#*sigh

author’s note: Okay, so! Normally I write stuff in narrative format, obviously. But I went with a bit of a throwback here and did the bullet headcanons like I used to write on here. The language may be a bit more informal from the stuff you’re used to from me, but it's lighthearted and fluffy and I hope you enjoy! (These ended up being a mix of headcanons and oneshots. Whoops.)

being Beyond Birthday’s boyfriend (BBBB? see what i did there? haha)

I’ll provide background here if you’re unfamiliar with the character. Spoilers to Death Note: Another Note (which is actually a rly fun read).

Okay so! Beyond Birthday was raised at Wammy’s House, aka where Watari raised children in an attempt to find another L. B was for “backup”. Sad, I know. Anyway, he spent pretty much his entire life there. The only other relevant piece to these headcanons is that Beyond was born with Shinigami Eyes, which means he can see a person’s name and lifespan upon looking at them. The book puts it very well: “The ability to see one’s remaining life is the ability to see death. Death, death, death. Beyond Birthday lived his life unceasingly reminded that all humans would eventually die.” 

So you can see how that fucks a person up. But! I have boyfriend headcanons anyways, don’t worry. Here we go!

You’re convinced B is trying to give you health issues. Because the guy is constantly giving you sweets and dumping sugar into your drinks when you’re not looking. It’s almost frustrating, and at one point, you have to sit him down and explain that your adult body can’t handle coffee that’s more solid than liquid. 

He’ll still provide you snacks and candy often, though. He starts by just experimenting, then learns your favorites and makes sure to have those on hand. 

He usually hates when people call him “B” (bad memories), but he likes when you do it. 

Veryyyyyy clingy. Very, very clingy. Has no problem with sticking to your side like glue, or holding your hand and refusing to let go—even if you need to pull out your wallet or grab your phone or something. He’ll always back off if it gets to be too much for you, of course. 

You’re not a PDA person? Too bad. Too. Bad. Because B is all over you in public. Not to say he’s doing anything scandalous—it’s just that he has no qualms about making it clear that you’re together. You’re almost always touching, he’ll talk to you while standing closer than socially appropriate, things like that. But you can’t blame him for it, considering his isolated childhood.

On some of Beyond’s worst days, he’ll just sit cross-legged in front of you and stare up at your lifespan. He’ll just sit there for hours on end. Or, at least, he would if you let him. Usually, after five minutes or so, you get worried and try to shake him out of it. Typically by bribing him with excessive sugar. 

B always checks the number above your head when you arrive and depart. Doesn’t matter where you’re going. It could be the bathroom two feet away or your office, doesn’t matter. He always checks your lifespan. 

B hates seeing you injured. Hates it. Regardless of if it’s a simple papercut or a common cold or a genuine long-lasting issue, he hates it. He’s already constantly reminded of the fragility of humanity, the impermanence of life, on a day-to-day basis. Seeing people’s lifespans is more than enough to remind him of that. But whenever you’re hurt, he’s once again confronted by his own helplessness. That one day, death will take you too. 

Sometimes, he’ll retreat and stay away for days. He’ll convince himself that it’s for the best, that you shouldn’t even be associating with him because death always follows him. B pretty much quarantines, picking a random isolated location and locking himself in. 

You always manage to find him, because he leaves breadcrumbs for you. A discarded Post-It Note, even a crossword puzzle one time (that one took you longer than it should have). Somewhere along the way, you wonder if it’s just for his own entertainment. But either way, you always find him. 

B doesn’t do well with crowds, especially considering his eyes. Sometimes, he’ll wear sunglasses; other times, he’ll just screw his eyes shut and hold onto you if things get too bad. You’ve grown used to his death grip on your arm as you guide him through the city streets, as you’ve grown accustomed to dimming the lights in your home and avoiding busy areas. 

He also refuses to separate from you in public. You’re going to the bathroom? Great, he’s coming with and lingering by the sink. Taking a phone call outside? He heads out with you and leaves your table empty. (You soon learn not to go to sit-down restaurants after that.) 

Cuddles! So many cuddles. Expect to be smothered and nearly suffocated in your sleep. And in waking life, honestly. He’ll tuck his head into the crook of your neck and just… sit there. Sometimes he’ll sit with his head in your lap and just look up at you (which you’ve told him has to be the weirdest angle, but he doesn’t seem to care). On one notable occasion, when you’re a bit cross with him and you get up, he actually clings to your leg and doesn’t let go. It’s hard to stay mad at him after that. 

being Light’s boyfriend

Light is a good-looking guy, charming and polite. So you’re not exactly surprised by his popularity on your campus. You are surprised, though, when you’re paired with him for a partner project and he ends up actually doing his part of the work. Guys like him are usually a wild card—they’ll take over the entire project themselves, or ghost you before doing a single scrap of work, only to show up for the presentation as if they’d been there the whole time. Ridiculous. 

But no. Light proves to be a good project partner, and you guys get a 98%. You rate him well on the peer assessment survey, and he must do the same for you, because your individual score is a 100%. 

You don’t expect to see Light again, so you’re surprised when you review your writing center tutoring sessions for the day and spot his name in one of your timeslots. 

(He later admits, after you start dating, that he’d already turned in his paper the day prior. You chew him out for wasting your time, but he shrugs it off with a “You were getting paid, so I didn’t feel too bad about it.” lmao)

Light isn’t a PDA guy, contrary to what you might think. He’s more for the smaller gestures—holding a door open for you and then guiding you in with a hand on the small of your back, tangling your fingers together under the coffee table, things like that.

But back to Light’s popularity… Yeah. He’s getting stared at and hit on rather frequently by the women (and sometimes other people) on campus. Sometimes, it feels like you can’t go a single day without someone hitting on your boyfriend, and you’ve begrudgingly gotten used to it. You’re far from the possessive type, and Light always politely shuts them down. Sometimes he’ll tease you about it, but he never goes too far—and he’s always quick to remind you of his loyalty. 

Now… when you get hit on? It’s over. OVER. OVERRRR. It’s so over. Let me tell you why. Let me set the scene. 

You’re at the coffee shop on campus, after your class getting out a bit early. Light is on his way. You’re typing away on your computer when there’s a sudden presence in front of you, at a polite distance. You look up and find a guy smiling at you hesitantly—you think he’s in one of your classes. He compliments the stickers on your laptop, you get into conversation and you start to forget you’re even waiting for someone. 

Enter Light. He makes his way to your usual table with practiced ease, only to blink and momentarily reorient as he realizes you’re speaking with someone. A guy he’s never seen before. 

“Hey,” Light says when he finds you, neglecting his usual seat across from you and sidling up to you in the booth. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and crosses one leg over the other, not even bothering to acknowledge the other guy’s presence. “Didn’t keep you waiting too long, did I?” he asks casually. Immediate. Effective. The other guy is retreating rather quickly after that. 

You know what he just did. You send him a glance, as if to say, ‘Really?’ Light only smirks, allowing himself a brief moment of victory and satisfaction. He proceeds to sit next to you for the remainder of your afternoon, making no effort to maintain an appropriate distance. 

If a woman flirts with you? Light abandons all social pretense. He doesn’t bother introducing himself, simply going, “He’s gay, don’t bother.” Cue you having to apologize for your idiotic boyfriend—who definitely knows exactly what he’s doing—while said idiotic boyfriend sits there with a smirk on his face. Ugh.

Light also gets very particular about how you present yourself. He doesn’t police what you wear, but he gets fidgety and all up in your space to fix your collar, remove a piece of lint, et cetera. Sometimes, you think he just invents reasons to touch you. You decide not to comment on it. 

Physical contact can really depend on the day. Sometimes, he’ll keep you at arms-length and settle for the occasional brush of your shoulders. Other times, Light’s hand is fused to your wrist or upper arm.

being Matsuda’s boyfriend

He talks about you constantly. Everyone in the task force is sick and tired of hearing about you, at this point HAHA. He’ll be like “did I tell you guys he—” and Aizawa just cuts in and goes “Yes. You did. A hundred times.” 

It’s only a matter of time before L himself goes: “Just introduce him so you can stop impeding the investigation.” 

Of course Matsuda BEAMS when he hears this. Because, uh, the whole Task Force wants to meet his boyfriend? Fuck yeah! 

You have a storm coming, though. Because Matsuda really did not do any of the Task Force characters justice. Yes, characters. Because they’re all kind of crazy. 

Fortunately, you don’t have to actually go to their headquarters—you suspect they wouldn’t let you in anyway. Instead, one night, Matsuda is dragging you along to a post-work outing at a nearby bar. And of course, in typical Matsuda fashion, you’re both late. Which means you have the unfortunate experience of watching everyone’s heads swivel towards the two of you the moment you arrive.

You slip into the seat next to Matsuda, and immediately, everyone and their mother is staring at you. Matsuda’s hand on your knee is just about the only thing keeping you at the table. You introduce yourself hesitantly and everyone else does the same. 

“Matsuda never shuts up about you,” Aizawa volunteers, when the silence starts to grow awkward. Matsuda flushes pink and several people laugh. 

“We were starting to think you were imaginary,” another man jokes, nudging Matsuda’s shoulder teasingly. 

“Well, sorry to disappoint,” you say with a slight smile. “I’m real. Unfortunately.” 

The two guys on your left are both being rather obvious with their scrutiny. First, there’s the one at your side: white long-sleeved shirt and jeans, shaggy black hair and dark eyes… and bare feet. He’s crouching on the seat with his knees pulled up to his chest. The detective, Ryuzaki.

“You’re not wearing shoes,” you realize when the table starts to descend into smaller conversations. “Aren’t your feet cold?” 

“...No,” he responds. 

“And dirty?” you ask. “And scraped up and stuff?” You can’t imagine walking around downtown Tokyo without shoes is very practical, especially these days. 

“No,” L repeats. 

“Okay,” you sigh, relenting. “Well, nice to meet you too,” you say dryly.  

“I’m Light Yagami,” the man across from him volunteers. You drag your eyes over to find a guy with warm brown hair, brown eyes, and a polite smile. “Nice to meet you. We’ve heard a lot about you.” 

“Nice to meet you too,” you respond, shaking his hand over the table. His grip lingers for a moment. His smile drips at the edges for a split second. You keep quiet and withdraw your hand. 

You try your best to remain a fixture in the background, but it’s only so long before that luxury is lost. The detective at your side is the one to break through it. “What do you think of Kira?” Ryuzaki asks you. Everyone falls silent. You shoot a glance at Matsuda. He just gives you a lopsided smile.

“Do you want the polite answer or the real one?” you huff. 

“The real one,” L answers with an owlish blink. 

“I… don’t know,” you say. “I understand we need systemic change— that much is…” Shit. You’re talking about systemic change in front of a bunch of police officers. Maybe not the best idea. But Ryuzaki just gives you a slight nod, and Matsuda squeezes your knee briefly, and you continue. “…Clear. The justice system upholds a lot of prejudices, yes. But the actions of one vigilante—or killer, or whatever—can’t fix that. Especially not when it comes to enforcing a moral code. Like… Kira doesn’t want unbiased justice, he just wants his version of justice. Which isn’t the same as yours, or mine, or whatever.” 

“And that’s fine,” you admit. “It’s just… you know, a lie. It’s clever, I guess. Claiming to have the entire country’s best interests at heart. But it seems closer to vengeance than justice.” 

“Plus, it’s very limited in scope,” you continue, unable to stop yourself now. “What makes Japan the country that needs the most assistance? There are plenty of other countries out there with far more pressing issues, criminality running rampant, like… I don’t know.” 

“Not to mention, life in prison is a better punishment for criminals than death is,” you frown. “Death is an easy escape. If someone is given a life sentence and Kira kills them immediately, isn’t that just letting them off early? I mean, I hate the carceral state as much as the next guy, but…” Jesus, you need to shut the fuck up! You have to forcibly stop yourself from going on a rant. 

“Um.” You cough awkwardly. “I mean. Yeah.” You shoot a helpless and apologetic glance at Matsuda, only to find him with that almost unnoticeable smile on his lips. Your hand finds his under the table and he tangles his fingers in yours, squeezing your hand reassuringly. You relax a bit. 

“Well, that was…” Soichiro says awkwardly. 

“Correct,” Ryuzaki answers. He nods once jerkily, turning his head to face you. Then he looks past you at Matsuda. “I see why you like him, Matsuda.”

The rest of the outing goes about as well as can be expected. Ryuzaki is quiet, eventually pulling out some fruit snacks. At your sidelong glance, he offers you a packet and you immediately accept with a grin. Some of the other Task Force members are in conversation and you leave them be. You’re situated closer to the younger people, fortunately. Everyone seems nice enough, and when everyone gets ready to go, you slip your hand into Matsuda’s and follow after him. 

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” Light says again as you stand on the pavement outside the bar, sending you a terse nod. He looks at your boyfriend next. “Well done, Matsuda.” 

Matsuda frowns for a split second, as if bothered by the phrasing of that sentence. But he doesn’t comment on it, instead shooting you a quick smile. “You are pretty great, huh?” he beams.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you tease him, reaching out and interlacing your fingers. Once the two of you are alone in your walk back to the car, Matsuda exhales in a punctuated breath. 

“Are you okay?” you ask him, concerned. “I didn’t do too badly, did I?” You tried to be polite but true to yourself at the same time. It’s a hard line to walk sometimes—being honest about oppression in front of the people who uphold the system. 

“No, you were perfect,” Matsuda reassures you immediately. “Seriously. We’re kind of a weird bunch. I’m just… really glad you came.” 

“Of course I did,” you smile. “Wouldn’t miss it.” Matsuda smiles back and pulls you into a kiss, tugging you closer with your interlocked hands. You can’t get very far before there’s an exaggerated wolf whistle from one of his coworkers—both of you break apart quickly after that, embarrassed but content nonetheless. 

being L’s boyfriend

You’re just about the only person who can get L to step away from his work. Sometimes you have to drag his rolling chair across the floor and push him towards the bathroom or kitchen. Other times, you just stand there until he gets the message. 

Getting him to eat feels like a lost cause sometimes, but you try your best. Watari and you often conspire to sneak protein into his food, though L usually notices and wrinkles his nose. You eventually convince him to try protein drinks—strawberry flavored, of course—and he begrudgingly accepts these when you’re stubborn enough. 

It’s ironic in the worst of ways: L will let himself approach the brink of death without care, but the moment you skip a meal or go to bed late? Suddenly you’re in for the most hypocritical lecture of your life. These conversations always go something like this: 

L: “You didn’t (insert important human biological need here).”

You: “It’s not a big deal—” 

L: “Humans need (insert amount of important biological need here).” 

You, sardonically: “Right, because you’re the expert.” 

L, without sarcasm: “Yes, I am.” 

You: “What, so being the world’s best detective makes you immune to such plebian needs?” 

L, scowling: “...No…” 

And so on and so forth. This happens at least once a week, and will probably happen again and again until the end of time, because neither of you are willing to compromise. 

Still, L tries his best. And as for him? Well, he’s observant as hell. In a bad mood? Boom. Ibuprofen for the headache you didn’t even realize you had. Thirsty? Your favorite drink is waiting on your desk before you can get up. 

Sometimes, you’ll play it up when you know that he’s suffering too—because his attention on you drags him away from his work, finally, and gives him a break that he will never admit he actually needed.

There are lots of sweets involved, of course! You’re a decent baker, so you’ll retreat to the kitchen sometimes and surprise him with freshly baked cookies or brownies. L doesn’t usually look away from his work, but whenever you bring him treats, he always makes sure to make eye contact and express his gratitude. 

You can’t tell me this man isn’t incredibly touch-starved. He will absolutely never admit it, he’ll deny that physical touch is ever something he needs. But he is. L is sooooo touch-starved. The best part? You never mind. Sometimes he’ll just walk up to you apropos of nothing and rest his chin on your shoulder and just stand there. An arm around your waist, a hand on top of yours. These gestures are always silent, never explained. (And if anyone sees, he will profusely assert that your proximity improves his deductive reasoning.) 

Let’s say you usually dress comfortably around him. Jeans, sweatshirts, sweatpants. You’ll dress up if you need to, but in the first few months of dating the need never arises. And of course L never comments, because his closet consists of the same white shirt and jeans in duplicates. Until one day… you have a work event. The dress code is cocktail attire. You end up getting dressed and everything at L’s place (headquarters) since it’s closer to your workplace. It’s only around 3 p.m. when you emerge in your suit, feeling confident but also dreading the long night ahead. 

“You’re wearing a suit,” L observes. 

“I am,” you agree. “You like it?”

“It fits well,” the detective responds. 

Of course he’d say that. He could never admit to liking it, so he states a fact instead. You huff in amusement. “Good.” 

“This is for the gala?” L asks. “When will you return?” 

“Yeah,” you confirm. “I don’t know, 11 or 12ish?” 

His nose wrinkles in distaste. L is always awake far later into the night, but he seems irritated by this inconvenience. “This event is mandatory,” he states. It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself. 

“Unfortunately,” you agree. 

“Even if there were to be a national emergency,” L continues. You resist a laugh. 

“Even then,” you say. 

And your boyfriend huffs. Huffs. You’re so shocked by the uncharacteristic gesture that you actually laugh. It’s so cute. This only makes him scowl, but the flush on his cheeks makes it even more endearing. You fight off a smile and walk over to where he’s sitting, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll be back soon, okay?” you hum, walking back towards the doors. 

L proceeds to sit there, frozen and in flustered disbelief, for several minutes after. 

Fast forward to about midnight, you walk back into headquarters after a long but good night. L is still at his computer, unsurprisingly. You take your shoes off, then hang your jacket up nearby. Next comes the tie, which you just throw onto the couch before loosening your collar so you can finally breathe again.

You don’t notice until you’re finished that L has already turned around and is watching you. This isn’t unusual for your boyfriend—he’s always staring and making observations of the world around him. But this feels different, lighter. Gentler, more private. It’s just the two of you now. 

“Some people find this attractive,” he states, eyes flitting to the discarded tie, the suit jacket you ditched, the open collar of your shirt. 

You’re surprised by the statement. “Are you included in that ‘some people’?” you tease. 

Even more surprising is his answer: “I don’t find it… unattractive.” Which, in normal circumstances, would feel conciliatory. But this is L. And judging from the way he’s looking at you, he finds it more than just adequate.

Your feet start to hurt, and you sigh before falling into the couch. You close your eyes for a selfish moment, needing a second to just breathe. 

A slight rustling sound disturbs your thoughts, and you peek your eyes open to find L standing in front of you. “I always find you attractive,” he says. A pause. He bites his thumb. Looks askance. Then he meets your eyes again, and matter-of-factly says: “Handsome. I like the suit.” 

You’re sure the smile on your face must look absolutely stupid, but he only offers you a hand. You take it and he urges you to your feet, before tangling his fingers in yours and starting to walk. You don’t question him at this point, instead allowing him to lead you into your bedroom. You proceed to flop onto the bed and groan a bit dramatically. 

“You should take the suit off,” L says, calm as always. 

You roll over and look at him. “Eager, are we?” you tease. 

L’s brows furrow and he looks away, but you catch it: a blush on his cheeks. He tries to hide it by going into your closet and grabbing clothes. You commit it to memory anyway.

After you change, he turns back around and lingers awkwardly. You motion for him to come closer tiredly, and he sits at the edge of the bed. “You can stay, if you want,” you offer. “...But no sleeping in jeans.” 

L hums and exits the room. You take that as a sign that he isn’t interested. You start to drift off, and even the gentle rustle and cautious shifting of the sheets as he joins you minutes later isn’t enough to wake you. 

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the Light ones were less headcanon-y, 'cause the more I thought about it, the more I was like "yeah, there's no way he'd be a good boyfriend..." LMAO

anyway, thanks for reading! <3 BB ilysm my shaylaaaaaa

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