Death Note Anonymous Kink Meme

[dn_kink]

Welcome to the Death Note Anonymous Kink Meme!

How it works:

* Comment anonymously with a kinkfic request. All requests must contain a character or pairing/threesome/moresome (any combination of guys/girls/shinigami/whatever are OK, crossovers are fine too), and at least one kink. If you need inspiration, check out this huge list of kinks by eliade.

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Everything I Touch [7]

[anonymous]

For the next few weeks, she was more comfortable with being alone. It made me sick with worry, but she seemed to be pulling through okay, as much as she could be. She discussed the possibility of returning to acting, but the idea didn’t last very long. Light had told her to retire. She would never go against his words.

Probably, he never bothered to tell her never to see anyone else. Her function for him had nothing to do with that. As long as she followed his orders, as long as she served her purpose to him as Kira and kept up appearances, there was no attachment.

If nothing else, being with Misa helped me really know what kind of a person Light was behind his hypocritically caring exterior, and I started to question myself less and less about what I’d done to him.

There were some nights when we would just sit together and watch her movies. She’d tell me stories about them - what it was like to work on a particular scene, who was a pain in her neck on a given day, how upset the director was with her counterpart - it was like turning on the director’s commentary. But there were stories that they would never allow on that, either. Behind the scenes romance, actors falling for people who played blood relatives on-screen, the awkwardness of it all. It was fascinating.

And we watched the movie she was filming - god, it was so long ago - when I was her agent. Something I was a part of, too. That was fun.

Strange, though, to hear talk of your tragic accidental death on the actual director’s commentary.

She wanted to relive it. If she couldn’t go back to work, she could always dwell. I really shouldn’t have let her fall so deeply into escapism, but... I needed it too. And looking back, knowing all the rules? It wouldn’t have made a difference. I have to believe that - my actions did not change the outcome. They didn’t. Nothing could. You can’t save anyone - you can only comfort.

And then, there was that night.

She’d been very specific about when I should come over, what I should bring, reminding me that she loved my red shirt. I could always tell when she was planning something, but this seemed ridiculous. She was hyper.

I arrived, with a bottle of her favorite wine. I still can’t figure out what exactly she was wearing when she opened the door. For something that used so little fabric, it was elaborate as hell. Beautiful, really.

“It’s left over from one of my photo shoots. I got to keep it. It’s pretty abstract, don’t you think?”

I didn’t give a damn if it was abstract or unoriginal or what. She looked like an angel, a fairy, a wood nymph - I don’t know, I don’t know about these things. Sequined, jeweled, and graced with silk - she was stunning.

She poured me a glass of the wine, which is honestly probably one of the only things that made me able to touch her that night. With that getup, it was like she was made of expensive crystal, or something. I get terrified in the presence of fragile things. Like I’m going to break it. Everything I touch gets ruined. But that’s what she wanted.