body horror descriptions, cannibalism imagery, monster imagery word count: 426
"that number ten is a monster, isn't he?"
once upon a time, moons ago, kageyama found the question ridiculous. how could anyone look at a five foot two kid with a mop of sunshine orange on his head and think monster? sure, hinata was intense, constantly fighting to gain the next win, but that's everybody who played a competitive sport. there's nothing special about it. most of the time he was just his idiot self, crying over losing or laughing at one of tanaka's bad jokes or smiling around cheeks stuffed full of fresh pork buns.
now a days, kageyama doesn't find the question very ridiculous at all.
it starts small, but even with small changes it's hard not to notice them in a person who stands by your side day in and day out. hinata watching the way he does a jump serve, or how nishinoya dips for receives, or the way tsukishima goes for a block, memorizing and trying to soak it in so next time he does those movements, he can do them better.
if he's watching and soaking during day to day practice, matches set hinata's eyes ablaze, brown eyes in sharp focus on every opponent on the court, dissecting them all the way through the skin, the muscle, the viscera all the way to the bone until they are laid bare in front of him, so hinata can take his sweet time to pick the most valuable part for them to devour.
day by day, practice by practice, kageyama can see he is less of a person and more of a patchwork laid over bare instinct and physical prowess. a piece of nekoma's receives plastered across his thigh. an attachment of the datekou block to his arms. a swath of fukurodani power sewn into his hands. seijoh's stability anchored to his spine. they mold into him, shifting from their original shapes into something hinata can make his own, evolving his form and stance until hinata is no longer the the five foot two kid who cried over a loss on the steps. he is something far more terrifying, stealing and consuming until he grows enough to master the skies he's always longed for. it isn't just for competition, or to beat kageyama in his weird revenge fantasy, but something far more primal, fueled by a greedy need not even he can fully understand.
hinata shouyou is a monster, and kageyama wonders which part of him he'll decide to eat if he ever lets himself get caught between his teeth.
Fill: Team Azumane Asahi/Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi, M
word count: 426
"that number ten is a monster, isn't he?"
once upon a time, moons ago, kageyama found the question ridiculous. how could anyone look at a five foot two kid with a mop of sunshine orange on his head and think monster? sure, hinata was intense, constantly fighting to gain the next win, but that's everybody who played a competitive sport. there's nothing special about it. most of the time he was just his idiot self, crying over losing or laughing at one of tanaka's bad jokes or smiling around cheeks stuffed full of fresh pork buns.
now a days, kageyama doesn't find the question very ridiculous at all.
it starts small, but even with small changes it's hard not to notice them in a person who stands by your side day in and day out. hinata watching the way he does a jump serve, or how nishinoya dips for receives, or the way tsukishima goes for a block, memorizing and trying to soak it in so next time he does those movements, he can do them better.
if he's watching and soaking during day to day practice, matches set hinata's eyes ablaze, brown eyes in sharp focus on every opponent on the court, dissecting them all the way through the skin, the muscle, the viscera all the way to the bone until they are laid bare in front of him, so hinata can take his sweet time to pick the most valuable part for them to devour.
day by day, practice by practice, kageyama can see he is less of a person and more of a patchwork laid over bare instinct and physical prowess. a piece of nekoma's receives plastered across his thigh. an attachment of the datekou block to his arms. a swath of fukurodani power sewn into his hands. seijoh's stability anchored to his spine. they mold into him, shifting from their original shapes into something hinata can make his own, evolving his form and stance until hinata is no longer the the five foot two kid who cried over a loss on the steps. he is something far more terrifying, stealing and consuming until he grows enough to master the skies he's always longed for. it isn't just for competition, or to beat kageyama in his weird revenge fantasy, but something far more primal, fueled by a greedy need not even he can fully understand.
hinata shouyou is a monster, and kageyama wonders which part of him he'll decide to eat if he ever lets himself get caught between his teeth.