Major Tags: Violence Other Tags: None Word Count: 483 words
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Cagefighting is nothing like basketball. Violence is cheered instead of jeered, it’s a solo sport instead of a team sport and there are no time-outs with uncut lemons soaked in honey for those who are tired.
Momoi loves it. She wraps her knuckles in Midorima's tape and waves to her boys (her boys, always her boys, especially Aomine) as she prepares in her corner. She shifts her weight from foot to foot, testing the flexibility of her sneakers, and bounces briefly to make sure the sports bra she’s wearing for a top can contain the weight of her F-cup breasts properly.
The appreciative wolfwhistles in response to that movement are cut off abruptly. Without looking back, Momoi knows either Kuroko or Aomine did something. So precious, her boys. So predictable.
Her hair’s in a braid, pinned up against her head. Hair-pulling is forbidden in cagefighting but it’s hard not to reflexively grab something that snaps in front of you; easier and safer to just remove temptation entirely.
Riko doesn’t have that problem. All she needs is a cloth headband to hold her short hair away from her face. She’s in a sports bra as well and shorts but it’s the smile on her face that catches and holds Momoi’s attention.
For two girls used to being on the sidelines, used to being puppetmasters and strategists, the cagefights are a chance to bleed out all the tension from the matches. They’re just as invested in the games as their players but they can’t take to the court to shoot three point buzzer beaters or dance rings around the defense.
This is their chance to fight; this is their chance to win.
The bell rings and Riko comes out swinging, throwing a vicious cross-jab at Momoi’s face. Momoi barely ducks back in time, stepping back with a spin that lets her left arm slice through the air at Riko’s face. She feels the connection of knuckles against jaw, a jarring pulse that runs up her arm, but even as she smiles in triumph, Riko’s foot sweeps hard against her ankle and knocks her down.
Riko’s on her immediately, pummeling her with blows to her face. Momoi throws one arm up to block, protecting her nose and eyes, thrashing under Riko to dislodge her. Riko’s sneakers press against Momoi’s thighs, Riko locking her feet behind Momoi’s legs for leverage, and Momoi slams a hard punch right into Riko’s midriff instead.
When Riko chokes for breath, Momoi seizes her chance and rolls them over.
There are strands of pink hair slipping free around her cheeks, dancing distractingly just in the edge of her vision. There’s blood dripping down her chin from her split lip, falling onto Riko’s skin. There’s adrenaline in her veins and murder in her heart and she can hear her boys cheering her on.
FILL: TEAM PRINCE OF TENNIS, T
Other Tags: None
Word Count: 483 words
***
Cagefighting is nothing like basketball. Violence is cheered instead of jeered, it’s a solo sport instead of a team sport and there are no time-outs with uncut lemons soaked in honey for those who are tired.
Momoi loves it. She wraps her knuckles in Midorima's tape and waves to her boys (her boys, always her boys, especially Aomine) as she prepares in her corner. She shifts her weight from foot to foot, testing the flexibility of her sneakers, and bounces briefly to make sure the sports bra she’s wearing for a top can contain the weight of her F-cup breasts properly.
The appreciative wolfwhistles in response to that movement are cut off abruptly. Without looking back, Momoi knows either Kuroko or Aomine did something. So precious, her boys. So predictable.
Her hair’s in a braid, pinned up against her head. Hair-pulling is forbidden in cagefighting but it’s hard not to reflexively grab something that snaps in front of you; easier and safer to just remove temptation entirely.
Riko doesn’t have that problem. All she needs is a cloth headband to hold her short hair away from her face. She’s in a sports bra as well and shorts but it’s the smile on her face that catches and holds Momoi’s attention.
For two girls used to being on the sidelines, used to being puppetmasters and strategists, the cagefights are a chance to bleed out all the tension from the matches. They’re just as invested in the games as their players but they can’t take to the court to shoot three point buzzer beaters or dance rings around the defense.
This is their chance to fight; this is their chance to win.
The bell rings and Riko comes out swinging, throwing a vicious cross-jab at Momoi’s face. Momoi barely ducks back in time, stepping back with a spin that lets her left arm slice through the air at Riko’s face. She feels the connection of knuckles against jaw, a jarring pulse that runs up her arm, but even as she smiles in triumph, Riko’s foot sweeps hard against her ankle and knocks her down.
Riko’s on her immediately, pummeling her with blows to her face. Momoi throws one arm up to block, protecting her nose and eyes, thrashing under Riko to dislodge her. Riko’s sneakers press against Momoi’s thighs, Riko locking her feet behind Momoi’s legs for leverage, and Momoi slams a hard punch right into Riko’s midriff instead.
When Riko chokes for breath, Momoi seizes her chance and rolls them over.
There are strands of pink hair slipping free around her cheeks, dancing distractingly just in the edge of her vision. There’s blood dripping down her chin from her split lip, falling onto Riko’s skin. There’s adrenaline in her veins and murder in her heart and she can hear her boys cheering her on.
Basketball’s good but oh, this is so much better.