Ryuzaki Lawliet - Tumblr Posts

Could I request a L x black reader where the reader is and african princess and was always spoiled and she came to Japan for studies and she met l L would like it to be a hc

Of course! I will get started on it! 😊

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; you had been a highschool senior, he a year younger, and 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

Aw~ L looks so ✨handsome✨

I finally finished this doodle, after several weeks 💭 i completely forgot about it 🫢

I finally finished this doodle, after several weeks 💭 i completely forgot about it 🫢

Death Note in a nutshell!

hii, so I saw that you write for L and I was wondering if you could write an Lx reader where he meets the reader's friends? it's completely fine if you don't want to, but thank you in advance :)

I’d love to! :D . Sorry if it isn’t exactly what you wanted or that good.

L Lawliet - Café Introductions

Lawliet meets your friends

Warnings: None :D

Reader Gender not specified

(F/n) stands for friend name

L missed you. You told him you were going out with your friends earlier to the cute little café that opened up down the street recently. Even though you’d only left about ten minutes ago, he couldn’t help but miss your presence.

So he decided there could be no harm out of stopping by to make sure you were okay. Before he had even realized it, he had already pulled on a coat to combat the cold winter weather and was already at the door of the little café.Taking a small breath to steady himself, he hesitantly put his hand on the door and pushed it open.

The coffee shop was adorned with festive decorations, yet to be taken down from the holidays, the strong aroma of coffees and hot cocoa filling his nose. L looked around, finding you at a table in the corner, laughing with 3 other people, who he assumed are your friends. You look so beautiful when you laugh.

L walked over to you, and gently tapped your shoulder. Your eyes lit up with surprise as you quickly lept out of your chair to give him a hug. Dragging a chair over for him to sit next to you, you looked back over to your friends,watching as they all gave you slightly puzzled looks.

You realized it was because they hadn’t met him yet, so it’d be the perfect time to make some introductions.

“So everyone this is my boyfriend, Ryuzaki. Ryuzaki these are my friends.” You said, gesturing back and forth between the people. You were about to say something else when you were quickly cut off by the shouts of your friends.

“WHAT” all four of them shouted simultaneously.

“You better not hurt her or else!” One yelled.

“I have no plans to ever do that” You were taken by surprise at his sweet words. Smiling happily, you looked over at him, and held his hand, knowing he wasn’t the best in social situations. The one sitting next to you leaned over and whispered in your ear.

“Why is he so hot, nice catch Y/n”You smiled softly at your friends’ behaviors as they began asking him questions and teasing the two of you.

L ended up staying the whole time as your friends didn’t mind him being there. The, now five, of you had fun staying till the sun started to set. You all had to part ways for the time being, but you couldn’t wait to spend time with them again.

You were happy that your friends had approved of L and L of them