FUKURODANI BOYS — Meeting Your “Little Baby”
(timeskip era, fluff / humor)
Includes Bokuto, Washio, Akaashi, and Konoha.
│ they thought your ‘little baby’ was a toy poodle. they were wrong.
the doorbell doesn’t just ring — it’s pounded on.
you open the door, already smiling, to find bokuto standing there with the biggest grin known to man, a bouquet clutched in one hand and pure sunshine radiating off him.
“hi,” you laugh. “you didn’t have to bring flowers.”
“of course i did!” he declares proudly, thrusting them toward you. “you said i was finally meeting your dog — this is a big deal! i had to make a good first impression.”
“you realize he’s a dog, right?”
“a dog with taste,” bokuto says seriously. “and i plan to impress him.”
you shake your head, ushering him inside. “you’re ridiculous.”
“ridiculously charming,” he corrects, leaning in to kiss your cheek — warm, quick, and confident — before turning expectantly toward the hallway. “okay, where is he? where’s my future best friend?”
you grin. “in the bedroom. lemme just—”
too late. your alaskan malamute pads out of the hallway like he’s the reigning monarch of the house, fur gleaming, expression completely unimpressed. he stops a few feet from bokuto, tilts his head slightly, and sniffs the air.
“hey there, champ!” bokuto says immediately, crouching down with the biggest, friendliest smile. “i’m bokuto! i’ve heard so much about you. i brought flowers for your mom, but i can get you treats next time. we’re gonna be best friends, yeah?”
the dog steps forward, sniffs his knee once — and then gives a long, bored huff.
before bokuto can recover, the dog turns around and walks away.
straight down the hall. into your bedroom. door half-shut behind him.
the silence that follows is devastating.
“…did—did he just leave?” bokuto whispers, frozen in a crouch.
you bite your lip, trying not to laugh. “he’s… uh. independent.”
“independent? he just rejected me! i didn’t even get a chance to show him my handshake!”
you cover your mouth, shoulders shaking. “he’s not usually like that.”
“no, it’s fine,” bokuto says quickly, standing up and forcing a grin that’s way too dramatic to be genuine. “it’s fine! happens all the time. dogs sense greatness, and sometimes it’s just… overwhelming.”
you lose it — laughter spilling out uncontrollably as he pouts, hand over his heart.
“you’re laughing at my pain!” he gasps. “do you know how long i practiced my friendly crouch pose?!”
“the friendly crouch pose! i googled it!”
you’re wheezing now, tears forming at the corners of your eyes. “you did not—”
“i did!” he insists, completely serious. “i wanted him to like me! i wanted to be the fun dad!”
you reach for him, still giggling. “you’re ridiculous.”
he sighs dramatically, leaning into your touch with a defeated grin. “guess i’ll just have to win him over the old-fashioned way.”
“treats and patience?” you ask.
“no,” he says, perking back up, grin wide again. “by making you love me so much, he has to accept me.”
“no, no,” he interrupts, finger raised in mock determination. “don’t ruin my arc. this is my redemption story.”
from down the hall, a single low woof echoes — short, unimpressed.
bokuto straightens, glaring playfully. “yeah, you keep talkin’, fluffy guy. i’ll win you over yet.”
you shake your head, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. “you’re insane.”
“insanely lovable,” he corrects, flashing you that dazzling grin again.
and even though the dog’s still ignoring him, you can’t help but think he’s absolutely right.
you open the door to a calm, polite knock—and there he is: tall, composed, the quiet type whose presence spreads reassurance in a way that doesn’t need loud words. he holds his coat in one hand, shoes neatly placed, eyes catching the soft light of your living room.
“hey,” he says softly, stepping inside. “thanks for inviting me.”
“of course,” you smile. “come in—i’ve got snacks and we can just relax tonight.”
he nods, glancing around. “nice place.” his tone isn’t flashy, but there’s genuine warmth. “so… your “little baby.””
and from the hallway comes a rumbling shuffle. your giant bernese mountain dog pads into view—massive, steady, calm—fur sweeping the floor, eyes mild but watchful.
washio stops, taking a careful step forward. “wow,” he breathes. “that is a dog.”
“meet ottis,” you say quietly. “he likes quiet, so you’re off to a good start.”
ottis leans in, head low, and nudges washio’s hand with his massive snout. washio crouches slowly, placing his hand on ottis’s shoulder. “thanks… ottis.”
you fetch drinks and sit down; washio settles beside you, ottis lying across the floor between your legs. the dog’s great weight presses gently against washio’s side, and he adjusts with a calm grace.
you grin. “he’s good company.”
washio turns to you, quietly: “yeah. he knows when to just… be.”
in the soft hum of the room, ottis lets out a long, contented sigh, tail thumping. washio glances at him, then at you. “i’m glad i came.”
you look back, smiling softly. “me too.”
(and ottis? he remains the silent giant, guardian of the couch, letting you both talk and laugh without needing to shout.)
you weren’t expecting the call -- a casual text, “hey, dropping by later if that’s okay,” and you laughed, told him of course. you figured it’d be low-key, quiet; his tone had that “i’ll help you unpack your books or something” vibe.
when he arrives, he’s neat and composed, hair brushed back, shirt tucked, shoes by the door. “thanks,” he says simply, stepping in. “nice place.”
“thanks,” you say, waving him in. “make yourself at home.”
he glances around, taking in the décor with mild curiosity. “so… your ‘little baby’ you mentioned,” he says quietly, “is he… around?”
you nod. “down the hall. he’s been pacing—i blame the new sunflowers in the yard.”
the dog appears then: a newfoundland the size of a small deer, fur dark and thick, tail wagging slow but steady. he stops short of Konoha, head tilting.
Konoha freezes. “wow,” he murmurs. “that’s… not quite what i imagined when you say 'little baby'.”
“meet grizzly,” you say. “he’s mellow but massive.”
he crouches, hand out. grizzly sniffs—once, twice—then unexpectedly plops beside him, almost like he’s chosen that spot. the couch is two-seaters; grizzly is nearly as long as it across the cushions.
“okay,” Konoha says, voice soft but warm. “this is… nice.” he leans back, grizzly leaning into him, body heavy but somehow comfortable.
you sit beside them, hand finding Konoha’s as you settle. “he likes you,” you whisper.
Konoha glances down, the hint of a smile breaking through. “good,” he says quietly. “i like him.”
grizzly emits a low rumble and thumps his tail. Konoha’s fingers move automatically—stroking thick fur, brushing ears. his posture relaxes, shoulders lowering for the first time tonight.
you lean closer. “thanks for coming by.”
he turns, eyes meeting yours. “i’m glad i did,” he says. “and uh… thanks for letting me hang out with two of the coolest guys i know.”
grizzly sighs in agreement, tail sweeping one slow arc.
and in that quiet room, with the big dog draped across Konoha and you holding his hand, you realize this was anything but a quiet drop-in. it was… exactly right.
he arrives right on time — neat, composed, and carrying that worn leather notebook like it’s a sacred artifact. his hair’s a little windswept from the train, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and when you open the door, his whole face softens.
“hey,” he says quietly, voice low and warm. “i brought the edits. shouldn’t take long, if that’s okay?”
“of course,” you say, smiling as you step aside. “though you know you don’t have to sound so formal. we’re not in the office.”
he chuckles faintly. “force of habit.”
it’s all calm and easy at first — the two of you sitting side by side on the couch, your knees brushing every so often, papers spread across the coffee table. he talks softly, explaining margins and pacing, the way your latest chapter “flows beautifully, but could use just one more heartbeat before the ending.” it’s all so him — thoughtful, steady, deliberate.
and then, out of nowhere, there’s a sound. a shuffle. the faint jingle of a collar.
you don’t even have time to answer before a streak of golden fur barrels through the room, tail wagging like a weapon. your golden retriever, comet, pauses for exactly two seconds to make eye contact with you — then clamps his jaws around akaashi’s open notebook and bolts.
“comet!” you yelp, scrambling to your feet.
akaashi blinks, frozen for half a second. then, with the quietest sigh imaginable, he stands too. “ah,” he says dryly. “of course.”
you’re already chasing the dog through the kitchen, socked feet slipping on the tile. “he does this sometimes! he thinks it’s a game!”
“he seems very dedicated,” akaashi observes as he follows, voice calm even as comet darts past him, tail smacking his leg.
“comet, drop it!” you plead, grabbing for the notebook. comet dodges with Olympic precision, tail thumping wildly as he loops around the couch again.
akaashi exhales — the kind of long, patient breath that says this is fine, everything’s fine, this is my life now. then he crouches slightly, voice even and low. “comet.”
“come here, buddy,” he says softly, hand out, tone practiced — calm, steady, gentle authority. comet hesitates… then trots over and drops the notebook directly into his hand.
akaashi blinks down at him, a little surprised. “...thank you.”
you’re breathless from laughing, leaning against the wall. “how did you do that?”
“editorial tone,” he says, lips twitching. “works on both writers and dogs.”
you roll your eyes, still giggling as you take the notebook back. “i’m so sorry. he’s usually—”
“perfect,” akaashi finishes for you, smiling now — genuinely, fondly. “i can tell.”
you’re both still catching your breath, standing there in the middle of the living room surrounded by scattered papers and dog hair, and when your eyes meet, you both just laugh.
the kind of laughter that melts all the tension out of your shoulders.
“well,” he says softly, “that was… surprisingly nice.”
“you mean chaotic?” you tease.
“chaotic,” he agrees. “but… nice.”
comet, having decided his work here is done, flops dramatically onto the floor beside you, tail sweeping lazily against the carpet.
akaashi looks at him, then at you. “he’s got great timing,” he murmurs.
“he’s the reason i get to see you like this,” he says quietly — and that warmth in his voice makes your cheeks go hot.
you nudge him with your shoulder. “sap.”
he smiles, tilting his head toward you. “hopeless,” he admits. “but at least I’m in good company.”
and when comet sighs contentedly between you both, you can’t help but think he’s right.
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