“The Janitor’s Closet Incident”

🦒🍊sooo tiny

almost forgot how to draw them

oh what the fuck

ᡣ𐭩 ⎯⎯⎯ BBVERSE: WHAT’S IT GONNA BE? shoyo’s ipod: chinese satellite ♪ phoebe bridgers

HINATA SHOYO MADE THREE PROMISES, AND HE BROKE ALL THREE OF THEM. on most days, hinata was easy to predict. he wore his heart on his sleeve—never worried too much about what other people thought of him. yet he cared what you did.

during his first two years at karasuno, you would get nothing but radio silence every time he lost a game. no texts, no calls, no warnings. he would just show up to school the next day, back to how he was before. then.. there was that one day. there were red rims around his eyes, all puffy like he’d been crying, and the kind of slump in his shoulders that comes only from regret.

“if I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more,” he had said, told you he didn’t want you to worry. told you he wished he was thicker skinned. always the hypocrite, wasn’t he?

he held a water bottle, the red one he used for volleyball. the lid was missing. he wore those sneakers he bought in middle school—with all of his savings. two sizes too small, worse for wear. there were frays and scuffs that weren’t there when you last saw him.

so you made him promise. “keep whatever you want from me, but when you do tell, never lie.”

you met hinata’s mother at the interhigh prelims, held his younger sister natsu’s hand the entire game; played tic tac toe between sets. by the time the referee blew the whistle, they both called you family.

the same orange haired boy who kept your missing hair-ties on his wrist, who cried when he forgot the candles for your birthday cake, who held you when things fell apart, now held something else: a trophy, a team, and the world. you held his pride.

he sprained his wrist during the match, became left handed that winter. he started calling you more. it’s hard to type with an injured hand, as his excuse. you went away for the new year, spent december in osaka with your family. he called you even more.

hinata always picked up on the first ring, you picked up on the second. you knew something was wrong when you had to call twice before he picked up.

on that day, he told you about brazil.

he told you about his day first. told you about waking up before the sun did, running up the steep road to the school with kageyama to get early practice in for the spring championship. he found a rock that looked like you, brought it home. told you that he tried a new onigiri flavor. apparently, pickled plum is devil spawn.

this whole routine had turned into his everyday ritual—a customary habit, if you will. hinata told you about his day, and you told him yours. yet on that particular call, there was something off.

when you spend enough time with someone, their behavior becomes language. tiny cues carry worlds. the spaces between seconds, subtle pauses between laughs. you could almost imagine him picking at his callouses—the ones that splayed across his palms, decorating his hands. he was nervous.

you asked, and it didn’t take long for him to budge.

“have you ever seen a sunset in rio?” he said, more olive branch than question. kiyoko had mentioned professional volleyball players finding themselves in south america, returning an entirely different person. she mentioned it in passing; in conversation.

turns out, first year hinata held onto that. he sent you a screenshot: a travel blog by a retired athlete, big sparkly letters stuck to the headers. one stood out.

THE FUTURE OF VOLLEYBALL: WHY YOU SHOULD TRAIN IN BRAZIL! Spend a year training on Rio De Janeiro’s famous coasts, learning from local players and seasoned pros who know the game inside and out. Join a welcoming community, and experience the unique blend of culture and sport. Unlock your full potential. Don’t you think.. click to read more

there was that word again. potential. no one worked harder than shoyo did, no one wanted it more than he did. you knew he felt stuck, wanted more space to grow. he told you himself. you could hear him waiting over the speaker, eager to see what you thought.

cue the second, “promise me, that you’ll call. text.”

“I will.” he answered, zero hesitation.

“come home.” you breathed.

he hesitated, then answered. “I will.”

“pinky promise?” you made sure.

“yeah,” he smiled. “with a kiss on the thumb.”

and so you let him go.

airports do business best in april, at the crust of summer. students board last minute flights; graduates clip their wings free. hinata’s mother, glassy eyed, hugged him and threatened to fly over there herself if he didn’t eat well. like she ever had to worry about it.

with you, his arms never withhold. hinata’s never held you harder. but it wasn’t as long as it needed to be. he draped his jacket over you, the black one with ‘fly’ in bold japanese brushstroke on the back.

then he went to brazil—chased his dreams. with his suitcase full of sparks, heart missing you.

on january first, your phone didn’t ring.

BRAZIL BOUND TAGS @gojotech @chososcamgirl @yell0wdreams @bktooo @quikhs @nekozaki @dazzlingakaashi @dazqa @asrichin @primaverx @haezen

A/N not fully proofread, a lazy write to get this out of my drafts, I love you bbverse I promise I still do.. I’ll come home again soon..

People who argue against deaf Bakugou and Present Mic headcanons because "their body is built for their quirk" are actually kinda obnoxious.

Firstly: let people have fun, it's a headcanon for a reason.

Second: Bakugou's quirk literally killed him. Clearly, there can be ways that your body isn't perfectly optimized for it.

Third: What if them being hard of hearing IS their body being optimized for their quirk? If it's lower volume for you, it isn't as much of a bother.

જ⁀♡⊹｡° stains where you should be

( hinata shoyo x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — back in my haikyuu writing era ;)

♡ word count — 1.1k

♡ content — hinata shoyo x fem! reader, brazil! hinata, pro beach volleyball player! reader, slight nsfw, 18+, no explicit nsfw but it is mentioned, manga spoilers ig? even though i'm sure that many people know how it ends, established relationship, messy relationship, yearning, lmk if i missed anything!

♡ synopsis — after half a year in Brazil, the only time hinata feels like he is home...is when he's with you.

The first time Hinata sees you, you’re standing in the sand like you were born there.

The wind howls around you, but you don’t waver. The sand shifts beneath your feet, but you don’t stumble. Every movement is precise, every step purposeful.

You’re not just playing beach volleyball—you are the game, completely in sync with the rhythm of the court, the rush of the ocean breeze, the pulse of competition.

Hinata watches, entranced.

He came to Brazil to train, to push himself beyond his limits, to become more than just the player he was. But here, on the beach, everything is different.

The sand swallows his steps, the wind steals his control, and suddenly, the court he knew so well has transformed into something untamed.

He’s never played like this before, never had to adjust for an environment that fights back.

But you? You make it look effortless.

The match ends, and he’s already moving toward you before he fully realizes it. His shirt sticks to his skin, damp from his own practice, but all he can think about is you.

“How do you do it?” he blurts out, still catching his breath.

You turn, blinking at him with an unreadable expression. Up close, you’re even more intimidating—not in size, but in presence. Like you know exactly who you are, like the world doesn’t shake you.

“Do what?” you ask, tilting your head.

Hinata gestures vaguely to the sand, the wind, everything. “That! The way you move, the way you—like the wind doesn’t even touch you. How do you jump like that?”

A slow smile tugs at your lips. “I guess I just got used to it.”

“Teach me,” he says immediately, voice alight with determination. “Please.”

You exhale, watching him for a long moment before nodding. “Alright. Hope you’re ready to eat a lot of sand.”

It starts as training.

Late-night sessions on the sand, long after the sun has dipped below the horizon. The two of you meet when the rest of the world has gone quiet, when the only sounds left are the crash of waves and the occasional distant laughter from a nearby beach bar.

At first, he struggles. A lot.

The sand betrays him. The wind mocks him. The game he thought he understood has changed, and he stumbles over his own feet more times than he can count.

You laugh every time.

“Did you just trip over the air?” you tease as he groans, face-first in the sand.

“It moved!” Hinata protests, spitting out a mouthful of grit. “I swear the sand moved!”

You roll your eyes, offering him a hand. He takes it without hesitation.

The nights blur together—long hours spent chasing the ball, learning the subtle shifts of the wind, adjusting his jumps. He gets better. He learns fast. And as the training stretches on, something else changes, too.

One night, after an exhausting session, you tilt your head at him. “My place is closer than yours,” you say. “You can crash there if you want.”

Hinata hesitates for only a second before nodding. “Yeah. Okay.”

Your home is small but warm. The kind of place that feels lived in, filled with little pieces of you—a shelf lined with trophies, photos pinned up on a board, the lingering scent of something citrusy in the air.

You toss him a towel and some clean clothes. “These should fit you.”

Hinata looks down at the oversized towel wrapped around his waist. “What? You don’t like my new look?”

You snort. “Not unless you plan on making it a fashion statement.”

He grins but takes the clothes, disappearing into the bathroom. When he emerges, you’re already settled on the couch, a movie playing in the background.

Hinata isn’t really watching.

His gaze drifts to you—the way you’re curled up, comfortable, the way the screen flickers across your face. He doesn’t know why, but he wants to be closer.

The movie ends. You stretch, turning to him with a sleepy smile. “Goodnight, Hinata.”

Before he can stop himself, he leans in and kisses you.

Your breath hitches, but you don’t pull away. You kiss him back, fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him closer, and before either of you fully register what’s happening, you’re tangled together—breathless, desperate, lost in each other.

By the time you make it to your room, he’s memorizing the way your skin feels under his hands, the way your laughter gets caught in your throat. You sigh his name.

And for the first time since coming to Brazil, Hinata feels like he’s home.

You are happy. Really happy.

Days spent playing, nights spent wrapped up in each other, whispered confessions between laughter. You make promises in the dark, in the spaces between his dreams.

And then—he leaves.

Hinata tells you he’ll come back. Of course he will. How could he not? Brazil changed him. You changed him. He says it with so much conviction that you believe him.

But then the months pass. And pass.

You call. No answer. You text. No response.

Then one day, you see the headline.

“Hinata Shoyo Signs with MSBY Black Jackals”

The picture shows him back in Japan, grinning, surrounded by everything he once dreamed of.

Your hands tremble as you set your phone down. You wait for a message, for anything.

But nothing comes.

And for the first time, you wonder if he ever planned to come back at all.

It happens at a match.

You’re focused on the game, locked in, until you feel it—eyes on you.

When you glance to the side of the court, he’s there.

Hinata, hands shoved in his pockets, watching you like he did that first time.

Your chest tightens.

After the game, he approaches, hesitant but there.

“Hey,” he says softly.

You exhale. “Hey.”

For a long moment, neither of you speak. Then, he swallows. “Can we talk?”

You hesitate before nodding.

The restaurant is quiet. The food is untouched.

Hinata had requested a private room for the two of you, the empty room almost seeming as if it was mocking you. You'd rather be playing volleyball naked, you think.

Anything would be better than this strange form of torture Hinata has put you through.

You stare at your glass, and then the words slip out before you can stop them.

“I waited for you.”

Hinata’s breath catches. His grip tightens around his drink. “I know.”

Your voice wavers. “I waited, and you didn’t come back.”

When you finally look at him, tears are welling in your eyes.

Hinata feels something in his chest break, and before he can think—he’s kissing you.

Between kisses, he mumbles

I missed you.

Missed Brazil.

Missed us.

I love you.

When you pull away, your voice is quiet. “Then prove it.”

And this time—he will.

He swears by it.

trying to get back into multi-fandom writing :) hope this was good!

likes, comments, and reblogs appreciated!

The template forcibly told me to make it sakuastu so I did😔😔

when will i start reading twyutd... NO FUCKING WAY IT HAS 670K WORDS............ HUHHHHH..... AND 30 CHAPTERS?!?!?@,@? guys....

Haikyuu Food Series Vol. 1 Hinata’s egg on rice

sometimes i'm all alone by myself and out of nowhere bakugo katsuki pops up in my head and i cry i mf cry bcs that man ohh that man ohhhh i love him to death

But if you tame me, then we shall need each other.