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shalotttower · 4 months

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The Unknown Variable

Title: The Unknown Variable Fandom: Death Note Summary: Special was never your brand. Now the weight of it is simply too heavy. Word count: 2600+ Characters: L Lawliet x Reader (female) Notes: yandere L, kidnapping, L and Reader were together in Wammy's House, Reader is tricky: there's some sort of imposter syndrome, but it's not too pronounced, L is a little bit of a dick, explicit language, triggering words.

You came to Wammy's House the same year as him.

In your simple dress, with scratched shoes and hair cut short by your previous caretakers, no one paid you much attention. Just another orphan for Watari's collection, just another face to pass through the halls, that's what you were. Densely packed with brightness - bright children with bright futures - you got lost among their splendor very quickly. Intelligences and minds were relative, and it didn't take long to understand that there existed more than one tier in the hierarchy of extraordinary.

You weren't exceptional.

You weren't dim.

Not slow, not dense, merely the kind of gifted that fit into Wammy's definition of "gifted" without exceeding it. The kind that was too smart to go to a public school, but unable to stand out in this environment.

It was fine. You didn't come there to be special.

You came because you had nowhere else to go and Wammy's House gave you a bed, a roof over your head, food on the table. It was as close to a home that you'd ever get and certainly better than your time in foster care. You could ask for toys, books, whatever caught your fancy, and count on it to be provided without much question.

What you couldn't ask for was affection. Not from Watari nor his staff nor the other children, and you think...you think all of you shared that same affliction to a various extent - a kind of general numbness, a disconnect between where a heart was beating and a brain was processing.

In this, you suppose, L fit right in, while failing miserably at everything else.

You found him odd, with his hunched back and wide eyes and messy hair. He wasn't rude or cruel but seemed to lack the basic social graces and had this air of superiority around himself, like he knew he was smarter, quicker and stronger than everyone else and didn't bother to pretend otherwise.

He played alone and hoarded toys that he liked. He answered questions before they were fully asked. You watched L solve puzzles in minutes when it took older children at least fifteen, twenty, sometimes thirty. Maths, sciences, linguistics, history, law - he seemed to sample them all, eventually moving onto the next. Slept irregular hours, and the blue glow of his computer screen was an ever present feature every time you got up at night to use the restroom and passed by his room.

L was brilliant and strange, and looked down on you since the very first moment.

You didn't like him much.

You watched him grow into his gangly limbs, become more lanky and hunch a few inches more, a quick-draw intellect with a tendency to chew at his thumbnail whenever he concentrated, stare too much and pick people apart as easily as he solved problems.

He got under your skin more than once, and seemed to have a vendetta of sorts or at least you thought so, with the way he liked to study your words or personality. He never outright called you stupid, but you once found him flipping through your journal and when you confronted him about it-

"You write simple."

"What?"

L turned another page, then tapped his nail against the margin. "Simple," he repeated, looking at you. "Short sentences, simple punctuation. Not bad necessarily..." He closed the journal with a soft thump. "But simplistic. You should-"

"I'm not vying for the Booker Prize," you said and took your journal back, he didn't resist. "It's just a diary, meant for me and me only. It doesn't need to be complicated, and you had no right to stick your nose in."

You were never meant to be special, but what you undeniably had was the lack of restraint in expressing your exact opinions.

"You left it on your desk," L said, unfazed. "You shouldn't leave personal belongings lying around if you don't want others to touch them. And the cipher key isn't difficult to figure out."

"It's still not an invitation," you told him, pointedly hiding the notebook behind your back.

It was the last time you spoke with L before leaving Wammy's House and entering adulthood; and you hardly considered it a great loss. You learned to make better ciphers and keep your things close without letting them out of sight, along with how to buy groceries, open a bank account, cook your own meals, do your own laundry and many other mundane skills which an orphanage resident had no real reason to practice.

A chance or probability of ever running into him again could be easily calculated as zero. Special was never your brand, no genius lurked beneath the surface, no brilliance that could solve mysteries in less than twenty four hours. You were observant, definitely, and had your own strengths, but on the scale of extraordinary you'd rank yourself somewhere in the middle, a notch above average and below exceptional.

That's why waking up years later in an unfamiliar bedroom, surrounded by deceptively familiar walls, furniture and bookshelves, with absolutely no memory of how you got there, made no sense.

In fact, it should have ended with boarding a plane, you were heading home after a lengthy business trip. That's what you clearly remembered - getting into the car that had arrived to pick you up from the hotel. Fastening the seat belt, and then nothing. The timeline smudged into one single faded splotch.

You reached for your phone only to find it missing. Bag, wallet, documents - everything was gone.

That...that didn't look good.

You carefully scanned the room. It held an uncanny resemblance to your own, with the same layout and furniture. Same closet, same bed. A twin to the quilt thrown over you. No windows. Your suitcase lay in the corner, and provided no insight as to how and why you'd been brought here. Everything was a replica, an almost-perfect duplicate, but somehow not.

It smelled wrong. Pleasant yet not the way it should; cleaner, less dusty, and warmer.

You mind went through the loops of what it could be: ransom (why? you had a humble income and no significant family), organ harvesting (too nice of a bedroom for such purposes), trafficking (again: too nice, no traffickers were known to transport people into neat and homey places), a bizarre accident (hardly, the door and the rest of the interior pointed towards careful planning).

Nothing seemed plausible, and that was the most unsettling part, the obscure, unknown variable which didn't let you make a prediction. The room...someone tailored it to you, your interests, that much you could say with 100% certainty.

But who and why - that remained a question.

The door opened.

"You," the word hung, suspended.

"You're awake." His posture hasn't changed, if anything it was worse than you remembered, hunched shoulders and slouching spine, hands buried deep into the pockets of his baggy jeans. Still slender but not as gangly anymore, he entered the room and closed the door behind him. "How are you feeling?"

The dark circles under his eyes were bigger and even more pronounced, like diluted ink spilled on a napkin.

You didn't answer.

"What am I doing here?" you asked instead and pushed yourself upright. The blanket fell from your lap, pooling down on the floor.

L's expression was familiar, one he used to wear whenever he was thinking. He rubbed his lower lip but otherwise chose to stay silent.

"Well? Are you going to explain or keep standing there?" You crossed your arms and glared at him, hiding the trembling of your fingers. You both did this sometimes back at Wammy's House, tried to over-stare each other in a contest, stubborn to a fault and unwilling to yield first. It always surprized you that he indulged in something so childish and silly.

Of all people you expected to see him least; the last conversation between you happened over six years ago.

L won the game again and you looked away.

"A series of events occurred, and I felt it to be beneficial for your well-being that you stay here," he replied after a moment, choosing each word like it was an item on a menu and not an explanation of your abduction. "You will find everything provided and within reach," L looked around the room, lingering on the bookshelves and desk. "If you prove cooperative."

You felt you eyebrows slowly rising to your hairline. "Excuse me?"

"Cooperative. The faster-"

"I'm not deaf."

His mouth twitched, like he disapproved of your manners - you ignored it. Took a deep breath and rubbed your temples, counted to ten, then exhaled through your nose.

"I'm leaving. Where's my phone?"

He didn't attempt to stop you, not when you slipped into your shoes, not when you headed for the door, not when your fingertips reached for the handle. It turned just fine, and for a second you were almost convinced that he decided to prank you (a very weird and fucked up prank, you had to admit).

What was on the other side looked like a regular apartment with an open floorplan, spacious and absolutely ordinary, except for the blackout curtains covering the windows, and the main door - thick, metal, - more suited for a vault, rather than a house. The locks appeared equally sophisticated. You swallowed, and a voice that always told you when something was not quite right, came out full force.

"Where's my phone," you repeated, voice quiet and dull, more of a statement than a question.

L remained silent, with that same blank stare which you used to despise as a child and a slight curve of his mouth. You know the answer, it said, now ask the right questions.

It was quiet, except for the ticking of the clock and the low hum of an AC unit.

A faint noise to your left caught your attention, the hairs on the back of your neck rose. In the middle of the carefully decorated living room, between a couch and a coffee table, you covered your mouth.

There were more wrinkles around Watari's eyes than you remembered and he looked older, hair gone to silver. Dressed in a black suit and a simple apron, it was him without any doubt or confusion. A chopping board and several ingredients covered the marble counter in a clear pattern of a soon to be cooked meal, carrots and mushrooms, bell peppers, fresh parsley. Celery. A single potato.

A needle with a plastic cap near the fruit bowl.

'I'm leaving.'

The words died on your tongue.

"No," you heard L's voice reach you from the layers of white noise which buzzed inside your head, "you're not. And I would prefer to not use force to persuade you."

There was a strange sort of finality in his tone, calm and absolute, and Watari, the man who raised all of you at Wammy's, the man who provided a roof, and books, and games, and never denied a request, simply nodded, then went on cutting carrots. As if this, as if your entire situation, was a mere triviality, not worth addressing.

Maybe it was a bad dream, you wondered. You fell asleep in the car and hallucinated an elaborate scenario, a noir plot plucked straight out of a movie.

It wasn't a movie.

They weren't joking.

In those few seconds while your mind processed everything in a scattered swirl of jumbled-up conclusions, you had a thought. A vase on your left looked sturdy enough. Two, three strides, grab it and swing - Watari was old. L was slim and thin.

"As you are now, I estimate 46% possibility of you injuring yourself and 8.3 % of you injuring me should you attempt to physically overpower me," L sounded close enough but you didn't turn around to check. "Along with 57% probability of Watari having to sedate you."

How did you go from nothing out of the ordinary to this, you often wondered later. In the apartment that looked normal, but was as far away from it as possible, with the orphanage prodigy whose brilliance used to frighten you back in your childhood, and the elderly man who used to serve tea and biscuits during breaks.

You looked down and found your fingers shaking. The odds were...against you.

"You're sick," you said finally. "Both of you." The irony of it was not lost, no. Of all people, someone to commit a crime of this audacity were the two individuals supposed to represent the pinnacle of legal justice.

Watari continued chopping vegetables. L made a step forward - you felt it more than saw - and it urged you to back away and out of his immediate reach, until you hit the wall. He studied your every move, steady, patient, not bothered by your accusation nor offended.

"No," you whispered and raised one trembling hand, as though it could offer you any kind of protection. Your throat felt too tight, like something was wrapped around it, pressing harder with each breath. "You fucking stay where you are."

L stopped moving.

"I can assure you," he said after a moment. "You're perfectly safe here. I have no intention of harming you, unless you prove unwilling to cooperate."

Your eyes darted towards Watari again. L's gaze followed.

"He won't hurt you either."

That didn't make you feel much better. Your phone was gone. Your documents - also missing. If you managed somehow to pass that door, you had no idea where you'd end up. It could be a regular apartment complex, or it could be the middle of nowhere. "Why am I here?" You asked again, but the question held different tone this time with the underlying implication.

L tucked his hands back inside his pockets. "I enjoy your company. My efficiency increases when I think about you and decreases by 17.3% when you're not in my vicinity."

Company. You blinked and rubbed your face, fingertips cold and clammy. "We talked four times when we were kids and none of those were pleasant experiences."

"Six," he corrected, "we talked six times, and our conversations, while short, were often...entertaining. Stimulating. You possess a particular way of thinking which I find intriguing. You're not intimidated by my intellect. You are not intimidated by many things."

"I don't want to talk with you," you said flatly. "You kidnapped me. I want my documents, I want my phone, I want to get the fuck out of this-" you inhaled slowly and focused, felt your heartbeat steadying just enough to not run across the room, yelling and screaming bloody murder, "whatever this is."

"Well, I do."

Despite the fact that you've just woke up, you felt tired. Arguing with him as a child was like running against a brick wall. Talking to him as an adult proved similar - exhausting and fruitless, nothing you said ever made the smallest dent in whatever notions L had in his head, not back then and definitely not now.

A laugh bubbled in your throat, and it probably seemed more hysterical than intended. You pushed away from the wall. "You need professional help, and I need to sleep. Don't," you pointed a finger in his direction when he twitched forward. "Don't come near me."

You headed for what was supposed to be your bedroom, or rather a cell - matters of perspective. The absurdity of the situation didn't lessen when the door closed behind, but at least huddled up in a ball beneath the quilt, with the muffled sounds from the outside you could rest your head and think clearly again.

Tomorrow you will assess everything from the new angle and then...

Then everything will be fine.

Everything will be normal.

Okay.

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

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brawltogethernow · 7 months

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—

L fell over from his customary seated position, died in his nemesis's arms, then came to in his customary seated position.

He fell over.

"Richard?" said Wammy, the alias he'd been using four cases ago. "Are you alright?"

"Watari?" he said dumbly, into the floor. Wammy was dead. He hadn't wanted it to be true, but he had been sure when he saw the data kill switch had been flipped, pieces of information slotting together to form a whole even when he didn't want them to. His own hand had carved him into a device that did this process automatically. It was too late to deny facts.

"What?" said Wammy like he didn't recognize the Japanese alias.

L pushed himself up halfway off the ground. "Fuuuuuck this," he said, and fell over again.

⁣

"Why me?" he wondered aloud. "Does this happen to everyone killed by the murder notebooks? I can't investigate an infinite multiverse, Weatherby."

"Probably not," conceded Wammy. He was currently humoring L gamely. L had been able to provide multiple descriptions of future events that would confirm he wasn't cracking up, but none of them had happened yet. He had never been much of one for keeping track of the date regarding matters where someone could do it for him, which didn't help. Well. Wammy would come around.

L was humoring himself, too, for now. There was no point assuming his mind wasn't reliable. Using his brain to run diagnostics on itself could wait until it seemed necessary. If he was having an Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge moment it was certainly going on for a very long time.

He ground his molars against each other. The Kira murders had been supernatural, but clearly guided by a hand that either was mortal or thought the same way. So far, this seemed...random.

"I don't like this," he informed the room, and incidentally Wammy. His latest sugar cube tower collapsed and split into two factions, one falling into his tea and the other scattering across his desk. Tea sloshed out of its cup in futile pursuit of the desk faction.

He picked up the teacup by the mostly not sticky handle and sipped it, pursuing the grit at the bottom of its basin. He put it down and but his thumbnail. It was slightly sweet. He needed to wash his hands. He added, "Well. I like it better than being dead."

⁣

He sent the party interested in his current case an e-mail with enough key bullet points of the solution for them to clean up what was left of it themselves, which was more than he felt like doing for a rerun of a case. If he were stuck only rehashing already closed cases he might entertain the theory that this was Hell. But the world was wide, he had only lived a year or so beyond this in the first place, and the Kira case was still open.

He tried to console himself that Light Yagami possessed one of the most ruthlessly brilliant minds L had ever encountered. This did not make him feel any better about being beaten by a fucking child. L was an extremely petty man about things like that.

(He had been a worse minor. If he had been eighteen as well when faced with such an infuriating suspect, he would probably have been the one instigating physical altercations. He would have broken Light's perfect nose instead of playing around with him, and then maybe he wouldn't be undead.)

He gnawed his thumbnail, brain too itchy to be content just pressing it against his bottom lip where he could usually stop. He knew on one level of thought he was risking ending up with sore and bloody cuticles, but it was not the level primarily in charge of his teeth and hands when he was stressed. Was he stressed? Extremely, yes. But should he have been? His life wasn't even in danger, nor was Wammy's. Kira hadn't claimed his first kill yet, probably hadn't acquired his weapon, that awful, intriguing, unassuming notebook. And when he did, L could just...

L didn't even have to do anything. He could just ignore it, and stay ensconced in whatever HQ he chose. Name unrecorded, face unknown, existence not relevant to Light Yagami's twisted morals. He already knew all the key mechanics of Kira. The method, the means—he was sure he'd already known the why. He had all the answers he wanted. Light had given him his answers.

His true face... It was all the confession L had needed. An honor, even.

Ha!

L didn't need anyone's sanction to solve the Kira problem, either. He could steal the notebook. He could hire a hitman.

Dull pain and the taste of blood alerted him that he'd bitten through his thumb.

He popped it into his mouth to keep blood off his keyboard. No, he didn't want to kill Light Yagami. He probably should kill Light Yagami, but he didn't want to. He wanted to... To...

⁣

Of the many casualties of the Kira case, there was no one he cared to intervene for he hadn't led to danger with his own hand. (Should he have cared more about Beyond? Eh, he'd interfere if Wammy brought it up.) Even Naomi, who he hadn't spoken to in years, should have no reason to return to her home country if L didn't repeat old plays.

...He wondered if he was perhaps taking the wrong lessons about treating people as expendable from the situation.

He tapped his fingers. Naomi. He had liked her.

He spent an hour at the keys confirming where she was. The sun had set around him, at some point, leaving him in a black room with the monitor a white inferno at the center. Moved to Burbank, engaged, retired. She must be bored out of her mind in an empty room of her own making. No wonder she had died over this case too.

He hoped it was exciting first. Light had never mentioned her.

Focusing all of her faculties on her boytoy only for a killer to take him away... She must have gotten very unlucky to have not proved a bigger obstacle.

⁣

After it came clear that L was reporting his experiences accurately (or hallucinating his confidant's confirmations), Wammy sat silently for a subjectively long minute and forty-seven seconds.

"What is it like?" he asked at last. "Dying."

"I don't know, I was kind of distracted," L deflected, because this is true.

Wammy gave him a blank yet communicative look.

L bit down on his other, less raw thumb. Why hadn't Wammy come back with him, possessed of his own experience to draw on? Was there another Wammy, elsewhere, who has gone back alone?

Could it be he really didn't die? No. L was sure.

Kira had done that, but even spider-scrabbling blunted fingertips at the bottom recesses of the linty pockets of his heart, L couldn't find it in himself to feel too righteously indignant. L was the one who had wanted to win badly enough he'd anted up his allies in their game. He had been cocky. He had been too cavalier.

"Frustrating," he answered. "Like when you can't stay awake even though you're in the middle of a project."

The brain, whirling determinedly away even as it stopped receiving fresh blood, as the vision narrowed down to a thin line, a screen shutting off uncaring of whether it was the end of the program.

⁣

He researched relevant players he hadn't been aware of at this point. All were transpiring to be about where he'd have plced them.

The web of events was elaborate. But that could have been dream logic. He'd tried, but never gotten the hang of, lucid dreaming. He was not sure he would be truly convinced this was happening until he'd discovered a why.

He hovered his overful teacup not quite at his lips. Next, he could find a backdoor into the TCPD systems, but...maybe...

He wormed into Yagami Light's computer instead. After 24 hours of passive data collection this provided him with Souichirou's passwords and how Light concealed he was using them.

It was very amateur, which was the best way to hack an organization that thought it was going to be hacked by professionals. Casual exploitation of loose security.

It was child's play on top of this to get a day-old visual on Light. L looked at the security photo and felt a thrill up his spine. Ah, death really didn't change me for the better at all, he thought.

⁣

"What's next in the docket?" asked Wammy, tidying up the workstation they were slated to abandon. (L remained on his computer chair and let this happen around him.) He was content to follow L's lead, even knowing he had led them both to their deaths.

"I want to find out why I've come back in time, and how," said L. "...But I don't have any leads to speak of."

"Except young Yagami," concluded Wammy, who was not an unclever man.

"I don't want to return to the Kira case," L admitted.

"Completely understandable," said Wammy without judgment. He was not an overly moral man, either.

L fidgeted. Flopped somewhat. "The Kira case is the most interesting case on the planet right now," he said.

Wammy waited.

"But I already know how he kills," L sulked. "And dying kind of hurt."

Wammy's mouth pursed at this. But he only asked, "What are you planning, L?"

"I'm going to insert myself," announced L, rising and stepping out of his chair. "What do we have in liquid assets right now?"

"What will this be put toward?" inquired Wammy.

L rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling and thought about it, chewing his lip. "Shenanigans," he declared.

He realized he had forgotten a social step and stopped his creep for the exit. He swiveled his head around. "Though Weatherby, if you want to return to the school for a year or two, or perhaps go on vacation—"

"I'll go where you go," interrupted Wammy, chilly.

L pursed his lips, finding now he'd began it that this was not the perfunctory check-in he'd taken it for. He said, "I would prefer if you didn't die."

Wammy sighed. "A similar sentiment is why I will accompany you."

L turned back around. "I see," he said, nodding. "Emotional blackmail."

"This time I trust you to take the appropriate precautions," said Wammy.

"Ugh," said L. "You're no fun."

⁣

To enact his very ingenious and only partially driven by general doubt in reality and spite scheme, L got a job at a pastry chain in Tokyo.

After less than a single afternoon, the manager deemed L unfit to serve customers (this was correct), so he was shuffled onto glazing duty. He accepted this without complain as, due to the pop-up-cum-cart-style layout of the establishment, this still allowed him a clear view of anyone patronizing the establishment. Moreover, he did not especially want to serve customers.

He despised the thin plastic sanitation gloves, which felt like rather than protecting his hands they moved the barrier of contaminated flesh up to his wrists, oils creeping and substances splashing upwards, until he wanted to decontaminate his arms up to the elbows and down to the bone.

It's for the case, he told himself even though there was no case, not really. It was the same process of steeling himself to put discomfort aside for a greater cause.

The greater cause this time was just bullying Yagami Light.

This is a cinnamon roll of great justice, he told himself, then held it up to eye level and examined it, debating whether to eat half of it in front of his manager. For great justice.

⁣

His fingers twitched. He solved cold cases from his backlog and sent in tips about them thumb-typed on a PDA on his lunch breaks. He was so understimulated he contemplated playing some stocks, which he was trying to cut back on. He had more money than one person could ever need and than he had any inclination to redistribute responsibly, and also he acclimated to them the way some people did to pachinko.

⁣

The manager sat him down. "I have been informed I can't fire you," he said.

"Yes," said L, who had purchased the chain before applying for the job.

"But I want to," said his manager, like it was important L knew.

"That's fine," said L. He pulled an industrial tub of cold icing over, stuck one finger into it, and licked it.

The manager's mouth flexed murderously. L entertained himself briefly by imagining this scheme if Light was his manager.

⁣

When Light finally walked in, L had been shuffled back to cashier duty to get him to stop licking the donut icing, where he would remain until customer satisfaction dropped untenably low. With a pull that was gravity-inevitable, they locked eyes across the room, and a realization was clear to L at once:

He's bored again.

Without anyone challenging to oppose him, Kira was already getting bored. A smile spread like an ocean oil slick over L's face. Or perhaps like the mysterious and ever-widening sticky spot under the second stove that no one could seem to mop up.

Everything was falling in line with his loftiest expectations. Light would crawl on his knees right to L. He didn't realize it, but he was desperate.

And L would lead this insufferable man, in his supplication, right through the mystery floor goo.

L favored Light with his (he was told) very unsettling customer service smile. "Welcome to Cinnabon," he said.

—

AO3

#death note #fic #w #l lawliet #cinnabon au #how do you spell..........how do you spell the baseball video game one.#quillish wammy #quillsh wammy #EACH VARIANT WORSE THAN THE LAST

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after-witch · 1 year

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Fresh Blood [Yandere L x Vampire!Reader]

Title: Fresh Blood [Yandere L x Vampire!Reader]

Synopsis: Vampires aren’t real. Everyone knows that. Except for L Lawliet, who knows the truth: vampires are very, very much real… and you’re one of them.

Word Count: 2400ish

Notes: yandere, mentions of death and non-graphic violence, reader is a vampire

You haven’t seen the sunrise in several lifetimes. And you would never see it again, unless you were eager to burst into flames and turn into nothing but crumbling, black dust.

It wasn’t true that vampires were weak against garlic (you didn’t mind it, on nights when you ate human food); or crosses (pretty things, especially in silver); or even gunshots (though they hurt like a bitch). But the sun, well--the sun was a surefire way to turn what was immortal into nothing at all.

So, the sunrise was out. So were all the little things that went with it; glistening dewdrops and deer making their way to the edge of the forest in the dappled light of the sunrise. The soft call of birds waking up the world. The quiet, hum of life beginning in the city, in the country, everywhere and anywhere.

But… you don’t regret this loss anymore. Once, when poked and prodded by someone else in your clan during one of their melancholy bouts, you’d quipped: “I’m just not a morning person--it’s fate!” and flashed your sweetest grin.

Your morning had been replaced by the night. Though, thanks to the advent of incredibly efficient blackout blinds and curtains, you could usually wake up a bit earlier and get a few things in before you headed out for the evening. For blood or clan meetings or--more common--both.

You love the routine that it creates, really. You wake up. You shower. You watch a little TV, if you’re in the mood. You might practice the piano or rearrange some books in your library. And then you get dressed--something modest, elegant; your closet was filled with classic pantsuits and expensive silver jewelry that shined in the evening light--and leave.

And in that evening, that black evening, who knows what you’ll do? Who you’ll meet or eat, what you’ll see.

And when the darkness begins to wane, you head home. You shower. You throw your clothes, if they’re bloody, into cold water to soak for the night. You change into pajamas. You go into your bedroom. You lock the door. You lock the windows. You sleep, dreamless, in the dark.

And then you wake up the next evening and start everything over again.

Someone has been inside your apartment. Someone has been inside your apartment.

Someone has been inside your apartment.

The thought repeats itself in your brain until it becomes a boiling, blurry scream that threatens to burst out of your chest. Your fingers clench into fists, and if you could bleed, it would be pouring out from the sharpness of your nails digging into your palm.

There is a hair in your sink. It’s not your hair. It’s black, somewhat long, curled up against the white porcelain like a baby. Something that anyone else might dismiss, shrug away, or miss entirely. But the sight of it is as obvious to you as a smear of red blood against the porcelain tile.

Your fingers reach out, trembling, and grasp the offending hair in your fingertips.

You stick your tongue to it, thinking--desperately, your enraged brain becoming somewhat delirious--you might be able to track the offender down by their taste. But it’s hair, disconnected from anything living, and all it does is make you peel it off and toss it into the trash in a fit.

Who would dare enter your domain? A vampire's home was their sanctuary. Invitations were everything. Especially to you, who guarded yourself so securely; you aimed to get to the top of society, and you didn’t do that by throwing open your home to anyone who waltzed nearby.

So who… the fuck… has been in your house?

You’re a vampire.

The revelation is not something that L cares to share with anyone else, although he will eventually have to tell Watari about it in order to pull through with the logistics of his plans. The information is, strictly speaking, need-to-know. And who else would believe him?

But the pathways this knowledge opened up were surely something he could appreciate. Vampires were real. So what else was real? What else, dismissed as a ridiculous myth borne out of horror stories, might really be lurking in the dark?

It was a double pleasure, that his interest in you led to this discovery--and surely many more in the future.

He saw you walking past his favorite cafe one evening. You looked attractive, which wasn’t an immediate draw for him. Plenty of people were pretty. But something about you made you stand out like an oil painting amidst crude pencil drawings. It was like you glowed.

And he did enjoy things that stood out from the crowd.

He can still remember the early days, staking out (he pardons his own pun) your apartment, jotting down every little detail about you. Your schedule was strange. No stranger than his, he supposed at the time, but certainly unusual for some random civilian.

You never went outside until it was dark. You didn’t seem to sleep, or at least not in your bedroom. You didn’t eat. Yet you never looked tired or sick.

Your home had blackout film and blackout blinds and blackout curtains and, to top it off, blackout screens that could be pulled over each window. Your fridge never had food, only bags and bottles of the same red liquid, too thick to be a fruit smoothie.

And curious, curious, curious… there was not a single mirror in your home. Not one in the bathroom. Not one in the hallway, or your bedroom, or stuck behind the closet of your wardrobe.

Why the strangeness? What were you hiding? What made you different?

It made him need to know more about you.

And more.

And now… he knows things that humans were never meant to know. At least, humans who weren’t about to become blood bags for creatures like you.

He knows every step in your routine, every detail about your home life and public life and as much as he’s been able to sketch out in between. He knows what songs you play on the piano, how many blood bags you have in your fridge, what songs you hum under your breath while you get ready to leave your home and drain someone of their blood for your dinner.

He knows that you’re hundreds, if not thousands of years old, and that you subsist on the blood of people whom you kill and drain night upon night.

The cameras helped with all that. They’d been there for longer than he anticipated, given your observant nature. Maybe you were cocky. That would help, certainly, with his plans.

He saw you find his hair in the sink (he planted it, naturally) and smiled as he watched you through your little tantrum. What would you do, if--when, he corrects himself, you’re too smart not to find them--you noticed the cameras?

What will you do when you notice the other things he has touched? He’s left himself all over your apartment, bit by bit, waiting with a gnawed-on thumb to see what you do.

Oh you, you, you.

He couldn’t tell if you were unlucky that he decided he needed you, or if he was unlucky that the one person he became invested in wasn’t actually a human being. Maybe a bit of both. It certainly made it trickier to figure out how to approach the problem of your continued freedom.

You were slippery.

L didn’t like it when things he wanted were slippery.

You’re going to kill someone.

Who that someone is has yet to be determined. But you will determine it, and you will find them, and end their life--a pathetic, measly thing, no doubt--in the most viscous way possible.

No amount of blood, no amount of meditation, will ease your broiling anger.

The hair on the sink came first.

And then, little things. A picture frame, tilted just-so in the opposite direction. A rug shifted an inch to the left.

And now… now this absolutely infuriating middle-finger-to-you. An unmistakable gesture that could not be ignored or brushed off or brooded over.

This demanded action.

There was a mirror at the end of the hallway. The glass glistened dully, reflecting nothing, even as you stood right in front of it. You’d made it as far as the hallway after coming home from your evening feeding, intent on grabbing the comfiest robe from your bedroom before you hit the shower.

And then you saw the mirror.

Your nostrils flare, and you’re about to bash your hand against the glass to smash it into a thousand pieces, when something shifts in your field of vision.

There’s someone in the mirror. Behind you, next to you, or rather, next to where your reflection would be if you had one.

It’s a man with dark eyes and messy hair and a calm, but undeniably pleased expression on his face. Your brain flashes a thought--like a cat licking up cream--before you whirl around, breath cold with rage, and launch yourself at his face with your sharpened nails ready to gouge out an eye.

But you don’t get to gouge out an eye. You don’t get to do anything. Because as soon as you whirl around, he pulls something--a rope?--and morning sunlight bursts into your living room. You jerk back, keeping yourself in the protection of the darkened hallway.

“Who the fuck are you?” You spit.

The man drops the rope and sticks his fingers in his pockets. He smiles at you. A calm, sweet expression that he should not be wearing at this moment. Yet he is, somehow. It makes you want to sew his lips shut with a needle and thread. It makes you want to pull out his teeth. It makes you want to keep him alive for weeks as you drain him again and again.

“There will be time for introductions later,” he says, almost murmuring. “Right now, you’re clearly in a state of agitation, and not likely to remember personal details, anyway.” His gaze seems to appraise you. “You do have a temper, don’t you?” He raises his eyebrows. “I’m surprised, given what I saw on the cameras.”

Your cold chest seems to grow icier still.

“The what?”

He gestures languidly around. “I’ve set up quite a few. I thought you’d notice. But you were too busy with your clandestine meetings, I suppose.” He suddenly claps his hands and raises his eyebrows in an odd, reassuring gesture. “Don’t worry, I didn’t put one in your bathroom, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You wish, for once, that your non-living breath might be hot instead of cold. It might better reflect your mood.

Your eyes dart around the room and now, now, you finally see the microscopic cameras installed around the space. In the corner of the ceiling. On a figurine in your bookshelf. No doubt the other rooms would yield similar findings.

You would rip them out one by one, and then rip out his spleen. Or maybe an eye. Whatever hurt worse and kept him along the longest.

You stare at this man, whose hair was in your sink, whose fingers touched your belongings, whose feet crossed your threshold--until you’re sure that your gaze would kill, if you had that power.

“I’m going to kill you,” you say, finally. You bare your fangs. You think, stupidly, of simply launching yourself at him and hoping you’re fast enough to grab him and pull him back into the darkened hallway before the sunlight kills you.

Rage makes you stupid, but only for a moment. You keep your legs still on the carpet, eyeing him with utter contempt.

He watches you. He hums.

“You might try.”

Your eyes glance around the room, behind you in the hallway, looking for the best second option. Your bedroom? If you can get in there, you can get to your phone. A quick call to another member of your clan, and they’ll be here. And then you can take your time killing him, slow and methodical.

“Ah,” he says, as if he can sense your train of thought. “I wouldn’t recommend going into the bedroom. Or the bathroom. Or any of the rooms, really.” He gestures towards the bottom of your bedroom door, and you turn to look.

Sunlight can be seen peeking through the edge.

“I took the liberty of uninstalling everything on the other windows, too. You’re quite thorough, but so am I.”

You bare your teeth at him again.

“Are you going to kill me?” It’s a challenge, all puffed up, perhaps your last words before he pulls out a stake or something else he’d concocted to end your immortal existence.

He stares at you, eyebrows raised.

“Kill you?” The question is said in such a soft, incredulous tone, as if what you asked was simply absurd.

Was he not a vampire hunter? Though most humans thought vampires were myths, there were a few now and then who figured it out and tried to hunt your kind down.

This man was apparently not one of those few.

He pulls something out of his pocket. It looks like a gun,

“It will be easier to keep you here for now, once I get a proper containment room set up for you.” He gestures at the blackout set-up that he dismantled. “Don’t worry, it will be blacked out.” He sticks his hands back in his pockets. “You’ve done some of my work for me already, with your isolated schedule, so it will be a while before anyone notices something’s amiss. I do need to get you transported sooner than later, especially if…”

You listen, mute with rage and something else, as he drones on; detailing how he is going to keep you and subdue you and transfer you somewhere else--nice and dark, he assures you. As he speaks, there’s an increasing unfamiliar sensation that squirms under your skin like worms. Not anger. Not confusion. But…

Fear.

As he raises the gun and you see--too late--that the end is marked with some kind of tranquilizer, the thought comes:

Is this what it’s like to be the prey?

#yandere l lawliet #yandere death note #yandere #afterwitch writes

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heinrichmey · 2 months

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OK. So hear me out, my friend and I have this idea and I need a fanfiction or smth.

After that scene under the rain there is a delay, maybe something comes up and L's death is postponed.

Then he catches acute pneumonia with all its delights. Because it's no good walking in the rain almost barefoot in a fierce wind, and I highly doubt L has a good immune system.

Naturally, Light can't let him die in any way other than by his own hand. So he's taking an active role in his treatment. He's on bedside duty. Keeping an eye on his temperature. Aggressively forcing him to take his medicine, even if it's bitter. Changing the wet gauze on his forehead because his brilliant brain is melting from the fever.

And Watari is fiercely supportive because it's impossible to make L go to the doctor.

Oh and then of course Light can't finish the job after L's recovery.

#anime #death note #death note headcanons #l lawliet #light yagami #lawlight #i need this

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galazykatz · 4 months

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Kira Is Near's Watari AU

"Light Yagami is 17 years old when he stumbles on a cursed notebook and begins committing his first unwilling murders.

Nate River is 6 years old when he discovers a bounty of 30 million dollars on the supposedly normal and respectable son of the Chief of the NPA.

These two facts somehow end up in Light Yagami shot in half a dozen places in a dirty warehouse a week later, Near dragging his body out of there, and both simultaneously disappearing into thin air.

Well, at least until six years later, when criminals begin dying in the masses from heart attacks. With a new Death Note user on the loose, Detective Near and his capable butler and caretaker, Kira, are on the case.

With tensions high between them and the NPA, Near and Light will be forced to confront just what happened that week, half a decade ago.

OR, my Kira is Near's Watari AU"

(Taken from a draft summary of a 5 part WIP fic)

So, I've read Noel Verse (TzviaAriella) and Pale Moon (KaedeRavensdale) on Ao3, watched some Black Butler, among some other fanfic, pinterest fanart, and more media with Butlery themes... and now I've got some serious brain rot.

I mean, like, the aesthetic is amazing. And it's doubly hilarious if L and Watari ever meet Near and Kira in this universe because they're total and complete opposites. Visually wise, at least, with Near's white motif and Light's signature beige suits with a splash of red with his tie, their workspace always very modern and minimal. Then Watari's cloaked in all black with L being... L, surrounded by more of an old money setting. Opposite spectrums of ridiculous. Especially if the task force meets these two detective teams and they'd just be... so incredulous. And the angst of Light and Soichiro reuniting.

Also, just the idea of genius, perfect, most promising student of Japan, Light Yagami, showing back up as a butler/caretaker/spy/hitman working for the mysterious yet infamous Detective Near. Only for that detective to turn out to be a 12 year old kid playing with his toys, who Light seriously treats as his boss without an ounce of irony. Everyone just gets more dumbfounded once said kid starts pulling genius deductions out of thin air and controlling black ops. While Light is sent either on said black ops, or to get a certain toy set for Near. No in between.

I imagine Light would still very much have blood on his hands, willing and unwilling, and would be loyal to Near and unwilling to part with him. Partly out of his own self interests and partly out of a genuine sense of repaying the debt for saving his life. Meanwhile, Near is content to have someone reliable on his side who doesn't underestimate him or treat him any differently for his age, nor intends to use him for another agenda. Whatever Near asks, Light does.

And maybe, just maybe, there would be hints of some other influence. Something ingrained in them, not quite dreams nor memories, that draw the two together. But surely this is the first time they've done all this?

Alright, is that enough ranting about a fic I probably don't have time to write? Yeah, I think so. XD

Oh well, at least I got to make these doodles today. :)

#fanart #fanfic #death note #light yagami #kira #nate river #near #death note fanart #death note fanfiction #kira is near's watari au

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soft-zawa-png · 2 years

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Tea Time ｡o°✥✤✣ 　　 ✣✤✥°o｡

- L Lawliet X Female!Maid! Reader: Part 1

Warnings: 18+ smut, mentions of stalking, sloppy make out session, grinding, sir kink, slight degradation, praise kink, MINORS DNI

Note: This work doesn't have a readmore because when I put one, it deletes everything I've typed after it, and I'm tired of rewriting the sentence that follows the readmore. So this is kinda long, so sorry! If this does well I’ll write a part 2!!

And TYSM for 1,700+!!! 🤍

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

L Lawliet, the world's greatest detective, was a dirty pervert?

Surely not.

Who would attest to that? He was too busy of a man to plague his mind with unimportant tasks, no less sexual tasks.

His task force at headquarters confirmed that L was glued to his panel chair, and Light, 24/7, typing away on his computer and inhaling sweets of every kind.

Watari usually brought him those sweets and huge trays of tea, rolled out on a fancy cart no one was aware he could finish alone, and in a quick manner too. But as Watari grew more exhausted and troubled, he requested that L find another keeper to care for him once he was gone.

That's when he found you.

To the non-government official world, you were a normal girl in her 20s who was a full time college student, a promising figure in your cohort. And on the side, you did work that neither your family nor friends knew of: you were a personal maid working for wealthy business men and prominent government figures who paid you well to clean up for them.

As cute and pretty as you were, of course your job entailed more than one would think. Either way, your acts of service didn't go unnoticed by L. He watched you for months through cameras he placed inside your apartment, analyzing your behavior. Once he finished profiling you, he contacted you personally to come work for him at task force headquarters as his personal servant.

This offer was done incognito of course, in receiving L's infamous virtual message with his voice filter coupled with his signature "L" symbol. You couldn't believe L of all people would want you to work for him, especially during such a time as the growing Kira investigation. You couldn't pass this up.

You were evaluated and interviewed as soon as you stepped on taskforce premises, going through a series of ID security checks. Once the team and L were sure enough you were pure, they let you inside, not yet welcoming you but allowing you to join them in the main panel room. Everyone took a liking to you right away, especially Misa jumping for joy that she would no longer be the only girl in the building and having someone to keep her company.

It was almost upon first sight that L was certain you'd be perfect to serve him.

A little too certain, on his part.

Your new job was to assist Watari in serving L, and coming to L's every beck and call when he needed you to. L had made arrangements to accommodate your new place of work, giving you your own room on your own floor, right below his.

He also designed your new uniform, making it questionably flashy and short as it fit your body quite well. The traditional white and black color scheme would remain. He was so considerate when it came to you adjusting to your new surroundings, and keeping Matsuda from smothering you while you were working.

So why would he be a pervert, exactly?

Those unfaltering gazes up your frilly dress as you bent down to scrub the floors were unbeknownst to you, flashing L a generous sliver of your lace underwear and the cute outline of your pussy. He almost could've sworn he saw a wet patch soaking through the thin fabric, making his mouth run dry.

Those light touches he gives you on your hand out of gratuity when you bring him his favorite tea cakes, or when you generously top off his cup of black tea, being sure to bring several cups of sugar cubes and chocolate syrup. Sweet treats from a sweet woman.

Those late hours of the night where he would listen in on you through the floor and outside your door, tricking his brain into believing that he didn't hear you whine and moan his name in times of needy desire.

Those nights where he swore to you he installed cameras in your new room to aid him in the Kira investigation, needing to be 110% sure you were who you claimed you were; he needed you to comply with this, he said, otherwise you'd no doubt be an accomplice to Kira in being defiant and immediately confined. He would watch you as you would unconsciously touch yourself in your sleep, palming his growing erection through his jeans as he cursed himself every time for being an indecent human being. However this was his excuse to spy on you during late hours of the night when everyone was asleep but him.

He quickly got used to your schedule throughout the day and learned you like the back of his hand. He appreciated how willing you were to please him but he hasn't discovered what he was needing from you just yet. Eventually he'd make you give it to him over a nice chat and a cup of tea.

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

It was a Saturday night and the team was running their usual diagnostics on probable Kira aliases and killing splurges. You were nested in the kitchen assisting Watari in preparing L's evening dessert cart. He had requested needing more than one cup for his tea instead of just one. Assuming it was one of his usual quirky requests, you complied and placed 2 tea cups on the tray. Who were you to question a certified genius?

Watari fetched the cart for you as you finished placing the rest of the sweets on the tray, then carefully transferring the tray to the cart you would soon bring to L. Watari thanked you and excused himself, saying he would be heading back to his panel room. He said something under his breath that made your ears twitch as you wheeled the cart through the kitchen doors.

"Master L requested you join him for tea following his surveillance watch."

You pushed the cart in front of you and into the elevator as you made your way to the usual room L and his team were in. The elevator made way for you as you walked forward in the open room, leaving your eyes to behold only L and Light sitting at the panel in front of their computers.

The click of your heels on the flooring was enough to make L crack a small grin. Soon enough he'd prove Light wasn't the only one who was excellent at being manipulative. L had always gotten his way, and the following moments would be no different.

"You're a tad late, Y/N. Why is that?" L questioned. He wanted to make you sweat a little to see how you'd react.

"I'm terribly sorry, sir. It's just that... Watari had said something to me abo-"

"About what? Excuses are just useless fillers that feed into a bad lie. You wouldn't lie to me, no?"

You choked, stopping dead in your tracks behind the cart as you stood shakily behind L's chair. Your breathing became uneasy and fresh tears pricked your eyes. You began to sniff to keep yourself from crying. L had gotten half of what he wanted already, just as he predicted.

"You're not going to cry, now are you? Big girls don't soil themselves in the wake of hurt pride, correct?" L clicked through cameras as he spoke to you, his voice unwaivering from its usual monotone.

You bit your lip and blinked your eyes to try to suck up the tears that were threatening to run down your cheeks. The way he subtly called you childish made you want to bawl, but you had to prove to him that you were cut out for this job. So you sucked it up.

"Y-yes sir, you're correct. My apologies," you breathed as you continued to push the cart of sweets next to L. Light continued to type on his computer in attempts to ignore your little outburst.

"I've arranged for us to have tea together this evening immediately following my surveillance. Watari should have you go to the appropriate room and wait for me there until I'm done. I'll give you some time to recoup before I join you. That sounds fair, yes?" L instructed you. He had been talking to you with his back turned the entire time, yet the look on your face behind him was as clear as day to him.

"O-Of course, sir. I'll make my way there now," you stuttered as you pulled the cart back toward you, pivoting on your heels to turn back toward the elevator. The room Watari had told you to go to showed up on a special bracelet made for you, giving you directions and where exactly the room was located in the headquarters.

"Excellent. I'll meet you there briefly," L responded to you before the elevator doors closed, taking you all the way up to the 8th floor.

"Oh, and Light," he called. Light quirked a brow at his acquaintance with a curious 'hm?' sound.

"You and I won't be handcuffed during my meeting with Y/N. It will require my full attention and cooperation, unbound of course. Are you okay with this?" L asked. Light wouldn't find any problem with this as far as the likelihood of him being Kira decreases.

Light assured L he was fine with being uchained from him for the duration that he was gone, and even offered to remain under surveillance during his meeting. L hummed in agreement and unlocked the handcuffs that bound them together, reminding Light that everything would be back to normal in a couple hours.

With that, he trudged to the same elevator you left in earlier to escape to the room you were patiently waiting for him in.

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

You had been sitting in this large, lowly lit room for 5 minutes, alone on a velvet couch with a beautifully crafted snack table in front. It was well furnished and lavish in decor, seemingly royal and extremely expensive looking. You grew cold and impatient, your nerves getting the best of you. You scrunched your toes and rubbed your arms to try to calm yourself, feeling like you were a bad kid who was sent to the office and was awaiting their parents for a good scolding. Although something about this scenario felt old, you also felt like L wasn't upset with you.

A knock rapped against the door and you jumped, sitting up straight and smoothing out any visible wrinkles on your dress. "Come in," you called, finally hoping it was L.

A thin beam of light peaked in through the cracked door, being opening to reveal L slinking in at last. He gently shut the door behind him and locked it, making slow strides to meet you.

"Apologies for my brief absence. Had to ensure Light understood the protocol to this current task, I'm sure you forgive me," L announced as he shifted to the same couch you were on. He assumed his usual hunched over posture, scrunching his feet once he was comfortable.

"Oh, n-no worries at all, sir. I operate on your time of course," you shyly assured. You shifted your weight getting ready to stand until L spoke up to you.

"No need to fumble over your words, Y/N. Either you say what's on your mind matter-of-factly or you say nothing at all. That's just the way it is," Lawliet persisted. You nodded as your face grew hot, moving to grab the cart and begin to serve him.

"Black, 10 cubes, half cream, please," he mumbled just barely loud enough for you to register. You nodded and began to prepare L's tea.

"Please wheel the cart in the middle in front of us, will you." You did as you were told and moved the cart, now allowing both you and L to access it without stepping around each other. You served him and he gave thanks, waisting no time on sipping it all down in a couple of gulps. The tray of tea cakes, pastries and other sweets slowly decreased as you watched L enjoy his food. He spoke after eliciting a questionable sounding groan.

"You are welcome to join me, if you'd like. I understand if you aren't fond of tea and baked goods, I'll gladly devour them all myself," Lawliet affirmed.

"You mean I can help you drink this tea, and eat all this dessert?" You asked nervously. You were hesitant since it was only normal for him to dive face first into this assortment of sugar and caffeine.

"No no, I insist. Please-mmph- help yourself if you want," L groaned with food stuffed between his cheeks. The sounds he made while he ate were a kin to your ears for a while. They always made you wonder what he would sound like eating something else-

You began to sweat and chuckled a little, reaching over and fixing yourself a cup of tea and grabbing a few snack cakes to eat. The two of you drank and ate in partial silence, as the only noise was L's borderline pornographic moaning as he savored every last bite and sip of his confections. Once you finished your portions and tidied yourself up accordingly, you cleared your throat in an attempt to speak to L, who almost unbelievably was still chowing down and drinking, in his own little world of pleasure.

"Sir, if I may, can I ask why you've brought me here?" You turned to him as you watched him observe his food, sometimes licking it sensually and sometimes swallowing it whole without a second guess. A lucky couple of cherries on top of a cake got their chance to shine when you were finally introduced to the fact that L Lawliet was able to tie a knot with a double cherry stem with his tongue and eat both cherries. You watched in awe, wondering what you wouldn't give to be those cherries.

L caught you staring and answered you, not suspicious of the way you oogled at him, but amazed and admired even. "Yes, you may ask. In all honesty Y/N I just wanted to get to know you better. You're a beautiful woman who's stellar at her job and I'd call myself lucky if I had the chance to investigate you invasively," he grinned as he continued to nurse on his tea and sweets.

You crossed your legs as heat pooled in your cheeks and stomach, lowering into your core that made your cunt tingle at the way he complimented you. You could testify that Lawliet had a way with words, intellectually and socially, even if he didn't normally act the part. With you, he seemed comfortable, bold even. So bold that he had the nerve to make the first move.

L quickly shifted his body weight to face you as he lunged in your direction, pouncing on top of you as he caged you beneath him. Your back spazzed against the plush cushions of the couch, pinning your thighs together as you bit your lip to prevent from screaming. What the hell was he doing on top of you like this, was he some sort of apex predator?

L cleared his throat and scratched his head, resuming his tone of voice. "Forgive me, Y/N. It just so happened that I caught you glancing at me just now. Was it your intention to turn me on so suddenly, therefore leaving you helplessly pinned beneath me on this couch?" His void-like eyes bore into your soul, reading your expressions so well that you felt you had no need fo answer. He already knew your answer. You whimpered and nodded your head, your face unbearably hot as your shifted your legs together.

Your pussy ached as L's hand reached for your face, caressing your soft, plush cheek and squishing them ever so lightly to get your lips to pucker. "Mmph, f-fuck yes," you babbled. He licked his own lips as he lowered his face toward yours, latching his surprisingly soft lips onto yours. His tongue boldly broke between your lips as he evaded your mouth, swirling around in search of your tongue to nip and suck on. His opposite hand reached in between your legs to separate them, then lowering his hips to grind up against you, his cock painfully strained against his jeans.

Light gasps of air and soft huffs escaped your mouths as you sloppily kissed and sucked on each other's flesh, L finding an interestingly sensitive spot on your neck you practically melted for as you whined. Your hands latched onto his white shirt, gripping him tightly as you could feel the tip of his dick rub up against your clit. Your lace underwear was now soaked, getting some of your arrousal on his jeans. He airly chuckled and continued to moan as he made out with you, shaking like a leaf beneath him.

He broke the kiss to get a breath of fresh air, licking his lips repeatedly to taste the sweetness of your lips on his. He hummed and flashed you a small grin, a pink tinted blush covering his pale cheeks. You giggled and returned the smile, biting your lip and batting your eyelashes up at him. Ever since you saw him, you thought he was an interesting character, somehow finding him cute.

Now that you're up close and personal, you never knew how much of a freaky pervert L Lawliet was.

"Would you care to find out what else my mouth is capable of?" he cooed.

Fucking bastard.

#death note x reader #death note #l lawliet #l lawliet x reader smut #l death note #death note smut #ryuzaki lawliet #Ryuzaki Lawliet x reader #fanfic #x reader #smut #l lawliet x reader #l x reader #L

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artificial-ascension · 4 months

Text

Reading through the wolrds surely most accurate source, Death Note fan wiki, I have accumulated a list of Wammys kid letters that are confirmed in some source to have an individual associated:

A- First successor of L, dead by suicide, mentioned in Death Note: Another Note

B- Beyond Birthday, number two of the first known successors behind A and a main character of Death Note: Another Note

D- Shown on L's mailing list in L: Change The World film

E- Shown on L's mailing list in L: Change The World film

F- Appears in the opening of L: Change The World film on a massion for L, dies via helicopter attack*

G- Shown on L's mailing list in L: Change The World film

H- Sends L an email informing him of F's death in L: Change The World

I- Shown on L's mailing list in L: Change The World film

J- Appears in the game L: The Prologue To Death Note, the game is unavailable in English so little is know of them, presumably a Wammys kid based on name, a separate J appears in the second episode of Death Note: A New Generation, she is not out right stated to be a Wammys kid, but she is assumed to be

K- Antagonist of L: Change The World book and film

L- If you do not know who L is why are you here, also Linda is a child who appears briefly in the manga and is responsible for the drawings of Near and Mello (I belive that is only presumed but I may be wrong, I can not remember where it was said)

M- Mello, second successor of generation four and a main antagonist of Death Note's main series and Matt, unranked member of generation four appearing as Mello's comrade in both anime amd manga

N- Near, successor of L and number one of generation four, appears in half the places L dose

P- Shown on L's mailing list in L: Change The World film

Q- Shown on L's mailing list in L: Change The World film

R- Shown on L's mailing list in L: Change The World film, their letter is greyed out, presumably indicating they are dead**

T- Shown on L's mailing list in L: Change The World film, their letter is greyed out, presumably indicating they are dead

V- Shown on L's mailing list in L: Change The World film, their letter is greyed out, presumably indicating they are dead

X- Alluded to in Death Note: Another Note as helping in a detective war with L

Y- Alluded to in Death Note: Another Note as helping in a detective war with L

Z- Alluded to in Death Note: Another Note as helping in a detective war with L

Unused letters- C, O, S, T, U, W***, possibly J as both instances of the usage are for individuals only presumed to be successors

Letters with known duplicates- L and M, J(?)

------

Conclusion:

1. L: Change The World introduced a shit ton of Wammys lore for apparently shits and giggles.

2. Alot less dead Wammys kids than I expected. (Only 9/24, that's only over a third. Maybe 10/24 if you count Watari.)

3. I can understand not finding a U or V, but how the hell were there no genius orphans with S or C names??

4. It is impossible for a Death Note title to not have a : in it.

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Notes:

I got this information from the fan wiki and my brain. If it is wrong I'd like to know. I'd also love to hear of any more orphans the fan wiki or I missed.

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*I can verify that that happened. I remember it vividly. Only known Wammys kid to die from a helicopter.

**A greyed name implies death as B's name was also greyed out. However, this also implies L could readily email B whenever he wanted, which is extremely funny.

***W is often totoed as Watari's letter. However, I am not considering him a Wammys kid but this may mean some of the letters shown do not indicate successors but rather other Wammys higher ups.

#this list is for fun I just wanted to see what letters were never used in any source #I find it fascinating that C was never used as it is many people's go to letter for a wammys oc #death note #a death note #beyond birthday #wammys house #l lawliet #mail jeevas #nate river #mihael keehl #I hope I spelled Mellos name right #and on his birthday no less #kimiko kujo #k should be tagged more often she's amazing

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sassycheesecake · 10 months

Text

''All I Want Is You'' - Hajime Iwaizumi x Reader

A/N: During a hot summer day, this idea came to me while I almost suffered a heat stroke at the public pool.

Warnings: cursing

It is boiling hot in Miyagi, no doubt the middle of July not doing any favor to the volleyball team of Aoba Johsai. Training has been canceled due to the extreme heat and the teenagers are extremely bored, not a clue on what to do to kill some time.

Matsukawa, Hanamaki, Iwaizumi and some other members are sitting in the shade of a tree, trying to protect themselves from direct sunlight. The only person that is missing is currently their Captain, Oikawa.

„Ugh, it’s so hoooot.’’ Hanamaki groans in annoyance.

„What made you think that?’’ Matsukawa snorts as he fans himself with his English textbook.

Most of them have taken off parts of their uniform, only leaving them in their dress shirts and a lot of them have loosened ties.

Iwaizumi has his sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, wondering where his best friend is lounging around.

All of sudden, their misery was interrupted when Oikawa came jogging to them with a large grin on his face that screams trouble.

Standing in front of his teammates, he looks at them with excitement.

„Fellas, I know now what we can do to cool off!’’ The brunette proudly announces.

The team looks at him in annoyance but still waits for him to go on.

„A little birdie told me that the swim team is currently away in Tokyo for competition week, so that means the pool is unoccupied.’’

Iwaizumi looks incredibly skeptical and frowns at his best friend.

„Did someone shit in your brain? It’s off limits for non-club members, if someone catches us, we’ll probably get suspended.’’ The brunette warns him.

„Actually, I am in, even if it means I just get to dip my legs in the water for 10 minutes.’’ Hanamaki agrees with Oikawa.

The Ace is even more shocked now.

Hanamaki, Matsukawa, Yahaba and Watari all get up, ready to follow Oikawa to the pool.

Iwaizumi remains seated, not wanting to get in trouble with his teammates.

„Come on, Iwa-chan, live a little and come with us.’’ Oikawa tries to persuade him to come with them.

„No thank you.’’ He declines and makes his way to the school building.

„Just for fifteen minutes at least, come on Iwaizumi. Just 15 minutes and then we will leave.’’ Yahaba tries.

Iwaizumi ponders for a few moments, actually reconsidering his decision.

After a few seconds, he sighs and turns to the direction of his team.

„Fine. Just fifteen minutes and then we will leave. If someone catches us, I am going to hunt every single one of you down and choke you in your sleep.’’

Oikawa cheers, not being intimidated by his threat.

„Don’t worry Iwa-chan, I promise no one will be there. After all, the swim team is gone for the week, no one will be there.’’ Oikawa promises him.

Still, Iwaizumi can’t help but think this is a bad idea.

When they reach the gate of the pool, they look around, double checking no one is there and tries to open the door, only to find out it’s locked.

„God damnit!’’ Hanamaki curses.

„Well, it looks like the universe is trying to tell us something. I am going back.’’ The dark-haired brunette with the spiky hair bluntly states, beginning to turn around and walk back when Yahaba grabs a hold of him.

„Not so fast.’’

When the Wing Spiker turns around again to see Watari beginning to pick at the lock with some instruments he has grabbed from his bag, he widens his eyes at his classmate’s ability to pick locks, watching him as he highly focuses on getting the lock to open up.

After hearing a loud ‘click’ the gate unlocks and Watari proudly steps aside to push the door open with a smirk.

„Where… where did you learn how to do that?’’ Matsukawa asks in a mix between shock and awe.

„I was bored one night and couldn’t sleep, so I watched a YouTube tutorial on how to pick different kinds of locks.’’

Almost like wild dogs, everyone except Iwaizumi begins to run to the pool, taking off their dress shirts and pants to jump into the water.

Multiple people doing jumps cause a big splash of water to land on Iwaizumi and his uniform, almost drenching him to his underwear.

Closing his eyes to try and calm down, he reopens his eyes to watch a bunch of 18 year olds turn into five-year olds.

„Hajime, the water feels amazing! Come and join us.’’ Yahaba floats in the water like a log, looking like he is in bliss.

Sighing in defeat, Iwaizumi rolls up his uniform pants and sits on the edge of the pool to dip his legs in the pool water.

As soon as the cold water consumes up to his knees, he can feel the refreshing cold relaxing his muscles and the Wing Spiker leans his arms behind his back and feels himself relax.

The feeling is indescribable. He can feel his whole body cool off, the heat of the sun now barely noticeable.

It seems like time barely passed because Watari looks at his phone for the time and tells the group it’s already been fifteen minutes.

The boys all look at each other and it’s like they share the same thought of agreeing to stay longer.

„Let’s play Chicken Fight! Maki get on Matsun’s shoulders, Iwa-chan come on mine!’’ The Setter suggests with a gleam in his eyes.

„Chicken wars? What are you? 12?’’ Yahaba laughs.

„I am not getting on your shoulders Crappykawa, first, I don’t trust you, second, I played this last time I was 8 years old.’’ Iwaizumi declines.

Oikawa pouts at his best friend’s answer, turning to Yahaba again.

„Shigeru come on, don’t be a sissy.’’

Yahaba’s eye twitches in annoyance, nonetheless, he accepts the challenge.

„You’re on, captain.’’

Iwaizumi watches his friends with a small smile, happy that they can enjoy their time together before they graduate next year in spring and part their ways to different life paths. Some might stay in Japan, others like Iwaizumi are planning on traveling to the United States for becoming an athletic trainer.

„What the hell do you think you guys are doing?’’ A stern voice interrupts the fun of the rowdy teens.

All freeze, slowly turning around to the voice that cut in on their fun.

It is a girl, around their age, wearing the Aoba Johsai uniform, but she is missing her blazer.

The boys can’t help but gawk in amazement at the beauty queen standing in the sun, glaring at them while tapping her foot in annoyance.

„I locked that gate for a reason, you know. This pool is the property of the Aoba Johsai swim team only. Not for the volleyball team to cool off in or anyone else.’’

Oikawa finds his voice first.

„Well you see cutie-’’ You immediately interrupt him, your gaze gaining more stern.

„Don’t. Call me that.’’

„I give you all 30 seconds to get out of there before I kick your asses out of here myself.’’

As soon as you say those words, the rest of the team scrambles out of the water so fast that you don’t have to say it a second time thankfully.

You watch as they quickly get dressed again, not being fazed by their muscular bodies that glisten in the sunlight from the water.

Running past you, they quickly apologize, just leaving you and Iwaizumi now.

As Iwaizumi is about to walk past you, you say something that makes him stop next to you.

„Out of the bunch of you, I thought you‘d be the most rational person in this group and I admired you for that. Guess I was wrong.“

Taking a deep breath, Iwaizumi continues to walk his path, feeling guilty for breaking the gate open and probably causing you trouble.

He doesn’t see any of his team members, they probably scrambled away like startled cats.

Making his way home, the Wing Spiker can’t help but keep thinking about the words you said to him.

For some reason, he can’t help but think you look familiar. He has seen that beautiful face once or twice but he can’t figure out where.

You never told them your name but you were wearing the school uniform.

As Iwaizumi lays in bed that night, he makes it his priority to find you tomorrow and apologize properly to you, even if it means apologizing for his team as well.

The next morning, Iwaizumi gets to school earlier than usual, waiting by the closed gates in front of the school.

Extremely tired, he leans against the gate, waiting for students to show up. It’s barely light outside, the sun just showing its first rays of the day.

The sky does look beautiful though with just a hint of orange and red showing up on the horizon beneath the woods.

About thirty minutes later, more and more students show up but Iwaizumi doesn't spot you among them.

Finally giving up and not wanting to be late to morning practice, the dark brunette walks to the gym.

During three-on-three matches, the Wing Spiker can barely focus, messing up receives, slamming the volleyball into the net more times than he can count.

“What’s up with you today? It looks like you’re playing volleyball for the first time.” Kindaichi says to the Ace.

“I don’t know, something keeps bothering me but I can’t pinpoint it exactly.”

Having listened to their conversation, Hanamaki makes his appearance, swiping his sweat off his face with a towel.

“Sounds to me like you’re feeling guilty Hajime. Is this about the girl from yesterday?”

“Girl? What girl?” Kindaichi frowns in confusion.

“We broke into the swim club’s pool yesterday for cooling off and the manager that stayed behind caught and scolded us.” Matsukawa laughs.

Iwaizumi stays quiet, pondering if he should try again to look for you and apologize on his and his team’s behalf.

All of sudden, he feels a heavy arm wrap around his neck, startling him.

“Awwww Iwa-chan is in looooooove.” Oikawa taunts him.

Elbowing the Caption in the stomach, the Setter groans in pain, immediately letting go of him.

After morning practice is over, the third-years make their way to the classes, talking among themselves and laughing together.

Iwaizumi is walking next to Yahaba in the back, about to enter the classroom, when he sees a familiar figure out of the corner of his eye that halts his steps.

It was you.

You are putting a paper up against the poster board in the hallway, having a neutral look on your face as you put pins in the corner of the paper.

“Hajime, you coming? Maths is about to start.” Yahaba interrupts.

“Yeah… I… uh… I will be right in.” Iwaizumi says distractedly, making his way over you.

Yahaba shrugs, making his way to his seat.

The heart of the Wing Spiker begins to beat rapidly, he can feel his hands starting to sweat, his stomach doing somersaults, the closer he gets to you.

Last night, he practiced what he wanted to say to you, so this should be no problem.

Until it is.

As soon as he is close enough, his throat gets dry and his mind is blank.

What did he want to do again?

Fuck.

Sensing that Iwaizumi is standing there, not getting a word out with a face so red, you’d think his head is about to pop off.

Raising your eyebrow in confusion, you wait for him to say something but he stutters incomprehensible words out of his mouth, not being able to form proper sentences.

“You okay? You having a stroke?” You ask.

Iwaizumi has to calm down, before he actually gets one from all the stress his body is going through at this moment.

Clearing his throat, he finally finds his words.

“Listen. I am sorry about me and my team’s behavior yesterday. It was wrong of us to break into the pool, I hope you didn’t get into trouble.”

You stare at him for a few seconds, looking deep into his eyes, thinking if he actually means his apology or not.

His dark green eyes show certainty though, regret reflects among it.

“Alright. I forgive you. Thank you for having the courage and maturity to apologize personally to me. And I am sorry too. For indirectly calling you immature.”

Iwaizumi smiles at your apology and you can feel your heart skip a beat.

That smile really suits him, better than the frown he usually carries on his handsome face.

“May I ask for your name?” Iwaizumi rubs his hand against his neck. A small blush spread across his cheeks.

Giggling at his nervousness, you introduce yourself.

“My name is (Y/L/N) (Y/F/N). Class 3-C.”

In return, Iwaizumi introduces himself as well.

“Iwaizumi Hajime, pleasure to meet you (Y/N).”

Oikawa watches the scene behind the door frame, happy that his best friend managed to find you and has the courage to talk to you.

Nonetheless, he has to have fun poking the bear with a stick every now and then.

‘’You know (Y/N)-chan, Iwa-chan here has a weak spot for cute, nerdy girls that work for the swim team and would LOVE to have your number.’’

‘’SHITTYKAWA!’’

@rukia-uchiha-98 @wake-uptoreality @nerd-of-karasuno @darthferbert

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