sportsanime | Bonus Round 1: Quotes

Entry tags:

Bonus Round 1: Quotes

SASO 2015 is over, but this round is perpetually open to new fills (no new prompts).

PLAY BALL! For this round, we'd like you to take inspiration from songs, sayings, poems, and other kinds of famous words.

Because this is our first full round, please read this post carefully before proceeding!

This round ends at 7PM on June 13 EDT. Countdown Timer.

RULES

Submit prompts by commenting to this post with a quote attributed to a specific person or character, along with any ship/ot3/etc. from one of our nominated fandoms.
- Example: "Hi-ho, Kermit the Frog here!" -Kermit the Frog
- The quote can come from anywhere. Famous people, poetry, songs, books, movies, your neighbor, etc.
- Your prompt MUST include some kind of relationship. (This is not the sports anime gen olympics.) Platonic relationships are indicated by an "&" between the names (e.g., Yachi & Kiyoko). Non-platonic relationships use "/" (e.g., Yachi/Kiyoko). Please don't say "Any pairing," either!
Fill prompts by replying to the prompt with your quote-inspired fanwork.
Remember to follow the general bonus round rules, outlined here.
You cannot fill your team's prompts or your own prompts.

FORMAT

Bonus round shenanigans all happen in the comments below. Brand-new works only, please.

Required Work Minimums:

400 words (prose)
400px by 400px (art)
14 lines (poetry)

There is no max work cap.

Format your comment in one of the following ways:

If PROMPTING:	If FILLING:	If FILLING as a TEAM GRANDSTAND participant:
PROMPT: TEAM [YOUR SHIP] Replace [YOUR SHIP] with the name of the team you belong to, including Grandstand or Sports Teams Write it exactly as it appears on the team roster or your team will not receive points Place the prompt's relationship in the first bolded line of the comment. Including the canon isn't required, but it's nice. Visual example	FILL: TEAM [YOUR SHIP], [RATING] Replace [YOUR SHIP] with the name of the team you belong to Write it exactly as it appears on the team roster or your team will not receive points Replace RATING with the rating of your fill (G - E) Place applicable major content tags and word count before your fill (when applicable) NSFW FILLS: Post written/text fills directly to the round with clear tags. Please link to art/visual fills. You can include a small safe-for-work preview if you'd like. To place an image in your comment, use this code: <img src="LINK TO YOUR IMAGE" /> Visual example	FILL: TEAM GRANDSTAND, [RATING] Replace RATING with the rating of your fill, G - E, as explained in the rules Place applicable major content tags and word count before the fill, where applicable NSFW FILLS: Post written/text fills directly to the round with clear tags. Please link to art/visual fills. You can include a small safe-for-work preview if you'd like. To place an image in your comment, use this code: <img src="LINK TO YOUR IMAGE" /> Visual example

Posts not using this format will be understood to be unofficial discussion posts, regardless of what they contain. They, like all comments in this community, are subject to the code of conduct.

SCORING

These numbers apply to your team as a whole, not each individual teammate. Make as many prompts/fills as you want!

For prompts: 5 points each (maximum of 50 prompt points per team per round)

For fills:

First 3 fills by any member of your team: 20 points each
Fills 4-10: 10 points each
Fills 11-20: 5 points each
Fills 21+: 2 points each

All scored content must be created new for this round.

Etc.

If you're hunting through the prompts looking for what to fill, a good trick is to view top-level comments only.

Have a question? Check The FAQ first. If you still need help, feel free to contact the mods. Happy fanworking!

Page 126 of 137

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

no major content warnings

Edited 2015-06-13 22:12 (UTC)

No major warnings | 630 words.

Midorima, for the most part, came to terms with the fact that what's left of their days at Teiko--shattered pieces, broken memories and a bitter taste hanging stubbornly in the back of the mouth--will most probably never be fixed.

The way they parted ways might have seemed silent to anyone who wasn't involved, but Midorima remembers just how brutal and violent the atmosphere would be with all of them colliding against each other.

There was too much tension, too many conflicts, and what united them at first seemed so far away at that point that each of the Miracles built walls around himself in an attempt to preserve whatever was left. One could only count on his own self, there was no need to fake anything; they were supposed to win.

That's what they did, so in that sense they accomplished what they had to do.

Midorima still thinks it's better than nothing.

-

He never forgets the quiet moments around a shogi board.

Sometimes, when he is about to fall asleep, he hears a distant voice speaking his name in various tones.

"Shintarou," a silky smooth voice, quiet but assertive enough for Midorima to understand that Akashi has won the game.

"Shintarou," slightly higher than the previous one, tainted with amusement as Midorima moves a piece. Usually, his hand would unnoticeably shake in hesitation--in realization that he has made the wrong move after carefully mapping out his strategy in an attempt to fool Akashi--but he would carry on as he had planned.

He knows Akashi picked up on the faintest movements, there was simply nothing Akashi's eyes could not notice, and nothing his brain could not use to his advantage.

"Shintarou," this one spoken in a way Midorima can never decipher, but he would gaze at Akashi expectantly and wait for a clue that may or may never come.

He's always wanted to understand him better.

Even as a high schooler, some of his exchanges with Akashi still drive him forward along with his own pride as a player.

Akashi Seijuurou does not know defeat, and once, Midorima Shintarou vowed to teach him. It was in the quiet of their classroom, around their usual shogi board, and Midorima remembers the faint smile breaking his impassive features.

-

He does not succeed, Midorima does not teach him defeat and he does not tell him how much he's thought about him in the past year.

He does not speak to him about those moments between reality and sleep where illusions seem real and how he could almost feel the warmth of the back of his hand as they stood together on the side of the court.

"I want to be your enemy," it still rings between his ears. It's something Midorima says to himself when his door is closed and no one can hear, something he tests between his lips.

But he thinks that in spite of all of this, he understands Akashi's enigma a little better. He understands the duality within Akashi, his strength and his quiet fragility. He could never picture Akashi losing at all, because after all, he was--is--absolute.

He is a constant in Midorima's life.

-

Akashi's hand against his feels almost the same as what his brain led him to believe during those lucid dreams he'd have. It's much smaller than his, but it is also rougher.

Their shogi matches become just as frequent as they used to be, the only difference this time is that Akashi's eyes seem a lot softer than he remembers them. There's less strain around his eyebrows, and his laughter is light and carefree.

Perhaps, if he is being completely honest with himself, Akashi looks younger.

The hold of his fingers is strong and tight, and Midorima can't say he minds.

no major warnings apply.
790 words

It’s hard to describe what they are to outsiders.

Kuroko had put it best: “Some things are called ‘miracles’, because we are astonished at a thing when observing an effect without knowing the cause.” Akashi’s face settles into a fond sliver of a smile and his hand on Kuroko’s waist is equal parts possessive and, in his own way, gentle.

“Are we the cause?” Kise had asked, lovely, handsome face pulled into a pout. “Or the effect?” And Kuroko made that wonderful face, the one where his laughter lit up his eyes. (And if Kise falls asleep with his head on Kuroko’s lap, Kuroko still reading Aquinas, nobody minds.)

It’s no longer a game. What they have for each other is almost blackmail: there’s a sheer destructive power that goes beyond the realm of middle-school basketball. Akashi guards his own jealously, fiercely--and Kagami is a part of that now. (He burns like Daiki and makes Tetsuya look so much more alive, seem so much less ephemeral than before, with two stars blazing in his sights. If Seijuuro were a weaker man he’d look away. When Daiki and Taiga are together, it is almost like they are soldiers, each fighting a war of attrition for the same side.) Even when they were kids, Akashi had always played seriously, for keeps.

But it’s a different thing: now they are no longer victory in technicolor, no longer in neat roles and bound by murderous strategy. Now Akashi eviscerates suited businessmen and does not come home for weeks, smells like airplanes and sleeps like the dead once home.

Akashi’s schedule rules their behavior as much as Akashi himself: when he’s gone, Murasakibara and Kise miss him and say as much. Aomine is rawer at the edges, Midorima all the more reactive. Kagami watches them all lose focus, just a little, and admits to nobody (well, to Kuroko, once) that the Generation of Miracles seem better when they are all present, together.

And together, they’re a mess--which is not to say that Murasakibara has ever minded clutter. “It’s not hard,” he shrugs, crunching his way through what seems like his fifth bag of potato chips. “Aka-chin makes clear choices. No bargains.” Kuroko’s chest moves steadily, up and down, eyelashes pale against his cheek. “No settling.”

It is his actual fifth bag of chips. But it’s the first time he’s ever had this flavor. So it’s kind of like his first bag. Even if Aka-chin is his first kiss, can’t he have first kisses with everyone? “Kuro-chin is boring when he sleeps,” he grumbles, and folds up the empty packet.

Kagami finds Murasakibara curled up around Kuroko’s frame, mouth blowing a gentle breeze through his hair. Nearly every part of his body remains uncovered by the blanket Kagami unfolds, but Kuroko looks warm.

Kise has a way of looking at people like they’re the only ones who matter to him. Like Kuroko is his whole world, like Aomine will be the death of him--a death that he welcomes with open arms. He’s playful, aware that he was handsome, and a natural tease.

“Midorimacchi,” he says, and his voice is soft and breathy, blush rising on his face like they’re still kids. Oha Asa said that he’d have trouble with blondes today.

Basketball taught them a lot off-court: it gave Midorima a sense of focus like a laser. Kise kisses like he’ll never kiss someone again, tongue swirling soft and wet. Mirror images, Gemini, Kise’s mouth on his; Perfect Copy, in a way, in the breaths they exhale in counterpoint.

It’s almost like overtime: when time stretches out slow and quicksilver all at once, when every second matters and every touch blazes on the skin. Kagami waits for a buzzer that never sounds. (And it really is like a different world, ensconced between multicolor flames. It’s hard to explain to outsiders exactly this: how Kise relies on them all for definition; how Aomine always comes back, to compete, to burn; how Kuroko hums, content and sated, eyes bright and happy; how Midorima’s fingers shake when he touches someone; how Murasakibara seems so much more, how his spirit fills out his body when he sees them all at once, eye taking in every color of the rainbow.)

“Kagami, please come back to bed.” Kuroko’s voice is stifled by the noise of Aomine snoring. Kagami pushes at him lightly, disrupting the noise, and sighs at the drool that Kise leaves on his pillow before nudging aside Midorima. He can spot Akashi’s red hair in the dead center of their little pile of limbs.

Sleep comes easily.

It’s curious to see how something that used to be so destructive can come together to make something unique, something wonderful.

Major Tags: None.
Word Count: 633
Notes: Not sure if this is what you had in mind, but here we are. Also, I hope you don’t mind my highly self indulgent bigender Onoda headcanon that just sort of wandered in here.

“Imaizumi-kun! Naruko-kun! Hurry up!” Onoda yelled back to them, laughing as ze jumped ahead of them. The streets of Akihabara were slightly crowded for being only mid-afternoon, but there was still enough room for Onoda to tease them slightly without getting in anyone’s way. Naruko and Imaizumi were making a bit of a roadblock of themselves, however, walking side by side and occasionally shoving each other if their argument got heated.

The two bickering boys stopped their argument (Onoda, for his part, had no idea what the argument was about now, but ze knew that the subject for them was less important than the bickering itself) momentarily to look over at hir.

Naruko grumbled slightly. “Don’t fuss like that, Onoda-kun. Maybe we would walk faster if we weren’t busy carrying all of your stuff.” He illustrated his point by holding out his arms, displaying the shopping bags there.

"Don't be rude," Imaizumi said, shoving him slightly and causing the bags both of them were holding to rustle against each other. "You offered to carry those." (Which was very almost true: Onoda had been carrying most of them when Naruko insisted on taking them. Then Imaizumi offered to carry them as well, which sparked the third fight of the day, and left Onoda empty handed.) "Besides," Imaizumi continued, "half of it is yours anyway."

"I wasn't buying it for me, idiot," Naruko shot back. "Unlike you."

They were too engrossed in their latest argument (it may have been the eighth of the day, but Onoda had long since lost count) that they didn’t notice that Onoda had stopped, and they nearly barreled over hir. Ze stood firm though, forcing both of them to regain their balance before falling over on each other.

“Onoda,” Imaizumi started.

“Why don’t we eat here for lunch?” Onoda said, pointing at the restaurant sign ze was currently staring at.

Naruko grunted. “Onoda, isn’t this place a little…”

“Expensive?” Imaizumi asked.

Onoda laughed. “Maybe. But, thanks to you two, I’ve barely spent any of my own money.”

“I don’t know,” Imaizumi said. “Everyone in there looks really…”

“Fancy,” Naruko finished.

“I was going to say well dressed.”

“It’s the same thing!”

Onoda shrugged, pushing the door open. “It’s not like we’ll get kicked out. Come on!”

“Wait!”

It turned out that Onoda was right; they weren’t kicked out. But the restaurant was busy and the only open space was a large circular booth in the corner. Imaizumi and Naruko kept furtively glancing at each other around Onoda’s head as the glances from other patrons seemed to constantly be directed at them. Onoda didn’t seem to notice this, picking food from hir plate carefully. The other two kept self-consciously nudging farther into the booth until there was no more room left, both of them sandwiching Onoda on either side.

Onoda laughed. It was only then that the two of them seemed to notice that they were nearly crushing hir, but Onoda didn’t seem to mind if hir smile was any indication. “I told you this would be nice,” ze said, before picking a few bites off of Imaizumi’s plate. “What should we do after this?”

Naruko laughed as well, any awkwardness seeming to fade away. “I would say we should race, but your mommy bike is going to be all weighted down once we pack all of our stuff on it.” He leaned over and stole some food from Imaizumi’s plate as well.

Imaizumi frowned, and grabbed some food from Naruko’s plate in retaliation, brushing his arm over Onoda’s. “Maybe you should have brought a more sensible bike, then.”

“Hey! You brought your road racer too!”

Onoda just smiled pleasantly and ate to the background noise of the argument. All in all, ze couldn’t have asked for a better day.

I'm glad you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading!

Major tags: Referenced emotional manipulation
Additional tags: Nonbinary character
Word count: 673

Cycling is not safe. It was never safe, but now must admit, now they know - they can never pretend it was anything but ever again.

It has made Imaizumi turn away, on more than one occasion. Whether it was how Naruko treats it like a game on the surface, or more shamefully, away from Onoda, even at the offer of a gentle ride to Tokyo. She smiles too easily at the thought of such dangerous hills, such busy roads, as though nothing bad ever happens, and there are too many days they can't bring themself to face that. No one died. Imaizumi knows that. But knowing feels too much like a pretense, unless they could prove it, unless they could put it into action.

They know best.

"Imaizumi."

They know best, so they must stay on the rollers, with a precise timer, without blinking.

"I need you to stop," Kinjou tells them, and when they do not, he allows, "Just for a moment."

Panting, slow and controlled, they say, "I won't go anywhere." The timer beeps, letting them slow from their sprint, and catch his eye. He's still wearing his sunglasses. "You can tell me while I finish this round."

He removes the timer from their handlebars before his glasses, and stands directly in front of them. "If you insist." Kinjou does not smile like Onoda does, instead so often wearing a curve that felt calculated and aware, but when they can see his eyes - there is a gentle concern that they cannot look at directly for long. "How many sessions have you been doing per day, Imaizumi?

They take a long drink from their bottle, knowing exactly how much they have practiced. It's a secret. "I've been doing five on the rollers alone, twenty minutes at a time, outside of what you've assigned." That was the amount they had been doing, before they met Midousuji. It is double that amount now, but Kinjou wouldn't know, and he likely wouldn't notice. He has only known them for the last three months.

Their bottle drops, empty, and he is quick to pick it up and refill it. "You seem worn, lately." Imaizumi stares at the bottle as he talks, and how warm his hands look, before they accept it, careful not to touch him. "I'd prefer you lessen it, if that amount on top of practice is the cause."

"I can't."

He raises an eyebrow at that, and they wonder if there's something he knows that they don't.

"Are you taking care of yourself?"

Both the Kanzakis loved to ask that. "Well enough." It's a tiresome question.

"I see ... are you staying safe?"

That question makes their foot jolt as much as their heart, accidentally clicking out of the pedal, sending their Scott tipping over, as though they were a child, with no clue, no awareness, no right to be on a bike. They are familiar with falling, too aware of it being seen due to a malevolent stranger watching their pace and expression fall, further until they feared they could never stand again. However, Imaizumi knows nothing of being caught.

His arms are not soft, but as they remain against his chest, they realize just how much a person does not need to be to be comfortable. He is sturdy - more so than them - but his hands move at their back and sides with a marked concern that feels far more approachable than they ever thought he could be.

"I ..." Their words come out as ill-practiced as their ability in close encounters. "I'm sorry."

Kinjou's hands withdraw, at their hesitant voice, moving to take not their arm, or their wrist, but rather their fingers in his own. "There's no need to apologize." His voice makes their chest burn, and meeting his eyes makes them clamp their fingers around his. "I understand."

There are too many things he could mean, when he says that.

Imaizumi presses their head against his shoulder, and he repeats himself, softer. "I understand."

Major Tags: None
Word Count: 1,036

Nozomi stands in the doorway, as Umi completes a final spin to the time set by music coming from the tiny speakers Eli has set to playing. Her right leg kicks out in the last move of the sequence, cheeks flushed with exertion and the smallest triumphant smile on her face, before her left leg wavers and her knee starts to crumple.

It's enough to make Nozomi flinch, away from the doorframe and toward the other girl, but Eli is there first.

Eli is always there, overseeing the entire school from the pinnacle of the student council president position, overseeing muse with long looks and calm certainty – like she trusts all their members to do their parts but needs to make herself available all the same. She's there for Umi as she stumbles, getting her shoulder under Umi's arm and catching her before her knee can give.

"Your moves are getting even cleaner than before," Eli says. "There's really no wasted motion at all, though I suspect we may have pushed you too hard, just now. Let's take a breather."

Umi laughs softly, a stuttery sound breathed out with her exhale, and then the momentary creasing of pain is again gone from her face. Her lips smile before she murmurs, "Thank you."

"It's nothing," Eli says. "If I have all of this expertise, the least I can do is use it. Now give me a moment, I want to look at your leg."

Eli helps Umi over to a chair beside the table where her MP3 player has moved on to another piece, a gentle piano melody with a light flute accompaniment woven through. As Umi sits, Eli slides to the floor, her hands curling around Umi's knee and following the length of her calf down to her ankle.

"It's alright, really," Umi tries to insist.

"Nonsense," Eli says. "Dancing injuries can be very serious. I'm no doctor, but I can at least do my best to make sure nothing is pulled, or strained."

Nozomi finds herself smiling, just to watch Eli's steady efficiency, to see how calmly she handles whatever problems are presented to her. She's used to watching Eli's hands – shuffling documents in the student council room, flipping through letters addressed to the council, touching her face or idly twirling her hair without noticing it, when she's lost in thought over phrasing, or plans, or a million other Eli-like contemplations Nozomi can only guess at.

She watches Eli's hands then, massaging at Umi's calves and working out tension, working gingerly along the other girl's legs with her head bowed demurely over her work. Eli glances up, as her fingers again curl around Umi's knee, and even in one-quarter profile Nozomi can see the smallest of smiles pulling at her lips.

"I'm happy to say that it looks to be nothing," Eli says. "Just exhaustion making your legs weak. Drink some water, and get some rest. I think we've done enough for today."

"Thank you, again," Umi says. "I'm happy you took the time to practice with me."

"Hmm," Eli murmurs, her expression softening further into warm fondness. "You say that as if I don't enjoy our practices very much myself."

Eli doesn't react, when Umi's cheeks flush red, and her heels draw backward underneath the chair even with Eli's hands still resting gently on her knee. But Nozomi does, murmuring knowingly to herself from just out of sight and pressing her hand over her lips to hide how widely she's smiling.

"I'll be sure to rest, like you said," Umi assures Eli, her voice gone smaller with dutiful contrition.

"That's what I like to hear," Eli says. She pats Umi's knee, and midway through pushing up from the floor, catches Umi's face just under her chin, tilting it up slightly to look at her. "Your dancing was beautiful, but please, do be careful with yourself."

"I will," Umi says.

After Eli is standing, Umi rises as well, flashing Eli another fragile little smile and a wave of her hand. As she walks toward the door Nozomi steps away, pressing her back to the wall just outside the room and folding her arms casually over her chest.

Umi doesn't even glance at her as she walks by – almost a shame, to Nozomi's mind, but there's time for them to talk in later hours.

"Eli-cchi," Nozomi says, as she pivots again and steps into the room.

"Ah," Eli says, glancing up from where she'd bent to shut off the music. "I should have known you would find me."

"It isn't always hard," Nozomi says, flashing Eli a knowing smile as she crosses the space between them to take the MP3 player from Eli's hand. "I'm glad you make it easy for me."

Eli laughs, a soft, comfortable sound that warms Nozomi just to hear, and allows Nozomi to take the gadget away. Nozomi doesn't miss it, when Eli's shoulders just marginally relax, and the rigidness of her posture starts to melt away. "You say that as if I do this on purpose."

"Don't you?" Nozomi asks. "Mmm, sit down, it's not so late yet."

"Here?" Eli asks back, even as she folds herself to perch on the very same chair she'd led Umi to not minutes before. "You always are very particular, for such a laid-back person."

"Only about the things that matter," Nozomi says, as she shifts to stand behind Eli. Her hands settle against Eli's shoulders, sliding in toward the center and beginning to work her thumbs against the back of Eli's neck. "I thought you might need to relax."

"Hmm," Eli murmurs to herself, but she doesn't argue. Her head rolls forward, and she turns herself over to Nozomi's strong fingers, picking up where Eli has left off and working all the tension out of Eli's neck, shoulders, and back.

"You should be careful with yourself, too," Nozomi murmurs, leaning her face close by Eli's ear.

"Perhaps," Eli agrees, voice gone vague like her focus is elsewhere. "But there's hardly a need, is there, when I have you to take care for me?"

Nozomi laughs, and kisses Eli's cheek, and admits at least to herself that she loves nothing better.

Sousuke/Rin (Free!)

“I recognized you instantly. All of our lives flashed through my mind in a split second. I felt a pull so strongly towards you that I almost couldn't stop it.” ― J. Sterling, In Dreams

Failed attempt at sexual harassment
940 words. [I saw your prompt, and this scenario just popped into my head! I hope it's okay... <3]

The familiar sting of sweat was in Oikawa's eyes. Hours of practice to stay on top, to be the best, took their toll -- but he was going to be the best no matter how hard he had to work. He was going to be the best, and he was going to stay the best. That was where geniuses like that damn freshman fell down. When being good comes too easy, you never learn to do the work it takes to be great.

True story!

But he knew what it took. He set up for another practice serve, despite his aching palm and legs. He'd lost count of how many he'd done by now, but that was better anyway. Practice just short of your skin breaking through and your muscles giving out, and then practice a little more, and then you're ready to do it for real when the other team was staring you down. Oikawa tried to imagine their eyes beating down on him, the fear building up towards 25 straight service aces, his teammates at the ready for any returns, the twinkling eyes in the grandstand cheering on his every move. The sweeties who met him after to ask for autographs weren't so bad either! But your heart had to stay in the game, he thought with a smile. Right there, in the sweet spot in his mind, in the zone, he set up for the serve. The toss, the--

"Oikawa-san?"

Fuckety-fuck-fuck-fuck!

He nearly tripped over his own toes when his head turned to answer but his feet didn't get the message in time. And there the fucker was, with his cute little demon eyes blinking up a hopeful storm.

Must not kill, Oikawa reminded himself. Bad for team morale to kill freshmen.

"Tobio-chan! I told you not to sneak up on me anymore, right? It's, ah... it's not safe. You know?"

"Pardon me, Oikawa-san. It's just, the freshman have finished passing drills, and since there's some time left for free training before we clean up..."

Oh boy. Here it came again. He tried not to let his smile look too much like a grimace, but little Tobio-chan seriously could not take a hint!

"...would now be a good time to ask if I could learn that jump serve you do?"

"You want to learn my serve, Tobio-chan?"

"Yes, sir!"

It was like the kid had zoned in on the one thing he could steal that'd hit closest to home. He was already good enough as a setter that Oikawa had to watch his back, and now he was after the serve that kept Oikawa sure the coach wasn't going to put him on the bench any time soon. And this kid... the way he handled a ball, there was always a chance he'd catch up on speed and accuracy (if not power, scrawny as he was) quick enough to take over everything Oikawa had worked for all these years. A freshman.

He was like a vampire, sucking out everything that made him himself. Slurping it all up, and becoming everything Oikawa was. Like he could steal it all, and then one day come in with some gel in his lank, flat hair, call himself Tooru, and somehow nobody would know the difference. He'd be replaced by that cocky little brat of a...

"Umm... Oikawa-san?"

The sound woke him up from his reverie. It was the only sound in the gymnasium right now, because the rest of the team was watching them. Apparently, while he'd been hating Tobio-chan's guts, he'd managed to back the freshman up against the wall, and now was scowling an inch away from his face -- not that the upstart setter looked scared. Confused as all hell, but not scared like he should've been.

Best way to keep the club from tearing him off of Tobio-chan, thus avoiding temporary suspension for assaulting a teammate... hmm.

Smiling his sparkling best, Oikawa tickled the end of the freshman's nose, then cocked his head in as if going for a kiss. "Tell me, Tobio-chan..." he laughed. "How far would you go to learn my serve? Can you tell me that?"

All around them, teammates and coaches rolled their eyes. Everyone, of course, except the freshman he'd pushed up against the wall. "Do you mean, would I do extra practices? I'll have to tell my mom that I'd be home later, but I don't see any reason why not. I want to be the best I can!"

Not an ounce of surprise in his voice, Eyes wide and earnest and innocent. Wow. This kid took being unable to read the atmosphere to whole new heights.

"You can't use the gym unless you can get someone with a key to stay with you, Tobio-chan, and I'm testing for high school so I've got cram school to go to. You want to learn my serve, you have the same opportunity everybody here does. You can watch me, and you can practice on your own. Got it?"

You'd think it was his birthday with the way the kid's eyes lit up. "Yes, sir!" Those eyes were actually kind of pretty this close up. He was still a tiny demon in disguise, no matter how harmless the rest of the team thought he was, but he had really nice eyelashes, actually. And kind of a pretty mouth.

Not as pretty as his, though, so no one was going to be mistaking Oikawa's tiny freshman pod person for the real thing any time soon!

"So... Oikawa-san. W-will you let me go, then? So I can watch you serve?"

Oh, right. Whoops.

Edited 2015-06-13 22:17 (UTC)

This is so great!! Thank you so much, this is just the sort of thing I had in mind. I was really hoping someone would fill this!

idk orz

no major content warnings

1153 words (my god so long)

It felt like shit. He came home, warmed up whatever takeout was leftover in his fridge, ate it, usually standing at his kitchen counter, and went to sleep. He woke up, showered, brushed his hair into some semblance of the style he used to fuss over, went to work, and repeated. It had been four and a half weeks, a month of this monotonous hell and he was just tired. Tired of everything. He was just crawling into bed when his phone rang.

"Hello, Iwa-chan." He knew he didn't sound as chipper as he normally tried to, but no matter how careful his fake happiness was, Hajime would see through it immediately, he'd known him too long for any other outcome.

"Did you eat?" He asked in that perfect gruff-but-sincere way he'd perfected as soon as his voice lowered during puberty.

"Yes, you're not my mom, you know."

"I know. Shut up. Are you sleeping?"

"Yes, I'm sleeping fine." He was sleeping a lot. More than enough. His bedtime had migrated closer and closer to dinner time, and just now it was hardly seven, and the blankets were wrapped around his shoulders.

"If you lie to me I'll kick your ass." He sounded serious, too. It was a common threat, but Tooru knew that when he really sounded serious, that meant he was more concerned than he was angry.

"I'm not lying, I promise." Part of him wanted to ask if Hajime had heard from him. It was stupid. He shouldn't ask. But he wanted to know in the way that a person picks at a scab, unsure if it will pull away clean or reopen the wound. Fuck it, he rationalized, "Have you heard from Kenji?"

"No." The response was quick. Not too quick that Tooru doubted his sincerity, but quick enough that it was clear Hajime didn't want to expand on the topic.

"Oh."

Hajime seemed to reconsider his earlier stance, because he continued. "No word, then? That's it? After two years he just disappears? You know if he does call me I'm gonna hunt him down and kick his ass, right? Don't you try to stop me."

"He didn't disappear. He left me. That's different." He couldn't keep the pain out of his voice, he knew, but it wasn't anything that his best friend hadn't heard dozens of times before.

"You said he said he'd be back. You said it wasn't a break up, that he had a reason he was leaving."

"He did, yeah. And I told him it was bullshit, that if he was going to leave me he should leave me for real." Tooru had been avoiding that fact. Avoiding the fact that his misery was really his own fault. Kenji had been prepared to make long distance work, to stay together, but Tooru was angry, sad and terrified that he wasn't good enough, wasn't worthy of even the two happy years they'd had together. There was no reason for Kenji to stay with him, not if he had to make an extra effort.

"Oikawa."

"What?" Here it comes, here comes the 'Iwa-chan is always right' monologue.

"You should call him." What? That hadn't been what he was expecting at all.

"Why should I call him?"

"Because you need him."

"Shut up, I don't need anyone. I'm fine on my own."

"Just call him, idiot. Tonight. Or I'll call him for you." Tooru heard the soft click and the silence from the phone. Hajime had hung up on him, nothing unusual in itself, but his advice, or threat may be the better term, was ridiculous.

He rolled over in bed and turned off his bedside lamp. The threat was meaningless, there was no way Hajime would call Kenji. And there was no way he was calling him himself, either. He fell asleep and dreamed of the taste and feel of Kenji's shoulders, the sound of his voice.

He was woken by a loud knocking. It must have been on his front door, but even through the apartment and his closed bedroom door it was loud. It was Saturday, he shouldn't be receiving any deliveries, and he certainly wasn't expecting company at 8AM, so he wondered what it could be. He wrapped a robe around his waist to hide his nakedness and half jogged to the door.

When he opened it he almost slammed it shut again. It was Kenji, looking fetchingly windswept and almost out of breath, the heat red in his cheeks, and he looked mad.

"You can't just break up with me and then mope around like I dumped you, you asshole!"

Tooru was too stunned from the greeting to do anything but stumble backwards when Kenji stepped inside. He shut the door behind him and shucked off his shoes quickly.

"What are you doing here?" Oikawa asked, when he finally found his voice.

"Iwaizumi called me--"

"He what?"

Kenji continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. "--and said you were falling apart, that you weren't doing any of your usual stuff, that you did nothing but sleep. I didn't believe him. Because you broke up with me remember? I'm the one who is supposed to be a mess! Fuck, and I am a mess!"

"I'm not a mess. I'm fine." The lie was clear in his voice. But it had been a month, maybe Kenji couldn't read him any more, there was always that hope.

"You're a mess. I can see you, Tooru, I know you." His voice was quieter, and the way his eyes trailed down Tooru's body felt like fire, like a whip against his skin.

"I'm not." He denied again, but he didn't pull back when Kenji stepped closer.

"You are, you totally are." His voice was barely a whisper, and their noses were almost touching. Kenji's fingertips brushed against his jaw and he shivered involuntarily. It had been so long. Too long.

Just when Tooru couldn't take the anticipation any longer Kenji moved, pressing their lips together. It was soft at first but quickly changed. Kenji drank him in like water, like he'd been thirsting for a month, parched and longing for his lips. Tooru was just as desperate, and his hands found their way around Kenji's waist, as the man backed him against the wall of the entry way. When his shoulders hit the plaster their mouths separated.

"I missed you, god I missed you." Kenji breathed and Tooru just nodded, a slight jerk of his chin.

"Don't go." He said, and his voice cracked in a way that he wished it couldn't. He sounded just as desperate as he felt.

"I won't. I can't. Not again." Kenji said, and he kissed tears off Tooru's cheeks that he didn't know he'd shed. "I can't leave you again. Take me back."

"Of course," he replied, and he tucked his face into the crook of Kenji's neck. "of course. Please stay."

*sneaks one last fill in before the round closes*

Word count: 1248
Warnings: None

Today was a Big Day, and it was going to be So Much Fun. Kisumi made sure to play that up, how Much Fun today was going to be, because Hayato was looking uncertain and wobbly-faced when he should be excited. Today was a Big Day, and it was a lot of pressure, but Kisumi would be damned if he let his little brother go into his first race thinking it was going to be anything other than So Much Fun.

“Swimming is fun, right? Right?” He waited for Hayato to nod – or to shrug, okay, that was close enough, they still had time to work on that. “Remember when you did the relay and you did the backstroke for the first time? Wasn’t that fun?” A tentative nod. “See? It’s going to be fun. I bet nobody else will be doing the backstroke.”

Hayato finally smiled at that. Kisumi grinned proudly and ruffled his hair. “Alright! This is going to be even more fun than the relay, I just know it! And you’re gonna kick butt today! Um. Don’t tell mom I said that to you.”

“I won’t,” Hayato promised, giggling, and he reached up for Kisumi’s hand to walk to the swim club. His hand was small but warm, like a tiny little hug around his fingers, and Kisumi absolutely could not resist sweeping Hayato up and onto his shoulders. He shrieked in Kisumi’s ear – the volume was a little unnecessary, Kisumi thought, but the sound made him smile – and wrapped his arms around Kisumi’s head.

“You know, Hayato, when I play basketball I wear a headband right where your arms are.”

“I remember. It’s purple.”

“It is! Do you know what it does?”

Hayato shook a little back and forth on Kisumi’s shoulders – he tightened his grip around Hayato’s ankles and assumed that Hayato had shaken his head, too. “It’s for keeping sweat out of my eyes when I’m playing. Like how you wear goggles for swimming! Maybe I should try wearing goggles for basketball, I wonder if that would work better than a headband. Except, I think the headband is much cuter than goggles, so maybe I’ll stick with the headband after all. But then again, you’re much cuter than a purple headband.” Hayato started to laugh. “So maybe I should wear you instead! What do you think?”

Hayato was laughing too hard to answer the question. Kisumi was silently congratulating himself on a job well done, until he announced that they’d arrived at the swim club and Hayato immediately clammed up again.

“Hey hey now. Come on.” He pulled Hayato over his head, then crouched down so they’d be able to look each other in the eye. “This is going to be fun, remember? It’s your first race! It’s exciting, so don’t be nervous!” Hayato nodded uncertainly. “Good. Oh,” he added, suddenly remembering, “And don’t worry, Makoto will be there, too!”

Hayato perked up at that. “Coach Tachibana?”

“The one and only! He emailed me a few days ago that he’s gonna be helping to run the races. So you’ll get to show him how good your backstroke is now! That’s pretty cool, right?”

Hayato nodded, looking determined.

“Right! Okay, let’s go!”

The swim club was in chaos, full of kids in various stages of undress and parents in various states of emotion. Hayato held tight onto Kisumi’s hand, but he was looking around with more interest than trepidation. Probably looking for Makoto, Kisumi thought, and then grudgingly wondered if he needed to be worrying about Makoto stealing his little brother. Makoto must have been busy elsewhere, though, because Kisumi got Hayato signed in and changed and sent off to the locker rooms to wait for his race without seeing him anywhere.

Most of the races were, admittedly, really boring. It was only interesting when your own kid was participating, Kisumi supposed, pillowing his head in his arms and leaning on the railing of the upper observation deck. Luckily the younger kids were going first so he wouldn’t have to wait long for Hayato’s race.

The only perk about the other races was getting to watch Makoto, who was looking incredibly sexy in his skin-tight suit and wet, ruffled hair as he helped the kids find their places and get in the pool. Kisumi did like a man who was good with kids. He leered idly at Makoto while he waited.

Soon enough, Hayato’s group was called up, and Kisumi made sure to cheer as the kids walked out. Hayato was looking nervous again, twisting his goggle straps and staring at his toes, and Kisumi viciously wished he could be by the poolside, where his brother needed him, rather than up on the balcony.

Instead, he had to make do by leaning over the railing and waving his arms and yelling Hayato’s name, hoping his brother would see him and smile. Instead, he got Makoto’s attention. Usually, Makoto’s attention was a nice thing to have, but it wasn’t exactly what he was going for today. Although perhaps this would work out, too – Makoto crouched down beside Hayato, saying something that Kisumi couldn’t even begin to try to hear from way up on the balcony. He watched with bated breath until Hayato finally nodded and let Makoto help him with his swim cap and goggles.

“Gooo Hayato!” Kisumi yelled again, and this time he got the smile and wave he’d been hoping for.

Then the whistle blew, and the kids kicked off the wall.

Kisumi made sure to whoop and holler and make a general spectacle of himself – he caught Makoto giving him amused looks from the poolside, and less-than-amused looks from the other spectators around him. But he didn’t care, because Hayato was swimming and racing for the first time, and he had to make it a good experience for him.

“You did it!” Kisumi called in lieu of a greeting, meeting Hayato in the lobby after the race and swinging him up for a hug. “You did it, I’m so proud of you!”

Hayato leaned against Kisumi’s shoulder – his hair stuck wetly to Kisumi’s cheek, trailing drips down his neck and dampening the collar of his shirt.

“I didn’t win, though,” Hayato said, a little disappointed.

“So what? Did you have fun?”

Hayato nodded and shrugged at the same time.

“Then, it doesn’t matter if you won!”

“I guess,” Hayato muttered, not sounding at all convinced. Then, he squirmed a little bit and said, “Coach Tachibana said my swimming was good.”

Kisumi grinned at that. Good old Makoto. “Yeah? Well, he’d know, he’s one of the best swimmers in Iwatobi! And definitely the fastest at backstroke. But you know what? Not even Makoto wins all the time.”

“Really?” Hayato looked at him, wide-eyed, amazed over the possibility that his hero could ever lose.

“Really really,” Kisumi confirmed. Finally, Hayato smiled.

“It heard you cheering,” he said shyly. “Thank you.”

Kisumi had to bite his lip from smiling so hard his face would fall off. His brother was just too darn cute for his own good. He kissed Hayato’s cheek – Hayato scrunched up his nose and rubbed at the spot, and even that was cute so he just had to kiss him again.

“I’ll always cheer for you. Okay? Every time. That’s what big brothers are for!”

“And you’re the best big brother!” Hayato added, nodding to punctuate his point and mimicking Kisumi’s cheek-kissing.

Kisumi’s heart felt like it was going to explode.

NSFW, Sexual Content
Word count: 2634
I- I have no words for this, this was supposed to be really dumb and quick and short anD YET???

It was during a game of truth or dare when Aomine had said the line that would not only make his friends laugh for weeks but had also piqued his own internal debate. It was Kise’s fault of course, it’s always Kise’s fault. The blonde had decided to throw a party, a get together for all the old basketball crew to drink and have a good time in the model’s ridiculously nice apartment. (Every time Aomine visited he reconsidered his career choices, they all did, it just wasn’t right for a 3rd year university student to be living somewhere so swanky, not unless your name was Akashi.)

Aomine didn’t complain though, even if he couldn’t live here he could certainly make use of the blondes substantial alcohol collection. This however was his downfall when it came to the game of truth or dare, something the blonde had suddenly come up with, quickly turning the music down and gathering everyone around. It had proceeded as much as you would expect, though Aomine wasn’t really paying attention until it came to his turn, and of course it was Kise who was asking him. Seeing the look on the model’s face he’d said truth, hoping that might be the lesser of two evils. (He was wrong, god damnit Kise.) He could still remember the 100 watt grin Kise had given him as he’d pointed at Aomine.

“Aominecchi~ I know you’ve fucked both women and men but have you ever been fucked?” Apparently this was the most interesting thing that had ever happened to the group as they all turned their eyes to the old Teiko Ace, even Midorima and Murasakibara looked interested. (Stupid Kise.) Aomine had scoffed out a laugh, taking a large sip of his beer before sealing his fate.

“Of course not, the only one who can fuck me is me.” At the time it had sounded like just the right thing to say, in his alcohol muddled state he’d patted himself on the back. The rest of the group however found it hilarious. The use of his old catchphrase along with the absurdity of what he was actually implying left most of them in tears, Kagami had had to leave the room to calm down because his stomach hurt so much from laughing. Aomine had just glared at them all and decided to drink himself into oblivion so he would forget it had ever happened. Of course they would never let him, not when he scrolled through his twitter feed the next day to see it filled with them all quoting him. That only made his hangover worse. (Stupid Kise and his stupid twitter obsession.)

The jokes died down after a while, thankfully, but the thought took root and continued to grow until, instead of his usual practice of napping during economics, he was considering what it would be like to be fucked. Kise was right, he had been with both men and women, and while he was well known to prefer the curves of a woman he wouldn’t turn down a hot man. But he never bottomed. He had never even considered it. He wondered why, he supposed it was because most of the men he had been with had been smaller then him in build or just more submissive. At the time it had just seemed right and even now, he could find himself agreeing with his past drunk self. He tried to imagine reversing the positions with his past partners and it just felt wrong. He didn’t like the idea at all. He even tried to imagine it with someone bigger than him, someone like Kagami, but even that didn’t seem quite right. He let out a snicker at the thought of Bakagami getting a one up on him, there was no way he’d lose to him, not in basketball and not in sex. Aomine paused at this thought, was it really losing though? He knew it felt good, the screams and scratch marks on his back were enough to prove that, so why did he feel so against the notion of someone else fucking him. It was probably some weird psychological thing that he didn’t really want to think about, Momoi would probably know, but that would be going too far, even for them. Which left him with his original statement. The only one that can fuck me is me! He decided to not think about it for the time being, realising that he had thought away half of his 3 hour lecture on the matter and that he really should get a nap in before practice. It's not like economics was important to play ball anyway.

Aomine successfully avoided thinking about it for almost a week until he was out shopping in donki, he needed some new household items and the discount store seemed like a good place to go. (Plus they almost always had gravure photo books on sale). He paused mid yawn as he noticed a section he very rarely entered. He knew that the store sold sex toys and the like but being who he was he had never had the need for a little help (his hand had done him good over the years anyway) but now he found himself strolling in. Trying to look nonchalant as he looked over what they had to offer, he bypassed the kinky outfits and tenga eggs and looked at the large display of sex toys. Some of them were small and almost natural looking while others were downright terrifying. He pursed his lips, deciding that no he wouldn't like one of them up his ass either thank you very much, even if he was in control with it.

He made to leave the section, picking up a few condoms and a bottle of lube (because you can never have too much of either) when something caught his eye. If Aomine had been in a cartoon he was sure a little lightbulb would turn on above his head as he reached down for the packet. Clone a Willy it read, in bright writing on the top, Aomine didn't even think twice before putting it in his basket and carried on with his shopping. He had been right, of course he had been right, even drunk only Aomine knew Aomine best, and it was true the only one who could fuck him, was him. He quickly finished his rounds of the shop, getting a new toothbrush and shower mat and of course a nice gravure photobook that was half price. He'd bought enough porn in his time to not feel any embarrassment as the checkout lady processed his items and soon he was on his way home.

Once he got back to his apartment he tried to at least get the shopping away before he investigated his more interesting purchases (Satsuki's constant nagging seemed to be finally paying off). Aomine sat down with a heavy sigh on his bed, ignore any messages (probably from Satsuki or stupid Kise.) and his growing pile of assignments to look at the kit he had bought. He briefly wondered if this was a bad idea, but ignored that thought as curiosity got the better of him. He knew he was good in the sack and it was about time he found out just how much. Besides if it was a terrible idea he could always give it to Kise as a present, this whole thing was his fault anyway. He laughed at the thought of throwing a replica of his own dick at Kise and made a mental note to buy another kit even if this does turn out well. The look on his face would be worth the moaning from Satsuki and the disapproving looks from Tetsu and Akashi.

He quickly read over the instructions, they were simple enough, he just had to get hard first, which was even easier, especially with his new photobook. It felt a bit weird as he did it but he soon forgot about that as he finished himself off, leaving it to set. It said it was best to leave it for almost a day, so once he had cleaned up and added the new photobook to his collection he put it somewhere safe and carried on with his evening. He was in such a good mood he even finished off a history assignment.

The next day went quicker than expected, despite his particularly boring schedule, the anticipation for what was waiting for him at home was more then enough to keep him going through 3 hours of economics followed by 2 hours of History. He'd even played nice during practice and helped a first year out with his form. When Satsuki had narrowed her eyes at him accusingly asking him why he was in such a weird mood he just shrugged and told a half truth, mentioning his new photobook he'd gotten. Satsuki rolled her eyes and walked off, muttering about stupid perverted boys. Oh if only she knew.

-

Aomine wasn’t really sure why he was so excited about the prospect of fucking himself on a clone of his own dick, but since this whole bottoming business had begun almost a month ago he hadn’t been able to get the thought out of his head, and now here his was, walking very briskly (no he wasn’t running) home.

Satsuki had plans with a friend and Kagami had cancelled their usual one on one as he had some make up class to go to at his own university, so he had the night all to himself. He’d resisted looking at the clone when he’d gotten up this morning, wanting to wait until he had time to appreciate the fine craftsmanship (It was a copy of Aomine Daiki’s dick, of course it was going to be top quality).

Aomine took time with his shower, getting all the sweat he’d worked up during practice off his skin and making sure to properly prepare himself. He wanted this to be perfect, it was almost like his first time really. Though did it really count if it was with yourself? He didn’t care any more, he was fully on-board with this plan, mentally patting drunk Aomine from a month ago on the back for his stellar idea.

He walked out of the shower, grabbing a towel for his hair, not bothering with covering up (one of the perks of living alone). He rubbed the towel over his head mindlessly as he went to retrieve the kit, his lips pulling into a grin as he pulled out the complete copy of his own cock. It looked familiar of course but also different, like he was seeing it for the first time. He continued vaguely drying his body with the towel as he walked over to his bed, dropping it unceremoniously as he sat on the edge, turning the copy in his hand.

Aomine tilted his head as he looked at it, taking his other hand to the real thing, stroking it to life to compare. The texture wasn’t the same as his own but other than that it felt pretty much the same, as he mimicked one hand’s movements on the other. He felt himself licking his lips, an almost feral look in his eye as he thought of what was to come. He let out a groan as he ran his thumb over the tip of the real deal, letting his eyes fall shut as he relished the contact. A moment later he stopped though, knowing that that wasn’t the reason he was currently sitting on his bed, stark naked on a Thursday evening.

Shaking his head he removed his hand, moving to get settled in the middle of the bed, his supplies already out on the bedside table. Now that he was actually about to do it he was almost nervous as he lay back, wriggling a little as he got comfy. He set the clone to the side and swapped it for the new bottle of lube he’d bought, applying a very liberal amount to his fingers. Pulling his legs up he closed his eyes, biting his lip as he moved his fingers towards his entrance. He’d tried this once back in high school but hadn't the skill or patience to really make it worth it, he had prepared his past partners though so knew he had at least a little more skill than he had had back then.

That didn't quite prepare him for the way it felt as his pushed one finger past the ring of muscle, it was weird for lack of a better word but he knew his fingers could bring a scream out of someone if used right so he pushed on, closing his eyes as he focused on relaxing. He shifted his feet, moving his bent legs further apart to give himself better access as he pushed his finger as far as it would go, gently pumping it in and out as he would do for a partner. He tried to remember the way he would hold run his hands over the others body, distracting them from any discomfort with light caresses and rough kisses. Though he couldn't quite kiss himself, Aomine let his other hand run over his stomach and chest, circling a nipple as he began to push the second finger in. It didn't hurt, but it wasn't exactly comfortable so he continued his re-enactment in his mind, rubbing a thumb over the now pert nipple, pinching it lightly in time with his other fingers beginning to scissor. The rush of pain and pleasure that both hands gave him was enough to make him bite his lip, suddenly wishing that he really did have a second Aomine here to grind against and taste.

He continued his assault on his nipples as his other fingers scissored and curled, preparing himself for what was to come. When he began to push a third finger in, Aomine let his hand trail back down his stomach, circling his length and pumping it slowly to distract for the discomfort. With his hand around his cock he realised just how big it was compared to his fingers, and took the time to get fully used to the current three before he even thought about the next part.

When he finally felt himself get comfortable with the three fingers, pushing them as far as they could go and finding he just wanted more he let them slip out, a small gasp leaving his lips as they went. His other hand that had been lazily jerking himself off stopped too, and he opened his eyes once more to look at the clone that lay next to him. Aomine licked his lips as he picked it up once more, reaching for the bottle of lube to slick it up, ready to finally find the answer to his internal debate.

Laying his head back down once more, he spread his legs a little wider moving the cloned copy of his cock to his waiting hole. As he pressed it against his entrance he tried to think back to where this had all begun, how his drunk self had blurted out an absurd phrase that had led to him now about to literally fuck himself on his own cock, he once again wondered how much he should trust drunk Aomine, but as he pushed the cock past the tight ring of muscle and his eyes opened wide to the feeling of being so so full he grinned to himself, because yes of course the only person that knows him best is himself, and this was a great idea. (So maybe Kise isn’t quite as stupid as he looks.)

A/N: Donki (Don Quijote) is a discount chain store in Japan, I visited the one in Akihabara (famous for housing AKB48's theatre on the top floor) when I was in Japan and it sold like everything, from household items to anime stuff to sex toys, so it seemed like the best place for Aomine to go for all his needs lol.

Major Content tags: spoilers for the current manga match.
Word count: 541

Painful as he finds it, Shigeru stays after Seijoh's defeat and watches the final match. He swallows and ignores the third years, none of them will matter next year and the second years will be everything.

A cheer goes up across the stands as Karasuno scores their first point. A line of four, two rows in front of Shigeru, look like they're about to take off from joy. He thinks he sees a mask around one of their necks, the guy probably shouldn't be doing that if he's sick.

Shigeru sinks lower in his chair.

Shiratorizawa takes the first set, to no one's surprise. Karasuno's fan club have deflated a little but the spunky lady with blonde hair is rallying the rest of them and-

Shigeru sits up again, leans forward. He missed her before but that's Karasuno's new manager with them. It's a row of five, not four. She's practically vibrating in her seat, still focused on the players even while the coaches are talking to them off court.

For the rest of the game, Shigeru splits his attention between her and the court.

She is an important part of Karasuno's team, right?

----

The final point is scored and tears fly from both sides. Yahaba takes his leave, he was here to watch the players.

And if he does happen to end up in the same place as Karasuno's tiny manager, it's definitely a coincidence.

He puts a tomato into his basket just to have something in there, as he watches her sniff an apple before she selects three more and sits them in her basket next to a leek.

Are you going to make stew?

----

He raises a hand as they wind up face to face - in the feminine hygiene aisle. He hastily shoves the kind he thinks his sister uses in the basket and extracts himself from in front of her.

Is this your usual supermarket?

----

She stands on the tip of her toes as she reaches her fingers up to wave under the top shelf, Shigeru steps forward just as a staff member passes by and nabs her item - dried mushrooms - off the shelf.

Shigeru sags.

Can I get that for you?

----

In the aisle containing plastic cutlery, pieces of hose and a million other miscellaneous items, she crouches down in front of the lightbulbs. She picks up two and intently reads the label on each. Shigeru gets as far as opening his mouth to offer guidance before she selects one and returns the other to the shelf.

That one is what we use at the inn… I think.

----

When she sneezes and misses him calling over the woman behind the deli counter, he gives up. If he can't even open his mouth and say good game they're not meant to even know each other's names.

He picks up a lollipop from beside the counter and checks out his mixed collection of items. A total of 1342 yen.

Outside, the edge of the sun dips below the buildings, he unwraps his lollipop and tucks it inside his cheek, slipping the wrapper into his pocket.

"Oh, you like watermelon, too?"

No content warnings apply, 483 word

Wrote this on my freaking phone

Rin said his goodbyes to everyone. His mother and sister, the grave of his father, his teachers and friends at Samezuka Academy, and Iwatobi. But there was one last person he needed to see.

He had to part with everyone he knew in Japan again. All of his friends and family would be an ocean away. But it didn't scare him like it did the first time. He remembered that he had their support, and he could always call them and hop on a plane back for a visit. He had nothing to be ashamed of, unlike before.

Sousuke had seen Rin off last time, but now he told Rin to tell Haru to do it.

"Can't let romantic RinRin miss his chance to make out with his boyfriend at the airport."

No matter how long he stayed in Australia, it would never feel more familiar than home did.

But Rin had to do this for himself. The memory of the humiliation in Australia still haunted him. If he didn't go back for this revenge, it would still gnaw at the back of his mind. Rin always had something to prove, and this was no different.

It didn't mean that leaving again didn't hurt, though.

"Use your phone more, will you?"

Haru pulled said phone out of his pocket, just to show. "You're one to talk. When you leave, sometimes it feels like you've just disappeared."

Rin felt a pang of guilt. "Well, that's not gonna happen this time."

The plane would be boarding soon, only a matter of minutes before Rin would be on his way again. He could keep promising that he'd be coming back, that he would call, that he wouldn't lose contact this time. But it was all suddenly cut off when Haru leaned forward to hug him.

It was the first time he felt Haru's arms tight around him like this. And with that, Rin couldn't fight the tears welling up anymore. He thought he could suppress them better now, but he still couldn't help his nature. He squeezed Haru back tight, lifting him off the ground.

As silly as it was, Rin wished that Haru would tell him to stay, that he could find his way to his dream here in Japan. Everything in Australia was in the past, did he really need to go back? And But Rin wouldn't change his mind, even if Haru did. And Haru probably knew it too. Rin almost wanted to bring Haru with him too, but Australia was no place for Haru to live, with his terrible English and even less established presence there.

"You always just come and go as you please," Haru said, voice muffled into Rin's jacket.

"I'll be back, you'll see. More often than last time."

Haru lifted his head to look Rin in the eyes, before pressing his lips to a tear. "You better stick to your word."

No warnings
985 words
_____________________________________________________

Received 10:45PM
Kinjou-san. I have something important to ask you.

Sent 10:46PM
What is it?

The phone rings immediately afterward, and Kinjou isn't surprised to see Imaizumi's name light up his screen. "Hello," he says. "You don't usually call."

"It's important," Imaizumi says. "I thought it better to call."

"I see." Kinjou leans back in his chair, allowing himself a slight smile. "I'm listening."

There's a beat of silence before Imaizumi says, "I was accepted to Yonan."

"Congratulations," Kinjou replies, not disguising the warmth in his voice.

"Th...thank you very much." Imaizumi coughs softly. "Since we're attending the same school, I was wondering if you were looking for a roommate."

Kinjou glances out the window. He lives on the second story and he can see the last blush of sunset through the trees, the way the dark is already shot through with streetlights. It's not a bad view, he thinks. Imaizumi would probably like it here. "Why me?" he asks. "I'm not the only person you know at Yonan, and there are dormitories."

Imaizumi doesn't respond at first. Kinjou waits him out.

"I didn't want to stay in the dormitory," he starts. "It's expensive, and I couldn't...it's noisy. I wouldn't be able to focus. Besides, I wanted..." the embarrassment is clear in Imaizumi's voice. "I enjoy your company, Kinjou-san. I would prefer to live with you."

Kinjou glances around the room he uses as an office. He doesn't have many things here; a desk, some bookshelves, a clock ticking gently on the wall. It wouldn't be hard to clear everything out.

"You're welcome here," he says.

--

Imaizumi doesn't have many belongings, either. A dozen shirts; a blanket that seems hand-made, baby blue, which is folded neatly into the closet until the temperature drops. The heaviest boxes are full of biking supplies, books, and DVDs.

His bike finds a home beside Kinjou's on the rack by the front door, and for a moment Kinjou has a flash of nostalgia for Sohoku's club room.

He settles a heavy hand on Imaizumi's shoulder, saying nothing, and watches Imaizumi's cheeks glow pink at the touch.

--

It's quiet.

Kinjou is on the sofa when Imaizumi slips into the living room, a waft of steam rising from his coffee mug. He's reading on his tablet, glasses settled low on his nose as he scrolls through page after page with flicks of his index finger.

Imaizumi is a creature of habit, like Kinjou; they make good roommates. Kinjou doesn't have to look up from his studies to know that Imaizumi will move into the kitchen next, use the leftover hot water to make tea for himself, and cobble together a breakfast of clear miso soup and leftovers from last night's dinner (today is fish and rice and pickled vegetables).

He makes enough for two and doesn't call when he's finished. Kinjou knows to come over when the soft noises cease.

Imaizumi doesn't waste. He saves takeout containers to bring lunch when he goes riding, he buys new ink cartridges for his pens instead of throwing them out. It's not a frugality borne out of having to make do with nothing, but there's something about it that goes hand in hand with his preference for silence. He hates mess and clutter, prefers simplicity and things that last.

When breakfast is done, they wash the dishes - Kinjou takes the sponge, so Imaizumi dries and places them back in their proper places in the cupboard. There's no dishwasher, and no room for a drying rack. They find they have no reason to need either.

Imaizumi doesn't hum or make small talk. He focuses on the task at hand, handling each glass with deft care, squinting to make sure that each one is truly clean and dry before putting it away. He lifts each plate carefully from Kinjou's hands, glancing at Kinjou only now and then.

Imaizumi glances at Kinjou a lot. He always has, even when he was a first year. At that time Imaizumi did it to size him up, or read his mood, but now it's a simple look, with nothing behind it. Imaizumi looks at Kinjou the way a compass needle looks for north, as a steadiness to orient by, making sure that Kinjou is in his place so that Imaizumi can settle into his.

When Kinjou returns to the sofa, slipping headphones on while he reads, Imaizumi takes a place beside him. He has a tendency to tuck his feet up on the couch, an unexpected glimpse of childishness like the soft bunny t-shirts he still wears.

Imaizumi has a lean economy of motion when he bikes. When he's out of the saddle he doesn't fidget or wander, and sitting next to Kinjou every morning is a deliberate choice. Kinjou knows it, and also knows that it takes some amount of courage to do it, a boldness like when Imaizumi drives his way to first place because he knows he deserves the quiet place at the front of the pack.

Imaizumi's hand is close beside Kinjou's, resting on the mattress of the sofa. Kinjou can feel the weight of his attention on their hands, though he never glances down. Imaizumi licks his lips, his eyes darting to the corners of the room, the burden of his thoughts clear from the furrow of his brow.

Kinjou, too, prefers simplicity; he has always chosen the straightest path when he could. "Here," he says, slipping his hand into Imaizumi's. "Is this better?"

Imaizumi tenses. Kinjou doesn't look at him or move his hand. Their fingers remain loosely locked together, palms warming the small space between them.

He's rewarded in time with Imaizumi's quiet, relieved exhale. "Kinjou-san," he hears. It's a whisper. "Yes."

no warnings apply 22 lines
i think i just barely made it i HOPE

Two entities exist in space and time
They are blue, she is yellow
And the two mesh well.

She is like the sun
Which is also a star
Only closer to the blue of the earth

She is so bright in their eyes
They find themself moving with a sigh
Feet turning pedals in their head

Their chests are so tight
When they meet again
Words won't bubble to the surface

But instead

Tears spring forth
Like the streams in mountains they climb
Bodies weary and faces damp

Arms are wrapped tight
In the familiar heat
Of their voices ringing true

And the lips they press
Won't cease for air as long
As their breaths are the laughter they share.

warning for violence? ish?

~~can you tell i just like face punches~~

HELP, i'm so pleased with this?? Toudou's face is really cute, i love his seductive expression and pose, and the rose petals and the giant framed portrait of himself(?) hanging over his bed, it's so Zapp but also so Toudou, i love ittt

also, i'm SO GLAD you actually filled this, i wasn't expecting anyone to fill this silly little crossover prompt, and i'm actually very fond of this ship, so :x thank you!

No major warnings apply
1320 words

Collaboration with

iwatobio! Jumping in here with like, 15 minutes left to go. I'm efficient like that.

--

It’s not that Kageyama thinks Hinata is a genius, it’s just that “Hinata” and “genius” mean more or less the same thing in Kageyama’s mind.

No, wait. Start over. It is not like that.

Being called a genius, to Kageyama, is like this: He doesn’t like it, but he wants it. He doesn’t want to want it as much as he does, but he takes a dark and secret pleasure in hearing that word applied to him. He doesn’t like the implications or the eventuality of what being called that will mean someday… but there is a security in that identity. It means that he is special; that he stands out. It means that he is meant to achieve something great.

He occasionally manages not to feel the gnawing ache in his guts that asks but what if you can’t.

Hinata, to Kageyama, is like this: Irritating, and always around, and when he’s not around it’s even more irritating. From the beginning, he didn’t want to play with that useless guy, but he wanted Hinata to want to play together. As if that wasn’t confusing enough on its own, it just gets worse when Hinata starts looking at him like he’s made of magic. Kageyama can’t do anything with that even though it appeals to him on some level. He doesn’t like Hinata. But he really wants Hinata to like him.

…He’s not prepared for the eventuality of that train of thought, either.

"Long time no see, Tobio Chan~! You've really grown. How's the 'king' doing?" Oikawa said, dripping with sarcastic friendliness.

When Shouyou heard the words "Tobio-chan" leave Oikawa's mouth, he was stunned. Tobio-chan? The name "Tobio" didn't fit. Shouyou hadn't really thought much about Kageyama's given name because in his mind he mostly thought of him as "that jerk Kageyama" or sometimes "Bakageyama," but to him Tobio was a name belonging to a different sort of boy. Someone more innocent and open, able to laugh at himself and make friends easily. Definitely not the name for a guy known as a dictator on the court. No, if Shouyou had been asked to guess he would have picked a name like Goro or Katsuya or Kaiba or something for Kageyama.

And -chan! of all things. Though he realized that Oikawa was just teasing Kageyama, the fact was that Kageyama was so not someone who would ever want to be referred to that way. Maybe his mother called him that (Kageyama's mother? What kind of a person is that?), but the sound of both Tobio and -chan as designations for Kageyama sent Shouyou reeling. It would be like calling an anime villain -chan, he thought. Orochimaru-chan, he tested, and shuddered a little.

But there he was, the Grand King talking to Karasuno's genius(/idiot) setter as if he were an unruly preschooler! Part of Shouyou wanted to laugh at Kageyama's expense—he did deserve to be brought down a peg—but the rest of him was unexpectedly angry. Maybe it wasn't the same as if someone had said something cruel to Tanaka-senpai or Nishinoya-senpai, for example—you'd have to restrain Shouyou back physically if that happened.

But it felt wrong even so. Kageyama shouldn't have to take that, he thought. Though he would never admit it, Shouyou thought Kageyama had a lot to be proud of. It was wrong for Oikawa to belittle him like that. Oikawa doesn't really know him like I do, Shouyou realized.

Shouyou almost opened his mouth to say something, but then all at once the moment was over. He noticed that Kageyama (Tobio. Tobio? Tobio, he thought, both a little guilty and excited, as if the word was forbidden) seemed tense, like a scrawny alley cat expecting to be attacked.

Shouyou narrowed his eyes. He vowed to do his best to beat the Grand King into the ground.

So much time had passed between the first time Hinata squeezed his eyes shut for that spike and the moment he faced Kageyama dead-on to say he wanted to keep his eyes open from now on.

And that made no sense, not only for practical game reasons, but also because, well… Hinata trusted him, right? He trusted Kageyama and liked him and admired him maybe almost a little too much, so why would he need to do something stupid like that? Unless…? He just growled his refusal so he wouldn’t have to think about whether or not Hinata trusted him less now or something, and what that would mean.

Kageyama was part of a team now, somehow. He did stuff like communicating and asking questions and adjusting to each teammate’s strengths. But he was still a genius, wasn’t he? He was still a prodigy or something, and Hinata cared about him in some ridiculous way that made no sense.

Who cares about being a genius, and who cares about Hinata?

But Kageyama would be lost if either of those things changed.

If Kageyama had actually said any of that stuff to Shouyou, he would have told him how stupid it was. Of course Shouyou still trusted him. This wasn’t about that.

But Kageyama was, as usual, not really saying what he meant at all, so Shouyou didn’t have a chance to explain that since he could trust Kageyama to give him the best toss every time, Shouyou had every right to find a way to meet it with the perfect spike.

If that meant that Kageyama wasn’t going to pass to him at all until he got there, then so be it.

Teams have to work together, but a Small Giant is so called for standing out, for having immeasurable strength of his own.

So, he was going to practice, and he was going to learn the tempos, and then he was going to go back as someone Kageyama couldn’t refuse to toss to. That was that.

Kageyama did not mean to actually get into a full-on physical fist fight with Hinata. He didn’t mean to run into Oikawa, either. None of this was going the way it was supposed to, and irritation buzzed at the back of his head in a near-constant hum even louder than usual.

It became a little more bearable, admittedly, when he actually had something of his own to work on. He could line up bottles and run penalties until it either killed him or until he could stop thinking about annoying things. Whichever came first.

Because thinking about Hinata in general was increasingly annoying ever since that fight. Thoughts of him kept getting locked in his head as proof of something he couldn’t quite pin down, but it made him feel dizzy and overheated in a way that wasn’t just the awful summer heat.

He almost tells Yachi that Hinata has a big stupid crush on him and it’s annoying as hell, but he just asks her to put the ball in the air again instead. He even says please.

He almost asks Takeda-sensei why on earth a genius would get in a fight with a total idiot and then start feeling like maybe he wants more than just to be liked, but that falters and dies in his throat too.

Practice is mercifully distracting, even when it’s hard. It occupies his mind enough to push everything else out and tires out his body so he can fall asleep easily once the distraction is gone.

He manages not to think about it much at all until the very last day of the training camp.

But when Hinata throws open the door to the gym and stands there in the threshold with the sunlight silhouetting his hair like it’s made of actual fire, Kageyama wants… not just for Hinata to keep liking him. Hinata can grow and change or whatever, too, if he wants. And it could be that Kageyama wants that, for Hinata’s sake. Maybe just a little.

no warnings apply, 406 words
ahhhh just squeaking this in. i had a lot of trouble, i think i may love these two too much to write about them coherently, lol. this quote is so perfect for them that i had to try.

the day arata moves back to tokyo is bright and mild, springtime sun pouring in through chihaya's bedroom window while she waits for the phone to ring. there's an uncharacteristic knot in her stomach, the kind of nervousness she's used to feeling at matches. they've been apart longer than they were together, six years of distance mapped by telephone wires and ballpoint pens, the year and a half when he went completely dark. it's strange to think that it's over, that she will be able to see him more than every couple of months at karuta tournaments.

the thing about radio waves and misty magpie bridges spanning the stars is that they are intangible. chihaya has always done better with things she can touch; becoming queen is a formless dream but the physicality of a karuta match doesn't lie. arata on the tatami is a force of nature, the perfect tension of a smoothly spinning top, an image chihaya has been reaching for since the first time she saw it. that longing is familiar, welling up to fill all the spaces between her cells, the desire to match him, to meet him there.

it's a little different now. or maybe it's not; it's inevitable that everything about them is tied up with karuta. the room in his heart that arata plays all his matches in is echoed in hers, after all. she remembers clearly the brightness of his eyes cutting through the dimness, the sharp arc of his arm through the air, the love pouring off him stirring something inside her that has never been quiet since. the idea of an arata who longer loved karuta was what had shaken her so badly all those years ago, sobbing her relief out into dingy bullet train upholstery.

he's coming back. the waiting aches in her fingertips, the kaleidoscope flash of her emotions twisting like a windchime. there are things chihaya is slow to understand, but wanting to see arata is simple enough. they can sort the rest of it out together, because this time he's staying.

the phone rings and she jumps, fumbles it open to listen as arata says, "i'm here."

"arata," she says, and then again, repeats his name three times over the low curl of his laughter. "arata," chihaya says, breathless, heart wide open, "let's play karuta."

"yes," he says, from not so very far away, from where he's waiting for her, too, "let's."

no content warnings
wordcount: 721

Akaashi watches him.

Not in the way you normally do - there is no mild curiosity behind the movement of his eyes. No unhinged interest that draws his attention. He watches the same way people fret, nervous but intense, worried but unwilling to act. Yet.

Bokuto’s shoulders drop, and Akaashi feels the flag drop, a race against space and time alike. He meets eyes with Washio, then Sarukui, before the return to the ball.

They are four points down, all of which have been Bokuto’s errors. They lost the previous set by another of Bokuto’s errors, though seventeen of their twenty three points had also been by his hands. Akaashi gauges the placement of his team, the movement of their feet, waits for the ball to crest over the net. They have two, maybe three volleys before Bokuto will start to get restless, numbers and probabilities filing alongside his gut instinct to set to the only real point-scorer of their game.

The ball is spiked, Komi receives, Bokuto’s shoulders drop with his eyes and Akaashi resists the urge to sigh.

Dejected Mode: In effect.

Akaashi sets to Washio, moves back into position, and strategizes. Bokuto needs something to pull him out, as they don’t currently have the time to wait for him to ease out of it, but Akaashi can’t put his finger on what. The squeaks of rubber on wood fill the gym, Akaashi hears the roar of the crowd and the distinct voices of their coach, their teammates, mixed in with those of the other team.

He blinks, thinks of Bokuto, of wide golden eyes and soft grey hair, of large calloused hands and bright smiles. He thinks of the moments when Bokuto is at his highest, after winning spikes and congratulator speeches. Of the yell he gives when the ball hits the floor and everyone in the gym lets out a breath, a single thought connecting them all - they won.

In these moments, he feels like a pole in a hurricane, pulled and pushed but grounded, feeling himself slip out of the sand and letting that panic settle hot and sour in the back of his throat. He doesn’t have time for this, they don’t have time for this, if he doesn’t fix it and Bokuto doesn’t get better then what’s the use of him as a setter.

I notice, you know. Washio is blocked, Komi dives to save the ball, Akaashi volleys it over for a free ball and everyone resets. Notice what, Bokuto-san? He hears his coach above the crowd, calling one of their base plays, usually one he reverts back to when he knows everyone is struggling to find their footing. What you do on the court, when you pull me out of my funks.

The other team sets up for their left wing spiker. The ball hits the top of the net. Sarukui gets his hand under it and gets it up in the air. All I do is remind you, Bokuto-san. You have the skills already. Akaashi quickly situates himself under the ball, watches it fall towards him. The whole front line sets up for the assault, waiting for the ball to reach his fingertips before they start their motion.

It’s more than that-

Of the options, Bokuto is on the right side behind Akaashi, has started advancing a second too early, but has his eyes up to the ball. Akaashi blinks, thinks, waits.

-You save me.

Bokuto’s straight spike is, as far as Akaashi can tell, nearly impossible to block if not planned for and set up for prior to the set. The power behind it, as well as Bokuto’s split-second decision-making ability with regard to that spike, specifically, is unstoppable.

They win the game, after that point. Five points, in succession, from the serving line. Bokuto shakes the captain’s hand under the net before turning back to his team, throwing up his fists as they all advance on him- Akaashi included. He throws his arms over Bokuto’s shoulders and can’t stop grinning, even as the rest of their teammates pile on.

Nationals is next week, and for one more year, Fukurodani will play on that court. In that arena.

Bokuto will play, for one last year. And that’s enough for Akaashi.

Major Tags: Mild sexual content… sort of.
Word Count:464
Notes: This is, uh… I have no idea what to say here, except I’m sorry...

FJ: I don’t really know… what to do
KS: Its fine just. Say what you would normally.
FJ: Right. I will try

Kinjou sighed. The idea to take the relationship long-distance had been an easy one; neither of them had it in them to give up on something, just because the situation had gotten a bit trickier. And it’s not as if keeping in touch would be hard. But at the same time… there were parts of a relationship that took a bigger hit than others when it came to long distance.

A harder hit still if your partner had no idea how sexting worked.

FJ: You
FJ: You start
KS: Of course.
KS: Im lying on my bed. I still have my work clothes on from today. My shirt has the first few buttons undone.
FJ: Are you wearing your glasses?
KS: …
KS: No.
KS: Why does it matter?
FJ: Sorry
FJ: You were telling me what you were wearing, but I wasn’t sure if you had your glasses on
KS: … Would you like it better if I were wearing my glasses?
FJ: No
FJ: I mean, I wouldn’t mind if you were wearing them
FJ: I just didn’t know where they were
FJ: Sorry
KS: Its fine. The glasses are on the bedside table.
KS: Just. Try saying what you would do if you were here.
FJ: I would
FJ: Also lay on the bed
KS: Good. Thats a good start.
KS: Then what?
FJ: I
FJ: I don’t know
KS: Just say whatever you would do if you were really here with me.
FJ: It is hard to say
FJ: Since I can’t see you
FJ: So I can’t judge what I should do
KS: Fukutomi theres no right or wrong answer.
KS: Just. Make something up.
FJ: I would
FJ: Touch you
KS: Okay where?
FJ: I don’t know
KS: Alright its like. Just imagine it. Its all just fantasy.
FJ: Like
FJ: With wizards?
KS: … No.
KS: Would
KS: Would you prefer if there were wizards involved?
FJ: No
FJ: Maybe
KS: … I

FJ: I cast Infinite Lightening for half my mana
KS: That won't take out the druid. She has a lightning immunity amulet.
FJ: Oh right
FJ: It's too late to take it back though
KS: I'll let you.
FJ: That would be dishonest
KS: Fine. I'll use my binding field effect so she can't move for two turns.
FJ: That will bind me as well though
KS: ...
KS: I'm not really seeing a downside.
FJ: ...
KS: ;)
FJ: Oh
FJ: Right
FJ: This was original meant to be sexual
FJ: I forgot
KS: ...
FJ: So yes
FJ: I cannot move
FJ: Also the druid is watching
FJ: Presumably
KS: This is fine.

i know you're not 100% happy with this, but i felt like it captured the prompt perfectly and was p much exactly what i was looking for tbh?? i love that Toudou isn't afraid to argue with Arakita, but even through *that* and through clearly thinking he's very much in the right to yell at Arakita about this, he realizes he's gone too far with the "you have no human emotions" comment. like he's fine arguing with Arakita and calling him out on his shit but doesn't want to really hurt him ;_; i also really liked the whole thing with Toudou getting a love confession and Arakita getting jealous and interrupting and blaming it on her interrupting practice, that's so Arakita ;__;

finally, the last line, about how the kissing feels just as natural as the bickering, i really liked that.

thank you for the fill!!

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Page 126 of 137

Bonus Round 1: Quotes

Bonus Round 1: Quotes

FILL : TEAM Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, G

FILL: TEAM OIKAWA TOORU/USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI, G

FILL: TEAM AKAASHI KEIJI/BOKUTO KOUTAROU/KUROO TETSUROU, G

FILL: TEAM FUKUTOMI JUICHI/KINJOU SHINGO, G

Re: FILL: TEAM Matsuoka Rin/Ryuugazaki Rei, PG

FILL: TEAM AOYAGI HAJIME/IZUMIDA TOUICHIROU, T

FILL: TEAM FUKUTOMI JUICHI/KINJOU SHINGO, G

PROMPT: TEAM IWAIZUMI HAJIME/OIKAWA TOORU

FILL: TEAM ARAKITA YASUTOMO/FUKUTOMI JUICHI, T

Re: FILL: TEAM AOYAGI HAJIME/TESHIMA JUNTA, G

FILL: Team Akashi Seijuurou/Nijimura Shuuzou, G

FILL Team: Nishinoya Yuu/Tanaka Ryuunosuke, Rated: T

FILL: TEAM AOYAGI HAJIME/TESHIMA JUNTA, G

FILL: Team Kuroo Tetsurou/Oikawa Tooru,E

FILL: Team Haikyuu!!, G

FILL: TEAM MATSUOKA RIN/NANASE HARUKA, G

FILL: Team Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi, G

FILL: Team Yowamushi Pedal, RATING G

FILL: TEAM Aoyagi Hajime/Izumida Touichirou, G

Re: FILL: Team Matsuoka Rin/Ryuugazaki Rei, PG

FILL: Team Hazuki Nagisa/Ryuugazaki Rei, G

FILL: team daiya no ace, G

FILL: TEAM ARAKITA YASUTOMO/FUKUTOMI JUICHI, G

FILL: TEAM FUKUTOMI JUICHI/KINJOU SHINGO, T

Re: FILL: TEAM LOVE LIVE!, G