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“Kuroo?” 
“Hm?”
“Do you think you could be together with someone who’s still a virgin?” 
“I – what?” What the hell.

On the scale of things that could surprise Tetsurou Kuroo, the first place of “Lev bottoms for Yaku and is actually embarrassed about any public affection past holding hands” had just been replaced by the soft-spoken, monotone questions from Kenma’s lips.
Kenma was seemingly waiting for a reply, and when Tetsurou simply stared at him with wide, stunned eyes, silent and rigid, the setter shrunk down a bit. 

“Because – I think – I think I like someone, but I don’t know what he’d think when I tell him that, you know.“ Kenma’s cheeks were a gorgeous, endearing shade of deep red, and he was carrying his head low, golden strands of hair touching his jaw, the sharp line that Tetsurou wanted to kiss. 
“If he would… wait. Until I’m ready.”

Ah, Tetsurou thought, and then, what? Who is that guy? Am I going to have to beat him up, what’s his name and address and why, why him, what does he have that I don’t? 

“Yeah,” is what he said out loud, “’course. I’d wait forever, that’s just – I’d wait forever for you, I’d give you all the time, you deserve the best. Fuck, what an asshole is that guy, did he tell you that you need to have sex? I’m gonna beat him up, just wait ‘till I called Kotarou, we’re gonna rip him apart – “ 

His mind snapped back to reality when Kenma’s soft, warm lips touched his cheek, small hands clinging to his shoulders. “Thank you, that’s all I needed to know,” Kenma said, and Tetsurou thought ‘fuck’. He’d just talked out loud, he’d confessed his stupid soul to Kenma, years of friendship ruined – oh. What?

“Come on, we’ll be late.” And then there was a tinier hand inside his own, Kenma’s head leaning against his arm for a moment, shaking fingers clinging to his palm. Tetsurou blinked, looked down, catching the shy nervousity in Kenma’s eyes – and finally, he grinned. 

“You could’ve said something. Kitten,” and even though Kenma twitched at the pet name, it still earned Tetsurou another kiss on the cheek, and the small hand still rested inside his own when they entered the gym. 

For their first official date, Suga and Daichi decide to just stay home and make dinner. Suga ends up cooking, and the food is absolutely delicious. When Daichi tries it out, he goes very silent, his dark eyes widening, and Suga feels his heart stop. He asks if it tastes that bad.
And Daichi blurts out, cheeks red like the strawberry dessert Suga made: “God, I want to marry you so much right now.”

The rest of the evening is awkwardly quiet, but it’s also kind of good, because Suga finally dares to hold his hand while they watch some movie, nestled against Daichi’s side. Suga doesn’t say a word when Daichi buries his nose in his hair, and when gentle fingers trace along his wrist, so shy, as if he’s fragile.

And when Daichi leaves, Suga kisses him with soft lips that taste like strawberries.

Oikawa only see Iwaizumi cry twice in his whole life. The first time is when Oikawa wakes up in a hospital bed – he simply hadn’t seen the car approaching – and Iwaizumi sits on the floor by his side, sobbing into the sleeve of his shirt, clinging to the friendship bracelets Oikawa had made for them in middle school. The second time is years later, when Iwaizumi asks that one question, Oikawa says “yes, oh god yes”, and Iwaizumi smiles through tears while sliding the ring onto his finger.

mattsunsthighs:

OH MY GOD MOAMI NOW IM CRYING, YOU GODDESS OF WORDS

And after that, Oikawa – no, that’s not his name anymore, because he’s allowed to call his husband “Hajime” now, and they share a last name. Because Hajime wakes him with a soft whisper of “Tooru” every morning, the grey stubble on his cheeks scratching along Tooru’s neck, eyes framed by life-deepened wrinkles but as dark and warm as the day they got married, fifty years ago. 

Tooru has made sure that Hajime never had to cry again, until today – and, if life lets them have it, for years and years more, until Tooru hears that gentle whisper of his first name for the last time.