Brazil Hinata - Tumblr Posts
hc that hinata fell in love with brazilian funk and listens to it to get him pumped up before games (it reminds him of the parties he went to and like pavlovs him into an adrenaline rush)
hinata and Brazilian reader:
life with hinata
╰┈➤ brasil hinata arc
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 !! )
