Death Note Fanfiction - Tumblr Posts

Hey again girl! So I was wondering if you could do L and Misa from death note dating moodboards? Gotta say they, just started watching death note and I LOVE IT.❤️❤️❤️✨✨

Dating L Lawliet <33

=͟͟͞͞ ⌧ : I WAS HOPING YOU’D SAY L! I LUV U I LUV U I LUV U- 💕 (death note has to be one of my top fav anime’s of all time idc)

﹙dating Light Yagami (Pre!Death Note) )

— ★ his man has a god complex. he sees no one above him. and if he sees a threat to his over achieving ability, he will taken them out immediately.

— ★ now let’s give a plot. your school had given the opportunity for 5 students to experience education in different countries for an experiment to see with countries have better education.

— ★ you had gotten Japan. you weren’t too psyched about it but it was a new scene for you to see. you were quickly accepted into Daikoku Private Academy. your grades and test score defended your intelligence beautifully. you exceeded have the academy in their eyes. and that ticked Light off.

— ★ he was supposed to be the golden student; not some random exchange student! Light didn’t appreciate being lesser than another.

— ★ he quickly came up with a plan. Japan talks. any rumors in a city spreads like wildfire. he would make you an outcast, forcing you to leave Japan and giving him back the title of a golden student.

— ★ but your aura couldn’t make him damage you in anyway. you were fiesty, humorous, and too intelligent for any harm to be done to you. there was an invisible gravitational pull between you two that was getting heavier on his end.

— ★ but his opportunist way had gotten the best of him. he saw you as leverage to better his reputation. you were popular. he was popular. popular + popular = power. he craved power.

— ★ “hey, you’re [ name ], right?” Light stands in front of you, hands in his pocket with a warm smile on his face. “i’m Light Yag—” you interrupt him, “Light Yagami. the school’s over achiever.” ‘who does this girl think she is?’ Light takes a breath, gathering his sweet boy persona back. “i heard that you’re the exchange student from [ your country ]. i’ve never been there. is it nice?”

— ★ he’s a sociopath. he craves validation from people. he’d say anything under the sun to have someone like him. just for them to be an asset for his path of success.

— ★ months after talking to you, he grew fond of your presence. you were the only person that had the courage to speak to him first. the both of you shared a lot on interests. his fondness turned into love. he finally looked past his pride and courted you.

𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗰 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻𝘀

— ★ getting the plot out of the way, let’s list the way he treats you.

— ★ if you think he treats you differently than he did Misa…you’re somewhat right. he’s more considerate with you. he has problems or making big deals of one of your small mistakes, making you feel like shit after he’s had his fill on chastising you.

— ★ whenever you have those “i don’t like when you do this” moments, he somehow turns it on you. “you’re the problem.” “you’re too sensitive and you need to get over it.” “if you loved me, you wouldn’t ask me to change my ways.” the king of gaslighting.

— ★ if you want lighthearted headcanons, he rushes to get you to meet his family. his family is a huge part in his life though he may not show it. now that you’ve taken another piece in his life, it’s only right to have you meet them.

— ★ before he courted you, he used to daydream his future with you. little children running around your house. the wedding the both of you would have. it helped him sleep better at night.

— ★ he planned your first date to perfection. and, his reputation to the public was a big deal to him. having a bad date on his account wasn’t something he wanted. if you were someone random, he wouldn’t go this far. he had paid the waiter extra to not even look at you for too long. he reserved a secluded table from the rest of the restaurant with a beautiful scenery of the night in Japan.

𝗡𝗦𝗙𝗪 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻𝘀

— ★ if you didn’t know by now, he’d a dom. won’t never be submissive. he hates being emasculated by any means. but you aren’t complaining.

— ★ he knows what he’s doing. though he was a virgin when you two had met, he was naturally gifted in sex.

— ★ he’s skilled with his fingers. if you were needy while he was studying, he would sit you on his lap, hands stuffed in your pants and would make you release on his fingers until you would pass out. and to get you closer to the edge, he would kiss behind you ear, whispering sweet nothings to you.

— ★ missionary or doggy strictly. i picture him as a boobs man. in missionary, he would pinch your nipples, or bend down to flick his tongue on your sensitive bud.

— ★ in doggy, i feel like he would start on all four then turn to your bare back on his cheek, his large hands kneading your breasts.

— ★ the moment you’ve been waiting for (just me), he is a munch. his sex drive isn’t that high due to the fact that his main focus is his studies. but some days, he would love to be smothered in your thigh, his lower face glistening in your juices.

taglist ;; @worldsgreatestsinner

Coffee Break

Here is a short, relatively tame bit of L x reader smut I wrote when I was 18 (because I haven't finished anything new yet and we need some CONTENT on this blog)

Word Count: 1500 (yes, exactly 1500!)

Pairing: L x Reader

Content tags: oral sex, first time

Synopsis: L’s gotten used to you, a task force agent, casually stopping by while he works on the Kira case. He can barely admit to himself that he wants more from you, but he might not have to...

Written from L's perspective :)

You bring me coffee sometimes. You set it down between me and the computer screen, and tell me that you added enough sugar to make it taste good. You usually haven’t added enough, but I don’t particularly mind.

What you haven’t realized is that I have no difficulty staying awake when I’m working on a case that interests me. I actually only ever have difficulty with falling asleep. It would be more efficient for both of us if you stopped bringing me coffee. But you keep doing it, and I don’t tell you to stop. I should tell you to stop, but I don’t, and I tell myself that surely you wouldn’t keep fetching drinks for me if it was a serious hindrance to your work. You only come visit me, and my dark room, and my glowing computer monitor, for the good of the case. It’s completely rational.

I have to be rational - I know that no distraction is more important than this puzzle, this chase, the net I’m weaving from this room, and so I don’t talk to you for long when you visit. You ask me how things are going - you always ask such vague questions - and I tell you that I’m making progress. I feel tempted to tell you this even when it isn’t true. This may be because I believe you’ll be more successful in your work if your morale is high. There are other possibilities, as well.

Not knowing is unfamiliar, and it bothers me. I don’t know why I want to stop you from worrying, or why I drink your coffee every night even when you’ve gotten the sugar ratio all wrong. And I don’t know why you take the time to bring me coffee at all, because I don’t really believe that your motivations are rational. I do believe that you would sit down next to me, if I had a second chair. But I’m still not quite sure why, and I’d like to know with 100% accuracy before I make any decisions.

Of course, the probability goes down to 0% if no one decides anything...

You bring sugar packets with the coffee tonight. You smile and say, “I thought that you might want to do it yourself. I can tell when you don’t like it, you know.”

I didn’t know, but I make note of it. “Thank you,” I say. “I find coffee disgusting by itself. I prefer hot chocolate, actually.”

Your face turns a bit pink, and you say, “I’m sorry. I could bring you that tomorrow.” I want to invite you to sit down, but there is still only one chair in the room. I should have planned for this. There’s a reason I didn’t. I’m productive alone. I’m a genius, alone. Still...

“Coffee’s fine,” I say. “The sugar makes it much better.” My yawn afterwards is performative, but the exhaustion it belies is certainly real.

“You’ve got bags under your eyes,” you say. Then you flush, again. You color the most at the high points of your cheeks. “They don’t look bad or anything. I just - you seem really tired.”

“I am,” I say. “I’ve had approximately six hours of sleep in the last two nights, and I need at least five per night to function at full capacity. It’s not ideal.”

“Definitely not.” You don’t look tired, although you’ve been awake late, as well. You have bright eyes, and they’re still bright now. Long eyelashes, too. And I like the pink in your cheeks. I’d like it to stay there.

“Why do they send you every night?” I ask.

“They don’t send me,” you say.

I smile, lean back on my heels, and tear open a sugar packet.

“Do you need anything else?” you ask. “Other than sleep.”

I empty a second packet, then a third. “Nothing, besides a breakthrough.”

“Or maybe just a break.” Your tone has changed, now, although I don’t quite know how, or what it’s meant to reflect. I find it relaxing, though, enough that I let myself slide from crouching to sitting in my chair. “Perhaps. A short break could actually improve my efficiency tonight.” I pause, here. My mind really is slower when I’m sitting down.

“Do you want company?” You lean over the desk, and your hand lands close to mine. You smile white and you blush pink, and a lock of hair falls over your eye.

There is no chair. I could say yes, if there was one. But there is no chair, because I planned to make myself work alone, even if you came, when you came -

“I’ll sit on the floor,” you say. “Don’t worry.”

I nod my assent, and you take your seat, leaning back on your hands. When I talk to you, I lean over the arm of my chair. “I’ve calculated some probabilities you might be interested in,” I say.

“With all due respect to your brilliance, I don’t think I need you to tell me.” You look up at me from the floor and take hold of the seat of my chair. It turns on its base if you move it, and you pull it until I’ve turned 90 degrees to face you. “They really don’t send me to visit you. I come all by myself.”

I like the sight of you underneath me, so much that I feel compelled to turn my gaze away. It lands on the coffee cup, open, full nearly to the brim. “You don’t have to bring anything,” I say. “Next time. You can just come up. Talk to me.”

From the corner of my eye, I see you tilt your head, and your hair fall away from your face. “Won’t that be a distraction?”

“Yes.” I turn away from the coffee cup and look at you, sitting at my feet as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. I’m not used to feeling this chair at my back. I’m not used to feeling this - this.

You giggle - it’s unnatural, hearing such a light sound in this place - and pull yourself closer. “Well, then. What should we talk about?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m not very good at... that.” There’s a decent chance that you want to come even closer, but my legs are in the way. And it would be vulgar to part them. Presumptuous. Especially considering what you’ve surely already noticed -

“We’ll be quiet, then.” You rise to your knees and push the offending limbs to either side. “There are other things worth doing.”

You deserve a better light than the harsh glow of a computer. You deserve a better place, and a better reason than - what? An attraction to intelligence, maybe, or pity -

I don’t let myself go down that train of thought. For once - just this once - I can leave something unconsidered.

You’ve tied back some of your hair. I can see your face, and watch your tongue, softer than any hand, brush over me for the first time. I don’t wonder how I taste, or how I compare - these are thoughts for later. You’re slow, at first, and warm. Some of your hair falls out of its tie and laps at my skin, but you pay it no mind. You tease me, you coax me, you cover me, and I shudder when you pull away.

There’s saliva hanging from your lips, and I feel the urge to reach down and spread it across your face. “If you want to,” you say, “push my head down at the end. I’ll like it.”

I lean back in my chair - now, it feels like my throne - and grip the armrests. There’s not an inch you haven’t touched, but I still want you to take more. I could make you take it, I realize, shove down and shove up and fuck your throat until you’re tugging back against my hand. But I wait. You’re better than I ever could have imagined, and you only said at the end...

I want you like this every night. I can take the time. I can earn it. In front of my eyes flashes a picture of how you might look with your shirt unbuttoned, or on your knees with nothing at all. Every night, every night, every single night - I take the back of your head and pull you tight between my hips, driving everything I have into you.

You take it easily and smile and sit back on your heels. “We don’t have to talk,” you say. “I’ll bring you another coffee tomorrow night.” Your hair comes down, and I push mine back from my face.

“Tomorrow,” I repeat. Tomorrow, and the night after, and the next...

You grab a sugar packet before you leave. It takes a minute for me to laugh at this, and another several before I can turn back to the work ahead of me.

If i get some death note or tokyo ghoul requests ima be happy asf please yall 🤣

For my lovely readers who have been following this story, the next chapter will be out tomorrow or the day after <3

I can't thank you all enough for your patience.