delulu nation’s mvp
— shōyō would absolutely jump off the gym roof if you told him it might make you smile once.
hinata shōyō x f!reader | request
c: fluff!
i might make a tiktok account, i’m ngl
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
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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© 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˵)
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