satorusluver

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Sorry for the cropping I just gave up LOL but here have some toji folks

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just watched death note

⋆♱✮♱⋆

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People saying "spice" instead of "sex" and calling romance "clean" if it has no sex scenes give off absolutely rancid vibes

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pookies☺️

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The song "is he gay or European?" but it's the mob singing it about Mello.

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Can't relate to people who say they don't get the Matt hype because he isn't a fully fleshed out character.

While I would kill for him to have gotten more screentime and lore, it's also true that so much of his character being open to interpretation is part of his appeal.

Not to mention, people already make headcanons that alter the main DN characters for their own intents and purposes anyway (especially for their ships like be ffr) so what does it matter?

Also, he is hot.

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Idk why my Death Note content has suddenly been getting so much attention but I'm not mad about it.

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୨୧﹕fem!reader, rare death note smut this will get 2 likes max

mello’s hideout is dim and hot, stinking faintly of gun oil, sweat, and cigarette smoke, lit only by flickering monitors casting ghost-blue light across steel tables and scattered dossiers. the tension in the air’s thick—static charged—while the clock on the wall ticks too loud and every second stretches like it's mocking him.

he’s pacing. boots heavy on the floor, black leather pants clinging to his legs, a tight black tank top smeared with motor grease across his ribs. he hasn't eaten. he hasn't slept. he's waiting for intel from his team on kira's movements—something to make the chase move again.

but the silence grates.

and you?

you’re sitting on the edge of the desk, legs crossed, trying to look like you're not watching him prowl like a caged lion. trying not to let the way his hair clings to his sweat-damp face, or the way his veins pop along his forearms, or the way he chews that fucking chocolate bar like it personally offended him—get to you.

but he knows.

he stops. turns.

and fuck, his eyes are dangerous when they land on you.

“you keep looking at me like that, you better be ready to deal with the consequences,” he says, voice low, a growl under the words.

you raise an eyebrow. “looking at you like what?”

“like you wanna be fucked.”

the breath catches in your throat. but he’s already crossing the room, the scent of leather and adrenaline clinging to him like a storm.

“is that it?” he asks, standing in front of you now, one hand braced on the desk beside your hip, the other toying with the wrapper of his half-finished chocolate bar. “you think i’m just some distraction while we wait for near to jerk off in a corner and send us crumbs of information?”

your mouth opens—to say no, to say fuck, to say anything—but he doesn’t wait. he tosses the chocolate bar aside, grabs your jaw, and kisses you hard, brutal, tongue fucking into your mouth with no hesitation.

his frustration, his obsession, his need to win—all of it pours into you like fire.

you gasp into his mouth and that’s all it takes. he lifts you onto the desk fully, knocking files and a tablet to the floor without a second thought, and spreads your thighs with a knee.

“i should cuff you to this desk,” he mutters, hand already down your pants, finding you soaked through your underwear. “fuck you stupid while they update me on kira.”

you moan as his fingers slide through your slick folds, rough and confident, two fingers curling deep inside without any of the shy warm-up bullshit. he’s not soft. he doesn’t have soft.

“bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? screaming while the radio crackles with someone getting murdered,” he snarls, biting at your throat. “bet you’d cum for me while someone else dies.”

you whimper. he laughs—a cruel sound—presses a third finger in just to hear you break. your walls clench around him, dripping all over his hand, and he pulls out to suck your slick from his fingers, licking them like he’s starving.

then he undoes his belt.

that leather creaks. his cock springs free—long, flushed, thick, veins prominent. he’s already hard, precum slicking the head as he fists it once, eyes locked on your cunt like he’s about to destroy it.

“you want this?” he asks, dragging the head through your folds, teasing your clit just to see you twitch. “use your words.”

“yes—yes, fuck, please—”

he slams into you.

your scream echoes off the steel.

he buries himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust, cock stretching you open so wide your legs shake. and then he’s fucking you. hard. hips pistoning like a weapon, like he’s trying to burn the stress out of himself with every stroke.

your hands scrabble for purchase on the desk, knocking over tools, cords, stray bullets. mello’s hand wraps around your throat—not tight, just a warning. his teeth bite into your collarbone, hard enough to leave a mark.

“this is how i clear my head,” he growls against your skin. “you—stuffed full of my cock. that’s all i need.”

you clench around him and he groans—deep and broken—and fucks you even harder, hips slamming into your thighs with bruising force.

your orgasm hits fast, violent—ripping through you with a sob of his name. he doesn’t stop. not even when you twitch, not when your legs try to close, not when tears prick your eyes from the sensitivity.

“no,” he grits out. “you’re not done.”

he flips you over, slams you face-down on the desk, one hand on your back as he shoves back in—deeper this time, cock grinding against your cervix with every thrust. you scream again, eyes rolling back.

“you take it,” he hisses. “you fucking take it.”

the desk shakes under you, monitors flickering. his balls slap against your soaked cunt, your cum mixing with his, slick and obscene. you’re sobbing now—fucked senseless, legs barely holding you up—but he’s not done until he cums.

and when he does—it’s with a snarl in your ear, a shudder that wracks his whole body, hot spurts flooding your pussy as he buries himself to the hilt and stays there.

breathing hard.

sweating.

spilling into you like it's the only thing tethering him to this side of sanity.

finally, he pulls out, cum dripping down your thighs, and drags you back into his lap, sitting in the desk chair now like nothing happened. like he didn’t just wreck you for twenty minutes against steel and fire and paranoia.

“stay here,” he mutters against your shoulder. “need you close when the report comes in.”

he lights a cigarette.

you sit on his lap, full of him, wrecked and still twitching, while he smirks at the screen like a devil who’s finally exhaled.

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Have I gone mad or have I been mad my entire life and this is what sanity feels like?

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I haven't completely abandoned this blog btw I've just been busy.

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nerdjo by mvtchaee

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I love you OCs. Yes, especially thinly veiled self-insert OCs. I love when people create intricate backstories and details about their OCs. I love when artists draw their OCs. I love when they ship them with a character. And if anyone ever says it's cringe, just remind them that the Divine Comedy is literally just self-insert Bible fanfiction where Dante meets his hero and ships himself with his dead crush.

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Listen the gloves are cool and all, but I really wish we'd gotten a chance to see Mello's hands for uhh...artistic reasons.

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STOP CENSORING YOURSELF ON THIS WEBSITE. FUCK SHIT SEX MURDER ALCOHOL DRUGS FAGGOT DYKE QUEER TRANS BITCH SLUT WHORE SEX SEX SEX SEX!!!!!!!!!!!

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Ngl I feel like people who write Nanami as an "older man", as acting old and being stepdad age are kinda missing the point, as someone who is about Nanami's age and similarly worn down by life before thirty. I promise you he does not act like a forty year old. He acts exactly like someone his age. We are overworked and don't quite have the energy we did in our early twenties and we just wanna relax and drink tea with a good book.

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I can’t keep up with all the socials help, heres some geto doodles hehe ! I will try to keep up with all the platforms I use 😈