monty!

23/09/03 this is a 16 and above blog! requests r openn

[monro3-rambles]

request page

im monty, this is a 16 and above blog!

i do blurbs, fanficts, and headcannons.

i do:

mha

haikyuu

deathnote

devil may cry (2025 anime)

brooklyn 99

the rookie

jjk

what i'll write!

smut, fluff, angsty

what i dont write:

sa, rpe, characterx character, incest (hell nah) THEY HAVE TO BE 18 AND ABOVE FOR SMUT

my requests are OPEN but on this account im only doing fluffy or like serious tension between characters :3

[monro3-rambles]

ugh meow

✦ A–Z SPICY HEADCANONS: Ukai Keishin

A — Aftercare: Top-tier. You wouldn’t expect it from the “cool guy” exterior, but he’s all soft hands and sleepy praise afterward. He wipes you down with a warm towel, tucks you in against his chest, muttering “damn good job, sweetheart,” into your hair.

B — Body Part (Fav of yours): Your neck. Whether he’s got you pinned with one hand against the wall or lazily mouthing at it from behind while you’re cooking—he’s obsessed. The way you twitch when he sucks at your pulse point? He lives for it.

C — Control: You’d think he’s the chill “go with the flow” type—but once the bedroom door closes? It’s over. Firm grip on your hips. Gruff orders whispered into your ear. “Hands behind your back. Keep them there. Don’t make me ask twice.”

D — Dirty Talk: Oh, he’s disgusting (in the best way). Growls it into your ear from behind. “You’re takin’ me so well, baby.” “Look at you—can’t even talk properly with my cock in you.” Filthy, low, and always with that cocky little rasp.

E — Experience: EXPERIENCED™. He’s had his fair share of flings, especially when he played volleyball professionally, but none of them hit like you. And trust—he knows how to read a body like a playbook.

F — Favorite Position: Backshots. Bent over the kitchen counter. Face pressed into the futon. He loves seeing your ass jiggle, one hand holding you still while the other creeps around to touch you just right. Bonus: riding. He loves watching you lose control on top of him.

G — Goofy?: Yes, but in a cocky way. He’ll slap your ass just to hear you squeak, call you his “MVP” after sex, or tease you about how loud you were. But he can flip to intense in 0.2 seconds.

H — Hair: Messy, golden, always smells like tobacco and clean sweat. You’ve definitely tugged on it during sex. He loves it. Bonus: he’ll let you brush it while you’re curled in his lap.

I — Intimacy: Surprisingly high. He doesn’t do meaningless sex—not anymore. He loves pulling you into his lap, grinding slowly, keeping his forehead to yours. Whispering things like, “You’ve got me, yeah? You’re mine.”

J — Jealousy: He’s chill… until he’s not. If someone’s openly flirting with you? He’ll just casually wrap an arm around your waist, fingers dipping just under your waistband like it’s a threat. “You good, babe? Wanna go home?”

K — Kinks:

Praise (both giving and receiving)

Light bondage (wrist holding, being restrained with his jacket)

Semi-public teasing (grinding in the car, hands up your shirt behind the gym)

Control (you're not cumming until he says)

L — Location: Kitchen. Locker room. His car. Behind the gym. The shower. His couch. His desk at the shop. If it’s sturdy enough and the door locks? Game on.

M — Morning or Night?: Night. After he’s closed the shop and showered off the day. The bedroom’s dim, he’s shirtless in joggers, calling you over with a crook of his finger. But if you wake him up right? He’s not saying no.

N — Nudes?: Doesn’t send them unless he’s drunk or really missing you. But when he does? It’s grainy mirror shots, low-light, lazy smirk, towel riding way too low. “Thinkin’ ‘bout you, sweetheart. Can’t wait to get my hands back on you.”

O — Oral (giving or receiving?): Both. He loves going down on you. Arms locked around your thighs, nose buried in your skin, making you cum again and again until you’re trembling. Receiving? He’ll sit back, groan low and husky, one hand in your hair. “Fuck, baby… look at you. Just like that.”

P — Pace: Usually slow and deep. He’s got stamina, and he likes to use it. But if he’s frustrated? It’s rough, breath-stealing, headboard-slamming pace until you're wrecked.

Q — Quickies: God yes. The man lives for it. Before matches, behind the shop counter during a slow hour, in the car parked behind the gym. Nothing gets him going like you in a skirt and no panties.

R — Risk: He pretends to be cautious but secretly loves the thrill. Skirt pushed up in the shop’s back room while the front bell dings? That’s his kink. Always watching the clock. Always leaving you just on edge in public.

S — Stamina: Coach Keishin? 30s and still going. He can go multiple rounds, though he’ll pretend he’s too old for that… while pulling you into another round after catching his breath. 😏

T — Teasing: He’s the worst. Finger trailing down your back while you’re trying to clean. Texts like “What color are those panties today?” while you’re at work. And he’s ruthless in bed—pulling back just when you're about to finish. “Not yet, baby. Not until I say.”

U — Unusual Location: Definitely got handsy in the volleyball club storage closet once. Probably bent you over the boxes during a tournament break. “C’mon, no one’s gonna hear us. Be quiet, sweetheart.”

V — Volume: Low growls. Swearing. Occasional praise muttered under his breath like a prayer. He’s not super loud, but you are, and he loves it.

W — Wildest Thing He’s Done: Tied you up in the gym with the volleyball net once. Used his whistle as a gag. Still jokes about “disciplining you like a good coach should.”

X — X-Rated Fantasy: Fucking you in his team jacket, on his desk, with your name on the clipboard beside you. The idea of you as “his player” under his rules? Massive turn-on. Extra points if you call him “Coach.”

Y — Yearning: He aches for you more than he’ll admit. Especially during stressful matches. He’ll come home late, throw you over the counter, and whisper, “Missed you all damn day,” before kissing you like he’s starving.

Z — Zzz... (Sleep habits): Passes out with you on top of him. Arm around your waist. Always skin-on-skin. He snores lightly. If you roll away, he’ll find you in his sleep, pull you back in, and murmur something filthy while half-asleep.

[monro3-rambles]

Another another another another request 🙏 kinda continuation to the Dual POV. 

After all the emotional rollercoaster is over, Reader and Light remember Mikami is still in the room and Light is furious so he wants to kill Mikami. But Reader convinces him not to. Light was upset thinking she was protecting him, but Reader reasons that she's sparing him for their sake since Mikami is actually a good ally to Kira and his goals and they need all the allies they can get. Light calms down and agrees with her logic.

Dual pov's again. This time with Light, from his thoughts of executing Mikami to agreeing with Readers explanation. And maybe add on of how proud he was that she was able to think clearly of their future after a stressful situation 🙏. Another is Mikami's pov. About how he felt when his God wanted to execute him to being spared by Reader. 

 Thank youuu<33

i love these ideassssss

✦ DUAL POV: "The Ones Who Survive"

✦ POV: Light Yagami

He stands there, barely hearing the echo of their last words, fingers twitching at his side, eyes locked on Mikami like the man’s already bleeding.

He forgot he was in the room.

Not because Mikami is forgettable—no, he’s too intense for that. But because Light had just spent the last few minutes unraveling and stitching himself back together again with her.

And then he remembers—

Mikami saw it.

He saw her reach for him. Saw the cracks. The rawness. The unbearable, human truth that Light had let show.

And now Mikami stands there.

Silent. Still. Judging. Or worse—worshipping.

“He doesn’t deserve to be in this room.” “He’s too volatile. Too obsessed.” “He’s seen too much.”

Light moves without thinking. Just a step. Just enough.

“Get out,” he says—calm, venomous.

Mikami flinches like the words struck flesh. He doesn’t move.

Light's hand slides into his coat. The Death Note isn't far. He could end this now. No evidence. No backlash. Just silence.

And then—

Her hand. On his.

Warm. Real. Grounding.

You (soft, calm): “Don’t.”

Light’s breath catches. He looks down at you.

Your eyes are clearer than they should be after everything. After him. After the breaking. The rebuilding.

You're flushed from emotion but standing strong.

He wants to kill Mikami. But you’re thinking.

You (steady): “He’s still useful.”

Light: “He saw—”

You: “He saw a moment. But he also saw me bring you back. Saw that we don’t fall apart. He won’t question you, Light.”

(beat)

You: “He’s loyal. Dangerous, yes. But loyal. You need every piece on the board if you’re going to win. Even the cracked ones.”

Your words hit something deeper than reason. You’re not sparing Mikami. You’re protecting their legacy. Your future.

And suddenly, Light’s rage doesn’t feel righteous—it feels short-sighted.

He exhales slowly. His fingers ease from the Death Note.

Light (quietly): “…You’re right.”

(beat)

Light (thinking):

She was clearheaded. Focused. Even after the storm. I lost myself—but she didn’t. She’s not just beside me. She’s worthy of the New World.

He looks at you not like a lover, not even like a god might look at a disciple.

He looks at you like a partner.

And for the first time since Mikami entered his service… Light is glad you’re the one beside him, not Teru.

✦ POV: Teru Mikami

He should leave.

The moment Light told him to go, he should’ve obeyed without question.

But something rooted him there—some need to bear witness. To see whether the god he follows would allow himself to be moved. To be forgiven.

He heard the shift in Light’s tone. The threat. The verdict. He was going to be executed.

For witnessing weakness. For simply being there.

And Mikami felt it.

Terror. Shame. And then—

Her.

She stepped in.

Spoke for him.

Not to protect him—he knows that.

She doesn’t care about Teru Mikami. She cares about Kira’s future.

But she spared him. Because he was useful.

He has never been grateful to be seen as anything other than righteous—until now.

“She doesn’t fear my devotion. She understands it. Redirects it.”

When Light lowers his hand, Mikami breathes again.

Only then does he realize he hadn’t been breathing at all.

He bows. Not as a servant, but as a man spared by the gods themselves.

Mikami (to you, quietly): “Thank you. For seeing value where I forgot to earn it.”

You don’t answer.

You don’t have to.

You already turned back to Light, like the decision was done the moment you touched his hand.

Mikami (thinking):

She is not mercy. She is function. She is precision. And she is the only reason I still stand. I owe her. And through her, I owe him again.

He steps back, fading into the dark like a loyal shadow, reminded of his place.

But also reminded:

She is more than he understood. And Light Yagami is not alone.

[monro3-rambles]

not something i usually post, but chat. did i cook??

The presumptuous bitch destroyed EVERYTHING. The antique’s, the glasses, every.single.thing…

They call her the opposite of salt, sugar. She is everything but sugar, people don’t realise salt and sugar are similar, but quite opposite in taste.

I’ve heard the bitch’s boyfriend complain that she actually tasted like salt instead of sugar  like how people describe her, I call that a downfall honestly. But the worst thing she’s ever done? Was destroy the antique’s I made from my bare hands.

One day she’ll find out that not everything is about her salty ass.

I used to admire her. But now? I see her in the mirror.. my reflection staring back at  me with those dead eyes. Her soul see through, messy like a used, old purse.

[monro3-rambles]

made this! probably the last thing i'll post for today!

Title: The Third Light

You were no ordinary follower of Kira.

While Light Yagami had the original vision and Teru Mikami had the unshakable faith, you were the third Kira—a hidden force working quietly but fiercely from the shadows, executing justice your own way.

You and Mikami had met by chance—or maybe fate. It was at a discreet meeting of like-minded believers in Kira’s justice, a group of people who saw the world’s filth and yearned for order. But unlike the others, you never blindly followed; you questioned, refined, and acted with precision.

Mikami was fascinated by you from the start.

Your resolve burned just as fiercely as his, but your methods differed. You didn’t just rely on the Death Note—you used your intellect, your instincts, and your ability to navigate the underground world of criminals and corruption.

One rainy night, you found yourself side by side with Mikami in a dimly lit safe house. The air was thick with tension.

“You’re different,” Mikami said, his voice steady but curious. “Most who serve Kira follow blindly. You… analyze. You choose.”

You met his gaze without flinching. “Justice isn’t black and white. Even Kira’s vision needs shades of gray. I am here to bring that balance.”

Mikami’s eyes softened just a fraction—a crack in his rigid exterior. “Then together, we can become the ultimate judgment.”

Over time, your partnership deepened—not just as allies, but as kindred spirits drawn to the same cause and the same burden.

One night, after a particularly dangerous mission, you both found a moment alone. Mikami’s usually controlled demeanor faltered as he looked at you.

“You carry the weight well,” he admitted quietly. “I thought I was alone in this.”

You smiled softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “You’re not. We’re all pieces of Kira’s will… but together, we are stronger.”

His hand found yours, fingers intertwining with a surprising gentleness. “I trust you. More than anyone else.”

The rain outside pattered against the windows as the two of you sat there—two warriors of justice bound by conviction, darkness, and a flicker of something deeper.

[monro3-rambles]

ok i have 2 new obsession guysssssssssssssssssssssssssssss L and teru mikami..... heheheheheh

[monro3-rambles]

Another another another request, kind of a continuation to "Judgment can wait"

Light waking up and trying to get up only he can't cause Reader is clinging to him in her sleep. He coaxes her to let go since he's going to take a quick shower, and Reader squints at him that he better get back as soon as possible. After getting back to the room he sees that she's asleep again. As he settles back to bed and he pulls Reader close, in the light of day he can now clearly see signs of exhaustion on her too and he feels guilty about that. But at the same time he feels grateful that she stayed by his side and promises to himself that he'll cherish her >0< with a little kiss on the top of the head (⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠)⁠♥

And maybe some hair brushing and cheek caressing and lots of snuggles please!

Thank you!

hehe i'm on fire today!! took me roughly 5 or more minuets to write thisssss

Title: “Cherish” Pairing: Light Yagami x Reader (established relationship) Genre: Fluffy domestic comfort Word Count: ~1,200

Light stirred.

Slowly. He wasn’t used to waking up like this—warm. Comfortable. Without the burn of urgency or the weight of names waiting to be written.

His senses registered soft blankets. Morning light. The faint scent of your shampoo. And—

Oh.

You were wrapped around him like a human koala. One arm tucked under his, one leg thrown over his hip, your cheek pressed firmly into his chest. You were completely out, breathing slow and even.

He tried to shift. Just a little.

Your grip tightened.

“…Y/N,” he whispered, amusement tugging at the edge of his voice.

Still nothing.

He moved again, this time attempting to sit up.

You mumbled something unintelligible and clung harder.

“Y/N,” he tried again, brushing a hand through your hair. “I’m just going to shower. I’ll be back in five minutes.”

You cracked one eye open. Squinted up at him with suspicious, half-asleep intensity.

“…Five.”

“Yes.”

“You better be.”

“I will,” he said, kissing your forehead. “Promise.”

You grumbled something about “scheming pretty boy” and let go with the most dramatic sigh ever exhaled at 7:30 a.m.

He watched you bury your face in the pillow, arm still outstretched like you were keeping his place warm. A tiny smile crept across his lips.

Ridiculous. Adorable. Mine.

Five and a half minutes later…

Light returned to the bedroom, towel around his neck, hair still damp. The room was quieter than before, early sun spilling gently across the sheets.

You’d fallen asleep again.

He paused in the doorway, watching you.

God. He hadn’t even noticed last night—not really. But now, in the calm of morning, he could see it. The faint bags under your eyes. The tension still lingering in your brow. The way your fingers curled around his pillow like you were afraid he might disappear again.

He swallowed.

You’d been exhausted too.

While he lost himself in judgment and planning, you’d been there—worrying, waiting, staying awake just to make sure he came back to you. You always said he carried the world, but somewhere along the line, you started carrying him.

And he hadn’t even thanked you.

Quietly, he slid back into bed, careful not to wake you. The mattress dipped just slightly, and you stirred, eyes fluttering open.

“Mm… you came back…”

“I said I would,” he murmured, brushing a damp lock of hair from your forehead. “Go back to sleep.”

You hummed in approval and tucked yourself back against his side like muscle memory. He welcomed the weight, the warmth, the way your presence softened the edge of his mind.

His hand found your hair and began combing through it gently, rhythmically. You let out a tiny content sigh, eyelids already drooping again.

Light watched you like you were the most fragile thing he’d ever touched.

“You should’ve told me,” he whispered, fingers now tracing along your cheek. “That you were pushing yourself too.”

Your face twitched in your sleep, but you didn’t wake.

“I get so wrapped up in this… crusade,” he continued, voice almost inaudible, “I forget the world doesn’t stop spinning when I do.”

He leaned down, pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and held it there for a moment longer than needed.

“You stayed with me when I was burning myself out. You pulled me away from that desk like it was the easiest thing in the world.”

Another soft kiss, this time to your temple.

“I’m going to cherish you better. I swear it.”

You murmured something in your sleep that sounded suspiciously like, “You better,” and Light almost laughed—but it caught in his throat.

Instead, he pulled the blanket up a little higher around you both, tucked your head beneath his chin, and wrapped his arms around you fully.

Your hand slid over his chest in your sleep, curling into the fabric of his shirt.

And for once, Light let himself rest.

No judgment. No names. Just you.

His greatest peace.

[monro3-rambles]

I just found your blog and absolutely love your writing style! And I really hope that I’m within the open request time frame. Do you think you could do something with Denki x fem reader who is beyond oblivious and dense. Like they’re pretty good academically and has meme brainrot like crazy but can not see that Denki likes her romantically. Like how the bakusquad reacts and everything.

my younger sister iss currently in brainrotso this was pretty fun to write! AND DONT BE WORRIED ABOUT BEING IN THE REQUEST WINDOW!! REQUEST R ALWAYS OPEN

Title: “You Meme the World to Me” Pairing: Denki Kaminari x Oblivious Fem!Reader Genre: Fluff, Humor, Slow Burn (on accident) Word Count: ~1,400

“Bro. You have got to say something soon or I’m gonna combust,” Kirishima whispered, leaning across the cafeteria table.

“I have said something!” Denki hissed back, clutching his juice box in agony. “I say things all the time!”

“‘You’d look great in my hoodie’ doesn’t count if she thinks you’re offering it because she’s cold,” Mina said dryly, sipping her smoothie. “Which she did.”

“Okay, but in my defense, she was cold.”

Sero rested his face in his hands. “She literally told you she’d marry Shrek for five bucks. You need to spell it out. In memes. Maybe she’d understand that.”

“She just sent me a TikTok about a raccoon stealing chicken nuggets and wrote ‘this is us.’ What does that even mean?” Denki whisper-yelled.

Bakugou, from across the table: “It means she’s a dumbass, and so are you.”

Meanwhile…

You slammed your hands on the desk in front of Jirou. “Denki said I’d look hot in his hoodie.”

Jirou blinked. “Yes. Because he likes you.”

You scoffed. “No, he was just being nice. That hoodie is like, universally flattering. Also he said the same thing to that old lady we passed outside the convenience store.”

“That lady was wearing his hoodie because you gave it to her when she got cold, remember?”

You paused. “…That was sweet of him.”

Jirou sighed the sigh of a girl watching two people willfully avoid happiness.

Later that week…

Denki was pacing outside the classroom with a death grip on his phone. Sero and Mina were behind him like emotional support cheerleaders.

“Okay, what if I just say it?” he asked. “Like, direct. Super simple. No memes. Just: ‘Hey, I like you. Romantically. Please date me and be my girlfriend and let me hold your hand sometimes.’”

“That’s perfect!” Mina said. “Say it exactly like that!”

“Unless she thinks it’s a bit,” Sero offered. “You know, because she never takes anything seriously?”

Denki froze. “Oh god, you’re right. What if she thinks I’m joking?”

You walked up right then, headphones in, scrolling your phone and grinning.

“I’m sorry, did you guys see that one edit of Bakugou and a rotisserie chicken? I can’t breathe.”

“Hi,” Denki said weakly. “I… like you.”

“I like you too, bro!” you said cheerfully, punching him in the arm. “Bestie vibes. Solid friendship. Top tier.”

You walked away.

Denki turned to the others, looking haunted. “She friendzoned me in real time. I watched it happen.”

Sero patted his back. “Pour one out for our fallen soldier.”

Eventually…

It took Bakugou snapping.

You were hanging out with the squad in the common room, half-asleep on Denki’s shoulder, laughing at a stupid cat meme while he stared down at you like you hung the moon.

“He looks at her like she invented electricity,” Mina whispered.

“She’s literally using his chest as a pillow right now,” Kirishima whispered back. “How does she not know?”

That’s when Bakugou, across the room with a twitching eye and zero patience left, exploded.

“FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, HE’S IN LOVE WITH YOU.”

You blinked. “What?”

“He’s in love with you, you sentient potato chip! Romantically. He wants to date you. Hold hands. Probably kiss you. The whole damn package.”

Denki squeaked.

The room fell silent.

You looked at Denki, wide-eyed. “You do?”

Denki looked like he was buffering. “I—I mean—yeah! I thought it was obvious! I complimented your hair and you said ‘thanks, it’s attached to my head.’”

You blinked. “I thought you were just being sweet!”

“I asked if you wanted to do a TikTok couple challenge and you said ‘haha yeah we’d be such good fake internet clout partners’!”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, slapping a hand over your face. “I’m the problem. I’m the whole problem.”

“Yeah,” Bakugou grunted.

“Shut up, Katsuki,” you muttered automatically.

You turned to Denki, cheeks flushed. “Wait. So… you actually like me? Like, for real? Not for meme reasons?”

He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Like, so much. Like, maybe-too-much. Like, I thought about writing a poem but it was just ‘ur pretty’ over and over.”

You smiled, heart fluttering, and leaned into him. “Okay. Then you’re allowed to hold my hand now.”

He lit up like a Christmas tree. “Wait, really?!”

You laced your fingers through his. “Yes. And I want your hoodie too. Because now it’s romantic.”

Everyone: cheering noises

Bakugou: “Finally. God. I can breathe again.”

[monro3-rambles]

i'm in denki brainrot

Title: “Dye Another Day” Pairing: Denki Kaminari x Reader Genre: Fluffy chaos, humor, slice-of-life Word Count: ~1,100

“Okay,” you said, spinning dramatically on your heel, arms full of dye boxes, “you have to help me.”

Denki, lounging upside down on your bed with a snack bag balanced on his chest, blinked up at you with wide eyes and crumbs on his chin. “Is this life or death? ‘Cause I’m emotionally prepared for either.”

You held up two boxes like weapons.

“One is green and black. The other is fire-engine red. And I cannot—physically cannot—choose between them.”

He blinked again. “You woke me up from my nap... for a hair dye boss battle?”

“I’m spiraling, Kaminari.”

“Okay, okay, no need for last names. You know it’s serious when you full-name me.” He swung upright, chips flying. “Alright. Let’s assess the options.”

You shoved the boxes at him. He squinted at them like they were some kind of bomb-defusing manual.

“Option one: green and black. Gives off serious villain arc, slay-the-world vibes. Sexy, mysterious, definitely says ‘I can kill you with my eyeliner.’”

You nodded. “Exactly.”

“Option two: red. Hot. Bold. Dangerous. That’s main character energy. That says ‘I run into burning buildings and look good doing it.’”

Also valid.

“I hate that both of those sound correct.”

“You could always dye half and half?” he offered, shrugging. “Split down the middle. Cruella style.”

You gasped. “You genius, you absolute genius.”

He grinned, doing finger guns. “I contain multitudes.”

“But wait—what if it looks terrible?” you flopped dramatically next to him. “What if I fry my hair and end up looking like a sad parrot?”

“I mean, I love parrots,” he said thoughtfully. “They're smart. Colorful. Very loud. Just like you.”

“Excuse me—”

“Also, if it does go wrong,” he added, scooting closer and draping an arm around your shoulders, “I will personally love you through it. Even if your hair ends up radioactive slime green or tomato ketchup red. I will be there. With a hat. And snacks.”

You leaned your head against him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And loyal.”

“And ridiculous.”

“But also hot,” he said, flipping his bangs like he had a shampoo commercial going.

You snorted. “Okay, fine. Help me dye it?”

Denki’s eyes lit up like you’d handed him a taser and free rein.

“Hell yes. I’ve been preparing my whole life for this. Wait—wait, lemme get my phone. We need a before-and-after TikTok.”

“…This is going to end badly, isn’t it?”

“Probably. But it’ll look awesome.”

An Hour Later…

There was dye on the floor. On the sink. On the cat (you didn’t even own a cat). You were pretty sure Denki had gotten some in his mouth somehow.

But your hair?

Flaming red on one side, sleek green-black on the other.

You stared at your reflection in stunned silence.

“…Oh my god.”

“It’s so cool,” Denki said from behind you, absolutely glowing with pride and possibly high on hair dye fumes. “You look like the final boss and the secret romance option in a video game.”

You turned, wide-eyed. “I love it.”

He pumped both fists in the air. “We win! We have won hair!”

You launched yourself at him in a hug. “You’re the best chaotic assistant a girl could ask for.”

“Glad to be of service,” he said, squeezing you tight. “Now, can I dye mine to match?”

“…No.”

“Too late, already ordering dye.”

[monro3-rambles]

Another another request >0<

Reader dragging Light to bed because he's been awake for days writing names on the Death note. Literally pulling on his hand to drag him, not letting him talk his way out because "Kira can judge later, Light needs his sleep." I just think it's cute XD

Hope you have a great day!

this was so cute to write!

Title: “Judgment Can Wait” Pairing: Light Yagami x Reader (established relationship) Genre: Domestic fluff / Light angst comfort Word Count: ~900

“Light,” you said, your voice flat, standing just outside the doorway, “that’s it. Get up.”

He didn’t look up from the Death Note, pen scratching furiously across the page. His hair was a mess, his eyes bloodshot, and from what you could tell, he was halfway through another list of names.

“I’m in the middle of something,” he said, distracted, focused, sharp—but slow. Too slow. He was running on fumes.

You crossed your arms and stepped inside. “You’ve been in the middle of something for three days. You haven’t eaten. Or slept. Or even showered.”

“I can’t stop now. There are still names—”

You marched up to him and grabbed his wrist mid-sentence.

“Too bad. Kira can judge tomorrow. Light needs his damn sleep now.”

He blinked, finally glancing up at you. You didn’t look mad—just worried. Exhausted in a different way than him. He wasn’t sure why that hit harder than it should’ve.

“I’m fine,” he tried to say, but you were already tugging on him.

“Nope. No talking. Talking means excuses. I know how this goes.”

He gave you the Light Yagami look—the calm, composed one he used on detectives and gods alike.

You stared him dead in the eye.

"Don't make me get the sedative tea."

That made him pause. "...You don’t have sedative tea."

"You wanna bet?"

He stared at you another second.

Then sighed.

He could outwit geniuses, fool Shinigami, and shape the world into something divine.

But he could not win against the stubborn love in your eyes and the grip on his wrist that told him you weren’t letting go.

“Fine,” he muttered.

You smiled. “Good boy.”

“You know I could write your name down for that.”

“I’ll take my chances,” you said, dragging him to the bed.

He followed, letting you pull him like a grumpy cat being carried off a countertop. It was kind of humiliating, but also… warm. Grounding.

You guided him onto the mattress, tugged the blankets over him, and flopped down beside him before he could sneak away.

“See?” you whispered, tucking yourself close. “Not so bad.”

He stared at the ceiling. “You realize people are dying while I lie here, right?”

“People are always dying, Light,” you said softly, brushing hair from his face. “You’ll be better at judging them when you’re not hallucinating from exhaustion.”

That shut him up.

His muscles slowly relaxed, his eyes fluttering closed.

And for the first time in three days, Kira let himself sleep.

[monro3-rambles]

i'm fucking evil

Title: “Even Death Couldn’t Keep You” Pairing: Sukuna x Wife!Reader Genre: Angst, Reincarnation, Soft Redemption Tinge Word Count: ~1,300

He didn’t feel it at first.

Not truly. Not in a way that made sense.

The moment your heart stopped, the cursed energy in you vanished—and the world felt wrong. Not empty. Not cold. Just… incomplete.

A glitch in the system. A crack across the sky.

You had been immortal.

He made sure of it. He had torn kingdoms apart for it. Fed you talismans soaked in divine blood, bathed your soul in curses, carved ancient sigils into your bones to bind you to him for eternity.

So how? How could you—how dare you—die?

He stood over your body for hours. Days. It didn’t matter. Time was nothing without you.

You looked peaceful, and that made it worse. Like you simply slipped away instead of fighting to stay. Like you chose to leave him.

His fists were clenched, trembling. Not with rage—never rage. He had nothing left to destroy.

He already lost the one thing that mattered.

“Sukuna,” Uraume said quietly, from behind. “We must prepare the rites—”

“Get out,” he growled, not turning around.

“Sukuna—”

“I SAID—” his voice broke, raw and bitter, “—get out.”

They left.

He knelt beside you.

You always looked small when you were asleep. It used to amuse him. The King of Curses, tamed by something so delicate. So mortal.

Except you weren’t mortal. Not anymore. Not since he made you something beyond human. Beyond death.

So why—

He pressed his forehead to yours. His claws curled around your lifeless fingers.

“…I would’ve killed the gods for you,” he whispered, hollow. “And I did.”

You didn’t answer. Of course you didn’t.

He’d killed men for less.

He would burn the stars for more time.

But nothing came.

Nothing worked.

She was gone.

The first and only thing he called his own, the only soul who reached into the abyss and stayed—was gone.

And Sukuna, for the first time in thousands of years, was left behind.

Years passed. Decades. Centuries.

He let the world rot.

The rituals were pointless. The offerings a mockery.

He became nothing but myth and fear again. No longer king—just a monster.

He wanted to fade, sometimes. Let the fury eat him whole.

But your name stayed etched in his soul like a scar that never healed. And he never forgot.

Then came the vessel.

Sukuna wasn’t surprised when some foolish brat consumed his finger. It was bound to happen eventually. And he didn’t care—just another pathetic host to wear like a skin.

But then—

Then he saw you.

Not across a battlefield. Not in a dream. Inside the vessel.

You weren’t fully there—just a flicker, a soul clinging to his like a forgotten thread.

But he felt you.

Felt you.

His cursed heart stuttered. A phantom ache surged through him like blood rushing into old wounds.

“...No,” he hissed inside the domain. “It can’t be.”

But there you were.

Your essence. Your signature. That soft, defiant warmth that always contradicted his rot.

You weren’t complete yet. Reincarnated, but sleeping. Waiting. Like he had.

The vessel didn’t know. No one did.

But he knew. He would always know.

“You little fool,” he whispered to himself, staring at the fragment of you curled deep in Yuji Itadori’s soul. “You followed me.”

He should’ve laughed.

Instead, he trembled.

It was pathetic. Undignified. Human.

But he felt something he hadn’t in over a thousand years.

Hope.

Later, when you opened your eyes—

It wasn’t in a shrine. Or a palace. Or a battlefield like before.

It was a classroom.

You didn’t remember everything—just flashes. Heat. Teeth. A laugh like thunder and blood in your veins that didn’t belong to you.

But when you looked into Yuji’s reflection one night and your eyes flashed a little too red…

A voice greeted you.

Low. Reverent. Terrified.

“…You’re here.”

You froze.

“Don’t be afraid,” the voice said. “It’s me.”

“...Who are you?”

A pause. Then:

“The one you made a monster of.” “The one who never forgot you.” “The one who waited.”

And deep inside you, like a second heartbeat rising from the ashes—

You remembered.

[monro3-rambles]

meow

Title: “You Can Stay” Pairing: Shinsou Hitoshi x Reader Genre: Fluff / Comfort Word Count: ~1,000

You didn’t even bother knocking.

Your body moved on autopilot, shuffling down the dorm hallway like a barely-functioning zombie. It had been an awful day—training, classes, another pop quiz, and Aizawa deciding the best way to build stamina was to run drills until your legs forgot how to exist.

You opened the door to Shinsou’s room and didn’t even register whether he was in the middle of something. All you knew was that you needed him.

"Hey—"

Whatever he was about to say was cut short as you dropped onto his bed and right onto his lap, sprawling face-down across him like a limp cat.

“…Well, hi to you too,” he muttered, half amused, half concerned.

You just groaned into his hoodie.

He didn’t move right away—just let out a breath and glanced down at you, trying to gauge how serious this was.

“You good?” he asked, voice low and rough.

“No,” you mumbled into the fabric. “I'm dying. Tell my story.”

Shinsou snorted quietly. “I'll tell people you bravely face-planted onto your boyfriend to avoid your responsibilities."

"Sounds accurate," you muttered.

You felt his hands move—one pressing gently to the back of your head, fingers weaving into your hair, the other settling on your spine with a warm, grounding weight.

“Rough day?” he asked.

“Worst. My everything hurts. My soul hurts.”

“Want me to call Recovery Girl?” he offered, totally deadpan. “Tell her you need a lollipop and a therapist?”

You cracked a tiny smile into his shirt, and he felt it.

“No. Just… you,” you said quietly.

Something about the way you said it made his chest ache.

You weren't joking anymore. You were done. Burned out. Drained in that deep, quiet way where nothing fixes it but safety and stillness.

And to you, he was both.

He didn’t say anything after that—just shifted slightly, so you weren’t crushing his leg, and pulled the blanket over you both. You melted into the warmth of him like you were meant to be there, your cheek pressed to his chest, his heart steady under your ear.

His fingers never stopped running through your hair, slow and lazy, and your whole body softened by degrees.

“You fall asleep on me, you’re stuck here,” he warned in a low murmur, lips brushing your hair.

“Good. Your fault for being comfortable.”

“Bold of you to assume I mind.”

You sighed, nose bumping the side of his neck as you tucked in tighter. “You’re warm.”

“You’re heavy.”

“You’re mean.”

“You love it,” he said softly, his voice catching just a bit.

You didn’t answer, but your hand found his and curled around it. He squeezed back.

Neither of you moved for a long time. The room was quiet, save for his steady breathing and the tiny sound of your content hums.

Eventually, you whispered, “Thanks for being home.”

Shinsou blinked. His arms tightened around you.

“Anytime,” he said. “You can stay as long as you want.”

And you did.

[monro3-rambles]

Another request🙏

Light got exposed as Kira and handcuffed at the warehouse along Mikami, Light just accepting his fate when told he won't even be tried on court, just automatic death penalty. Then all of a sudden all the task force and SPK started dropping to the floor. The door opens and there stood Reader, in tears, with a page of the DN. She runs to hug him tight, scared she almost lost him.

If possible, can you make two POVs for this🙏one showing the struggle of Reader between murder and cursing herself to MU or saving Light. The another with how Light felt during the arrest to suddenly seeing Reader with the DN she swore never to use, but did to save him.

I hope this is okay, thank you 💖

honestly this was kinda hard to do- but i hope it is what you wanted! enjoy

𝐏𝐎𝐕: 𝐘𝐨𝐮 / 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

You stared down at the torn page of the Death Note.

It trembled in your grip, as if the paper itself knew it wasn’t supposed to be here. You’d hidden it long ago—buried it with your resolve, with every piece of humanity you had left. You had sworn, no matter what, you would never use it. Never play God. Never become what he had become.

But you could hear them. The voices crackling through the comms. The screaming. And then—his voice, breathless and panicked.

They had him. Light was caught. And they were going to kill him.

Not try him. Not even let him speak. “Death penalty. Immediately.” They said it like it meant nothing. Like he meant nothing.

Your legs barely carried you as you staggered to the center of the room. Ink smeared down your wrist, names—so many names. Your hands shook violently, your heart even more. Each letter you wrote carved a new wound in your soul.

You were a murderer now.

A killer.

Just like him.

Your knees hit the concrete as you stumbled into the warehouse. You barely registered the sound of bodies thudding all around you, the sharp gasps of dying men. You didn’t care. You couldn’t even look.

Because there he was.

Bloodied. Handcuffed. Shocked.

“Light—!” You flung yourself toward him, gripping him like you could fuse your soul into his and never let go again.

His body was warm. He was alive. You had made sure of it. But what did that make you now?

A monster. Or… a goddess beside a god.

You buried your face in his shoulder and cried.

“I—I’m sorry,” you choked, over and over. “I’m sorry… I tried—I really tried not to. I told myself I wouldn’t ever—Light, I couldn’t lose you…”

𝐏𝐎𝐕: 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐘𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐢

This was it.

Everything crumbled.

Mikami's betrayal. Near’s smug declaration. The look of horror in the Task Force’s eyes—like they never knew him at all.

He laughed at first, because what else was there to do? Even a god falls.

They had him handcuffed. Bleeding. Defeated. No trial. No last words. Just the death penalty.

So this was how it ended.

He accepted it.

There was no point fighting now. No notebook. No time. No one left. He had burned it all.

And then—

Screams. Choking. One by one, they dropped. Every single one. Their bodies collapsed like dominos.

What—?

The warehouse doors burst open.

And she stood there.

His goddess.

Tears streaked down her face, ink staining her fingers. Her eyes locked onto his, broken and shining, and his heart lurched violently.

The page. She used the page.

The one he’d given her, long ago. And told her never to touch.

He stared. He couldn’t breathe.

“...You—” She ran into his arms. He didn’t stop her. He couldn’t. His hands, though bound, ached to touch her, to hold her.

She used it. She broke her vow. For him.

Something in his chest twisted painfully. Not pride. Not even triumph. Something else. Something deeper.

“You…” his voice cracked, barely a whisper. “You killed for me.”

She sobbed into him, repeating apologies that didn’t need to be said.

And Light Yagami—Kira—rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes.

She was supposed to be better. She was his last untouched thing. His humanity.

But she fell for him. And now she had fallen with him.

And yet… even now…

He had never seen anyone more divine.

[monro3-rambles]

Hello! Another request if you're still up for one XD

Another Light x Reader 

Reader dressing up as a goddess, (either for a school play or maybe modelling) and then when Light sees her, he just freezes for a few moments. Just blank, no thoughts, just awe struck. Then when he snaps out of it his first thought was "she really is a goddess, the one who'll stand beside me in the new world I'm creating" something like that XD 

Thank you! <33

title: "A Vision of Her"

You stood backstage, heart pounding, dressed in flowing white robes and golden accents. Today’s school play finally began—an ancient myth retold, and you were cast as the goddess of dawn. Your hair caught the stage lights, framing your face in a radiant halo.

From the front row, Light Yagami sat with perfect posture, his usual intensity softened by something else entirely. As the curtains parted and you stepped into the spotlight, silence fell—not with nerves, but with reverent hush.

For a heartbeat, Light froze. His mind went blank, completely captivated. No calculated thoughts, no mental checklist… just this moment of pure, awe-struck stillness.

When he finally blinked and refocused, the gears in his brain revved into motion—but they carried a different tone than usual. She really is a goddess… the one who’ll stand beside me in the new world I’m creating.

A small, secret smile tugged at his lips as you gracefully performed, each movement shaped by delicate confidence. The audience leaned in, but in his eyes, you were the only star on stage.

After the final bow, you slipped offstage, cheeks flushed with adrenaline. Light rose gracefully, crossing the auditorium in long strides until he stood before you. You caught a glimpse of the burning intensity in his eyes—not scrutiny, but admiration.

He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You were… breathtaking,” he said softly, voice low. “Not just as the goddess in the play—you were astonishing.”

Your heart fluttered. “You really think so?” you whispered.

Light tilted his head, gaze unwavering. “More than that,” he murmured. “It’s like… I’ve seen the blueprint of my new world, and you’re at its center.”

Tension sparked between you—not the nerve-wracking kind, but a charged current of something deeper: destiny, unity, promise. You reached for his hand, and this time he didn’t hesitate—he squeezed gently, warm and resolute.

The backstage chatter and applause faded into distant background noise, because in that singular moment, it was only the two of you: Light, the future architect of a new world, and you—his goddess, stepping firmly into that vision with him.

[monro3-rambles]

Hello! 👋

I just wanted to ask if you write for Light Yagami? If so can you write a Light x sick gf Reader? A fluffy sick fic where Reader is too stubborn to rest so Light has to force and look after her to make sure she rests, like a caring and loving bf (I know he isn't but let's pretend he is in this story 😂)

This is my first time requesting so I'm not sure if I explained things clearly so bear with me lol thank you and have a great day! ❤️

i absolutely write for light!

Title: "Rest Is Non-Negotiable"

The soft glow of the afternoon sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm hue over the living room. You sat on the couch, a blanket draped over your shoulders, tissues scattered around, and a stubborn determination in your eyes.

"I told you, I'm fine," you insisted, reaching for your laptop.

Light appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, an unimpressed look on his face. "You're running a fever, your nose is redder than a tomato, and you just sneezed five times in a row."

"It's just a cold," you muttered, avoiding his gaze.

Without a word, Light walked over, gently taking the laptop from your hands and placing it on the coffee table. "Rest is non-negotiable."

You pouted, but he was already tucking the blanket around you more snugly. He then disappeared into the kitchen, returning moments later with a steaming mug.

"Chamomile tea with honey," he said, handing it to you.

You took a sip, the warmth soothing your throat. "You're being awfully sweet today."

Light sat beside you, a rare, gentle smile on his lips. "Even geniuses know when to take care of what's important."

You leaned against him, the comfort of his presence making you feel better already. "Thanks, Light."

He wrapped an arm around you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Now, sleep. That's an order."

UGH I HAD FUN WRITNING THIS!!!!

[monro3-rambles]

0 requests.... im so bored

Title: "Unspoken Variables"

The fluorescent lights of the investigation room cast a sterile glow, illuminating the scattered files and half-empty coffee cups. You sat across from L, the world's greatest detective, whose intense gaze never wavered from the screen displaying the latest Kira case updates.

"You're unusually quiet today," you remarked, breaking the silence.

L's fingers paused over the keyboard, his eyes flickering to meet yours. "Observation: Your tone suggests concern."

"Observation: You're deflecting," you countered, a smirk tugging at your lips.

A rare, almost imperceptible smile played on L's face. "Touché."

The room fell silent again, the air thick with unspoken words. The tension between you was palpable, a constant undercurrent since the day you joined the task force.

"Do you ever consider the variables outside the case?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

L tilted his head, intrigued. "Such as?"

"Emotions. Connections. The human element."

He leaned back, his gaze penetrating. "Emotions can cloud judgment."

"Or they can provide clarity," you challenged.

A beat passed. Then another. Finally, L stood, the chair scraping softly against the floor. He approached you, stopping just short of invading your personal space.

"You're a variable I didn't anticipate," he admitted, his voice low.

Your heart raced, the proximity amplifying the tension. "And how do you plan to solve for me?"

L's eyes searched yours, a rare vulnerability surfacing. "Perhaps some variables aren't meant to be solved but experienced."

[monro3-rambles]

nishanoya x reader

Title: "The Great Kitchen Catastrophe"

It was a quiet Sunday afternoon, the kind that begged for mischief. You and Nishinoya had decided to bake cookies—a seemingly innocent endeavor.

"Are you sure we need this much flour?" you asked, eyeing the mountain of white powder he was pouring into the bowl.

"Absolutely! The more, the merrier!" he declared, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Moments later, the kitchen resembled a winter wonderland, flour covering every surface—and both of you. Nishinoya sported a flour mustache, grinning like a mad scientist.

"I dub thee, Sir Whiskerface," you announced, placing a colander on his head like a helmet.

He struck a pose, brandishing a spatula. "And I shall defend this kingdom from the evil Burnt Cookies!"

Laughter echoed through the kitchen as you both embraced the chaos, dancing around to an impromptu song about cookie dough and kitchen disasters.

By the end, the cookies were... edible, at best. But the memories? Absolutely delicious.