Wakasa Drabbles - Tumblr Posts
crying because :((((( literal tears in my eyes I'm about to breakdown
ππ:ππ ππ β 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 ointmentβ"
"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.