valuable time constantly correcting it. I’ve been indulging in delusions of running away with you. Taking you far away from the danger, placing you in a secure palace where you want for nothing, allowing you to lose yourself in all the simple pleasures your poetic mind can conjure. I would rather collect a list of books for your library than face Kira at the moment.”

You felt like crying, his words striking your heart. While it was easy to deduce that he favoured you over the others, such a blatant confession wasn’t something you expected. You knew this fantasy was built in his mind as something to make you happy, but you knew that this was something he wanted as well. To live a life of ease, not as a pawn to world governments. To be free to have intelligence and not be weaponised. You realised then, he was tired. He was exhausted from chasing Kira, exhausted from comparing himself to the enemy.

“Let’s get out of here then.”

He looked at you curiously.

“You can afford a break, a real one. Your mind is scattered, and you can’t possibly expect to outsmart Kira if you’re worrying about everything else.” You explained, “I’ll talk to Watari about planning a secure getaway for you but for now…”

You softly grabbed his hand and led him towards the door, “We’re going to your room so you can change. Then we’ll discuss what we’re doing for the night.”

He allowed you to lead him down the hall, saying nothing while you travelled. He only spoke again after you stepped into his room.

“I am not often surprised,” he marveled “But you continue to amaze me. I can’t predict you. You’re courageous and strong-willed, but always kind. You’re extremely brilliant, but you’re humble about it. But most amazingly, you believe in me– not because of what I’ve done, but because of who I am –and I’ve never met someone who could separate the two.”

You flush under his praise, “You say you can’t predict me, but I swear, you see right through me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said with panic in his eyes, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

You laughed, the sound affecting L more than he expected. He loved it, loved making you laugh. He wanted to do it as much as possible, but that was something to figure out later.

“You didn’t,” you reassured, “but I do have something you can do to make it up to me,”

L smirked, knowing you were teasing him.

“I don’t understand. I didn’t offend, but you claim I need to make amends.”

“You don’t have to. It’s completely up to you.”

“What is it you would have me do?”

You didn’t answer with words, instead spreading your arms and then making a grabby motion towards him. Your smile was soft, gently pulling at your lips.

“Yes,” he said sweetly, “I suppose we could both use a boost of oxytocin.”

He took slow steps towards you, and then all at once, his arms were around your waist. He pulled you into him, lifting you slightly off the ground, bringing your neck to his hung head. You felt goosebumps where his nose nuzzled into your skin and your heart grew wings, soaring. You held L just as tightly, indulging in his desperate touch and burying your nose into his silky hair.

“I think we should revise our previous agreement about hugs.” He said after a moment, speaking into your throat.

“What amendments would you like to make?”

“I think four hugs a day is fine, but I don’t think we should limit ourselves to that. We do need to make up for our lack of hugs in the past after all. Furthermore,” he lifted his head slowly, so as not to knock you in the nose. He would feel horrible for that. “I think we could add or substitute hugs for other forms of affection as well.”

You hummed, and he continued.

“For instance, you have held my hand twice today, and both times, I felt a similar sort of comfort from the action. In fact, I’ve noticed any skin-to-skin contact with you eases me. Your hand on my face proved that. I tested this theory twice. Once, before our confessions, on the blanket. I placed my hand on the one you had placed on my shoulder. Then again, in your room, by simply touching your hand, tracing your palm instead of holding it. Both yielded similar results.”

You smiled at him fondly, your hands reaching up to play with his hair. As your nails skated across his scalp in lazy circles, his eyes fluttered a bit, his lids resting heavier.

“So you would like to add hand-holding? I’m fine with that.”

Your sweet voice flooded his mind, and your hands liberated his composure.

“Either you’re completely clueless to the effect you have on me,” he whispered, “Or you revel in it. And I’m not sure which is more terrifying.”

Your heart skipped a beat, which startled L for a moment, but then he realised it was because of an emotional response and not an attack from Kira.

“I wonder the same about you.”

L was unfamiliar with the look in your eyes. Your pupils were dilated, and your irises sparkled in the light. He’s never been looked at like that before. Your face looked brighter, and your body language (while restricted in your current position in his arms) was relaxed; open. And suddenly, he was entranced by your lips. You were talking, and he studied the muscles as they moved, unable to focus on anything else. He felt the urge to kiss you, and this shocked him. He forced himself to pay attention to your words.

“...besides you have all the power really. I know what I want, but if you don’t want me there’s nothing I can do about it. I could never kill you, but even if Kira forced my hand, I don’t know your name. And you’re the only one on the team who knows mine. Whether I like it or not, my heart is in your hands.”

“I would never hurt you,” he quickly defended, almost offended.

“I know,” you said simply, “That’s why I trust your hands.”

Your gaze was unwavering, your stance absolute. The emotions L tried to contain began stirring restlessly. He no longer felt like he had a hold on them. A hurricane of feelings he couldn’t quite name tore through his chest, and he didn’t know what else to do but act. He surged forward, pressing his lips to yours. It was awkward and brief, as neither of you puckered your lips, just touched them together. He kept his watchful eyes wide as he did so, gauging your response.

“Was that a kiss?” You finally asked once your silent shock was replaced by a highly amused smile.

A small frown overtook L’s face. “I fear if you had to ask…”

His sentence trailed off as he sat you back down on the ground. Then turned to walk to his closet. His was much larger than yours (which was ironic given he wore the same clothes for days straight), and you assumed he elected to change there when he closed the door. Now that he was out of sight, you allowed your excitement to show, jumping up and down and shaking your hands.

He had kissed you, almost. It was obvious that he didn't have the experience, but your heart swelled at the thought that he wanted those experiences with you. And he did kiss you, he held you in his arms, for no other reason than to hold you close.

You tried your best to calm down, but your bright smile would fool no one. Instead, you tried to focus your attention elsewhere, calling Watari. He had given you his number (or a number) months ago. He told you it was because he saw that you cared for his son and that his son trusted you. He also confessed that he was rather fond of you too. He wanted to see you make it out of this investigation.

He answered almost immediately.

“Hello, Ms Ogawa,” He was always careful to use your alias, even if he knew you were alone. “I notice that you’re calling from within headquarters, are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I was calling because I convinced Ryusaki to take some time off. I need you to plan a trip for him, no shorter than a week but something that’s easily extendable.”

The old man chuckled on the other end of the line.

“You convinced him to take a break? I didn’t think anyone was capable; I wonder how you managed.” He seemed amused, implying he knew something through his old man wisdom.

“I’m not entirely certain I did,” L emerged from the closet, looking nearly identical, just less soggy. You smiled at him as he made his way towards you. “But I’ll be very cross with him if he doesn’t. I think he knows that.”

The man you spoke of raised a single eyebrow as if to say, “Oh really?”

You made a similar face that left no room for argument.

“I see,” Watari continued, “Shall I book this trip for one or two?”

You couldn’t hide your surprise at the question. You didn’t know how to answer. You didn’t have to though as L decided then to grab the phone from your hand, pinching it awkwardly between his fingers.

“Two,” he replied on your behalf. “We’ll also need a cover so that the others don’t know we’re together.”

“Understood. How soon would you like to leave?”

L returned the phone to you, trusting your decision.

“We’ll leave tomorrow. We have plans for tonight, and I’d like to rest beforehand.”

“That’s very wise, Ms Ogawa. I’ll send over the itinerary soon.”

“Thank you, Watari.”

You hung up, placing your phone back in your pocket. When you looked up, L’s hand was extended, offering you a sweater.

“If you intend to go out,” he explained, “You’ll need a sweater.”

You took it gratefully, and he turned his head again, giving you space to change. When you finished pulling the shirt over your head, he looked up and felt like he had swallowed his tongue. He never anticipated that seeing you in his clothes would affect him this way. He was truly smitten by you, and that was something he could no longer deny.

“Ready?” You asked, disrupting his train of thought.

He nodded, and you offered him your hand. A small smile spread across his face as he took it. He trusted your hands too, he realised.

You reached the garage, selecting an inconspicuous sedan for your ventures. L moved to open the door when you stopped him.

“Wait!” Your heart was in your throat, but you closed your eyes and forced out the words. “My favourite flowers are poppies. I think it’s cool how versatile they are. The moon absolutely amazes me. I understand how its gravitational pull affects our tides, but I still can’t wrap my mind around it. I also really like The Smiths, which raises conflicting feelings in me because I hate Morrison as a person, but man, if he isn’t great as crying into a microphone.”

You heard a soft chuckle and felt a hand reach out to hold your bicep. You took a deep breath, continuing with Ryusaki’s encouragement.

“I prefer a good milkshake over any other dessert. I think time travel is probably the coolest superpower, but I think it’s too great a power that I wouldn’t trust myself with it. I like cats, but I’ve always wanted a pet raccoon. I don’t think I could get one, morally, but they just look so cute. If I had one, I would love that little guy so much. I would give him a really pretentious name; find a way to grant him Lordship.”

You opened your eyes slowly to see Ryusaki smiling, his thumb tracing circles on your arm. His eyes darted around your face, twinkling in city lights. His heart pounded harder with every word you uttered. Romance was never something he prioritised in his life, it wasn’t something he ever saw happening. Most people were put off by him, and it wasn’t often that he actually met people in his work. He could have lived the rest of his life hiding behind a computer screen, an imperceivable entity known only to one man. But now, he would give anything to stand in the sun with you while you look at him the way you do now. Affection and amnesty dripping from your gaze.

“I’d like to try and kiss you again,” he said timidly. “If you’d show me how.”

Your smile split your face, feeling overjoyed by his words. Each move you made, he mirrored, hands on cheeks and bodies touching as he matched your steps forward. You jumped up on your tiptoes, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. Ryusaki’s eyes widened comically, and a hand rose to his lips as if he’d find your kiss there. But soon, his shock dissipated, replaced by a look of hunger.

This time, he led, dropping a hand to your waist to hold you close and using his other to lift your chin. He moved in so slowly, and your body thrummed with the anticipation of contact. He stopped, his lips barely grazing yours, and you couldn’t hide your desperate tremble when you felt his soft breath against your own. He pressed his puckered lips against yours, and you took no time reciprocating.

You brought a hand to the back of his neck, guiding him and pulling him closer. You felt like you were flying, your heart beating its feathered wings against your ribcage. You pulled your lips away just to bring them back, and you could feel his confidence growing as he tilted his head and his grip on your waist grew tighter. You began moving your lips against his, testing the waters. The rhythm was awkward at first, but he caught it soon enough.

His chest was rising and falling quickly against you, and he brought his hands up to hold your face. You lost yourself in his touch, in the way he clung to you. You were being consumed and felt no dire to run from it. He caught your bottom lip between his teeth, and you gasped.

Your eyelids flutter as your brain caught up to what was happening around you. Ryusaki was no longer kissing you but carefully cataloguing the look on your face in his mind. He was reviewing everything he did and how you reacted to it. He had decided that he loved kissing you, and he wanted you to love it too. He wanted love to be something you associated with him, especially now that he knew his brain was making a similar connection. He knew it was probably too soon to say something like that, but he could wait. He would wait forever if he had to. He had the brightest star in the sky in his palms, and he didn’t intend to let this shooting star fall from his grasp.

You were seeing sides of L that you never thought you would, ones you never thought to look for. He held you like a precious stone, something sacred. He looked at you like you were a wonder to behold, the eighth wonder of the world. It made it hard to breathe, suffocated by his silent adoration.

“So, where are we going this evening?” He asked from high above.

“I don’t know,” you said breathlessly, “but we have all of Tokyo, I’m sure we’ll find something.”

He loved this look on you. The joy in your eyes, the lack of stress in your muscles. Your glee was infectious, and he didn’t mind it.

“As long as you’re by my side, I think anything would do.”

He testingly laid a kiss on your forehead as he said it, and you felt like you would melt to the floor in a pile of goo. You removed a hand from his neck, resting it on his, and were delighted when he instantly intertwined your fingers.

“Well, I’m not going anywhere, Ryu-”

“Lawliet,” He interjected. You tilt your head, confused, and L does his best not to swoon as you rest your head in his hand on your cheek. “My name is Lawliet.”

You break out into a blinding grin, and Lawiet knows then that smile was the sunlight he was meant to bask in. Those were the rays that would light his darkest nights. The beams that would guide him through the intricate maze of life.

He had found all he needed. A friend who listens to his grief and grievances. One who cares enough to try and understand his mind and soothe it at the same time. Not for her own convenience, but for his betterment; never pushing the boundary of discomfort but bringing thrill to the change. He found a fresh pair of eyes, for when his get dull and tired, to show him the artistry outside of the ghastly monstrosities he and the world bathed in. A person brave enough to show up, even on the bad days. The whole world could fit in his palms when he held you like this.

“I’m not going anywhere, Lawliet.” you corrected.

L smiled, squeezing your hands three times. You returned the sentiment with a kiss to the hand you held in your own.

Tag List: @barbecuetiddy, @Isshecrazyorissheclever, @purple-amaranthe, @rudy-the-winged-wolf, @scorpiolystoned, @supernerdycookietrashblrr, @tayswiftlovebot, @wannapizzamymindposts, @whoreforklitz

I hope you enjoyed the read! Like I said, I don't think I'll do much writing for L, but I really enjoyed this. I hope even if you don't have as much love for this character as I do, you can still get something out of it :))

#rancid writes #death note #death note fanfiction #death note l #death note imagines #death note l lawliet #death note fluff #fluff #l lawliet #l death note #l x reader #l lawliet x reader #death note characters #friends to lovers

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josiewinters1999 · 2 months

Text

Normal (p1)

L Lawliet x Chubby!Reader

Part 2

Summary: It lights a fire inside L that Light Yagami is allowed to be a "normal" young man. He has a loving family, a bright future, and... a girlfriend that isn't thousands of miles away.

Words: 1528

Contains: established relationship, angst, jealousy, pet names, L being depressed, takes place right before Yotsuba arc.

A/N: This is my first time writing for L but I just really wanted to dive into the facet of his character that truly just longs to be a regular guy with regular friends and a regular life. It's very obvious he loves his job, craves his work even, but you can see his yearning for something normal peek through here and there throughout the series. So this is just a little something to indulge him in that desire ^.^ I will most likely do a part 2 so stay tuned and comment below if you wanna see it!!

***

Looking out of the corner of his eye, a certain detective watches as the blond model fawns over the teen boy on the couch next to him. He pretends not to notice the way she looks at him, with the pure adoration and affection in her eyes that only young love like that could produce. With every move she makes, climbing all over her beau, the chain attached to him rattles.

L covertly reaches down to shove a hand in his pocket. The linty insides of his jeans hold a roughly folded, and long faded photo that meant more to him than even the resolution of the Kira case. He dare not pull it out, in fear the man handcuffed to him sees it. L thinks back to the summer it was taken, the first time in his life he had ever felt like just a normal boy. These days, he thinks more and more about that summer. The summer he fell in love.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous of what Light had. He had Misa… right there in his arms; close enough to touch, to hold, to kiss. What did L have? A crumpled photo, the occasional hurried phone call, and an annual one weekend visit… if he was lucky.

Sighing, the black haired detective turns his attention back to the couple next to him, the two unknowingly taunting him with memories he can’t shake any longer. Forcing his usual stoic expression back onto his face, L calls for the blond girl’s attention. “Misa,” he groans, tired of listening to her shrill voice all afternoon, “Would you mind giving Light some time alone for now? I have some things about the case I’d like to discuss with him in private.”

She pouts, clinging even harder to Light’s shirt, “Aw, Ryuzaki, do I really have to go now? I feel like I’ve barely had enough time with Light today. You guys are always so busy.” Gritting his teeth in annoyance, and envy, L nods, “Yes, we have, and the sooner you leave, the sooner we can catch Kira, and the sooner you can have all the time in the world with your beloved Light.” The last two words came out a bit harsher than he intended, but he always had a tendency of being blunt, something she loved about him. Huffing, Misa gives Light a last kiss on the cheek as she struts out, promising to see them in the morning before shutting the door politely behind her.

Straightening his shirt, Light smirks in L’s direction, “If I didn’t know any better Ryuzaki, I’d say that Misa was making you jealous.” Damn Light’s deduction skills. L clenches his jaw for a moment, then pulls out his phone.

Choosing to make no remarks about Light’s previous comment, L instead decides to ask him a question, “Light, I hope you don't mind, but I'm going to make a quick personal call. How good is your English?” Dumbfounded at the ridiculous question, Light struggles to come up with the appropriate answer, “At a basic conversational level, I’d say. Not any better though, I’m afraid.”

Quickly dialing a number into his flip phone, L mutters flatly… “Good.”

The bakery phone rings during what was certainly the early morning hours in New York, the most busy time of day for a bakery. Finally catching a break from the rush, Mr (L/N) answers the phone in the back, barking harshly into it, “What do you want? We ran out of chocolate cannoli for the day, if that’s what you want, you’re gonna have to call back tomorrow.”

“Is this (L/N) Cannolis?” L’s tired, unsure voice timidly asks. “I don’t know buddy, is it?” Mr (L/N) snaps back, “You called me. What do you want? These customers are busting my balls here today, I don’t got time to sit and chat.”

The detective rubs his toes together as he stands on the other side of the room, staring out the window at the night sky, “Is your daughter there, Sir?”

“My daughter? Who the hell is this?”

Sighing, L looks over his shoulder at Light sitting on the couch looking through documents, seemingly, and thankfully, uninterested in this entire conversation. The last thing he would want is his prime suspect hearing the name he’s about to ask for. “It’s Luke… I’m… I’d like to speak to (Y/N)… if that’s alright.”

“Luke?” Mr (L/N) tries to wrack his brain for memories of anyone named Luke, “You the skinny English boy my little girl insists on throwing her life away for? Spiky black hair and raggedy clothes? Sits stupid in the chair?”

“Uh… yes… that would be me. Is she there?” The last thing L needs right now is to be reminded how out of place and odd he was in the world of everyday people.

With a groan, Mr (L/N) hums, “Yeah she’s here lemme go get her for you.” After letting his daughter date L for five years now, he knew better than to interfere with their shambles of a relationship anymore.

“Hey darling,” he yells to the kitchen, “your deadbeat boyfriend is on the phone askin’ for you.”

L smirks as he hears a mad scramble through the phone and it’s snatched out of the Italian man’s hand. A tired, panting, and excited, feminine voice calls to him, “Luke? Is that really you?”

Just hearing her voice, even calling him by yet another alias, after all these months, made half the tension from L’s shoulders lift and float away in the breeze. God, he’d missed this so much… “Yes, it’s me,” he smiles fully, unable to hold back the joy any longer.

Clutching the phone to her ear, the portly, curly haired girl smiles back, “I was so scared something had happened to you, I haven’t heard from you in forever.” A pang of guilt to his heart, L purses his lips, “I’m sorry for that, I really did mean to call. I just haven’t had the chance lately.”

The woman hums, “I figured. You’re working that case in Japan, right? I read about it online. Kora, it was?”

“Kira,” he gently corrects. There is a pause for a moment, he can hear the papers shuffling in Light’s hands behind him and the bustle of the bakery through the phone. What he wouldn’t give to be there with her right now…

“Is everything okay?” the baker finally asks after some time, “It’s not like you to be so quiet, especially during the few times you actually get a chance to call like this.”

Always so intuitive. L sighs, reaching into his pocket to feel the folded photo. The photo of her smiling face from all those summers ago. “This case,” he begins, “it’s been slow these days. I feel… I feel deflated… in lack of a better word.”

She hums, “Ah, I see…” There is another awkward pause before she perks up, “Well when you crack it, there’s a raspberry cannoli here with your name on it. I… I think about you every time I make one. They’re all you eat when you’re here,” she chuckles.

Another smile tugs on his lips, “How can I resist when they taste so divine? They’re only prepared by the most beautiful baker in all the world… and I would know that fact more than anyone.”

Her infectious chuckle nearly threatens to stop L’s heart. “Cream puff!” her pet name never fails to make him blush as red as one of the raspberries she makes the cannolis with, “You better hope papa isn’t listening on the other line.”

“The old man hasn’t scared me off yet,” he retorts, “And what man wouldn’t want his daughter to be admired like the goddess she is?”

Before she can scold him again for flattering her too much, L can hear her father yelling at her on the line. He can’t quite make the words out, but knowing him, it probably wasn’t too kind. With a defeated sigh, the woman on the phone mumbles, “I’m so sorry cream puff but I gotta… I gotta go soon.”

L’s shoulders sink, his heart along with it. Why was his precious time with her always cut so short? “Well, I suppose it’s for the best,” he huffs, “I have things to do here as well. I… thank you for talking to me. I… missed hearing your voice. It’s been hard to focus without it lately, if I’m being frank.”

She holds back the tears welling in her eyes, “I missed your voice too… I hope you solve this case soon.”

He nods, looking down at his feet on the carpet, “As do I. The second I do, I’m coming to see you, for a week at least… I miss you… quite a bit, in fact. I-”

“Cream puff, I really gotta get going now,” she interrupts hurriedly, “I’m so sorry. Call again soon, will you? I’ll catch you later, bye!”

As the dial tone rings in his ear, L slumps his shoulders and clenches his jaw, muttering to himself the three words he meant to tell her just seconds ago, “I love you…”

#l lawliet x reader #l lawliet #death note fanfiction #death note l #l death note #death note

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akixxsstuff · 18 days

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Monster

Death Note L Lawliet x gender neutral reader

Fluff // Angst // One shot

Summary: You and your boyfriend L get your hands on a lie detector test and decide to mess around with it during a date night. L is hooked up first and you ask him what his biggest fear is.

"What's your biggest fear?" you ask.

L pasues for a moment.

"Monsters. Especially ones who lie, their cunning and pose as humans even though they have no understanding of the human heart; they seek friendship even though they do not know how to love. If I was to encounter such a monster, I would likely be eaten by them... because in truth, I am that monster".

(Actual quote from L).

The lie detector remains still, there was no change in heart beat, breathing or sweat levels. L was telling the truth.

"You are cunning, very cunning and because of that you're afraid of other liars because as one, you know how far they'll go to manipulate. You lie because you don't see anything wrong with it because you've repressed emotions like love and empathy. You've been isolated your whole life so you haven't had the chance to learn how to love".

"But you do have a strong understanding of why and how others feel since you constantly put yourself in the shoes of criminals, you can't predict their next move without determining how they feel".

"You didn't have to date me to learn the various ways you could take advantage of me, so why be with me? Now all that you can gain from our relationship is love, so why would you be with me if you didn't care about love?".

"We've been together for almost a year and a half and you've really changed. You're more upfront with your emotional needs, you've become more giving and are now brave enough to explore intimacy".

"Maybe you were a monster before, but I know you aren't anymore. I'm 100 percent sure if it".

L slowly raises from his chair and places his hand on your cheek, lovingly stroking it with his thumb. Tears were now trickling down his face, this was the first time you've seen L cry. He then collapses into your lap and starts sobbing.

You spent the last year and half searching for L's heart and finally managed to find it despite how deep it was within him. You had now completely ripped it out of his chest which is something L's hands never had the strength to do.

"I-I...I" L chokes, "You're so precious too me, I can't believe...thank you for saving me, for loving me. I don't d-deserve you Y/N".

"Lawliet..." You softy quiver.

"I understand if you say no...but trust me when I say that I'll never ask anyone else this question" L says looking up at you.

"Tell me baby" you coo with tears welling up.

"Marry me... please...I never want... Please don't ever leave me" L cries.

"I would only leave a monster".

#l lawliet #fluff #angst #fanfic #death note #x reader #gender neutral y/n

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heyheydidjaknow · 2 years

Text

I don’t know what to even say. I’m sorry, France, for probably not representing your language properly. Blame Google Translate.

First Goodbye

“I fucking hate you right now.”

“You’re very close.”

You glared. “Fuck you and your ‘very close’,” you huffed. “I’m about two seconds away from a stroke is what I am.”

You were not bad at jigsaw puzzles. By no means were you good at them, but you would not go so far as calling yourself bad. Of course, you had not done a jigsaw puzzle in some time, but you had figured that it would be a relatively simple affair, completing one.

He had picked the puzzle.

“I promise,” he smiled softly, “you’re doing very well all things considered.” The puzzle he had picked was currently taking up the entirety of your coffee table. It was 1,000 pieces in the picture— you insisted on a picture, to his great amusement— of Van Gogh's “The Starry Night”. What had begun as a fun date idea for his last night in town had spiraled very quickly into the worst situation you had ever had because while he had finished his half of the puzzle in twenty minutes while taking routine hot chocolate breaks, you had only just finished the edges.

“How come you finished yours so fast, anyway?” You fingered through the pile of your sorted pieces. “Oh, no, wait, never mind. No social life.”

He smiled. “Surprisingly, that’s not it.” He took a drink from his cup. “I just spent a lot of time indoors as a kid.”

“And why’s that?”

“Weather.”

You looked up at him. “Weather?”

“Yes.” He set the mug down between his legs. “It was cold where I grew up.”

“Where’d you grow up?”

“The Polar Urals.” He glanced at the piles, reaching over and setting one of the pieces in its place. “For a long time, anyways. I completed a lot of puzzles.”

“The Polar Urals?” You sighed, conceding and sliding the box with the sorted pieces over to him so he could help. “Where’s that?”

He considered the question. “If the Arctic Ocean is a circle, the Polar Urals start at the opposite side of Canada.”

You tried to picture it. “What, in Russia?”

“Yes.”

“You’re Russian?”

“That is what that word means, yes.”

You folded your legs under you. “Can you speak Russian?”

“I can,” he nodded.

“English is your second language?”

“Yup. Well,” he clarified, “it’s more like a second first language. My family is from all over.”

You placed another piece, knowing full well it was in the wrong place. “What languages do you know?”

He sighed. “By the time I was eight I knew five. I don’t know how many I know now.”

Your eyes widened. “Five?”

He counted on his fingers. “English, Japanese, Russian, French, Italian. I would consider those my first languages.”

You laughed. “How do you know so many?”

He set his hands on his knees. “Well,” he shrugged, “my father was born in Russia. My grandmother was Russian and my grandmother was Italian, so he knew both. My mother was born in Japan, and her parents were Japanese and English. They both learned French and then spoke all of those when I was growing up, so I learned them all.”

“So you do have parents.” You leaned back on your hand. “I was starting to think you were grown in a lab or something.”

He opened his mouth, paused, closed it again. “I’m not surprised you say that, actually. That piece is oriented the wrong way.”

You stopped. “How could you know that?”’

“Puzzles with images like these usually have their pictures lasered on.” He stood up, walking over and sitting directly next to you. “And because they’re lasered on, if you look closely, you can see the lines. That’s the way to tell whether or not pieces are sideways definitively, to see if all the lines are oriented the same way.”

You picked up one of the pieces, holding it up to your face. Sure enough, just as he had foretold, there were the lines. “Huh.” You leaned against his shoulder, taking the hint. “And you know that why?”

He took a second too long to answer. “Because it makes those sorts of puzzles very easy after a while.” He took the piece from you, setting it in its correct place. “That’s why blank puzzles are more challenging. That, and you don’t have a picture for reference.”

You nodded. “What happened when you were eight?”

“Hm?”

“You said you knew five languages until you turned eight and then you learned more.” You tucked your legs under you, relaxing into him. “What changed?”

He reached around, setting his hand tentatively on your waist before awkwardly pulling it away. “Well,” he cleared his throat, “when I was eight, I met Watari.”

“The man who homeschooled you?”

“Yes.”

You paused. “You said you had parents. Past tense.”

“I did.” He leaned back. If he minded that you followed he hid it well.

“Watari adopted you, then?”

“You could call it that, yes.”

You rolled over to look at him. “May I ask–”

The words were not emotionally driven; the delivery was as dry as it would be if he were stating a statistic. “My father was executed.” He opened his eyes softly, glancing over at you curiously. “My mother killed herself soon after. My extended family would not take me, so Watari did.”

You said nothing.

“I lived in England until I turned fourteen. Then I traveled around a lot. I’ve learned more languages since then, which is why–”

“I’m sorry.”

“What?”

You took a strand of the carpet between your fingers. “I’m sorry that you went through that.”

He studied you for a moment, then rolled over, facing you. “Please, don’t be.” He closed his eyes. “It was so long ago; I can barely remember them, anyway.”

“That doesn’t make it easier.”

“True.” He sighed. “Would you mind if we changed the subject?”

You stopped. “Okay.” You pursed your lips. “So you lived in England for a while?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve been all over?”

“Sure.”

“What’s your accent, then?”

He opened his eyes. “I don’t think I get your meaning.”

“Well, I have an accent don’t I?”

“Sure.”

“Well, when you’re speaking naturally, what’s your accent?”

He considered it. “I don’t know.” He looked away from you. “It depends on which language I’m speaking, what dialect.”

“Then what dialect and language are you best at speaking?”

He paused. “French,” he decided.

“Can I hear?”

“Why?”

“I’m just curious.”

He stared at you, analyzing your face with the same clinical edge he had that first day. “What would you like me to say?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” You smiled. “Anything.”

His eyes softened. He cleared his throat and began. “Si nous sommes ensemble vous serez incroyablement malheureux. Malheureusement pour vous, je suis une personne incroyablement égoïste, donc je ne vous avertirai pas correctement.” He reached towards you, taking one of your hands awkwardly in his, interlacing your fingers together. “Encore, ne serait-ce que comme ça, s'il vous plaît, trouvez-moi ennuyeux et ne m'appelez pas une fois que je serai parti.” There was a quiet earnestness to his voice, warmness you had never heard from him before, and in that moment– one of the few moments you would get from him of the course of your relationship– you almost believed he and you were the same species.

You swallowed. “What does that mean?”

He breathed in, held it, breathed out. “Nothing important.” And just like that, the water was disturbed, the moment lost. “It’s a passage from a book.” Abruptly, he sat up, pulling himself to his feet and grabbing his cup. “I have to leave.”

Something about his tone made your heart pang painfully. “Leave?” You watched him set his cup on your counter. “Why?”

“I need to pack my things before the flight tomorrow.” He did not look at you. “I’ll be gone by morning. You shouldn’t see me off.”

You stumbled to your feet. “Hey, wait a second–”

“You have made this one of the best months in recent memory.” He stopped at the door. “For that, I'm eternally grateful. If we never meet again, I wish you the best.”

You grabbed him by the arm, spinning him around to face you. “Now hold on just a minute!” You caged him against the door with your arms. “You can’t just do that!”

“Do what?”

“That!” You gestured with your hand. “You can’t just leave someone so suddenly. It’s not right.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s wrong, that’s why.” Quickly realizing what you were doing, you put your arms down. “If we don’t have something, that’s fine. I mean, it’s not, but I can roll with that.” You felt heat creep up your neck. “But you can’t just leave like that. You have to at least be straight enough with me so that if I should be moving on I know to.”

He seemed almost stunned.

You felt tears stinging your eyes, not so much out of sadness as out of shame or anger or embarrassment or who knows what else. “Am I ever going to even hear from you again? At least tell me that much.”

He took a step towards you.

“Well?”

He took your face in his hands and kissed you.

Your mind went blank.

He pulled away, fingers lingering a moment before stepping back towards the door. “I don’t know.” He pulled it open. “I don’t know, but I’ll try to.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Previous Works

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freakquencys · 11 months

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who & what i'll write for!

disclaimers ; i only write fem x character ! i do write fem x fem character as well. feel free to ask me any questions if you dont see someone/something you want!

ALL CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP!

Genre’s I’ll Write For

Smut , Fluff , Angst , Comfort, etc.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀ ☥ ⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀ ☥ ⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Fandoms / Characters I’ll Write For

Movies and Show’s (All Genre’s)

Slashers (Examples: Jason Voorhees , Micheal Myers, Freddy Kruger, Bubba Sawyer, Thomas Hewitt , Leather Face, Charles Lee Chucky Ray, Tiffany Valentine. ETC)

Shameless ( Examples: Carl Gallagher , Lip Gallagher, Kevin Ball, ETC)

Hell Boy ( Examples: Hellboy, Abe Sapien, Prince Nuada, ETC)

Avatar ( 1 & The Way of Water) ( Examples: Jake, Neytiri, Kiri, Neteyam, Lo’ak, ETC.)

Kick ass ( Dave Lizewski )

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀ ☥ ⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀ ☥ ⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Games

Call of Duty ( Konig & Ghost only)

FNAF ( Freddy Fazbear , Chicka , Spring Trap, ETC.)

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀ ☥ ⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀ ☥ ⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Anime (All Genre’s)

Jujutsu Kaisen (Examples: Ryoumen Sukuna, Kento Nanami, Toji Fushiguro. ETC)

My Hero Academia ( Examples: Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugo, Shoto Todoroki, Tomura Shigaraki, All Might, ETC)