၊၊||၊ Sensitive ears. He squeaks like a fawn when you touch them. He likes scratches, head pats, playing with his hair, etc. He actually loves doing all these to you too. He likes to scratch you here and there, like scratching your hand or back, sometimes you barely even feel his touch and sometimes you can even bleed a bit but it feels like cat scratches.
၊၊||၊ Makes fun of you, but not to the point where it’s degrading, more of a slightly mean teasing/mocking, especially when you beg. Despite that he gives amazing after care and actually makes sure you’re feeling taken care of.
၊၊||၊ He call you a LOT of sweet nicknames such as; sweetie, darling, sweetheart, dear. During sex and in your every day life. He isn’t used to you calling him nicknames, sure complimenting him always makes his smile more genuine but nicknames make his ears twitch, but it depends if they twitch from unexpected ecstasy or disgust.
၊၊||၊ Sometimes just grabs you and spins you around (can even start dancing with you), dusts your clothes, fixes your hair, moves you around. He loves having you under his control, treating you like a little porcelain doll that he can play with. Loves to dress you up in old timey dresses/suits.
၊၊||၊ He broadcasts your moans over his radio microphone(?) (my friend said it looks like a rose toy) during the process. He doesn’t make much noise himself though, only pants and groans with his usual smirk on.
Taking you out to eat. You getting so full you’re low-key embarrassed about it. Sneaking you into the toilets. Hurrying up because we both can’t fit in a stall. One hand rubbing over your swollen belly, the other between your legs to show how proud I am of you.
Knowing that you like handmade gifts, he decided to make you something simple and cute that you can take everywhere.
ꪆৎ730 words, GN!Reader x Whoever(m), fluff, sfw, handmade gift, teasing, he is a sweetheart, etcꪆৎ
The house was quiet, save for the low hum of the refrigerator and the distant, rhythmic chirping of birds outside the window. It smelled like the tail-end of breakfast—lingering notes of coffee grounds and the faint, yeasty scent of the bread dough you’d left to rise under a damp cloth on the counter.
You found it sitting there, wrapped in an old, faded blue bandana—the kind he usually kept stuffed in the back pocket of his work pants, stained with grease and smelling faintly of woodsmoke and the sharp, clean scent of his soap. It was folded with a careful, almost painful precision, like he’d spent way too much time trying to make it look effortless.
You didn’t call for him right away.
You just… stared at it.
You unfolded it slow.
Inside lay a little keychain. It was clumsy and was sweet. A piece of thick, dark leather had been cut into a shape that wasn't quite a heart and wasn't quite a circle—just a soft, rounded scrap that felt heavy and grounding in your palm. The edges were joined by uneven, thick black thread, the stitches staggered like he’d struggled to pull the needle through the tough hide with those big, calloused fingers of his.
Pressed into the center was a single metal washer, bolted flat and stamped with the first letter of your name. The metal was cold against your skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the leather. You ran your fingers over it. The stitchwork was crooked. The shape was imperfect. The washer wasn’t centered.
It was the most beautiful thing you’d ever been given.
And he knew it, too. "You gonna keep starin' at it, or you gonna tell me it’s ugly?"
You turned and found him leaning in the kitchen doorway. Arms crossed. Eyes a little too careful. Like he was trying to read your reaction without letting you read him.
“You left this for me?” you asked.
He didn’t move. “Yeah.”
“Where’d you get it?”
“Didn’t buy it.”
You smiled, the warmth of the sun on your back matching the heat rising in your chest. “I can tell.”
He rolled his eyes, a huff of a laugh escaping him as his shoulders finally eased. “Didn’t mean for it to be ugly.”
"It’s not," you said, stepping closer. You held it up, letting the sunlight catch the silver of the washer. "It’s beautiful."
He raised a brow, his expression skeptical but his eyes softening. "It's a piece of trash from the garage."
"No," you corrected, closing the distance between you. You stood between his knees, looking up at him. "You made this? With your hands?"
He scratched the back of his neck, his rough fingers disappearing into the hair at the nape of his neck. "Had some scrap leather left over from that belt I was fixin'. Found the washer in the junk drawer. Figured I’d try to stamp it. Don't laugh."
You didn’t laugh.
You hugged it to your chest instead, and then leaned in.
You kissed him—soft, slow, and tasting like the morning. Your smile was caught in the corner of your mouth, pressing against his lips.
"I love it," you murmured against his skin.
He blinked. “You do?”
"Yes, I told you before. I don’t care about store-bought stuff. You made this with your hands. You thought about it. That’s what matters to me.”
He looked down at his hands, almost as if he were seeing them for the first time through your eyes. "Didn't know if you'd see it that way. Thought you might want somethin'... better."
“Well, I do.”
You slipped the little keychain onto your belt loop, right there on your hip. It dangled there against your hip, the leather dark against your jeans.
He stared.
“…You don't gotta wear it out like that," he muttered, though his hand was already reaching out to touch it. "It ain't exactly fashionable."
"Too bad," you beamed, catching his hand and lacing your fingers through his. "Now I get to tell everyone my boyfriend made this with love and bruised fingers. I get to tell them he’s a romantic, even if he tries to hide it."
"Jesus," he groaned, hiding his face in his free hand, but he was grinning. You could hear the vibration of it in his chest.
You laughed and leaned into him, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face in his shirt. He smelled like the sun and the work he’d done, and for a moment, the whole world felt perfectly anchored.
"You're not slick," you said against his chest. "You pretend like you’re this big, tough guy who doesn't do cute stuff, but I see you. I always see you."
He was quiet for a long beat. The only sound was the wind chimes on the porch and the heavy, steady thrum of his heart beneath your ear. Then, his arms came around you, pulling you in just a little too tight, his chin resting on top of your head. It was a possessive, protective hold—the kind that told you he wasn't going anywhere.
"I’ll make you another one," he said, his voice low and quiet, spoken into your hair. "A better one. This one was just practice."
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
You looked up at him, your eyes dancing with a bit of smug triumph. "So you do like making me things."
He gave you a gruff little grunt, but his hand slid up the back of your neck, his thumb brushing that soft, sensitive place right under your ear. The touch was firm, grounded, and full of a tenderness he only ever showed you.
“I like you," he said, his eyes locking onto yours with a raw, sunny honesty. "That’s different."
You grinned, stretching up on your tiptoes to kiss the tip of his nose.
“Same thing," you said. And as the sun continued to climb, spilling more gold across the kitchen floor, you knew he’d be back in that garage by noon, fingers working a needle, making sure the next one was just a little bit closer to perfect—just for you.
Speaking again as a mall cop, from personal experience:
Things I don't mind helping with:
Finding a lost child or parent
Giving directions
Assisting non-english speakers
Escorting you between areas if you feel unsafe
Following up with vehicle break-ins
Assisting with missing valuables
Addressing medical emergencies, including overdoses and panic attacks
Hazards such as ice, wet floors, biological waste, and dirty needles
Things that make me want to lay in a hole:
Reports of Dirty Person sighted
Eyewitness accounts of a wheelchair user standing up
Reports of individuals shopping while homeless
Anyone defending their "god-given right" to be naked, park in the fire lane, walk barefoot through the food court, piss on the ground, or fuck in public on the two-dollar five-minute massage chairs
Warnings: not proofread, french kisses, cursing, slightly suggestive, !M*ri mentioned!
A/n: ugh I love him (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)
[Pictures found on pinterest, all credits to original artists/photographers!]
link to anime masterlist
"Next time, you won't be so lucky!"
~
It was a stressful day for you. As one of the tech people in the Port Mafia, you were in charge of majority of paperwork and gathering information. As well as saving others' asses because they never checked for cameras when doing missions (it was your job to disable them). So in other words; a not so fun job. Though, you did enjoy hacking. Unfortunately for you, the fun of hacking came with the price of double the paperwork.
Today had been an extra boring day. Sitting in front of a computer all day, making sure the others didn't get themselves killed (you watched them through security cameras), as well as absentmindedly filling out a stack of papers that probably required more attention than a casual skim (not that you cared). Besides, if M*ri disagreed with your choices, he could just, well, do it himself.
Naturally, after the long day, you stopped by the bar. You weren't someone who enjoyed alcohol much, but you wanted to at least get tipsy so you could stop thinking about the work you had yet to finish, due by the end of next week. Tomorrow was also a free day, and you wanted to celebrate first before deciding any plans. Nothing too strong—you didn't wanna wake up on your free day hungover.
You opened the door to the bar, the peaceful music flowing into your ears. Seeing as you could hear the music, it was a quieter day. You much preferred days like this, in comparison to the days where this place was packed, filled with couples that did things no one wanted to see.
As you made your way to the counter, eyeing the menu to see if they had any seltzers, you spotted a familiar redhead sitting at the far end of the counter, swirling the contents of his half-empty wine glass with his hand before sipping it.
A grin made your face, your day just got a whole lot better.
You hadn't seen Chuuya, your boyfriend, in far too long. He was mostly on missions while you worked in the computer room. You two used to work together on the same missions—he went out and you guided him through buildings by hacking their software and disabling any cameras or motion detectors that might spot him. Sometimes you even got to go with him. Recently, though, you were put into different segments of the Port Mafia—which meant no more missions together.
Seeing him here wasn't a rare occurrence—he did love his wine—but you being free enough to approach him didn't happen often these days.
Of course, you weren't gonna let this opportunity go to waste, any less than you were gonna let this go by peacefully. You were gonna get yourself almost killed, like always, because you found his anger funny.
You walked over, your boyfriend not yet noticing you as he zoned out. And, before he got the chance to recognize you—you snatched his hat off of his head. He whipped around so fast—it was almost a blur. His hand was reeled back, ready to punch you in the face as he scowled.
But it stopped.
Mere inches from your face.
You grinned down at Chuuya's face as his scowl turned to surprise—then immediately softening into something else as he lowered his hand.
"You shouldn't do that. I almost broke your nose," he muttered, but you could tell by his eyes that he wasn't angry. You placed his hat on your head, and his lips twitched into a smirk.
"You look ridiculous," he teased, tugging you closer by your wrist until you stood between his legs.
"I look better than you, that's for sure," you teased right back. He playfully scowled, but even he couldn't keep the grin off his lips as you held you by the waist.
You adored this version of Chuuya. Your version of him. Everyone knew him as a loud and rude man—but that was only because people mostly saw him when he was pissed off (no help from his former partner Dazai, who never failed to rile him up). Usually, though, Chuuya was like any other person... and really gentle with you.
"It does look nice on you, though," he mused, his eyes on the hat. You chuckled, "Didn't you just call it ridiculous?" You deadpanned. Chuuya rolled his eyes, "Stop holding me to my words. You know you make anything look good on you. Even nothing," he teased absentmindedly. You blinked at him. He blinked back.
Then, he turned as red as his hair.
"I-I didn't mean that—"
"Oh, so I don't look good in nothing?" You teased—you'd never let him live this down.
"No! Of... of course you—just... ugh," he groaned. You laughed.
Maybe it was because you missed his touch more than his flustered rambling—or maybe you just slipped into a sentimental mood, but instead of teasing him, you ran a hand through his hair. He raised an eyebrow, but didn't complain.
You pulled him into a gentle embrace. He froze for a minute, before his arms tightened around your waist.
"I missed you," you murmured without thinking, voice soft as you subconsciously massaged his shoulders, making him melt into your touch. Chuuya smirked, about to say something snarky—but with your soft tone and the gentle motions on his shoulder... that very smirk faltered as he thought better of whatever he was gonna say, in favor of enjoying the moment.
He rested his face against your stomach, inhaling your scent as you moved your hands from his shoulders to the back of his head.
"I missed you, too, darling," his voice was muffled by the fabric of your clothing. Your fingers ran through his hair again, making him shudder slightly as he held you close.
"Mm, keep doing that..." he muttered. You usually teased him about it when he got like this, but for once, you kept quiet.
Your fingers circled his scalp over and over in a gentle massage. After about a minute, you stopped, reaching up to your own head and removing his hat to place it back on his head.
Chuuya caught your wrist before you put it back on him, "No, keep it. I like it when you wear my things, anyway," he said, taking the hat from your hands. You bent your head down a bit for him to place it on your head again.
"There, now you look perfect," he said, satisfied.
"And ridiculous?" You teased. He rolled his eyes fondly,
"And beautiful, my love. Now shut up and come here," his hands grabbed your waist again as he pulled you onto his lap. You laughed, but didn't resist. He held you against his chest as he nuzzled his head into your neck, inhaling your scent once more.
"Goddamn..." he sighed into your neck, "I was going crazy all these days without seeing you. That damn M*ri didn't assign a single fucking mission, not a single one, with us as partners," he muttered, holding you tighter as if to spite M*ri himself. You only sighed at the mention of your boss.
"It's like ever since we started dating, Boss thinks we won't work well together in missions and we'll slack off. What a bunch of bullshit," he grumbled, cursing M*ri out under his breath as you laughed tiredly.
"Personally, I think we'd work even better together, now that we're dating," you mused. Whenever you two worked together, at least before, you both were great at getting the job done. Working with Chuuya meant sometimes being able to leave your computer room, hold your laptop, and run with him as he did his missions. You got to sneak into and infiltrate buildings to reach their computer room and insert virus chips that gave you all their information—doing it all personally, as Chuuya killed anyone in your path. It was fun. If only that stupid pedo didn't find out you two were together. Then, maybe, you two would spend all day working together again.
"Damn straight. We'd kick their asses," Chuuya bragged, grinning.
"You would kick their asses," you corrected. He rolled his eyes, "You'd kick their digital asses, then."
You smiled at that.
As you two spoke of whatever (mostly stupid shit that happened on missions), he stroked the side of your thigh subconsciously, listening to everything you said while also adding his own input. He occasionally sipped his wine. After the third sip, though, you stopped talking and raised a playful eyebrow.
"Chuuya, honey... don't you think you should stop drinking for tonight?" You asked, chuckling. He furrowed his brows, confused, "Why?" He asked, "Tomorrow's a free day, anyway," he said, about to down the rest of his wine. Only, you snatched it away before he got the chance. He scowled, eyes screaming betrayal.
"Because we both know just how much of a lightweight you are," you teased, watching his scowl widen even more.
"I am not a—! Mmph..."
His words were cut short as he felt your lips against his, melting into the kiss. His cheeks were dusted a pink, less because of alcohol and more because of you. Chuuya's wide eyes closed as his hands gripped your waist. He pulled away for a moment, but you chased him down—not that he resisted much.
Kiss after kiss, his hands found your lower back as he stabled you on his lap, pulling you closer. You pulled away, smirking as he panted softly. His eyes were dazed, staring at you with a look that was almost clouded over.
"What was..." he starts to ask, breathless. You smiled innocently, "What? You wouldn't shut up, so I put your mouth to better use," you said cheerfully. He hid his face in your neck.
"Tch.. you're the one who needs to shut up, idiot," he grumbled against your nape. You could feel the heat of the blood rising to his cheeks against your neck, and it only made you giggle more.
"You are so easy, come on, I just kissed you a little," you teased.
Suddenly, you felt his arms tighten on your waist, and you knew it was too late to take back your words now.
"Easy? I'll show you easy."
You barely had time to react as he kissed you again. His lips were soft against yours, but the kiss wasn't gentle—rather, it was a harsh smack. You couldn't help but gasp at the suddenness of it all, eyes wide, as he used the advantage of your parted lips to slip his tongue into your mouth. You groaned into the kiss, hands tangling into his hair, wide eyes closing. He tasted like wine and something truly his own. A taste you could never get used to yet never get enough of.
Your tongues danced together in each other's mouths, the rest of the people drowned out by the intensity of the kiss. The music of the bar was practically nonexistent to the rhythm of your heartbeats pressed together.
He pulled away, both of you breathless, string of saliva connecting your mouths.
"You're so... easy..." he tried to tease back, though it was hardly affective, seeing as he was just as breathless. He settled for resting his forehead against yours as you two panted together.
"I think I'll continue being easy if that's how you prove it to me," you murmured. He couldn't help the small smile on his lips as he pulled you in again for a briefer kiss. The taste of you was far more intoxicating than any wine would ever be.
Chuuya's hair was a mess, falling over his blue eyes in a way that made your heart stutter. To him, though, seeing you here, on his lap, wearing his hat (though it was on the verge of falling off), and smiling down at him? It was everything he could ever ask for. The tension that clung to your shoulders when you first walked in had eased long ago, and you could tell by his relaxed expression that he was the farthest thing from stressed, too.
Chuuya found it unfair that no matter what was occupying his mind, whether it was important or stressful; you could just come along and make him forget. Maybe M*ri was right to not put you two on missions together, because Chuuya for one would much rather gaze at you.
You just... did that that for him.
You took his stress stress away. You took his breath away. You took everything away, gave it back, and kept his heart... and his hat, too, seeing how it was still perched on your head.
When you first entered the Port Mafia, falling in love with an executive wasn't at the top of your list. But now? Staying in love with him wasn't an option anymore—it was your life.
Loving each other was no longer an option. It was a requirement.
Because even in the mafia, you can have your happy endings.
[All original work, please don't steal!]
A/n: it's one in the morning as I finish this fanfiction after watching the Cortis live, so don't mind any bad writing or typos! But here, enjoy some art my friend drew for this fanfiction (:
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Late spring of senior year. You and Light have always had sleepovers during summer. His mom use to take care of you when you were little due to the fact that his mom was a family friend to yours. You always knew Light and have been friends with him, until Valentine’s Day when you confessed to liking him. (In which he said yes to you)
One day, you’re waken up by Sayu jumping on the guest bed at Light’s house. “Y/n! Y/n! Wake up!” You open your eyes to see her smiling down at you. You then see Light at the door watching cautiously over his younger sister.
“Good morning to you too! Hey, Light.”
You take a double take when you realize Light was right there at the door. Him seeing you with bed head and no makeup?! Oh, yeah, you’re cooked. He reads you like a book and smiles, already aware of what you’re thinking.
Sayu finally stops jumping and lays there panting and yapping about how her favorite actor is in a new film. You just smile and support her delusions. Once Sayu finishes she leaves and Light stays behind,
closing the door behind him.
“You seem well rested. That’s good for all the things we’ll be doing today.”
You look at him noticing he said that in a tone as if he has something in mind. Today, you were supposed to stay another night with him, so you wouldn’t be surprised if he has something planned. You watch as Light walks over and kisses your forehead and you see him look over his shoulder as if looking at someone, yet no one is there.
He turns to you and says “Be ready by 9:30. Head to my room when you’re done.”
You watch him walk out and just shrug to yourself. You get up and pick out your outfit, shower, do your makeup, and daydream about Light obviously. You go back to your room and grab your bag for the day and head to his room. He’s nowhere to be found.
You look around his room and notice a black notebook on his bed. He must’ve forgotten to put it away. You suppose that it’s probably one of his nerdy college textbooks and pick it up, yet nothing happens. You decide to flip through it for fun.
As you read, you recognize the names of people you’ve heard of, people killed by Kira. You notice how each one gets more and more intense. Some of them being people you’ve seen Light’s father with. You notice that it’s all deaths. This can’t belong to anyone in the house. Light isn’t like this.
You turn your head to see Light already there watching you, door closed and LOCKED. You’re super confused on his change in character.
“Looking at things that don’t belong to you, hm? Come on, y/n. Don’t you know better?”
You quickly realize what you’re doing and apologize, but he just smirks. “Behind you.” He says calmly. Confused you turn your head to see Ryuk. You jump out of surprise and then smile politely.
“A shinigami! I’ve always wanted to meet one.”
Light raises an eyebrow and sits next to you. “Most people would be praying after seeing a shinigami, yet you’re so amazed and accepting. I could work with that.”
“You could work with that?”
“Yeah, I could work with that. Probably because now that you know about Ryuk and the note, there’s no way I could let you be alone now. You’ll have to stick with me from now on. Oh, and also maybe because…”
“Because what?”
He looks at Ryuk and then at you and grins. “I’m Kira, y/n.”
A/n: had to reupload this because I wanted to post it on my alt but that didn’t work out, so I put it back on here. Again, this was my first ACTUAL fan fic, so don’t come for me lol. I use to make chat stories on Wit but if ykyk.
Being hushed as you sob and he keeps you sensitive, on edge. Grinding up into your core, helping you ride out each orgasm before edging you into another. Slowly getting rougher and rougher until he's pounding into your sore hole, petting your hair and kissing away tears as all you can do is cry and whine at him, already knowing it won't stop until he's satisfied and you're exhausted. Squirming on his lap but he holds you down and fills you up over and over again and you feel too full and it's all too much, you can't help the new rush of tears. Yet still you can't help bucking your hips, eager to please as he starts up again.
He keeps you plugged and full, and uses you as much as he wants until your face is a mess of tears and drool. All you can do is gasp around the fingers he shoved in your mouth to shut you up.
