When your mother becomes a casualty after a Kaiju attack, you're left bursting with anger, and unsure of what to do with it all. The tragedy allows you to meet Vice Captain Hoshina, who seems to have developed a vested interest in you.
cw: gn!reader, angst that ends in fluff, death (reader loses their mother), very reader-centric, word-vomit
— ✦
Raindrops dot the sidewalk, the pavement turning a darker grey as you stare down. Droplets form over the rubber toe caps of your canvas sneakers, and you can feel your socks growing wet, your jeans along with them. The downpour is sudden — as though the heavens want to match you in your temperamental disposition. At least, this way, your gloom can be attributed to the darkened clouds and overcast sky.
You have only just begun to realise the impermanence of many things. In a world such as this one, it's unwise to place your faith in the longevity of anything; nothing is promised a forever. Not that cactus your grandmother had given you two years ago, not your family's bookstore. Not even your mother's life.
Her funeral is in the afternoon, meticulously tucked into the hour before your father's work meeting, and after the end of your shift at the convenience store. It's a recent choice of employment — it's only because your previous job was obliterated a month ago.
The rubble that was once the bookstore your family worked hard to keep. Where you had spent particularly hot summer days, wasting away the hours between the aisles, reading anything and everything you could get your hands on. The memories folded into every nook and cranny had become nothing overnight; you had watched it all on the news.
This world is cursed, you think. And you are doubly cursed to have been born into it. Water has soaked through your shirt, leaving it to stick to your back uncomfortably. You kick at the sidewalk and sigh, a shiver running down the length of your spine. The earthy smell of the rain, the bitterness in your heart: these things don't meld together all that well. You only grow despondent.
It shouldn't have been so easy to lose it all.
Your family had to wait a month for your mother's funeral. The Kaiju Cleaning Company couldn't get her out of the rubble without getting through the dead carcass laying atop it; cleaning was estimated to take 30 days, or even longer.
Fortunately, it had only taken a month. You wonder if your mother holds some kind of resentment that she had been set aside, that life had moved along without slowing to a stop just for her. Your father was given a week to grieve, and then he had to return to work. If you still wanted to fund your final year of university, you needed to find a job — which is what landed you behind the counter of a convenience store, with peeling tiles and not nearly enough books.
You can taste the rain as it drips down the sides of your face, settling into the corners of your mouth. Your lashes clump together, sticking to your cheeks when you blink. Had you watched the news this morning, you might have known to bring an umbrella; perhaps, then, the sight of you waiting for the bus wouldn't be nearly as pathetic as it is now.
But you haven't watched the news for the past thirty days. You rely on the emergency alerts that sound throughout the city to let you know when there's a kaiju present. Anything else you could learn from the news isn't nearly important enough for you to sit and listen, hear the same voices that announced the destruction of your bookstore and the death of your mother.
You exhale shakily, and you pull your phone out just to check the time. It's cold, though it's not all that wet when you feel it in your pocket. It's another thirty minutes until the bus arrives, and then you'll have to shower, fix your hair. You'll have to walk out of your house and face what's left of your mother, tucked away in a casket. And unlike the first week after her death, when your father had been swarmed by reporters eager for an interview, you will only find a few people in attendance.
The interviews have been gruelling, every question dripping with a perverted sense of sympathy, as though they aren't digging through your hurt for a story. Once the news had passed, and there was an even bigger attack to detail in long-winded articles, the news of your bookstore and your mother faded into obscurity.
A week and three days after the incident, you were visited by a few members of the Defense Force. It had surprised you that they cared enough — their job was done when they killed the kaiju and protected the majority. When you were met with a girl not much older than you, her hair sliced into a sleek bob, and a man with smiling eyes, you had assumed they were reporters. You tried to send them away with hostility, called them any and every insult you could think of, uncaring of what they might write about you. Would it have even mattered? No one else spares a thought over the events of the past.
They had taken your rage in silence. The girl — Captain Ashiro Mina, you had learned sometime later — softly expressed her condolences. Her counterpart, Vice Captain Hoshina Soshiro, had handed you flowers. The conversation was clunky, awkward. Guilt had freely swam in the pit of your stomach for lashing out, and the two of them had clearly chosen to visit on a whim, tripping over their words, hesitating in order to say the right things.
You were fumbling with the bouquet when Mina turned to leave, and as you shifted your gaze up, Hoshina's eyes were open. He bowed, gave you a meaningful look. "Stay safe," he told you.
You like to think you have tried to do just that (though catching a cold because of the rain is most definitely in your near future).
-
It's unnervingly quiet as you walk down the hall. Your hands are clasped behind your back, your shoulder brushes against your father's arm. Everything is silent: the car ride, the wait for everyone to arrive, the eulogies. It's been quite a few days since you've cried, and you were beginning to think you had grown desensitised to it. The pain, though it exists, is dull — you've numbed yourself to it as best you can. You don't think you can find it in yourself to cry anymore.
It upsets you all the way to your seat in the front row, mere inches away from your mother. You don't want to forget how much it hurt; how will you remember her otherwise?
And yet, you are proven wrong as everything wraps up. Your head is tucked into your palms, teeth ripping into the skin of your bottom lip as you choke back every pathetic noise that bubbles up your throat. Your shoulders shake and it must be obvious to everyone what you're doing; they must pity you for what you lost.
Every breath you take feels as though you're sucking in through a straw. It's not nearly enough. Your lungs burn and you press a hand to your chest, feeling every noisy thump of your racing heart. It slams against your ribcage like it wants to be freed from your body. When you can no longer stand to stay in your seat, in this room with your mother laid in a casket — just out of your desperate reach — you rush to leave.
The funeral home appears rather dreary as it stands behind you. All tall, dark stone walls and rusty windows. The flowers sparsely planted along the perimeter look worse for wear. You suppose it's to be expected from a place that opens up for death. It has been raining all morning, and now all afternoon. You feel it begin to wet your hair and your clothes once more. Your appearance hardly matters — why bother to dress up?
Your eyes flutter shut as you suck in a breath, letting it settle into the pit of your stomach. To the rest of your city, your mother is a thing of the past. Did you hear about the woman who was crushed in that old bookstore? Such a shame. They send you their condolences and don't think twice about checking up on you again. And you could scream and scream about how they're not understanding — you just lost your mother. What are you meant to do without the woman who so graciously gave you half of her body and soul?
The warmth of a body rips you from your thoughts. You wipe at your eyes, ears twitching at the noise of their shoes crunching over the gravel. They choose to remain quiet; you send them a side-long glance.
"Vice Captain Hoshina?" The soft lilt in your voice carries your confusion as your brows furrow. "Why are you—"
"Why are you here?"
You study his profile as he shrugs, a crisp suit replacing the uniform he had worn on his visit to your home. His eyes are shut as they often are in the photos you've seen of him, curved like half-moons, but his mouth is pressed into a thin line. "Felt like I should be here," he answers quietly. You watch as his shoulders grow darker from the rain, but before you can tell him to head back inside, he's speaking once again.
"Want me to go?"
You answer without thinking much about it, like your mouth had known before your brain could decide. "No," you mutter, sucking in a breath. "Thank you for coming. Not a lot of people who...cared about her then showed up today."
It grows quiet once more. You listen to the gentle sound of the wind whistling through the leaves of trees, and the wet crunch of cars driving down the road behind the funeral home. Hoshina doesn't leave your side, even as the rain picks up, throwing sharp droplets in both your faces. You think about that saying — you don't know what you have until it's gone — and the latter-half that says you knew all along, you just never expected to lose it. Right now, there is some version of you that is living blissfully with their mother by their side; it grates at you to think about.
Hoshina clears his throat and you smooth over your expression. "She won't be forgotten about," he says, and his voice is so steady that you almost want to believe him. "Well, I can say that I won't forget her."
Some part of you scoffs at his words. It's not enough — no one else will understand your anger at circumstances outside of your control. They won't agree with you when you curse and spit at fate, when you turn your back on your faith. Strangely, however, the other half of you is soothed. As you nod, you note that your bubbling rage has turned into a simmer instead.
And now, you're not sure what to do with it. Once today ends, you'll be forced to shelve away the mess of feelings brewing in the cavity of your stomach. You'll have to hope that time chooses to heal over your wound instead of leaving you to rot.
"When's the next intake?" you blurt out. Hoshina tilts his head to face you, one eyebrow raised. You bristle under his stare; it's impressive how you can feel the weight of his eyes even as they remain hidden. "For the Defense Force, I mean — the new recruits."
His face softens and he heaves a sigh, as though he had known this question would come. Perhaps, it's predictable for you to fall on this path after tragedy. Your story cannot be much different from everyone else. And though you don't appreciate feeling like you are playing into the hands of the very fate you've grown to dislike, you find some comfort in the thought that there are others like you.
"I won't tell you what to do," he begins slowly, crossing his arms over his chest. The suit creases at the bend of his elbow, his tie shifts from where it had been tucked into the jacket. "You should think it over some more."
You frown. "Why would it matter to you what I do?" you snap, and the way his brows pinch make you feel like the wounded animal he seems to think you are. Silently, you beg him to throw you a bone.
"Because it won't give you what you're looking for," Hoshina states simply. His mouth quirks up into a smile, "You won't feel satiated." He draws out his hand, waving his finger back and forth as he hums, "And it's not gonna ease the pain either."
His words only make you frown harder. Your shoulders hunch forward as you curl in on yourself, like a child who has just been chastised. He laughs so suddenly that it makes you jolt.
"If you're so sure, then you can take the test at the end of the month." He stuffs his hands into his pockets, teetering forward to lean into your space. Your breath gets caught in your throat at the sudden proximity. "Maybe, we'll end up in the same division," he smiles.
"I'd be nothing more than dead-weight next to Captain Ashiro," you huff, forcing out a laugh as you take a step back. Hoshina straightens up, though he's looking at you with thinly veiled interest — and it makes you stiffen. You shiver, uncertain if the rain is the only cause.
"I'll drag you along," he grins, like it's nothing. You notice, for the first time, that the Vice Captain has fangs. He leaves you sputtering, which he clearly finds amusing, laughing as he walks away.
You're soaked from the rain, and so is he. You can only wonder what his intentions are as you stare holes into his back, willing him to explain.
-
Captain Ashiro Mina thumbs her way through the stack of applications, half-heartedly skimming over their names and faces. Hoshina hovers nearby, trying his best to appear disinterested. He stares at her desk, at the walls of her office, out the window — but his eyes never stray from the applications for too long.
"Are you looking for someone specific?" Mina asks, looking up at him pointedly. Hoshina grimaces, momentarily feeling embarrassed though it's only over the fact that he'd been caught.
"Nope," he lies. "Just bored, you know. I was looking at the possible recruits to pass the time."
Mina doesn't believe him in the slightest, that much is obvious from the way she raises her brows. Her mouth curves into an almost imperceptible smile. Fortunately for Hoshina, she doesn't mention how he's standing in her office of his own free will, and not on her orders.
She flips to the next application. Hoshina moves before he can stop himself, grabbing the sheet of paper. There's a pregnant pause where neither of them speak, and Mina breaks it with a clipped laugh.
It's too late for him to feel embarrassed about it. You look serious in your photo; there's a darkness beneath your eyes that wasn't there when he had seen you at the funeral. Hoshina turns the application around, allowing Mina to take a better look. He watches as vague recognition flashes through her gaze.
"Can I put in a request?" Hoshina asks.
"They applied for Operations."
"Even better."
Hoshina is not usually so bold with his Captain. Mina had done more than enough when she opened up a space for him to fill, when she allowed him to do what he does best. There must be something about you, then, that has him behaving out of character.
Mina nods, "I'll try — no promises." Hoshina can only grin in response. She speaks again, "Is this the one you stood out in the rain with?"
He'd gotten a nasty cold after doing that, coming back to the base with his suit drenched and his fringe plastered to his forehead. He doesn't respond, which is all the answer Mina needs.
18+, f!reader, implied sex, timeskip hinata spoilers, not even angsty i promise
heitor: it's Nice, heitor's fiancee. some girl was hitting on shouyou haha
you: Again?
Nice then attaches a picture of Hinata passed out on the sand, topless, shorts ridden with sand, and drenched in sweat. He looks dehydrated, exhausted, and possibly burnt; he looks like he's having the time of his life. You're momentarily distracted by your boyfriend's abs glistening against the Brazilian sun before your gaze drifts to the audience in the background, fawning at him.
Seeing Hinata like this makes you bitter—him happy without you in the same room as him. You want to understand him, more than anyone else in the world as his girlfriend, but it's never easy for you to sit helplessly on the other side of the world as women flock to your boyfriend like he's some meat in the market, ready for taking.
heitor: u should tie him down honestly. isn't it about time?
you: If only it were that easy.
heitor: he's coming home in three days, right?
You hold your phone against your chest, staring at the ceiling and wondering if it’s all really worth it.
On the day of Heitor and Nice's wedding, Shouyou calls you.
Usually, you would gently remind him that when it's freshly turned evening for him, the sun is just about to peek for you. But he opens his camera, his face sliding to the center of your screen, cheeks flushed, and eyes pulled with his encompassing grin, and you fall silent. It's loud on his end, with jovial cheers and wine glasses clinking.
He exclaims your name like he's never tasted it before.
It's too early for this. 5 AM, and you have work in a few hours, but instead, you hold your phone a little closer. "You drunk, Shouyou?"
Hinata rapidly shakes his head. "I have a flight tomorrow—I don't want to be hungover!"
You laugh softly. "You're acting a little weird, though."
"I just..." He wilts, muttering, "really miss you. I'm coming home soon."
You grin. "Really, now?"
Hinata pouts. "Really. Didn't I tell you already?" He pauses, squinting at his screen. "Wait. Are you mad?"
Not at him. Never at him. But Hinata's wounded animal expression is a little funny so you keep that little detail to yourself. "Pissed me off seeing all the updates Nice gives me about everyone hitting on you."
"Nice sends you updates!?"
"Wish I could hold you right now, Sho. Prove to the world that you just belong to me," you say coyly.
His microphone picks up on his hitch of breath, even with the loud chattering surrounding him. "You can be selfish, too. I'm already so selfish with you."
"Really?"
"Didn't you notice?" Hinata chuckles. "I asked you out before I left so no one would try anything while I was away. Oika-san and Yaku-san have been eyeing you up, you know?"
"That's a bit cruel of you, Shouyou. Tying me down when you're leaving the country?" But you're giggling and bursting with warmth.
Hinata splutters, shame dawning on him. But he doesn't take it back—doesn't apologize for it. He's staking his claim or something like that.
Hinata tells you about the venue, how much Heitor bawled while Nice was walking down the aisle, and how the juice they serve tastes so good that he might bring home a jug for you. You want to tell him that that's definitely not how it works, but you smile at the way he phrases it.
Your boyfriend's coming home.
You hadn't been able to greet him at the airport. Your boss had loaded you with work; you couldn't refuse because you were going to be taking the days off for Hinata.
The group chat that consisted of Karasuno alumni had been exploding the entire day. Your fingers itched, burning with jealousy as some of your friends post pictures of Hinata with them, talking about how different he's gotten. At least there is that you can keep close to you: no one else has been able to watch him grow each night. While it's been two years for them, you haven't left his side, not really.
It's going to be worth it, you remind yourself, head lolling back and forth as you drag your feet to your apartment. That overtime was worth it. It was worth it.
You release a yawn that you feel in your entire body. It's going to be worth it tomorrow when he comes by.
"I'm home," you murmur, kicking off your shoes to pull them to the rack.
Yet, strangely enough, your living room lights are already on. Your confusion is answered by the bathroom door closing shut as a half-naked Hinata pads his way to your room before freezing at your gaping expression.
Hinata brightens.
You stammer uselessly. Your bag slides down your shoulder, but that's merely an afterthought when Hinata Shouyou is in the flesh: wearing a flimsy piece of towel around his hips that isn’t enough to cover the meat of his thighs, bronzed like a sun god, and mouth pulled in a grin to a set of white teeth. Water drips down his body.
"I... I thought you weren't coming over 'til tomorrow," you utter weakly, uselessly, at a sight like that.
"I got impatient," Hinata says, fixing the towel as he saunters to you in big strides. "I wanted to spend more nights with you before the tournament."
"Right," you say, mouth dry as Hinata stops before he can press you against the door.
Hinata's all close now. He smells like your shampoo.
Overwhelmed with some emotion about love, you cup his face and wonder if you're so tired you started hallucinating. But he buries his nose into your palm as a big arm snakes around your waist, and it suddenly feels as real as it can get. His touch is hot even when fresh out of the shower like he's brought the Brazilian sun along with him.
"Shouyou," you say reverently.
“I’m home,” he says, echoing you.
You kiss him first. Hinata responds eagerly in turn, groaning in your mouth as your bodies collide. Your knees buckle, and you feel dizzy, but Hinata’s there to hold you up. He pulls your bottom lip down with a thumb. You part easily for him, melting at his tongue, easing in your mouth like it belongs there. He pulls you to him tighter, one large hand gently cradling the back of your head.
"Y/N," he says as you both gasp out for air. "Fuck."
He pushes his knee between your legs. You whimper when he brushes against your heat, and Hinata swallows the sound with his mouth as he keeps pulling it out of you.
"Let me fuck you," he says, looking a little crazed. "Please. Missed you so much."
"Shouyou," you breathe, dizzy from his scent and the sensation below.
Hinata pins you to the door with his chest. "Please, baby, need you."
You nod. Or, at least, you think you're nodding, because Hinata's bringing you to your room, refusing to separate for even an inch. He lays you across the bed and ravishes your mouth and neck. You pull your top up, and he's on your stomach now, too. One hand drifts down to your pants, pulling your underwear along with it.
"Shouyou," you whisper, suddenly feeling embarrassed. "Sho—ah."
Hinata's thick finger slides across your cunt, pupils blown and grinning at the ease of it. "You're wet. You're so hot."
You can’t help but think back to the past two years. Hinata, out for everyone else, while you wonder if he would get snatched under your nose. He looks happy there, but there’s something about his expression now: hungry and eager. He’s holding you and gazing at you like his years in Brazil never existed. It’s just you and him in this bubble of space.
You shiver. "W-Where's all this confidence coming from? Did the girls in Brazil teach you this, huh?"
Hinata scrunches his nose in a really cute way that feels inappropriate when he's circling your clit with his thumb. "No. You know that. It's just been me, my hand, and when I'm lucky enough, you on your phone."
Your face blooms with heat. "Shouyou! I told you we don't bring that up!"
Phone sex is much more embarrassing when brought up.
"Sorry," he says with a bright smile, not really looking apologetic. He moves down until his face is hovering over your heat. He looks up at you from the inside of your thighs, still devastatingly handsome in only a towel and two arms holding up your legs. "Let me make it up to you? For the past two years."
"Go ahead," you say weakly.
You were already tired, but the night ends with you positively spent—barely able to keep your eyes open as your chests heave and match in rhythm. You want to sink into the sheets. Your boyfriend’s here, anyway. He’s blown your back out and all your worries along with it.
"Damn," Hinata says, out of breath. "I was supposed to give it to you first."
It takes five seconds for you to process what he's said. "...Huh?"
"I got excited seeing you," he bemoans.
"Mhm," you say, eyeing the purple bruises and teeth marks all over his chest.
Hinata sits up. You're a little bitter that he's still alive with energy while you're wilting on your sheets, but what's a competition between an athlete and an office staff?
Hinata turns back to you, holding a box, presenting it like a puppy would with a stick he's found in a ditch. You blink at it blearily, confused and still faded from that post-orgasmic haze.
"It's just a promise ring," Hinata says, and then it feels real again. "But..."
You sit up all of a sudden, eyes round. "Wait—"
Hinata's face explodes in a blush, avoiding your gaze. "Uhm. I really wanted to give it to you before sex. Sorry."
It’s Hinata’s debut match. When the screen flashes him, he lifts a black cord up to his mouth. It takes you a moment to realize he’s kissing the ring tied to it. He grins at the camera as the crowd erupts in cheers, but you know the smile is meant just for you.
hoshina takes out his remaining energy on you; f!reader, 18+ content mdni, fwb relationship, not proofread
The hour hand ticks to two.
It's past midnight, and still, your body doesn't need even a wink of sleep. You lie on your bed, wondering if you’ve eaten something that’s keeping you up or maybe drunk something too sugary, and it’s filling out the consequences. Yet it can’t be that, not exactly. You aren't sure why; you feel jittery—like you're about to get struck by lightning, and your body is poised to leap out from your bed to do something.
And then you hear it.
Tap, tap, tap.
Muffled and soft, but your room is silent enough for you to pick up on it. It's coming from your window. Rhythmic, yet irregular enough for you to realize that it was wrong. And usually, at an hour like this, you would’ve brushed it off—but it’s 2 a.m., and you would have nothing else to do either way.
“Soshiro!” You can’t help but exclaim once you’ve turned and seen him casting a shadow over your floor, the edges of his figure illuminated by the moonlight.
Tap, tap, tap.
Hoshina continues knocking on your window pane even as you scramble over. You push it open and gape at his pitiful bloody and bruised state, looking like he's come fresh from a beating from a Daikaiju. Petrichor and copper waft inside your room as Hoshina steps a wet boot over your windowsill, his head poking in.
"S-Soshi— Oh my god, you're bleeding!"
You hurry him inside, hating how Hoshina is laughing easily like he isn't dripping blood on your windowsill, drenched from the thunderstorm—like he doesn’t appear as if he is seconds away from falling over. You help him to your bed. With anyone else, you would've lost it if they placed their rain-soaked asses on your clean sheets, but it's Hoshiro, and your judgment has always been a tad clouded when it came to him.
As soon as Hoshina hits the bed, you rummage through your drawer for anything, feeling more than awake now. "First aid— Do I have one here somewhere? I swear I had one!"
"Hey, hey, calm down," Hoshiro says, his movements disjointed. He reaches for you, but you jolt away when his fingers twitch in sporadic jerks. "The bleedin's already stopped."
"There's blood trickling down your nose."
"Ah—" He wipes it off with the back of his gloved hand. "Everywhere else, I mean."
"Soshiro!" you cry out, succumbing to your panic.
Hoshina laughs again. For someone who's shaking and bleeding. "Easy, babe. I'm the one injured here."
"Exactly why I'm freaking out!" You can't believe you spell it out for him. Does he have a concussion? "Why would you come to me? You have professional medics back at your dormitories!"
He points at his cheek. "This one's just a nasty bruise. I already treated everythin' else. The nosebleed’s just a nosebleed—see? S’all dried up now."
You furrow your brows, walking over to him. He blinks up at you when you brush his hair aside to check his temperature. "You're trembling, though, Soshiro."
"Cold," he says. Even though you're the one standing and hovering above him, his red eyes are pinning you down. "Warm me up."
With a crinkled nose, you push his face away—while carefully avoiding his bruise, of course. Hoshina just cackles, fingers clasping your wrist. Although he’s the one who must’ve been hopping around from building to building in the previous storm, his touch is heated and burns through your skin.
You drag out a sigh, in disbelief of your fate. You move to pull your wrist out, but Hoshina tightens his grip and stares at you. "I'll just get an ice pack," you assure him.
A moment passes, and then he loosens his hold. Your eyes trace his blood-smeared and bruise-stained cheeks in worry. He must've come to your room for a reason.
"Stay here, will you? And don't go through my stuff!"
Hoshiro mocks a salute. "Yes, ma'am!"
At least he seems lively enough for his injuries to be nothing serious.
Hoshina hisses, sucking air through his teeth when you press the ice pack against his face.
He’s taken off his suit and was left with a shirt and his signature pants, but you’ve demanded that he take them off, too. They’ve also gotten wet.
“This is the biggest shirt I have, and this nightwear will probably fit you.”
You busy yourself with fixing the drawer you’d gotten messed up earlier as Hoshina slips out of his clothes and throws them onto a sopping wet pile. He sighs in relief at the warmth of your clothes, keeping the ice pack to his face.
"So,” you start, rising from your crouch to place your hands on your hips, “why'd you come here?"
Hoshina smiles slowly, and you catch as his eyes trail down to your legs. It's then you realize that you're wearing nothing but a loose shirt and underwear. It was to bask in the cold, but the feel of his heated gaze tells you that it's a fruitless attempt.
You catch on to his meaning right away. "You're kidding."
He pouts.
"You're injured!"
"Been through worse when we fucked before. What's stoppin' ya now?"
You flush at his lack of filter. "My dignity!"
"Screw that." Hoshina removes the ice pack from his cheek and sets it down. “I want to fuck you.”
"Seriously?" You sigh, yet still climb over when he spreads his thighs for you to straddle him. "Since when did it become my job to rid of your leftover adrenaline?"
Hoshina is beaming with excitement. "You're really good at it."
"Doesn't sound like a compliment coming from your mouth," you grumble, shifting, and hating how your body easily responds when he sighs like he's tasted heaven.
"My dick's got a Pavlovian response after missions because of you," he amends as if that makes it any better.
"That's disgusting!"
Hoshina does his stupid laugh, taking his shirt off as if he hasn’t just worn it three seconds ago. You swallow on nothing in particular when your eyes trace each curve and purple bruise on his body, looking unfairly hot, all beaten up.
True to his word, you glance down, and he's already sporting a tent on your pajamas, growing in length when you grind against him. It's a little bit hot.
You palm him through the cloth, never tiring of the way his brows furrowed, and a guttural groan rips from his throat.
"Haaah," he sighs out in bliss, head thrown back. Then babbles: "Missed this. Missed you."
"Shut up," you say, never used to his blatant affection. "Let me get protection before this, idiot."
Hoshina's mouth forms a pout again, but he lets you go. Once you return, you hate how your heart flutters relentlessly at the sight of him like that: on your bed, thighs spread, and topless. You complain all you want, but you love it when he comes over to fuck if it means you're treated to sights like these.
You tug at his waistband at the same time his hand slides up your thighs to pull your underwear down. He grins widely. You know why—you're wet already. In truth, you had been since seeing him bloodied up, but he will never know about that. You roll the condom down, laughing lightly when Hoshina shivers.
“Sensitive,” you tease. He sniffs primly.
Hoshina doesn’t disagree, and you aren’t bullying him on it, either. He guides you down with two big hands on your hips, his skin too hot while yours is too cold, and you’re both peering curiously at how you swallow him slowly, inch by inch, then groan in chorus.
You shiver at the stretch from his girth. Hoshina presses his face against your jaw at your heat. You run your hand through his hair and he leans impossibly closer, like he wants to melt himself into you. Maybe this is why you couldn’t fall asleep. Your body was longing for this as much as he was.
Hoshina’s right. You missed this, too.
He helps you move on him up and down at a snail’s pace. In truth, he’s strong enough to move you himself—you can barely feel yourself straining. He bucks his hips up and hits a spot that makes you whimper in his ear. Hoshina snaps to attention and ruts into you faster, deeper, with precise aim. He does so without strain, effortless, with the single-minded goal of making you both come.
He tilts his head and bites on your neck, sinking and threatening to break skin. You gasp at the sensation of pointed fangs, unwittingly clenching around him. Hoshina fucking whines.
“Fuck,” he says, “knew this would be better than jerking the adrenaline off. I could just stay here.”
Then he seems to forget he’s injured at all as he flips you around with ease. Your back hits the mattress as he slides into you once again, but you hit something else, too.
“Shit!” you exclaim, latching onto him with your arms around his neck to avoid your bed. “Soshiro, the ice fucking melted on my bed!”
You turn to face him and realize too late that your noses are touching when you do that. Hoshina’s stunned into silence, eyes wide open and gazing into yours. You glance beneath you, and it’s just Hoshina holding up the both of you in a makeshift plank with two arms.
A moment passes. You both end up laughing.
Hoshina carefully sets you on the other half of the bedspread that didn’t have the melted ice pack drenching the sheets. He’s glowing with a smile. “Not into temperature play?”
“Maybe we could try—when you don’t come to me on the brink of death.”
Hoshina’s hips roll a little distractedly.
“Your dick twitched in me just now.”
Hoshina’s brow twitches, pushing you up by your ass to fill you deeper. The sensation has you arching against him, mouth pulling open as he does it again, then again, and once more. He pants, and a cloud puffs from his mouth as your eyes roll back.
“A-Ah— W-Wait—!”
Hoshina grins in victory. “We’ll get to that later, ‘kay? Still got plenty of energy.”
surprise hoshina fic from oyohs, jealous hoshina soshiro, and some random getting too handsy with u + stupid humor
“Is it just me… or has the Vice Captain been so mean recently?”
Kafka pants, hunched over, wobbling back and forth. He struggles to form words for a good minute. “It’s not—” his face turns green, “—it’s not just you! Dammit!”
“Don’t throw up, senpai,” Reno says worriedly, however more exasperated than actually sympathetic.
“Did something bad happen?” Furuhashi wonders aloud, watching as Kafka slaps a hand over his mouth. “We shouldn’t be taking the blame, you know.”
Kikoru grins, laughing primly. “Haven’t you noticed? The only recent event is the new guy.”
They all turn to Kafka, who’s heaving on the ground.
Kikoru then scowls. “No, you idiots. The new kid who’s been all over Y/N-san! The cadet!”
Oh. Right. That’s a thing now.
“If you have time to chit-chat,” a voice calls out above them, startling every soul in the field. Hoshina’s eyes are open yet narrowed, “then you have time for more laps, don’t you?”
They know they can’t win when it comes to Hoshina—or even Captain Ashiro, honestly. Either way, they’d end up running laps; and if you understand that, you would lessen the punishment. They settle on a: “Yes, sir!”
Reno follows along with his colleagues yet can’t help but glance back to their Vice Captain, who’s scowling at nothing in particular. He’s been making that face a lot lately.
Hmm.
Reno turns away. Maybe Kikoru was onto something.
There’s a newly recruited cadet named Kou, their Vice Captain Hoshina, and you: a recipe for disaster and, frankly, an inconvenience for everyone else. None of them would’ve cared, honestly, if they didn’t end up dragged into whatever nonsense Kou fucking pulled. Whenever Kou finds his way to you, it could either end in everyone doing two hundred laps or two hundred push-ups—neither is really favorable.
“You’re incredible, Y/N-san!” Kou beams, inching closer and closer despite your obvious panic. “How did you get from 20% to 32% in less than a week?
“T-Thank you, Kou, but really—”
“You’ve got to teach me!”
You yelp when he leans in too far, and you end up falling back. You lose balance, arms flailing aimlessly, but fortunately for you (and unfortunately for everyone else), Kou latches an arm around your waist to steady you. You don’t want to thank him because it’s his fault. But you smile and laugh sheepishly to not dishearten the kid.
Everyone within the vicinity jolts and looks away. Hoshina’s footsteps are loud and heavy in the terrified silence of the room.
“If you have time to flirt,” Hoshina says, glaring at you both, “then you don’t have time to take this seriously, do you?”
You frown. Why were you getting blamed, too? Damn.
You move to apologize but end up biting back your words at Hoshina’s silent and deadly stare aimed at Kou. And much to your (and everyone else’s) horror, Kou mirrors his expression as if forgetting that he’s nothing but an ant compared to their fucking Vice-Captain!
“Sorry, Captain. I didn’t expect you to be watching Y/N-san so closely compared to everyone else,” Kou says, and oh, he has a death wish for sure.
Hoshina’s brow twitches. His eye catches your wide ones for a moment before loosening his posture and deciding to just walk past. “You should know your place, kid. I’m lookin’ out for ya. Attachments are a hindrance in our field of work; listen to your Vice-Captain.”
“Smooth save,” you hear someone whisper, promptly shushed by everyone.
You watch as Hoshina doesn’t bother glancing back. His shoulders are tense, and his knuckled grip is so tight that his fist is growing pale. You feel worried. You don’t want to doubt your Vice-Captain, but even this feels out of control for him.
You whirl around and jab a finger at Kou. “What was that for?! Are you insane? He’s going to drill us to death now!”
Kou shrugs. “He won’t if you beg nicely.”
“What the hell was that!?” Kafka hisses under his breath. “I thought the Vice-Captain would actually kill him! I thought I was going to witness the murder of a human!”
Reno appears thoughtful. “So it’s got everything to do with Y/N-san.”
Kafka scoffs. “I figured. Kou’s a real piece of work, but he’s right. Vice-Cap played nicer before Kou started instigating him using Y/N as a shield.”
“I think it’s more like… making him jealous,” Reno says.
“What? Really? Wait—does Vice-cap like Y/N?!”
“It’s rude to speculate about your higher-ups. Do you want him to make you do a hundred more push-ups?”
Kafka and Reno pale.
“C-Captain!” they squeak out, spinning around to face her.
Ashiro wears a ghost of a smile on her face. “You may be right. You figured it out faster than Hoshina himself.”
They both blush because Captain Ashiro is smiling, until they realize what she’s just said. Their horror-stricken gazes swing back and forth between you and a ticked-off Hoshina, and, oh god, it makes so much more sense.
Kou crosses a line this time. You’re positive he’s just using you to antagonize Vice-Captain Hoshina for some reason. You wanted to tell him that you wanted no part in their dick-measuring contest until Kou pulled you out of view while everyone was busy chattering and eating dinner.
You sigh. “What is it this time?”
Kou smiles. “I want to confess to you.”
“You—uh whuh—huh?”
“I’m sorry if I unconventionally went about this—” You think!? “—but I do genuinely like you, Y/N-san.”
You blink once, then thrice. “What? Wait, really?”
Kou nods. You study his expression and realize that—what the fuck—he’s actually serious! Kou seems like he’s around three years younger than you, and sure, he’s got experience, but you’ve never even considered him that way.
“Y/N-san?” he asks.
“Kou, I…”
Your silence must’ve been taken the wrong way. Kou leans closer until you can feel his breath on your cheek. You wince, pulling away, but he dives forward and—
There’s a finger on top of your lips. Your eyes widen in shock, and see that Kou’s entire face is covered by a familiar hand.
Your gaze lands on a mess of a Hoshina. He’s breathing heavily as if he’s run all the way to get here, and he’s got this petulant scowl directed at Kou that comes off so childish—like he’s been stolen of his favorite toy.
“Just—stop.” Your Vice-Captain gently pushes Kou away as he pulls you to him instead. He doesn’t look angry anymore; he is more flustered and defeated. “I get it, okay? You win.”
Kou smirks. “Whatever happened to attachments?”
“Fuck off before I attach this sword up your ass,” Hoshina hisses. You snort out of surprise, which in turn makes Hoshina direct his attention to you.
You swallow on nothing in particular. That look on his face—worry, sadness, and something else you can’t quite bring yourself to identify. It feels like fondness, but that just couldn’t be right. This is Hoshina Soshiro. He’s composed, and he’s calm, and he’s… and…
…and he’s buried his face on your neck, gripping your wrist tightly.
Kou whistles lowly. “I was in the middle of something, Vice-Cap.”
Hoshina doesn’t even fight back this time. He wordlessly listens to your heartbeat, that’s increasing in pace. He flips Kou off, though, which may be the nicest he’s been.
You’ve never seen him so vulnerable before. “Vice Captain?”
Hoshina breathes in shakily, muttering, “You didn’t accept his confession, right?”
You look up and realize that Kou has walked off, shoulders slumping. Hoshina inhales and exhales—he’s trying to calm down the trembling, you realize. You turn back to the man limp against you, unsure of where to place your hands.
“N-No, sir.”
Hoshina breathes out slowly. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
He pulls away and then smiles at you like nothing has happened. “Good. Haaaah. Y/N, you make me worry so much, ya know?”
“I— I don’t know?”
Hoshina’s gaze is intense, making you freeze in his hold. “It’s like I can’t leave you alone for even a second, or else some runt will come and steal ya away.”
But even then, getting to witness this side of the Vice Captain this close…
Hoshina tilts his head. “Why’re ya making that face?” He laughs, pinching your cheek. “You’re so cute.”
“Sir, please,” you whine, trying to pull his fingers away.
A smile breaks across his face, drawing closer in the same way Kou did. You hold your breath. “I’ll get stronger, enough so no one tries to beat me to you again.”
Kou has just confessed, but his words are the ones that pierce through your heart. It’s not even a confession. Or—at least you don’t think so? Hoshina can surely hear your heartbeat in the silence of this hallway. He smiles wider and taps your nose, pulling back.
You feel lightheaded, overwhelmed, confused, and, well—you’re not exactly sure what Hoshina means, but his expression is clearer, less tense, and that’s all that matters to you.
“Let’s go back,” he says, but still, he keeps an arm around your waist.
how hinata realises his feelings and what he does abt it afterwards 🤭🤭 absolute gold!!!
If you’re talking about the fic where Hinata snuck in your house then yes ughh. !!! Honestly. I’m so obsessed with the idea of Hinata watching Heitor and Nice get married and get hit with the aching realization that he wants that with you, too. The fact that Hinata was leaving after that wedding, too… You can just tell that he was itching to get his hands on you already
18+, f!reader, fingering, hinata shouyou has big hands and he knows it
You haven’t noticed it at all despite calling him every day with both of your cameras on while he was in Brazil (he does it to make you feel like he’s there, he says, but you know he’s more so saying it himself). It’s a gradual change—you wouldn’t have caught it if you saw him every day.
“You’re spacing out,” Hinata notes, and decides to solve it by curling his finger in a way that makes you gasp and spasm in his hold.
It’s only obvious right now that he’s home, as he has you pressed against the wall beside your room’s half-closed door, one hand holding you up by the thigh and the other buried knuckle-deep in you, thumb catching on your clit to brush on it now and then. You’re overwhelmed. You’re shaking. You might be in love with Hinata’s hands.
Hinata’s gotten bigger now. It hadn’t been obvious then, but the last you’d seen him in the airport, he hadn’t been able to envelop you like this, stuffed full with only two fingers. He hadn't seemed like he could carry you with just one hand before.
“Shou—ah, Shouyou,” you hiss and jolt when he slides out and thrusts back in, curling up.
He pauses, staring right at you. You blink blearily at him, dazed through the fog of arousal—it takes you a while to realize he isn’t moving his fingers anymore.
“You’re crying,” he says, with hints of worry.
You whine, moving your hips for him—god, you could do it even just like this—and you get so lost in it that you ignore the flaming ache on your legs as you continue the stimulation.
“You—you’re so—” you arch when he helps you and curls his finger once again, “—big, Sho, please, please, please—”
Hinata whispers curses as he hovers over your mouth. You can barely kiss him, too lost in the pleasure of just his fingers to aim for his mouth. He grins against your mouth and thumbs on your clit. You sob, knees buckling, but with just one large hand under your thigh, he’s holding you up, keeping you pinned there, just to take whatever he gives you.
Hinata coos when you whine against his ear, a desperate yet fruitless plea. “S-Shouyou—”
“You’re so cute,” he murmurs lovingly, a damning contrast to his unforgiving pace.
“Shouyou,” you all but wail, head falling back and knocking against the wall. The pain doesn’t register. All you can feel are just his fingers bringing you to heights of pleasure you’ve never reached, his hand keeping you steady, and his tongue tracing your neck to your ear, and—
“A-Ah, wait, Shouyou,” you say, waking from the daze to weakly push his arm away. “I’m about to—”
But you can’t compete with his strength of a pro athlete. The movement of the muscles on his arms is hypnotizing, yet you go cross-eyed and lose focus when he prompts his pace to go faster—deeper, meaner.
“From just my fingers?” The look in his eyes makes yours widen. Lust. Hunger. You’ve seen that look in court, but it’s different here, the room heating up by your colliding breaths, Hinata bringing you to your climax with just two fingers. It’s different, and he’s different. “Show me. Show me how good I’m making you feel with just this, come on.”
Hinata has a habit of spoiling you, not only when it comes to material possessions, but with anything you wish for. And you should really thank him for it. It's only right, you think.
cw: 18+, f!reader, oral (male receiving)
— ✦
The wind chime that hangs out on your balcony twinkles in a sweet tune, the sound drifting into your apartment along with the rays of the early morning sun. Hinata brought it back for you from Brazil; it's made of bells hidden inside of seashells, carved pieces of glass, and twine. It's charming in its own right, but it means more because he bought it for you. (It was the first thing he got with his first ever paycheck as a delivery boy, and he had messaged you about it too.)
You think he's always been too willing with you. Hinata always indulges you, perhaps more than he should. You try to gently chide him into not spoiling you so much, try telling him that he doesn't need to get you a gift whenever the urge strikes him; Hinata never really listens, just takes your lighthearted scolding with red ears and a sheepish smile.
You can't really complain anyway — you quite like knowing he's thinking of you.
As you lay beneath your comforter, head sinking into your pillows, you reach out a hand and trace a line down Hinata's bicep, following the curve of his muscle. The years he spent in Brazil turned him into someone new; he had come back to you stronger, bigger. He had come back with his instincts sharper and his smile wider, and his love for you nearly tripled, it seems. Something squeezes and shudders in your chest as you watch the subtle ways his face shifts in his sleep. His lashes brush the apples of his cheeks and his lips are parted slightly, shoulders rising and falling with each breath. He's every bit as endearing asleep as he is awake — and you can hardly believe he's yours.
It's a strange position to be in: to date someone with so much fame. The world is watching his every move and, by extension, they are watching yours too. Hinata never shies away from speaking about you; he posts you on social media, takes you out on dates. And people talk — of course they do. Everyone has opinions on everything and your relationship with Hinata is no exception to that. Some of them think you're too plain for a pro-athlete, especially one as prolific as Hinata Shouyou. Sometimes, you start to believe them.
Hinata is every bit willing to give you the world, should you ask for it. And while you're willing to do the same for him, he would be able and you could only ever make a good-faith attempt. You can tell him time and time again how enamoured you are by him, how grateful you are to have him; Shouyou, thank you. Shouyou, what would I do without you? Shouyou, I love you.
It doesn't really measure up — not in your eyes, anyway. (Hinata insists otherwise but you're allowed to disagree with him sometimes.)
Shouyou," you whisper, shuffling closer. He's so warm — you can feel the steady thrum of his heart beating as you slot your head in the crook of his neck. "Are you awake?"
And then: "I love you."
You bring your arm up and curl it under your head, the other skims up his shoulder and curves over his neck. You can feel his body moving with each cyclical breath; you wait for him to wake up. Some part of you wants to shake him awake, but you imagine he has several good things to dream about, and you'd hate to interrupt.
The longer you stare, the harder it becomes for you to be patient.
Hinata had returned a little over a month ago. You'd been expecting him for the whole week before he came back home, cleaning and reorganising your apartment, repeatedly checking your reflection in every mirror you pass by. You suspect that he'd wanted to surprise you, but — as with most things concerning you and him — he'd agreed to your whims and filled you in on all the details. You had waited for him at the airport when he'd arrived, and you had cried in his arms (which, you had immediately noted, had gotten much bigger in the time you'd spent apart) while he tried to soothe the ache of a wound that could finally begin to heal.
He'd called you every single night and yet, when he had you in his arms once more, Hinata had so much more to say. And you'd listened — hanging off of every word like missing even a second of him would break you.
You remember how he was bouncing his leg in the taxi back to your place; you had assumed it was just his excitement to be back home. That could have only been half of it — he'd been more excited to get his hands on you.
And as soon as the both of you stumbled past the front door, as soon as you had turned to welcome him home with a coy smile, Hinata was kissing you. He spent the next few hours simply learning your body once more: he'd mapped his love onto your skin long ago and now, he was retracing his steps, finding all the ways to make you squirm, whine, plead and beg. Embarrassingly, you were nothing more than a dazed mess at the end of it.
"You're always so sensitive, baby."
The memory of him rasping those words into the shell of your ear has you growing even more impatient. Involuntarily, your thighs press together; the ghost of his touch along your skin is fleeting — if you close your eyes, you can still feel it.
He must feel your insistent stare. Hinata stirs awake slowly, stretching his arms out first before his eyes even peel open. You watch with your smile hidden behind your hand as he fights sleep, finally meeting your softened gaze.
"Good morning," you say first, lovelorn as you watch him smile.
Hinata typically wakes up earlier than you. His schedule is a lot stricter than yours, and his discipline is stronger than yours as well. His body is used to waking up in tandem with the sunrise --- you prefer to wait until the rays of run greet you. But he's been given some time off, a short break to recuperate, and for once, Hinata had slept in with you. "Morning," he says, quietly though not cheerfully. His voice is gritty from the hours of sleep and the sound only lights a flame in your stomach.
You make your move then, not wanting to delay it any longer. Hinata's watching you curiously as you shift over him, and make room for yourself between his legs. The soft wrinkle between his brows, the way he's watching you so intently, only makes that flame grow as it begins to burn brighter.
He doesn't seem to put two-and-two together until your hands are sliding down his stomach, feeling the ridges of his well-trained muscles.
"Hey..." he laughs, the sound coming out breathy and soft, touched with a kind of disbelief he shouldn't still have. It's almost as if Hinata can't believe he has you in the same way you can't believe you have him. "You don't have to—"
"I want to," you reply, fingers curling into the waistband of his shorts. You tug at it, lowering it down his hips and his thighs. The way Hinata hisses at the cool air has a shiver rushing down the length of your spine. "I didn't think you'd be hard already," you accompany your words with a soft snicker.
Hinata whines in response, his hips chasing your fingers as they withdraw from him. "How could I not be? You're so hot—" his voice catches in his throat when you press your hand down on his thigh, thumb tracing his tan line. "Baby, please." You can imagine him now, standing on the sandy beaches of Rio De Janeiro, each grain easily felt beneath his bare feet. He must have been a sight to behold: sun-kissed skin, sweat perspiring on his forehead and over his back, mouth stretched into a self-assured grin.
You’re jealous, really — you should’ve been there too. It’s easy to picture him there, basking in the sunlight; the fact that others had gotten to see him like that stoked the fire burning in the cavity of your stomach.
“Can’t believe you woke me up just to tease,” Hinata pouts, sleep lacing his voice and making it sound almost stuck in his throat. He shifts his weight around, squirming as you skim your nails up his thighs.
You don't dignify him with a response. Hinata sucks in a sharp breath, "Where'd this come from anyway, huh?"
"Just felt like it," you hum, kneeling between his thighs. You place your hands on his hips, squeeze once, and then smooth your palms up his sides.
Hinata's skin is hot under your wandering touch. He's been good and kept his hands at his sides — an accomplishment for him considering how much he enjoys taking any and every opportunity to touch you. He stares down at you with a darkened gaze, his need for you written clearly in the deep brown of his irises. It's a look you've seen before, and one you will never tire of; it tugs at something deep inside of you, in the same way a puppeteer manipulates and pulls at the strings of his creations. You fall right in and you always give in.
Your hand curls around the base of his shaft — finally, finally — and Hinata hisses once more. He's jumpy already, hips bucking into your hand as you massage the skin. The sound of your name falling from his lips only encourages you to increase your pace; his legs jolt beneath your free hand.
Hinata's an eager lover. He's always yearning, hoping for more. When you're with him you truly feel desired, even at your worst of times. Your scent, your touch, your voice — this is all he knows. A low groan rumbles deep inside of his chest when you bend down, your soft lips wrapping around the head of his cock. You don't think he's really thinking when he jerks his hips up, forcing himself deeper into your mouth.
You're breathing through your nose, fighting the urge to gag when you feel him hit the back of your throat. And you keep him there, nose pressed flush against his pubic bone where you can smell his minty body wash.
"Move— please—" Hinata grunts. His fingers twist into the sheets at the same time you moan around his cock, and his hips lurch forward. "C'mon, baby." There's an edge to his voice, a warning simmering beneath the begging. Hinata knows how to hold himself back but his restraint is only so strong, and once the threads begin to fray, it's only a matter of seconds before he snaps.
But that isn't exactly an unfavourable outcome.
You hum around him once more. Hinata shivers. He mutters a curse under his breath, your nails dig into his thighs, and then his fingers are tangling themselves in your hair. His palm is insistent when it pushes down on the crown of your head, but he waits to move. Instead, he looks down at you with a silent question: Is this okay?
Your answer comes in the form of your tongue laving around him, running up and along the underside of his cock. It's all the answer he needs, really, and you go lax in his grip as he tugs you forward. Hinata pulls at your hair, manoeuvres you exactly where he wants you. His other hand cups your cheek, thumb stroking along your cheekbone, like he's apologising for pulling your hair and causing you pain.
(Not that he needs to — the feeling of hurt blooming under your scalp had sent heat searing down your body, and right between your legs. Hinata's looking down at you like he knows it; he's wearing a wicked grin.)
He guides you, bobbing your head up and down in tandem with each purposeful thrust of his hips. Your eyes flutter, going half-mast, and all you can really do is stare up at him through your lashes; your eyes glisten with tears that have yet to fall. Hinata's movements are stunned and he wrinkles the bedding beneath you both as he moves. You try your best to rub your tongue over him in a way he can appreciate, suck sloppily around the base of his shaft before he's pulling you off again. Every noise is lewd, obscene, and when he pushes in too deep, you're not able to stifle the way you gag and your throat tightens around him.
Hinata's quick to pull back, "Fuck, I'm sorry." But he doesn't sound quite as guilty as his big, brown eyes make him out to be — and the noise is not nearly as offending as it would have been in any other context.
You let him use you; it's the least you can do, you think, for the way he treats you like you are the moon and stars. And it's not all one-sided, if the way your arousal pools between your thighs says anything. He's trembling and your heart is racing. "Shit— I'm gonna come," Hinata pants quietly.
You want him to, you really, really do. So you hollow out your cheeks and you suck harder, the tip of your tongue tracing a vein that circles around his cock. You can feel him pulsing in your mouth, tongue catching along the dip of his tip. Hinata lets out a shuddering breath that wanes into a weak moan, his cheeks flushed. You swallow around him and plant your hands firmly on his thighs.
He comes with a strangled whine, bending his neck back and into the pillows. The taste of him floods your senses but you ignore the twang as you swallow, like it's second-nature. Hinata's hand falls from your hair, and he's looking down at you with a lovesick smile; you don't let up — not yet.
At least, you had planned not to but the hand cupping your cheek moves down to your jaw, gripping it tightly as he pulls you off of him. His cock is shiny with your spit, a thin strand of saliva following your mouth as you break away from him.
"You're perfect, you know that?" he asks, grabbing you and pulling you into his lap with ease. "So pretty — my pretty girl." Hinata pulls you into a searing kiss, lips meshing with yours as he licks into your mouth. You moan softly, anticipation filling your chest; it feels electric as it sparks down your arms and down your legs, static in your fingertips.
Hinata runs a hand down the curve of your spine, trailing his finger along the hem of your panties. He's not taking them off like you want him to, and you can't pull away to tell him to either. He keeps you in place with his free hand around your nape.
You weren't supposed to get this far. The morning was meant to start and end with Hinata — it was about your appreciation for him. And yet, he's indulging you once again as you squirrel around in his lap. His laugh warms in your chest and your heart swells. You feel Hinata hook his fingers into your underwear, pulling them clean off in a matter of a few seconds.
He throws you around with ease. Your back hits the mattress, your head sinking into the pillows he had been laying on moments ago. Hinata hovers over you, his eyes glancing all over your body and your face, as if he's seeing you for the first time. His gaze is sinister and the way his mouth twitches into a smirk has goosebumps erupting all over your skin.
"I think I need to return the favour," he sighs, trailing fervent kisses down your neck just to get to the sensitive spot below your ear. You can feel Hinata smile against your skin when you mewl in response to his gentle bite.
Your hands meet his bare chest, as though you're about to push him away. Maybe you should, he's giving in to you like he always does. But you don't and instead, you loop your arms around his neck, letting them slide off of him as your hands dig into his hair. Hinata moves down your body. "Shouyou — I was trying to thank you," you whisper, watching him press a kiss to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You shudder, much to Hinata's visible delight.
"You can thank me like this too," he simply replies, teeth sinking into the fat of your thigh. You suck in a sharp breath, thoughts scattering quick like skittish animals.
You hadn't thought about it until now — staring down at Hinata as his breath ghosts over your cunt. There's a faraway look in his eyes, his nails dig into your thighs, and you don't think you've ever seen him look so content.
Maybe, when he indulges you, he's indulging himself too.
18+, post brazil arc hinata, heavy makeout scene, implied sex
The first warning sign is the sound of your television ringing out. You can hear it, even outside the door. It plays out a muffled commentary, followed by excited cheers and screams, but to you, this is beginning to sound like a soundtrack of a horror movie. Your fingers pause on the key, heart racing.
You make sure to save your electricity bill every time you go out—it’s become a habit. There is just no way you forgot to do it today. As depressing as it is to admit, your life had been such a monotonous repeat of last week that even a slight change of habit like that would’ve been the most excitement you would feel for the past three years.
This is no longer exciting. This is just horrifying.
Usually, you’d enter and greet no one in particular, kick off your shoes in an impressively lazy manner, then pluck them back up and store them properly, place your groceries on the counter, lie down on the couch, then pass the fuck out. It’s been a routine. But today, you slide your phone out of your pocket, text Yachi, if i don’t reply in an hour, call sugawara-san and the police, and turn the key with a click!
You’re instantly greeted by the sight of an unfamiliar pair of shoes, deposited neatly beside where you would usually place yours. They’re too big for your feet. Next comes the turned up TV, maxed to a hundred—to the point where you can feel the buzz on your feet.
You see him right away, sprawled on your flimsy couch. It’s hard to miss him even when you try anyway, with the shock of orange hair illuminated by the blue of your TV.
But you must be hallucinating. Hinata is in Brazil. He should not be here. He should not have his arm over the head of your couch, he should not be drinking out of the glass you use every day—he should… he should not…
You flick the lights on and your mouth dries.
Hinata’s head whips around, eyes wide in surprise, before it melts into a pleased grin.
“Y/N! You’re back!” he exclaims. If you had a pet, it would surely react like that.
See, the problem is this: You and Hinata Shouyou are best friends. Friendly enough for you to call him Shouyou, for you to miss him so much when he left that it left an ache in your chest for too long, for him to update you about his troubles in Rio De Janeiro, for him to come over unannounced (apparently), and friendly for you to try and bury your feelings away to not ruin what you had.
Hinata shifts his torso to face you fully. “Y/N?”
Then his expression falls, and it takes a shudder from your shoulders to realize that you’re crying.
Hinata drops the remote and hurries over to you, large hands cupping your cheeks. He’s so, so warm, and real, and he’s asking you ‘what’s wrong? Are you okay?’ And no, you’re not okay. You thought that those two years without him would’ve helped you get rid of your feelings, but your heart is lurching to your throat and tears continue to leak from your eyes.
“I don’t…” You sniffle. “It’s not stopping.”
He murmurs your name so lovingly that you just cry harder.
You’re stupid to think that you can even get rid of it. Hinata wipes a stray tear with his thumb, leaving a scorching trail. You hiccup pathetically, dropping your groceries to hug him fully. His warmth envelops you as he lifts you by the waist to hug you back. You feel your feet lift off the ground.
“S-Shouyou,” you wail, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. “You didn’t— You didn’t tell me—”
You then hit him on the chest, but it doesn’t work in your favor when you realize how sturdy it is and you must’ve been like a pawing kitten clinging onto him. You suddenly become aware of this, and push off, but he keeps you pressed against him.
“I wanted to surprise you,” Hinata says softly, but the gleam in his eye and his amused smile betrays him.
You frown. “This isn’t funny.”
Hinata smiles wider. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“How did you even get in?”
Hinata shrugs. “You gave Yamaguchi your spare key. He helped me out.”
“You didn’t tell me you were back! I would’ve picked you up!”
Hinata laughs. “I wanted to surprise you. That’d be counterproductive.”
Against your morals, you jab a finger on his chest again. Just to test it. It is still as firm as about five seconds ago. “Did you do this to Yamaguchi or Hitoka, too? Huh? You idiot!”
“No, of course not. Just you,” he says it like it should be obvious.
What’s so obvious about your best friend holding you by the waist as you two stand in the doorway of your apartment, and your heart is racing because he’s gotten unfairly hotter? Nothing about this is obvious. Nothing about this is normal.
“I didn’t expect you to cry, though,” he says after a while.
You pull on his ear until he starts whining for you to stop.
You sit on your dingy couch as the TV plays out a sports channel that Hinata must’ve tuned in into while you haven’t arrived yet. It shouldn’t make you fond, but it does. He’s lowered the volume to 5%, and neither of you are paying attention.
“Sorry,” Hinata mumbles in defeat.
That shouldn’t make you forgive him in an instant, but it does.
“I could’ve at least prepared something for you,” you say, embarrassed by the state of your apartment. You really meant that so you could at least make your place look more presentable had you known Hinata Shouyou would be coming over. What if you had a stray underwear lying around somewhere?
Hinata turns to you with a kicked puppy expression, bottom lip jutted out. “You went from crying to angry in a flash, it scared me.”
“I’m not angry, Shouyou. Just—you know. A warning next time. I’m embarrassed.”
“Embarrassed? Over what?”
“It’s rude, Sho. You should be embarrassed!” You knuckle his head, momentarily forgetting how soft his hair is. It’s been years since you’ve touched it. You linger on it for a while, and he lets you.
Hinata just laughs in delight, his hands finding home on your hips. “You don’t have to prepare anything or clean up for me. I’d be coming over all the time now, anyway.”
“You’re a pro athlete now. Know your priorities!”
“You are my priority.”
You shove your accent pillow on his face. He yells in retaliation, but it’s mostly to hide your flustered, wide-eyed expression. Hinata is stronger, though. He pulls your hand off and grins at you, like you nearly straddling his lap is normal.
You realize you’ve been staring at him for too long. Shit. Seriously? Way to waste those two years trying to move on.
Hinata’s hand slides down to the small of your back when you move away, stopping you. His expression is more serious now, facing your gaze head-on. This is a terrifying position you’re in.
“I missed you,” Hinata says.
You pause. Wherever this was going, you were expecting it to just be a heated one night stand. You expected for it to end up with him on your bed, for him to never bring it up, and for you to regret hurting yourself years later. But Hinata says:
“I missed you so much,” he says, brows pinched to convey his earnestness. “My buddy, Heitor—he got married. I was invited. I clapped for them, but I just kept thinking about you.”
Oh.
“Well—I… I missed you, too, of course,” you stammer out, your pitch getting higher and higher as his other hand moves to the back of your thigh.
“You know, two years without you made me realize a lot of things,” Hinata tells you, never breaking eye contact. “A lot. You don’t know how many times I wanted to just risk everything and call you, but I wanted to do it here.”
“R-Really now?”
“You can tell me to stop, okay?” he says, and oh god, you know where this is going. “And we can forget I did this.”
You should tell him to stop. This is Hinata Shouyou, your best friend (and crush) since Karasuno High. Hinata Shouyou, who you watched grow up and get to where he is now—now being on your couch as you’re actually straddling him.
Instead, what comes out is: “Please.”
Hinata kisses you fiercely, not dissimilar to how he comes off in court—grand and dramatic and everything all at once. You tug on his wild hair, pulling on a few strands, and he makes a really pretty noise that makes something burn in your stomach. He gets revenge when his large hand trails to your ass and pushes you to sit on his lap. You may or may not have made an embarrassing noise in return.
Hinata chuckles. “That was hot.”
You scowl, locking his hips with your thighs, and he’s quick to shut up. It’s difficult for you, considering how thick he’s gotten, but the dazed fog in his eyes makes it all worth it.
You dive in for another heated kiss. His hand slides up your shorts, lingers on your inner thigh, where your skin meets his. It makes you gasp at the heat he’s emanating, rolling off of him physically. He pushes his tongue in your mouth, and your eyes might have just rolled back.
When you have to pull back for air, Hinata is gnawing on his bottom lip so hard that it swells up the way your lips are feeling.
“Fuck,” he says, with feeling, frowning.
You shiver when his hands continue to explore around your thighs. The cold breeze of the evening air then the sweltering heat of Hinata’s palms has you making pitiful, pitiful noises that makes Hinata groan into your neck, like you’re hurting him.
“Shouyou,” you breathe weakly.
Hinata’s sharp gaze cuts to yours, then he’s on top and you’re underneath him in a flash, caged by his arms. Your breath is knocked out of your lungs, and you could excuse it to his speed, but it’s really from just how easily he’s molding you to his liking.
“Sho—”
He rests a finger on top of your lips. It would’ve been difficult if it was just the TV flooding the room with light, but in this, you can see how red his ears have gotten.
“Stop… saying my name like that,” he says weakly.
You belatedly realize that this is him embarrassed, and laugh at his little problem. He looks at you and resembles a wounded animal.
“Shouyou,” you say, then pointedly roll your hips and grin when he stutters on a groan.
“Y/N!” he whines, as if trying to chide you, but he’s also moving his hips. It might be absentmindedly, seeing how he looks so far gone in bliss.
“Shouyou,” you repeat. “I want to take it further. So stop stalling take off your damn shirt already.”
At the green light, he hurriedly pulls his shirt off, fumbling for a second when it catches on his ear. He murmurs in embarrassment, but you’re not paying attention.
You trace his tan lines, lining his arms and would only be really visible if he was topless, like how he is now. His abs expand and contract with each heavy breath as he sucks on the skin under your jaw, hands moving everywhere, frantic, needy. He whimpers weakly every time you move against his hard-on, and the sound fuels you even more to tear him apart.
Two years trying to push him away. Hilarious. If all it took was one unexpected night for Hinata Shouyou to lose his mind over your hips, you would’ve risked it all instead of wallowing alone.
He pants, muscles flexing, and you breathe out a whine, trembling. You let him slide your shorts down, let him pull off your shirt, let him kiss you on your shoulder, your waist, then the inside of your thigh. You let him do more because he keeps looking at you like he wants nothing more than to be here, pupils blown wide and hands desperate, as if even a second without touching you would kill him.
You tug on his hair in warning when his nose brushes against the source of your heat. Hinata pulls back, looking dazed and upset you’re pushing him off. But you haven’t had the chance to tell him earlier, so you’ll tell him now.
“Shouyou,” you say.
Hinata reluctantly tears his eyes away from the mark in between your legs to look you in the eye. “Yeah?”
“Welcome home.”
Later that morning, you have about three missed calls from Sugawara, and over fifty from Yachi. In apology, Hinata sends them a picture of him on your bed, grinning smugly, like he’s just won a particularly hard match. He sends it off with a caption that read: I’m home.
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