Miffy

She/They, 19!

[miffytriffy]

Masterlist!

Gachiakuta

Kisses! ft: Enjin, Follo, Zanka, Gris, Zodyl, Riyo, Eishia x gn! reader

Love at first sight! ft: Zodyl Follo, Jabber, Zanka x gn! reader, Enjin x fem!reader

Eishia Dating Headcanons!

Jealousy! ft: Follo, Enjin, Tamsy, angst no comfort

Forgivness is key! part two of jealousy, comfort ending

When Jealousy Doubles Down part two of jealousy, angsty ending

Momoa dating headcanons

Haikyuu!

Sneaking around! ft: Hinata Shoyo, Suna Rintarou, Yaku Morisuke

Missing you after a breakup! ft: Hinata Shoyo, Kageyama Tobio, Tsukishima Kei, Sugawara Koushi, Azumane Asahi

Requests are open!

[miffytriffy]

Hello!!! I saw you were chill with writing for Eisha and Riyo, so do you think you could maybe do some dating headcannons for Momoa Rukel? She has like one fic of her and I miss her bad💔

A/n: definitely! she’s so interesting, I hope we get to see more of her in the future smh 😔 sorry I’ve been so inactive im so out of ideas lately and busy too fml but I’ll try to write more again!!

okay so she definitely didn’t fall first, you fell first but she fell way harder. at first she didn’t think of you as more than a friend, but once you started making your moves on her (yk the subtle ones, like being more attentive or brushing hands here and thereee) she swooned!! she fell so hard, it took a while but at some point she was completely smitten

Of course it was hard to tell, her stoic face and calm, almost careless, demeanor made it super hard to tell how she really felt about you. only after a while did you start to notice little things with her, like her mouth lifting into a faint smile whenever you laughed or the way her gaze was always so monotone but when she looked at you her eyes softened just a little every time

When she started to pick up on your crush on her, she definitely took a little trip into your thoughts just to make sure her assumptions were correct. And they were! she was pleased, and definitely went to sleep that day with a dumb smile on her face.

She might have had an advantage to knowing your feelings for sure, but she still took a while to confess. not because she didn’t want to, but because she didn’t know how to do it exactly. If you’re impatient, you might have confessed before her because it will take her a reallllll long while

Once you two start dating, she is still the same. She is still very quiet and stuff, and she def isn’t a fan of pda

but when it’s just you two, she likes having you close. momoa is a girl of very few words, but trust she loves when you lay beside her in silence, or when you talk to her she won’t respond much but the way she looks at you and caresses your hand with her thumb while lacing your fingers together is enough proof to show that she’s listening

She isn’t good at fighting, so most of the missions you go on (if you’re a raider too) are without her. she misses you a lot during that time, especially when you’re away for long. and deep down she is also worried that something might happen, even if she knows you’re strong

So whenever you come back she always asks how you are, and how the mission went. those are the first words you hear from her everytime, when she hugs you she mumbles a small ‘missed you’ but that’s about it, she isn’t very good with words and doesn’t know how to show that she was worried. but when you’re back alone she’s a little clingier than usual, not that you mind of course

[bee2124]

Me ruining my sleep schedule by staying up every night to read fanfiction

[aeonmnei]

𓏲 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ a valentine’s day special! ( ˶˘ ³˘)♡₊˚

feat. hajime, osamu, shoyo, & kei. inspired by my cafe's spring menu.

˚ᯓᡣ𐭩 rose matcha – with hajime .˚❀₊˚ 𓍢ִִ໋໋

⛰ a picnic in the trunk facing the flower fields ↠ carrizo plain ⛰ i can't lie, he has the prettiest eyes i've ever seen┊ever seen – beabadoobee ⛰ drink notes: delicate rose seems to perch at the palate above the bright taste of fresh matcha.

for a while, you’ve been mentioning wanting to see flowers. “there’s a big field in carlsbad,” you brought up. “and lots of botanical gardens nearby.” 

now, hajime is not a man who will take you to some city garden and let that suffice. with what stress you’re going through lately, the last thing you need is to be around a busy crowd of people.

so hajime makes plans. hajime does his research. nestled in the central coast of california is a stretch of land where boundless blooms sprout from winter rain. the drive is long, and traffic is abysmal, but it’s worth it to him. it’s for you, after all.

four hours later, the tires of hajime’s car crunch on the dirt road as he pulls over on a hill overlooking the vast canvas of wildflowers. he pops open the trunk, laying out a blanket for you to sit on as he leans on the taillight.

you glance over at him. hajime is standing still, his eyes wide with mirth at the sight. he turns to you after a moment, smiling, the kind that blows you away every time he does it. his eyes crinkle, and his nose kind of scrunches, but it’s so bright, and so wide, and he’s got the tiniest dimples that peek out from the hollows of his cheeks. 

“isn’t it pretty?” he asks, reaching out for your hand. you let out a soft laugh. the nerve to ask that question while he looks like that.

“you’re pretty,” you reply, taking his hand with a reassuring squeeze.

⋆˚꩜｡ blueberry pancake latte – with osamu .₊˚⊹ ᰔ

⛾ a hearty breakfast before viewing the wintersweet trees ↠ matsuda ⛾ instrumental┊say it (over and over again) – masayoshi takanaka ⛾ drink notes: the otherwise overt sweetness is balanced by the light roast’s smooth profile.

you nearly laugh at the amount of bags that osamu is holding when you walk into onigiri miya. “it’ll be a long ride to kanagawa, i’m just prepared!” he says defensively. “and yer always complainin’ thatcha get hungry on trips!” “i know, i know,” you say, patting his bicep and taking one of the three plastic bags hanging off his elbow. “thank you. i love you.” 

osamu sighs affectionately as you give him a quick peck on the cheek. “i love you, too,” he replies, pulling you in by the waist. you tilt your head towards the entrance. “why is our wedding photo on the door, though?” he makes a face. “‘cause that’s why we’re closed?” you pinch his cheek. “you’re so sappy.” “not sappy if it’s the truth,” he insists. “why’re ya rollin’ up yer sleeves?”

“i’m gonna make us pancakes before we go,” you tell him, holding up a basket. “and i got blueberries from the neighbor before i left.” “aw, yer gonna make lil’ ole me blueberry pancakes?” osamu asks, shyly tucking a short strand of his hair behind his ear. you roll your eyes playfully, taking out a bag of flour. “yes, i’m gonna make lil’ ole you blueberry pancakes.” 

osamu hopes he makes it abundantly clear, whether verbally or through his actions, that he loves you, because he does. he leans over the counter, watching you make him breakfast with a lovesick expression. 

“love ya,” he calls, chin resting in his hand. “love ya back,” you sing-song in reply, and his heart melts.

°❀⋆ orange blossom matcha – with shoyo .ೃ࿔*:･

☼ a morning at home after the summer rain ↠ são paulo ☼ me dê a mão, vamos sair pra ver o sol┊estrada do sol – antonio carlos jobim  ☼ drink notes: the orange fragrance sits lightly over the creamy base of milk and matcha.

february in brazil means peak summer and carnaval in full swing. it’s busy, it’s hot, and it’s rainy. a thunderstorm washed over the day before, bringing in some respite from the normally sweltering heat. the city bustles below as you stir, and the windchimes sing their morning melody from the open window. the small space fan creaks and hums as you pad across the wood floor.

you greet shoyo in the kitchen with a pet on the nape of his neck, smoothing down light baby hairs that grow up into the golden tousled strands you know so dearly. your pinky catches onto the chain of the necklace you gave him, which has been worn by him so much there’s a faint tan line.

shoyo turns to pass you an orange wedge, a fresh breeze blowing through and ruffling his hair. you take a bite, and immediately giggle. “your hands are sandy, sho,” you tell him, covering your mouth. “oh no, can you taste it?” he asks, brows furrowed.

“try one,” you say. shoyo complies, tossing a slice in his mouth, and it crunches much more than a juicy orange should. “aw, it is sandy,” he groans. “how do you have sand on you already? you just woke up,” you say, resting your chin on his shoulder.  “i was cleaning off your board so we can go to maresias later,” he replies, nuzzling his cheek to yours. “it should be warm and calm today.” 

you kiss shoyo through a smile. he tastes like sunscreen and citrus. “we’ll go out and relax, then.”

ִֶָ𖧷₊˚˖ strawberry mocha latte – with kei .𓍢ִִ✧˚.

☃ a wintry evening in his apartment ↠ sendai ☃ 回る世界であの娘と / 夜通し踊り続けたい ┊words of love – lamp ☃ drink notes: reminiscent of melted strawberry ice cream and chocolate with a bitter tug of espresso.

kei kicks off his shoes in the genkan of his apartment and wearily flicks on the lights. it’s quiet, save for his shuffling around the house as he gets things ready for your date tonight. the plan is to indulge in chocolate covered strawberries and liquor. 

the microwave hums as kei leans on the countertop to wait for the chocolate to melt. he cracks open the window, cool air brushing his skin. the city sparkles underneath, full of people with their own valentine agenda. it’s odd to think that you’re one of them. 

twenty minutes later, he hears the familiar jingle of your keys at his door, bumping erratically as always. kei opens the door with a smirk, watching as you stumble in with a plastic bag. “i got the kahlua and vodka,” you tell him, breathless. 

“i have the chocolate and the strawberries ready,” he replies, taking the bag from you. he holds out an arm for you to stabilize yourself as you wrench your shoes off. “we can drizzle the toppings later.” 

you grin at him as you straighten up, and he leans down to meet you in a welcoming kiss. “ugh, you ate some without me,” you complain, licking your lips. “just one. to taste,” kei replies, a complacent smile on his face.

he shuts the door behind you and shrugs, the corner of his mouth curving up. “we have all night to eat, anyway.”

[miffytriffy]

Small romantic moments with the Haikyuu guys!

Ft: timeskip all! Hinata Shoyo, Osamu Miya, Iwaizumi Hajime x gn!reader, reader is mentioned to wear jewelry in Iwaizumi’s part, uses of: pretty, gorgeous, beautiful

A/n: A small valentines special! Sorry this is pretty rushed, I’ve been a little busy lately but I hope you enjoy either way<33

Hinata Shoyo:

If there was one thing he loved most in Brazil, other than volleyball it was dancing. After long days of playing beach volleyball in the scorching hot sun, there was nothing better than going to parties late at night. At first he was clumsy with it, stumbling over his feet and bumping into people, making both him and his friends chuckle. But Hinata is a quick leaner. In almost no time he became a total pro, as he loves to say.

He started to love dancing, but what he loves most is dancing with you. He loves having his hands in yours, teaching you all the different steps he learned. “Close, pretty. It’s three steps to the left” he smiled, the music playing in the background of your kitchen. you playfully scoffed “I know that, Sho.” “Right, of course. my bad.” His hand found your waist, pulling you closer. “just relax, it’s easier like that” Shoyo didn’t move until he felt you relax under his touch, then he started pulling you along again. Your eyes were focused on his feet, to follow his lead, so you completely missed the awestruck look on his face. He couldn’t help himself, you looked so beautiful even when you barely knew what you were doing. It was unfair, every little thing you did made his heart bounce all around his chest. Then when you least excepted it, he suddenly twirled you. before you could even scold him for catching you off guard, you felt his lips on yours. Rolling your eyes, you slowly returned the kiss. his hand found the small of your back, the other cupped your cheek.

Osamu Miya:

“Slowly, darlin’, the food isn’t running from the cutting board” Osamu’s voice rung behind you, as he gently guided your hand to cut the fish. You giggled. It wasn’t your fault that you couldn’t focus, the only person to blame would be he. He was standing so close behind you, touching your hand and guiding you. It was so distracting! You paused for a second, taking a deep breath.

Then, you tried again. slow and careful, like you were gliding. Surely the chopped meat looked a lot less rough and way smoother now. “there ya go, atta girl” He grinned, patting your hip. You smiled to yourself “I’m just the best” his presence behind you left, as he moved to the pot on the stove. he stirred the rice one last time, before turning it off. He was teaching you how to make onigiri, well, actually he was trying out a new recipe with you. He was patient with you, even if you weren’t as skilled as he, he explained it all or helped you out. Even when shaping the riceballs, he cupped your hands, showing you just how much pressure you needed to shape them. Cooking with Osamu was sweet, but the best part was always the eating. “Try first” He told you, holding the freshly made rice ball in front of you. you took a bite. The way your eyes lit up, made him smile a little more than before. “taste good?” He asked, to which you nodded eagerly. “Yeah!” You agreed, mouth still half full. Then again, anything you two made together tasted better than anything in the world.

Iwaizumi Hajime:

After quite a few busy weeks, Hajime finally found himself having some free time. so obviously , he didn’t let the opportunity go to waste. of course not, he already had a restaurant booked the second he saw a free day on his calendar. If he was being honest, he hadn’t been giving you a lot of attention lately. His schedule had been really busy, so he wanted to make up for it.

More minutes than he counted had passed since you entered the bathroom, and he knew that you loved taking your time to get ready. It didn’t bother him, he knew you liked taking your time. Still he couldn’t help himself, he peeked inside the bathroom, eyes searching for you. He really wanted to see what look you were going for for the night. As soon as his eyes found you, he smiled. you were struggling with putting a necklace on, obviously starting to get irritated by the look on your face. “Need help?” hajime asked, stepping behind you. “Yes, please. i can’t close it.” You huffed, looking at yourself in the mirror. A low chuckled escaped him, while he carefully took both ends of the jewerly into his hands. He helped you put it on, then looked up towards the mirror in front of the two of you. You looked absolutely gorgeous, not that you didn’t everyday, but seeing you dressed up after what felt like ages for a nice date really did something to him. “you look so beautiful” He murmured, kissing your nape. “Really? i was gonna say the same to you” you grinned, shivering just a little at the tickle of his touch. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer, for a moment he put his chin on your shoulder, just gazing at your reflection. “Do you need a few more minutes?” He asked, to which you nodded. “Alright, I’ll wait”

[dailydenne]

Happy Chocolate Day™

[wisteria-moonlight]

💋 Softdom!Hinata

synopsis: ever find yourself wondering about softdom!Hinata? Never fear! I'm here to save the day... But not your underwear, sorry (i'm not)

cw: MDNI18+, piv, praise, hinata discovers a dacryphilia kink (hot), and then a squiring kink later (double hot), Shōyō Hinata x reader, post timeskip

a/n: i wrote this with a fever and let me tell you, it didn't make it any better. now i'm sick AND turned on fml. not at all proofread-blame the flu

❥ Softdom!Hinata who is so unbelievably gentle with you every time you have sex. There are times when his energy may have him moving you a little faster or harder than usual, but his hands are never not soft and caring when they grace your skin, holding you like you're something so precious-because you are to him.

❥ Softdom!Hinata who can't help the rapid beat of his heart when you shyly ask to take control, pushing him onto the bed and crawling over his body to straddle his lap. His hips flex when his cock fits snugly between your thighs, and a silly little grin twitches at his lips before he can stop it-not that he would or wants to.  

❥ Softdom!Hinata who praises you endlessly, but especially in moments like these. He loves when you take what's yours-him-and doesn't want doubt or embarrassment to creep in and make you second guess yourself. He grips the fatty parts of your hips and waist, nails digging into your skin as he whispers sweet, dirty words that drench your underwear. “Yeah, sweet girl. Use me just like that.” “I’m all yours. Fuck, I love you.” “You look so damn beautiful like this. Like a queen sitting on her throne.” 

❥ Softdom!Hinata who doesn't hold in his moans or sounds of pleasure. He wants you to know how good you make him feel. He needs you to hear his urgency and relief when you raise your hips to line your pussy up with the slick head of his throbbing cock and sink down onto him. He doesn't hesitate to grab one of your hands, tangling your fingers together, while the other grips the nape of your neck and pulls you down until you can feel his heart beat against yours. 

❥ Softdom!Hinata who will wait until you ask him to take over. Because even though it turns him on to feel your delicate muscles strain to handle him roughly, hearing you admit that you need him in order to cum fills his head with something primal-biological. He needs you to need him. To know that all you have to do is ask and he’ll take care of you in a way no one else will ever know how. 

❥ Softdom!Hinata who smiles gently up at you as soon as the soft words leave your lips. “Sho, I-I need you. Please-” He has you flipped onto your back in seconds, using his muscled, toned body to spread your thighs even further apart as he melts into your plush, warm one. He pulls out, slowly and careful, and then pushes back in with one long thrust that makes your eyes roll back and arch into him, pussy squeezing his cock in a vice. His face is tucked into your neck as he licks and sucks on the sensitive part that makes you gush all over his cock. 

❥ Softdom!Hinata who craves the sweet sounds that escape your prettily parted lips. The tiny gasps or the high pitched mewls. Every single one goes straight to his ego, only fueling his carnal desire to bring you pleasure and make you feel good because you make him feel so fucking good. It's only fair he returns the favor. Even the groan of frustration that bubbles out of your throat when he teases you one too many times, and your watery glare, eyelashes lined with tears, that clashes with his right as your bottom lip trembles, makes him dizzy, rhythm faltering. 

❥ Softdom!Hinata who gasps from the gorgeous sight and has to force himself to pull out of your warm, tight pussy before he comes. He rubs your clit and hopes it looks and feels like he planned to do that, and not because he just almost came from watching a tear roll down your smooth cheek and pool in the dip of your collarbone. 

❥ Softdom!Hinata who realizes that night, as he holds your pliant, naked body tightly against his, that he might like it a little when you cry, and wants to see it again. Not if you are in any pain, of course, or out of sadness or hurt. But he wonders how long he could edge you before you can't hold in the tears anymore and beg him for release through soft sobs. 

❥ Softdom!Hinata who shakes his head at the idea almost immediately. He loves you more than anything and would never ask you to participate in something so… Selfishly sadistic. Not when you're his most precious treasure in the world. 

❥ Softdom!Hinata who stares at you in complete and utter shock when you offer a small, shy confession a few nights later. “You… You liked what we did the other day, right? When you teased me without letting me cum? I liked it too. We could-we could do it again… If you want.” He feels his heart soar and berates himself for ever doubting your relationship to begin with. Of course, you would see right through him and refuse to let him hide his desires from you. 

❥ Softdom!Hinata who sweeps you off your feet and deposits you onto your bed when you start to fidget, doubting even saying anything to begin with. His lips hungrily taste yours and he loves the way you cling to him while you moan in surprise. “Tell me if it's too much. Okay, sweet girl?” 

❥ Softdom!Hinata who edges you and himself for hours that night, not stopping until your face is streaked and stained with tears and you both are panting into each other's mouths as he presses his forehead against yours. Your chest heaves with gentle sobs and your nails dig into his skin, leaving little half-moons that he’ll smile at later in the mirror. “Please, Sho. Please please please. I want to cum. I need to cum. It hurts, Sho. It hurts so bad.” He nods and coos in your ear, hands spreading your thighs once more as he presses his tip against your entrance. “I know, baby. You did so well for me. So damn pretty when you cry. You can cum now, yeah? Cum all over my cock when I slide it into this tight, soaked pussy.” 

❥ Softdom!Hinata who cums as soon as he bottoms out in your tight warmth, feeling you flutter around him before gushing on him, yourself, and the bed. He groans, loud and deep, and collapses on you. Your arms band around his back and he hears you mutter a soft “love you, Sho” before your soft, cute snores reach his ears. 

❥ Softdom!Hinata who smiles widely and kisses your lips before he pulls out and moves you gently to the couch so he can change the sheets and get you cleaned up. And when he finally crawls into bed and wraps you tightly in his arms, he quietly wonders how many times he can make you squirt before you beg for mercy.

Plagiarism not authorized

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💋 Back to xoxo, Wisteria event page

[bybrendafitz]

Athletes in action = the most interesting poses… Officially joined the Haikyuu bandwagon 🫣

[wisteria-moonlight]

💋 Softdom!Hinata

synopsis: ever find yourself wondering about softdom!Hinata? Never fear! I'm here to save the day... But not your underwear, sorry (i'm not)

cw: MDNI18+, piv, praise, hinata discovers a dacryphilia kink (hot), and then a squiring kink later (double hot), Shōyō Hinata x reader, post timeskip

a/n: i wrote this with a fever and let me tell you, it didn't make it any better. now i'm sick AND turned on fml. not at all proofread-blame the flu

❥ Softdom!Hinata who is so unbelievably gentle with you every time you have sex. There are times when his energy may have him moving you a little faster or harder than usual, but his hands are never not soft and caring when they grace your skin, holding you like you're something so precious-because you are to him.

❥ Softdom!Hinata who can't help the rapid beat of his heart when you shyly ask to take control, pushing him onto the bed and crawling over his body to straddle his lap. His hips flex when his cock fits snugly between your thighs, and a silly little grin twitches at his lips before he can stop it-not that he would or wants to.  

❥ Softdom!Hinata who praises you endlessly, but especially in moments like these. He loves when you take what's yours-him-and doesn't want doubt or embarrassment to creep in and make you second guess yourself. He grips the fatty parts of your hips and waist, nails digging into your skin as he whispers sweet, dirty words that drench your underwear. “Yeah, sweet girl. Use me just like that.” “I’m all yours. Fuck, I love you.” “You look so damn beautiful like this. Like a queen sitting on her throne.” 

❥ Softdom!Hinata who doesn't hold in his moans or sounds of pleasure. He wants you to know how good you make him feel. He needs you to hear his urgency and relief when you raise your hips to line your pussy up with the slick head of his throbbing cock and sink down onto him. He doesn't hesitate to grab one of your hands, tangling your fingers together, while the other grips the nape of your neck and pulls you down until you can feel his heart beat against yours. 

❥ Softdom!Hinata who will wait until you ask him to take over. Because even though it turns him on to feel your delicate muscles strain to handle him roughly, hearing you admit that you need him in order to cum fills his head with something primal-biological. He needs you to need him. To know that all you have to do is ask and he’ll take care of you in a way no one else will ever know how. 

❥ Softdom!Hinata who smiles gently up at you as soon as the soft words leave your lips. “Sho, I-I need you. Please-” He has you flipped onto your back in seconds, using his muscled, toned body to spread your thighs even further apart as he melts into your plush, warm one. He pulls out, slowly and careful, and then pushes back in with one long thrust that makes your eyes roll back and arch into him, pussy squeezing his cock in a vice. His face is tucked into your neck as he licks and sucks on the sensitive part that makes you gush all over his cock. 

❥ Softdom!Hinata who craves the sweet sounds that escape your prettily parted lips. The tiny gasps or the high pitched mewls. Every single one goes straight to his ego, only fueling his carnal desire to bring you pleasure and make you feel good because you make him feel so fucking good. It's only fair he returns the favor. Even the groan of frustration that bubbles out of your throat when he teases you one too many times, and your watery glare, eyelashes lined with tears, that clashes with his right as your bottom lip trembles, makes him dizzy, rhythm faltering. 

❥ Softdom!Hinata who gasps from the gorgeous sight and has to force himself to pull out of your warm, tight pussy before he comes. He rubs your clit and hopes it looks and feels like he planned to do that, and not because he just almost came from watching a tear roll down your smooth cheek and pool in the dip of your collarbone. 

❥ Softdom!Hinata who realizes that night, as he holds your pliant, naked body tightly against his, that he might like it a little when you cry, and wants to see it again. Not if you are in any pain, of course, or out of sadness or hurt. But he wonders how long he could edge you before you can't hold in the tears anymore and beg him for release through soft sobs. 

❥ Softdom!Hinata who shakes his head at the idea almost immediately. He loves you more than anything and would never ask you to participate in something so… Selfishly sadistic. Not when you're his most precious treasure in the world. 

❥ Softdom!Hinata who stares at you in complete and utter shock when you offer a small, shy confession a few nights later. “You… You liked what we did the other day, right? When you teased me without letting me cum? I liked it too. We could-we could do it again… If you want.” He feels his heart soar and berates himself for ever doubting your relationship to begin with. Of course, you would see right through him and refuse to let him hide his desires from you. 

❥ Softdom!Hinata who sweeps you off your feet and deposits you onto your bed when you start to fidget, doubting even saying anything to begin with. His lips hungrily taste yours and he loves the way you cling to him while you moan in surprise. “Tell me if it's too much. Okay, sweet girl?” 

❥ Softdom!Hinata who edges you and himself for hours that night, not stopping until your face is streaked and stained with tears and you both are panting into each other's mouths as he presses his forehead against yours. Your chest heaves with gentle sobs and your nails dig into his skin, leaving little half-moons that he’ll smile at later in the mirror. “Please, Sho. Please please please. I want to cum. I need to cum. It hurts, Sho. It hurts so bad.” He nods and coos in your ear, hands spreading your thighs once more as he presses his tip against your entrance. “I know, baby. You did so well for me. So damn pretty when you cry. You can cum now, yeah? Cum all over my cock when I slide it into this tight, soaked pussy.” 

❥ Softdom!Hinata who cums as soon as he bottoms out in your tight warmth, feeling you flutter around him before gushing on him, yourself, and the bed. He groans, loud and deep, and collapses on you. Your arms band around his back and he hears you mutter a soft “love you, Sho” before your soft, cute snores reach his ears. 

❥ Softdom!Hinata who smiles widely and kisses your lips before he pulls out and moves you gently to the couch so he can change the sheets and get you cleaned up. And when he finally crawls into bed and wraps you tightly in his arms, he quietly wonders how many times he can make you squirt before you beg for mercy.

Plagiarism not authorized

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[kenyudotcom]

never break a promise. ᯓ★ shoyo hinata. [gn!reader]

synopsis ; shoyo doesn't want his best friend to leave :( warnings ; fluff, best friends to lovers, short kisses wc ; 1367

eyes averted and a pout shifting to his lips, your best friend stares at you.

“do you… really have to go?” he mutters, weakly pinching your shirt’s sleeve.

“yeah, shoyo. i have to go,” you respond, neither happy nor sad. neutral isn’t the right word either—maybe you can be described as “numb”, or you’re just simply too tired.

he opens his mouth to protest, just like he’s been doing each and every time you remind him that you have to leave. but he goes silent. he sighs, lips returning to pout.

“can we at least spend your last day together? all of it,” he mutters again. that’s really just how he’s been talking for the past week or so. you put down the box you’re moving around your room, an understanding small frown lingering on your lips.

“i’d like that,” you offer him a small smile, and his pouted lips quickly change into a happy grin.

your last day in this neighbourhood arrives, the clock striking three o’clock in the morning. you toss and turn in your bed, unable to sleep. maybe it’s the anxiety of moving to a new place…

clink! clink! clink!

you ignore the moderately loud and extremely bothersome clinks at your window, closing your eyes once more to try sleeping.

clink! clink!

you groan, dragging yourself out of your warm bed to check what’s hitting your window. you open your curtains, peering out into the dark night sky. you can’t see anything, so you open your window. bad idea, by the way.

clunk!

a pebble hits your forehead.

“ah! sorry!” you hear someone fail at containing their laughter. it’s shoyo. you feel your glare soften just a bit. you look down from your now open window, from the second storey of your house.

“whatever. what’re you doing here at midnight??” you whisper-shout at him, leaning over the window sill, to look at him better. he gestures for you to come down, but you can’t.

your parents would hear you if you used the stairs. you sigh, watching him point to a tree near your window. you freeze. no way in hell would you climb down a tree! where’s your dignity, you can wait till the mornin—

you grab a jacket and carefully step onto the window sill, grabbing onto a branch on the tree that’s close to your window and carefully sitting on it. you shuffle slowly along the rough surface, until you get to the tree’s trunk and cautiously lower yourself down it. shoyo stands at the stump, helping you down once you’re low enough. his hold on your waist remains even after you get down, gentle and tender hands brushing any dirt off of your shirt.

“we’ve gotta go now, or my parents might catch us out here,” you whisper beside his ear, taking his wrist in your hand and quietly walking out the front yard of your house. after you make it to the end of your street, he takes lead and shifts his hand to be holding your wrist. that’s when it hits you; he hasn’t told you what you’re doing and where he’s taking you. a minute too late, you’ve thought this over, since he starts running, dragging you with him.

“h-hey! shoyo! where are you taking us??” you whisper-shout, trying not to trip over as he keeps running. he laughs in response—not too loud, but he’s not actively trying to be quiet, either. he doesn’t reply to your question, simply flashing you a smile that you’ve learnt—over the years—means “you’ll see”.

eventually, he slows down his running—without warning, making you trip over him—at what, if you squint in the darkness, looks like a park. there wasn’t much at this park; it was mostly grass with a little sand pit, as well as an old gazebo. a bit further into the distance, there’s a big, plain slide that starts on a small hill and ends at the ground level. you and shoyo used to come here together, back when you were really little. and you two hadn’t came back here for a while; years, maybe.

“remember this place?” he laughs as he helps you up from the floor, once again brushing your clothes off. you hum, letting him take your hand and lead you into the gazebo. you both sit down, and despite their being eight sides with eight separate benches to sit on, you both sit down beside each other.

“what made you bring me here tonight?” you ask, voice soft as his eyes and gaze that lingers on you.

“dunno, just felt right. i mean, maybe you don’t remember it, but there’s a promise we made since your mom told us when we were little. i wanted to fulfil my side of it,” he smiles as if reminiscing, placing his hand splayed comfortably beside yours, flat on the bench.

“if you’re gonna be so vague with some kinda “promise”, i obviously won’t remember,” you sigh, placing your hand beside his. you both feel it, you both know you want to do it. so what’s stopping you?

…

whatever is stopping you? from doing it? before you can say or do anything else, you feel shoyo’s pinky finger stretch over a tiny bit to intertwine with yours.

it’s a silent agreement; a silent move. a silent shared moment of joy.

nothing, not even the non-existent clock either of you can see, better known as “time”, can stop you two tonight. or this morning, considering it’s around half past three by now. you talk together, about everything you two have ever done since the day you met to the very moment you two share now. shoyo leaves for a moment, grabbing something from the small sandpit then coming back. he stands in front of you, smiling.

“hey, c’mere,” he takes your hand again, this time intertwining your fingers and somewhat hastily walking out of the gazebo. he walks you further through the simple park, until you two climb up the hill. he flops down onto the floor, patting the spot beside him. you sit down

you both remain silent as you understand what he wanted to show you. your hand finds his again, warm in the cold, early morning air. you don’t notice his eyes flicker to you every few seconds, since your eyes are fixated on the beautiful sunrise. he softly speaks up, watching from the corner of his eye as the vivid, early morning colours illuminate and add natural filters to your already beautiful face.

“i don’t know if you remember, but i promised to take you to see the sunrise one day. and something else…” he scoots a tiny bit closer, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek.

you turn your face and feel yourself lean into the touch, something you remember.

this, the boy you were originally sceptical to meet. this, the boy who lived next door and became your first friend; a fast one, at that. this, the boy who taught you happiness. this, the boy who gave you your first kiss and promised to marry you when you’re older.

oh, that’s the promise.

“do you remember what else i promised?” he laughs as he watches your face change from the realisation.

“uhh, not really…” you sheepishly mutter.

“i promised i’d give you that kiss again, when you leave. your mom told us you’d have to leave at a certain age, so i knew. i just didn’t wanna believe it. well anyways, shall we?” he smiles, waiting for your answer.

and how can you say no??

you nod, leaning in as does he. his lips are as soft as you remember them being that day, tenderly pressing against yours in what you’d maybe call the most heart-felt moment. with him, it’s never not heart-felt.

once you pulled away, breath fanning ever so slightly over his face, you grin. he smiles at you in return—love hazed. you both lay in a comfortable silence, his fingers slowly coming up to touch his lips. as he replays your kiss in his mind over and over, you murmur something that makes him fall impossibly harder for you.

“are we still on for that other promise?”

a/n ; this was for flufftober 2024 🧛

© kenyudotcom 2026 feeding to ai, plagiarism and claiming as own are strictly forbidden. likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

[miffytriffy]

Missing you after a breakup

"they miss you after a breakup, how do they handle it?" Angst with no comfort (again. I know, sorry guys)

ft: Hinata Shoyo, Kageyama Tobio, Tsukishima Kei, Sugawara Koushi, Azumane Asahi x gn! reader

Hinata Shoyo:

His vision was blurry, Shoyo could barely see the path he was running along, the darkness wasn't helping either. It felt like running towards a black void, tiring out his entire body. His lungs were aching from the cold night air, his cheeks stung from the cold air brushing past them, his nose was running, his legs were getting tired, his breaths heavier, his entire face was cold. So cold, that the tears falling from his eyes felt warm in comparison.

No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't get the picture out of his head. It felt terrible. A few hours ago he had seen you again, after months. Months after your breakup. First all he saw was you, for a moment his heart skipped a beat. He felt his face heat up. You were still just as beautiful as he remembered, all alone too it seemed. You stood in front of a store, gaze wandering through the crowd. The distress on your face wasn't missed by him, even if you two were far apart. His heart was begging him to approach you, ask if you're okay.. but his mind knew better. Because your face suddenly lit up, when a guy approached you. He had a tousled bouquet of flowers in his hands, with an apolegetic smile on his face and breathing heavily. For the first time in his life Shoyo felt an actual Deja vu. He remebered all the times he had been late to your dates, running through half the city with a boquet for you as an apology... You'd always look so upset at first, until he'd flash you his apologetic smile and present you the tousled flowers, making your expression light up again. But this time it wasn't him, it was someone else. Someone who looked absolutely nothing like him. The guy was signifiantly taller, darker hair, more composed... A single tear rolled down his cheek, making him snap out of his never ending thoughts. Shoyo quickly wiped his eyes. No crying in public. That was his first instinct. He didn't want to break down in the middle of the city for everyone to see,especially not when you were just a street further away from him. He had to get out of there. Quick.

Which lead him to the place he was in right now. Running usually helped him blow off steam, calm down and get back to himself. But not even that helped him right now. He felt helpless. Helpless and devastated. You'd come back together, he always told himself that. You'd find each other again, he always comforted himself with that after your sudden breakup. But now it was no use anymore. You weren't his anymore, he realized. It made him stop running and just stare ahead of himself. The path was still a blurred darkness, full of nothing. His entire body ached, every last nerve was freezing from the cold and hurting from the running, the tears on his cheeks might as well have frozen in place too. With the back of his hand, he wiped his nose. A deep breath, turned into a broken sob. He missed you so bad.

Kageyama Tobio:

The one who broke the relationship up was him. So why did it hurt him so bad? It didn't make sense. He wasn't supposed to be hurting, wasn't supposed to miss you and definitely wasn't supposed to be hurting so much. But he did. He hurt like hell. Everyday he missed you more and more. Why did he even break up with you? He'd often ask himself, then he'd remember his stupid answer when you asked the same question. 'I need to focus on myself' He was so stupid.

For two months, he managed to ignore the bitter feelings of guilt in his gut. Two months he pretended they weren't there. Now it all came crashing down on him. While cleaning his room he found your old shirt. It was tossed somewhere in a corner of his miserable room, where he couldn't see it. Up until now. He held the fabric in his hands, not knowing what to do or feel. It wasn't supposed to be here, wasn't supposed to be in his room. you were never coming back for it anyway. 'Are you serious?' You asked, standing in front of him. Your face flushed, not in embarrassment, but from anger. Tears builded up in your waterline, blurring your vision, threatening to overflow anytime. Kageyama awkwardly cleared his throat, avoiding your gaze as he looked to the side. He couldn't meet your eyes. 'Yeah' "Why? Where is this coming from?" He hadn't ever heard you sound so desperate, sad and furious all at once. "It's not you, I just need to focus on myself." He said, casually, like talking about the weather, his eyes dared to drift back to your face. Tears were already streaming down your face, there was nothing other than disappointment and anger in your eyes. "... Okay." you huffed. You knew it was a weak lie, that wasn't the reason. But you saw no point in pushing for the truth when a liar was standing in front of you. A few deep breaths, followed by a few steps, until you started walking away from him. Didn't matter where to, just away.

His face twisted at the memory of you simply walking away without a fight, prove to you having given up on fighting anymore. The heavy feeling in his chest was still the exact same as that day, even now, months later. Truth was, he really was going through a difficult time after having lost to Seijoh. He acted on impulse, he was convinced he needed to train more. For that he needed more time, so he broke up with you. He felt like that was the easiest option, but was it really? Was breaking up with you really the only way to fix his issue back then? Sure he had more free time now, but when he wasn't at school, wasn't training, wasn't with his friends.... he was alone. And he missed you. Often he'd open his phone, looking at your last message from months ago. His fingers would hover above his keyboard. He wanted to text you. But what was he even going to say? "hey, found ur old shirt. Want it back?" That was too awkward, even for him. For a good few minutes, he stared at the chat with a blank mind, He couldn't figure out any words to say. If you wanted your shirt back, you'd text him. Surely you had to notice it was missing? There was no need for him to text you, he told himself. So he closed the chat. Kageyama kept the shirt, hidden in a corner of his closet, he couldn't bring himself to throw it away.

Tsukishima Kei:

He acted like he didn't care, even as you stood in front of him.

"Look, Kei. If you're not going to... then maybe we're not meant for each other." He glanced at our face, it was obvious you were waiting for him to object. To change your mind. He saw the last bit of hope fade from your eyes as he nodded. "Okay then... I think we should break up." You swallowed the heavy lump in your throat, keeping yourself together. There was no backing out anymore, you had to say it.For months he kept on acting like he didn't care about you. From the start you knew he'd be cold, but you hoped he'd come around eventually. It was just that he never did. No matter how big or small your accomplishment, he never seemed fazed. Like it didn't matter. You really tried to convince yourself you could push through, but there was only so much your heart could take. "Fine by me"

Even after months, he could still remember the devastated look on your face. Tsukishima wasn't stupid, far from it, he knew you were hoping for him to fight for your forgivness. But he was too full of himself for that back then. Now, if he could go back in time, he'd tell you he'd change. Do better. He had grown a lot since that interaction, now he came to realize that he, despite telling himself otherwise, missed you. Why now of all times? He was originally going through his old notes, to study for an upcoming test, and saw all the old scribbles you left in his book back when you used to study toghether. He looked at all the hearts and smilies you drew for him, it left a tightness in his chest. His mind wandered back to all the times you came over so he could help you. For the first few minutes you'd at least pretend to be interested, but it never lasted long. Usually you'd always end upjust staring at him, with your mind elsewhere. Back then it annoyed him more than he'd show, but now he'd do anything to have you look at him with that look in your eyes again. That dreamy look full of adoration, one he hadn't seen in what felt like forever. Kei wasn't one to cry, he almost never cried. That just wasn't his style. He closed the book shut, standing up from his desk.

The cold water from the sink splashed against his face, an attempt to help himself snap out of it. No matter how many times he did it again, he soon had to realize that it was futile. A small sigh slipped past his lips while he dried his face with a towel. When he went back to his room, he looked at the book again. How he regretted his indifference.

Sugawara Koushi:

If he had known what arguing with you would lead to, he would've kept his mouth shut. He would've hugged you instead, anything really. Anything to make you stay. Your argument was dumb, you were overwhelmed and just snapped at him out of nowhere. He tried to calm you down, but it didn't work. He should'be kept his calm, just a little longer. Maybe then he wouldn't have had to hear that you were breaking up with him.

"Kou, I'm sorry about yesterday, it's just.. I've not been feeling well lately. I don't think I'm in the right place for a relationship right now.." You looked into his eyes, watching the realization spread across his face. "Nono- we can make it work, trust me. I'm here for you, really, anything you need I'll be there-" "I mean it, Kou. I can't do this." You cut his desparte attempt of changing your mind off. "Please, I'll change- I promise I'll never argue with you again! I'm so sorry-" "This isn't about the argument, or you. It's just what I feel would be best for us right now." You looked away from his eyes. It was impossible to look at him, when he looked so heartbroken by your words, with glassy eyes. Silence filled the air until he sighed. "Okay then, but if you need anything- just text me"

Even if he tried to convince you that you could make it work, apologizing and promising to never argue with you again, it was useless. You told him you couldn't do it at the moment and that you were sorry. The way you looked at him made him believe that you stopped loving him way before the breakup even happened. Two weeks later he walked home from school, but took a different route this time, the longer one, he felt like it. At first he didn't realize, but when he walked past a familiar streetlamp. One with a big scratch across it, the one you had your first kiss underneath. He still remembered it so well. So well it hurt. He felt the tears well in his eyes, his breathing growing uneven. How did it even come to an end so quick? Back then, when you first kissed underneath that exact streetlamp, he would've never guessed you would break up with him someday. It never even crossed his mind, he was convinced you'd be happy together even in the future. If only he had noticed sooner, noticed the way you were growing colder everyday. He could've tried harder, could've changed your mind.

Koushi shook his head, blinking the tears away. "Get it together." He whispered to himself under his breath, turning his head away from the lamp. It was no use anymore, your mind was made up. He had to live with it, even if he didn't want to, he had to walk home. He couldn't just stay glued in place, dreaming about a memory that was never going to repeat again. He continued walking, with an ugly sorrowness in his chest. Luckily, he managed to make it back home without shedding another tear. But the moment he layed on his bed, with his face in his pillow, he started crying. Bitter tears fell from his eyes, soaking the pillow underneath him.

Azumane Asahi:

When you broke up with him, he just smiled. He told you it was okay, he understood it. That was the first time he had ever lied to you, because no, it wasn't okay and no he didn't understand. He didn't want to beg you to stay, he wanted you to be happy. Even if it meant leaving him, he still told you with a smile that it was alright.

"Maybe it's better if we break up, Asahi. I feel like this isn't working out." Your eyes avoided his, which was probably for the better. Your heart wouldn't have been able to take the way his entire face dropped and went pale. "Why? Did I do something?" That was his first worry, of course. You could've smiled at his question that was so undeniably him, but didn't. Instead you shook your head no. "No, I just... I feel like that'd be for the better." Asahi didn't understand, but he knew better than to push you. He swallowed the lump in his throat, clearing his throat in hopes of making his voice sound steady before nodding "That's alright, I understand." But he didn't. He didn't understand and despite not looking like it too much on the outside, he was panicking inside, his stomach was hurting, his heart was racing and he felt like dropping to his knees to beg you to stay with him. There was so much he wanted to say, to remind you of everything you promised him, everything you told him, every declaration of love. The only thing keeping him from that was the thought that it wouldn't make you happy, so he didn't. He wanted you to be happy, always. "Thank you, Asahi."

Now after a few weeks, he still layed in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Today he had seen you on the bus, you were entering the bus as he stepped through to leave. It was a short reunion with no words and only a second of eye contact, but enough to plague his mind for the entire day. Seeing your eyes again after so long, he couldn't help doubting his choice. What if he had broken down, begging you to stay like he originally wanted to? Would you have changed your mind? Was there even a way to change your mind, or were you already decided with no way to return? It was hard for Asahi to wrap his head around the fact that you weren't his anymore, didn't love him anymore. Could you really stop loving him? Back when he used to look at your eyes after you kissed him, he saw nothing but love in them. Nothing but adoration. If he knew what was to come, he would've held you tighter, treasured you twice as much as he did.

Maybe then he could've changed the outcome.

[tsumuus]

literally cannot find a single haikyuu x reader fic rn that i haven’t alr read or meets my needs for my nightly routine and im going insane please i just need some iwaizumi fluff or atsumu or suna or kuroo lit anyone from haikyuu but i literally can’t for some reason and its pissing me off like i need my daily dose before i go to bed

[lagooneah]

Fucking love this loser

[miffytriffy]

Sneaking around!

"getting caught making out w hq boys!" suggestive!!! ft: Hinata Shoyo, Suna Rintaruo, Yaku Morisuke x gn!reader

Hinata Shoyo:

Originally you planned to watch a movie with Hinata at his house, in his room.

Instead hot and heavy breaths filled the four walls, along with the faint sound of the long forgotten movie playing from his old laptop. He was palming your waist, keeping you sat on his thigh while his tongue slipped past your lips. You kissed him back, tugging at his hair. The muscles of his thigh flexed underneath you with every rock of your hips, just right. Almost like his body knew exactly what you needed. Tilting his head up by gripping his jaw, you kissed him deeper. More more and more. You needed him more than anything. "please Sho" you gently whimpered against his lips. "Shhh" he shushed you, pressing his lips against yours again. You tugged his hair, making him jerk his head back. He breathed heavily, looking up at you with nothing more than need. His hands slipped under your shirt, making your skin tingle at the sudden warmth of his palms over your bare hips. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him closer. He started kissing your neck, while you continued grinding down on his thigh. Soft moans and breaths left you. His palms rolled over your hips, moving you in his own rhythm suddenly. "Sho- f-fuck!" You gasped.

Suddenly the door of his room burst open, making both of you freeze.

"Shoyo! Have you seen my pencil case?" Natsu asked, peeking inside. "No, I haven't." He answered her, with a groan, keeping his forehead against your shoulder, probably to hide his flustered face. There goes your moment.

Suna Rintarou:

He had been waiting all day, watching you pass him in the halls quickly between classes. But now he finally had you to himself. The two of you were in an empty classroom, school had finished, you should be fine. Suna was sure of that, just like you. He stood between your legs, kissing you as you sat on a desk. Your hands were tangled in his hair, tugging and pulling him closer as you pleased. He hummed against your lips, his tongue slipping into your mouth while you moaned. Your tongue pushed against his, while your legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him even closer. Suna felt himself growing dizzy, partly because he reallly fucking needed to breathe. He squeezed your thigh, a sign for you to ease up. Relucantly you pulled away, watching him pant and looking at the pretty blush dusting his cheeks. "You're so pretty" He muttered, while you pulled him closer by the tie of his uniform. A smile stretched across your lips, while your fingers loosened his tie. "Kiss me again" And who was he to deny you? His hand started wandering up your thigh in the middle of your kiss, making you whimper.

"YOOO!" A familiar voice boomed through the empty classroom. Your eyes widened in shock while a huge sense of dread and annyoance washed over you. You probably overheard the door opening. Suna didn't even seem fazed anymore. You peeked at the loud twin over Suna's shoulder, your brows furrowing. "You're the worst"

Yaku Morisuke:

Practice ended thirty minutes ago almost, but Yaku was still in the changing room. You were supposed to go on a date, so you came by when practice ended to walk into town with Yaku. But he wasn't done changing, so he asked you to stay just a bit longer with him. One thing lead to another and you were pushed against one of the many lockers, with his knee between your thighs while he kissed your neck. You tilted your head to the side, letting him kiss down your neck. "Yaku..." You moaned, your entire body squirming when he started nibbling on a more sensitive part of your neck. You felt your knees buckle underneath you, but he was quick to steady you with two strong hands on each side of your hips. "I got you" He whispered. Then he lifted his head, going back to kissing you. You parted your lips for him, letting him take control. The kiss was needy and hungry, like he couldn't get enough of you. Because he honestly couldn't. His hands wandered from your hips to your thighs, lifting one just a bit so he could hear you moan against him at the friction. He pulled away, only a string of saliva connecting the two of you. For a moment he just took the sight of you in. You were breathing heavily, your lips were swollen from his kisses and he couldn't help himself. He leaned in again, barely giving either of you time to propely breathe. You felt his teeth gently bite down on your lower lip and you both whimpered in perfect sync.

So perfect you didn't hear the door opening.

"YAKU-SAN!?" You both stopped instantly. The voice was so familiarly loud, you could imagine his expression without even having to look at him. Never before have you wanted to sink into the floor so badly. And Yaku hadn't felt so pissed in a while. "LEV! GET OUT!"

[miffytriffy]

PLZZZ Make a part 2 of the jealous fic you wrote but they all make up and have fluff in them 🥺🥺

Forgivness is key

"after recieving a proper apology, the reader forgives them for their mistake" part two of jealousy! Comfort after Angst ft: Follo, Enjin, Tamsy x fem!reader

a/n: I couldn't pick between a good or bad ending, so I'm doing both. I decided to post both answers back to back because I got them around the same time. I didn't want to write both identical (that'd be boring) so I tried to change it a little... tysm for the request!!<33

Follo:

It really took a toll on him. He didn't mean to hurt you, he never did. But it happened anyway. He also knew that he had to make it up to you somehow. Even throughout the night, while the guilt was eating from the inside up, he ended up falling asleep. Throughout the day, he thought about ways to fix his mistake. By lunch he came to the conclusion: he should just apologize again, try it differently this time. Maybe wording it diffrently would help you forgive him. He really hoped so at least. Meanwhile you were still sour about the whole thing. Last night also wasn't the best sleep of your life. Just what was going on in Follo's head? The question couldn't leave your mind, no matter how hard you tried to leave it. You didn't understand. Why would he let that girl sit across him and look so... ugh! You don't even know what he looked like.. casual about it? frustrated? uncomfortable? intrested? You had absolutely no idea. Still you tried not to make it get between you and your daily routine. You kept going on about your day as usual. After what felt like the thoughest day of your life (simply because your mind wouldn't shut up) you were finally able to rest and lay down on your bed. You sighed, closing your eyes. For a moment you thought you might be able to fall asleep, but a faint knock on your door disturbed your peace.

"Come in" You said, quickly sitting up again. You expected a lot of people, but definetly not Follo. He awkwardly smiled at you. "Hi, sorry about disturbing you" Not knowing what to say, you just shook your head. "Why'd you come here so late?" You asked instead. His eyes wandered to the side for a mere moment "I.. wanted to talk about yesterday." The reminder of yesterday's event made your shoulders tense a bit and the uneasy feeling in your stomach return. You nodded anyway, urging him to speak. He took a deep breath then started speaking again. "I... I should have acted quicker. I shouldn't have just sat there. Look- I know this isn't the first time I took too long to act-.." He knew he let you down in public more times than he would like to admit. He often lacked the courage or quick thinking to act, so usually you always had to defend yourself. Last night was just one of many examples. "I know I always say this- but this time I mean it. It won't happen again, this was the last time. I'm really sorry." Only when his eyes met yours again you felt like he meant it. "Okay... But this is your last chance." You eventually agreed. Next thing you knew he hugged you, tight. Bone crushing almost.

It felt like a major weight had been lifted off Follo's shoulders when you forgave him. "I promise I won't let you down again!" That night he slept in your bed again.

Enjin:

It didn't sit right in his stomach, everytime he remembered your expression when you saw him with the woman, his chest tightened painfully. He tried to wait it out, but after barely half a day he couldn't take it anymore. He knew he had already apologized once, but maybe you needed a second apology to forgive him. He was willing enough to do anything for your forgivness. So he looked for you, he looked every place he could possibly think of. But you were nowehre to be found. So lastly his feet took him to the front of your door. He softly hit his knuckles against the dark wood of your door, waiting for a reply. Nothing. "Babe? You okay? It's me, Enjin. Can we talk?"

It didn't take too long after that, the door opened. You looked tired, in all senses. Your hair was a mess, your eyes were sleepy and had dark bags underneath... "Did I wake you?" He asked. You nodded "It's okay." Stepping aside, you let him enter your room. For a second he didn't speak, carefully going over the words in his head once again. He was gonna make it right again, for sure this time. "Listen- I'm really sorry about what happened." He gently caressed your arm. "I shouldn't have let her get so close to me, it was wrong of me to not say anything. I know this isn't the first time it has happened... But I promise it's the last time." He looked into your eyes, searching for forgivness, Your eyebrows furrowed. "You always say that" Right. He did. He awkwarldy cleared his throat "I know, baby. I really mean it though. I would never cheat on you ever. They can't compare to you" He gently cupped your cheek, brushing his thumb over your skin. "You're the only woman I want." You didn't need to say anything, Enjin saw the hesitation of believing him in your eyes. He sighed, putting his other hand on the small of your back. "Tell me what to do to make you believe me, I'll do it. I'll do anything just to have you by my side." He continiued trying to coax the forgivness out of you, and he could see that it was working slowly. Your eyes softened. His sincere voice and sweet words were really tugging at your heartstrings. You knew that what he had done a few nights prior was wrong, but then again it might really just have been you misunderstanding? You weren't sure anymore, but the longer Enjin's touch lingered, the more your resolve crumbled. "You mean that?" His hand pulled your face closer to his. "Every last word." He reassured you, leaning his forehead against yours.

"Please forgive me, doll." He pleaded with you again, his voice soft and gentle. You couldn't help it, his entire being made your knees weak. So you gave in, again with a little nod. He smiled, kissing your forehead. "thank you"

Tamsy:

He didn't come back for a while. You wondered where he went to, was he coming back? Somewhere deep down you worried that he was hurt. Still you tried to distract yourself from your endless thoughts. When you went to sleep he still hadn't come back and it left a bitter feeling all throughout your body.

The next morning when you woke up you tried to pretend like everything was fine, made yourself your favourite breakfast... you followed your usual routine, trying to make yourself believe everything was okay. But was it? Did you really overreact yesterday? Tamsy's words didn't leave your head even for a second. It worried you. Maybe this time you really went overrboard... Today you decided not to go outside. You didn't feel like it. Your eyes kept on wandering to the door, hoping to see the dorknob turn and have him come back. But even if he did, you weren't sure how to feel about it. You were worried yes, but his words still stung and left an angry feeling in your chest. The entire day was spent waiting and waiting until your wish finally became true. The doorknob turned and revealed Tamsy. He looked at you. For the first time in your life you felt relief and anger at the same time, it all came rushing right through you. "Tamsy.. you're back." It was all you managed to say with the storm of emotions going through you.

He nodded "I am." Then he stepped closer. His eyes looked over you. "Are you still upset?" He asked. You thought about it for a moment. Then you nodded. "Yeah, pretty much." You weren't sure what to expect from him. Silence took over while Tamsy let it linger, until his voice broke the building tension. "I understand that. I'm sorry if my words hurt your feelings, though I hope you understand that your reaction was wrong." Was it really? You couldn't help asking yourself. "Really? I think it was reasonable." You retorded. "It was definetly an emotional reaction." He said, to that you agreed somewhat... The longer you thought about it the more you felt guilty. Was Tamsy really right? Maybe you did overreact. The more you thought it about it, the worse your stomachache got, So you swallowed, before giving in. "I'm sorry too." He nodded, smiling just a little. He opened his arms for you. You didn't waste a second and hugged him tight, unbekown to you, he once again had it go his way. "It's okay." He reassured you, gently stroking your back.

[miffytriffy]

THERE BETTER BE A PART TWO OF "Jealousy" 😭😭😭 like it's either angst with comfort or double down and make them break up 🤭

When Jealousy Doubles Down

"part 2 of jealousy, but it escalates into a breakup" Angst no comfort ft: follo, enjin, tamsy x fem!reader

a/n: I love this idea, I'm gonna make it double down :) though I also wrote the version where they make up ! Tysm for the request <333

Follo:

That same night both of you slept alone, in separate beds. Guilt was gnawing at every ounce of his body, he could barely take it anymore. It hurt. He wanted you beside him more than anything, wanted to make it right and have you back in his bed with him. Instead the other side, your side, was empty. Slowly he turned his head to the side, looking over to it. A frustrated groan escaped him. He turned again, this time smashing his face in his pillow. He was so stupid, and he knew it. It all could have been avoided, if only he had told her to back off. But he didn't. Frozen in place like an idiot he sat there and let her do whatever she wanted. If only he had said something, anything useful. You'd be with him. It would've been a date like any other, not a complete disaster. But it didn't go his way. It never does. His hand gripped the sheet beside his pillow, balling into a fist. You deserved better than what he did, he knew that.

For the rest of the night, he couldn't sleep. Not that he wanted to, but even if he did he wouldn't have been able to. His mind was completly consumed by what happened, your disappointed face, the way you picked at your food all night and most of all the last conversation you had together. He kept on thinking of ways to make up for it again, but he coudln't figure it out. He knew he didn't mean to look disloyal, but he also knew that it looked exactly like that to everyone else. After countless hours of pondering for a solution and a few stray tears, he decided to just to try and say sorry again when you calmed down. The next morning, at the breakfast table, follo kept on toying with his food rather than eating. He had no appetite. Just when he was about to go ahead and search for you, Tomme stopped him. "Follo? Where are you going? We have a mission today, remember?" He wasn't upset at Tomme, she didn't know about last night. No one did. So he just played along. "Right, I forgot. Sorry" He sheepishly smiled, trying to ignore the frustration bubbling up in his chest.

The mission was shit. He coudln't focus properly, resulting in him getting hurt more than usual. Throughout the entire card ride he faked being asleep, just to avoid speaking. He didn't feel like it at all. When they were back, he wanted to drag himself towards his room. His entire body ached. But then his eyes spotted you, also in the hall. You were probably walking towards your own room. Suddenly all exhaustion and frustration left him. He called out your name before he could think twice, running towards you. You turned to him. Now he was face to face with you and it really hit him how much he missed you. Though the relief was short lived, you furrowed your eyebrows, giving him a questioning look. "What's up?" Really? Not even a Hi? Follos swallowed the words down his throat to avoid further conflict. "Can we please talk?" He asked you, with those big and pleading eyes. They always tugged at your heartstrings, you couldn't tell him off, even if you were upset with him. So you nodded, he didn't miss the few extra seconds it took though. Soon enough he ended up in the familiar space of your room, but this time the air wasn't filled with warmth. It was thick. slowly suffocating him. Your eyes starred right back into his, arms crossed as you both stood in the middle of your room, waiting for him to start speaking. The words were suddenly stuck in his throat the second he tried to say anything. He couldn't. He was scared, scared of messing up again. But what scared him more was your silence, and intense gaze. "I'm sorry." He managed to choke out. A scoff slipped past your lips quicker than you woudl've liked for it to happen "You should be." If your words weren't enough, your bitter tone definetly made it obvious that you were beyond hurt and dissappointed. Follo understood that, he really did. But did you have to be so mean to him? "Look I get that you're upset and I'm really sorry. I'll make it up to you." He tried to reason with you. His eyes were desparetly searching for an ounce of understanding in yours. But it was futile. You were still steaming with anger. "Follo. It's common sense to not let a girl sit in your date's seat, unless you want the other girl to be your date instead." He sighed. "You didn't even listen to my side of the story, please-" "What side? What's there to tell that wasn't obvious?" You bit back, not even letting him finish. You didn't like that he was saying the same things as last night, he could have at least bothered to think of something different if he was able to leave you waiting for an entire day. "She didn't leave, I told her I have a girlfriend." "Did you say that you were there with your girlfriend?" You asked. He stopped for a second. "I... I was about to!" The moment those words left his mouth, he saw the way your entire demanour changed. "Why didn't you tell her from the start!? Isn't it logic to tell her first things first!?" Follo couldn't hold it in anymore, he finally said the thing that had been on his mind the entire time. "Can I make one mistake? You're acting like I asked her out!" "One? Seriously? One mistake?" He was going to reply, but you kept going. "One mistake. So all the other times you left me to defend myself in public were intentional? All those times I was being humiliated and you just stood and watched, those weren't mistakes?" You reminded him of all the times he left you hanging. Everytime someone made a fleeting insulting comment about you in public, Follo suddenly turned mute. It was a mayor flaw of his. He never reacted on time. It was always too late. "That's not what I meant-!" He tried to defend himself. stepping closer to you. He took your hand in his. "Listen- I'll change I'll-" You shook your head no at the familiar apology. He always said he would change, but the change never came. Last night had been your last straw. He'd never get to leave you hanging again and then make empty promises about changing ever again.

"No. No more Follo, I'm done. We're over." You let go of his hands. His eyes looked at you, as if he didn't understand what you just said. "What do you mean?-" The crack in his voice didn't miss your ears. Your demanour cracked just a little, it hurt. But you were going to stand your ground. "No more, I'm breaking up with you." You repeated yourself. All the tears that gathered in his eyes during the conversation started flowing down his cheeks. "Wait- don't do this to me. Please, baby. I- I'll be better. Please stay." His voice wavered while he cried, his hands reached for you but he stopped. They were shaking just a bit. "I'm serious, Follo. I can't do this anymore." Each word you spoke made your chest tighten. Follo let out a shaky exhale. He knew you well enough by now to know he couldn't do anything to chance your mind. Not anymore. It was too late. For a second he qas quiet, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He breathed in, trying to keep his voice steady "Alright then."

That night, he cried himself to sleep.

Enjin:

Enjin didn't chase after you. You'd come back around eventually. At least he told himself that. But he was beyond wrong. You didn't, whenever your eyes met his, you didn't even smile let alone speak to him. You treated him like a ghost. For three entire days you two didn't speak, like you were two strangers. Two strangers who never loved each other. Enjin told himself it was just a small phase of yours, you'd come around again sooner or later for sure. He kept on repeating it to himself, as if your relationship wasn't slipping right through his fingers the same way sand would. He hid his worries pretty well, even on missions, when eating, speaking or just standing. No one could guess what was going on in his head. Not a single idea about how badly he was trying to convince himself that it was fine. Three entire days. On the fourth night he coudln't take it anymore. He had to reach out to you.

It felt like the universe was keeping him from doing exactly that though, no matter where or when he looked he couldn't find you. Almost like you were avoiding him. Either way, by the end of the fourth day he decided to knock on your door. Surely you'd be in your room so late at night. To his luck the door opened, revealing you standing there. Your hair was messy, your eyes still half asleep, even your voice was still groggy "What now, Enjin?" Why did he have to show up so late? It annoyed you more than you let it show, you really wanted to sleep. "Sorry, doll. I didn't mean to wake you." He gave you a smile, as if nothing had happened. "I just wanted to see how you're doing." That irked you. Really? After four days of not speaking after an argument he was just going to act like nothing had happened? Still you indulged in his game of play-pretend and nodded. "I'm okay." Enjin knew you were lying to his face, but he didn't bother pushing for the truth. He already knew it anyway. "Can I come in?"

You let him enter your room, hoping that he'd finally apologize like he meant it. Instead he acted like everything was fine. He put a hand on your cheek, lightly caressing it. "You look so pretty" His hand pulled your face closer, slowly. Normally you'd be overwehlmed with butterflies fluttering in your stomach, but this time you felt nothing other than frustration bubbling in your chest. You placed your hands on his chest, shoving him back. Why couldn't he address the issue? Confusion spread across his features at your sudden shove, he didn't get to question it out loud though. "Why do you act like everything is fine?" You suddenly asked. Quiet. "Sorry?" was the only thing he could manage. "Don't act like the incident at the bar never happened!" You said. Enjin sighed, realizing that there was no avoiding the conversation this time. "I thought we made up. You ran off and I gave you space, plus I already apologized." You scoffed "You didn't give me space, you just avoided the problem. And of course I ran away! It's not the first time this happened, you know it just as well as I do." Looking into your eyes, his chest panged at the dissappointed look you gave him. "When are you going to stop?" You asked. Your question was met with silence. "You know I didn't do anything" He retorded. "But were you that far from doing something? It didn't look like it." He ran a hand through his hair "Fine, next time I'll ignore when someone tries to speak to me." That was old, you heard it all before. He never changed. "No, Enjin. This isn't working out." You looked into his eyes "I can only forgive so much. I'm tired." His heart started racing, there was no way you were going to do what he thought. "No- wait, doll, I promise." His hand desparetly reached for yours, but you pulled away. "No. We're over." The words tasted bitter on your tongue. it hurt. But you knew it was better for the long run.

"Are you serious?" His voice was laced with disbelief, every fiber in his body was begging for you to tell him no, that you didn't mean it. But you nodded. And he knew he had to respect your decision. "That's alright."

On the same night, he ended up in the same bar as last time. This time what used to be your seat remained empty all night.

Tamsy:

For an entire week, Tamsy didn't show up. You were dead worried, was that really his last straw? Was he ever coming back? Was he okay? Did you really overdo it this time? Those were all questions plaguing your mind for the entire time he was gone. The constant uneasy ache in your stomach made it hard to eat, sleep.. do anything actually. You didn't get it. Was he really unbothered enough to ghost you for a week? Or was he too hurt to reach out? You didn't even know, trying to read his emotions was like trying to read an ancient scroll. It was impossible.

So the morning you woke up and went to make yourself breakfast, you almost jumped out of your skin. There he was, standing in your kitchen and brewing coffee like nothing had happened. What was wrong with him?! You knew he came in with the spare key you gave him, but it still irked you. "Tamsy!? What are you doing here?" You asked, your tone sounded both angry and suprised. But defiently not happy. "Good morning to you too" He turned around, his face still calm as ever. "No! You can't pretend that everything is fine now! Where were you? Why didnt you come back!? Do you know how-" "You asked me to leave." He reminded you. "If you hadn't hurt I wouldn't have done that!" He leaned his back against the counter, his entire demanour relaxed. You didn't understand, was this a game to him? Did it even mean anything to him ever when you were hurt? "Can you at least pretend to care? Just once?" You asked. You hadn't even realized that you were crying until the tears rolled down your cheeks, but you didn't even bother wiping them away anymore. It hurt. He shook his head "I do care. It's why I gave you space, I hoped you would calm down by a week." "No! You avoided me. You left me behind with all this-"

Tamsy walked closer to you, brushing the stray hair behind your ear. "I'm here now. You can calm down now, it's okay." He tried to soothe you, but you werent't having it. Not anymore. "It's not! You don't just get to run away- and come back acting like it's okay" He cupped your cheek. "You're letting your emotions get the better of you. There was never an issue to begin with, you created it with your emotional outburst." Those words were your last straw. "It's always my fault isn't it?" He always blamed it on you being impulsive, sensitive, whatever he wanted. He always turned the tables. making you believe it was your fault and never his. But you saw through his game now. And it made you sick. "I'm so done with you Tamsy- I really am." You pushed his hand away from your face. It caught him off guard, he wasn't expecting you to suddenly stand your ground. "Listen- we're done." You said it before you could think. Tamsy didn't fight your words, he just nodded. "Fine with me."

After he left, his coffee remained on the table. It had already gone cold. You looked at the mug. It left a bitter feeling in your gut and your eyes stung a little more than before, Was ending it really the right decision?

[inkpetrichor]

Sol Meu | Hinata Shōyō x f!reader

paring. timeskip! hinata x f! reader cw. long oneshot. manga spoilers!!!. reader knows japanese (and portuguese). slowburn. friends to lovers. mutual pining. drinking. long-distance separation (it gets angsty). reader is a little bit of a simp (can we blame her). hinata is down bad. cowards in love. touch starvation. implied smut. lots of feelings™. we're gonna pretend hinata's debut on the msby black jackals happened on december 23rd because happy holidays everyoneee. as usual, please let me know if i missed anything♡ tldr. you meet hinata shōyō far from home, under a different sun, and at a time in your life that wasn't really meant to last. but he's warmth and laughter and something you swear is just friendship—because anything more from him would be asking for too much. and distance stretches. time passes. but some feelings refuse to behave. because loving hinata shōyō was never the problem. and loving the sun means missing its warmth once it sets to chase other skies. wc. 14.9k an. written for @tyga-lily for the secret santa fic exchange! i really hope you like it ♡ i loved writing for hinata, i fell deeper and deeper in love with him while doing his character study and even more now i'm finished Q.Q i even made a spotify playlist for this! in case anyone would like to listen to it while they read (or in general, they're bangers). it's all bossa nova, all songs i listened to non-stop while writing and whose lyrics and sound gives me this story's vibe. i hope y'all enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it.

Saudade is a Portuguese word with no perfect translation.

It's the ache of missing something you loved so deeply it left a permanent warmth behind. Not just absence—but lingering, aching presence.

Something gone, and yet everywhere.

You only knew the vague meaning of that word when you met Hinata Shōyō.

You learned it way too deeply later. Learned it the hard way.

The first time you met him, it was after an hour and a half of trying every possible method to hang a picture in your apartment without using a drill or screws—command strips, reusable putty, that weird string-tension trick a YouTuber swore by—all to absolutely no avail. Eventually, you had to accept reality. This was the one DIY project that had defeated you fair and square.

So, braving Rio's heat, still suffocating even in the fall, you made your way to the hardware store. You knew your neighbor had a drill—judging by the ungodly hours at which he liked to fire it up—so you figured that buying a few screws would finally get the job done. And since you were already going out, you thought you might as well look at paint swatches too; anything to make your apartment feel a little more like your home and a little less like it was trying to cosplay a hospital room.

When you'd asked the owner if painting was allowed, she'd waved it off with a smile. You were supposed to be staying for a good while anyway—hopefully the full two-plus years of your study program. The place was central, not too small, and at a price you could actually afford.

All it needed was a little love. A little color. A little you.

So you'd finally decided to start.

When you walked into the store, the first thing you noticed was that it was somehow hotter inside than outside—a thick, humid warmth that wrapped around your body the moment the glass door clicked shut behind you. The air smelled faintly of metal, wood dust, and whatever industrial cleaner had been used that morning.

The second thing you noticed was the nervous look the store clerk, trapped behind the register, shot your way.

The third thing you noticed was why he looked like he was two seconds away from stress-eating a bag of nails.

He was trying very, very hard to understand the person standing in front of him—a panicked foreign with bright orange hair sticking up from humidity, a shirt that was slightly damp from the walk in the sun, his phone clutched in one hand, and a burnt-out bulb in the other.

You assumed he was a tourist. Thought you might help. And honestly? He looked adorable—like someone had dropped a golden retriever into a foreign language exam. His expression showing a desperate blend of determination and impending meltdown.

You were halfway down the aisle, weaving between shelves full of screws, nails, and tools you were pretty sure you didn't know how to use, when you heard a soft stream of Japanese.

"Chotto... chigau... What was the word in Portuguese? It's… laito… No, that's English," he let out a small, frustrated sigh. "Come on, you practiced this…"

You couldn't help smiling.

This was cute. Very cute.

You stepped closer—slow enough not to startle him but confident enough that both he and the clerk looked up. He was mid-typing something into a translation app when you reached toward him, gently placing your hand over his and lowering his phone. His eyes went wide immediately at the contact: warm brown, huge and a little frantic, like he wasn't sure if you were here to save him or witness his demise.

"Ele quer uma lâmpada," you said lightly, turning to the clerk.

Relief washed over the man like a blessing. "Ah! Sim!"

When the clerk left to get the lightbulb, you looked up and winked at him with a smile—just a conspiratorial little gesture.

But it hit him like a spike to the chest.

He made a tiny sound. Not a word. Not quite a gasp. Just… a noise of pure overload. His ears turned red. Then his cheeks. Then the back of his neck.

Partly because of the wink, mostly because your hand was still in his, and absolutely because he thought you were stunning. An angel. A stunning Japanese-speaking angel.

"Ah—obri—THANK YOU!" he blurted, the words tripping over each other like he couldn't decide which language to malfunction in.

You laughed—soft and warm, and it felt like a breeze cutting through the heat for him.

"You're welcome."

When you slowly withdrew your hand, his breath hitched like he'd been holding it the entire time.

The clerk returned with two different types of bulbs. Hinata picked the cheapest, bowed far too deeply, thanked him far too many times, and then turned back to you—still flustered and glowing with gratefulness.

"You—you speak Japanese?"

You nodded with a soft smile, asking the clerk in Portuguese for screws before switching languages as you glanced back at him.

"A little."

If he was blushing before, now he was radiant.

"A little?! Your Japanese is amazing!"

You couldn't help the slight blush on your own cheeks as you shook your head.

"I'm still not there yet..."

"No, no, no. It's amazing!" he insisted, hands flailing just slightly. "My Portuguese is still… terrible. I practiced the word for lightbulb last night, I swear, but then the clerk looked at me and I forgot everything."

"That happens," you said, tilting your head. "And your Portuguese isn't terrible. You're trying, and it shows. People here appreciate that."

His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. Nothing came out.

A tiny spark of triumph lit your chest. Making such a cute guy flustered should not have been that satisfying—but oh, it was. You could tell he was sweet. Honest. You could read everything he felt right off his face, and you really liked that.

"Are you here enjoying the beaches?"

He nodded.

"Sorta. I moved here recently. I'm training for beach volleyball."

"Oh. I see..."

And it made sense now—the broad shoulders, the steady legs, the lean but athletic build, the spark of energy around him like he constantly ran on warm sunlight.

"Are you a Libero?"

He visibly deflated at that.

"Do you say that because I'm short?"

You couldn't help but laugh at that, hiding behind your hand. That earned you an embarrassed-but-amused smile from his end.

"No, no," you said in between laughs. "I said it because you have a lot of energy..."

"Ah, I see... I was a middle blocker in high school, actually."

"Interesting..."

"How did you learn Japanese?" he asked suddenly, maing you happy that he asked about you, too.

"I like traveling. I'm not originally from here either—I'm on a study program," you explained as you paid for your screws and thanked the clerk. "Obrigado. Are you liking Rio so far?"

You turned to leave, half expecting—and half hoping—he would follow. He gave one more quick bow and a breathless thank you to the clerk, who was looking between the two of you with the mischievous smile of someone watching a romcom in a language he didn't understand but was absolutely rooting for anyway.

Hinata hurried after you, stepping into the heat-bleached sunlight.

"I do! I really like it here," he said quickly, answering your earlier question. "The water's warm—way warmer than Japan's. There's always so many people at the beach, and everyone is so nice. Even if it's hard to… You know, talk."

"Have you made any friends yet?"

The shift was instant.

Just a soft flicker in his expression, like a cloud passing over the sun.

He tried to hide it, but you saw it—the way the word friends tugged at something in him.

That bittersweet saudade. You could see it. Relate to it, too, when you thought about your loved ones back in your home country.

"Not yet..." he admitted, voice small but honest.

A gentle smile curved your lips before you even realized it.

"You know… I have a group." You nudged his arm lightly with your shoulder. "Sorta like a club? A few more Japanese speakers—not natives, though. If you ever feel homesick, we meet every Thursday night at a bar not too far from here."

The effect on him was immediate. The shadow in his eyes vanished like it had never been there. And sunlight poured back in—bright, warm, and honestly breathtaking.

And then...that smile.

That huge, open, and absolutely beautiful smile. The kind of smile that felt like it reached straight inside your ribcage and squeezed your heart like a hug, sweet and warm and a little terrifying.

Time didn't freeze like in romcoms—but stretched instead.

The heat outside had softened into a gentle breeze, carrying the scent of pressed sugarcane from a nearby kiosk, mixing with the salt of the sea. A sweet-salty blend that wrapped around you both.

"Oh god," you thought, "Oh god, you could totally fall in love with this guy."

Hinata bowed again—awkward and sweet, like he didn't know what to do with all the gratitude piling up in his chest.

"Thank you," he said softly. "Really."

You stepped back toward your street, smiling with newly found fondness.

"No problem. Try not to start any more crises in hardware stores, yeah?"

He let out a breathy, helpless laugh. "I'll try!"

"It was very nice to meet you," you added, and the words felt truer than they should have for someone you'd just met. "Hopefully we'll see each other again."

You meant it—God, you meant it—but the realization of how much you meant it burned under your skin. Embarrassment, excitement, something dangerously close to longing.

So you turned and started walking.

Five steps later, you glanced back over your shoulder.

Hinata was still standing exactly where you'd left him, watching you leave. A little stunned. A lot charmed. Blushing up to his ears, so hard it looked like the heat itself had kissed him.

And when he noticed you caught him staring, he waved—way too fast.

You only saw his flustered smile as you turned the corner, grinning to yourself.

You didn't hear the way he muttered to himself after:

"Yabai… kawaisugiru."

It was only when you got back to your apartment that you realised you hadn't even asked for his name, nor had you given him yours. It hit you right as that painting hung nicely from a screw on the wall, and you'd wanted to bash your head against it.

It was silly, really.

The way every time you and your group of language-addicted university friends gathered at the bar over the next few weeks, you couldn't stop your eyes from looking up each time the door creaked open, half-expecting a bright pop of orange hair to appear.

And it was even sillier how the tiny sting of disappointment would settle low in your chest when it didn't.

But you'd been looking for him anyway—him, the whirlwind stranger with the sunlit smile who'd crossed your path for mere minutes and branded himself into your mind like he'd been there for years. It didn't make sense. It wasn't logical. You barely knew him.

But something about him had stayed with you, bright and warm, like catching the sun itself on your hand.

"Looking for your lightbulb guy again?" your friend Nina asked, nudging your arm with her elbow, that infuriatingly perceptive grin of hers adorning her lips.

"No Portuguese!" came the sharp scolding from across the table. 'The general', another of your friends—nervous intellectual, relentless rule-enforcer of language nights, and resident panic machine—adjusted his glasses without looking up from his notebook.

Nina rolled her eyes dramatically.

"Yeah, yeah. German night or whatever."

"No Portuguese!" he repeated, more distressed this time, because she was 100% doing it on purpose.

She stuck her tongue out at him and turned back to you with a wicked little glint in her eyes—one that made him sputter softly. He always acted like he hated her playing games with him, though the faint blush of his ears said otherwise.

"So?" she pressed—still in Portuguese, but The general had given up in correcting her for he was too busy being flustered. "Why hasn't he shown up yet? I'm starting to believe he doesn't exist. Maybe it was a heat-induced hallucination?"

You laughed, lifting a glass of sugarcane juice to your lips. The ice clinked gently in the dim, warm lighting of the bar—ceiling fans whirring lazily overhead, wood tables buzzing with multilingual chatter all around.

"It's alright, he'll show up if he wants, no biggie," you said, though the flutter in your stomach disagreed.

"You did tell him the name of the bar, right?"

Oh.

You bit your lip, an embarrassed smile creeping in as realization slapped you in the face.

No name. No bar. No way to ever see him again.

Nina burst into laughter as you hid your warming cheeks behind your hands.

"You didn't," she gasped in between laughs. "Are you dumb?"

You were laughing with her, begging to be left alone, when the bell over the entrance chimed, a sharp ding that sliced clean through the noise.

You looked up, didn't expect much.

But there he was.

Hinata Shōyō in the flesh.

A little breathless, a little flushed from the warm night outside, clutching the strap of a backpack like he'd been running around for hours.

His gaze swept the room, searching.

And when his eyes found you, they lit up. His whole face brightened with that same smile you'd replayed in your head more times than you cared to admit. And for a moment, the room no longer existed. The fans, the chatter, the clinking glasses—everything muted as if the whole bar held its breath.

"What is it?" Nina asked, taking in your amused expression.

"It's him."

"There's no way—" she whispered as her eyes landed on Hinata, stunned.

The general beside her nearly knocked over his beer when he heard you.

"It's him! It's actually him!"

Nina jumped on the opportunity without a second to spare, looking at him with narrowed, mischievous eyes. "No Portuguese~"

But you barely heard any of it.

Hinata approached, steps hesitant but hopeful, still unconvinced that you were real and not some mirage he'd conjured out of homesickness and desperation.

He stopped right in front of your table, cheeks a soft pink.

"H-Hi," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I, um… I've been trying every bar around here for… a while."

Your jaw nearly dropped. "Every—every bar?"

He nodded earnestly, somehow both sheepish and proud of himself.

"I forgot to ask for the name, so… I just kept checking all of them on Thursdays."

Nina snorted beside you. "That's either romantic or crazy."

You slapped her arm without even looking at her.

Hinata flinched, embarrassed. He hadn't understood much, but he'd caught "loucura" at the end.

"Ah—sorry! I didn't mean to sound creepy. I just really wanted to—um—see you again!" He waved his hands frantically, even redder now. "Not in a weird way! Just—because you were kind! And nice! And you helped me! And—"

You reached out without thinking, placing your hand over his to stop the verbal tailspin.

He froze.

"It's okay," you said softly, smiling. "I'm really glad you found us."

His blush went absolutely nuclear.

The general, meanwhile, had completely malfunctioned.

“My god—An actual Japanese native here—AT THE BAR—this is the greatest day of my life—okay we switch immediately—no more German night!! Japanese night!! We must honor our guest—"

Nina laughed. "You're fanboying so hard right now. You're going to scare him."

Hinata laughed too—a bright, warm, slightly shy sound.

"Thank you for having me!" he said, and the whole table melted a little.

You scooted, patting the chair beside you. "Sit. Please. If you want."

He sat carefully, like he was afraid he'd mess something up. You leaned a bit closer—your natural style, friendly and warm—and you could practically see the thoughts scrambling inside his head like hamsters running on a wheel, and the wheel was on fire.

"So..." you started, a little embarrassed at the admission. "I realised I never asked your name."

"Ah, yeah. Hinata Shōyō."

"Shōyō... I like it, it's pretty."

He nodded, posture straightening and still a little red. He'd gotten used to people calling him by his name without honorifics, but somehow hearing it from your lips made him feel a little bashful.

"And, um… what's yours? I never… um… asked either."

You laughed, cheeks warming. "Guess we're both idiots, huh?"

He brightened. "Then we match!"

It was ridiculous how fast your heart stuttered at that.

As you introduced yourself properly, the general was already drawing up makeshift new rules for Japanese night, Nina was teasing him mercilessly, and Hinata looked equal parts overwhelmed and delighted.

He kept sneaking glances at you. Every time he did, he smiled a tiny, private smile, way too happy at the fact he'd found you again. (He was starting to lose hope after the fifth bar)

And he stayed close—close enough that your arms brushed now and then, close enough that he could whisper to you quietly:

"Hey… um… you're really good at making this feel less scary."

"Scary?" you asked.

He nodded, eyes soft. "I'm a little nervous. But you're here, so… I'm okay now."

Your heart did not handle that well. Not even a little. It was too easy to be fond of him, too easy to enjoy the warmth of his presence and resent the cold in his absence.

And after that first night, you and Hinata slipped into a friendship so easily it felt like you were picking up where something had already started a life or two ago.

He'd join your group whenever he wasn't working—always arriving a little out of breath, always with a smile that made your chest tighten in ways you refused to unpack. Other days, you'd meet him at the beach, watching him play volleyball with literally anyone and everyone who needed a partner. Sometimes you'd help him translate—but you quickly realized that once Hinata was in his element, communication barriers didn't exist.

Volleyball was the language he was fluent in.

He adapted instantly to every new teammate—old man or teenager, tourist, first-timer or seasoned player—falling into their rhythm like he was born to match whoever stood beside him. You'd watch him, always astonished, always caught off guard by just how bright he was when he played.

Stronger, sharper, and quicker each week. He was truly a sight to behold.

And after every match, he'd jog toward you with that proud, boyish grin, sand sticking to his shins, and you'd hand him a bottle of water like it was your assigned role from the universe. He'd flop beside you in the sand, cataloguing everything he still needed to improve on. Listing weaknesses the same way other people list shopping items—no shame. Just determination.

And every time, after another match or two, he'd fix everything he was not happy about.

You'd pretend you weren't staring. You'd pretend your heart wasn't squeezing itself into tiny origami shapes.

The number of times you almost said "fuck it" and kissed him on that beach was… Embarrassingly high.

And the physical proximity didn't help.

Hinata had been startled at first by how touchy people were in Brazil—handshakes that turned into hugs, cheek kisses from strangers, friends who always touched an arm, a shoulder, a knee during conversation. But he warmed to it quickly, melting into it like sunlight.

The "Japanese nights"—that only happened because he showed up—were both a shelter for when he felt homesick, and a place where he could learn from the culture. Every time he came, whatever language chapter you were supposed to study got tossed out immediately.

"Japanese night!" The general would declare, already flipping through his notebook like a man seeing God for the first time.

He'd try to enforce the 'No Portuguese' rule, only to fail spectacularly once the bar glowed with soft string lights and the haze of too many caipirinhas. And after a couple rounds, everyone would be hugging, singing, dancing, and slurring half-Portuguese, half-Japanese sentences that sometimes made absolutely no sense and sometimes helped him greatly in learning the language. Someone always pulled out a guitar and sang tunes that everyone knew the lyrics to.

And he found it beautiful. How the warmth of the Brazilian sun seemed to warm everyone's hearts as well, how everyone seemed to be so open about loving and liking each other, much different from the poised—and arguably a little cold—Japanese society.

Hinata looked around one of those nights, admiring the chaos with a soft kind of longing. You were leaning against The general's shoulder, cheeks rosy, singing and laughing into the music, and you caught Hinata watching you with an expression you couldn't translate—warm… confused… something else.

"Are you two... dating?" he asked suddenly.

Drunken group vocals drifted behind you as you turned to him.

You laughed. "No, he's just a friend. Over here it's super normal for friends to be this close. There's nothing more to it."

Hinata blinked, trying to process that. You gently nudged his foot with yours, then pointed—subtly—to The general.

"Besides, he's already head over heels for someone else." You grinned. "Watch."

Hinata followed your gaze. The general, half-lidded and singing quietly to himself, was watching Nina as she swayed and laughed with such open, unguarded affection that even the dim bar lighting couldn't hide it. Absolutely smitten.

Hinata's breath hitched in soft amazement—and a little jealousy.

Not necessarily of them, but of the ease of that emotion, of how freely it was allowed to love in the open here. Kinda wishing he could do the same.

He pressed his lips together, chest tightening.

Your eyes widened when you felt his weight settle on you as he rested his head on your shoulder—hesitantly, like he was testing the weight of a dream.

"Then I guess I can, too," he murmured.

Your heart stuttered.

He smelled like salt and lime and sunscreen. And when you looked down at him, feeling the brush of his hair on your cheek, he was red up to his ears, eyes squeezed shut in mortified determination—like if he opened them, he'd lose the courage to keep leaning on you. His whole body vibrated faintly from nerves, as if he was fighting the urge to pull away.

A tiny, gentle laugh escaped you, and you rested your head on top of his.

He let out a breath you didn't know he'd been holding and sank into you completely.

You thought it was innocent.

Truly.

You thought it ended on that warm bar night, that little shared moment on your shoulder.

Little did you know how much he'd make your heart suffer as months passed and your friendship developed. Because once you gave him a green light to touch you, Hinata became very touchy.

Very.

He hugged you tight every time he saw you—full-body, earnest hugs that lifted you a little off the ground, like he'd missed you in a way that didn't make sense for two people who'd seen each other less than twenty-four hours earlier. He'd bury his face in your shoulder, saying things like:

"Ahhh, I needed this!"

And your heart?

Your poor, dumb, heart? Melted into a puddle every single time.

He rested his head on your shoulder constantly. On buses, on bar stools, in line at açaí stands. He did it like it was second nature—like leaning on you was simply where his body preferred to be.

But the worst of all were the beach days.

Those were lethal.

Because Hinata very quickly became obsessed—obsessed—with using your thighs as a pillow. At first, it was a drunken decision, then a sleepy one, then it became a habit so natural you didn't know how to survive it anymore.

He'd flop down next to you in the warm sand with his hair sticking up in all directions, and murmur:

"Can I?"

And before you even answered, he was already lowering his head into your lap, smiling up at you with the softest, most devastating expression imaginable. Innocent. Trusting. Sunlit and breathtaking.

You were just friends, though.

Of course. Obviously. Totally.

You watched anime together on your couch, knees touching, arms brushing, his laughter vibrating against your ribs when he leaned into you during funny scenes. You took naps together, limbs tangled so naturally it felt like you'd done it your whole lives. The general nearly had an aneurysm each time he caught you two asleep, spooning on the couch during movie nights. Nina kept taking pictures. And with all that, even when there was no space between you bodies most of the time, when you both cuddled, even—fully, openly, shamelessly—you'd still shook your heads violently every time someone asked if you were dating. (Which was very often.)

Specially at the beach, where strangers would always asume you were a couple.

Hinata always panicked, waving his hands in frantic denial while still lying on your thighs.

"No, no, no—we're just friends! Just—just friends!" He'd let out, while your fingers were literally in his hair.

The day he introduced you to Oikawa was chaotic in ways only Oikawa could bring.

You showed up to the beach as usual, expecting to spot Hinata stretching near the nets or chasing a stray ball barefoot through the sand. Instead, you found him already looking for you—practically vibrating with excitement, jumping up and down as he waved you over like a kid who'd found something shiny and couldn't wait to show it off.

You smiled before you could stop yourself.

It felt good to see him like that—because lately, your bright sun had been dimming a little.

It wasn't anything dramatic. Hinata still laughed, still talked with his hands, still showed up every day. But his smiles had been arriving a second too late, like they had to travel farther to reach his face. He'd been sleeping more, stretching longer, rubbing at his shoulders with a quiet little frown when he thought no one was looking. Some days, he moved like gravity had decided to be cruel to him in particular.

You could tell he was struggling—with work, with volleyball, with learning how to exist in a country that wasn't his, under a sky that didn't quite feel like home.

Even when the Japanese nights with your group helped—late dinners, loud conversations, shared laughter that echoed off concrete walls—you could tell they didn't fix everything. It softened the edges, sure. But something in him still felt… unsteady. Like he wasn't sure where to set his feet anymore.

You didn't know what to do about it, not really. So you did what felt right. You stayed close without crowding him. Gave him space when he went quiet and offered your ear when he was ready to talk. Let him lean without making it obvious.

You had no idea how much that meant to him.

So seeing him now—eyes bright, grin easy, energy sparking off him like sunlight on water—made your chest warm with relief.

And maybe a little jealousy.

Because whoever this "Great King" was, he'd managed to pull Hinata back into himself.

"You're gonna love him—!! Oh—actually—he's a little—uh...—just, don't believe everything he says."

"Shōyō, that is not a reassuring introduction."

"It's fine! He's fine! Mostly!" he assured you, already waving him over.

Oikawa strutted across the sand, sunglasses on, shirt unbuttoned one button too many. He fit every description Hinata had ever given from his high school days perfectly—radiating that unmistakable 'I'm the protagonist' energy.

"Well helloooo~," he sang in Argentinian-accented Portuguese, "So you're the mysterious friend Chibi-chan kept talking about—"

Hinata smacked him in the arm so fast you barely saw it.

"I DID NOT—!!"

"You did," Oikawa hummed innocently, eyes sparkling.

Hinata blushed hard enough to turn into a huge, pouting tomato, and you could only hide a laugh behind your hand because it was too cute—dangerously so—and if you hadn't rein yourself in, you might've actually done something reckless. Like kiss him. Right there. In front of everyone.

And yet, beneath the laughter, something shifted.

Meeting Oikawa—this living, breathing fragment of Hinata's past—made the future feel closer. Sharper.

More real.

Hinata's departure was a silent, ticking clock that the two of you pretended you couldn't hear. But you knew it. He'd go back to Japan when his two-year training ended. You'd always known. Even when you let yourself believe—just a little—that this could last forever. That he would always be beside you. That you could keep bathing in his warmth, in his laughter, in the steady comfort of his presence.

That he would always be your sun.

And for the first time, the thought of losing that light hurt.

But you swallowed the feeling. Watched the duo lose against the infamous 'Buy-me-a-beer' brothers, watched Hinata's fiery eyes sparkle even in defeat—already lit with the promise of next time. Watched him laugh it off, already thinking ahead, already chasing something brighter.

Watched them train the next day.

And then the rematch.

Electric.

Hinata in full competitive mode—eyes sharp, movements precise, all instinct and fire. Oikawa barking orders like a true Great King, voice cutting clean through the air, while the brothers yelled absolute nonsense every time they scored, laughing like chaos itself.

You cheered your lungs out for him, hands cupped around your mouth, screaming "VAI, SHOYOU!!" until he nearly tripped from laughing mid-sprint.

They won in the end—because of course they did—and Hinata sprinted to you immediately afterward, high on adrenaline and sunlight, practically throwing himself into your arms.

"You saw that?! We won!"

You screamed and laughed as he lifted you from the floor and spun you around.

"You were incredible, Shōyō!"

He set you down and pulled away from you only briefly, with his arms still around you, and that spark in his eyes you loved so, so much.

"They say they're gonna buy us dinner! Wanna come?"

And just like that, the countdown in your chest ticked louder. The joy stayed. But it hurt now.

You smiled, small and crooked, and avoided his eyes. This was his moment—shared with an old rival, a piece of his past—and it felt wrong to anchor him to you. To pretend you weren't already starting to loosen your grip.

You were trying to teach yourself how to step back. Because you knew that only that way, his departure wouldn't kill you.

"That sounds amazing, but..." you murmured. "I think I'll pass. I have to study..."

He seemed a little sad at that, but he recovered quickly—because he always did—giving you a thumbs-up and one of those beautiful, earnest smiles that had undone you from the start.

"Okay! Gambatte!"

You nodded. Said goodbye.

And cried the entire walk back to your apartment.

Every week, the sands of Rio felt warmer, the sunsets sweeter, the nights longer—but the calendar kept thinning anyway. And even though Hinata always answered your questions with bright smiles and big energy, he never brought up Japan unless absolutely necessary.

And you didn't bring it up at all.

You kept hanging out like always: late-night anime marathons, naps tangled together, bossa nova at the beach to help him learn Portuguese, volleyball in the sun. You let yourself be happy and tried—really tried—not to think about the fact that the happiness had an expiration date.

Sometimes, though, you caught him watching you.

Not with worry or sadness—Hinata never liked showing either—but with a soft, lingering look, like he was memorizing you. Your smile, your hair, your voice. The way you said his name.

He pretended he wasn't doing it.

You pretended not to notice.

Two cowards in love, dancing around it beautifully.

One evening, after he'd had a first match with Nestor Santana as his partner, the two of you stayed at the beach as the sun dipped toward the water. The sky was turning honey-gold, and the sea breeze had softened into something gentle, almost shy.

Hinata stretched out beside you, head once again finding your lap like gravity had chosen you specifically.

"Portuguese practice?" you teased, pulling up the playlist you'd curated for him.

He perked up immediately. "Yes!"

As usual, you put on some bossa nova—soft guitar, warm vocals, the kind of music that sounds like sunlight feels. Hinata hummed along, his foot tapping lightly against the sand. The waves rolled in, rhythmic, slow, and for a moment, you forgot the world had anything else in it besides this.

After a few songs, he tilted his head back to look at you, eyes filled with curiosity.

"Ne… you hear this word a lot."

"What word?”

"Saudade."

You smiled softly. "Ah. That one."

He waited—bright, trusting, and eager to learn.

"It's a feeling that's… hard to translate," you began, combing your fingers gently through his hair. "It's like natsukashii, but… sadder. Emptier. It's missing something or someone so much that the feeling itself becomes kind of… beautiful."

Hinata's eyes softened, lashes fluttering as he processed it.

"Beautiful sadness…" he whispered.

"Yeah."

He was quiet for a moment, listening as the next song mentioned the word again and again.

Then he laughed, a small, embarrassed puff of air.

"I think… I think I'll feel saudade of you when I go back to Japan."

Your heart clenched so suddenly you almost dropped your phone.

Hinata didn't notice—or pretended not to—because he looked away toward the sea, face glowing pink from the sunset, or maybe from the honesty he hadn't meant to let slip.

You swallowed.

"Shōyō…"

"I mean—" he rushed in, waving his hands a little, "—just, you know—Because you're the first person who made me feel at home here. And you teach me so much. And you're always with me and you laugh with me and—"

He stopped. Shoulders tight, voice small.

"…and I like being here with you... So much."

The waves kept crashing. The sky kept glowing.

And your fingers kept moving through his hair like you weren't fighting a small war inside yourself.

You leaned down just a little.

"I'll feel saudade of you too," you whispered.

And Hinata's breath hitched. Then he closed his eyes and relaxed fully, sinking into your lap with a small, somewhat sad smile that made your chest ache in places you didn't know existed, looking down at him and playing with his hair of fire.

And as the sun disappeared behind the waves, turning the sky into a deep coral pink...

your suffering had officially begun.

You shouldn't have cried at Nestor's wedding.

But you absolutely did.

It was impossible not to—everything was too beautiful. Fairy lights strung between palm trees. A warm breeze carrying the smell of tropical flowers. Music so soft and happy it seemed to float between guests.

Nestor and Nice looked stupidly, beautifully in love—hands trembling as they held each other, vows spoken with voices that cracked halfway through.

Hinata sniffled so loudly during the ceremony that the couple snorted in the middle of their vows. You squeezed his hand. He squeezed yours back.

You watched the couple kiss, watched everyone cheer and clap, watched love spill everywhere just like the champagne in their glasses—loud, open, and unapologetic.

And something traitorous bloomed in your chest.

A little bit of sorrowful envy.

Hinata found you at the edge of the venue a little later, as everyone danced barefoot on the grass, the kind of dancing that's more swaying than anything, warm bodies pressed together, everything blurry and golden. You were sitting alone beneath a string of lights, blinking rapidly to keep your emotions from spilling over.

He crouched in front of you, worry softening his features.

"Hey. Are you okay?"

You nodded—planting a smile on your lips a little too quickly. He didn't believe you for a second.

Without hesitation, he sat beside you, legs brushing yours, shoulder touching your shoulder. Always touching. Always warm.

The music drifted from the dance floor—a rendition of 'Besame Mucho' by João Gilberto that made it feel like it was laughing cruelly at you.

You looked at him. At his bright eyes, his sun-kissed skin, at the smile that held a sadness nehind it he tried to hide because he knew you were sad, too.

"Shōyō…" you started, but stopped yourself.

I love you.

It was right there—on the tip of your tongue, trembling, begging to be said.

But you swallowed it.

Because how could you do that to him now?

Hinata Shōyō, your sun—who came here for a dream, who worked every day with fire in his chest, who was leaving soon because he had to, because he was chasing his place in the sky.

You couldn't be the gravity that held him back, no matter how much you wanted to keep him close.

So, with tears pricking your eyes, you whispered with a smile instead:

"...I'm going to feel so much saudade of you when you leave."

His breath hitched. You watched as his eyes searched for something in yours, and you feared for your secret. But whether he found what he was looking for or not, you couldn't tell.

He pulled you into him—not the usual eager hug, but something deeper, tighter. Arms wrapped around you fully. Chin pressing into your shoulder like he was trying to anchor himself to the moment.

"Me too," he murmured, voice trembling just enough for you to notice. "More than you think."

You closed your eyes. Held him back. Pretended it didn't break your heart.

And the day Hinata finally left, something in you left with him.

Not in a dramatic, fall-to-your-knees way—no. It was way quieter than that. Hollow. Like someone had scooped out the warm center of you and forgotten to put it back. Like the days had no sun and no moon. Only cold.

You kept moving, because life didn't stop for a heartbreak you weren't even allowed to admit. You still went to class, still met your friends at the bar every Thursday; still listened to guitar chords drifting over the sand; still watched volleyball games spark and dissolve in the glow of late afternoons.

But the world felt… muted.

You laughed a second too late. Smiled a little too small. Stared at the sea a little too long as if calculating swimming distances your body wouldn't ever survive.

Your group noticed. Of course they noticed—they weren't blind, and you weren't exactly subtle.

Nina cornered you one night, on a Christmas party you'd forced yourself to go to because you thought it might help you. Instead, you just sat outside the venue, a bourbon instead of a caipirinha. No chaser. The melted ice in the glass had numbed your fingers minutes ago, but you didn't care.

She watched you for a second, leaning her elbows on the railing of the balcony, overlooking the water. The waves rolled in and out, slow, lazy, and uncaring. You felt like shouting at them for not noticing your world had ended.

"C'mon," she said gently. "O que houve contigo? What's with you lately?"

You didn't look at her.

Couldn't.

Instead, your eyes followed the dark line of the horizon, where the water melted into the sky—the direction you'd been unconsciously staring at every day now. Wondering whether the ocean was thinner somewhere out there. Whether it was as cold as Shoyou had told you once.

Your throat tightened.

And before you could stop yourself, you whispered:

"É que… eu… sinto tanta falta do sol, Nina." [It's just that... I... miss the sun so much, Nina.]

It wasn't about the weather. It was summer, after all.

Her face softened instantly, and she wrapped both arms around you from the side, pulling you close in a wordless, protective hold.

"Oh, amiga…" she murmured, pressing her cheek to your temple.

You let yourself fold into her for just a moment. Just long enough to stop shaking.

Because what you'd meant was:

I miss him. I miss him so much I don't know what to do with myself. I don't know how to be me without him here.

And you hated yourself a little for feeling so deeply when the entire time you'd been 'just friends', so broken when on occasions you'd denied it yourself, so betrayed, when you'd been the one who stopped your own words when you were about to confess.

But grief doesn't care about labels, does it? It doesn't care about deadlines, or longing confirmation, or cowardly loves that never get to be and stay in stories you'll tell friends once the wounds heal and in soft bossa nova songs you cry yourself to sleep to while they haven't.

You closed your eyes, breathing in the familiar salt of the sea. The night breeze lifted your hair, warm in that uniquely Brazilian way that always felt like a gentle embrace. You wished for the hundredth time that Hinata had stayed to watch the sunset with you just one more time. Just one more golden hour with him laughing beside you. Just one more evening where you could pretend he'd never leave.

Little did you know, all the way back in Sendai, in a room still half-filled with unpacked suitcases, Hinata Shōyō curled forward on his mattress, phone clutched to his chest like it could anchor him to the life he'd left behind.

Bossa nova trickled softly from the tiny Bluetooth speaker on his nightstand. The same songs you'd played for him on the beach, watching the sun hide behind the waves, explaining what saudade meant while he rested his head on your thighs.

He understood it now. He understood it too well.

His chest tightened, and his eyes stung, then overflowed—sudden, embarrassing, and impossible to stop. He swiped at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, but the tears kept coming, dropping onto the album cover glowing on his phone screen.

Outside, the snow poured steadily, softening the world into pale silence. The quiet Sendai landscape felt suddenly so small compared to the vastness of the sea he'd fallen in love with—that sea that smelled like salt and sun-warmed skin and the laughter of strangers who welcomed him like family.

He missed Brazil.

He missed the freedom in the air, the warmth of its people, the open affection he'd never experienced so deeply before.

But mostly…

God, he missed you.

He curled in tighter, shaking a little and letting the quiet guitar and soft Portuguese vocals wash over him.

If anyone asked, he'd say it was just jet lag.

Not heartbreak. Not loneliness. Not the ache of missing you so much it hurt to breathe.

Because the truth was cruel and simple:

Japan had his dream. Brazil had you.

And he didn't know how to live in a world that kept both so far apart.

"Nii-san! Christmas dinner is ready!"

Natsu's voice rang from the living room, pulling him back. He swallowed hard, wiped his face again, and prayed he could sit at that table and tell his family all the stories they were waiting to hear about Brazil—without breaking down in tears and admitting in front of all of them just how badly he wished he'd brought you with him.

But life kept happening, the show must go on.

Time didn't heal everything, but it softened the edges. Slowly, too slowly. Clumsily. Like both of you were learning how to walk with a bruise you kept bumping into.

Hinata threw himself into volleyball the way he always had—with every atom of energy his body could muster. Morning runs in the cold, solo drills before sunrise, practices that left his legs trembling. Scrimmages where he pushed himself until his lungs felt like fire.

Tryouts began. Then callbacks. Then more training.

His body grew steadier, sharper, stronger…but the ache in his chest stayed the same.

And every night, when he finally collapsed onto his bed, Brazil crept back in—and he would always dream of that same sand under his toes, the warm press of your thigh under his cheek, and the sound of bossa nova floating through the breeze.

Sometimes he'd open your chat.

Not to send anything. Just to look.

Your last conversation full of cheerful emojis and polite support, both of you pretending not to read between the lines.

Every now and then he'd send you a picture—a snowy street, some silly food he tried, a selfie where he looked unbearably homesick but smiled anyway.

You always replied. Not instantly, maybe not in paragraphs. But always there.

And that was enough for him to breathe again. Sometimes.

Your days went back to being what they'd always been—classes, studying, part-time work, your language group… the things you used to love without thinking.

But now everything carried the faint aftertaste of him.

A stray volleyball on the beach made your heartbeat stutter and then hurt, someone laughing brightly made you look twice. Bossa nova felt like someone had unfolded those origami shapes in your ribs into sheet music.

You finished your study program. Your friends celebrated you. You smiled and danced.

But every night, when your painted and decorated apartment went quiet, you'd open Hinata's messages and read them again.

And again.

And again.

You sent him pictures too—sunsets, your group's goofy outings, Nina hugging the general while he pretended not to blush.

Short messages, kind, warm.

Careful.

Always careful.

Neither of you mentioned the beach. Or heartbreak. Or how much it hurt when you accidentally said saudade in front of someone else and had to swallow tears.

But you sent him a voice note once—just you laughing at something your group did—and Hinata listened to it seven times, smiling so hard his cheeks cramped.

So you both kept going.

Life kept happening, the show must go on.

But your routines had a new, quiet rhythm.

Shōyō☼: Good luck on your exam tomorrow! : Ganbatte on your tryouts! You're going to crush them. Shōyō☼: Look at this curry I made! It's kind of ugly www. : Looks delicious???? Don't disrespect the curry like that. : Nina and the general won a trivia contest today. Shōyō☼: Ehhhh so cool!! I wanna see you guys again. : Saudades. Shōyō☼: (typing… deleting… typing again…) Me too.

Hours. Days. Sometimes weeks between messages. But the connection never faded.

It was quiet and gentle, as it always had been. Like a low tide that never fully receded.

One quiet Wednesday night, you were on your bed, half-studying, half-asleep, half-bored, when your phone buzzed.

Shōyō☼: Today was kinda rough.

You paused.

He rarely said things like that. Not without stuffing them between emojis and sunshine.

: You okay?

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Then came back.

Shōyō☼: Yeah just… tired. I miss Brazil a lot today.

Your chest tightened softly.

: Brazil misses you too. Some days will be heavier.

A minute passed.

Then:

Shōyō☼: Is it weird that I miss talking to you the most? Even when we text all the time it feels like… I dunno… not the same.

Your breath stilled.

It wasn't a confession. But it was definitely close enough to hurt a little.

You stared at the screen, heart thumping painfully with that familiar mix of joy and sorrow curling in your stomach.

And then typed carefully, fingers trembling:

: Not weird at all, Shōyō. I miss you too.

He didn't answer right away, and it made you wonder if you said too much. But then your phone buzzed again.

Shōyō☼: Oh!! Also!! I have my official debut next week!! Like… my actual first pro match! MSBY Jackals vs Schweiden Adlers! I'll finally show Kageyama what I can do.

You smiled—a real one, warm and involuntary.

Shōyō☼: I wish… I wish you could see it. It'd calm me down a lot if you were in the crowd. I don't get stomach aches before matches anymore tho, don't worry.

Your eyes softened, drifting instinctively to the corner of your room, where an already-packed suitcase sat.

Your flight was in three days.

And the tickets to the match were bought weeks ago—courtesy of Oikawa Tōru, who had somehow gotten your number and sent them with a cryptic:

"He'll want you there. And you'll want to be there. Don't be late. And don't spoil the surprise~ (๑>؂•̀๑)"

Your fingers hovered above the keyboard.

You almost told him. Almost typed: I'm coming, you dummy. I wouldn't miss your debut for anything. I miss you too much to stay away.

But you swallowed the confession.

Instead, you wrote:

: You'll do amazing. I'll be cheering for you, don't worry.

He responded immediately.

Shōyō☼: Haha sorry for being clingy! Just thinking a lot today. But thank you… hearing from you always helps.

You held the phone to your chest with a fluttering heart. He didn't have to thank you. In three days, you'd be close enough to touch him again. Close enough to feel the warmth of him, to hear his laugh in person, to see that first brilliant spike with your own eyes again.

And maybe… maybe this time you wouldn't look away when the feelings got too big.

Maybe neither would he.

You hadn't been that nervous since finals week—maybe ever.

Your hands were sweating, your heart was dancing frenetically, and the stadium lights felt too bright—like they knew you were hiding a secret under your jacket:

You were here for him.

For Hinata Shōyō.

Your sun. Your saudade in human form.

The arena buzzed around you as you waved through the crowd to your seat, warm and alive, filled with gold, black, and white. Flags waved, fans shouted chants you didn't know, and your seat vibrated faintly from the bass of the speakers. You sat down, curling your fingers around the strap of your bag like it could anchor you to something, anything. You inhaled slowly—

—and then froze when you heard a familiar name.

"You think Hinata is at the toilet right now?" a small blonde girl whispered, hiding a small laugh behind her hand.

"He said he didn't get stomach aches anymore..." the freckled boy beside her murmured.

"You think that's even true?" came another, unamused voice from behind them.

You turned your head just an inch.

And recognized them instantly—not from real life, but from Hinata's wallpaper.

Yachi Hitoka—tiny, blonde, and vibrating with anxiety. Yamaguchi Tadashi—kind-faced, freckled, and clutching a Jackals towel a little too tightly. Tsukishima Kei—tall, blond, and unimpressed by the entire world.

They were talking about him.

Their Hinata. Your Shōyō.

A strange dizziness hit you, and you laughed to yourself. The universe had a sense of humor, and tonight it was being loud. Out of the entire stadium… You were seated next to the people who shaped him, who loved him, who knew him in ways you only saw glimpses of.

You were trying very hard not to stare when Yachi bent down too quickly, panickedly searching for something in her bag, and elbowed you right in the arm.

"AH—! I'M SO SORRY!" she squeaked in English, bowing so fast she nearly headbutted you next.

You quickly shook your hands. "No, no, I'm okay! Don't worry!"

She sagged in relief—mostly because you were chill about it, partly because you answered in Japanese.

"…Thank goodness. I would've died if I bruised a stranger before the game even started…"

You smiled, soft and warm.

"Are you... Hitoka by any chance?"

She blinked. "…Y-yes? Do we know each other?"

"Oh! No, I just recognized you from some photos. I'm a friend of Shōyō's. From Brazil"

And all three of them went completely still.

Yachi's mouth fell open. "Are you... Are you Y/N?"

When you nodded, their shock only grew. Yamaguchi's eyes widened comically. Tsukishima choked on absolutely nothing.

You stared at them, suddenly a little confused.

"…Um. All good?"

They exchanged looks—silent, intense, chaotic telepathy happening in real time. Then Yamaguchi, bless his sweet heart, blurted:

"Hinata talks so much about you."

Yachi nodded violently.

"Like—so much. You're gorgeous by the way!"

Tsukishima groaned, burying half his face in his scarf. "Oh my god, he actually didn't make you up.”

"I—he… talks about me?"

"Constantly," Yachi said, small fists clenched to her chest. "He won't shut up about you—uh—sorry, that sounded rude—! He's just—happy? Like really, really happy when he talks about you."

Yamaguchi tilted his head, careful, but so curious he couldn't afford to not ask right now, with you right in front of him.

"Are you two…?"

"Oh—no, no," you said quickly, waving your hands, heart hammering. "We're just friends."

They all shared a look, and it suddenly felt nostalgic, seeing that look again. That loud, judgmental, liar look you got used to back when Hinata was in Brazil.

Your heart stuttered so hard at that you almost missed the lights dimming. You cleared your throat, staring back down at the court as the Jackals jogged out for warm-ups.

And then—There he was.

Same bright hair. Same brilliant energy. Same smile that hit you like summer.

He looked… different. No—he looked the same. But also so, so different.

The boy you met in Brazil had been bright—all potential, all warmth, all eagerness. The man warming up on the court now was that same brightness distilled into purpose. Focused. Sharper. Radiant.

His body moved like it knew exactly what it was made for. His smile lit the entire stadium.

And your heart… oh, your heart hurt. It swelled. It cracked. It overflowed.

Because he looked so happy. Because he looked like the dream you used to fall asleep next to on the sand. Because distance hadn't dimmed any feeling you thought it had—not about him, not for you.

Your chest tightened at the sight of him jumping, running, laughing with his teammates like your world hadn't tilted the day he left.

Tsukishima noticed. Because of course he did. And seeing those eyes, the way they shone, following Hinata's every move, made him smirk faintly and mutter:

"…Sure. Just friends."

Yamaguchi elbowed him. He smirked harder.

The match finally started, and every jump made your pulse spike. Every receive made you exhale in relief. Every spike made your whole body react—muscles tightening, breath hitching, the kind of involuntary joy that comes from watching someone you love do what they were born to do.

And you reacted exactly like someone who knew just how many dawns he trained through. Someone who witnessed the first steps toward this very court.

He was brilliant, beautiful. And you were so proud you thought you might cry.

Hinata spiked—and scored—and you nearly jumped to your feet.

Yamaguchi grinned. "He improved that angle."

"He improved everything," Yachi agreed, eyes shiny.

Tsukishima glanced your way again, noticing how emotional you looked.

"He's been different since he came back from Brazil," he said casually.

You swallowed.

"Yeah," you whispered. "He's worked really hard."

Tsukki hummed—a knowing, almost annoying hum—and looked back at the court.

The match ended in roars and applause. Your ears rang, your cheeks were wet, and you didn't even remember when you started crying.

Yachi tapped your shoulder gently.

"Um... Y/N-san?"

You wiped your eyes quickly, hoping you didn't look as wrecked as you felt, and smiled at her.

"Y-yes?"

"We're all celebrating Hinata's debut later... Would you like to come?"

"It's a Christmas party!" Yamaguchi added.

Your answer was instant.

"Absolutely. I'd love to. Thank you, Hitoka-san."

The night air outside the restaurant was cold in that late-December Japan way—sharp enough to sting your lungs when you breathed too deep, clean enough that the city felt awake and hushed all at once. Your breath fogged faintly in front of you. Strings of Christmas lights spilled warm gold across the sidewalk, reflected in the thin sheen of melted snow and afternoon rain that still clung to the pavement.

The street smelled like fried food and sugar—karaage and something sweet and seasonal you couldn't quite place. Somewhere down the block, a busker strummed a slow, melancholy tune, the notes wobbling gently through a portable amp, half-swallowed by traffic and winter coats.

You'd been standing there for ten whole minutes. Maybe fifteen. Maybe an hour. Time lost all its meaning when your heartbeat was trying to escape through your ribs.

Yachi had stayed with you, sweet and chatty, filling the waiting silence with little stories about the first time she'd met Hinata—how he'd given her courage she didn't know she had, how he made people feel braver just by being there. She talked about university, about design projects, about life moving forward.

You nodded. Smiled. Tried to listen.

You felt a little guilty, because your nerves wouldn't let you be fully present. Your attention kept slipping back to your phone, to the familiar name lighting up your lockscreen again and again—messages stacked like tiny, impatient bricks:

Shōyō☼: Did you watch the stream?? God, I'm so tired www DID YOU SEE THAT LAST POINT THO??? ARE YOU AWAKE?? HELLOOOOOO

You didn't respond. Not because you didn't want to—but because you didn't trust yourself not to type out the truth the moment your fingers touched the screen.

I'm here. I'm already here. Where are you?

The surprise felt worth the guilt—right up until now, when your brain started whispering doubts in the spaces between breaths.

What if he's too tired? What if this is weird? What if he's moved on?

Your stomach twisted so tightly it felt like your ribs were holding their breath. You pressed a hand to your sternum, fingers curling into your coat, and inhaled slowly—repeating the small prayer you'd picked up in Brazil without ever meaning to.

Calma… calma…

Headlights swept over the sidewalk. A van rolled to the curb. Laughter spilling before the doors even slid open—voices overlapping in post-match chaos.

"Ah! It's them!" Yachi chirped, and the sound sent your pulse into overdrive.

Bokuto jumped out first, already mid-sentence, hooking one arm around Hinata's neck even before his feet hit the ground.

"YOU WERE AMAZING OUT THERE!" he boomed, messing with his hair and shaking him like a bobblehead.

"Bo—Kuto—san—stop—" Hinata wheezed, laughing that loud, sun-crackling laugh you had replayed in your head a thousand times with his hands fumbling uselessly as he tried to pry Bokuto off.

He looked a little tired, a little sweaty, hair mussed from all the movement—but he was glowing in that particular way only Hinata managed: like he'd swallowed the sun and it leaked out in his grin.

You drank him in the way parched people drink water. You drank the sight of him in like someone who's been wandering in total darkness, and finally got a sight of the sun again.

Your sun.

Then he turned.

His eyes swept over the small cluster of smokers huddled outside, the street slick with melted snow, the warm glow of the restaurant window—and then they landed on you.

And everything stopped in that special, unmistakable way it always did between the two of you.

The team's chatter cut off mid-laugh. Cars faded into silence. Even the distant guitar down the block seemed to lose its melody. His smile collapsed like a dropped curtain, and his whole body went still—jaw slack, shoulders folding inward, as if the cold had suddenly reached straight through his chest and knocked the air out of him.

For one terrifying second, he looked almost… lost.

Atsumu, halfway behind him, followed his frozen gaze and let out the most obnoxiously delighted, "Ohoooo?"

Kiyoomi paused mid-step, one eyebrow lifting slowly. Bokuto’s hand slipped from Hinata's head, forgotten.

Meian frowned faintly.

"What's up? What are we staring at?" he muttered, craning his neck. Because Hinata was looking at you the way people look at miracles, and that in itself—his shiny eyes, his rising chest as he held in his breath—was a sight for sore eyes.

"…Hi," you managed, the word barely more than fog in the cold air.

But something in the sound of your voice broke whatever fragile spell had frozen him. Tears pooled in his eyes so fast that a surprised gasp escaped you.

"Shōyō—"

But you barely managed to let a sound out, barely managed to open your arms before he was crashing into you.

Not violently, but utterly.

You stumbled back a half-step from the sheer force of it and let out a tiny, startled laugh as his arms locked around your waist with a force that was half joy, half desperation. His face buried into your neck, and you felt the dampness of his eyes against your skin.

His hair tickled your ear. His heartbeat felt like a hummingbird trapped against your chest.

You didn't realize you'd started to cry, too, until you felt his fingers fist the back of your shirt after a first sob broke through you.

He held you like he'd been drowning. Like he'd forgotten how to breathe without you. And when he finally spoke, it was a whisper—ragged and trembling against your neck, in that accent you'd missed so much it hurt to even remember, but was now right here.

"Senti... tanta saudade de você…" [I missed you so much.]

The breath on your skin sent a chill down your spine. His scent—sweat from the match, a hint of citrus shampoo, and something unmistakably him—fled your senses until everything hurt in the sweetest way.

Your voice broke as your hands curled up his back, pulling him impossibly closer.

"Eu também, Shōyō… tanta, tanta saudade."

He exhaled like he'd been waiting years. Centuries to hear that.

Behind you two, the team was very much staring.

Atsumu's grin stretched wide, sharp and triumphant. "Is that the Brazil girlfriend?" he called, eyes wicked.

"I KNEW THEY WERE REAL!" Bokuto crowed, beaming.

Meian sighed, long-suffering but smiling despite himself, and planted a hand on each of their heads, making them yelp.

"He said she was not his girlfriend," he hissed under his breath.

"But he said—"

"Well, well," Meian cut in, already steering them toward the restaurant, "let's celebrate inside. Give them some space."

The two rascals protested loudly as he ushered them away, murmuring a few indulgent 'there, there's like he was corralling overexcited children.

But they didn't matter.

Not the neon, not the chatter, not the city that had folded itself around you, humming and alive and indifferent. For a few suspended seconds, there was only the two of you and this impossible, aching, long-awaited moment.

Hinata pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands still warm against your cheeks, palms cradling your face as if afraid you might vanish if he blinked too hard.

You were certain he was going to kiss you.

Everyone was.

Even Meian paused at the door, eyebrows lifting as he took in the scene, before Sakusa nudged him sharply in the side with a dry, unimpressed, "Get on with it."

Meian only shrugged, a knowing smirk tugging at his mouth, and finally turned away.

Hinata's eyes were glossy with tears as they traced your face slowly, memorizing freckles, the curve of your lashes, the familiar shape of your mouth. As if he were committing you to memory all over again. As if he were afraid this was a dream he might wake up from.

His voice trembled when he spoke again.

"I thought—I didn't— You didn't answer— I thought maybe—" He swallowed, breath shaky. "You're really here. What are you doing here?"

You blinked hard, chasing away the sting in your eyes, forcing a smile that felt a little fragile around the edges.

"I came to see your match, dummy!" you said, letting out a small laugh to steady yourself. "Aaand to apply for a work or study visa. Something like that."

His expression shifted in a blink—concern, then hope.

"Where are you staying?"

"At a hotel. I'm looking for somewhere to rent while I get all the paperwork ready—"

"Come live with me."

The words landed between you like a dropped glass. You froze.

"Eh?"

"I have space, stay with me—" His words tumbled out, urgent and sudden.

"Shōyō—I—"

It was too much, too sudden.

You hadn't seen him in so long, and in the span of minutes he had cried into your neck, held you like he was afraid to let go, and now he was asking you to live with him?

With what intentions exactly? He couldn't have possibly been thinking straight.

And you knew. You knew if you moved in with him now, the careful boundaries you'd drawn would evaporate, and every feeling you'd repressed during his stay in Brazil would bloom open again and probably swallow you whole.

Your mind was a thousand tiny images at once: moving boxes, nights you had spent cuddling with him in Brazil, another "we're just friends" that would tear you apart, the terrifying thought of confessing and losing him, and above them all—the wild, shimmering possibility of waking up next to him every morning.

You couldn't survive the heartache, the uncertainty; you couldn't let him play with your heart again without meaning to.

But god save you—

His eyes, his face in that moment—begging for an answer, begging for a yes.

They made it very hard to not give in.

Yachi, who had witnessed the entire moment with the wide-eyed devotion of a rom-com extra, finally stepped in—like a saving beam of awkward, earnest sunlight.

"Hi-Hinata! Um—maybe you two can talk about this later?" she said, hands fidgeting nervously in front of her coat. "People are waiting for you inside. We'll celebrate first, then—after—talk?"

Her voice carried the careful gentleness of someone trying very hard not to intrude.

Hinata blinked, as if the world snapped back into focus. His shoulders relaxed, eyes softening.

"Right. Sorry."

You offered Yachi a small, grateful smile—one edged with something fragile—and she returned it with a knowing nod that felt like a promise: "I've got you."

You needed to think. Think about it well.

So you swallowed the moment whole, tucked it somewhere deep in your chest like a secret you weren't ready to open yet, and followed Hinata inside. The noise was welcoming and terrible and perfect all at once.

Inside, the restaurant buzzed like a living thing.

Paper lanterns glowed softly overhead, their golden light spilling across polished wooden tables already crowded with food and laughter. Someone had strung up subtle Christmas decorations—pine sprigs, red ribbon, tiny bells that chimed whenever the door opened. Outside it was winter, sharp and cold, but in here, everything steamed and hummed and lived-in.

Plates arrived in waves—grilled meat, steaming rice, shared bowls that vanished as quickly as they appeared. Hungry athletes and proud families clinking glasses. Toast after toast rose into the air, voices loud and a little tipsy as they praised Hinata again and again.

Your head spun a little. In a good way, though. Not from the alcohol—you'd barely had any—but from sheer fullness of it. And from the amount of Japanese your brain was computing and interpreting in your head.

Hinata was everywhere, and he brought you everywhere with him. Laughing, bowing awkwardly at congratulations, waving his hands too much when people praised him, cheeks warm with beer and excitement. He looked lighter than ever, like something in him had finally clicked into place.

If he was disappointed about you sidestepping the conversation earlier, he didn't show it. Not even a crack. No hesitation, no shadow behind his smile. And that eased the tight coil of anxiety in your chest just a little.

For tonight, at least, he was simply happy.

Because of course he was enjoying himself. Hinata Shōyō didn't know how not to.

He introduced you proudly to everyone, hand resting at the small of your back whenever he pulled you into conversations, touch familiar and grounding.

"This is Y/n! From Brazil."

From Brazil. Not my friend. Not the girl I like.

Just enough distance to be safe. Just enough closeness to make your chest ache.

Everyone reacted the same way—eyes widening in recognition, faces lighting up like they'd finally put a voice to a name.

"Ah! From Brazil!" "So you're real." "You're gorgeous!" "How long are you staying?" "He talked so much about you!"

Every time, Hinata laughed and rubbed the back of his neck, ears turning red in a way that felt painfully familiar. You smiled through it—warm, a little dizzy—your heart caught somewhere between pride and a quiet, loving panic.

Dinner went on. Plates emptied. Drinks refilled. Bokuto grew louder. Atsumu grew smugger.

Bokuto started recounting Hinata's every point in the match with wild arm movements. He knocked over a glass, then deflated instantly when the man beside him—his friend with glasses—scolded him under his breath. Then Bokuto leaned in, his friend whispered something in his ear, and then he lit up all over again, cheeks pink, grin soft and unguarded.

You filed that away absently.

Akaashi, you learned, worked as an editor for a shōnen manga magazine. He was soft spoken, but there was a steadiness to his voice that carried easily across the table.

"Hinata mentioned you know many languages."

You smiled, shaking your head. "He's being too nice. I just love learning any language I can get my hands on."

"Have you ever done translation work?" Akaashi asked. "We're currently looking for a localization specialist at my company."

You blinked, caught off guard, then shook your head again.

"I haven't. And I can't really work on a tourist visa, can I?"

Akaashi hummed thoughtfully, nodding as if turning over a puzzle piece.

"That can be arranged."

You laughed softly, unsure if he was joking. "Would you… would you really do that for me? A complete stranger?"

"Only if you plan on staying for a while," he said easily.

He threw a fond look at Hinata, who was chatting with Bokuto next to you.

"And we really hope you do."

Heat rushed to your cheeks. You looked down for a moment, then back up, offering a genuine smile—careful to avoid the knowing glint in Akaashi's eyes.

"Thank you, Akaashi-san."

"There's no need," he replied. "Call me when you've made up your mind. I'll hold the position until then."

His words settled over you quietly as you exchanged contact information.

Everyone seemed to expect you to stay in Japan. Everyone seemed to want you to. You liked that.

Somewhere in the middle of conversation, in the middle of celebration and happiness, and without any ceremony at all, Hinata’s hand found yours beneath the table.

You startled a little. Not enough for anyone to notice—but enough that your breath hitched, sharp yet quiet.

His fingers slid between yours easily, like they'd done this a thousand times before, like it was muscle memory—the most natural thing in the world.

At least in Brazil, it was.

There, touch had been light. Casual. Sun-warmed and easy. It never felt like a statement—just affection, just comfort. Just friends who were a little too close, in a place where closeness came easily.

But here?

Here it felt denser. Heavier. Like this small, hidden contact carried weight. Like every inch of closeness was… deliberate, on his part.

You suddenly became acutely aware of everything all at once: the people around the table, the way his thumb pressed gently against the side of your index finger and traced the skin there, slow and absent-minded. The way his knee bumped yours—and stayed. The fact that no one else could see it, and yet it felt like the loudest thing in the room.

Hinata didn't look at you right away. He kept listening to Bokuto talk, nodding along, smiling politely at the right moments. But his grip tightened just slightly—grounding. Reassuring.

Then, finally, he glanced down at you—just for a second—and his eyes softened instantly.

Not the bright, explosive joy he showed the rest of the table, but something quieter. Something private. Like the world had dimmed around you both. The kind of look that said 'I'm glad you're here' without using words.

The kind of look that said something else entirely, too.

Something you couldn't quite name. Or maybe didn't want to—because naming it would mean hoping, and hoping meant risking disappointment.

Your stomach flipped, and for the first time since you'd met him, you looked away first, suddenly fascinated by your drink.

He squeezed your hand once more, gently, and didn't let go.

You swore you heard him laugh softly.

"Too cute," he murmured against the side of his other hand.

You knocked your knee against his in flustered protest and tried to slip your hand free.

But he didn't let you.

The night rolled on like that—celebratory, loud, and impossibly warm.

And through it all, Hinata stayed exactly where he was supposed to be: laughing, shining, alive. But every now and then, beneath the table, his fingers would tighten around yours.

As if reminding himself. As if reminding you.

Of what, you didn't know.

And you had the strangest, most unsettling thought:

This feels different. This feels important.

The celebration dissolved slowly, like sugar at the bottom of a glass.

People filtered out in small, noisy groups—laughing too loud, swaying just a little. Bokuto declared he was not drunk (he absolutely was). Atsumu tried to start a chant that Meian shut down immediately, with the van keys already in hand and Dad Mode fully activated.

"Everyone who's riding with me—now," he ordered.

Groans followed, but compliance followed faster.

Hinata walked you outside with the others, the night air cooler now, clinging to your skin after the warmth of the restaurant. Neon still glowed above the street, softer somehow, like the city was winding down with you.

You lingered near the curb as goodbyes unfolded around you.

Yachi—cheeks flushed, balance a little questionable—hugged you tight and exchanged contact info with you, whispering something sweet and earnest you promised yourself you'd remember. Yamaguchi waved with a wide, drunken grin, slurring his farewells. Tsukishima, sober as ever, gave you a brief look that felt suspiciously like approval before turning away and getting into the car with the other two.

One by one, engines started. Doors shut. Laughter faded.

And then it was just you and Hinata.

The street felt quieter without everyone else—colder, too. He rocked slightly on his heels, with his hands buried deep in his pockets and suddenly shy in a way that made your chest ache with recognition.

"Ah—um," he started, then stopped. Cleared his throat. "So… where are you staying again?"

"At a hotel," you said, smiling. "Still."

He nodded, eyes flicking away, then back to you. There it was again—that look. Like he was standing at the edge of something and deciding whether to step forward.

"Do you—" He inhaled. "Do you wanna… come over?"

You thought of your suitcase, abandoned and lonely in a generic hotel room. Of the way he'd introduced you to everyone he loved, of how his hand had fit so easily in yours under the table. Of how heavy that touch had felt here, in Japan, like it meant something.

Before your courage could falter, you tilted your head and let a teasing smile curl your lips.

"Wow, Shōyō," you said lightly. "We just saw each other again and you already want me at your place? Japan really turned you into a player, huh?"

The combustion was immediate. Hinata made a noise somewhere between a squeak and a choke.

"EH?! N—NO—THAT'S NOT—!" he rushed, face going nuclear red as his hands flew out of his pockets to cover it. "I didn't mean it like that! I just—I mean—I thought—you're tired—and the hotel is—and my place is close, I—I have space—!"

You laughed softly, stepping closer, saving him from his own spiraling.

"I'm kidding," you said gently. "Relax."

He froze. Because you were close now. Close enough to see the faint shadows under his eyes. Close enough to smell that familiar mix of soap and something warm and human.

He swallowed. And then he looked at you. Really looked at you.

And your breath caught—because this time it was even clearer now. Intent. Your teasing smile softened.

This… this was it, wasn't it?

Whatever had been hovering between you for months. Whatever had grown quietly in shared caipirinhas, training at the beach, long talks at the beach. Whatever had survived distance and silence and longing.

Was this it?

Your heart beat loud in your ears.

"…Okay," you said. His eyes widened.

"I'll stay with you," you added, quickly, before fear could steal it from you. "Just tonight."

Hinata blinked, momentarily stunned—even though he'd been the one to ask.

"R-really?" he asked, voice softer than you'd ever heard it.

You nodded.

"Really."

He smiled then, small and breathless.

"Okay," he said. "Okay. Yeah. Just tonight."

Famous last words.

Hinata's apartment was small.

Not cramped—just… compact. Thoughtfully lived-in.

You slipped your shoes off at the door, instinctively lining them up before you even realized you were doing it, and stepped inside. The place smelled faintly of clean laundry and a lot like him. A narrow hallway opened into a combined living space and kitchen, everything neat in that slightly chaotic way that screamed busy person who tries his best.

By the window, perched on a low cabinet, stood a small Christmas tree—barely taller than your thigh. Simple. A little crooked. Decorated with mismatched ornaments: a few red and gold baubles, a string of warm fairy lights, and what looked suspiciously like a tiny volleyball charm hanging from one of the branches. No topper. No presents underneath. Just… there.

It felt very him.

A low table sat by the tv, in front of it, a small couch. Volleyball gear was stacked carefully in one corner—knee pads, shoes, a worn duffel bag with fraying straps you recognized from Brazil—while another corner held a bookshelf that surprised you. Manga spines. Training manuals. A couple of Portuguese textbooks, dog-eared and heavily annotated.

Your heart squeezed.

The kitchen was tidy but clearly underused: a rice cooker, a frying pan hanging from a hook, instant noodle cups stacked on the counter like a guilty secret. On the wall above the sink, taped slightly crooked, was a photo. A group picture—blurry, laughing, and familiar.

Brazil.

The beach. The sun. Nina. The general.

You.

"—I, um," Hinata said behind you, scratching the back of his neck, ears already pink. "It's not much. Sorry."

You turned, smiling softly. "Shōyō, this is cute. It's so you!"

That only made him blush harder.

You glanced toward the sleeping arrangements, and there it was—one futon, neatly folded in the corner.

You raised a brow, slow and deliberate.

"Only one futon?" you asked lightly.

Hinata combusted.

"I—I mean—! I was planning to sleep on the couch! It's fine! I usually do when Bokuto-san crashes here, and—!" He gestured wildly, then froze. "…You're teasing me again, aren't you?"

You laughed, warm and easy, and his shoulders finally dropped.

"Relax," you said.

You both settled on the couch eventually, the city lights spilling in through the window in soft amber stripes. The television played something mindless—variety show chatter fading into background noise as you both talked over it, filling in the blanks of months spent apart.

At some point, without really thinking about it, you shifted.

You sat between his legs with your back resting against his chest, his knees bracketing your hips. It felt natural. Your bodies remembered this shape from Brazil, even if your minds pretended not to.

Hinata inhaled as you settled, slow and deep, and then sighed.

"I missed you," he said quietly, voice warm against your hair.

Your chest ached most sweetly.

"Yeah," you murmured. "I missed you too."

Your phone buzzed. You frowned slightly and lifted it.

Akaashi Keiji: Spoke to my boss. The company can sponsor you for a work visa if you decide to accept. We'd need to start the process soon—let me know when you want to talk details.

You huffed a small laugh, looking at the time on your phone and wondering how and why he'd talk to his boss right after a celebration, and at these hour of the night.

"God. He's efficient."

Hinata peeked over your shoulder, half-reading the message.

"That's Akaashi-san for you. I think he works even when he sleeps."

You smiled, then grew quieter as you locked your phone.

Hinata hesitated for a second, then squeezed you a little harder without noticing.

"…Are you going to say yes?"

You leaned back a little more into him, eyes on the ceiling. "I don't know yet."

He nodded, though you felt the motion more than saw it.

"I have time," you added gently. "Tourist visa's ninety days. I want to think. Properly."

Silence settled—not uncomfortable, but heavy. The kind that pressed against your ribs and waited. Hinata's arms rested loosely at your sides, not holding you, not letting go either. His chin hovered just above your shoulder.

You didn't know it yet—but somewhere in that quiet, with the city breathing outside and your heartbeat syncing with his, Hinata Shōyō was already standing at the edge of a decision he'd been building toward for months.

Your weight against his chest, the steady rise and fall of your breathing, the warmth of your body fitting against his like it had always belonged there—it was almost enough to make him forget how fast his heart was beating. Almost.

"The next time I see her, I'll tell her."

He'd said it so casually in the locker room after practice, sweat-soaked and laughing, Sakusa shoving a bottle of water into his hands. Bokuto had been talking too loud, Atsumu had been annoying as usual, and Hinata—still riding the high of being back, of finally standing on this side of the net—had said it without thinking.

The room had gone dead silent.

Then—

"Ohhhhhh?" "Brazil girl?" "Knew it." "GO SHOYOU! BE BRAVE!"

He hadn't taken it back. He never would.

Brazil had been a slow, beautiful undoing.

He remembered you walking ahead of him on the beach, barefoot, dress fluttering in the wind, turning back just to smile at him—bright and teasing and so warm it made his chest ache. The sun had painted your skin gold, and for a second, he forgot how to breathe.

He'd wanted to reach for you then. To lace his fingers through yours. To pull you close and feel if your heart raced like his did.

It happened again and again.

You laughing, head tipped back. You calling his name across the sand. You brushing sunscreen onto his shoulders like it meant nothing. You curling into his side on the couch, soft and sleepy and there.

Every time, something in him screamed mine—not in ownership, not in entitlement, but in certainty. In recognition.

But he never crossed that line. Because he knew himself.

If he kissed you, he wouldn't stop there. If he held you, he'd want to hold you forever. If he loved you—he would do it loudly. Openly. With his whole chest and no shame.

And he was leaving.

He couldn't ask you to come with him, nor could he ask you to wait for him. He couldn't ask you to stretch yourself across an ocean just to meet him in the middle.

Long-distance wasn't just hard—it was cruel. And if it broke, it wouldn't break quietly. It would tear.

So he'd chosen silence.

He'd told himself it was kinder, that you deserved freedom, that loving you from afar was better than risking hurting you.

Even if it meant suffering anyway.

Now, sitting here in his apartment. In Japan. With you wrapped in his arms and a message glowing on your phone that could change everything—

He couldn't wait anymore.

If you stayed. If you chose Japan?

Then he wanted you. All of you. Not in pieces. Not in almosts.

He couldn't stand the thought of you belonging to a future that didn't include him. Couldn't imagine holding anyone else the way he held you now.

There was no one else in his heart.

Hinata lowered his chin, resting it gently on your shoulder, breath steadying as he made his decision.

No more guessing. No more assuming. No more silence.

If you stayed, he would tell you. And if he could do anything to convince you to stay, he would take his chance at it.

And if you would take him, he would love you the way he always had: completely.

He didn't move for a long moment.

He just breathed you in.

The quiet of his apartment hummed around you—the low whirr of his fridge, the distant city noise softened by the winter air and the snow that was starting to fall. The glow from the TV painted everything in muted blues and golds, flickering gently over your skin.

You were warm in his arms. To warm. Perfectly so.

The decision settled and solidified, unshakable in his chest. He whispered your name like it pained him, but in the way only a beautiful ache was leaving him.

And then carefully, he leaned in. Breathing you in, brushing his lips on the skin where your shoulder met your neck. They made their way up, softly caressing the skin and leaving the heat of the sun in their wake.

Then, barely there. A soft, lingering press just below your ear.

Your breath caught. You felt him smile faintly against you at the reaction.

Then, in a voice so quiet it felt like a secret meant only for your skin, he whispered:

"Would it be okay... If I asked you to stay?"

His lips lingered there after the question, unhurried, as if granting you time to think. As if offering himself completely and waiting to see if you would take him.

Your eyes softened.

Because you knew.

You weren't an idiot. You'd known, really. In the way he had looked at you all night—soft and awed and like there was something lingering at the edge of his tongue. In the way he had introduced you to everyone at the restaurant, and the reactions of his team. In the fact that you'd been offered a job by one of his most trusted people. In the way his hand hadn't once let go of yours under the table.

This was it.

This kiss.

This plead against your skin.

You slowly turned in his arms until you were facing him, and cupped his face in both hands.

He looked into your eyes like he had been waiting his entire life to be allowed to. Half-lidded, shining eyes. The windows to his soul were open and earnestand utterly unguarded. Lips parted, just lightly, breath shallow. Every thought was written plainly across his face without even trying to hide it.

You smiled. Gentle. Fond. Teasing, if just a little.

"Took you long enough, Shōyō."

His eyes watched your lips as you spoke, and before he could even attempt to respond, you leaned in to kiss him.

The kiss was soft, at first.

Your lips met like they were checking. As if asking permission to one another though you already had it. A careful press, warm and sweet and full of restraint that lasted exactly half a second before he exhaled your name into your mouth like a prayer.

Then it turned a little clumsy. Both of you figuring out the right timing to match eachother.

He was hungry, but unrushed, reverent. Like he was afraid it might be a dream and he didn't want to wake.

His hands came up to your waist, with fingers that trembled just slightly as they anchored themselves on the plush of your flesh. He kissed you deeper, pouring everything he'd held back into the way he fit himself into you.

You tasted home on his tongue.

Brazil sunsets and shared breaths and all the words he'd never said.

Your thumb brushed his cheek, your other hand travelling to the back of his neck, and then melted into you, pressing closer, a quiet helpless sound slipping from him before he even realized it. His forehead pressed against yours when you pulled back for air, breath warm and uneven.

He smiled softly. Shaky. Real.

"I love you."

Always the simplest truth in the world.

And outside, it was cold, so cold. The kind of cold that crept into bones, the city wrapped in silver and stillness as snow fell quietly against the windows.

But in here, in between his arms, in his hands and his tongue as his breath traced along your skin, in the feeling of his skin on yours as layers of clothing fell under tenbling hands, it was warm.

So warm.

Like melting under the sun in the most delicious way.

With Hinata sleeping beside you, breathing slow and even, with one arm heavy around your waist like it had always belonged there, you reached for your phone.

The screen lit the room softly. You opened your messages and typed:

: Thank you so much, Akaashi-san. Whenever you have time, I'd love to meet for coffee and talk about the job.

It was the easiest text you'd sent in your life.

Hinata shifted beside you, pulling you closer in his sleep and pressing his forehead lightly against your shoulder with a quiet hum—like he sensed it even then, even in the arms of Morpheus.

You smiled in the dark, slipping the phone away and sinking back into him, pressing a soft kiss on his forehead.

There was no ache pressing at your ribs. No doubt tugging at the edges of your thoughts, no weight of everything left unsaid in Brazil. Of late nights and unasked questions and longing that had nowhere to go. No weight of the years and miles you'd survived apart.

No coldness, even if snow fell outside.

Only the warmth of the sun.

Your sun.