synopsis: You want to cheer Bokuto on, but being deaf makes it complicated.
notes: I got inspired after spending time at my sister’s school for disabled kids, where I met many of her deaf classmates. They were so energetic and we bonded over fandoms. This fic is much shorter than my usual since I’m practicing on writing concise one-shots without losing depth. It’s tricky, but I’m learning!
cw/tags: fluff, established relationship
Silence isn’t empty.
It’s full of color, of movement, of the small details that get lost beneath the noise. You don’t need sound to know the world is alive. You see it in the way the wind stirs the trees, in the way laughter shakes someone’s shoulders, in the way excitement brightens a person’s eyes.
And right now, you see it in the way Bokuto plays.
His presence is a roar even if you can’t hear it. He’s larger than life, bursting with a kind of energy that fills every inch of the court. His teammates react to him, the crowd reacts to him, and you—watching from the stands—feel your heart react too.
You want to cheer for him too. You want him to know that you’re here, watching him, proud of him.
But the last time you tried—
You shake the thought away. No. Not today.
Instead, your fingers tighten around the plastic horn in your lap, the one you spend way too long picking out just for this moment. The one you know he’ll hear.
You didn’t expect someone like Bokuto to notice you.
You remember that day clearly—sitting in the library, flipping through a book, when suddenly, a blur of motion appeared in the corner of your eye.
A boy. Grinning. Talking.
Your brain registered the movement of his lips before anything else. He was saying something, long and fast, but you didn’t understand a word.
“Slower,” you signed instinctively, unsure if he’d understand. You pointed at your ear, then shook your head.
Bokuto blinked. Tilted his head.
Then, realization hit.
“Oh,” you could make that out. His lips moved slower this time, more deliberately. Then again, softer, like he was testing the word. “Oh.”
He hadn’t known.
His shoulders stiffened, his hands twitched like he wanted to fix his mistake but didn’t know how. Then, determination settled over his features, and he dug into his bag, pulling out a notebook and pen.
A moment later, he slid the open page toward you.
[HI!! I’M BOKUTO KOUTAROU!!!]
The letters were big, uneven, and written with so much force the pen almost tore the paper. Beneath them, an attempt at a doodle—a little stick figure with spiky hair, arms raised high.
You bit back a laugh.
Reaching for the pen, you wrote your name beside his, adding a small doodle of your own.
And just like that, a new page of your life had begun.
Bokuto never let your deafness be a barrier. If anything, he made it a bridge.
He started learning sign language almost immediately. The first time he tried, it was awful—his fingers tangled together, his expressions were exaggerated to the point of comedy, and you had no idea what he was trying to say.
But he never got discouraged. He practiced, asked questions, made sure he got things right. He still talked a mile a minute, but he started signing alongside his words, his hands always moving to keep you in the conversation.
And he watched you, really watched you. He noticed the little things—how your gaze flickered between people when they spoke, how you relied on vibrations, how you always positioned yourself where you could see everything. He adapted without you needing to ask.
But there were times when doubt crept in.
Dating wasn’t something you thought would be easy for you. There were too many little hurdles, too many things you worried would be too much for someone else to deal with.
And yet, Bokuto never made you feel like you were a burden.
Still, some things were hard. Like the first time you tried cheering for him. You don’t think about it often, but sometimes the memory surfaces, uninvited.
Standing on the sidelines, watching him play, you had wanted to join the crowd, to call his name like everyone else. But you couldn’t hear yourself, didn’t know how loud or strange it might sound.
You tried anyway.
But when people turned to look—some with confusion, some with poorly hidden amusement—your throat closed up.
You never tried again after that.
But Bokuto noticed afterwards. Of course, he did.
Which is probably why he dragged you to a party store one afternoon, an impish grin on his face as he led you straight to a shelf of noisemakers.
“If you don’t wanna cheer with your voice, we’ll find something else!” he signed, eyes bright with determination.
He tested each one with theatrical enthusiasm, laughing when a squeaky horn made the shopkeeper glare at him. But then, he picked up this one—the one in your lap now—and blew into it.
Your eyes tracked his reaction, the way his face lit up at the sound you couldn’t hear but knew he liked.
You bought it without hesitation.
Now, here you are.
The game is intense, the energy in the gym electric. Bokuto stands near the net, focused, determined. You know how much he loves this sport. You know how much he gives to it.
And you want to give back.
Taking a breath, you lift the plastic horn, pressing it to your lips.
You don’t hear the sound it makes, but you don’t need to.
Because Bokuto’s head snaps up immediately. His gaze locks onto you, eyes wide. And then—
A grin. So full of joy it’s nearly blinding.
He pumps a fist in the air, then turns back to the game with renewed energy.
You don’t need sound to tell you what he’s feeling.
You can see it. Feel it.
Silence isn’t empty.
It never was.
Bokuto wiped the sweat off his forehead, still buzzing from the win. The gym was as loud as ever—teammates clapping him on the back, spectators chattering as they filed out—but his ears were tuned to one thing and one thing only.
Honk!
There it was.
That ridiculous little honk! cut through the gym’s chaos like a battle cry, sharp and unmistakable. His grin stretched wide as he peeked over his shoulder.
Yn was standing near the exit now, tucking the plastic horn into her bag. When she caught his gaze, she waved, bright and proud, and his heart did a little somersault.
God, he loved her so much.
But there was a problem.
See, under no circumstances could yn ever find out what that horn actually sounded like.
Not because it was bad! No, no, no! It was perfect, adorable even.
But if she knew it sounded? She might stop using it. And Bokuto needed that honk. Needed to hear it at every game, needed to pick it out of the crowd and know, without a doubt, that she was there, cheering for him in her own way.
So when Akaashi suddenly appeared beside him, raising an eyebrow, Bokuto panicked.
“That horn—” Akaashi started.
“NOPE!” Bokuto slapped a hand over his mouth. “Nope, nope, nope, don’t say it! I don’t know what it sounds like, you don’t know what it sounds like, nobody knows what it sounds like.”
Akaashi blinked. “But I do know—”
“NO YOU DON’T.”
Akaashi sighed, looking vaguely exhausted, but Bokuto didn’t care. His secret was safe.
Yn would never know her chosen instrument of encouragement made the same sound as a goose.
Note: In case you’re wondering, people still stared when yn blasted that horn—but this time, she didn’t notice. She thought it was just a normal, loud honk.
Everyone underestimates the lengths that Yaku will go for you. It's almost like he has a sixth sense for whenever you are feeling uncomfortable or you are being disrespected. If he ever thinks that a cashier gives you a dirty look he immediately bristles up and steps in. His attitude completely changes and he is way more passive aggressive than he was previously. His demeanor completely changes while interacting with you though, and your sweet boyfriend Yaku is back. If you two get separated at a bar or something and he notices a guy get way too friendly despite your reluctance he will intervene. It doesn't matter if the guy is over 6'5", Yaku will make sure that the creep knows that you aren't interested and he will resort to violence if he has to. He doesn't have to explicitly say the second part because the look Yaku gives the rando is deadly. Once the guy finally leaves the two of you alone, the crazed look in Yaku's eye is gone instantly as he leads the two of you to the dance floor. People may think that Yaku's size would make him less confrontational but he continues to prove them wrong whenever someone tries to disrespect you in the slightest.
miya atsumu x gender neutral reader, college au (some things altered from canon but nothing really important plot wise), fluff, attempted slow burn, osasuna sort of implied
a/n: it's my birthday ahhh!!! again im sorry for the short part 💔
“stop laughing,” you mumble against atsumu’s mouth, even though you’re giggling too.
“i’m not,” atsumu slurs, his grin pressed into your cheek as he tries to kiss you. his hand misses your waist and ends up on your hip, and he slides it higher, clumsy and warm. “i’m bein’ serious. so serious.”
“you just tripped over a shoe five minutes ago.”
his nose scrunches. “made you look, though.”
“you’re such an idiot,” you sigh, but you’re smiling, hands sliding into his hair. you tug him back towards you. atsumu hums into the kiss, messy and loud, his hand smoothing over your back before slipping under the hem of your shirt.
“yer so soft,” he murmurs, lips brushing along your jaw. “m’gonna marry ya.”
“you say that every time you’re drunk.”
“i mean it every time,” he says, beaming, and his mouth finds yours again, all teeth and sloppiness.
he tastes like whiskey and mint gum, and his hands are so warm. so, so warm. your hands slide down his shoulders, and he’s laughing into the kiss, breathless and giddy. his nose bumps against yours when he tilts his head, trying to get closer. you tug at his hair, the dyed-blond strands slipping through your fingers, and he groans.
“you okay?” you ask, biting back a smile.
“never better,” he says, mouth pressed to the corner of yours. his hand slips beneath your shirt again, palm warm on your skin. “so, so soft.”
“you already said that,” you say against his lips.
“and i meant it,” he says, laughing, and you can’t help but laugh too. his thumb brushes your side, lazy and fond, and you feel like you’re melting right into him.
he kisses you again, sloppy and open-mouthed, and your head is spinning—partly from the alcohol, partly from the fact that his hands are everywhere—and you would probably let him keep going forever if—
“seriously?”
your head snaps up. osamu stands at the doorway, face twisted in disgust.
“on my couch?”
#22. kiss that is leading to more, but is interrupted by a third party.
has had terrible vision since middle school but could never be bothered to get glasses until after graduation
keeps an umbrella in his bag all the time even if it literally never rains
hates clutter but also hates getting rid of stuff
because of this he has boxes and drawers filled with things like old ticket stubs and letters
everyone thinks he has a good sleep schedule, but he actually just goes to sleep late and wakes up early
diagnosed with anxiety, but is also 86% sure its actually OCD but never got tested because he doesnt want to confront that problem right now
appreciates quiet moments over grand gestures, watching the sunset, taking a walk, cooking together
has to match his socks to his outfits and is sure if he doesnt something terrible will happen to him
loves old movies. if he didn’t major in english, he probably would have been a film student
tried being a writer in junior year but got so stressed out and quit before he even graduated. he still has the manuscripts and drafts in his bottom drawer
gets cold unbelievably easily but never wears more than like two layers because he hates being immobile
unfortunately not a green thumb despite everyone somehow thinking he is. killed a pothos in under a week and never tried again after that
not great with kids, but he tolerates them because he doesn’t want to be like the teenagers and adults who have an age complex
dogears his pages.
had a period where he hated the taste of water and wouldnt drink it without flavouring but literally just woke up one day and got over it
tried taking a late night walk once during finals week but got so unbelievably lost he had to download uber and call one
has a dream journal by his bed, but none of it is decipherable, and if it is, it doesn’t make any sense
such a fucking chismosa but no one ever includes him so he knows everything but has nothing to talk to
wears earbuds/headphones all the time not because he’s listening to music but because if he even gets a notion of gossip he’ll turn off the music and start listening
tried penpaling once but got overwhelmed and sent one letter and then blocked everyone else
has a bad habit of rubbing the back of his neck when he’s overwhelmed, and sometimes develops rashes because of how often he does it
even though he’s frugal and barely ever buys anything at all, he prefers cash over card, and even then, only uses a debit card, unless it’s absolutely necessary to use a credit card
never corrects people when they mispronounce his name. there’s still people going around calling him keishi
doesn’t get the hype over poetry as much as he wants to. feels like a fake bibliphile and lowkey has imposter syndrome over it considering his major and job
falls in love really slowly, like ink bleeding onto paper
is neutral about physical touch, but whenever someone leans their head on his shoulder he feels like he’s holding the weight of the world and forgets to breath to the point where he sees spot
his guilty pleasure are stupid ass fifteen season thirty episode shows
kenma : kenma’s fingers move effortlessly across his controller, eyes locked on the screen as he plays. you’re next to him, sitting on the other end of the ouch, on the phone, casually chatting with your friend. he’s only half-listening until you let out a soft laugh and say, “i’m sorryy i don’t think i can come tomorrow , i have plans with my husband.”
kenma’s brain short-circuited ,his character stands completely still. did he hear that right? his first instinct is to ask—wait, husband?—but you’re still talking, so he just sits there, staring at your with his mouth slightly open, overthinking every possible reason why you just called him that.
his ears turn red, and suddenly, his hoodie feels way too warm. his mind keeps replaying your words. his foot taps lightly against the floor. he shifts slightly, hoping you’ll look at him so he can gauge your expression. nothing. after a few minutes, he finally breaks. “…what did you just call me?” his voice is quiet, unsure , but you catch the way he clears his throat after. you blink up at him “huh ?” kenma looks away, pretending to focus on his game. “never mind...”
kuroo : you’re both lounging around when you casually go, “husband, can you hand me my phone?” kuroo freezes, then turns to you with the slowest, most smug smirk you’ve ever seen. “oh? we’re married now? how was the wedding? did I look good?” you roll your eyes. “just give me my damn phone.”
“nah, nah, nah, we gotta talk about this.” he leans in, chin resting on his palm. “you trying to hint at something? you planning our future?” you snatch your phone from his hand, trying to ignore the way your face heats up. “say it again,” he teases, wiggling his brows.
“i take it back.” he gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. “you can’t take it back! you’ve already spoken it into existence! we just got married and you’re already divorcing me…” from that day on, he’ll randomly bring it up, calling you “wifey/hubby” in the most casual situations just to make you flustered.
bokuto : bokuto is sitting next to you on the couch, scrolling through his phone while you’re on a call with the pizza place. he’s barely paying attention until you turn to him. “what do you want?” you ask, covering the speaker with your hand. “uh—pepperoni!” he says, sitting up a little.
you nod, going back to the call. “yeah, and my husband would like a large pepperoni—“ bokuto chokes on absolutely nothing. his phone slips from his hands and lands on his lap with a thud. his eyes go huge, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. did you—did you just— “W-WHAT?!” he practically yells, hands slamming onto the couch.
uou side-eye him, shushing him as you continue the order. but he’s too far gone, shaking your arm dramatically. did they hear that?! did you mean it?! HUSBAND?! by the time you hang up, he’s vibrating with excitement. “babe—BABE—say it again.” you smirk, pretending to think. “hmm… nah.”
bokuto gasps, grabbing your hands. “PLEASE. I NEED TO HEAR IT AGAIN.” his eyes are practically sparkling, and honestly, he looks like he might actually cry. you sigh dramatically, giving in. “my husband.” bokuto lets out the most victorious cheer you’ve ever heard, immediately picking you up in a tight hug. “BEST. DAY. EVER.” He spends the entire night talking about himself at the third person calling himself husband he even texted his friends “BRO, I JUST LEVELED UP IN LIFE”. (he’ll get upset if you call his boyfriend now)
akaashi : akaashi knows you love filming anything and everything, you love to take pictures and film vlogs no one else will see except you and maybe him. even if he’d usually ask to not be in the pictures you post, he doesn’t mind being in your lil vlogs.
you propped your phone on your table filming you and akaashi in the background sitting on the edge of the bed putting his mismatched socks on “okay so today my husband is taking me on a lil aquarium date” akaashi froze mid-pull on his shoe , did you really just call him your husband? did you mean it ? it was probably a slip up, right ? or maybe you’re trying to give him a hint- he never thought where to propose, maybe he should start saving up for the wedding- akaashi was pulled out his thoughts when you called out to him , you noticed he just stopped moving, mumbling god knows what to himself , his face turning redder by the second. the rest of the day your boyfriend was awfully quiet- focused the same face he pulled when he was on the court, he might be more on the quieter more calm sad but he looked like he was making life or death decisions. “keiji is everything okay ? you seem very-” he grabbed your wrist stopping both of you “can you take a week off next week, let’s go to [your dream destination].”
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ᴀᴋᴀᴀꜱʜɪ confessed his feelings in a handwritten note.
he felt silly, really. a grown man, working a full time job and living on his own as a (mostly) fully functioning adult, and he couldn’t seem to say how much he cared for you to your face? it was a shame how much akaashi’s overthinking truly held him back. he was a handsome man, with a tall, lean—though recently gone softer—build, a full head of soft and healthy hair, and a pair of beautiful chocolate brown eyes that had the ability to bring anyone to their knees.
he was gorgeous.
but his mind betrayed him often, acting as his own worst enemy.
before he psyched himself out this time, though, he grabbed a pen and paper from his desk drawer. before he lost the courage, he wrote a note from the heart, explaining how wonderful you were—how you helped him believe in himself, offered advice and listening ears when needed, and brightened his days every moment you were on his mind—which was all the time, actually.
he hastily folded the note in the envelope, signed your name on the front, and placed it on your desk face-down before you and his other coworkers returned from lunch break.
hopefully, you’d see it.
and you did see it. reading every word over and over and over, your cheeks felt hot, stained scarlet.
akaashi didn’t want to look, but even if you didn’t feel the same, it was like a trainwreck—he couldn’t look away. in his peripheral, he saw—
you putting the letter away like it was nothing?!
his brows furrowed, confusion settling over his features. he was expecting you to at least meet his gaze; he wanted to see your pretty eyes, even if it was you rejecting him.
but then again, he shouldn’t have been surprised. you were ethereal, destined to be his version of the epitome of beauty, his definition of divinity. you were intelligent, quick to match wits with any man who dared to challenge your skills in the workplace. you were incredibly funny—to the point that his drink (embarrassingly) once shot out of his nose at dinner when you told a story (he went home and took a shot of something stronger afterwards).
how could you, the embodiment of perfection, love a man like him, who fought gruesome wars in his mind on the daily?
this was, of course, until later that evening where you both were out at dinner with mutual friends. you mentioned an anonymous note, and that was when akaashi realized.
being pen pals with akaashi and slowly finding yourself crushing on him. you live somewhere abroad while he resides in japan. you met online on one of those pen pal websites. it starts off small—brief letters getting to know each other, witty postcards, a snapshot of his life. but akaashi is a writer just as much as he is an editor, and he's so . . . intelligent, so funny. and you might be reading into it, but he's flirty. he starts sending you packages once you're comfortable, and it's not extravagant, but it's thoughtful. he sends you photographs of flowers because you mentioned you were allergic. he finds niche stickers that match your hobbies, and he even sends you a book one time—something that's been on your to be read list for a while. and you think you're going crazy because how could you fall in love with a man whose face you didn't even know? until you get your next letter, and he says he's coming to visit your home country for a work trip. you think you might faint.
Hinata, curled happily with a bag of chips on the floor, adjacent to Bokuto and Atsumu sat sprawled out on the couch, while Kiyoomi was as collected as could be on the free cushion, hands folded in his lap with his elbows on his knees as his dark eyes followed the plays on screen. You watch as they cheer and hoot at the saves and spikes, groaning when one team scores and cheering when theirs does.
It’s a scene that you’d love to see over and over again.
It’s also a scene you love to mess the serenity of.
“Sakusa,” you call from your perch in the doorway, and immediately, all heads whip to you. Kiyoomi tenses up, Atsumu sits up straight and Bokuto blinks owlishly, and from the floor, Hinata’s head cocks to the side in interest. “Can you come here for a sec?”
Childishly, the other three men offer him a collective “oooo,” to which your boyfriend scowls at. He quickly gets onto his feet and makes his way into the kitchen with you, panic on his features.
“Is everything okay?” He asks.
You nod, “yes. Can you reach that bowl up there?”
Immediately, Kiyoomi reaches up and grabs the bowl on the high shelf, bringing it down before cradling it to his chest, “I put this bowl here; is that why you’re mad?”
“I’m not mad,” you say simply.
“You called me Sakusa,” he pouts in fear. “You don’t call me sakusa. They do.”
“But that’s your name?”
“Not to you,” he says. “No, no- you call me the utmost feral things you can call someone, yet now you want to be formal, I don’t like that. What did I do?”
“You didn’t do anything, just give me the bowl,” you say, finding slight amusement at this charade. He winces and slowly passes you the bowl, but when you open your mouth to thank him, he immediately wraps his arms around you and pulls you in for a kiss, the bowl pressing between you. You merely giggle as he pulls back to sponge kisses on your face.
“I’m sorry,” he says between kisses. “Tell me what I did wrong.” He follows with another kiss. “I never want to make you mad.” Kiss. “I love you.” Kiss. “I love you I love you I love you-“
“Okay!” You giggle. “I know you do!”
“Say it back,” he grumbles.
You roll your eyes and cup his cheeks, making him look at you while you press a kiss to the tip of his nose. “I love you. I promise I’m not mad.”
“You’re not? You’re sure?”
“I was messing with you, my love,” you snort. Then, you nod towards the door, “you guys can’t be the only ones having fun tonight. I have to keep you on your toes.” You gently poke his stomach, grinning as he yelps and moves away. When your eyes flick to the doorway, there’s three curious heads watching the scene unfold. Two of them watch happily- the blonde one looks more than mischievous as he absorbs this new level of blackmail.
You smile and kiss his cheek, “go, watch your game with the boys. I’ll be in the bedroom.”
“Okay,” he sighs, voice much lighter than moments before. You watch as all three heads dash from the doorway to go back to the couch, swift to avoid Kiyoomi’s wrath. “I love you.” He takes a step back, “love you. I love you!” He makes his way to the threshold, “I love you!”
“I love you too,” you chuckle back.
“I love you twice as much!”
“GOD, YOU HAVE GUESTS OVER!” Atsumu gags.
“You’re just bitter because you can’t get a text back,” Kiyoomi hisses, and you can’t help but laugh at the switch from baby voice to stern, firm voice. He flashes you a wink before making his way back to the couch, and when you peek out at the furniture again, he’s in a headlock by Bokuto, his hair being ruffled in a way you know he’s going to complain about later.
BOKUTO.ೃ࿔* who desperately wants you to think he’s cool. He’ll do everything in his power to impress you—oh, your bag is too heavy? No problem! Bo’s got it! aaaand he can carry Akaashi’s bag too! See how strong he is? Isn’t he the coolest?! Wait—hold on, you really think so?
KUROO.ೃ࿔* who loves when you manhandle him. Tug him by his tie, and honey he’s at your mercy. Slide your hands along his neck with that sly smile of yours, and you’ll have him utterly undone. He just has to lean in with a lopsided smirk, hand cupping your jaw, being completely enchanted by you.
TSUKKI.ೃ࿔* who keeps you from wandering aimlessly like a lost puppy. You always ‘turn your brain off’, according to Kei. he’ll firmly place his hand on the top of your head and steer you in the right direction, rolling his eyes and teasing about how you’d be completely and utterly lost without him.
SUNARIN.ೃ࿔* who always, ALWAYS, has to have his hands on you. If you are with in reach he will rest his hands on your hips and tug you against him. If you’re walking around then your fingers will be interlocked. He also likes to put his hand in your back pocket in your jeans
IWAIZUMI.ೃ࿔* who gets genuinely gets flustered every time you compliment him. It could be anything small, like a simple ‘That’s a good color on you’ has him bashfully muttering a small ‘thanks,’ with his cheeks tinged pink. He hates how easily you turn him into a mess—especially when you giggle in realization and lean in to kiss him— Oh he just can’t take it!!
AKAASHI.ೃ࿔* who always walks you to and from your destination, no matter the time, place, or weather. Any time spent with you is spent well. He needs to make sure you get to your destination safely of course! He waits until he absolutely cannot see you anymore before he starts his journey back.
ATSUMU.ೃ࿔* who gives the BEST hugs. You always feel so safe and so loved when his arms are wrapped firmly around your waist. His head tucks into your neck as if he never wants to let go. And when he’s feeling all soft, he’ll cradle your cheek in his hand, his thumb brushing tenderly across your skin as he gazes at you like you hung the stars. Though, that’s just ‘Tsumu’s normal expression when you’re around.
KAGEYAMA.ೃ࿔* who’s always looking for you, even if you’re not there. It’s just a habit of his, probably because his mind is constantly plagued of your smiling face 24/7. The moment he spots you, he’s making a beeline, linking his pinky with yours whispering ‘What took you so long?’.
USHIWAKA.ೃ࿔* who’s the perfect gentleman. He pulls out your chair, walks on the side closest to the road, and never shows up empty-handed, always bringing you a bouquet of roses on every Sunday with a respectful kiss on the hand. Life with ‘Toshi is as easy as breathing.
OIKAWA.ೃ࿔* who can’t help but be ridiculously cheesy, really he can’t! Not when you’re his darling sugarplum and one and only till the end of forever! Reject his dramatic love proclamations? Oh, absolutely not! That’s just who he is, and you’ll have to endure it, sweetheart.
HINATA.ೃ࿔* who always offers piggyback rides when your feet hurt. Don’t underestimate his little body!—he can lift you with ease, carrying you down the street like it’s nothing. Sho’ would insist you get on his back regardless if your feet hurt or not—can you really blame him? Who wouldn’t want a cutie hanging onto them!
KENMA.ೃ࿔* who silently watches you in admiration when you put your makeup on. Sitting on the toilet lid, he holds your makeup bag and hands you your lip gloss before you even ask. He shyly looks away with his cheeks warm and lips pursed together when you ask ‘how do I look?’.
OSAMU.ೃ࿔* who can’t help the loopy grin on his face when you do a little twirl, showing off your new outfit. He could care less about shopping, truly, he hates it. But if it means seeing you all dolled up and happy, he doesn’t mind it one bit.
SAKUSA.ೃ࿔* who pulls you close to him when you are in public spaces. He takes your hands and squirts his Hello Kitty hand sanitizer (The one you got him) into your hands before rubbing his own. Scathingly glares at the man who accidentally bumped into you. He absolutely cannot let you have unwanted contact with strangers! no yucky germs allowed on his baby.
YAMAGUCHI.ೃ࿔* who always firmly holds your hand in crowds. Out in public he’ll hold your hand regardless, but when everyone is packed together his anxiety skyrockets. He’s always nervous of you two being separated in the crowd. He takes the lead to guide you both out of the mingled mess of people, and when it’s over, please give him a forehead kiss—he’s earned it.
TENDOU.ೃ࿔* who takes Shounen Saturdays very seriously. You don’t get to skip it! Not when it’s a sacred tradition of binge-watching both of your favorite shows with sugary snacks! You two are all bundled together on the couch and gasping and giggling at the TV. He refuses to let you watch the next episode without him, Will curse your whole bloodline if you do (affectionate).
HOSHIUMI.ೃ࿔* who might just be the worst person to play board games with. When he’s winning, he’s full of smug trash talk, loudly boasting about his ‘inevitable victory’, but the second he starts losing? ‘This game is rigged!’ ‘you cheated!,’ or ‘this is bullshit!’. It’s even worse better when there’s a bet involved—he’ll do anything to avoid letting you win. That’s how you get him to help you clean most the time hehe.
LEV.ೃ࿔* who clings to you, always. You are concerned for his neck and back for always resting around you in uncomfortable positions, but he never seems to complain. Standing up Lev has his arms around you and head smushed against yours, laying down his long legs wrap around your own and he burrows himself in your warmth. If Lev could have it his way, he would never stop touching you.
AONE.ೃ࿔* who’s a certified purse carrier. you don’t make him— of course not! He insists actually. He could care less about being seen with a hot pink decorated purse slung on his arm, it’s quite the sight. This also goes for shopping of course, Nobu’ just trails behind with arms full of whatever you managed to snag on 50% off.
uhu I wrote some for kyotani+suga+goshiki+etc but I didn’t like them sob sob
lemme know whatcha think! (And if I should do pt2 lolz)
Your match; you mentioned deep bonds and i think yaku would be the perfect boyfriend for you!
彡 soup + yaku @lonelysoup
how you met: you guys met during one of your outings at the club, you ended up splitting a taxi home after seeing how you were both bored at the club, but before that you guys went to eat nearby and exchanged numbers
his first impression: he found you very pretty he liked that you looked chill to be around and was drawn to talk to you
-after that night out, you both found out how much of homebody’s you were
-he likes doing different hobbies with you even if you guys don’t stick to them
-he usually covers for you if he sees your social battery running low
-despite knowing each other for not that long you guys click very fast
-dates are always lowkey and chill just so it’s more intimate between you two.
◞ 💋 ﹒ He thought about how to ask you for weeks, carefully considering every possibility. He knew he didn’t want something loud or overly dramatic—it wasn’t his style. But at the same time, he didn’t want it to feel like just another regular day. He wanted it to feel special.
◞ 💋 ﹒ When Bokuto suggested a big, public confession—maybe yelling it across the gym during practice—Akaashi just stared at him blankly. “I’d rather not make them regret knowing me,” he said dryly.
◞ 💋 ﹒ He thought about all the little details that made you you—the way your fingers absentmindedly traced the edges of your notebook, the way you smiled to yourself when reading something you liked, the way you always seemed to appreciate the quiet things in life.
◞ 💋 ﹒ That’s when he realized… he didn’t need some big moment. He just needed something personal.
◞ 💋 ﹒ The night before Valentine’s, he carefully wrote a small, cream-colored note card. It wasn’t overly poetic or dramatic, just a few simple but genuine lines:
I’d like to spend Valentine’s Day with you. If you say yes, meet me outside after school tomorrow at 5:00 PM. If you say no…. That’s okay too. I just wanted you to know.
◞ 💋 ﹒ He tucked the note inside your book when you weren’t looking, placing it between the pages of the one he always saw you reading. He knew you would find it. And then he waited.
𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗛𝗘 𝗣𝗥𝗘𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗘𝗗 :
◞ 💋 ﹒ He thought about what kind of date would make you feel comfortable. He knew you weren’t someone who needed flashy, extravagant gestures to be happy—you preferred quiet, meaningful moments.
◞ 💋 ﹒ When he found a little bookstore café tucked away in a peaceful part of town, he knew that was the perfect spot.
◞ 💋 ﹒ He reserved a corner table near the window, where the streetlights would cast a warm glow onto the pages of any books you picked up. The air inside smelled of coffee, old paper, and vanilla—subtle, comforting.
◞ 💋 ﹒ He thought about how much you loved small details, so he made sure this place had all of them. A soft atmosphere, the hum of light conversation in the background, and the kind of space where time felt slower, more thoughtful.
◞ 💋 ﹒ The gift was trickier. He wanted something meaningful, something that would remind you of him whenever you saw it.
◞ 💋 ﹒ When he finally found a beautiful, leather-bound version of one of your favorite books, he didn’t hesitate. It was perfect.
◞ 💋 ﹒ He imagined you running your fingers over the embossed cover, the way your face would light up when you realized it wasn’t just any edition—it was something chosen just for you.
◞ 💋 ﹒ On the inside cover, he wrote a simple but sincere message:
This reminded me of you. Happy Valentine’s Day. —Keiji
◞ 💋 ﹒ He wasn’t nervous about the date itself—he was nervous about making sure you felt how much he cared.
𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗗𝗔𝗧𝗘 𝗜𝗧𝗦𝗘𝗟𝗙 :
◞ 💋 ﹒ Akaashi stood outside at exactly 5:00 PM, his hands tucked into his coat pockets, exhaling softly as the crisp evening air settled around him. He told himself that if you didn’t show up in the next ten minutes, he would head home. No pressure. No expectations.
◞ 💋 ﹒ And then, at 5:02, he heard footsteps.
◞ 💋 ﹒ When he turned, his heart did something strange—a quiet, steady kind of excitement settling in his chest. You came.
◞ 💋 ﹒ He gave you a small, genuine smile. “You’re right on time,” he said, even though his watch said you were two minutes late. He wouldn’t have cared if it had been two hours.
◞ 💋 ﹒ As the two of you walked side by side, the city around you felt calmer than usual. Maybe it was because of the time of day, or maybe it was just being next to him. Either way, the silence between you wasn’t awkward. It was easy.
◞ 💋 ﹒ When you arrived at the bookstore café, your eyes widened slightly as you took in the warm, inviting space. Akaashi noticed. He always noticed.
◞ 💋 ﹒ “I thought you might like it here,” he said simply, watching for your reaction. When you smiled, something in him relaxed. Good. That’s what I wanted.
◞ 💋 ﹒ The two of you spent the evening flipping through books, sharing quiet conversation over coffee, and occasionally reading aloud to each other whenever one of you found a particularly interesting passage.
◞ 💋 ﹒ There were no grand speeches, no over-the-top romantic moments—just small, quiet things. The way he absentmindedly refilled your drink before you even noticed it was empty. The way he watched you from over the top of his book when he thought you weren’t looking. The way his voice softened slightly whenever he said your name.
◞ 💋 ﹒ Near the end of the night, he finally pulled out the book he had picked for you, sliding it across the table with a calm, steady expression.
◞ 💋 ﹒ “I thought you might like this,” he said, watching your fingers brush over the spine, your touch delicate like you were already treating it as something precious.
◞ 💋 ﹒ When you opened it and saw the note inside, your expression shifted—something quieter, softer.
◞ 💋 ﹒ You looked up at him, and in that moment, he felt it. That silent understanding that this wasn’t just a simple Valentine’s Day gift. This was him telling you everything he hadn’t said out loud.
◞ 💋 ﹒ The walk home was slower. The cold air made your breaths visible, little clouds of warmth disappearing into the night. Every so often, your shoulders brushed against each other, a subtle reminder that neither of you wanted to rush this moment.
◞ 💋 ﹒ “Did I do okay?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual. It wasn’t a joke or teasing—he genuinely wanted to know.
◞ 💋 ﹒ When you nodded, he let out a slow breath, like he was finally allowing himself to relax. “Good.”
◞ 💋 ﹒ Without thinking, he reached out—just briefly—his fingertips brushing against yours before letting his hand drop back into his pocket.
◞ 💋 ﹒ If you took his hand instead, he would pause for a fraction of a second, eyes flickering to you in surprise before his fingers curled around yours, his grip warm and steady.
◞ 💋 ﹒ He wouldn’t say much after that. He didn’t need to. The slight squeeze of his hand was enough.
◞ 💋 ﹒ “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he murmured, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer before looking back ahead, a quiet, content smile forming on his lips.
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