o is vv shy and a little bit scared of touch but didn’t told them about it.)

hq-cuties-pls:

I used Recovery of an MMO Junkie as a huge influence on these. I loved writing them, though! They were super fun!! Enjoy
~Admin Emma

Asahi

Breaking his leg was by far the dumbest thing Asahi had ever done. He would regret getting that damn motorcycle until the day he died, especially where a mild crash with it resulted in him being totally hung up in bed for at least six weeks, possibly more. He spent a solid day and a half after getting out of the hospital pouting. He was bored, damn it, and he could only handle so much of Daichi and Suga’s company before they either had to leave or he was ready to bodily throw them out, broken bones be damned. If Suga made one more Evel Knievel reference, Asahi might have to forget he was a nice person.

After he pouted, he got to work on his homework and his studies. His time in the hospital put him a bit behind schedule, and this way he could get caught up and then some. Maybe even get ahead, or do some extra credit. It really seemed to work out perfectly; he was a slow studier, and his mild attention issues often got the better of him, so it could be a great way to kill a lot of time.

Except that he lasted about four days before his brain felt fried and he just couldn’t take it anymore.

After getting caught up on his reading, watching as many trashy dramas on Netflix that he could handle (it wasn’t many), checking out that anime Suga’s… person kept recommending (he made it to episode three), and killing a few pages in his sketchbook, he hadn’t managed to make time go any faster. He was still hung up in bed. He could get up to go to the bathroom and that was about it. He was ready to climb the walls, or maybe just crawl out of his own skin.

About two weeks into his sentence, Daichi recommended an MMO he’d been playing with his girlfriend. It had really appealing character designs and a high skill floor, so it seemed the perfect solution. He made his character as pretty and bishonen-esque as he could just for shits and giggles… the farthest thing from himself that he could. He named his character Vaughn because he’d watched most of Vision of Escaflowne while he’d waited for the game to install and he was obsessed. He took up the starting quest and started exploring.

Within an hour, he had a chat notification pop up.

Nina: Hi there! Are you trying the Devil Dungeon Event?

Asahi was skeptical at first, because he didn’t see which avatar had pinged him, but then he saw someone doing some sort of pre-animated wave emote. He waved back before responding.

Vaughn: Yeah, I was thinking about it. Still have to grind, though.

Nina: Actually, our tank sort of bailed on us. My group could run you to 20 really fast and then we could do it together.

Asahi was still skeptical–he’d heard about scams like these–but he really did want to try the event, and on his own it would definitely end before he could even attempt it. He figured he’d just bail as soon as they started asking for personal information or money or something.

Needless to say, things went a lot quicker with three higher-level characters helping him out and outfitting him. He was invited into their group chat and he learned they were especially funny, but Nina-san was very nice. She seemed to just keep the group together, seeing as the two DPS players were ridiculous humans. They played and grinded through levels and chatted until Asahi looked up and he’d been playing for eight hours. They’d done the dungeon twice and walked away with several loot boxes he couldn’t wait to open.

Nina: Goodness, I didn’t realize it was so late. Thanks for helping us out, Vaughn-san.

Vaughn: Don’t mention it. It was fun.

Nina: Would you like to game with us again sometime? You’re really good. Is this your first character?

Vaughn: In this game, yeah.

Nina: That’s surprising! But the guild is taking part in a raid tomorrow night after we all get off work and school and stuff. What time’s good for you?

Asahi scowled, though not at Nina. He’d just started to forget that he was literally stuck in bed.

Vaughn: Aahh… I’m sort of free whenever. I can’t get out of bed for another month or so.

Nina: OMG are you sick!?

Vaughn: Broken leg. Crashed my motorcycle.

There was such a long pause–so long, Asahi was afraid Nina had disconnected–but she came back eventually.

Nina: That’s so cool! Well, the motorcycle thing… not the broken leg thing.

Vaughn: I appreciate that.

Nina: Anyway, we’re hoping to get started no later than 7:00 or so, so DM me whenever you log on, kay?

With that, she was gone. Asahi should have been tired, given how late it was, but he was strangely exhilarated. Despite the fact he’d just spoken to her in snippets about the game and they’d each given perfunctory details about their lives, he felt connected to Nina in a way. Maybe it was the barrier of the screen… that he could talk to her. He’d never been able to talk to girls like this in real life.

Assuming Nina is a girl. She could be anyone. She could be Daichi for all you know!

Asahi shook his head to banish his intrusive (if sensible) thoughts. He snapped his laptop closed, not bothering to shut it down. He couldn’t get to sleep–he was too giddy–and he had trouble pinning down why.

Over the course of the next few weeks–between doctor’s’ appointments, PT and slowly-but-surely returning to classes and eventually, practices–he kept logging on every day to play at least a quest or two with his guild, but mostly to talk to Nina. She (and he was convinced she was a she) seemed to like talking to him. Sometimes, after the entire guild logged out and it was late and they didn’t have any more quests to do, they’d just go to a private area and talk about nothing. He learned all about her, and she learned all about him. She was ecstatic when she found out they lived close enough to each other.

After a long time, he finally figured out why it was so hard to say goodnight every night; he was in love. It wasn’t long after he made this realization that Nina and him had… the conversation.

Nina: So, you’ve been logging on a lot less lately. I take it your doctors are letting you back out there?

Vaughn: Yeah, I’m mostly free. Doctor Nishimi isn’t thrilled that I’m back at practice, but I don’t have much of a choice. I’m on scholarship and my leave of absence has already been extended.

Nina: You can’t overdo it! If you hurt yourself even worse, you won’t be able to play at all!

Vaughn: Don’t worry, one of my teammates had a friend with a bad knee back in high school. He’s making sure I take it easy.

Nina: Look, I know we’re both busy and all, but… Vaughn I think I might… could we meet sometime? Soon?

Asahi froze. Hadn’t he wanted this to happen? Wasn’t this end game? Or… well, would it be weird? There was a distinct possibility–the only thing he knew for sure about Nina was her love of this game (and any loot box that guaranteed something extra pink and extra adorable). But that wasn’t it… and he knew it.

He knew that if he met her, she’d have to see him. In all his 188 cm glory, with his fucking man-bun (which he still hadn’t gotten rid of, for some reason) and goatee and too-wide shoulders and his scary face… and she’d reject him. And he didn’t want Nina–his Nina–to reject him. Not when it was so good.

Despite all his fears and trepidations, though, he did want to meet her. He wanted to see Nina for real. And go on a date and buy her coffee and call her by her real name. So he agreed to meet on their next day off.

Which was the next day.

~~~

He was looking for a pink cardigan, which sounded just… too cute. He shouldn’t have been surprised, given Nina’s enthusiasm for all things cute and pink in the game. He swallowed hard, debating if he should get decaf today so as to not act completely spastic when he finally met her. He tugged on his wine-colored sweater, trying to not put too much pressure on his left leg, and waited. He didn’t want to be too overt scanning the crowd, in case Nina was there and thought he was a molester or something. Then he’d go to jail and Nina would think he stood her up, which just… wouldn’t be good.

“Um.. excuse me.”

Your small voice at his elbow nearly made him jump, but it was worth the fright, because you were wearing a pink cardigan. His eyes widened at the bright smile. You were so cute!

“N-nina?”

You grinned even wider, a precious pink blush across the tops of your cheeks; “Actually, my name is ____. You must be Vaughn, then.”

“Asahi,” he corrected. “Azumane Asahi.”

“Well, then, Azumane Asahi, should we get a table? This place has amazing crepes, and their coffee is actually really good given the price.”

He smiled, a bubble of pressure releasing from his chest. He followed you to a shaded table under the kitschy awning, ready to get to know you for real.

Kuroo

Kuroo had a dilemma. A quandary, if you would. A predicament. It was the shittiest predicament ever, and he was pretty sure that if he brought up his predicament to Yaku he’d get his balls ripped off for being “ungrateful” but it really wasn’t that simple. See, his dilemma was just this; he liked two people.

Now, to people who’ve never gone through such a trial, it wouldn’t be so bad. Liking two people and all. And some people could take advantage of the fact, especially given how young he was and how prevalent casual dating was. But people weren’t Kuroo. People weren’t the serial monogamist who looked like some sort of casual-sex God (apparently… Kuroo still found that high school reputation highly unsettling) but was in reality a giant cuddle spoon full of shmoop and love.

The other problem was he didn’t exactly know the other person he knew. He gamed with them from time to time, when he got a free hour or so, but they communicated mostly via Skype’s chat function. He’d never even seen their picture. He didn’t even know their real name. But they were an awesome person–they put up with his sense of humor, they could keep up with him, they didn’t seem to mind listening to him pour his anxieties all over them at 2:30 in the morning when school was hard and grad school applications were piling up and what the fuck even is a statement of purpose? And they just… listened. And it felt so nice to just be heard.

And then… well, and then there was you. He didn’t have quite as intimate of a relationship with you as he did with his online friend, but he still liked you. You and him had similar classes, similar taste in music and movies, even similar senses of humor. There were times when he’d tell his online friend a joke only for you to nearly parrot it at him the very next time you saw each other. Most of all, though, you were sweet and caring and beautiful… and for that matter real. Like, he knew you were real. And that was the problem.

His online friend had never seen him, so they got to know him separately of his reputation and his appearance. He could really be himself, whereas sometimes with others–even you–he always felt like he was putting up a front. It wasn’t any fault of yours, it was just an old habit that was hard to break. It was hard showing everything to someone and having them reject it… he knew from experience.

He didn’t know what to do about any of this, but he knew that if it was keeping him up at night he should probably solve it soon. The problem was that there were three people he typically went to when it came to this sort of thing, except Bokuto was at this hyper-intense training camp with the rest of the National team hopefuls, Kenma was caught between research for his undergrad thesis and applications to grad school, and, well… the other person was Nao-chan…

He huffed under his breath, opening his laptop and tapping it impatiently to get it to load faster. He pulled up Skype; Nao-chan’s icon had the little yellow bubble next to their name that showed they were away. Kuroo decided to message them anyway and hope they’d get back to him when they got back.

Kuro-kun: I have a conundrum. Can you talk?

Kuroo smirked at his own name. It was his handle in the game he played with Nao-chan. It wasn’t exactly creative, but too much of his mental energy went to school and maintaining his volleyball scholarship to come up with fancy names for his MMO characters. He went to get his bag to maybe work on some studies, thinking that Nao-chan probably wouldn’t be at their computer for a long time.

Instead, the little indicator lit up with a new message.

Nao-chan: Sure thing, Kuro-kun. The doctor is in. Tell me about your mother.

Kuroo laughed; Nao-chan could always get him to laugh. They were a lot like you that way.

Kuro-kun: Very funny, Doctor. It’s stupid, but… well, it’s kind of serious.

Nao-chan: Are you dying?

Kuro-kun: Not any more than most people. No, it’s more of a moral quandary.

Nao-chan: Oya oya? Now this I have to hear.

Kuro-kun: I know it’s weird hearing this from me, but could you be serious for a second?

Nao-chan: Sorry, sorry. Bad habit. Seriously, Kuro-kun, you know you can tell me anything. Talk to me ❤

The little heart emoji made this so much harder, but he didn’t want to tell Nao-chan that.

Kuro-kun: See, it’s like this. There’s this girl in like… half my classes. And she’s smart and pretty and she’s really nice. She likes the same music and books and stuff as me, and we have a lot in common and she likes my friends…

Nao-chan: She sounds perfect

Kuro-kun: That’s sort of the problem. I mean, it would be easy to just… pretend that she was the only one. But the problem is I like someone else.

Nao-chan: More than her?

Kuro-kun: Not more or less… just different. See, I can be honest with this person. I’ve told them things I don’t tell anyone. I’ve let them see a side of me I don’t let anyone else see. But I’ve never even seen their face. Maybe if I knew what they looked like… if we talked face to face, it would be easier. Then this other person would be confirmed real and… I sound like a raving lunatic, don’t I?

Nao-chan: Kuro-kun…

Kuro-kun: It’s you, Nao-chan. I like you. I like you a lot. I don’t.. I don’t want this to end. I want to get to know you better and see you and… all that other gross coupley stuff that couples do. Like get coffee and talk about our day without euphemisms. I want to see your smile and hear your laugh and I want to talk to a person when I talk instead of just typing it out. I totally understand if you’re not comfortable. Those are just my feelings.

There was a long pause. A heartbreakingly long pause. Nao-chan went horrifically silent. It was long enough that Kuroo sat and questioned every decision in his life that had lead this moment. He paced around his apartment twice, fed his cat, got a snack, boiled water for tea, and had a very minor panic attack in the time it took for them to respond.

Their response wasn’t something he could have ever anticipated.

Nao-chan: Do you have your webcam set up? If so, don’t respond. Just… start a video call with me.

Kuroo didn’t question it. He immediately hit the little video button, not caring that his laptop was probably in a place where he looked like shit on camera, and his apartment was a mess, and he was pretty sure he was wearing Bokuto’s Spyair sweatshirt, which sent so many wrong messages…

Then, his screen filled with a face. Your face. Your… your perfect, beautiful smiling face. You looked just as surprised as he was, but that gorgeous look of shock and awe was something he wanted to see over and over and over again.

“Hey there, Kuro-kun,” you said, somehow sounding so much better now that he knew who you were. “Nice name, by the way. Did you spend a whole ten seconds thinking about it?”

He couldn’t even defend himself from your teasing. He was too busy trying to not embarrass himself by breaking down into the most ridiculous tears any grown ass man had ever produced. He didn’t have to choose… he could have it all.

When did he get so lucky?

Absolutely amazing!!!! First, I LOVE, like really, really love MMO Junkie so you hooked me there right away (that and your writing is kick ass). Two, both of these are so perfect and made me smile so big! I love these dorks and can totally picture them doing all of this.

Also it’s so fun for college AU scenes of the third years.

So good Emma!

Hi! I’ve been loving your blog so far, it’s so great! I was wondering if I could get head canons for Kagami, Kuroko, Hyuga, Izuki, Mitobe, and Kiyoshi on the type of lingerie they like to see their fem. s/o in? Thank you!

terriblesportsimagines:

Okay, I have to confess. I might have spent like 2+ hours researching this one lmao Under the cut because pictures!

Keep reading

You did amazing! I love the thought and detail you put into these and getting pictures made it even better for the literal visualization of the pieces! Thank you so much!

baesketballers:

1.5k Followers Aesthetics Countdown
All photos taken from Pinterest

iii. wedding ft. akashi seijuurou

He does not like everything to be red. In fact, if your favorite color is something else, he’ll be glad to match the decor with it. When he asked you, though, you lean forward, pressing your lips against his before whispering “this color” while playing with his hair

Of course, he blushes, but tries to act cool

Sealed envelopes for invitations

Considering his family background and the operatives of the Akashi household, the wedding has to be grand, as some big people are going to attend. Despite Akashi senior’s demands, though, Akashi is going to downplay the grandeur a little bit, so it’s more of a minimalist-classy wedding

Only a select people are invited for the holy matrimony

He’s not a really big fan of cake, so a small one just as a symbol is cool with him, unless you want a great big one

One word: GORGEOUS!!! I wish I had the knack to find pictures like you! These are stunning!

baesketballers:

1.5k Followers Aesthetics Countdown
All photos taken from Pinterest

iii. Living Space ft. Kiyoshi Teppei

Rustic, cozy, although he might still live in the middle of the city to pursue his career or studies

He likes to take care of plants, read, or listen to music in his free time

A lot of people who visit jokes that the place looks like it was decorated by his grandparents. While he is an old soul overall, that joke is part-true: a lot of the things he owns around the house are hand-me-downs from his grandparents

Warm blankets are essential for rainy days and cold weather

Love!!!! I just want to get in there and snuggle!

Can I ask for a scenario with Bokuto ? Where where he’s in college and living with a roommate, and she’s p cute but chubby. After a stressful day he comes home and feels oddly and asks her to go to the grocery store to buy snacks. Afterwards they watch horror movies together and cuddle, and they kinda end up kissing ? I’m sorry I can’t get enough of College AU Bo, there’s just not enough out there ;-; and fluff is always nice 😽 Thank you!!!

haikyuu-imagines-and-others:

Awww I love this idea! SO cute! Hmmmmm~ I wonder which of the Chubby Anon this is~ Thanks for requesting!!! – Admin Satori ❤

Bokuto Koutarou:

You were in the middle of your homework when your roommate barged into the apartment, and jumped about 5 feet in the air when you heard him slam the door closed.

“Kou-?” You didn’t have the chance to finish asking him what was going on before he was stomping his way into the living room and tossing himself onto the couch, hiding his face in his arms under his head. What had happened that made him completely ignore your call? Granted, the two of you had only been roommates for a semester, but you’d known the vibrant ace in high school. You’d been someone he’d go to with things he couldn’t make sense of.

But lately… he’d been avoiding you completely. As if you were a disgusting disease. And it hurt. It broke your heart that he was pulling away from you. Your little piece of heaven slipping through your fingers no matter how hard you held on.

You stood from the dining room table, closing your books before making your way into the living room. “Koutarou?” Your voice was soft, and Bokuto couldn’t explain away the way your presence, your voice saying his name, made his heart flutter in his chest. But he refused to answer you. Not you. Not with how confused he was over everything going on. Reaching down, you placed your hand on his broad shoulder, your fingertips trailing the span of muscle from his spine to his where his shoulder curved into his tricep. His insides clenched excitedly from your gentle touch – and he hushed the feeling away. “What’s wrong, Kou? Bad day?”

What was he accomplishing? By ignoring you…. Absolutely nothing. So he let out a huge sigh, his shoulders relaxing from their tensed up position, but now straining his triceps with the odd angle. “Yeah…. Bad day.” You smiled sadly, watching him brush off your touch on his shoulder so he could sit up properly. He crossed his arms over his chest, a forlorn look on his face, a cute pout on his lips.

Taking a seat next to him, you leaned closer, bumping your shoulder with his arm playfully, “You wanna talk about it?” He had your full attention, he always had. How could he not? You were smitten from day one. The only thing stopping you from asking him…. Was your self-conscious…. The evil little voice inside your head asking ‘why would someone as amazing like him like someone like you?’ And you knew it was wrong. You knew you were an amazing person – not a mean bone in your body – loving all your fiends and family for who they were…. So why were you always hesitating on that question, on that confession, whenever he was near?

Bokuto turned his head so he was staring down at you, butterflies tickling your insides at the way his golden eyes seemed to trap you in their gaze, his eyebrows furrowed in though, and you wondered what it was he was so focused on. Was it you? Or the bad day he’d had? He was silent for a long time, staring down at you with the most concentrated look you’d ever seen on his face – even more intense than his expression during the most tense of tournaments.

Inside, Bokuto was trying to figure out what it was he was doing. What he was feeling. What was this feeling? This aching in his heart, this pain whenever he was out of the apartment, the longing he felt in his very soul whenever he’d catch you snoozing on the couch or hunched over your assignments. He’d never felt something like this before. Ever. All his life, he’d focus on volleyball, getting stronger and faster, making as many friends and connections as he could – because life was short, too short to focus on the bad things for too long. But he did focus on the bad things – because that’s how he was wired. He couldn’t stop himself from thinking that way….

But whenever you were around…. It’s almost as if all those bad things disappeared. Dulled until the moment you were gone, then rearing their ugly heads to remind him what he’d been down about before you came along. Before you brought your light into the shadows of his mind. “Nah… I’ll be okay… Just a little stressed out.”

The smile that lit your face made his heart skip a beat, and he wondered if that was normal for a friend to experience. Were you feeling the same thing? He’d have to ask you later…. When he figured it out himself. “Aren’t we all, Kou? It’s college, not coloring class.” Bokuto snorted at your lame attempt to tease him.

“Wanna go to the store with me? Load up on junk food?”

“And then have a movie marathon? Before finals?” Your eyes sparkled excitedly, your smile blinding him and making him feel… He didn’t know what he was feeling – but it sure was making his heart go crazy. “Oh, Koutarou… You’re a boy after my own heart~!” Then you were up and getting your shoes on, “Come on! We gotta get a move on if we’re going to get the best stuff!”

A rush of excitement shot down Bokuto’s spine, pushing him off the couch and follow after your example, pulling on the shoes he’d just taken off. ‘After my own heart’, your voice rang in his head, sending chills across his skin and filling his head with images of the two of you. He couldn’t make sense of the imaginings themselves, but a warmth made itself known in his chest, spreading throughout his entire body, from the tips of his hair to his toes. You did that. Your words. “Well then let’s goooooo!”

Junk food all around you, wrappers littering the living room floor, the TV showing the climax of Pacific Rim. Your eyes were focused on the TV ahead of you, watching the action scene, the fighting, the detail of the monsters, of the scenes; Resting your head on Bokuto’s shoulder and enjoying the warmth his body emitted, reveling in the way his right arm had wrapped around your shoulders and pulled you to rest against his chest. Bokuto had been watching the movie just as intensely – up until the main characters had connected over one of their pasts. Then he’d turned his eyes to you, staring down at you intensely, feeling as if he were about to burst. Why? Why did he feel like this? He’d never thought of it before, but maybe he’d felt like that for a long time now – and it was coming to its own climax much like the movie you were giving your attention to.

But he wanted your attention on him. He wanted you talking to him. Cheering for him. Hugging him… Being there for him… Whenever he needed it.

And you had. You’d been there for him. Ever since high school. You’d been right there for him to talk to – to sort things out with – to make sense of the feeling he couldn’t understand. Bokuto blinked as he inhaled slowly, his eyebrows still furrowed as his left hand reached up from his lap and took hold of your chin.

“Kouta-“ You didn’t have the chance to finish your quiet whining, his hand turning your head to face him directly before his lips were pressed against yours. The desire to watch the rest of the movie was thrown from your mind at the pressing of his lips, feeling the slightly chapped texture, the warmth that spread throughout your body. You could be happy, you decided. With him. With Bokuto.

Bokuto continued to kiss you softly, finally finding the answers he’d been searching for. You. You were the answer. How had he been so dumb to not see it before? When you kissed him back, a smile curled his lips against yours, his arm around your shoulder pulling you so much closer. Your hand traveled up and cupped his face, feeling as if your heart were about to burst from how fast it was beating; ‘Please…. Let this be real.’ You couldn’t help but think as he broke the kiss, staring up at him with wide eyes, his own golden eyes having an unrecognizable emotion swimming in them – ‘Please.’

hahahahahaha how about some fluff/angst >:)

I loved this! The inner turmoil, the doubt, the realization and in a very Bokuto way, the action.

So glad you’re doing your box your way! That said, I hope you like mine! Kuroko needs more love so can you do a sweet New Year’s Kiss scenario? Maybe like it’s a crush and not yet established relationship? They could be at a party maybe dancing or Kuroko is feeling left out because no one notices him (or so he thinks) and she find him at midnight? Fem pronouns please! Hope that’s not too detailed! Thank you!

baesketballers:

It’s not too detailed, it’s just right! Also maybe it would be better for yall to read this at the end of the year since New Year’s just passed lmao maybe that’s why this is so short

I don’t think there are any gender-specific pronouns here so tagging this as gender neutral

“There you are.”

The voice from behind me, however soft it may be, startles him among all the other noisier sounds from the party. Everything else is gradually becoming white noise, but your voice is like a cool breeze in a hot day, mint tea before bed. He smiles, quietly adoring your visage except for an equally quiet ‘hello’—he was feeling like he wanted to go home as soon as possible, but now that you are here, he wishes for the opposite.

“I’ve been wondering where you are,” you say, chuckling a little bit with embarrassment. Do you seem too eager to meet him? The last thing you want to do is scare him off. “Having a good time so far?”

He knows better than to lie at you—he considers you as someone close to him, so faking it will only earn him a look. Instead, he offers you another smile and a tired shrug. You pat him on his shoulders, as if supporting him to go on for a few more hours. Noticing the empty glass in his hand, you loosely hold on to his wrist.

“Want to get a drink?”

“Sure,” he replies, walking next to you as you make your way to the bar.

For the next hour Kuroko finds himself chattering with you, inhibitions lowered not just by the alcohol. He hasn’t gotten a lot of chances to see your eyes so upclose, so clear, for so long, and have them look back into his. It is not as if you are unwilling to stay longer; circumstances always found a way to interrupt, be it in the form of friends or foes. He wonders if any other person is vying for your attention right now, envying him, because he has felt like that before, and now that your eyes are on him, he is intoxicated.

You are laughing at one of his deadpan comments, casually and lightly pushing his arm. He watches you affectionately until the master of ceremony announces the last minute of the year, and the two of you share a look, a mix of excitement and surprise at the swift passage of time.

“Let’s move,” you say with a smile, your fingers enclose around his wrist once more, this time tighter than your touch before. He feels his stomach do a flip and he does not see a reason to lie to himself—he is nervous, happy, and ten other emotions mixed up into one.

The two of you quickly find a spot outside the venue, trapped in a sea of people, but Kuroko keeps a hand to your waist so that the two of you don’t get separated. You willingly lean against his arm and smile at him as you listen to the master of ceremony ramble on.

“This is my first time attending a New Year’s party,” you whisper, and he can feel the slightest of your breath on his neck, “it’s kind of exciting.”

“It is,” he replies, but you don’t know he is referring to the erratic beat of his heart.

Ten

“Kuroko-kun?”

He hums in response.

Nine

You look at him, anticipation apparent on your expression. He wordlessly urges you to go on.

Eight

“Can I ask you something?”

Seven

“Go ahead.”

Six

A beat of silence.

Five

“Will you kiss me?”

He tenses, eyes wide, and you think you have made the biggest mistake of trying to cross the line between friendship and romance. Before your dark thoughts could take hold of your mind entirely, the crowd counts down to one and the man in front of you leans down, pressing his soft lips against yours.

He drowns out everything around him: the cheers of ‘Happy New Year’, party poppers and confetti, and the whooshing of fireworks. He tastes you, sweet and addicting, but he pulls away after a small nip. You look like something out of a fairy tale book, as if a magic spell have been lifted from you, your eyes opening like you just woke up from a deep sleep.

The fireworks are deafening but beautiful, illuminating your face with an array of colors—purple, yellow, pink—and even in the dark and noise he can see you trying to bite back a smile.

“Can I ask one more question?”

He chuckles, intrigued. “Sure.”

“Will you kiss me again?”

A second after the word leaves your lips, he’s already pressing against you, deeper and bolder than before. The dance is slow but sensual with a quiet moan or two exchanged in between—mostly yours, though—and he gets progressively braver as the seconds tick in.

“Anything for you, ___________-san.”

Ooooooo!! You picked mine! And I love it! It’s so sweet and the count down was great! Thank you!!

hmm what about a scenario with tsukki where his s/o (girl!) where she’s genuinely so empathetic and sweet and she can never say no when people ask her to help them so she’s always going around and helping people at school whenever they ask and sometimes people manipulate her into doing things? i just thought personality wise it’s such a juxtaposition from what tsukki is normally like and his reaction and everything -suga anon

dothewrite:

I’m sorry this turned out angsty. Tsukishima is one of the easiest characters for me to write because he is more or less myself when I become tired of being nice. So I ended up drawing this from something personal, because I know how it feels to love someone who loves everyone else just as much. Thank you for waiting, and it’s been far too long, Suga-anon. 🙂

Tsukishima finds her, again, by the decently sized bread stand next to the first floor canteen. Although he’s by certain standards, freakishly tall, his girlfriend most definitely isn’t, and searching for an unevenly coloured mop of hair in a sea of high school students is not as easy at it sounds.

The stuffed melon bread is almost sold out, and it reminds him that he’s wasted his entire lunch break on this stupid man-search instead of eating.

He knocks several people away with his sharp elbows, shooting them a dull stare when they turn to protest, and slinks through the crowd. He reaches out above the sea of heads and taps her on the shoulder. She spins around, a guilty frown on her face.

“I know… what you’re going to say,” she begins, “I’m sorry, Tsukki.”

It incenses him. Tsukishima, originally quite calm and merely ready to lecture, finds himself seeing red everywhere. He wants to hit someone, anyone, but the closest thing to him is her. He crushes that urge underneath his heel.

“Don’t apologise,” he grits out. “Wasting your breath on things that you clearly don’t mean.”

“Well, I-” She wrings her hands, and unable to meet his eyes. “I don’t know what else to say.”

The line shuffles them closer and closer to the bread lady, and Tsukishima gestures towards the display with a sharp jerk of his head. “It’s almost your turn. Do your masters proud.”

Keep reading

Amazing!!!

angsty scenario with oikawa and his fem s/o with the prompt “I could have spent all this time practicing instead of wasting it by being with you.” ending with fluff ? or like a happy ending

dothewrite:

I’m not sure if this turned out a happy ending or not, but I tried to make it as close to a hopeful sort of ending as I could. Sorry for the wait, and I hope you like it.

How was one
supposed to feel, after hearing something like that?

Nobody had
ever prepared you for this; not a single script in a thousand novels that
drifted through time or slices of everyday lives in a tiny apartment could pull
out the excruciating sense of deflation in places where it shouldn’t be deflating
at all. Your parents, no matter how unhappy, had never bothered to share with
you the details of ‘commitment’. ‘Romance’ isn’t a syllabus they provide at
school. Vicarious learning can only be poor imitation when poets write of wilted
roses, lost sunsets and the chill winter breeze.

There’s a
meter-long needle, thin as wire, its tip worthy of Achilles, that nudges
through the small puncture through your chest. Each breath nudges it out of place,
and re-lodges itself somewhere deeper.

Oikawa’s
face is stoic, the firm lines across his brows forced together in an expression
unfamiliar with pity and second chances.

It still
takes you too long to ask the right question; his fighting face directed point
blank at your eyes, and your chest begins to writhe, incapable of inuring itself
to a suffering unknown.

You ask a
stupid question. You know it’s stupid from how Oikawa’s mouth twists, a
nonverbal spit at your feet.

“How am I
supposed to feel when you say that?”

You regret it before you even ask it, but
you think you’d regret it more if you wrote it down instead and burned it
later.

Keep reading

Whoa…just…whoa. So, so good!

Imayoshi, Sakurai, and Wakamatsu are watching their dancing/figure skating (whichever you prefer) crush practice. They ask her coach what motivates her to perform so beautifully. What will they do when coach truthfully answers “I remind her to imagine she’s performing just for you”? (hinthint, she likes them)

baesketballers:

Making variations to this, as usual. I hope you don’t mind!

Fem!Reader ahead.

IMAYOSHI

“Senpai,” you say slightly breathlessly as you skate over to the edge of the rink, still in costume. The arena crowd is dispersing, allowing you to take a longer look at your upperclassman from university and make sure that his form is not some sort of mirage in front of you. He has that noncommittal smile on his face, as per usual, leaning against the railings. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“What kind of senpai would I be to miss such a cute kouhai’s performance?” You laugh, looking down at your feet while internally trying to dismiss his words as mindless flirting. The two of you are close, but you feel as though you are dangerously crossing the line between friendship and something else—you want it, but you are so unsure if he does as well.

He flirts with everyone, you tell yourself those words like a jaded mantra, he sees you as nothing more than a kouhai.

“Congratulations on the win.”

“Thank you.”

“I bumped into your coach earlier.”

“Ah,” you reply, wincing inside at how unintelligent it sounds, “and?”

“He said something interesting to me about training you.”

“I hope it’s nothing embarrassing,” you say half-jokingly, but truth be told, the old man knows a lot about you from spending time with you too much.

“It isn’t,” comes Imayoshi’s answer, “I’d say it’s rather sweet.”

“Don’t act like you’re going to tell me if you aren’t, senpai,” you let out a chuckle, being far more acquainted with his teasing than you would like. Imayoshi’s smile drops and you freeze at the serious look on his face.

“He said he tells you to imagine that you’re performing just for me.”

You wish for the ice to crack so that you can disappear into the depths of the earth, because you would rather do that than face Imayoshi’s eyes, sharp and all-knowing. Why would your coach spill that out to him? You want to avert your gaze away from him, only to find that you cannot. Not only his stare is powerful enough to keep yours unmoving, he has a hand cupping your cheek, preventing you from looking at anything other than him.

“That’s so damn cute of you, d’ya know that,” he murmurs, a smirk slowly forming on his face. “And for that, I’m gonna have to do this.”

He leans down, tilting your head up to meet his lips in a kiss.

SAKURAI

“Delivering lunch again today, Ryo?” Your coach says, greeting the younger male that just entered the studio. Sakurai smiles sheepishly, bowing slightly to reply the greeting, before finding himself entranced by your fluid movements on the floor, creating mesmerizing patterns with the ribbon. He has seen you perform before with different apparatuses, but the sight never fails to hypnotize him.

“Just a minute or so until the end of this routine,” your coach announces, “sit tight.”

Sakurai nods, and the two of them proceed to watch you execute the rest of your routine, leaping, jumping, twirling the ribbon. At one point you catch his gaze and smile at him in acknowledgement: “Thank you for the lunch”? “I’m happy you’re here”? “I hope you like the performance”? Sakurai still has no idea what your smile means, though that is not enough to stop the blood from rushing ever so slightly to his cheeks. You look exceptionally beautiful—you are wearing the competition outfit today, possibly to figure out if you can move well enough in it.

“You know,” the coach mutters, “I always tell her to perform as if you’re the only person watching. Seems to work.”

A yelp almost left Sakurai at the statement, his face flushing a deeper shade of pink. He fears another weird sound might escape him and presses a hand against his lips to quell them. The second he looks at you again, pirouetting with your ribbon, he realizes that his feelings just might be returned—he just cannot help but keep his hopes up.

“Hey, Ryo-kun!” You say, jogging lightly toward him almost immediately after the final move, “Thanks for coming today, too.” He smiles back at you, only to notice that your coach behind you is giving him winks and slow nods.

“S-Sorry for interrupting practice,” he blurts out. You pinch his cheek casually.

“I thought you grew out of that habit! What did I tell you about using the s-word around me?”

“Sorr—Um, here’s your lunch!” He quickly says, almost jabbing your stomach with the lunchbox by how quickly he hands it to you. You sigh in relief, so looking forward to the meals he makes: they adhere to your diet and do not make you want to barf.

“Thank you,” you whisper as you open the lunch box while sitting down on the floor, ready to dig in.

“Um, ___________-chan?”

“Mmm?” is the only reply you can muster with a mouthful of tomatoes.

“You look very p-pretty today.”

Your initial look of surprise melts and you send him a thousand-watt smile while chewing your food—something inexplicably warm emerges at the pit of your gut and you hope that they aren’t butterflies in your stomach. He’s just a childhood friend. He can’t possibly have feelings for you.

A slam of the door tells the two of you that the coach has vacated the studio, probably going out for a toilet break. It’s painfully obvious that the two of you are alone, and Sakurai can only think that your coach is doing this on purpose.

“___________-chan?”

“Yes, Ryo-kun?”

“I’m s-sorry if this is out of the blue,” he says, smiling sheepishly when you give him a scolding look, although you allow him to continue anyway.

“Do you t-think the two of us can… go out, sometime? Like a—a date?”

WAKAMATSU

He blanches when your ballet tutor whispers the words to him, unable to comprehend fully—does that mean you have been practicing with him in mind all this time? Wakamatsu begins to show, albeit not too visibly, signs of panic, and the elderly woman that is your tutor lets out a quiet chuckle at the display.

You are still dancing along to the music you have personally chosen, a song that he finds himself humming along to once or twice during a normal day (you would laugh at the look on the whole Touou’s face as a reaction to the Wakamatsu, humming). The performance hall is silent except for the music and the occasional sound of your feet on the wooden floor panels. When your eyes meet his, the truth sinks under his skin and lights him up like wildfire.

To have your tutor tell you that must mean that whatever you have with him can be more than just friendship… right?

The lights are on again, and with one last graceful

révérence, your performance ends. The crowd responds to your curtsy with loud applause, a good number (including Wakamatsu, of course) even offering a standing ovation.

Flash forward thirty minutes later and you are surrounded by your ballet classmates. Wakamatsu feels slightly out of place in a crowd of females dressed so nicely, some of them not changing out of their costume since their own performance. You won first place for your syllabus grade, and the hard work that goes into your practice sessions make it all the more joyful. He looks at you and understands—he has seen you practice before, has received phone calls from you in which you cry in frustration.

“Congratulations,” he finally says when the crowd around you disperses. “You deserve it.”

“Wakamatsu-kun! You made it!”

“Yeah,” he nods, acting a little self-conscious. He doesn’t know who he is for attending your performance: is he here as a classmate? A neighbor? A boy who likes you in secret?

“Thank you for coming,” you add quietly, a little bit of his self-consciousness rubbing off on you. “I’m disappointed you didn’t get me flowers, though,” you teasingly add in hopes to melt the tension between the two of you. Wakamatsu immediately turns red, flustered at his own mistake.

“I-I can get you flowers now, if you want,” he says a little too loudly and you secretly stifle a laugh, “there are people selling them outside… I should’ve gotten you some before coming to see you.” Now you feel guilty for making him feel bad. You grab his arm, marching towards the exit with a bunch of bouquets on your other hand. Wakamatsu fights back the urge to blush at the casual skin contact.

Another flower bouquet gets added onto the small pile in your arms—beautiful white gardenias.

“You know what,” he says, trying to act nonchalant as he walks with you aimlessly, “since it’s your big win today, is there anything else you want besides flowers?”

“You mean, you’ll grant my wish?” You say, sounding a bit too excited that he has to laugh.

“As long as it’s reasonable,” he quickly adds.

“Okay,” is your last response before falling silent. He notices your hand, the one linked with his arm, tapping lightly at the sleeves of his jacket, seemingly deep in thought.

“I got one.”

“Shoot.”

“I’m not sure if this counts as reasonable, but…” you falter slightly, looking at your feet before meeting his eyes once more, “how about a date?”

Wakamatsu looks ready to explode into debris of happiness and embarrassment

—you look too cute like that, and the fact that you asked him out first… if he were alone in his room, he would pump his fist in the air like a little child.

“Yeah, sure, that’s not unreasonable,” he quietly answers, trying to sound less eager than he actually is, but the hand pulling you closer against him tells you otherwise.

So cute!!

can i please ask for oikawa trying to win back his ex? angst. i need me some angst.

hq-cuties-pls:

Holy crap this ask inspired me so much!! I don’t normally write a lot of Oikawa (I leave that to Admin Alyx) but he just spoke to me this time. Please enjoy!
~Admin Emma

Oikawa fussed with his sweater and jeans, smoothing them over his chest and adjusting them until they laid just right. He picked at imaginary lint and pills, played with his hair until he was satisfied, and shifted from one foot to the other. He was nervous. He didn’t want to screw up again. He knew in his heart that if his sweater was a little wrinkled or a hair was slightly out of place, it wouldn’t matter, but at the moment it was something he could control. He needed that control right now.

He was lucky you’d even agreed to meet him. Your break up was… messy was putting it lightly. He’d considered flowers, or sweets from that bakery you liked, or expensive gifts he couldn’t really afford in the off season… but he knew you. You’d see right through that. You always did see right through him. It’s what made you so understanding about his love of volleyball, about his fan club that he honestly couldn’t really control. It’s what made you trust him even if he was mildly flirtatious with other girls, even if you did get adorable and pouty afterwards (he always liked that), and it’s what made everything about you set him at ease. It’s what made you perfect for him.

But he fucked it up. His stupid anxiety and his stupid brain drove you away. You hated him now. But maybe… just maybe… he could fix it.

He finally stopped pacing and stepped into the bar where you’d agreed to meet. Honestly, he was so braced to not see you–to have been stood up–that it was a genuine shock to see you. You were dressed simply–the dark blue cardigan he loved, the jeans that hugged your curves… to anyone else, it was a cute, casual outfit, but to him… were you sending a message? And if so, what did it say?

He shook himself, plastering on that fake smile of his that he always wore. He knew you’d see right through it, but it made him feel more confident than he was. He tapped you on the shoulder, and thrilled a bit when your chilled expression softened when you saw him.

“____-chan,” he began.

You held up a hand to interrupt him; “Don’t call me that, Oikawa.”

He rubbed at a spot in the middle of his chest; after two years of teasing ‘Oikawa-kun’s and sultry ‘Tooru’s and loving and affectionate purrs of ‘darling’ and ‘my love,’ his surname stung.

“Apologies, ____.”

The bartender chose that moment to come over to take his drink order. He just ordered one of what you were having without looking at it. The bartender shrugged, pouring a glass of dark red wine that was sure to be very oaky and floral and earthy and dry and whatever other things red wine tended to be. Oikawa made a face–he wasn’t a fan of reds. But he was committed now. Besides, he wasn’t here to drink.

“Can we talk?” Oikawa asked with a pointed look at the bartender.

“We’re here, so talk,” you said in a clipped voice

“Please, ____. Please can we just…” He trailed off helplessly.

You sighed, taking your wine glass and standing from the stool; “Fine. Let me settle up and we’ll get a table.”

Oikawa stepped over you, sliding a fold of bills that was probably more than enough to cover the 1600 yen worth of wine plus a too-generous tip across the bar. He didn’t care. He just… he needed to talk to you. Now.

“Oikawa, that’s not necessary. I can pay for my own drinks.”

“I know,” he said. “And I know why you don’t want me to pay, ____, but don’t see it as a grand gesture or a piece of control or anything like that, alright? You agreed to meet me when you clearly didn’t want to. Let me at least buy you a drink.”

You shrugged, leading him to a secluded table. It wasn’t so secluded that exits were blocked off, but you were well out of earshot of the bartender and the other dozen or so patrons milling around. You waved off the waitress with a polite smile before folding your hands and fixing him with a withering stare.

“Alright, Oikawa. Talk. What do you have to say?”

He took a breath to make his case; he had a big, dramatic speech prepared about how sorry he was, how perfect you were together, how much he’d changed and seen the error of his ways and if you would just give him another chance… but it all felt so fake. He took a deep breath again, collecting himself. He couldn’t control the catch in his throat, or the way his expression crumpled into something ugly and miserable.

“I miss you,” he said, folding in on himself.

“Oikawa…” You shook your head, exasperated. “Tooru. You know why we broke up.”

“Yeah, I know,” he grumbled, more mad at himself than anything else. At least you’d called him by name… that was something, at least. “I know.”

“I told you there was nothing between Iwaizumi-san and I,” you continued. “I told you that you had no reason to be jealous. Iwaizumi-san told you that you had no reason to be jealous.”

“I know!” His hands balled into fists of frustration. “I know that.”

It had been stupid. Of course you and Iwa-chan spent time together. You’d been very quick to befriend his very best friend, which was another thing that had made you perfect. You’d both had an easy relationship with the each other. You’d cooked for Iwa-chan. You’d run errands with Iwa-chan. You’d had inside jokes with Iwa-chan.

And that was it, wasn’t it? It wasn’t that you got along with Iwa-chan–that was pretty much expected if you were to be in Oikawa’s life–but the fact that you got along so well. Oikawa would never admit it, but he’d felt inferior to Iwaizumi since middle school. Iwa-chan may have never had a fan club, or been overly popular with the ladies, but he’d never been dumped just for being himself around someone who was supposed to love him. He’d never felt the need to hide who he was. He’d had three steady relationships since Oikawa had known him, and if Oikawa knew Iwaizumi, he knew the only reason they hadn’t stuck was because Iwaizumi was too kind to keep a high school girl on the hook when he was going to college in Kyoto.

It was only a matter of time, right? It was only a matter of time before you’d realize that Iwaizumi was so much better than him for you–for anyone–and then he’d have to face the hell of losing you by degrees. He would lose you, because he wasn’t good enough for you. You were perfect, and he was this awful, ugly monster filled with rage and anxiety and hatred and–

“Tooru,” you said softly, running your fingertips along the back of his hand. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you still love me?”

You sighed deeply, which was never a good sign. He took a sip of his wine just for something to do with his hands… and pulled a face. Yeah, he definitely hated red wine.

Then you answered in a way he couldn’t have anticipated; “Of course I love you, you big idiot.”

“What?” He nearly dropped his glass, which would have been bad for a lot of reasons.

“Tooru, I will always love you,” you said emphatically. “I mean, sure, you’re kind of childish and petty and hyper competitive… you hide way too much of yourself behind this gaudy exterior that you’ve oh-so-carefully constructed and boy howdy do you have some serious demons that a professional should probably try and unpack–”

“Wow, what do you say about guys you hate?”

“But you’re also sweet. And passionate and caring and beautiful. You’re generous, and for people you love you are unfailingly kind. Who couldn’t love you?”

“Then… why can’t we make this work?” Oikawa asked. “Because I love you, too!”

“Tooru, you know why! I told you there was nothing between me and Iwaizumi-san, and you didn’t believe us. And you tried to control me, and when I wouldn’t put up with it you pushed me away. I couldn’t bare the hell of losing you by degrees, so I took mercy on myself and ended it,” you said quickly, like you were trying to get it out before he could interrupt. “I told you all of this when we broke up!”

“But–”

“No, Tooru,” you interjected, lowering your voice like you were aware that it had been steadily rising. “I love you, and I’ll always love you, but I am not your goddamn possession. I don’t want to deal with your grand gestures and your speeches. I’m not looking for shoujo manga, here. I thought we had something real.”

“I know,” he said, burying his face in his hair. “I know! You’re… you’re the first person I could ever see it being real with! You’re the first woman I could have seen being forever. And I broke it. I saw you and Iwa-chan and I wanted to possess you both so completely, I lost you both.”

“You’ll make up with Iwaizumi-san someday. Just give it time.”

“Look, I had a plan,” he continued like you hadn’t spoken. “I thought I could waltz in here and lavish you with praise and platitudes and apologies and you would take me back with open arms. I’m not trying to be self-deprecating or manipulative when I sincerely say I’m sorry for the way I acted. I was an idiot, and you deserved better!”

“Tooru–”

“No, please, let me finish,” he pleaded. “____, I love you. I love you so much, and every day without you is just this agonizing reminder that I need you. I wouldn’t blame you if you threw your wine in my face and told me to fuck off and get the hell out of your life forever, but… I miss you. And I want to try again, if you’ll let me. So please… please, ____. Please give me another chance.”

“How do I know it’ll be different?” you asked quietly. “That… that can’t happen again, Tooru.”

He took a deep breathe, averting his eyes; “I know. I was… I was terrible to you. I wish it was as easy as me just… blaming my anxiety and calling it a day. But that’s not fair to you. I’ll always be possessive of you, because you’re so important to me, but… but I understand I have to let you be your own person. I can’t prove that I’ll be magically better… but I can try. I can be better.”

It was the longest, most deafening silence he’d ever experienced. He hated it. He stiffened in his seat, waiting for you to slap him, or tell him to get lost. Instead, you sighed deeply, and he heard the scrape of your chair against the floor. You were leaving… of course you were leaving. Why wouldn’t you leave.

“Tooru,” you said softly, your hand brushing against his neck. You pressed your knuckle into the soft spot just below his ear, sending a delicate shiver down his spine.

He turned his widened eyes on you, and your sly smile sprung him into action. He followed you onto the street to hail a taxi, and while you waited, he pressed into your back. He took a deep breath, taking in your scent. He knew the look in your eyes when you’d passed him. He knew it meant you hadn’t forgiven him yet… but you were inviting him home. It wasn’t a large opening, but it was an opening nonetheless.

This was enough. It had to be enough.

So good Emma!