SOMEBODY TIEBREAK THIS PLEASEEE

SOMEBODY TIEBREAK THIS PLEASEEE 🙏🧎‍♀️

chat! <3 when i finish one of my ongoing series i already have an idea for a new one

with no spoilers, it has to do with boba!

i can’t decide who should be the main man though, so could you lend me some help? :)

inside of me i have two wolves

ㅤthe dishes ᵕ̈        timeskip!boyfie!hinata shōyō        x gn reader ˎˊ˗

⋮⋮ ˒ ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎ 𖥻 ⿻ : he ' s back home , finally

📋 content     ♡ # 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 🐮     ♡ # 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵 🐄     ♡ # 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦 🥛     ♡ # ~800 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴

🎶 on shuffle " coming home " - beabadoobee

🧸 directory  ‹ ✩  like what you read ? check out more of my blog !  •ᴗ•

💬 kuroppiii ─ “ i don ’ t even fw shōyō that that much but i ’ ve been eating up these fics abt having to ldr with timeskip brazil hinata like DAMN ”

it felt so nice.

so nice to finally have his presence so close—to actually have hinata there with you, in the flesh.

you couldn’t help your eyes from being glued to his hands and his newly-tanned arms, flexing as he rinses the dirty dishes under the kitchen faucet’s little stream. his ginger hair was messy from how your hands carded through it earlier once he stepped through the front door and you shared a "welcome back home" kiss, and it fell over his slightly jet-lagged yet focused eyes.

towel in hand to dry the cleaned dishes as he placed them by you on the counter, you took it all in—the sound of the water, the sponge crunching out soapy bubbles, the clinks of fine china, his calm breathing—because it was all real. after so long it was all tangible.

of course, when hinata left for brazil, you two easily managed a consistent stream of texting and calling.

you loved each other, and distance wasn’t going to change that.

but although there was still connection, connection doesn’t always mean contact.

there was no human contact.

and at times it drove you crazy. the pillow on his side of the bed started to lose his scent the closer you hugged it at night. sometimes you could hear the slightest noise from how quiet the house was. the small loads of your laundry alone taunted you every week as you did chores around the house.

you were forced to just imagine—play a frustrating make-believe of what he was doing based on the descriptions that came to you in small grey bubbles on your phone screen. you always found yourself wishing to really see it, though. it just wasn’t the same. it just didn’t feel enough at times.

but then sometimes there were calls—at night when he’d be at a roof bar somewhere in rio, ditching his brazilian volleyball buddies for a little escape. with him leaning over the rooftop railing, his tropical patterned shirt flowing about and letting his toned chest peek at the bottom of your screen now and then. the pattern would blend with the pitch black sky behind him, if his phone connection was getting a little choppy.

his drink barely appeared in-frame of your video call. he didn’t need it. he just wanted a moment with you and to hear your voice—to get drunk off of that—even if he had to settle getting it through his phone.

there would be calls while he’s eating breakfast, reviewing a different café for that morning’s coffee, as his animated comments brought an unwavering smile to your face as you ate your dinner.

but then the the calls would end, and the kitchen scarily got so much quieter. it was just you and your empty dishes, as you stack the pile higher and higher, not feeling compelled to wash them at the moment as you’re falling from the high that was feeling your shōyō’s presence back in your life. even if it was for the briefest of calls.

until he had called you to let you know he’s coming home.

until he had called you when he was packing his bags.

until he had called you the moment he got to his terminal in the airport for his flight back home.

“i just to be with you, right now,” he said.

“you’re on your way. we’ll be together again soon, shō,” you say with a fake front of patience as if you, too, weren’t also barely able to contain yourself. this high remained with you for all 24 hours of anticipation as he made his way across the globe for you. you secretly prayed to every force or god out there that hinata’s flight doesn’t get delayed—that’d he’d be there with you, right on time. you physically could not wait a moment longer.

he didn’t have to call you upon his return, not when he was already at your door.

his suitcases and bags were actually still there, sitting next to the shoes at the entrance.

the first thing hinata did after he dropped his bags was scoop you up and smother you in kisses, his embrace on you so secure you felt like living there in his arms forever.

the second thing he did was go to help you with the that heap of dishes living in the kitchen sink.

“what are you staring at, baby?” hinata’s voice brings you back to the present, “the dishes aren’t going to dry themselves.”

he giggles at his own joke before leaning over to give your lips a short kiss, and your eyes flutter closed as the short moment felt like eternal bliss.

when you open them again, they trace over every detail of his face. you can see his eyes are doing the same, as well.

“i’m just happy you’re home,” you say.

🗒⋆ *. ୨୧⋆｡ taglist : @hatsukeii , @akaakeis ( beabadoobee - ers rise up !! )

SAKUATSU IS TIED??!! 😭

chat! <3 when i finish one of my ongoing series i already have an idea for a new one

with no spoilers, it has to do with boba!

i can’t decide who should be the main man though, so could you lend me some help? :)

ㅤpictures of us ᵕ̈        timeskip!boyfie!suna rintarō x gn reader ˎˊ˗

⋮⋮ ˒ ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎ 𖥻 ⿻ : your boyfriend really ⋮⋮ wants to catch a new movie coming ⋮⋮ out . what must be so special about ⋮⋮ it , anyway ?

📋 content     ♡ # 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 🐮     ♡ # 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵 🥛     ♡ # 1.2𝘬 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴

🎶 on shuffle " pictures of us " - beabadoobee

🧸 directory  ‹ ✩  like what you read ? check out more of my blog !  •ᴗ•

💬 kuroppiii ─ “ how many times have i teared up in my car to this song ? that ' s up to YOU 🫵 to decide ! ”

suna rintarō begs you to see an exclusive screening of an upcoming independent film at a small local movie house.

as pretentious as the idea first sounded, you of course oblige because how can you resist your one and only boyfriend? especially when he’s clinging to you and hanging off you as he so sweetly asks, sneaking kisses along the expanse of your neck and shoulder in between points of how, “it’s really about the experience. it’s what the director would have wanted.”

he really wanted to go.

so you go with him when the day comes, but for some reason suna takes longer than usual to get ready so you end up arriving at the movie house when the last of the previews are wrapping up. usually you and him go early to see those, where he says things like, “that looks like ass,” or, “we’re going to see that one, for sure,” and it never fails to make you snicker in your seat beside him.

you’re just a smidge late for all that this time.

“but that’s ok,” you reassure him, “the previews always drag on anyway. plus, you look really nice from getting ready for so long.”

you giggle and give him a quick kiss on his cheek and when you pull back, he looks at you with just the most lovestruck look ever.

“you’re the best, y’know that?” he says, in a tone strangely more lovey-dovey (especially given the fact you’re in public) than usual. it wasn't like you don't compliment him on a regular basis, either.

okayyy…?

“i know,” you quickly joke with a light laugh, trying to dodge the odd feeling that him looking at you like that gives you.

after suna pays for your tickets, he takes you by the hand to pick out some snacks. and in another odd turn of events, he lets you get all the snacks and popcorn you want.

“you’re seriously going to pay for all this?” you raise an eyebrow at him–already attempting to put some back because you were just teasing when you grabbed so many, like you usually do when the two of you see movies together.

the worker behind the counter politely butts in, “a-actually, today there's a special deal where snacks are free!"

"seriously?" you gawk in response. suna nods at the worker with a smile before he gathers all your said snacks and treats and gestures at you to start following him.

weird...

but free snacks? you weren't going to complain.

you two quietly slip into the dark theater and suna must have perfectly remembered the seat numbers on your tickets because he walks right up to a row in the dead center of the room. as he sets your belongings down, you quickly double-check the seats he so-confidently led you to, but he was right about them. you don't recall him glancing at your tickets for more than a second since you bought them, though.

what a good memory he has?

you settle into your seat next to him and start picking at your big tub of popcorn. it looks like you arrived just in time as the last preview is starting up.

the preview colorfully flashes up to a start in a way that imitates old film, as a soft tune starts to ring through the speakers. it's a bunch of artsy close-ups of clothes and belongings shrewd about a hardwood floor, beams of sunlight hitting them gorgeously.

... hey, you own a sweatshirt that looks like that.

and then you see it: it's you up there on the big screen.

captions start to appear as a reel of videos containing you start to play.

[ i thought for the longest time i was perfectly fine on my own ]

a clip of you as you and suna walk to class in inarizaki’s halls, in your old uniform and glancing back at him now and then. your smile is wide and if it weren’t for the music playing over the video, you could almost hear your own laugh at probably some dumb joke suna just told you behind the camera.

[ but for the longest time, i didn't have a fucking clue what "perfect" really meant. ]

your head tucked in your arms with your hood up, sleeping mid-study-session on a college library’s table scattered with open notes and dog-eared textbook pages. your eyes peek out from the material of your hoodie, the glint of a smile reaching what can be seen before you bashfully bury your head further back into your original position.

[ i was an idiot for thinking i did know what "perfect" was. ]

your hands clutching at his pro jersey you’re wearing as you stand in front of the stadium building, thousands of unheard fans on the inside waiting to see him play. undoubtedly when after that clip was recorded, you two went in, and it was still only you he really looked for wearing his jersey in the crowd whenever his team scored a point.

[ because then i met you. ]

all the times when you’ve turned to see his fond eyes peeking above the back of his phone—as he photographs you like a rare and beautiful sight that’s fleeting, one he absolutely needed to snapshot at those exact moments in order to keep for himself forever—got laid out before you.

now you’re seeing them from his point of view, and it captivates you like nothing else.

[ you are perfect. ]

the b-roll of moments you and suna have shared over the years fades out, and the preview's title card shows up in a pretty and elegant font: "will you marry me? (directed by: suna rintarō)"

you don't even realize your jaw is hanging wide open in shock when you turn to face present-day suna next to you, and there he was again, his phone in front of his face. but you catch in the glare of the silver screen you're sat in front of, the eyes that peek over the camera are crinkled up as they look at you with unbridled joy and radiates a love in its purest form.

"rin..." you can barely speak, both because you're touched but also because you're bewildered out of your mind.

with a chuckle he finally lets up on his recording, sticking his phone into his pocket. he stands up and moves in front of you, getting down on one knee. your heart skips a beat.

the lights suddenly turn on in the theater, and your first instinct once your eyes get readjusted to the brightness is to look around–because a room full of theater goers were are being subjected to whatever it is suna has orchestrated here.

but as you look around, the whole ordeal feels even more surreal, because it's all your loved ones filling up the rows of seats. they look back at where you're sitting, smiling and with some of them also recording on their phones now, too.

"so..." suna starts, redirecting your attention back to him. he pulls out a tiny box from his pocket, opening it to reveal a ring that shines divinely in the dim lighting of the room, "will you?"

his delight is evident as he fights back a grin and his face and ears are dusted an adorable shade of pink. you're arguably more delighted than him–over the moon, even–as you utter out your answer...

"yes, i'll marry you."

💬 kuroppiii ─ “ y ' all ever seen that viral video of the guy that reanimated sleeping beauty to propose to his girlfriend ? yeah ”

🗒⋆ *. ୨୧⋆｡ taglist : @chloiyoomi , @rinsoap , @twusizz ( saw your reply ! here it is ! )

iwaoi, but's it's iwaizumi who had always wanted to leave japan. he found his every day life in miyagi stifling. he hated seeing the same classmates over and over again with their disagreeable opinions and close-minded worldviews, hated the way the people in his neighborhood all knew each other and their business, hated the way it rained and hated the way the sun rose every single day. he hated the very idea of staying in miyagi more than he had to.

he talked to oikawa about this regularly, ever since they could form thoughts that ventured outside of their little realm in japan. first, he told oikawa he'd move out of miyagi. he'd find an apartment in tokyo, or a job as a farmhand in hokkaido, or anywhere else that isn't miyagi and the life he's had to grow up in. then, as he got older, he went a step further.

china, he'd mumble oikawa during the first class of the day in middle school.

the phillippines, he'd shout at oikawa while peppering a volleyball.

somewhere further, he'd finally admitted to oikawa while walking home from a late-night home court game, his gaze trained on the ground with the most vulnerability he'd shown in years. like america. i've applied to a college in america.

oikawa had laughed at him on most times. iwaizumi knew oikawa liked life in miyagi; he got along with his classmates fine, girls liked him, he loved his family and their neighborhood, loved the sunrise and the rain. iwaizumi knew this because oikawa had always disagreed with him on those subjects.

but liking life wasn't enough when oikawa's goals were set further than what he would be constrained to at home. loving japan wasn't enough when japan didn't love him.

argentina, oikawa had whispered, miserable, to him for the first time near the end of their first year in high school. he'd seen kageyama around. he'd seen the way his serves had gotten better and better and better.

their planes left mere weeks from each other. oikawa first, to argentina, with tears in his eyes and a sharp call to not be stranger. iwaizumi left second, wishing his family a farewell with his heart full to finally leave.

iwaizumi had liked california enough. he was entertained, if not occasionally confused, by the manner of young adult americans. he had thought, originally, that he wouldn't miss japan. maybe he'd miss his family and the two friends he'd left, but nothing else. he thought the pang in his chest when his american roommate and newfound friends went out for a chicken wing restaurant and not onigiri, when they spoke exclusively english (sometimes spanish) and not japanese, when there were beds and air mattresses and not futons, that he was missing familiarity, is all. he only missed not feeling out of place.

oikawa had shared with him, over their many calls, his own struggles with homesickness. but, oikawa had told him over grainy Facetime, my team has done everything to make me feel at home. spanish isn't as hard as i thought it'd be! i'm going to make this work. even if i miss you and japan. i just... i need this. i need argentina.

both he and oikawa managed to make it home for christmas after only a few months into their respective journeys into the americas. they arrived at different times, though, so iwaizumi made the trip home from tokyo alone. he took two trains, then a taxi closer to his house. he saw the billboards in his own language. he watched people that looked like himself. they went to restraunts with onigiri. their seating would be chabudai and not high tables and booths. he saw familiar streets and familiar faces in his neighborhood.

he came to his house, where he knew exactly where the patch of grass his childhood cat was buried in the backyard. he could see phantoms of himself riding his bike up and down the road. he could see where he caught butterflies, where oikawa chased him with a handful of worms.

he came home, and his family was waiting for him. it all rushed over him, when he saw them again. all the anxiety of not being able to get to them fast if they got into an accident. constantly wondering what he'd be doing if he was in japan and not at uc-irvine. thinking about how much he preferred his home culture to the strangeness of the united states.

he met with oikawa next, who regaled him on his adventures in argentina as if they hadn't talked nearly everyday since their planes took them away from home.

i'm going to stay, oikawa told him during a late evening stroll after dinner, his eyes alight with happiness and success. i love it in argentina. it's everything i want and need.

iwaizumi was happy for him. but, iwaizumi knew he would not be content doing the same.

i'm coming back home i get my bachelor's, he told oikawa after a second's pause, letting the coldness of the evening wash over him, watching the sun set in the way he'd spent hating his entire life. america is nice, but japan is where i'm meant to be.

he found that he didn't mind the rain when he was no longer seventeen and hating his classmates. he didn't mind staring out the window of the house he grew up in when he wasn't sixteen and desperate to leave. he'd been to the other side of the fence, and the grass simply wasn't any greener.

and he knew he'd be okay with that, eventually, even if a part of him wondered if he was giving up. even if that part of him wanted to riot and rage and scream at the idea of staying in the place he'd always told everyone he'd leave.

oikawa looked at him, then, with his eyes still bright but shining with a different kind of light. and that's perfectly fine, oikawa said to him, his voice low and earnest.

there was not a hint of condescension. nothing that said, you gave up. you are worth nothing. you will be nothing. oikawa meant it when he said that it was fine that leaving wasn't all iwaizumi had chalked it up to be. his tone said, in every way, nothing has changed. you will be just as good here as you would be anywhere else. you have not given up. there is nothing wrong with letting yourself be happy.

somehow, that was more reassuring than any of the faux comforts he'd been trying to console himself with.