The hotel room was silent enough for a pindrop to echo. Not a single sound from the city below filtered through the thick windows, the walls. Light had confirmed as much, ensured they were entirely soundproof.
He didn’t like risks.
He calculated them.
Y/N stood near the blind blocked window, posture composed, back straight despite the obvious tension threading her shoulders. She didn’t speak, didn’t move. She wouldn’t dare-- not until he acknowledged her.
Light poured himself a glass of water at the counter in the edge of the room. Calm. Controlled.
“You arrived on time,” he said without turning around.
Her voice came soft. but certain. “You asked for me. I wouldnt have made you wait.”
He took a sip, then set the glass down. The faintest smile touched his lips. “Blind obedience. Anyone would be reasonable enough to consider that… stupid.”
“I don’t think its stupid to believe in something greater than myself.”
He turned to face her.
Y/N held his gaze—hands still clasped before, waiting. She looked at him the way others looked at icons in magazines.
Light stepped closer. “And you’re certain I’m that something greater?”
“You’re not ‘something,’” she murmured. “You’re everything.”
There was a long pause. Then he laughed. Delighted. Deranged.
“So youre not a supporter—you’re a radical.”
“If thats what you want to call me.”
Light’s expression shifted, something analytical flickering behind his eyes. He looked at her like a test result exactly as expected.
“Fanaticism,” he mused, “isn’t inherently useful. It burns out quickly. But devotion? Obedience? That lasts.”
He stepped into her space. Not roughly, not with heat—just presence. Purpose. His eyes didn’t drop to her lips, or her dress. He looked straight into her like he was examining her soul.
“Tell me,” he said quietly. “How far would you go to prove your loyalty?”
She didn’t hesitate. “As far as you ask.”
“You’d die for me?”
“I’d rather live for you,” she whispered, “but yes. If you wanted my death, Id offer it.”
Light’s head tilted slightly. “I don’t require your death. That would be wasteful.”
He brushed a hand through his hair, casual. Calculated.
“But I do require your obedience.”
“Okay.”
He stepped back half a pace, just enough to assess her properly. There was no fear in her, no attempt to seduce him, no nervous laughter to soften the tension. She was serious.
That was rare. And valuable. He could almost calculate all the ways he could use her to seem innocent. To make everyone understand that Kira was god on earth.
“Take off your coat,” he said.
She obeyed immediately, slipping the black wool from her shoulders. Her dress clung modestly to her frame, but the exposure was deliberate. Intentional submission.
He gestured with a glance. “On the chair.”
She did, then returned to stand before him.
He circled her once, slowly. His footsteps were quiet on the carpet, each movement deliberate. Not as a man tempted by beauty. But as a god testing the defects of an offering.
“You’re very calm,” he said from behind her. “Most people shake under pressure. Especially women like you-- young, eager, idealistic.”
She didn’t flinch.
“On your knees.”
She lowered herself to the carpet like she’d rehearsed it. No hesitation.
He stepped in front of her. Her gaze lingering at his shoes.
“Look at me,” he said.
She did.
There was that suffocating silence again. He let it stretch, watching her. Her lips were parted slightly. Her pupils dilated. Her hands rested neatly on her thighs.
Light touched her chin, tilting her face up just slightly. “Youre cute when you know your place.”
A shiver passed through her.
“Tell me,” he said softly. “Who do you belong to?”
“To you,” she breathed. “To Kira.”
“Say it properly.”
She straightened slightly, eyes glassy with reverence. “You are Kira. You are my god.”
Light smiled. Not indulgently. Not cruelly. But with a quiet, terrible, psychopathic satisfaction.
Control began before a word was ever spoken.
Light turned away-- sat on the edge of the bed, legs parted, sleeves rolled just enough to seem casual, collar still buttoned. His belt remained fastened. He hadn’t so much as loosened his tie.
He didn’t need to.
Her eyes followed every subtle motion of his—like he was gravity and she was barely resisting orbit.
“I didn’t ask you here for this,” he said, his tone even, smooth. “But I expected it.”
Y/N swallowed. “If it’s not what you want—”
“I didn’t say that,” he interrupted gently. “You misunderstand me.”
He tilted his head, studying her. “Devotion has many forms. Some people offer praise. Others offer service. But... there are ones who offer themselves without being told.”
Her breath caught.
“I want to see what kind of believer you are,” he said. “If your faith in me is more than words. If it’s... instinct.”
She nodded slowly, a flush spreading across her cheeks. “Let me show you.”
Light didn’t touch her. He didn’t need to.
“Then show me.”
She moved. Carefully, like every motion was sacred. Her fingers found the zipper at the back of her dress. She pulled it down, and her eyes never left his.
The dress slid from her body and pooled at her feet. She stepped out of it and stood there—bare, trembling, yet completely still. Waiting.
He simply watched her, back straight, watching her like a king accepting an offering.
She moved to him—crawling onto his lap, knees on either side of his thighs, the heat of her body meeting the cold of his. Her fingers reached for his belt, but paused.
He raised a brow.
“Yes,” he said simply.
She undid it with care, tugging just enough to free him, but not daring to ask for more. He didn’t rush her. He let her discover him. Let her choose this.
And in that silence, she believed it was her decision.
She practically gaped for a moment, just holding him, stroking him lightly until her got hard. And when he did, she carefully pulled the fabric of her underwear to the side, sinking down on him, it was slow—achingly so. Her mouth fell open, hands gripping his shirt for balance. He didn’t grunt, didn’t pant, didn’t lose control, show enjoyment. His hands stayed firm on her hips, fingers pressing lightly into skin.
As she seated herself fully, her eyes closed, overwhelmed.
“You feel that?” he murmured, lips close to her ear. “That’s not pleasure. That’s purpose.”
She moaned softly, her body already trembling. She moved cautiously, carefully, as if afraid to disappoint him.
He didn’t thrust—he guided. Subtle shifts of his hands, the tension in his thighs beneath her, kept her rhythm exactly where he wanted it.
“Every part of you,” he whispered, “was made for this. To serve. For me.”
She whimpered, clutching the fabric of his shirt. “I want to serve you. I want to be enough.”
His voice was a caress and a leash all at once. “You are. Right now, you are. Your god.”
The praise was soft but surgical. She rode him with more urgency now, the slap of her thighs against his fabric shielded ones audible in the stillness of the room. Her breath stuttered, skin glowing in the low, flickering light (ha! what an amazing double entendre! im such a good writer!! and i totally dont feel corny at all!).
He brushed her hair back with careful fingers. Let her think it was tenderness.
In truth, he was watching her eyes. Calculating. Measuring how far she’d go. If it was true loyalty, or dumb desperation.
For validation, for love, for purpose.
“You were always going to end up here,” he said. “Worshiping me. Giving yourself to something greater. You were meant to serve.”
She buried her face into his neck, moaning softly as she moved faster. “Yes… Yes—Light, please—”
“Say it properly.”
“Kira,” she gasped. “God—my god—”
“That’s better.”
Her walls clenched around him, her entire body shaking. She was close, and he knew it. He tilted his head down, voice lowering to a purr.
“You don’t need my permission,” he whispered. “You already have my favor.”
That pushed her over. She broke apart with a soft, choked cry, burying herself in his chest. Her entire body convulsed around him, pleasure rippling through her in waves.
He let her come undone.
He didn’t move to finish. Not yet.
Instead, he ran a hand slowly down her back, tracing her spine with careful fingers.
“You did well,” he murmured against her temple. “You should be proud.”
She whimpered, still catching her breath, her forehead pressed against the collar of his shirt. His scent surrounded her—clean, sharp, untouched.
“You… You didn’t finish,” she said, dazed.
“I will,” he said calmly. “When I choose to.”
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, voice honey-sweet.
“But don’t worry. You’ve pleased me. You’ve proven your worth.”
She looked up at him, dazed and glowing. Her eyes sparkled, lips parted. She thought she mattered.
AN: Yes guys, im back from my vacation! so the little hiatus on the fics is done and im gonna go back to being consistent. This is kind of a deranged way to come back from a break, ngl! I wouldve written but i left my laptop at home and i CANNOT stand writing on a phone, plus my fonts and separators and all that bs was on my laptop. but i drew a lot! more art content coming soon fs. I know yall dc but i thought i should let u guys knaur.
Boom. More Death note merch... Will be available on my shop (in like June...) but also at MCM May, Doujima Singapore, and Amikon Dublin next month wahouuu!!
They'll be borderless also, always scared to try that effect but it looks so cooooool
#the amazing digital circus
#coquette
#interview with the vampire
#heated rivalry
#photography
#queer
