Izzy

if karasuno had a heart, it was probably you. not in the romantic sense—though hinata would absolutely fight anyone who dared say otherwise—but in the “i remembered everyone’s bento, filled their water bottles, and also booked the gym for next week” kind of way.

you were sugawara’s little sister, which meant half the team treated you like a baby bird they had to protect, and the other half treated you like some divine mom figure sent straight from the volleyball gods.

and hinata shōyō?

hinata was… unwell.

like, genuinely lovesick in the way that if devotion could be converted into electricity, he could power the entire prefecture. the boy had it bad.

it started with simple things—your smile when you handed him a towel, your soft “good work, hinata!” after a rally—but now he was pretty sure he’d reorganized the entire structure of his life around your approval.

like—he’d once sprinted across the entire school campus because he realized you hadn’t eaten lunch yet.

you hadn’t said you were hungry. you’d just sighed quietly while checking attendance sheets, and somehow hinata had heard that sigh, interpreted it as a call for emergency aid, and appeared five minutes later with bread from the school store and a look of pure purpose.

kageyama had been like, “dude, what the hell,” and hinata just shrugged, beaming. “she was hungry!”

“you don’t know that!”

“my heart knew.”

tsukishima had gagged in the background.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

being karasuno’s second manager wasn’t easy, especially with the amount of chaos that seemed to follow these boys like a personal weather system.

but you were good at it—sharp, organized, somehow managing to make even daichi take water breaks on time. kiyoko adored you, mostly because you helped shoulder the madness.

and, unbeknownst to you, hinata adored you for… everything.

he was convinced you were the human version of sunshine. not the blinding, scorching kind, but the kind that seeps through windows in the morning and makes you feel like maybe the world isn’t so bad after all.

and it was killing him.

hinata didn’t want to be this dramatic. he didn’t want to feel his pulse quicken every time you smiled, or his knees weaken when you handed him a towel. but every time you said his name—soft, warm, almost affectionate—his brain did a full blue screen reboot.

one time you said “good job, hinata!” and he actually forgot how to breathe. like, actively forgot. daichi had to thump his back because he was just staring at you, mouth open, making faint wheezing noises.

“bro,” nishinoya whispered later, “you looked like a fish in love.”

“she’s—” hinata clutched his chest. “she’s just so nice, noya-san. she smiled at me like i wasn’t a total mess.”

“you are a total mess.”

“yeah, but she makes me wanna be a better one.”

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the thing was—you were kind to everyone. you reminded asahi to stretch, helped tanaka with his class notes, making tsukishima eat a little better, reminded yamaguchi to eat his vegetables (which he did, only when you were watching).

you even packed extra rice balls “just in case anyone forgot theirs,” which, mysteriously, hinata “forgot” his lunch every. single. day.

“hinata,” you sighed one afternoon, handing him one. “did you forget your lunch again?”

“uh—yeah!” he said, way too enthusiastically.

“you need to start remembering to eat properly. you’ll pass out one of these days.”

“if i do, will you feed me?” he blurted.

and then promptly died internally.

the entire gym went silent. kageyama’s serve bounced off the back wall. tanaka made the most unholy squeaking noise. tsukishima actually turned around, eyes gleaming like a shark that smelled blood.

you just laughed. “you’re ridiculous, hinata.”

and that laugh—that little sound of affection that slipped out so easily—was the final nail in his coffin.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

there were moments when hinata wondered if you even realized how much space you occupied in his head.

like when he was late for practice, not because he overslept, but because he spent ten extra minutes fixing his hair since you said it “looked cute messy.”

or when he practiced his spikes extra hard, imagining you watching him from the sidelines, smiling proudly.

sometimes, when you tied your hair back with a scrunchie, he thought about how it looked too tight, and he wanted to loosen it for you—gently, carefully, like he was touching glass.

he didn’t say these things, of course.

he couldn’t.

because every time he even thought of saying something remotely romantic, his brain short-circuited and replaced it with volleyball stats.

so instead, he channeled it all into effort. into being the best player he could be. if he could just be good enough, maybe you’d see him as more than just the kid who forgot his lunch.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

one day after practice, you were sitting on the gym floor, legs tucked under you, sorting equipment. it was quiet, the air humming softly with leftover energy.

hinata lingered nearby, pretending to stretch.

you looked up. “aren’t you going home?”

“uh, soon,” he said quickly. “i’m just—cooling down.”

(he had been “cooling down” for twenty minutes. kageyama had left. the lights were dim. he was definitely not cooling down.)

you smiled, eyes soft. “you worked really hard today.”

and god, he swore his heart levitated.

“thank you!” he squeaked.

you tilted your head. “do you always thank people like that?”

“like what?”

“like… your voice is trying to jump out of your throat.”

he turned red instantly.

“n-no! i just—uh—it’s you!”

“me?” you blinked.

“yeah! i mean—not like, you you, but—yeah, actually, you you! because you’re—you’re really nice, and i wanna make you proud!”

you laughed again, light and warm. “i already am proud of you, hinata.”

and that was it. that was the moment his soul ascended. the boy almost passed out.

he went home that night, flopped on his futon, and stared at the ceiling for an hour.

tanaka texted him: bro you alive?

hinata replied: she said she’s proud of me

and tanaka, being tanaka, sent back: rip king. you died loved.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

in the following weeks, the team started noticing things.

like how hinata’s form improved dramatically.

like how he suddenly showed up early to help you carry water jugs.

like how he never forgot his lunch anymore (because you’d started writing “don’t forget!!” on sticky notes and putting them on his bag, which he kept all of them—yes, even the crumpled ones).

nishinoya called him “simp king.” tsukishima called him “domesticated.” suga just smiled like he knew exactly what was going on.

but hinata didn’t care. because when you smiled at him, it felt like the entire gym lit up.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

there was one morning, though, that really cemented it.

you came into practice looking tired—barely awake, hair a little messy. you must’ve stayed up late making schedules again.

hinata noticed immediately. of course he did.

so, before warm-ups, he disappeared for ten minutes.

when he came back, he was holding a small bottle of your favorite drink.

“here!” he said, thrusting it toward you.

you blinked. “what’s this?”

“you looked sleepy. and you like this drink. i thought—it might help!”

you stared at him for a moment before smiling—soft, genuine, maybe a little touched.

“thank you, hinata. that’s really sweet.”

and if his chest puffed out just a little at that—well, no one had to know.

he stood there, watching as you took a sip, and he swore the entire world could collapse around him and he wouldn’t care.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

people thought hinata’s devotion to volleyball was unmatched. but they were wrong.

his devotion to you was something else entirely—louder than his spikes, warmer than his smile, stronger than every muscle in his body.

he didn’t know when it started, or how, or why—but you’d become the axis his entire universe spun around.

and honestly? he was fine with that.

because if loving you meant remembering to eat, to rest, to smile more, to play harder—then maybe you really were the reason he’d become better.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

later that week, you were leaving the gym after everyone else had gone. hinata was locking up, humming to himself, when you stopped by the door.

“hinata?”

“yeah?”

“thank you—for always helping out. i know it’s not easy managing everyone.”

he grinned. “i’d do anything for the team!”

you raised an eyebrow. “for the team?”

his face turned crimson. “a-and you! mostly! i mean—not like mostly mostly, but—uh—yeah!”

you laughed, that soft, familiar sound that made his chest ache.

“you’re a good kid, hinata.”

“kid?” he repeated, wounded.

“fine, good guy.”

“better,” he muttered, trying not to grin too hard.

and when you waved goodbye, he stood there for a long moment, heart fluttering in his chest like a bird that didn’t know where to land.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

when suga found him later, still smiling like an idiot, he just patted his shoulder and said,

“you know, if you stare at her any longer, she might catch fire.”

hinata blinked. “worth it.”

and maybe, he meant it. who are we kidding? of course he meant it.

(hinata’s journal that night probably read: “she said good guy 😭😭😭”)

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

a: i’m actually such a yearner fr. i once wrote a ballad (or two) for him (bf) and at least 45 poems.

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@lsirria @the-bloopsters @nelinkythoughts @sleepykeijiii @averys-place @reverd-ck @sxnnee @anzuuhoshi @evilari111 @rabbitcola @s1lly-bon @katzline @michexoxo @asthmaticasma @meonelixir @xiansoria @pelicanpizza @x3nafix @meikstv @depressinglyobsessed @keiob

© 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. (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)

★ he can feel your eyes on him and starts smiling and laughing like an idiot ★ calls you doc and comes by for stretching tips, sometimes with food from onigiri miya ★ doesn’t realize he’s seriously falling until he catches himself smiling at his phone, liking your story posts early in the morning ★ is not the kinda guy to procrastinate on stuff long and quickly asks you out to dinner ★ has you laughing at his jokes allll through the evening ★ has moments where he is just losing himself in your eyes and mutes his surroundings and everyone around has been shocked at the sight ★ the closer you guys get the more puppy-like this guy is ★ tried to cook for you a few times and instead had you belly-laughing at the reality of him burning rice…in a rice cooker

BOKUTO KOUTARO

★ first day of your college math course, you head for a seat in the second row and someone else grabs the chair at the same time–bokuto! ★ smiles at you and sits at the next seat over while introducing himself ★ asks if you’re good at the subject and you share a laugh when you quickly shake your head ★ you find out he plays volleyball (no surprise when you see his muscles) and ask when his next game is  ★ 2 days from now after your class so you agree to show up ★ this boy is so happy to see you and is basically glittering at the sight of you ★ his enthusiasm rubs off and you find yourself cheering for him at his games ★ when he loses focus in math class he starts drawing tiny cute chibis in his notebook & eventually migrates to yours ★ on the trains back from games or late practice nights, will always offer for you to sleep on his shoulder but he ends up on yours ★ gets teased by his college teammates about how suspiciously bright he gets around you and he goes red for a few seconds. doesn’t deny anything of course ends up clearly telling you about his feelings after some self pep-talks in the shower ★ when he introduces you to people he falters… you’re more than a friend, much more than a classmate, but you’re not quite in a relationship ★ “this is my y/n!” and that pretty much settles it ★  once you’ve established that you’re okay with physical touch you realize he really likes hugs ★ after one particularly tough game he gives you the tightest hug yet and thanks you for being there for him….his ears are tinged pink again and you can hear his heart beating through his chest ★ walks you back to your dorm that day and you notice he keeps applying chapstick…you kiss his cheek and wish him a good night ★ the man is outside your door cheesing like crazy lmao

HINATA SHOYO

★ is totally smitten as he sees you walking along the beach one day in baggy pants and a tight lime green and pink top, laughing with a friend ★ he doesn’t linger on it too long, going back to his beach volleyball game until he realizes you’ve stopped to watch, sipping a drink in hand ★ cue a sudden energy boost. this man is jumping all over the place (a LITTLE more than usual) ★ has the great idea to invite you and your friend to join the game as 2 guys are bidding their goodbyes. ★ you smile and dig a hole in the sand to set your drink down–how could you say no to this cute, honey-skinned guy with muscles dripping in sweat ★ reality hits and you find out running on sand is HARD. he’s definitely carrying the team ★ you guys win and everyone else goes home. but you’re off work tomorrow and he has no problem teaching you more beach volleyball ★ now it’s just you two and his voice is lower and softer…the moonlight is shining and his eyes are gorgeous ★ he asks if he could save his number in your phone & does a fist pump on the inside when you say yes ★ walks you back to the parking lot where your friend is waiting for you ★ you lean in for a hug and his brain kinda short circuits. his face is HOT ★ as you part ways he can’t help looking back every few seconds with this doozy smile on his face ★ you guys start texting and finds out you recently got hired at this smoothie place ★ stops by sometimes with jokes so corny you have to laugh ★ “i want something sweet but i don’t see your name on the menu” ★ often hides by the side of the building when he feels a blush creeping up his face and is totally unaware you can see him kind of gushing over you  

SAKUSA KIYOOMI

As you lay beneath your comforter, head sinking into your pillows, you reach out a hand and trace a line down Hinata's bicep, following the curve of his muscle. The years he spent in Brazil turned him into someone new; he had come back to you stronger, bigger. He had come back with his instincts sharper and his smile wider, and his love for you nearly tripled, it seems. Something squeezes and shudders in your chest as you watch the subtle ways his face shifts in his sleep. His lashes brush the apples of his cheeks and his lips are parted slightly, shoulders rising and falling with each breath. He's every bit as endearing asleep as he is awake — and you can hardly believe he's yours.

It's a strange position to be in: to date someone with so much fame. The world is watching his every move and, by extension, they are watching yours too. Hinata never shies away from speaking about you; he posts you on social media, takes you out on dates. And people talk — of course they do. Everyone has opinions on everything and your relationship with Hinata is no exception to that. Some of them think you're too plain for a pro-athlete, especially one as prolific as Hinata Shouyou. Sometimes, you start to believe them. 

Hinata is every bit willing to give you the world, should you ask for it. And while you're willing to do the same for him, he would be able and you could only ever make a good-faith attempt. You can tell him time and time again how enamoured you are by him, how grateful you are to have him; Shouyou, thank you. Shouyou, what would I do without you? Shouyou, I love you. 

It doesn't really measure up — not in your eyes, anyway. (Hinata insists otherwise but you're allowed to disagree with him sometimes.)

Shouyou," you whisper, shuffling closer. He's so warm — you can feel the steady thrum of his heart beating as you slot your head in the crook of his neck. "Are you awake?" 

And then: "I love you." 

You bring your arm up and curl it under your head, the other skims up his shoulder and curves over his neck. You can feel his body moving with each cyclical breath; you wait for him to wake up. Some part of you wants to shake him awake, but you imagine he has several good things to dream about, and you'd hate to interrupt. 

The longer you stare, the harder it becomes for you to be patient. 

Hinata had returned a little over a month ago. You'd been expecting him for the whole week before he came back home, cleaning and reorganising your apartment, repeatedly checking your reflection in every mirror you pass by. You suspect that he'd wanted to surprise you, but — as with most things concerning you and him — he'd agreed to your whims and filled you in on all the details. You had waited for him at the airport when he'd arrived, and you had cried in his arms (which, you had immediately noted, had gotten much bigger in the time you'd spent apart) while he tried to soothe the ache of a wound that could finally begin to heal.

He'd called you every single night and yet, when he had you in his arms once more, Hinata had so much more to say. And you'd listened — hanging off of every word like missing even a second of him would break you. 

You remember how he was bouncing his leg in the taxi back to your place; you had assumed it was just his excitement to be back home. That could have only been half of it — he'd been more excited to get his hands on you. 

And as soon as the both of you stumbled past the front door, as soon as you had turned to welcome him home with a coy smile, Hinata was kissing you. He spent the next few hours simply learning your body once more: he'd mapped his love onto your skin long ago and now, he was retracing his steps, finding all the ways to make you squirm, whine, plead and beg. Embarrassingly, you were nothing more than a dazed mess at the end of it. 

"You're always so sensitive, baby." 

The memory of him rasping those words into the shell of your ear has you growing even more impatient. Involuntarily, your thighs press together; the ghost of his touch along your skin is fleeting — if you close your eyes, you can still feel it.

He must feel your insistent stare. Hinata stirs awake slowly, stretching his arms out first before his eyes even peel open. You watch with your smile hidden behind your hand as he fights sleep, finally meeting your softened gaze. 

"Good morning," you say first, lovelorn as you watch him smile. 

Hinata typically wakes up earlier than you. His schedule is a lot stricter than yours, and his discipline is stronger than yours as well. His body is used to waking up in tandem with the sunrise --- you prefer to wait until the rays of run greet you. But he's been given some time off, a short break to recuperate, and for once, Hinata had slept in with you. "Morning," he says, quietly though not cheerfully. His voice is gritty from the hours of sleep and the sound only lights a flame in your stomach. 

You make your move then, not wanting to delay it any longer. Hinata's watching you curiously as you shift over him, and make room for yourself between his legs. The soft wrinkle between his brows, the way he's watching you so intently, only makes that flame grow as it begins to burn brighter. 

He doesn't seem to put two-and-two together until your hands are sliding down his stomach, feeling the ridges of his well-trained muscles. 

"Hey..." he laughs, the sound coming out breathy and soft, touched with a kind of disbelief he shouldn't still have. It's almost as if Hinata can't believe he has you in the same way you can't believe you have him. "You don't have to—"

"I want to," you reply, fingers curling into the waistband of his shorts. You tug at it, lowering it down his hips and his thighs. The way Hinata hisses at the cool air has a shiver rushing down the length of your spine. "I didn't think you'd be hard already," you accompany your words with a soft snicker. 

Hinata whines in response, his hips chasing your fingers as they withdraw from him. "How could I not be? You're so hot—" his voice catches in his throat when you press your hand down on his thigh, thumb tracing his tan line. "Baby, please." You can imagine him now, standing on the sandy beaches of Rio De Janeiro, each grain easily felt beneath his bare feet. He must have been a sight to behold: sun-kissed skin, sweat perspiring on his forehead and over his back, mouth stretched into a self-assured grin. 

You’re jealous, really — you should’ve been there too. It’s easy to picture him there, basking in the sunlight; the fact that others had gotten to see him like that stoked the fire burning in the cavity of your stomach. 

“Can’t believe you woke me up just to tease,” Hinata pouts, sleep lacing his voice and making it sound almost stuck in his throat. He shifts his weight around, squirming as you skim your nails up his thighs.

You don't dignify him with a response. Hinata sucks in a sharp breath, "Where'd this come from anyway, huh?" 

"Just felt like it," you hum, kneeling between his thighs. You place your hands on his hips, squeeze once, and then smooth your palms up his sides. 

Hinata's skin is hot under your wandering touch. He's been good and kept his hands at his sides — an accomplishment for him considering how much he enjoys taking any and every opportunity to touch you. He stares down at you with a darkened gaze, his need for you written clearly in the deep brown of his irises. It's a look you've seen before, and one you will never tire of; it tugs at something deep inside of you, in the same way a puppeteer manipulates and pulls at the strings of his creations. You fall right in and you always give in. 

Your hand curls around the base of his shaft — finally, finally — and Hinata hisses once more. He's jumpy already, hips bucking into your hand as you massage the skin. The sound of your name falling from his lips only encourages you to increase your pace; his legs jolt beneath your free hand. 

Hinata's an eager lover. He's always yearning, hoping for more. When you're with him you truly feel desired, even at your worst of times. Your scent, your touch, your voice — this is all he knows. A low groan rumbles deep inside of his chest when you bend down, your soft lips wrapping around the head of his cock. You don't think he's really thinking when he jerks his hips up, forcing himself deeper into your mouth. 

You're breathing through your nose, fighting the urge to gag when you feel him hit the back of your throat. And you keep him there, nose pressed flush against his pubic bone where you can smell his minty body wash. 

"Move— please—" Hinata grunts. His fingers twist into the sheets at the same time you moan around his cock, and his hips lurch forward. "C'mon, baby." There's an edge to his voice, a warning simmering beneath the begging. Hinata knows how to hold himself back but his restraint is only so strong, and once the threads begin to fray, it's only a matter of seconds before he snaps. 

But that isn't exactly an unfavourable outcome. 

You hum around him once more. Hinata shivers. He mutters a curse under his breath, your nails dig into his thighs, and then his fingers are tangling themselves in your hair. His palm is insistent when it pushes down on the crown of your head, but he waits to move. Instead, he looks down at you with a silent question: Is this okay?

Your answer comes in the form of your tongue laving around him, running up and along the underside of his cock. It's all the answer he needs, really, and you go lax in his grip as he tugs you forward. Hinata pulls at your hair, manoeuvres you exactly where he wants you. His other hand cups your cheek, thumb stroking along your cheekbone, like he's apologising for pulling your hair and causing you pain. 

(Not that he needs to — the feeling of hurt blooming under your scalp had sent heat searing down your body, and right between your legs. Hinata's looking down at you like he knows it; he's wearing a wicked grin.)

He guides you, bobbing your head up and down in tandem with each purposeful thrust of his hips. Your eyes flutter, going half-mast, and all you can really do is stare up at him through your lashes; your eyes glisten with tears that have yet to fall. Hinata's movements are stunned and he wrinkles the bedding beneath you both as he moves. You try your best to rub your tongue over him in a way he can appreciate, suck sloppily around the base of his shaft before he's pulling you off again. Every noise is lewd, obscene, and when he pushes in too deep, you're not able to stifle the way you gag and your throat tightens around him. 

Hinata's quick to pull back, "Fuck, I'm sorry." But he doesn't sound quite as guilty as his big, brown eyes make him out to be — and the noise is not nearly as offending as it would have been in any other context. 

You let him use you; it's the least you can do, you think, for the way he treats you like you are the moon and stars. And it's not all one-sided, if the way your arousal pools between your thighs says anything. He's trembling and your heart is racing. "Shit— I'm gonna come," Hinata pants quietly.

You want him to, you really, really do. So you hollow out your cheeks and you suck harder, the tip of your tongue tracing a vein that circles around his cock. You can feel him pulsing in your mouth, tongue catching along the dip of his tip. Hinata lets out a shuddering breath that wanes into a weak moan, his cheeks flushed. You swallow around him and plant your hands firmly on his thighs. 

He comes with a strangled whine, bending his neck back and into the pillows. The taste of him floods your senses but you ignore the twang as you swallow, like it's second-nature. Hinata's hand falls from your hair, and he's looking down at you with a lovesick smile; you don't let up — not yet.

At least, you had planned not to but the hand cupping your cheek moves down to your jaw, gripping it tightly as he pulls you off of him. His cock is shiny with your spit, a thin strand of saliva following your mouth as you break away from him. 

"You're perfect, you know that?" he asks, grabbing you and pulling you into his lap with ease. "So pretty — my pretty girl." Hinata pulls you into a searing kiss, lips meshing with yours as he licks into your mouth. You moan softly, anticipation filling your chest; it feels electric as it sparks down your arms and down your legs, static in your fingertips. 

Hinata runs a hand down the curve of your spine, trailing his finger along the hem of your panties. He's not taking them off like you want him to, and you can't pull away to tell him to either. He keeps you in place with his free hand around your nape. 

You weren't supposed to get this far. The morning was meant to start and end with Hinata — it was about your appreciation for him. And yet, he's indulging you once again as you squirrel around in his lap. His laugh warms in your chest and your heart swells. You feel Hinata hook his fingers into your underwear, pulling them clean off in a matter of a few seconds. 

He throws you around with ease. Your back hits the mattress, your head sinking into the pillows he had been laying on moments ago. Hinata hovers over you, his eyes glancing all over your body and your face, as if he's seeing you for the first time. His gaze is sinister and the way his mouth twitches into a smirk has goosebumps erupting all over your skin. 

"I think I need to return the favour," he sighs, trailing fervent kisses down your neck just to get to the sensitive spot below your ear. You can feel Hinata smile against your skin when you mewl in response to his gentle bite. 

Your hands meet his bare chest, as though you're about to push him away. Maybe you should, he's giving in to you like he always does. But you don't and instead, you loop your arms around his neck, letting them slide off of him as your hands dig into his hair. Hinata moves down your body. "Shouyou — I was trying to thank you," you whisper, watching him press a kiss to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You shudder, much to Hinata's visible delight. 

"You can thank me like this too," he simply replies, teeth sinking into the fat of your thigh. You suck in a sharp breath, thoughts scattering quick like skittish animals. 

You hadn't thought about it until now — staring down at Hinata as his breath ghosts over your cunt. There's a faraway look in his eyes, his nails dig into your thighs, and you don't think you've ever seen him look so content. 

“You get a girlfriend, and suddenly you forget about us,” Yamaguchi mourns. Shoyo laughs while you get flustered and assure them that you’re not keeping your boyfriend hostage. Kageyama says that they know Hinata is the one doing it.

“You’re going to watch our match next week, though, right?” Shoyo asks you in a low whisper, as the other three dutifully settle in their own world.

“You don’t even need to ask, Shoyo,” you tell him. “Of course.”

Shoyo’s eyes brighten impossibly, face split into a grin. He looks like he wants to push you down onto the floor to kiss you in front of his friends, but he doesn’t. You knew he wouldn’t.

It’s Shoyo’s fault.

Really. Seriously this time. Specifically, Hinata Shoyo from third year. He’s changed from first year, gained more confidence, but he’s still shy and soft-spoken with you, which you expected from someone as sweet as him. It set your expectations for him and what your relationship would look like in the years and years that you’ll spend with him: bearing that first love kind of shyness.

It takes about two years to prove you wrong.

When Shoyo came back from Brazil, the first thing he did was kiss you breathless in front of everyone in the airport.

His strong arms around your waist, pulling you up—which you had to think ‘thank God’ for because your knees have definitely buckled. You don’t think too much about it, because he’s been gone for two years—two!!—and you’ve missed each other too much.

But when Hinata’s mouth descends to your jaw, you have to push him by the chest and exclaim (albeit weakly), “Shoyo—there are still people behind us!”

Shoyo blinks and pulls off, his eyes fogged over with heat that makes you have to look away, having to remind yourself that you’re in public and you do not want to beg for him to continue. Thankfully, his friends yelling his name seems to have snapped him out of it.

But his palm never left your side, splayed over your hip like a mark.

It gets worse at his homecoming party thrown by his teammates back at Karasuno. You’re familiar with them, and they’re familiar with you, so of course, it wasn’t a problem when Shoyo was pulled away to greet everyone. You made friendly conversation with Sugawara-san, caught up with Nishinoya, and joked around all night with Yamaguchi and Tsukishima.

“You called each other every night?” Yamaguchi’s brows have shot up all the way to his hairline.

You smile. “I mean—isn’t it normal for people in a relationship?”

Tsukishima shrugs. “Hinata loves you as much as he loves volleyball, I’m not surprised.”

Yamaguchi considers it. “Hmm, I guess.”

“Hinata’s waiting for you,” Kageyama mutters from behind you, appearing out of nowhere. His brows are stitched together, and his mouth is pulled in his ever-permanent Kageyama pout. “His staring is pissing me off. Can you go get him?”

“He’s not a dog, Tobio,” you chide lightly but grin all the same when you turn to your side and see Hinata Shoyo’s eyes drilling holes into your head.

He’s not mouthing anything. Shoyo stays seated on the loveseat, looking entirely isolated from the crowd around him. His eyes say it all: come here.

Helpless to his whims, you obey.

“Shoyo,” you murmur as soon as you reach him.

He pulls you to his lap. “Baby.”

You freeze. He’s never called you that before—his expression isn’t shy at all, too, just expectant. Heat crawls down your body as he tugs your back to his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder. Shoyo’s own warmth is a burning sensation. You feel lightheaded.

“Ah—well, um.” You pinch your arm. “Are you feeling okay? Did you drink?”

“There’s no alcohol here.”

“I’m pretty sure I saw Sugawara-san holding a bottle.”

“Ah, well. Sugawara-san.”

You understand. What you don’t understand is what happened in those two years to have Shoyo’s hand crawling on your thigh, a scorching mark on only that part of your skin. To have Shoyo’s breath on the nape of your neck without him flushing and flinching away. To have Shoyo have this air of confidence around him that’s usually in volleyball suddenly translate to you.

“Did you miss me this much?”

“You have no idea, don’t you?” The implications are clear: I could show you how much, if you want.

Still, this development is very sudden. You squirm on his lap, but Shoyo doesn’t relent. He keeps you there, a puddle in his hands. Nobody is watching—or maybe they’re just being respectful, but you feel flustered facing this side of Shoyo in public.

“Shoyo,” you warn. “Not here.”

It’s Heitor’s fault.

Ever since Hinata had met Heitor and Nice and witnessed how unapologetically intimate they were with each other, Hinata became envious. He wanted that, too. He wanted that with you.

“Well, why wouldn’t you?” Heitor asked when Hinata lamented to him.

Hinata made a pitiful noise, like a deflating balloon. “I don’t know. I think she just thinks I’m too cute to take that seriously.”

Heitor laughs. “Shoyo. Trust me. You’ll drive your girl crazy if you’re confident with it.”

You’re instantly greeted by the sight of an unfamiliar pair of shoes, deposited neatly beside where you would usually place yours. They’re too big for your feet. Next comes the turned up TV, maxed to a hundred—to the point where you can feel the buzz on your feet.

You see him right away, sprawled on your flimsy couch. It’s hard to miss him even when you try anyway, with the shock of orange hair illuminated by the blue of your TV.

But you must be hallucinating. Hinata is in Brazil. He should not be here. He should not have his arm over the head of your couch, he should not be drinking out of the glass you use every day—he should… he should not…

You flick the lights on and your mouth dries.

Hinata’s head whips around, eyes wide in surprise, before it melts into a pleased grin.

“Y/N! You’re back!” he exclaims. If you had a pet, it would surely react like that.

See, the problem is this: You and Hinata Shouyou are best friends. Friendly enough for you to call him Shouyou, for you to miss him so much when he left that it left an ache in your chest for too long, for him to update you about his troubles in Rio De Janeiro, for him to come over unannounced (apparently), and friendly for you to try and bury your feelings away to not ruin what you had.

Hinata shifts his torso to face you fully. “Y/N?”

Then his expression falls, and it takes a shudder from your shoulders to realize that you’re crying.

Hinata drops the remote and hurries over to you, large hands cupping your cheeks. He’s so, so warm, and real, and he’s asking you ‘what’s wrong? Are you okay?’ And no, you’re not okay. You thought that those two years without him would’ve helped you get rid of your feelings, but your heart is lurching to your throat and tears continue to leak from your eyes.

“I don’t…” You sniffle. “It’s not stopping.”

He murmurs your name so lovingly that you just cry harder.

You’re stupid to think that you can even get rid of it. Hinata wipes a stray tear with his thumb, leaving a scorching trail. You hiccup pathetically, dropping your groceries to hug him fully. His warmth envelops you as he lifts you by the waist to hug you back. You feel your feet lift off the ground.

“S-Shouyou,” you wail, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. “You didn’t— You didn’t tell me—”

You then hit him on the chest, but it doesn’t work in your favor when you realize how sturdy it is and you must’ve been like a pawing kitten clinging onto him. You suddenly become aware of this, and push off, but he keeps you pressed against him.

“I wanted to surprise you,” Hinata says softly, but the gleam in his eye and his amused smile betrays him.

You frown. “This isn’t funny.”

Hinata smiles wider. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“How did you even get in?”

Hinata shrugs. “You gave Yamaguchi your spare key. He helped me out.”

“You didn’t tell me you were back! I would’ve picked you up!”

Hinata laughs. “I wanted to surprise you. That’d be counterproductive.”

Against your morals, you jab a finger on his chest again. Just to test it. It is still as firm as about five seconds ago. “Did you do this to Yamaguchi or Hitoka, too? Huh? You idiot!”

“No, of course not. Just you,” he says it like it should be obvious.

What’s so obvious about your best friend holding you by the waist as you two stand in the doorway of your apartment, and your heart is racing because he’s gotten unfairly hotter? Nothing about this is obvious. Nothing about this is normal.

“I didn’t expect you to cry, though,” he says after a while.

You pull on his ear until he starts whining for you to stop.

You sit on your dingy couch as the TV plays out a sports channel that Hinata must’ve tuned in into while you haven’t arrived yet. It shouldn’t make you fond, but it does. He’s lowered the volume to 5%, and neither of you are paying attention. 

“Sorry,” Hinata mumbles in defeat.

That shouldn’t make you forgive him in an instant, but it does.

“I could’ve at least prepared something for you,” you say, embarrassed by the state of your apartment. You really meant that so you could at least make your place look more presentable had you known Hinata Shouyou would be coming over. What if you had a stray underwear lying around somewhere?

Hinata turns to you with a kicked puppy expression, bottom lip jutted out. “You went from crying to angry in a flash, it scared me.”

“I’m not angry, Shouyou. Just—you know. A warning next time. I’m embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed? Over what?”

“It’s rude, Sho. You should be embarrassed!” You knuckle his head, momentarily forgetting how soft his hair is. It’s been years since you’ve touched it. You linger on it for a while, and he lets you.

Hinata just laughs in delight, his hands finding home on your hips. “You don’t have to prepare anything or clean up for me. I’d be coming over all the time now, anyway.”

“You’re a pro athlete now. Know your priorities!”

“You are my priority.”

You shove your accent pillow on his face. He yells in retaliation, but it’s mostly to hide your flustered, wide-eyed expression. Hinata is stronger, though. He pulls your hand off and grins at you, like you nearly straddling his lap is normal.

You realize you’ve been staring at him for too long. Shit. Seriously? Way to waste those two years trying to move on.

Hinata’s hand slides down to the small of your back when you move away, stopping you. His expression is more serious now, facing your gaze head-on. This is a terrifying position you’re in.

“I missed you,” Hinata says.

You pause. Wherever this was going, you were expecting it to just be a heated one night stand. You expected for it to end up with him on your bed, for him to never bring it up, and for you to regret hurting yourself years later. But Hinata says:

“I missed you so much,” he says, brows pinched to convey his earnestness. “My buddy, Heitor—he got married. I was invited. I clapped for them, but I just kept thinking about you.”

Oh.

“Well—I… I missed you, too, of course,” you stammer out, your pitch getting higher and higher as his other hand moves to the back of your thigh.

“You know, two years without you made me realize a lot of things,” Hinata tells you, never breaking eye contact.  “A lot. You don’t know how many times I wanted to just risk everything and call you, but I wanted to do it here.”

“R-Really now?”

“You can tell me to stop, okay?” he says, and oh god, you know where this is going. “And we can forget I did this.”

You should tell him to stop. This is Hinata Shouyou, your best friend (and crush) since Karasuno High. Hinata Shouyou, who you watched grow up and get to where he is now—now being on your couch as you’re actually straddling him.

Instead, what comes out is: “Please.”

Hinata kisses you fiercely, not dissimilar to how he comes off in court—grand and dramatic and everything all at once. You tug on his wild hair, pulling on a few strands, and he makes a really pretty noise that makes something burn in your stomach. He gets revenge when his large hand trails to your ass and pushes you to sit on his lap. You may or may not have made an embarrassing noise in return.

Hinata chuckles. “That was hot.”

You scowl, locking his hips with your thighs, and he’s quick to shut up. It’s difficult for you, considering how thick he’s gotten, but the dazed fog in his eyes makes it all worth it.

You dive in for another heated kiss. His hand slides up your shorts, lingers on your inner thigh, where your skin meets his. It makes you gasp at the heat he’s emanating, rolling off of him physically. He pushes his tongue in your mouth, and your eyes might have just rolled back.

When you have to pull back for air, Hinata is gnawing on his bottom lip so hard that it swells up the way your lips are feeling.

“Fuck,” he says, with feeling, frowning.

You shiver when his hands continue to explore around your thighs. The cold breeze of the evening air then the sweltering heat of Hinata’s palms has you making pitiful, pitiful noises that makes Hinata groan into your neck, like you’re hurting him.

“Shouyou,” you breathe weakly.

Hinata’s sharp gaze cuts to yours, then he’s on top and you’re underneath him in a flash, caged by his arms. Your breath is knocked out of your lungs, and you could excuse it to his speed, but it’s really from just how easily he’s molding you to his liking.

“Sho—”

He rests a finger on top of your lips. It would’ve been difficult if it was just the TV flooding the room with light, but in this, you can see how red his ears have gotten.

“Stop… saying my name like that,” he says weakly.

You belatedly realize that this is him embarrassed, and laugh at his little problem. He looks at you and resembles a wounded animal.

“Shouyou,” you say, then pointedly roll your hips and grin when he stutters on a groan.

“Y/N!” he whines, as if trying to chide you, but he’s also moving his hips. It might be absentmindedly, seeing how he looks so far gone in bliss.

“Shouyou,” you repeat. “I want to take it further. So stop stalling take off your damn shirt already.”

At the green light, he hurriedly pulls his shirt off, fumbling for a second when it catches on his ear. He murmurs in embarrassment, but you’re not paying attention. 

You trace his tan lines, lining his arms and would only be really visible if he was topless, like how he is now. His abs expand and contract with each heavy breath as he sucks on the skin under your jaw, hands moving everywhere, frantic, needy. He whimpers weakly every time you move against his hard-on, and the sound fuels you even more to tear him apart.

Two years trying to push him away. Hilarious. If all it took was one unexpected night for Hinata Shouyou to lose his mind over your hips, you would’ve risked it all instead of wallowing alone.

He pants, muscles flexing, and you breathe out a whine, trembling. You let him slide your shorts down, let him pull off your shirt, let him kiss you on your shoulder, your waist, then the inside of your thigh. You let him do more because he keeps looking at you like he wants nothing more than to be here, pupils blown wide and hands desperate, as if even a second without touching you would kill him.

You tug on his hair in warning when his nose brushes against the source of your heat. Hinata pulls back, looking dazed and upset you’re pushing him off. But you haven’t had the chance to tell him earlier, so you’ll tell him now. 

“Shouyou,” you say.

Hinata reluctantly tears his eyes away from the mark in between your legs to look you in the eye. “Yeah?” 

“Welcome home.”