#yachi fluff

​the air in the karasuno high school hallway smelled like cheap chocolate, desperation, and the lingering scent of kageyama’s milk carton. it was a minefield. yachi was currently vibrating at a frequency usually reserved for tectonic plates or hummingbirds on an espresso bender. she was trying to blend into the locker bank, hoping that if she stood still enough, she would simply become part of the school’s infrastructure.

​this was a survival tactic. today was valentine’s day, and yachi’s heart was currently doing backflips over a barbed-wire fence. specifically, it was doing backflips for you.

​you were currently walking toward the gym, looking entirely too pleasant. it was offensive, really. how dare you have hair that looked that soft? how dare your uniform fit you in a way that made her brain short-circuit into a series of error messages? every time you breathed in her general vicinity, yachi felt like she was being hit by a freight train made of marshmallows and pure, unadulterated longing.

​"y/n!" a voice boomed, sounding far too energetic for a school afternoon.

​yachi’s eyes widened. it was the chaos trio: tanaka, nishinoya, and hinata. they were huddled together like a group of gremlins plotting the downfall of a kingdom. before she could dive into a nearby trash can to hide, she felt a hand grab her shoulder.

​"yachi! just the person we needed!" tanaka grinned, his face looking suspiciously like a mischievous gargoyle.

​"wait, no, i have papers to—"

​too late. she was swept up in the whirlwind. before she could process the physics of what was happening, she was being shoved into a makeshift wooden structure at the end of the hall. it was the "marriage booth," a local festival staple that the volleyball club had hijacked for their own chaotic purposes.

​and then, the door clicked shut behind her.

​yachi turned around, her soul nearly leaving her body. there you were. standing in the dim light of the booth, looking confused and ruggedly handsome in a way that made her want to scream into a pillow for forty-eight hours straight.

​"oh, hey yachi," you said, your voice smooth as butter on a hot pancake. "did they get you too?"

​yachi made a sound that could only be described as a teapot reaching its boiling point. "i—uh—yes! trapped! we are trapped in the box of matrimonial doom! i’m so sorry, y/n! i’ll pay for your therapy! i’ll build you a statue as an apology for this indignity!"

​you chuckled, scratching the back of your neck. the sound of your laugh was yachi’s favorite song. she wanted to record it and play it on a loop until her ears fell off. she wanted to bottle the scent of your laundry detergent and sell it as a premium fragrance. she was, quite frankly, a goner. she was a puddle of goo on the floor of your existence.

​"it’s fine, really," you said, leaning against the plywood wall. "it’s kind of cozy in here. better than being chased by nishinoya with those heart-shaped stickers."

​yachi’s brain was currently processing the phrase 'cozy in here.' cozy. with her.

​she felt like she was being cooked in a microwave on the 'popcorn' setting. her thoughts were a chaotic mess of he’s so close and if i accidentally touch his arm i will literally explode into a shower of confetti. she watched you. she couldn't help it. she watched the way your eyes crinkled when you looked at her. she noticed a small stray thread on your sweater and felt an overwhelming urge to jump off a bridge because of how cute it was. she wanted to dedicate her entire life to making sure you never had a stray thread ever again. she wanted to be your personal bodyguard, your chef, your dedicated fan club president, and your wife, all at the same time.

​the booth was narrow, and the walls were covered in tacky red streamers that smelled like glue. through the cracks in the wood, you could hear the muffled chaos of the valentine’s festival outside—the "message in a bottle" booth run by the drama club and the smell of sugared crepes from the home ec room.

​"they really went all out on the decorations," you observed, pointing at a plastic 'certificate' taped to the wall that declared you and yachi 'officially hitched until the end of the lunch period.'

​yachi stared at the paper as if it were a holy relic. "wedded! we are wedded in the eyes of the volleyball club! the paperwork is going to be a nightmare! i don't even have a dowry! would you accept a collection of high-quality mechanical pencil lead and some lukewarm sports drink?"

​"i'd take the sports drink," you teased, stepping a bit closer. the booth was small. really small. your shoulders were almost touching hers. yachi’s skin felt like it was being electrified by a million tiny, benevolent lightning bolts.

​"you're really quiet today, yachi," you noted, tilting your head.

​"my lungs have ceased function!" she squeaked, waving her hands frantically. "i’m currently operating on backup batteries and sheer willpower! the oxygen in this booth is being consumed by my internal screaming!"

​you laughed again, and the sound reverberated in the small space, vibrating right through yachi’s ribs. she felt like a frantic kitten being offered a warm bowl of milk. she was desperate to be near you, yet terrified that her very existence might be too loud, too much, or too weird for someone as grounded as you.

​"yachi," you said, your tone dropping into something more serious, something that made her knees feel like they were made of overcooked noodles. "look at me."

​she looked. she had no choice. your eyes were like gravity, pulling her in until she was orbiting your soul.

​"i've been trying to find a way to tell you this without the guys hovering over us," you admitted. your thumb brushed over her knuckles, a sensation so divine yachi thought she might actually transcend this mortal plane and become a constellation. "but being stuck in this booth? it’s actually the best part of my day."

​yachi’s heart wasn't just beating; it was performing a drum solo that would put professional musicians to shame. she felt a sudden, fierce wave of bravery. it was the kind of bravery you get right before you jump out of a plane.

​"y/n," she started, her voice trembling but determined. "if you were a star, i would spend my entire life building a telescope just to look at you. if you were a book, i would memorize every single comma. i think—i think i’m so far gone for you that i’ve forgotten where the ground is. you’re like... the sun. and i’m just a tiny, very nervous sunflower."

​you stared at her, stunned for a heartbeat, before a massive, genuine grin broke across your face.

​"a sunflower, huh?" you pulled her hand up, pressing a quick, soft kiss to her knuckles.

​yachi’s brain officially evaporated. she was no longer a human girl; she was a collection of happy atoms vibrating in a school blazer.

​"then i guess it's a good thing i've always wanted a garden," you murmured.

​"i'll grow anything for you!" she blurted out, her face a shade of red that outdid the streamers. "i'll grow prize-winning tomatoes! i'll grow a forest! i'll become a botanical expert by tonight!"

​outside, the muffled sounds of hinata cheering and tanaka weeping with joy echoed through the wood, but yachi didn't care. she was too busy trying to memorize the exact temperature of your hand against hers, realizing that the marriage booth was, in fact, the greatest invention in human history.

​she leaned her head against your shoulder, a shaky, happy sigh escaping her lips.

​"i'm going to make you so many bento boxes that you'll forget what hunger even feels like," she whispered into your sleeve.

​"i'm counting on it," you replied, squeezing her hand tight.

​the booth door creaked open, spilling light into their private world as the 'priest'—a very teary-eyed sugawara—proclaimed the ceremony finished. but neither of you moved immediately. yachi was exactly where she wanted to be: anchored to the person who made her world stop spinning and start shining.

​as you both stepped out into the chaotic, pink-hued hallway, she didn't let go of your hand. instead, she held on with the grip of a drowning person who had just found a very handsome life raft.

​"so," you said, swinging your joined hands. "want to go hit the crepe booth? my wife must be hungry."

​yachi made a sound like a punctured balloon, her soul floating somewhere near the ceiling. "wife! he said the w-word! yes, crepes! i will buy you every crepe in the prefecture!"

​you laughed, pulling her closer as you walked through the crowd, yachi following you with an expression of pure, unadulterated worship.

n: was giggling so hard while writing this that i choked harshly and almost died.

hitoka’s taglist

@forgottensniper @kkenaori @eri0-0 @fiannee @v01dsush1 @lazyruinsperson @kkkkkyatory @katzline

© showhay — don’t copy nor translate without my permission. i do not own any of the photos that i have used. credits to all the rightful owners !

Yachi sighs as she leans back against the tree’s trunk, her eyes slipping shut as she fondly recalls your summer together.

Things had begun harmlessly enough. Hitoka had been humming as she shuffled into the girls’ showers, a song from the latest Disney movie stuck in her head. She was just about ready to properly sing it to herself when she heard a voice from a stall. 

“Hey,” she’d heard, “do you have an extra towel? I think I dropped mine in the hall. I can wash it and return it later, but…it’s pretty dire.”

To this day, Hitoka can’t remember seeing a towel in the hallway. Whether you’d just said it as a conversation starter, or if cleaning had just been passing through and gathered the item before she could even see it, she still wasn’t sure. (She was willing to bet it was the latter, though. You took long showers, much to her dismay when the two of you were trying to get ready for a night out. Who knows how long you had been in the stall before she had come in? The poor cleaning crew had probably picked up your towel an hour and a half prior to your meeting.) But she had given you her towel and hurried back to her room to grab a new one. When she came back, you were already gone.

She’d been a little miffed, honestly. It was just a Target bath towel, sure, but she liked those towels. They were really soft, and they were the pretty shade of blue her mother had always said made her skin glow healthily. She couldn’t believe she let some random girl steal her towel.

She finished her shower—still humming that damn Disney song, mind you—and returned to her room, but no sooner had she shut her door than a frantic knocking began against the thick wood.

She had opened the door to find you, a shy smile on your face as you presented her with a fluffy yellow towel.

“So,” you said sheepishly, shifting your weight from foot to foot, “I’m actually out of laundry detergent right now. I won’t be able to head into town to get some for a few more days. So for now, I figured I’d give you one of my towels.”

Yachi had squinted at you suspiciously.

“How’d you find my dorm?”

Your smile widened, and Yachi found herself surprised at the soft giggle you let out. 

“Your name’s embroidered on your towels, and it’s on your whiteboard out here. It wasn’t too hard.”

She remembers how humiliated she’d felt—leave it to her overprotective mother to embarrass her by doing something like embroidering her name on a damn towel without her noticing. But as she muttered a weak apology for something so lame, she couldn’t help but notice the way you had smiled at her, shaking your head as you insisted it was really sweet. 

A gentle smile sneaks its way onto Hitoka’s lips as she opens her eyes again, the memory of your meeting setting off the butterflies in the pit of her stomach that she’d grown all too familiar with since the beginning of the summer. 

She felt a little ridiculous, honestly. It felt rather juvenile to have a silly crush like this, complete with all of the butterflies and stumbling over her words when you were around. It felt even more ridiculous when she considered your relationship…or lack thereof. In fact, Hitoka was convinced that she was making a grave mistake as she waited for you in the shade of the massive oak tree, ready to confess her feelings towards you—even if she was sure it would mean the end of your friendship.

It would destroy her, really, losing you. She’d grown fond of your presence, however she could enjoy it. But there were so many things that had happened between the two of you that she just wasn’t sure of. Like…a few weeks ago, you had gone together to a party at one of the frats on campus. God, that party. 

The two of you had danced together all night, pressed skin to skin as you shouted the lyrics to every song at the top of your lungs. Cup after cup of cheap liquor passed between the two of you, and it hadn’t been long before you had smiled at Hitoka loopily and begun to sway a little too hard on the dance floor. She had called an Uber for the two of you and spent the entirety of the brief ride back to the dorm focusing on not kissing your forehead as you leaned on her shoulder. She’d carefully helped you into the building, fully prepared to settle you in your own room, when you’d pouted at her and asked to stay with her. 

“What if I wake up all drunk ‘nd confused? If I’m alone, I’ll prob’ly just go lookin’ for you, anyway,” you’d mumbled, tightening your grip on her. And how could she say no to you?

So Hitoka had guided you into her room. She helped you take your makeup off, setting your lashes carefully atop the unused dresser, and she hadn’t argued with you when you insisted on crawling into bed with her. You had snuggled into her, your head tucked into her neck. She spent the night fighting the urge to tell you she loved you as your breath fanned over her collarbone. When she woke up the next morning, you were sitting on the other bed wearing a blue dress she thought she had lost—you must’ve found it in the back of her closet. As she shifted, you looked up from your phone, smiled at her, and asked her what she wanted for breakfast.

Hitoka swears that was the night she fell in love with you. You had looked so sweet, wearing one of the oversized T-shirts for her high school’s old volleyball club as you clung to her in your sleep. She couldn’t stop herself from imagining waking up to such a beautiful picture of you every morning. It was too good for her to consider passing up even the smallest opportunity to experience that reality.

Your laugh floats across the courtyard, catching the blonde’s attention immediately. She watches as you wave at a classmate, a bright smile on your face. She catches herself mirroring your expression as you approach, completely unaware of her gaze as you pull out the compact mirror she knows you keep in your bag at all times. You fix your hair, rub on some chapstick—and then you’re looking at her.

It’s too late to look away when your gaze meets hers, and Yachi can’t help the embarrassed flush that decorates her cheeks as she lifts her hand in a little wave. You wave back, jogging the rest of the way over to her with that same bright smile stretched over your lips.

“Hey! Were you waiting long?”

Her throat is closing up.

“No, uh…I didn’t get here that long ago.” 

The lie burns at the back of her throat. She’s glad you hadn’t happened to decide to take one of your little campus strolls, or you would’ve seen her seated under the tree for about an hour before she even worked up the courage to text you to meet her.

You give a theatrical sigh of relief, wiping imaginary sweat from your forehead as you flop down into the grass next to her.

“Good. I really didn’t mean to be so late. I mean, I’d never leave my favorite girl waiting on purpose,” you reply, affectionately knocking your shoulder into hers. 

She laughs, knocking you back—and trying hard to ignore the soda-fizz that bubbles just behind her bellybutton when you call her your favorite girl. 

“Yeah, right. But I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to…ask you something.”

You face her fully, crossing your legs and locking your hands around one of your ankles.

“Shoot.”

This is it, Yachi thinks, it’s now or never. This will be when she tells you how long she’s been dreaming of feeling your soft fingers skate over her cheek as you pull her in for a kiss, of swinging your interlocked hands between the two of you as you walked to the campus ice cream shop for a date, of snuggling up to you every night to go to sleep. This will be when you tell her you feel the same way, that you realized your own feelings not long after, that you want to try being more than friends, too. This will be when everything changes for the better, when she kisses you properly for the first time and finds that it’s better than her dreams had ever let her even begin to imagine.

…isn’t it?

Or are you going to laugh at her, tell her that her confession was such a funny joke and that you aren’t even into girls? Are you going to tell her you should just stay friends and just slowly start avoiding her more and more? Are you going to break her heart into pieces under the oak tree where you’d first properly exchanged numbers, agreed to hang out, and truly become friends? Are you going to destroy her?

The mere thought makes the blonde hesitate, and she watches your expression morph into one of genuine concern. 

“Hitoka? Hey, is everything okay?”

You sound so worried about her, and that alone makes it even harder for her to loosen the words that stick to the back of her throat. Can she really risk losing you? 

The breeze picks up again, and if she listens hard enough, she can hear the echoes of your voice from the many talks you two had had under this very tree. The sound soothes her, and she takes a deep breath before she finally manages to look you in the eye again. 

“I like you.”

You smile at her, tilting your head as you give her a playful pout. 

“Aw, ‘toka, I like you t—“

“No, I like you. I have feelings for you.”

Your smile drops, and so does her heart. But it doesn’t matter—she has to finish what she started. 

“I’ve liked you since we went to that one shitty frat party in the beginning of the summer and you insisted on staying with me. I like how you refuse to hang out if the next day is your wash day, and I like how you’ll call me after to help you detangle. I like the way your nose crinkles when somebody says something you think is silly. I like that you wear tube tops all the time just because you don’t want to get darker and still have “one stripe of winter” on your shoulders. I like that no matter what, you do your best to smile. I…I just wanted you to know. It’s fine if you don’t feel the same way, but…I just wanted you to know.”

You don’t answer. You blink at Hitoka absently, and she can already envision the rest of her evenings spent alone, a permanently empty seat next to her at the dining hall as you do your best to avoid her completely. 

The breeze grows stronger—and there’s your voice again, echoing in her ears. She quickly begins to mourn that this will be the only way she’ll keep hearing her favorite melody. 

But then you smile at her and lean closer. 

“I like you too, Hitoka.”

The world falls silent. Her heart skips, the wind stills, and the Earth stops spinning. But you continue. 

“I was really embarrassed the morning after that party. I thought I’d been so obvious. I didn’t know how to bring it up…I was scared you didn’t even like girls, but…” 

You crinkle your nose, and Hitoka can feel her ears heat as she admires the sight. 

“…I guess I was scared for nothing, huh?” 

She can’t help it. She bursts into laughter, burying her face in her hands as tears of pure relief prick at her eyes. When she finally looks up, she rolls her eyes at you, reaching to tuck a braid behind your ear. 

“Yeah, you were.” 

You echo her laughter, albeit softer, and the sound makes her heart flutter in a familiar way. 

“Hitoka, can I kiss you?”

She feels her face warm, and she rips her hand away from your face so quickly she worries for a moment that she may have hurt you. Just as quickly, though, she leans forward, your lips just millimeters apart. 

“Y-yes….yes, please kiss me.”

Between a few stressful courses, kids who threw sand, and the lingering anxiety brought on by what she thought was an unrequited crush, the summer had begun to weigh heavily on Yachi’s shoulders. But when you kiss her, she’s suddenly sent back to early June. She’s dancing with you at that party, dressed in that skin tight red dress, and neither of you care who sees. You’re the only two people in the room—in the world.

Her heart slams against her chest when you pull away, giving her a shy smile that makes her want to kiss you all over again. 

SUGAWARA leaves kisses on the corner of your lips. A soft hand always grips your chin lightly— solely focusing on keeping you still. He enjoys the little huff when you feel his soft lips teasing you by avoiding the entirety of your lips. He always claims that it’s “a warmup for later.” It’s incredibly dorky, but it’s cute every single time. Giggles in your ear every time he hears you complain that you want a “real” kiss. He makes you agree to watch a boring movie in return. Spoiler— you cave.

OSAMU kisses you on the lips with an insatiable hunger. He’s used to being around sweets that test his patience— but you’re his guilty pleasure. He will put a little bit of icing on his thumb so he can pretend he’s wiping it off your face. It’s all an excuse to kiss you with the added taste of sweet icing. Those kisses are sweet and slow. They have to be sweet and slow if he plans to canvas every inch of your mouth for the sweet filling.

YACHI gives kisses on the top of your head. She always waits until you’re laying slouched against her figure. Her fingers gently rake through your hair— massaging your scalp with her manicured nails. After a moment, she smooths down your hair so he can comfortably lean down and kiss the top of your head. She laughs and giggles as you try to maneuver yourself so you can kiss her. Fuck, she looks gorgeous as she hides her face in embarrassment.

YAMAGUCHI kisses the palm of your hands. He never fails to remind you that those same, pretty hands are the ones that help him every day of your lives. Those hands take care of you and take care of him, so he wants to pepper them with kisses every single chance he gets. No matter how many time you pull away because it tickles, he always brings them back so he can place a kiss and tell you a reason he’s thankful for you.

TENDO kisses you on the temple. His thumb gently caresses the area, smoothing over the skin before he leans down to place the kiss. His lips stay on the area just a second longer than you expect, but you can’t find it in yourself to complain. While his lips rest against your temple, he feels at peace. His eyes close and his heart rate slows to a comfortable pace. He’s safe like this.

S. TANAKA kisses you right behind the ear. She knows it’s cheeky and unusual, but she can’t stop herself from doing it every time. The initial look of shock always brings a genuine smile to her face. She loves it because it’s so subtle. She can pull you in for a hug and give you a kiss without anybody knowing at all. It’s perfect for her, she wouldn’t have it any other way.