Lalexie

I write sometimes.

[lalexicon]

You’ve been curious about Flins’ hands for a while now.

Whenever you see him around, he’s never caught without two gloves covering his hands, hiding what you’ve desperately convinced yourself you need to see. But you figured the opportunity would never come, as even mentioning such a thought would frame you as—a pervert, perhaps, for having such thoughts of the man.

It was a pleasant, albeit chilly evening in Nod Krai, and you just so happened to come across said Fae on your way back home from visiting a friend. The sun was just against the horizon, right at the cusp of plunging the sky into darkness. It was only natural that you quickened your pace, unwilling to become a victim to the ways in which crime hid behind the veil of night.

It was odd how few people you passed by as you made your way home; the pathways were quiet. How easy it was to be startled by any subtle noise that met your sharpened ears that it took only an instant to pick up on footsteps nearing you from your left.

You turn to find Flins, appearing behind a building and raising his head for his eyes to find you, as well.

“It’s you.”

His expression hardly changes, but his voice gives way to surprise, and you could see why.

“It’s me,” you reply, with a smile of relief. Something about his presence always put your mind at ease, allowing your guard to lower and your heart slow down.

“I didn’t expect we’d be crossing paths this late into the night,” the Fae confesses, moving closer and stopping just two feet away from you.

You convey agreement, a sharp nod of your head as the nerves suddenly come rushing back, this time brought on by his close proximity, despite no physical contact made between you. You note his gloved hands, and look away.

“If I may ask—were you by chance heading home just now?”

“I was,” you mutter quietly.

“In that case, might I offer to walk you home?”

He doesn’t add more to his sentence, no beating around the bush, no hiding behind a rush of words with no real meaning to them. ‘Might I offer to walk you home?’ You thought you were in love.

“I’d like that,” you answer honestly, and you see something in his eyes—something you find to be relief or approval. He nods once, swift and eloquent as always, and you resume your journey home.

He’s quiet company, on the way there. Side-by-side, on an empty road, in a drowsy town that smelt of the nipping coldness in the air. You wouldn’t delude yourself into thinking the fuzzy feeling in your chest was caused by anything other than the companion walking next to you, slowing his own natural pace to match yours.

Somewhere along the way, the cold becomes too much and you try to warm your fingers by cupping them close to your mouth and breathing on them. You feel Flins’ gaze on you as he stops walking, and you look back at him questioningly. The smile he responds with is gentle and strangely tender when paired with his eyes.

“It certainly gets cold at night, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, it does—“

You’re confused for a split second when you notice him slipping his gloves off and into his pocket as he comes closer to you, and the feeling that follows is something you weren’t even sure you’d have the right words to describe as his large hands envelop your own. So gently did they cup your hands, so respectfully light and delicate and right. It just felt right. You were passive in this moment, caught between being surprised and flustered.

Once you begin to feel the warmth in your hands again, he retracts his own, locking eyes with you as he motions his head forward.

“Shall we be off, then?”

You were helpless but to continue the walk, not really present in the moment.

There were several things about this that left you stunned. The boldness of the act itself—the way in which it should’ve been something reserved for his lover, and not—not you, because you weren’t his—

“Ah, it appears we’ve made it.”

You blinked and found yourself at the doorstep to your house. An ‘oh’ was all you could think to say, and he smiled once more with something akin to fondness. But it couldn’t have been that, because really, it was the kind of expression a husband would have for his—

“Farewell then. May you rest well tonight.”

“Oh, um, thank you, sir Flins.”

He turns to leave, and you watch him a moment too long to shrug off with any excuse if he were to catch you staring, but you shake your head as you turn the key and step inside your house, which he’d—

Wait. How did he know which house was yours…?

[lalexicon]

Overworked Shoko and a reader who just wants her girlfriend to destress with cuddles <3 fluff ☁️🧸

“Hey there stranger.”

You snuck up on Shoko from where she sat in front of her screen, wrapping your arms around her neck and resting your cheek against her hair.

“Hey yourself,” is her response, and she reaches up, taking your hand in hers and placing a kiss on your knuckles.

Your giggle lightens her mood immediately, and she turns her chair around, pulling you in by the waist as you straddle her lap. You settle in your shared warmth, with her arms linked behind your back, your arms around her shoulders. She sighs deeply in relief.

“Tough day?” You card a hand through her hair. It’s tangled and slightly greasy.

“Mm…”

“Poor darling.” You pull away and up off her lap completely, and she looks up at you with tired eyes.

“C’mon, how about a bath?”

“Sounds nice.” Just like that, you’ve got your sleep-deprived girlfriend in your clutches. You’re never letting go.

That’s how you end up at home minutes later, with Shoko soaking in the bath as you massage shampoo into her hair. She sighs again, her shoulders relaxing, and you grab the shower head to wash away the shampoo, tilting her head back and covering her eyes.

She dresses a minute later, sitting on the bed with you, and you’re left with the task of toweling her hair as dry as possible before brushing it through as gently as possible, mindful of the tangles that could lead to Serious Scalp Injuries if not treated with care. Shoko’s a doctor, so she should be able to fact check that.

“Did I ever tell you that you spoil me too much?” she asks mid-way through brushing.

“Once or twice, yeah.”

“Did I ever tell you how lucky I am to have you?”

“Just about twenty times or so.” You can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face.

She hums tiredly. “Well, if I’ve said it so much already, then it must be true,” she announces (tiredly). Then, very tiredly, she leans back into you, and you abandon the brush as you position her head against your shoulder. Her head droops back—might I add, very tiredly—with her eyes closed in a serene expression.

“Sho?” She doesn’t respond. “Aw, did you really fall asleep on me? Jeez, what am I gonna do with you…”

You stay like this for a while, leaning against the headboard, massaging your fingertips into her scalp like before, every now and then grasping her hand and turning it around in yours, and suddenly you have the thought that you could stay like this forever.

If only Shoko weren’t so busy all the time. If only she didn’t have the weight of the world on her shoulders pulling her down and under, leaving you to pull her back to the surface best you can.

It was a wonder you hadn’t fallen in with her.

It took a lot of work being romantically involved with Shoko. Her crazy work schedules and constant sleep depravity often left very few moments where you could do much of anything together at all. Shoko warned you of this the day you asked her out. You knew she didn’t want to burden you, but a part of you, and her, wanted to be selfish. And that desire was rooted in your deep, genuine, unconditional love for one another.

You wouldn’t give her up. And she wouldn’t give you up either.

You laid her down in a more comfortable position next to you, fluffing the blanket up around her shoulders as you lay down next to her, reaching for her hand. She’s the last thing you see before you’re lulled to sleep.

Meanwhile, inside Shoko’s messy office cabinet, hidden behind documents and pens and paper clips, lays a ring Shoko was planning to give to a certain someone.

Shoko awoke to your sleeping figure, hands linked together. Her eyes settled on your face for a few moments before finally closing once more, satisfied with the notion that you would be the first thing she would awake to in the morning, and every morning to come.

[lalexicon]

Nanami’s reaction to your haircut.

“What do you think?” You ask as his eyes land on your hair.

Nanami locked eyes with you, and there’s something in them that’s a mix of emotions you can’t quite name immediately. Confusedly, there seems to be a hint of sadness. “It’s beautiful, love.”

You notice the difference in his voice.

“What’s wrong?” Coming up to him, your hand combs back his hair and he pulls you closer by the way in response.

“Nothing.”

“Does it not look good?” You frown. He kisses the crown of your head once.

“Nothing you change about your appearance will make you look any less beautiful. It’s simply…”

“Simply what?” You prod for his answer, searching in his eyes for one.

“There’s less of you to appreciate this way,” Nanami admits quietly.

“Ken…” you grin at him with a spark in your eye. “Maybe you should grow your hair out, so there’s more of you for me to appreciate.”

He sighs while you laugh, then kisses you apologetically, threading his hand through your hair as you rest your head against his chest, listening to the slow beating of his heart and feeling the warmth of his palm lovingly stroke your head.

After a moment of silence, he speaks again.

“I will always worship you, my dear. I hope you understand that.”

[lalexicon]

Sleeping on the same bed for the first time w/jjk men

.

.

.

Toji stares at you blankly, as if you hadn’t said anything at all. His intense stare was enough to make you squirm in place, your face heating up. The pillow in your arms a shield against the man lounged against the couch.

“Can you please say something already…?”

This time he blinks, and a slow smirk settles on his lips. “Sure. But how about you repeat what you jus’ said?”

“Geez, old man—old age giving you hearing loss?”

“You don’t know the half of it. Now what were you sayin’, sweetheart?”

“I said… I wanna sleep in your room.”

“Right.” He pauses, sighs, runs a hand through his hair. Then looks back up at you. “Y’sure about this?”

“Why wouldn’t I be sure?”

His eyes roam your face, searching for something that he doesn’t seem to find. Finally, he sits up straighter on the couch, nodding once. “Alright, c’mon then.”

That’s how you ended up in bed together, you facing away from him, Toji looking up at the ceiling.

It was silent, and you were able to hear your own heartbeat pounding against your chest. You wished it would quiet down.

“You alright over there?” Toji finally breaks the silence to tease you, and you’d find it annoying if it weren’t for the rough, quiet timber to his voice that set butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

You don’t dignify his words with a response, and right when you think he’s about to go to sleep, a large, hot hand pulls your waist close to him. Your yelp is met with a chuckle against your ear, and your eyes meet his.

“Go to sleep, doll. Don’t worry, I’ll look after ya.”

You don’t know what to say, so you hum quietly.

“Toji?”

“Yeah?”

“Goodnight.”

You feel him place a kiss on your head. “Yeah, night. Love ya.”

“I love you, too.”

Gojo was just back from a mission, exhausted as he reached his bedroom. What greeted him was you, lying on his bed asleep, wrapped in a blanket all snug and cozy.

He silently approaches the bed, resting a hand against the headboard. His lips twitch into a smile. You were so cute, he could watch you all night.

Gojo sits on the bed, reaching to move a strand of hair from your face, smoothing over the top of your hair, then resting it against your cheek. He chuckles when you lean into his touch, and when your eyes flutter open, they’re sleepy and loving as you rest your hand over his.

“Satoru?”

“Hey, I’m back. Sorry sweets, did I wake you?”

You shake your head once, opening your arms. “Missed you.”

He climbs over you and wraps his arms around you, then laying on his side to tangle your legs together.

You seem more lucid now, and with your newfound awareness do you realize he caught you sleeping on his bed.

You didn’t mean to doze off; his scent on the bed was so comforting and enticing you just couldn’t help it.

“Uh—sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep here.” Your apology is met with a kiss on your forehead. Gojo’s head dips further to kiss the corner of your mouth, and his heart melts when you giggle.

“Nothing to apologize for sweets.”

You expected him to tease you, or maybe tell you to leave, but instead he just holds you there, and his arms and legs are keeping you from moving.

“Uh, ‘toru—?”

Gojo kisses your forehead again, humming for you to continue, but he’s overwhelming you with his affection that it’s hard to think.

“I—I think I should go to my own bed now, so…”

He doesn’t cease with his kisses, planting them everywhere on your face, your head, your neck.

“Um—”

“Jus’ sleep here, I won’t bite.” He halts his movement to stare into your eyes. “Unless you want me to.”

So that’s how you ended up sleeping in the same bed for the night, with your limbs tangled together and your head pressed up against his chest.

Nanami wasn’t one to push past your boundaries. No matter what it was, even something as simple as holding hands, he’d ask first, and would do this without fail every. single. time.

Sometimes in your relationship it felt like you were royalty. With uttered words like ‘may I?’ and ‘after you’. With actions like holding the door and walking on the side closest to oncoming traffic. With mornings where he’d make you coffee or tea, always the way you liked it best. With afternoons where he’d text to ask if you’d eaten yet, and evenings where he would massage your shoulders if they were sore and aching.

And your relationship has always been like this from day one. But Nanami had never, ever done anything you’d be uncomfortable with.

But you wanted to take your relationship further. You wanted to wake up in the morning where the first thing you’d see was him.

So you thought you’d try to ask. But it wasn’t easy, going something like this:

You: Um, so, can we, um, uh…

Nanami: Yes? Whatever you need, love.

You: *Flustered* Um, well, uh… can we… uh… watch a movie together?

Nanami: *Confused but fond* Of course.

So no, you haven’t gotten to asking him yet. And you thought it might be hopeless after all.

Tonight, you were alone in bed. Nanami had been called to something important and has yet to return. It was past 12 by now. Tired but not sleepy, your eyes were drawn to the shapeless dark outside.

Then a noise—keys, and the door to the apartment unlocking. You were even more alert now, as you hadn’t received a text from Nanami saying he had returned. You stood, peeking out your bedroom to find Nanami sliding his coat off his shoulders. His eyes twitch slightly as they find yours.

“You’re still awake.”

“I… couldn’t sleep.”

He hums, hanging his coat on the rack and finally coming up to kiss you on the cheek.

“Is something bothering you?”

It was embarrassing to say you were worried about him. He seems to sense your hesitation, and doesn’t push. Instead, he gently guides you to the back to your room and sits next to you on the bed.

“Come on, then. Let’s sleep together.”

Huh?

“Huh?” You voice your thoughts out loud.

Rather than explaining further, he pulls you down onto the bed to you’re lying down facing each other. His breath tickles your face, and this close you could smell his soothing scent.

He holds you gently, yet firmly, as if protecting you from the world with his strong arms.

“Ken—”

He shushes you quietly, kissing your temple and pulling you flush against his chest.

“Go to sleep,” he tells you. “I’ll be here in the morning. I won’t leave you like that again.”

He knew you were up worrying about him. The thought granted you a fuzzy feeling filled with warmth and love. You relaxed against him, eyes growing heavy.

“Goodnight, my love. I love you. So much.”

[lalexicon]

Men whose personal mottos read “happy wife, happy life.”

Men who would do anything to please their partner—who would buy anything and everything you glance at for more than two seconds.

Men who brag about their wife to anyone in their near vicinity.

Men who won’t look at any other woman they pass on the street—they don’t need to, not when their heads are completely filled with thoughts of what sweet treat to bring home to you.

Men who will be whiny when you slide out of bed to go to work in the mornings, their hair messy and voice deep with sleep.

Men who text you twenty-four seven when they’re away, complaining about this or that before inevitably falling on the topic of how your day has been and have you eaten yet.

Men who find reminders of you in everything they see, from the sunset you saw together to the drink you shared for the first time.

Men who worship the ground you walk on, the air you breathe; who would fall to the ground in your presence.

Men who will never, ever even think of cheating on you. How could the thought possibly cross their minds when the only person in the world ever meant for them was you all along?

Men who would die for you. Men who would never dream of leaving your side—and men who never will.

[lalexicon]

Love was a strange thing.

It was easy to fall victim to its strangeness, as one was prone to do.

There were many hours of the night you lay in bed, staring up at that strange, motionless ceiling that always seemed too far away. Close enough to reach for, yet too far to touch.

You were familiar with the night. It overtook the sky, and your thoughts had the space, the time, the limitless potential to run wild. You were familiar with loneliness, too. It was strange. Love was strange, and loneliness, and you.

And then you tell him your thoughts one night.

“I kind of want… to hit you.”

He blinks, as one is prone to do when caught off guard by their sleepy, quirky wife. He loved his sleepy, quirky wife, but sometimes when she was sleepy, and quirky, she was a bit weird. And scary.

“You want to… hit me?” he asks, as a happily married husband tends to do when when his sleepy wife says something quirky.

“Mm.” You confirm quietly, and he loves your voice when you’re tired—it dips into the tender softness of your whispers. His heart melts every time. “I was thinking… you’re such a great guy. A good, great, good guy. The world is filled with so many bad, horrible, bad guys.” He doesn’t comment on your repetitive phrases. “And—I was thinking…”

You’re quiet after that, and he stays silent a moment before humming, a subtle hint for you to continue.

“I was thinking,” you say, “that I really, really hate how unreachable you can be sometimes.” He watches, in the dark, as you reach your hand up, curling your fingers into your palm. His eyes rove over your face, the face of the person he’s devoted his life to.

Unreachable, is the word you used. It’s a word he’d rather not associate with himself.

“What do you mean, love?” His voice is a hushed whisper, and he lifts his hand to cover yours, bringing it to his lips for a tender kiss. “Am I really unreachable to you?” His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “Is that how you see me?”

“No…” you pause, contemplating. “I guess I’m just feeling… I don’t know.” He registers the frustration in your voice, the furrow of your brow. “Sorry. Don’t listen to me right now. I’m not… thinking straight. Just ignore me. Goodnight.”

“Love, hey.” His hand slides into yours, intertwining. He squeezes, a silent reminder he’s given you on so many occasions that conveys everything to you and more. I’m here for you. I care about you. Everything will be okay.

Your eyes meet his, wavering. “Sorry… I don’t know what’s wrong with me right now. I’m just… so stupid.”

“No.” His voice is gentle, but firm. “Don’t ever say things like that. You may be feeling stupid, but you are the farthest thing from it.” He pulls you into his chest, stroking your head. He speaks softer now. “You’re kinder than you know, and so beautiful. You’re the loveliest girl to ever exist. You deserve the world.”

Your arms wrap around him, pulling him impossibly closer. Desperate. Like you were afraid to let go. He slides his arms around your waist in response, gentle—always gentle—as he holds you close.

“…Do I deserve the multiverse?” Your question is muffled against him. The pleasant rumble of his chest as he chuckles vibrates pleasantly.

“You deserve the omniverse,” he says, playfully, but quite seriously.

“…Okay. Oh, but…”

“Hm?”

“I still wanna hit you.”

He sighs obligingly. “Very well. I shall serve as your personal punching bag.” His heart lightens at the sound of your laughter. “Where shall you punch today, m’lady?”

You shake your head. “Oh, honey. I was joking.”

“And I am quite serious.” He smoothes your hair out, caressing you lovingly. “If it is your wish, I would do anything you requested of me. Anything you’d want, and I’d find a way to provide for you.” He kisses the crown of your head, then leans down to rest his forehead against yours. “I love you, darling.”

“Love you too,” are the last mumbled words you utter before sleep wraps around you, along with the warmth and comfort of his strong arms.

[lalexicon]

Shin x reader

Hurt/comfort

You and your nicknames were driving Shin insane.

It was like you wanted to dye his face a permanent red, the tips of his ears aglow in the prettiest shade of pink.

‘Baby’ was the first ever nickname you gave him since you started dating, and it slipped out so easily, so casually, he almost skipped over it. Almost. Until he stopped dead in his tracks, lagging behind as you continued on, unaware that he couldn’t function properly.

You turned back to him, confused. “Shin? What’s wrong?”

Oh. Yeah. Shin. That makes sense. He must’ve been hearing things. He was… probably just getting old. Yeah. Except he was very much a young man, and he very much heard you loud and clear.

But surely he heard you wrong.

The second time it happens, he’s all but malfunctioned entirely.

“Babe,” you call for him over your shoulder, “can you restock the magazines up front?”

Oh. Oh.

He was losing his mind.

Shin has made a point of trying his hardest to not read your mind, for respect of your privacy and his sanity. On one occasion when he caught a snatch of your thoughts, he all but melted when he heard you thinking about how hardworking your lovely boyfriend was.

There were so many thoughts swirling in your head, full of the utmost praise for Shin you hadn’t expressed out loud. But Shin knew. He realizes he had never told you all the things he appreciated about you, all the little things you did that made him fall deeper every second he spent in your presence.

He had always admired the love Sakamoto had for his wife, and he wanted to be able to love that deeply himself, as well. With as much reckless abandon he could muster.

In the past, he’d never really understood the kind of love he’d seen in movies, the romantic love between two yearning souls.

But now he understood. And Shin was a yearner.

He was willing to do anything for you. Everyone around him noticed immediately how soft he went when he caught sight of you, or heard your voice, or when you slid your hand into his. Shin’s grip would always be firm and warm in yours.

The first time you slept in the same bed together, he was sure his heart would explode.

He was fidgety, nervous— certain you could hear his heart pounding in his chest, the tremor in his voice.

He tells himself to get it together.

Maybe it was the quiet of the room, and the way he could not hear anyone’s thoughts from outside, but he subconsciously tuned into your thoughts as easily as if his body waded into the ocean.

And that’s when he realized: you were just as nervous as him.

His nerves were so on edge, he hadn’t been paying attention to your own body language, the signs that showed your awkwardness and… unease?

His heart stopped, eyes sliding over as you took a steadying breath.

“Shin…”

He startles, back straightening. “Y-yes?”

Your eyes lock with his. Without reading your mind, he could tell exactly what you were saying.

He purses his lips, expression growing serious. He carefully pulls you close, squeezing your hand comfortingly.

“It’s okay,” he finally gets out, and he means it. You can feel his sincerity in the tender gaze he pins you with. “You’re alright. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. I just…” he struggles a moment for the right words to say, because what words could possibly convey the emotions he felt for you in that exact moment? He settles on words he knows he has always felt. “I love you.”

“Shin…”

“I love you, and nothing,” he takes a breath, “will ever change that.”

You’re leaning closer to him now, your nose brushing his cheek, finally tilting your head to press a kiss against his lips. He squeezes your hand again, like he doesn’t want to let you go.

Like he wouldn’t let you go. That it wasn’t a physical capability to which he possessed.

In his mind, there were so many unspoken things he wished to say to you, things about his past that he wanted you to know about. And yet, he couldn’t bear to burden you with such knowledge. He didn’t want to scare you away.

He grew up without a real childhood to speak of, without the normal experiences that shaped so many people today. You deserved someone who could protect you from all the pain that existed in this world.

Right now, he just wasn’t strong enough. There were so many close calls where he would’ve been done for if it weren’t for the likes of Sakamoto. He wanted to protect you like Sakamoto protected his family. He wanted to be someone you could always rely on, always felt safe around.

But more than anything, he just wanted to be with you.

Shin had been thinking a lot about the fights he’s been in, and how many times his life had been in jeopardy. If he were to leave you by yourself, in a world without him… he couldn’t fathom the guilt this single thought brought upon him.

Nights where he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, with his mind preoccupied on thoughts of you, always you.

He wonders how different his life would have been if he had never become a hitman in the first place. What if he’d just met you at a peaceful coffee shop or dinery, maybe as an ordinary college student who had always been in school. What if he saw you seated at a booth, and built up the courage to sit across from you, with your eyes flicking up to meet his?

There were so many former instances that led to future circumstances. He wanted to believe that in every instance, he would be led right back to you.

He wanted to hear you call him ‘baby’, as much as it set his face on fire. He wanted to hold your hand, and memorize the feeling of your wrist to your fingertips.

He wanted to lay by your side, to hold you against his chest, to card his fingers through your hair, and breath in your scent.

He wanted to love you. So he did.

[lalexicon]

With all the overwhelming love you have for your husband, some days it feels… lonely. Unbearably so.

The weight of his departure even when dawn has yet to break plants an undeniable ache inside of you.

You know he has duties that need to be fulfilled, knew what he needed most was an understanding partner that let him work unbothered. A partner that didn’t get in the way.

Now, it was midnight. You were awake on the couch, and your lover wasn’t home. You’ve long become used to this, but it hurts all the same. And of course you couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

You were breaking apart. It felt like all the memories of the past were all that you had left of him. He wasn’t around for the long days and nights you weathered alone. And you loathed the idea that he one day would not return.

You numbly twirl the wedding band on your finger, vision blurring with tears.

A part of you felt you didn’t deserve him to begin with.

You let these feelings of hurt and pain consume you, until you didn’t even notice when the door opened as you broke out sobbing, utterly broken. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

You finally notice him once he’s kneeling down in front of you.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes softly, hesitantly, as if afraid of scaring off a wounded animal, and oh, how long had it been since he actually looked at you like that? Since you’ve heard his voice spoken so tenderly?

He’s here. He’s here and all you can do is cry harder.

“Sweetheart, hey, what’s wrong?” He’s not touching you, giving you space and time to talk to him and it hurts, it hurts because you wish he’d wrap his arms around you, crush you so close and hard to his chest and never let you go. And you want him to be tender, and cradle you gently and whisper softly in your ear and you want to hear his steady heartbeat that tells you he’s okay, and he’s here, and he loves you.

But you can’t voice any of this. Not when you’re bawling. You try to call out his name but your voice just breaks and god, you hated yourself so much. You scrub roughly on your face.

“Baby, stop that.”

Your hands are gently but firmly pried away, and he comes to sit beside you, warm hands cupping your face, forehead resting against yours. This feels so familiar and foreign all at once. It’s been so long.

“Baby, talk t’ me,” he pleads. Your eyes wander over his furrowed brows, his eyes laced with a fierce concern and determination all at once. Determination to help you. To comfort you. To give you the space you need, but not being able to distance himself.

You’re sniffling and trying to stifle your whimpers. You try again, whispering his name against his lips.

“Yes,” he says quietly, “I’m here. You’re okay.” He tucks a strand of hair out of your face, and kisses you. It’s like you’re both kissing for the first time and you’re nervous and uncertain. But he still kisses you, and he pulls away but you whine softly, and he chuckles and obliges when you pull him back in.

You’ve finally calmed down enough to settle into a peaceful silence, your arms wrapped around his neck and his arms around your waist.

“Ready to tell me what’s wrong, baby?”

You mumble something along the lines of ‘not yet’, but that doesn’t stop you from whispering your next words: please stay.

So he does. And he just holds you until you fall asleep in his arms, and when he carries you back on the bed and kisses your forehead, he spends what feels like hours just staring at you. At your lips, your cheeks, the delicate curve of your nose.

At the bags under your eyes. The dried tears on your face.

It’s after a long, long period of time that he lays beside you, pulling you close and relishing in the soft sigh that escapes you, the way you snuggle closer into his chest.

When morning comes, you awake to an empty bed.

The disappointment crushes you beneath its weight. And then confusion when the scent of food reaches your nose, and the sound of oil sizzling on a pan.

Your heart skips a beat. Hope springs to life inside you, enveloping you in its warm embrace.

Please stay.

Last night replays in your mind, along with the last words you had said to him.

There’s a tall glass of water on the nightstand. You down it in seconds.

Took a deep breath. Stepped out on shaky legs into the kitchen.

There stood your husband, an apron tied low on his waist, his hand stirring eggs on a pan.

For a moment, you just stare at him, because he’s real and he’s here and the house isn’t cold and empty. He’s your husband. He’s yours.

There were many times in the span of your marriage where you felt like things would always be lonely. That this was just what it meant to marry a man like him, with more duties and responsibilities than you could fathom. Moments where you felt hopeless, and anxious, and scared.

Then there would be moments where you’d wake in the middle of the night, or the early, early hours of the morning before he’d be gone. It was in these moments that he’d be right beside you, holding you close as if shielding you from the world.

No matter what, he had always returned to be right by your side.

His eyes meet yours. He smiles.

Warmth fills your heart.

[lalexicon]

Hurt/comfort, uncomfortable social situations

You were jittery, on edge— nervous. It felt suffocating, this room with too many eyes, too many sideways looks directed your way, and you knew they were not kind.

Your grip on his arm tightened, feeling the way his eyes immediately glanced down at you, and suddenly he’s shielding you, his back towards everyone and everything— your head pushed gently and reassuringly into his chest. Whispers in your ear. Do you want to leave?

It feels shameful—so shameful—when you feel the burning desire to nod. Tears blur your vision, cold fingers tugging at his sleeve. Your eyes meet his, and they tell him everything he needs to know.

And just like that, he slides his coat off and wraps it around your shoulders, offering his hand and guiding you outside, not sparing a glance at the confused, nervous calls of his name from behind. He doesn’t let go of you. Doesn’t let anyone touch you (he was your sword, your shield, sworn to protect, to serve, to love).

He allows you to apologize to him once you’re outside in a secluded area, tears falling down your cheeks, and when you’re too choked up to say another word he falls to his knees and holds your hands firmly in his, looking up at you with all the love and patience and gentleness in the world.

“Please, don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong. I’m sorry for not noticing your discomfort sooner.”

You throw yourself into his arms, in this place where it was just you and him and this overwhelming surge of love you had for him, in this place where pain felt bearable.

But it hurt him. It hurt him that the world could hurt you, and had hurt you, in so many unspeakable ways that left you shattered, and all you could do was wipe your eyes and endure it. Over and over again.

He would make sure he was there for you. Through it all.

He would do whatever it took to make sure you were happy. Whatever it took to set things right again.

It was you and him, against the world.

He liked his odds.

[lalexicon]

Throughout heaven and earth, by the chance of fatw, he knows with such unrivaled clarity. He’s always known.

The love he holds for you is something he will never let go of.

Till death do us part.

“‘Toru, what’s the matter?”

This drowsy, mumbled question is what breaks Satoru out of his trance.

It’s late— too late, and he can only guess that it must be past midnight, because he only returned from his mission a few minutes after the clock struck twelve, and only after showering and sliding into bed with you, did he allow himself to take in your sleeping figure.

Lips parted ever so slightly, tired eyes closed shut, the blue glow of the moon through undrawn curtains illuminating your skin—

He wants to ingrain this ethereal sight in his memory and hold onto it, through every moment he lives, every breath he takes.

He wants, and he wants, and yet nothing he ever wishes upon comes true.

He smiles sadly, kissing the top of your head. “Nothing, angel. Jus’ love you a lil’ too much, is all.”

When you pout at him playfully, mumbling something like “I’m being serious, y’know,” he just holds you tighter, pulling you closer, and god curse him—

He never wants to let you go.

[lalexicon]

Satoru loves teasing you.

It’s his favorite pastime: say something that will make you glare at him like he’s more despicable than whoever invented group projects for school.

So when he says something teasing, something he thinks is a harmless remark, a playful string of words that he knows you know doesn’t mean anything—

When he leans forward from behind to see your face after a moment of uncomfortable silence— when he sees tears swimming in your eyes, the telltale signs that his words have hurt you—

He immediately turns your head to face him, and when you try to pry his hands away and turn your face to the side, he says your name quietly, with such tenderness that it gives you pause.

“Please don’t look away from me.”

When you finally manage to look at him, albeit through blurry vision, you’re still able to see him. The way his lips are drawn in a frown, brows furrowed and eyes filled with such guilt and remorse is— it’s just—

“I’m sorry, baby. Didn’t mean t’ hurt you, promise,” he murmurs, regretful. And then he’s sliding his hand in your own, bringing it up to his lips to place a soft kiss on your knuckles. He pauses, looking up at you through his pretty white lashes. “Forgive me?”

He always knew you were weak for him. And damnit, you loved him. And he loved you.

Always.

[lalexicon]

You lay on your side in bed, facing away from your lover. Your hands were trembling, breath hitching as you tried not to break.

Your heartbeat was frantic in your chest, and you were distantly frozen in fear that it might somehow wake him up.

And then you heard it.

There was rustling, and a brief moment of silence before you felt the bed shift, and large arms came to drape around you from behind in a warm embrace.

That warmth had a soothing effect on your body, but wasn’t enough to dispel your anxiety. More silence followed before it was broken by a hushed, concerned whisper.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

And oh, his voice was so sweet as he murmured such a simple question, such a soft term of endearment, and instantly guilt seems to plant itself deep in your heart at the idea that you might’ve awoken him. But even more than that, you were still so terrified.

“I’m okay.” Your voice cracks (it’s broken, like you are), and he hums quietly, a low rumble in his chest that vibrates against your back.

He doesn’t say anything; doesn’t have to. Instead, he gently nudges your head to face him, and when met with resistance, he sits up and leans forward. Carefully, he lifts you up along with him, shifting your body towards his own.

Your cheek presses against his chest, his heartbeat steady and strong against your ear, and when his hand slides over to hold yours, you let him, fingers intertwined as one while his thumb caresses your knuckles soothingly. His other hand gently rubs against your back, head leaning down to kiss your forehead so tenderly it makes you want to cry—

A sob wracks your body, and it’s so sudden that you don’t know how to make it stop when another comes and tears are soon to follow.

The hand on your back stills, coming up to tangle lightly with your hair, hugging you tightly against his chest. His other hand squeezes your own, so warm and soft and loving that your tears are flowing freely now, and each sob makes you gasp for breath.

“It’s going to be okay.”

He emphasizes these murmured words as he holds you: in the lazy way he sways you from side to side, in the way his fingers massage your temples, in how he presses kisses against your cheek, your chin, your ear, your lips.

He doesn’t say anything else that night. He doesn’t have to. Because he knows, and always will. He will be there for you, in times of happiness and laughter, and in times of loneliness and despair.

He’ll be there.

[lalexicon]

Hii! I don’t really have any plots for a fix but do you think you could do a sanemi x reader one? Im not very creative, sorry 😭 but have a great day!!

You say “I love you” for the first time.

Fluff, Sanemi’s bad at feelings, reader is a menace to society

Thank you so much for the request anonnn!!! This got finished a little late, so I’m sorry about that. Even so, I hope you enjoy!

It was clear to you that Sanemi was ignoring you.

“Sanemi~”

He moves to pick up his chopsticks, and when you try to grab them first, he swipes them swiftly from the napkin. Tries not to linger on your face as you pout.

“Sanemi?”

He picks up a cucumber slice.

“Sanemi.” You huff playfully, poking his cheek. “Why are you ignoring me?”

He grunts, swatting your hand away. “You’re annoying, that’s why.”

“Huh?” Your frown deepens. “Since when do you find me annoying? When I asked if you found me annoying in the past, you were all like— ‘say whatever, I don’t care,’ or—“

He covers your mouth stiffly with a large palm, glaring at you with a scowl.

…oh. Oh.

Looking around the room, you noticed several people glancing in your direction, looking away afterwards, then back again. Sliding your hand over his, you squeeze it once before lowering it to the table and facing Sanemi directly in the eye.

Leaning in close, you whisper in his ear. “What, so you’re embarrassed now that we’re in public?”

His ears blush red, and he glowers at you best he can. He tells himself it doesn’t mean anything when his heart melts at the sight of your cheeky smile.

“Shut up.” He dismisses you under his breath, about to turn back to his meal when he catches one of the mizunoto staring at him. Angling his head high, he sends the most menacing glare at the guy known to mankind. The mizunoto yelps, eyes darting down to his lap, body shaking in fear.

“Oh, Sanemi.” In response to your teasing coo, he lets his head angle back down to the table. Despite his better judgement, he doesn’t protest when you lean closer to him, sliding your hand over his arm. “I love you when you get all shy on me.”

Your voice is so quiet he’s sure he mishears you at first. But his chopsticks drop from his hand anyway, clattering on his plate and gathering the attention of several people seated nearby.

He turns to you, and you’d almost think he looked mad if it weren’t for the prominent red of his cheeks, the incredulous look in his eyes. He speaks low, shaky. “What did you just say?”

“I said…” then you’re cupping his face in your hands, and you register the way his breath stutters before falling short as your lips brush against his ear. “…that I love you, Sanemi.”

And then your hands fall from his face, and you’re returning to your meal like nothing ever happened, like what fell from your lips was simply a casual utterance of which held little meaning.

But a quick glance back at him tells you everything you need to know.

His eyes are blown wide, lips parted slightly, face so unnaturally still you might mistake him for a statue.

Oh, he’s broken.

Huffing out a breath, you wave a hand in front of him, tapping his hand once, pinching his cheek.

Nothing.

“Sanemi?” He falls backwards, head hitting the hard tatami floor, his face locked in a trance-like state.”

“Sane— hey, Sanemi! Are you okay? Stay with me!”

And that was the day that Sanemi finally stopped ignoring you. Well, eventually.

[lalexicon]

Jealousy, Running Rampant

w/KNY (Shinazugawa Genya, Uzui Tengen, Giyu Tomioka, Shinazugawa Sanemi)

Jealous KNY!men, slight angst, Uzui's a bit of a jerk, misunderstandings, fluff, happy endings, proofread what is that a snack

Shinazugawa Genya

He blinked once. Then twice. Rubbed his eyes harshly, blinking up at the sight in front of him. It was no use. You were still there, smile as bright as the daytime sun, and oh, how radiant you were, enough to light the way even for the proverbial blind man stuck in a proverbial cave. But your radiance wasn't directed at him. He wasn't the one to make you laugh that way, with such obvious infatuation.

No, it was a random civilian.

And get this, he touches your fucking shoulder.

It shouldn't have bothered him so much. But it pissed him off. He shouldn't have cared. But his fists were bulging, veins sticking out like venom. It should've been seen as a friendly gesture, with little to no meaning behind such a small, innocent act. Rage boiled dangerously in his blood.

When the man's hand met your shoulder, your head tilted upwards, eyes sparkling in a way that should've only been reserved for him, him alone, only him, and yet–

His heart squeezed, heavy in his chest, nails digging into the palm of his hand. He turned away slowly, but--

Your eyes met his, and you went still, eyes flitting between him and the man, before your lips moved to say a few words to excuse yourself from the conversation.

Even as he heard you making your way over to him, he couldn't find it in himself to look your way. He suddenly felt so ashamed. Ashamed in how quickly his thoughts had spiraled, how possessively he wanted you for himself.

"Genya." Slowly, tentatively, he raises his eyes to meet your gaze. You tilt your head, eyes cautious, observing. "Good evening." And then you smile at him.

He nods curtly, throat bobbing as he swallows. He watches the way your lips purses, brows knitting together, head jerking down in what he can only interpret as concern. "Genya, are you okay?"

He blinks, feeling dumb all of a sudden. "What do you mean?"

"You seem..." you pause thoughtfully. "Mad?"

His mouth opens, then closes shut. No, he wasn't... he wasn't mad. Not at you. He's never been mad at you, and he thinks he never will be. So what was that feeling, if not anger? Why did his jaw clench impossibly tigher, shoulders stiffening imperceptibly?

"No. No, I'm not mad. I just..." his mouth moves before he can stop himself. "Who was that with you?"

He sees the shift in your mood immediately, your head tilting upwards, eyes glinting in understanding. "Genya, were you jealous?"

Heat rushes to his face, eyes suddenly looking at everything but you.

"Jealous? No... no, I wasn't--" his voice cuts off abruptly.

Oh, he thinks, mouth dry, that was jealousy.

He chances a glance in your direction only to find you grinning at him, almost smugly, laughing behind your hand, and he can't stop himself from staring, not when you sound like that.

Cute.

Suddenly the warmth from his face spreads across his chest, and the heaviness lifts abruptly, easily.

"Oh, Genya," you say between quiet bursts of laughter, "you're so cute."

"Wha--" he feels hot, all of a sudden. So, so hot, he doesn't think an ice bath could extinguish this blazing fire within him. "I-- I'm not cute. Dogs are cute. You are--"

When he doesn't finish his sentence, you look up, curious, to find him glancing off to the side, a blushing mess. Your lips curl up into a teasing smile. "What was that? I'm what?"

He exhales softly, and takes a step toward you, something in him melting when you lean towards him. He wraps his hand around yours and brings it up to press against his lips.

"I said... that you're cute," he mumbles against your skin, relishing in your shiver when he brushes his lips against your knuckles to softly kiss, "so don't look at anyone but me, okay?"

Uzui Tengen

Your eyes flit between your husband’s face and the fish he was currently gutting the life out of. 

If it wasn’t for the fact that you and him were the only ones out here, catching fish and preparing them for dinner out by the river, with the sun low on the horizon, you’d think he was just mad at the fish for existing in this world.

But no. You knew something was wrong, and had a thought that made your stomach twist, a thought that made your hands wring together nervously, fidgeting. 

He was angry at you. 

It would make sense, considering he had barely uttered a single word to you during this entire fish endeavor. But you figured it was nothing, that he just needed a quiet evening without having to think, an evening spent enjoying the mild weather and warm water. 

Still… still. You had to say something, had to make sure. You bite your lip for a moment, hesitating behind him. Then you speak up.

“Darling–”

The knife slams down on the cutting board, and you flinch back, lifting wide eyes at the back of Uzui’s head. 

“Are you, uh, alright?”

He makes a sound, something between a laugh and a scoff, and it makes you shrink impossibly smaller. He glances back, frowning, and looks away, brandishing the knife in his hand again.

“I’m fine.”

“Okay.” You stutter a moment. “Would– are you sure? You can talk to me if, you know, you’re feeling down.” You can’t help the small smile on your lips, despite yourself. “That’s what a wife’s here for.”

He goes eerily still for a moment, and just when you consider calling out to him, he speaks. “A wife, huh?” He turns to you, caging you with his dark eyes. “You mean someone who cozies up to someone else behind her husband’s back?”

You’re left stunned, shocked into silence. He continues, “someone who goes around touching another’s shoulder, giggling about who knows what?” 

You snap out of your trance. “Tengen, what are you talking about?”

His voice lowers, eyes flashing with something dangerous. “Someone who tries to deny it, playing dumb?”

Your defenses raise, arms crossing over your chest. Your voice takes on defiance, trying to keep the hurt from showing. “I really have no idea what you’re talking about. When did I ever– are you saying I cheated on you?”

He scoffs, and it’s not nice. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Your brows furrow. “Tengen. Will you stop your cryptic messages and tell me what all this is about already?”

He’s silent another minute, and your confidence drops with each second that passes.

“That rotten red-clothed scum, with the tan skin and small eyes.” He shakes his head in disgust.

Your eyes blink at the description. And then it hits you. The man you were talking to from earlier when you were shopping around in the market, who had asked you a few questions on the produce from one of the stands. Oh. Oh. 

And then you smile, and you can’t help the small giggles that leave your throat. Oh, you could almost cry in relief. Uzui seems to interpret this differently, because his face grows impossibly sour.

“Darling…” you return to your endearing nickname, sighing. “I wasn’t flirting with him or anything, truly. He was just asking for directions.”

His face is unreadable. “Could’ve fooled me, with the way you were…” he trails off. You prob at him. “Were?”

His eyes meet yours, and this time they’re filled with mournful sorrow masked with the heavy set of his jaw. “You were smiling. Happy.” He curses, tearing his eyes away from you, sighing. “You looked… happy. Happy enough to run away with him and leave me forever.” And then he mumbles something else that sounds like, “I wouldn’t blame you,” and it’s enough to break your heart. You coo softly, closing the distance between you two to wrap your arms around his waist.

“I’d never leave you,” you whisper, because it’s true, and you know his tough exterior was only in place to cover up his inner insecurities of someday losing that which he found precious, irreplaceable. 

It takes a moment, but then his heavy hand rests on your head, and then he’s leaning down to hold you tightly against his body. It’s quiet for a moment, with the sun now set, and the river rushing softly, and his breaths mixed with yours. Finally, when he speaks, it’s low, and vulnerable, and heavy with emotion.

“Sorry, ‘m sorry.” He takes a shaky breath. “Jus’ didn’t wanna lose you, that’s all. I shouldn’t have said that. I knew you’d never cheat on me.” He hugs you tighter. “Never.”

You smile, lifting your head, before he pushes it back into his chest. Your hand goes up to brush his cheek, and that’s when you realise he’s crying. 

“Aw, ‘s okay– don’t, don’t cry,” you plead softly, wanting to find a way to sooth his sadness. “I’m yours, okay? Always yours, and yours alone.”

He nods, and takes your hand in his, finally allowing you to look at him. 

“Thank you,” he whispers sincerely. “Thank you.”

Giyu Tomioka

Giyu was quiet. Which, to be fair, he usually was. But this time, it was different. This time, there was something in his eyes that gave you the sneaking suspicion that something was bothering him. His eyes always seemed to carry the weight of the world, and you had tried your best to always be there to pull him out of the darkness, to remind him he was still here, and so were you, and that he was in the present– not in the past. 

But today, he seemed to be avoiding you like the plague. And you wondered– did you do something wrong? Maybe you had said something that made him feel bad, or maybe he just decided he needed some time to himself? But no. Whenever he was down, you were always the first person he turned to for company, your presence seemingly enough to ail whatever bothered him. 

But he was avoiding you. He was avoiding you, and you didn’t like it.

The first chance you got to confront him, you took. Planting yourself between him and the door he was about to exit through to head out of his resting room, your eyes sought out his, but he wouldn’t meet them. His gaze cast to the tatami floor, he silently asked what you wanted without saying a word.

“Giyu, are you avoiding me?”

His face doesn’t change. 

“Giyu.” You shift your weight. “Did I do something wrong?” Before you give him the chance, you speak up, “I’m sorry.”

He meets your eyes then, for the split second before he’s averting his eyes again. 

“Listen.” Your voice is softer this time, and when you take a step forward, he looks like he’s one second away from booking it, so you stay put. “Whatever I did, if you tell me… I promise I won’t do it next time, okay? So don’t… don’t be angry. I’m sorry–”

“I–”

You stop, waiting patiently as he seems to hesitate. He takes a breath. “You… did nothing wrong. I just feel…” 

His eyes travel up to your face, and this time it stays there. “I was simply being selfish.”

You tilt your head, confused. “Selfish? About what?” 

He seems to consider this question. And like always, you wait. You’ll always wait for him, and sometimes you wish he’d understand how much he meant to you.

“About… who… you spend your time with.” He seems slightly unsatisfied with these words, as if it isn’t quite what he wished to say, and his eyebrows furrow minutely. 

You bite your lip. “Did I spend time with someone you didn’t like, or… something?”

“Yes,” he answers quickly, too quickly, and averts his gaze.

“Oh.” You blink. “Then, who was it?”

“...I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” You look at him incredulously, and it probably wasn’t the right thing to do, because he retreats into his shell again, and tries to move past you, but you adjust your position, arms out to keep him from leaving. “Wait, wait, wait.” 

Something about his expression right now makes you think–

Oh. He’s nervous.

“Giyu.” You frown. “Listen, if you think I’m mad at you, or if you came to another crazy assumption like that, then I’m not. I just wanted to know why you were avoiding me.”

He closes his eyes. “You were talking to someone. Outside Shinobu’s residence.”

Shinobu’s…? Oh. A memory resurfaces, one where you’re talking to Shinobu’s patient with a polite smile, persuading him with your charm to stay and receive her treatment after he vehemently shook his head, mumbling something or another about the ‘terrifying lady with the needles.’

You vaguely remember trying your best to be as friendly as possible, and how he eventually began to ask you, with feigned nonchalance, for your name.

“Giyu…” his eyes trail upwards again, and you smile at him brightly. “I get it now. Don’t worry. What you’re saying is… you were jealous.” 

He books it.

“Giyu!” He’s so fast in his escape you doubt you’d be able to keep up with him as he rounds the corner of a building twenty meters away.

“Wait, get back here! It’s okay! Your secret’s safe with me, alright? Uh, Giyu? Giyu?!”

I want to die, Giyu thinks as his face burns with embarrassment. 

Shinazugawa Sanemi

Sanemi was pissed. 

It wasn’t exactly a secret that Sanemi had feelings for you. The other hashira knew it, other corps members knew it, Oyakata-sama knew it, and probably every demon he has ever sent to the afterlife knew it, too. It was as if his blade was swinging out the words I love you every time he fought. 

But it seemed someone didn’t know it. That, or else this person was a fool.

He had strayed from your side for a mere moment to join the line of a food stall after a passing comment you made, that looks so good, Sanemi, and when he came back with his purchased goods, there you were, with some dumb piece of filth standing far too close in front of you. 

And the worst part? Your smile. 

Sanemi liked to think he never cared about your smile, that the reason his heart skipped a beat was because he was suffering from asthma or whatever technical terms Shinobu always drilled into his brain that he filtered out. (He knew some type of condition made your heartbeat irregular, asthma or not.)

But now, with your smile not directed at him, with your eyes not gazing into his, without your presence close to his own…

Yeah, Sanemi was pissed. 

But that wasn’t important. Neither was that piece of trash next to you, acting as if he were some kind of royal emperor with the amount of gall he had to even think about approaching you. 

Without thinking, he dropped the sweets wrapped in paper to the ground and approached you from behind, and the moment the scumbag’s vile eyes drifted up to him, they startle open, and he sputters some frantic excuse or another to you before scurrying away like a rat.

You tilt your head around, confused, before spotting him there: tall, menacing, and fuming.

“Sanemi– are you okay?”

No, no he wasn’t.

The second he reaches you, he’s quickly, yet carefully, placing his hand on your shoulder and hauling you away.

“Wha– Sanemi, where’s the food you were going to buy?”

“On the ground.”

“Uh, why?”

He scowls. “Shut up and come with me. We’ll get something better in the next town.”

“...Aaand why are we leaving?” “This place is contaminated with a disgusting vermin. It’ll be better elsewhere.” His eyes, sharp and yet so, so soft, meet yours then. “I’ll find somewhere better for us to go. Together.”