an incomplete list of death note things i thought were just jokes until i found out they were canon:
the potato chip scene. how is that real.
apples
the whole “this is something only kira would do, on the other hand, if i don’t do it, he’ll definitely think i’m kira, but . . .” and “kira would never do that, unless he is kira, in which case he would do the opposite of what i know he would do, so that actually increases his likelihood . . .” dynamic that light and L have is not an exaggeration. they really do overthink everything to that degree
the thing that looks like a monster is more mentally stable than the normal human boy
light isn’t attracted to misa
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This was her FAVORITE time of year... She should be spending it with family... she should be be alive. I'm pissed she's not. I'm so so pissed. I'm hurt. on the verge of tears.
Please dont forget her face, her name, her smile, her caring soul.
She wanted to be a nurse. Wanted to help mothers and babies... And she never got to.
The world was a better place when she was in it...
Merry Christmas Breonna... Thinkin ab you...
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heavily inspired by this audio ☺️🫶🏻 18+! MDNI!
Eddie is loud. Always has been, always will be.
He just can’t help it. Especially now, clammy forehead pressing into the heated seam of your jawline, nosing at the tender skin right below your ear, your staggered trembling breaths melting into the crown of his head.
It had been a while since you’d seen eachother, almost two weeks to be exact. Eddie hadn’t cum in about four days, which was at least ninety hours too long. So it took approximately only one hour before Eddie was showing you, with unrestrained pleasure, just how much he had missed you.
He’s fisting his cock frantically, slick smacking sounds and the carnal ragged shreds of his exhales drowning out the forgotten movie playing away on the television screen.
He’s panting, fucking heaving, and he may be getting too carried away but you would die before telling him to slow down. Not when you’re having so much fun watching him unravel.
You’re washed in an amber glow from the lamp adjacent to the couch you’re both splayed out on, illuminating each strand of Eddie’s hair a golden hue, your cheeks beating a dark cherry red.
“Wish it was your pretty pussy wrapped around me right now,” his breath is hot, a bonfire of disgusting words that has your thighs squeezing together and rutting against nothing.
“Wish y’could feel how hard I am for you. Fuck!” he grits his teeth, moans gutteral, biting down on his inner cheek hard enough to draw blood.
“This cock is so hard for you, I just wanna bury it so deep in you. Oh my goooddd, baby,” he just keeps going, twisting his wrist crudely right at the head, pretty gasps absorbing into your sticky skin and only amplifying when you crook your head down to spit into his fist.
You didn’t have to speak, not that Eddie even gave you a chance to do so. Stunned by just how desperate he is for it, for you.
So you listened, and you watched, and waited for your turn, pressing tender kisses into the blanket of curls that tickle your nose.
“Please can I cum? Can I? Can I? Please please pleasssee,” he’s drawling frantically, tripping over his own words, and he’s a whimpering pathetic mess. Drool collects at the seams of his lips, painting your skin wet and glistening.
“No, baby” was all you had to mumble and he was near sobbing, a tacky groan mulling at the back of his throat.
“Need to cum so bad,” a low mewl, gulping thickly. His strokes are almost violent, “Wanna feel you clench on this fucking dick. Aaaahhh, ah, ah, ooohhh fuck yes!”.
Your breaths flutter, chest rising and falling faster than you thought was possible. “You gotta go slow, my sweet boy,” you whisper despite your racing heart rate, the words catching tight to the back of your throat. You reach your hand down just for a second, wrapping your shaking fingers over his own to coax him into a more gentle rhythm.
“Jesus, fuck,” he spits gruff, thick unforgiving fingers that aren’t so preoccupied on his own pleasure travel to mangle the fat of your thigh, heavy rings pinching sharply at your skin and you almost yelp under the unhinged roughness of it all.
He picks up the pace again despite your delicate coaching, near writhing without reason next to you and he’s rocking his hip into the curve of your doughy thigh.
So you allowed it, the poor boy obviously needed it, he has made that much clear. You grind down against the couch cushion, you just couldn’t help yourself, your own mouth falling slack-jawed as Eddie continues his onslaught of profanity.
Of course you let him ramble himself to the edge of oblivion.
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