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got me all teared up 🥲

[ 𝟕:𝟑𝟐 𝐏𝐌 ] — 𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐒𝐀

“are you done being mad at me?” wakasa raises a brow, and you’re almost inclined to throw the knife in your hand at his head—but, given that he’ll simply dodge it, and you’ll just have a ruined wall, you decide to fight the urge. he sighs when you don’t answer, pulling a chair from your dining table and seating himself as he watches you make dinner.

still enough for two, he notes, and a small spark lights up from his fingertips all the way to his heart.

“y/n, i told you it was an accident, don’t be so mad all the time,” he groans, and the glare you shoot him makes him roll his eyes.

and it’s not like he meant to forget your date, he usually always remembers. it’s one time, and wakasa can’t understand why it’s such a big deal.

“are you gonna just cry over one missed date for two days now?” he asks, irritation lacing his voice. “we could’ve gone on like three dates by now if you just stopped sulking,” he mutters, picking at his nails, and a part of you wants to scream at him, wants to throw all the dishes in the sink at him as he tries to dodge them all, but another part—a part you’re trying so hard not to show—simply wants to cry.

and you know how he is, you knew before you ever got involved with him, you know he’s not the most expressive guy—but somehow, despite it all, you just wish he’d at least look like he’s trying.

“y/n,” he says seriously, eyes finally hardening with a firmness you know all too well. you don’t think you can handle this conversation right now. “enough is eno—”

“please leave,” you whisper. wakasa pauses, staring at you incredulously as you don’t even spare him a glance. he thinks it’s because you’re mad—you know it’s because if you do, the dam will break.

it’s so silly, so incredibly sensitive of you. you’ve been dating for months, the honeymoon stage is long over, but still. you couldn’t stop yourself from trying to make your eight month milestone with wakasa special—and you thought there could be the slightest chance he’d feel the same.

but he forgot. and you feel dumb. you feel like an overly sentimental fool, and even if you try and tell yourself you’re simply overreacting, you can’t help but let the hurt blossom.

and you’re sure your boyfriend will look at you like you’re a fool too—and you certainly feel like one—so the best thing to do is avoid him until the feelings fizzle out.

but wakasa seems adamant on that not happening.

“what?” he inquires, and your eyes betray you, casting themselves as traitors as they let hot tears stream down your face. you angle your body away so he can’t see, hoping he doesn’t notice, but almost instantly, there’s a presence hovering behind you. “y/n, what’s wrong? shit—okay look, i didn’t mean to forget, alright? that was on me, it just slipped my mind—kay look. don’t cry or nothing, alright?”

“just go away,” you sniffle, twisting to avoid the arms that move to wrap around your waist, and for a second, you think you’ve probably ruined everything.

he’s probably tired of your overreacting, and the thought makes you wrap your arms tightly around yourself, biting your lip as you fight the wobble.

“baby, just talk to me,” he mumbles, arms wrapping around you once more. this time, they’re a bit more determined, and they don’t let you escape. a soft kiss plants itself to the back of your neck, and you feel yourself get pulled into an sturdy chest. “what’s got you upset? the date? were you excited for that restaurant? i’ll take you right now, but don’t cry—”

“it’s not the stupid restaurant,” you sniffle, giving up and leaning your weight into him. it’s silent for a moment, and then you’re being turned, warm hands cupping your cheeks and tilting your head up to meet wakasa’s gaze. his heart breaks a little at the glassiness of your eyes.

“then what’s got you all worked up, hmm?” he asks softly, and his thumb soothes over your cheek. the words almost tumble out of your mouth, but you stop yourself—and he can sense it. “tell me,” he says simply. “i want to fix it.”

and before you can hesitate, you’re blurting out, “it was our eighth month.” you look down, not meeting his eyes. “wanted it to be special. but that’s dumb, it’s okay, i was just bei—”

“ah fuck,” he curses. “knew i was forgetting something importa—okay, okay. new plan,” he murmurs, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead, and you blink, brows furrowing that he’s not rolling his eyes, and he’s not telling you to get over it, and he’s not annoyed. “you finish up dinner, i’ll get you the fanciest reservation for tomorrow, kay? no more tears though,” he brushes away the last few on your cheek, hugging your waist as you process his words.

“what?”

“you heard me,” he whispers, voice husky as he trails kisses down your jaw, burying his face into your neck. “‘m sorry, baby. didn’t mean to forget.”

and it hits you that maybe you got it all wrong, that maybe you weren’t fair on wakasa. of course he cares, and a silly little eight month milestone isn’t silly to him if it’s important to you. you wrap your arms around his neck, shuffling closer.

“got all dressed up and cute that night,” you pout. “you didn’t even get to see.” he nods, rubbing small circles into your back.

“this is horrible news,” he mumbles. “i really missed out.”

“you did,” you nod, and he presses another kiss to your neck.

“s’okay, you’ll get all dolled up for me tomorrow, won’t you?” and finally, a small smile forms on your lips as you nod, relaxing fully into his embrace as he stays rubbing your back, the hurt and doubt and anger from before all melting away.

yeah, maybe you got it all wrong.

“you don’t deserve it,” you mutter.

“yeah, i don’t,” he agrees. pulling away, he looks at you with a small smirk, leaning in as his forehead meets yours. “but you’ll still do it for me anyway, right?”

and when you nod, his lips crash into yours, and you think maybe he is expressive—in his own annoying little way.

crying because :((((( literal tears in my eyes I'm about to breakdown

𝟏𝟎:𝟑𝟎 𝐏𝐌 — ft. imaushi wakasa

wakasa likes it when you let him lay his head on your lap, and when you play with his hair.

hell, he loves it when you tug the elastic out of his locks and tangle your fingers in the coloured stripes of his hair, because god it feels so good after an entire day of having his hair all up in that tight ass ponytail.

he likes it best when you're both sprawled over your shared bed, muttering to eachother random comments about what happened through out your day, and he can see the crescent moon through the window.

outside, he might be the unphased, powerful and infamous executive of brahman, but once it's all over and he can come home and spend some time with you, that side of him dissolves.

he dissolves, into your hold, melting at your touch like you're the sun coming through the kitchen window and he's the ice cubes you always put in the coffee you drink at the start of your day.

he used to call shinichiro a sap, for constantly complaining about not having someone to coddle and take care of him - but now, he knows there's not a day he can survive without you around to treat him like he's something soft and fragile and sweet, after so long of being impassive, hard and battle-ready.

"there's a bruise here, waka." you gently press at his left shoulder blade. he's laying on his stomach, face pressed to your thigh, eyes shut.

"hm?" he pretends he's half asleep, hoping you won't get up. "oh. yeah, that's nothing. just leave it."

"it's purple, waka." you press, and he feels you moving, trying to ease him off you so you can get up. "let me get some ointment—"

"no, wait." he grabs your wrist and pulls you back - you turn to him, and he lifts himself off the sheets and sits up, hair falling in seams to curtain the sides of his face. pretty.

"what?" you question, and he has to take a moment to gather his thoughts. he blinks at you, long lashes throwing shadows across his face.

"one kiss." he says, and you raise an eyebrow.

"a kiss." he repeats. "gimme a kiss, and then you can go get the ointment."

you roll your eyes at him, then raise your hand as if to flick his forehead - but instead, you lace your fingers around the back of his neck and pull him close, land a peck on his lips.

"thanks." he gives you that half smile of his, lazily affectionate, and lets go of you so you can go get the ointment for him.

he's surprised when you lean back in and touch his forehead with your lips gently, before getting up and walking out of the room, muttering under your breath about kitchen drawers or something - he doesn't catch your words properly, because he's too busy thinking that, damn.

there really isn't going to be a day where he'll make it without you there with him. if shinichiro saw him now, he'd say, hah, you're the real sap.

but wakasa doesn't mind. he wouldn't mind being called anything, if it meant he was with you . . . and on that same note, he wouldn't really mind having shinichiro come round and call him a sap, either.