super gay baseball boys

side blog of nee-saan. fanfiction and sports anime. often drowning in daiya feels. often nsfw. i tag everything. not spoiler free. Currently accepting a limited amount of requests.

[momo-senpaii]

hey! A while back you wrote a fic for me called "Too Careful or not Careful Enough?" and I went back and reread it (because it was the cutest thing ever)! So I drew a scene from it and want to share it! Would that be okay?

I NEVER CHECK TUMBLR ANY MORE AND IM SO SORRY FOR NEVER RESPONDING TO THIS YES OFC PLEASE AND LINK ME IM SO SORRY BOWS A THOUSAND TIMES

[nee-saan]

SASO is mostly over and freedom hit me like a truck! Please have this very random, very self indulgent au I have started. 

Theia R: subject to change, but currently at a T Chapter One: A Prince’s Desire Word Count: 5024 Pairing: Misawa

“Thank you for coming,” he stated meekly, trying to subdue his excitement. “I know this can’t be easy for you.”

Eijun was not prepared for the face that would look up at him. She glanced him over in a single moment, her deep brown eyes betraying nothing but mild irritation at being addressed. Eyes like almonds, lips fuller than tulips in spring, she carried beauty like one carried a flower – effortless and with a graceful ease, the kind of grace that men had fought wars over. Eijun would have stuttered if he could have found anything else to say.

“You say ‘thank you’ as if I had a choice, young prince.”

Her wrists were bound separately in long chains that were fastened to the metal bed post, simple in size but dense in iron. She gave a testing pull on them, frowning when she realized that the most basic of strengths would not work here.

“I’m sorry I took it away from you. I can give you a different one though, should you choose to hear me out.”

continued on ao3

[nee-saan]

i don’t promo myself too much anymore but i’m proud of this sin. for a saso bonus round, thanks yuki for prompting me ^^

bad habits, worse preferences rating: explicit word count: 1394 ao3

‘E-Eijun, enough,’ he breathes, neck sore and cramped from trying to suppress the unfortunately loud sounds of pleasure that kept pouring from bruised lips. 

‘Enough, just fuck me already.’

'Not until you beg, Miyuki Kazuya,’

[yowa-pedal]

Yowamushi Pedal The Movie - Summary

[momo-senpaii]

so!!!! i’m in a pissworthy writer’s block right now and i decided to set a bit of a challenge for myself. i pulled an old livejournal prompt list and in total it’s got 100 prompts! i’m going to do my best to do everyone and then hold myself accountable on both tumblr and twit. anyways here you go, day one was mellow and this one is misawa. 

[momo-senpaii]

i decided to keep doing this ‘verse here! small little canonverse au for me to blow off some steam in. 

♦part one♦ 

you should probably read part one first! not a spoiler free fic. 

The next morning, Sawamura is his normal, overly rambunctious and seemingly hyperactive self. He’s at a crowded table, scattered first and second years surrounding him, gesticulating about one thing or another. He might be a second year, might be most of the way to 17, but there isn’t a ton that’s changed about him. Kominato encourages him softly, a smirk resting at his lips. First years Asada and Okumura are listening closely, the former with stars in his eyes and the latter pretending he doesn’t care.  It looks like something interesting is going on, looks like it’s an easy way for Miyuki to worm his way into Sawamura’s conversation, mock him a little bit, provoke a nice expression and move on with his day, satiated for the time being.

Miyuki saunters over, smirk in place and a joke on his tongue, but his ears work faster than his mouth and he picks up on the conversation before he can comment on it.

‘…and it was my fault, I should have just let Kuramochi squish me for a bit longer, but I pulled on my hand too hard and smacked it on the side of the bed frame! Look at this bruise! It’s freaking purple!’  

Feeling his gut twist, Miyuki closed the distance between him and the table of players in a matter of seconds – his vision clears, singular with one intent. He can feel the mood of the cafeteria shift; Shirasu stops his conversation with Nori and stares, a peculiar expression on his face. Kuramochi actually stands, a shout on his lips, but Miyuki is fast. Okumura notices him first, and there’s something to be said about that punk’s perception, or maybe he’s just attuned to Miyuki, but he mumbles, ‘Sawamura-senpai,’ and Sawamura jerks his head up, eyes lifting to meet Miyuki’s glare.

Once again, his body is faster than his mouth is and he grabs Sawamura’s hand; contrary to his movements – the rough way he collides into the table, the sneer at his lips – he gently picks up it up, cradles his wrist between two fingers before pulling it up to his eyes.

In hindsight, it’s not that bad. But for a pitcher, any injury to his hands is disastrous and Miyuki practically growls, his eyes narrowing at the bruise lining the side of his pinky finger. It hadn’t quite formed yet, Sawamura’s skin slightly inflamed and bits of green and yellow splotching along the digit.

‘Miyuki, what are –‘

This idiot

This idiot knew better. He had been pitching for years now, there was no way Sawamura didn’t know how valuable his hands were, how important they were, to the team, to the school, how important they were to him.

‘What is this?’ Miyuki spoke low, the question entirely rhetorical. Asada cowered, Furuya woke up and Kominato looked up in concern, his gaze lingering on Miyuki long enough to make him uncomfortable.

‘Senpai, it’s not that big of a deal, it’s not even my –‘

Anger curdles in Miyuki’s chest, rising to his throat and burning his vision. Sawamura looked so confused, as if he couldn’t understand the severity of the situation. ‘Sawamura, I am your captain and catcher and I am telling you right now that you’re not pitching until I –‘

‘Senpai,’ someone clears their throat beyond Miyuki’s vision, but he ignores it, only alternating between staring Sawamura down and estimating how bad the damage to his hand was.

‘What,’ he answers, turning his head to the sound of the interruption. ‘What is it?’

Okumura stands, breakfast tray in hand and a strange smirk lining his mouth. ‘Senpai,’ he starts, voice soft. ‘That’s his right hand.’

Oh

Sawamura’s hand twitches and Miyuki gapes, letting Sawamura’s grip fall out of his own. The cafeteria is silent, not a murmur among them. The kitchen wasn’t even making any noise.

‘Right,’ he mutters, taking a step back. ‘It doesn’t really matter, either way, but I’m glad your pitching hand is okay.’

The look on Sawamura’s face was one that Miyuki didn’t get to see very often – it wasn’t frequent that Sawamura was rendered speechless. His hand still hung in the air, halfway extended. Kominato broke the moment and tugged on his t shirt.

‘Eijun-kun, Miyuki-senpai is right. Let’s take it to the nurse at the very least.’

‘I’ll go,’ Kuramochi interjected, smoothly walking across the room. Miyuki didn’t miss the strained look Kuramochi shot him while he moved. ‘It’s my fault it’s even bruised.’

‘Kuramochi-senpai, it is not your fault!’

‘Can it, Sawamura. You’re not getting out of a visit to the infirmary. Right Captain?’

Miyuki nodded, avoiding the gazes directed at him. ‘I don’t think his batting could get any worse, but I could be wrong. Get it checked out Sawamura.’

[momo-senpaii]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

boys will be boys, but some turn into men much quicker than others

please see warnings. 

[momo-senpaii]

run until you’re done (AO3) for day seven of daiya rp week - free day pairing: kuraryou wordcount: 5997 warnings: referenced alcohol use, restaurant au

'R-Ryou-san,' he stutters out, tripping over an r and most of his confidence. 'Mind if I have a drink with you?' He turns as he says this and is greeted by an expression that looks plain spoiled - Ryousuke smiles wide and a sliver of trepidation slides down Youichi’s back (he's always thought Ryousuke was sharp, careful cuts of an appropriate smirk polished to a tee but this was bordering on feral). 'Oh?' Ryousuke hums, sets his rag down and inspects the shot glass, his eyes somehow more squinted than normal. 'This is rare.'

[momo-senpaii]

sun and moon for daiya rp week, day four, companionship  pairing: furusawa wordcount: 1408 warnings: major character death a/n: sorry not sorry. taiyo and tsuki mean sun and moon in japenese, respectively. ninja au. 

inspiration derives from this

the ninjato is unmoving in satoru's hand, resilient against heavy winds that threaten to bring him to his knees. mentally he has already arrived there, it is only logical the rest of him follow. satoru doesn't wince as his lower body takes the weight of him into the ground, scraping against the dirt, breaking skin and what little else of him is in tact. taiyo's robes are stained, soaked with rain, blood and defeat. gold is no longer the color of his eyes - flecks of red splatter his cheeks, dress his lips.

blood is the color of his palms, violent streaks of red smeared into his very being, blurring his vision, blurring lines. his sun lies below him, lips parted with the remains of a whisper, the last word satoru wanted to hear ever again vibrating in his ears.

'sawamura,' he had choked.

♦

a river spans out in front of satoru's feet, streams of water sparkling under a midday sun. the rush of water still carries spring rain and it's cold against his skin, eliciting a sharp response when he touches his fingers to it. satoru shrugs, slips off his shoes and steps into it anyway - it's a golden reprieve from the scorching temperatures he'd been saddled with for three days now.

missions were always just that - missions, tasks he needed to accomplish to survive. a stolen scroll, an unlocked door, an unremarkable beheading; this was his life, plain and simple. nothing more, nothing less.

but there were days like today, when satoru could lay on his back and stare at the sky, the clouds imparting enough to allow sunlight to fall upon his brow, warm but welcome, easing away his thoughts. seconds that didn't feel like seconds, sometimes felt like moments, or hours, where he was so spoiled by the earth that he didn't feel quite so lonely.

there were also days when satoru was so at ease, so relaxed, that he nearly fell asleep and allowed his pack to be stolen.

alarmed, satoru wrenched open his eyes and manages to catch a flash of red.

14. when encountering another shinobu, kill

leaping into the air, satoru runs - he's fast and he knows it, can hardly feel himself smashing blades of grass on the soles of his feet. he races through trees, leaps into the air when the ground turns more treacherous than it is worth. the tree limb is strong, firm beneath his grip. the downside is the branches, spanning across the forest like cobwebs, providing more cover than anyone needed but the idiot was wearing red -

there it was again, not too far in front of him, maybe half a kilometer or so.

he could leave, satoru thought, hanging lazily, legs swishing beneath him. it was just a pack - it held three days worth of food, water and medicinal herbs. nothing to tie him back to his employers, no remnants of who he was.

but what shinobi in their right mind wore red?

satoru found it insulting, the audacity of it leaving a sour taste in his mouth. that was enough to keep moving. he dropped from the tree and ran, powering his legs to move faster until a sense of serenity washed over him - he moved with a lethal silence, keeping his mind clear and gaze wide, fervently searching, never thinking for a moment that he would be the one found.

a sword settled quietly on his shoulder, the gleam of it catching satoru's eyes, mocking him.

one shallow breath, followed quickly by a deeper one

14. when encountering another shinobu, kill

this is a relief, satoru thought, feeling the press of wet earth under his feet. at least a fellow shinobi would make it quick.

'what is your name?' came a hoarse voice, loud above his shoulder.

3. never reveal your name, country or mission

'i cannot answer this,'

metal cuts into his the side of his throat, shallow but sharp and satoru hisses.

'try again,'

'what's yours?' satoru wants to gasp at his own incredulity, words that leave his mouth without permission, out of rebellion.

his enemy stutters, soft noises of defiance at his lips. satoru moves.

in a singular moment, satoru is reversed, trusted ninjato in hand, meeting the gaze of his quick, but careless, opponent.

he's quick to lose the look of surprise that leaves traces in his eyes. 'oops,' he mutters with a quirk of his lips, but there's no embarrassment to be found in his features.

14. when encountering another shinobi, kill

satoru feels his fingers twitch. he stills them.

'walk away,' suggests the man, or boy rather. he's not much older than satoru from the looks of it, sixteen, perhaps seventeen years old. 'i'll even give you your stuff back.'

he throws the knapsack at satoru's feet. 'i'm sort of lost..i just needed supplies for a few days until i could i report home. no harm, no foul.'

his katana has not wavered - the tip is angled, reflects the sunlight in a way that lights it's owners face, rosy cheeks and a freckled nose that clashes violently with the red of his robes.

'lost?' satoru finds himself asking, curiosity getting the most of him.

'yeah,' he mutters, hand at the back of neck, scratching in earnest. 'bet you've never heard of a lost shinobi.'

the dust of blush at his ears is endearing, his voice comforting.

'm-me too, actually.'

the boy jerks his head, astonishment sparking fire in his eyes. 'really?'

'yeah,' satoru lies, lowering his ninjato. 'for a few days now.'

'i-i can't believe i tried to steal this from you, i'm so sorry!' his voice climbs volumes and satoru nearly winces but finds he isn't as bothered by the sound as he should be.

companionship

1. a shinobu lives a life alone

'we could share it?' satoru suggests.

♦

his back is a glorious canvas of lean muscles and golden skin - the blades of his shoulders curve outwards and satoru is stealing glances, sneaking peeks and all things against his handbook. there's a unfurling in his stomach he's not acquainted with. it curls tightly in his belly, extending as far as his legs, making his knees nervous, hands shaky.

'what can i call you?' he asks, bombarded by his own anxiety and worried for his complexion.

the boy hums speculatively, flipping onto his back and staring up at the sky. loose pants ride on the plane of his hip bones and satoru is mesmerized, drags his gaze past his stomach and to his eyes, which are just as beautiful if not just easier to explain.

the sun is high above them and in this moment satoru thinks that maybe it this is what sunlight is truly for, encompassing the earth's treasures in light and gold and red.

'what are you staring at?!' the boy whines, flustered, hiding his eyes beneath his palms.

'can i call you taiyo?'

he nearly screeches into his cupped hands, so embarrassed by satoru's simple, honest words. a lone eye peeks between his fingers.

'only if i can call you tsuki.'

♦

'you're not moving fast enough,' satoru admonishes, swinging his sparring stick higher still above his head. 'swing with your body, not just your arms.'

exhaustion is slipping into his bones, his stamina depleting from him in shallow breaths, but taiyo has the energy to move mountains. it's been two hours and while he has yet to best satoru in any match, the next one will most certainly prove victory.

'yeah, and you're slowing down tough guy. you're not tired are you?'

satoru feels his stubbornness refueling reserves he thought empty. 'not at all.'

♦

'if you're going to do it, do it,' he says and satoru is enamored, endeared, so so so in love. his eyes are shut, lower lip quivering with nervousness.

'i'm going to do it,' he grunts petulantly, slips a hand under taiyo's chin.

his lips taste like flowers, feels like petals. taiyo smells like the earth.

♦

'tsuki,' he cries, tears flowing freely, choking on wails. 'tsuki, i don't want to leave here.'

he cries so much, but satoru can never blame him. taiyou feels everything, he can feel the earth move, purposefully moves with it.

'it's been two weeks. if we don't go back, we're dead,' his voice is thick, heavy with mourning.

♦

'what is your name,' satoru asks, ninjato in hand, blood on his hands, devastation in his heart.

sawamura

[momo-senpaii]

daiya rp week day three: hope is the thing with feathers  pairing: furumiyu rating: Teen (mild sexual references)  word count: 1170

The bed creaks under Furuya’s weight, his legs pressing into the mattress with an uncomfortable firmness only found in dorm bunks. There’s a single desk in the room and a single twin sized bed as well - according to Miyuki, many retired baseball students who were close enough to get transportation to and from school went back home, foregoing the need for bunkmates.

Miyuki’s room is adorned simply. A tack board hangs above his desk, irrelevant school notices and mementos pinned to it. Tucked into the corners are a few pictures - an old family photo with a smiling Miyuki in grade school, beaming parents behind him. To the left of that is a group shot of the official roster from Miyuki’s first year; Furuya can tell because Miyuki isn’t in it. Chris is wearing a smile that Furuya has only ever seen around Sawamura so probably pre injury. The last photo is one of both Furuya and Miyuki with Sawamura grinning over their backs, arms slung around both of their shoulders. Miyuki’s smile is pained but relieved and Furuya can remember that moment distinctly - it was immediately after the Yakushi match, the win that was their ticket to Koshien.

Sighing, Furuya leans back onto Miyuki’s bed, stares at the ceiling above him for a few moments before shutting his eyes. The third year, well, graduate now, had said he’d only be a bit longer. Furuya had watched sentimentality and warmth seep into Miyuki’s gaze, eyes wet with accomplishment. He didn’t even struggle when Kuramochi pulled him into a rough hug, couldn’t deny Maezono his victory speech. Hell, they made it through baseball and high school without hitting each other, Maezono deserved his over enthusiastic moment.

Sawamura had cried, Haruichi had comforted him. Nori and Shirasu kept quiet in the background, their mouths hushed but whispering avidly. Rei stood above them all, pride welling in her smile, a sharp contrast to the severity of Kataoka’s expression, the kind of smugness that implied he knew their greatness better than they themselves did.

The mattress is softer than Furuya had originally given it credit for. He rolls into it, curling his feet beneath his legs and tugging the comforter up to his chin. It smells of Miyuki and Furuya cuddles it harder, lets his mind be comforted by it. Tomorrow morning Miyuki would be gone, having been scouted months ago and for the next six months a lot of things would change for Furuya; for starters he was going to start having to sleep in his own bed, which was annoying, but not nearly as alarming as finally accepting that Miyuki wouldn’t be able to catch his pitches anymore, wouldn’t be able to guide him through a difficult batter - he’d spent the past year preparing for this day but it still took him off guard, still knocked him on his ass, left him feeling the worst he’d felt in a long time.

Sleep was a familiar friend for Furuya; it crawled over him slowly, easing the pressure in his clutched fingers, floating across his eyelids and silencing his mind, putting his troubles on the back burner however momentarily.

He couldn’t have been out for more than a moment or two but he wakes to fingers in his hair, wakes to Miyuki’s breath on his neck, mouth at his ear.

‘I would say I can’t believe you fell asleep but that would be a lie.’

Furuya pouts, stubbornly refuses to open his eyes but nudges his head into Miyuki’s hand, lets the boy’s calloused palm slide down to his cheek. He cups Furuya’s face in an uncharacteristically tender movement and Furuya opens his eyes, fondness in his stare.

‘You took too long,’ Furuya grumbles, in a very characteristic way. ‘I got tired.’

It’s a sad day so Miyuki doesn’t smile as wide as he normally would - the corners of his smirk don’t quite reach his eyes and it’s missing the slant of snark that usually accompanies it. He looks as if he wants to say more and for the most part Furuya can predict the words that would fall from those pretty lips.

He doesn’t want to hear them, he decides, and pulls at Miyuki’s hips, slips a finger between the waistband of his slacks. Furuya’s touch grazes the spread of hair the spans below Miyuki’s hips and the shift in the other’s body language is immediate - Miyuki glides his legs in between Furuya’s, his thigh pressing firm against the inside of Furuya’s thigh. He groans into Furuya’s ear, breath hot against the shell of it.

Furuya much prefers these sounds of longing to words of remorse and he encourages it, digs his fingers into the boy’s hips until he’s hissing with want. His hands find their way to the nape of Furuya’s neck, fingers clutching at his hair until it hurts, hurts in a way that has Furuya clammering on top of Miyuki, fervently shifting his weight until there’s hardly any distinction of separation between them. Miyuki’s breath is heavy, panting with an adrenaline that Furuya rarely hears anywhere outside of these four walls, and he’s often slow and primitive with his emotions but there’s something about Miyuki that has always brought them barreling to the surface. Chagrined, he buries his face into Miyuki’s chest, finds solace in planting small kisses along the plane of his collar bones.

‘Oi, what’s this?’ Miyuki breathes, curling his fingers around Furuya’s neck, alternating between rubbing his shoulder and pulling at his hair. ‘Shy today?’

‘No,’ he mumbles, biting at the skin just below the catcher’s chin. ‘I’m just..’

Miyuki pulls his hair hard and he winces - Furuya gives him his best glare but softens at the pout that forms at his lips.

‘Don’t say it,’ Miyuki whispers, avoiding Furuya’s gaze entirely. ‘Not yet.’

The lump that been forming in Furuya’s throat since morning comes back with a vengeance and swells in his chest, pressing a sense of desperation so loud he can feel it in his ears, so heavy it’s found rest in his back.

‘Okay,’ he relents, sliding his hands along the sides of Miyuki’s thighs. ‘I won’t say it.’

Seemingly pacified for the moment, Miyuki resumes carding his fingers through Furuya’s hair, humming peacefully. Furuya relaxes, allows the adrenaline flowing throughout his veins dissipate and rests his head on his lover’s chest, ears open to the slowing of Miyuki’s heart beat.

‘Senpai?’ Furuya murmurs, his voice reverberating in the cavity of Miyuki’s chest.

‘Mm?’

‘Will you still catch for me?’

‘Oi, are you breaking up with me?’ His tone is laced with humor and Furuya can hear small cackles in his throat.

‘Senpai,’ he tries again, lifts his face to gaze into eyes that are rarely as vulnerable as they are now.

‘Greedy, aren’t you?’

‘Miyuki-senapi!’ He’s whining and he knows it, but this is important, this is their future, this is

‘Yeah,’ he finally replies, the word thick, heavy with emotion. ‘Of course I will.’

This is hope, Furuya thinks, nuzzling into Miyuki’s neck.

[momo-senpaii]

hmm it appears i’m treading into unrequited territory…

the dug out without a game going on is a strange place - it’s quiet, which is the first thing wrong. miyuki isn’t sure he’s ever been in here without tense encouragement or the low rumble of the coach’s orders. on top of that it’s empty and you can really see how filthy the place is. dirt lines the ground, the walls, a reddish sand from the field that seems to cover everything in sight. the dingy metal of the bench is the shiniest thing there and it still looks like shit.

sawamura sits alone on the bench, a towel drenched in sweat wrapped around his neck. his hands are balled into fists at his thighs and he’s so concentrated on glaring at the ground that he doesn’t notice Miyuki until he sits down next to him.

an acceptable distance is between them and miyuki does his best not to think about how little effort he’d have to expend to bump their knees together. one slight twist of his arm and their elbows could touch. he wonders if that could be considered casual, if sawamura would think anything of it other than a captain’s concern, a teammate’s encouragement.

a friend’s sympathy.

a fiend’s temptation.

‘what are you still doing down here?’ miyuki asks, his arm betraying him and twitching at his side. he grabs his wrist with his other hand. 'the game ended over an hour ago. you haven’t showered,’ he looks to the duffle bag at his feet. 'haven’t iced your shoulder from the look of it. did you even cool down at all?’

sawamura doesn’t say anything, doesn’t acknowledge his presence really, and continues to pout. miyuki is ready to scold him again, never mind the fact that sawamura is ignoring him, he definitely didn’t ice his shoulder and that’s grounds for no pitching for a week. narrowing his eyes, miyuki finds his excuse - he drapes an arm around sawamura’s shoulder, let’s his fingers press lightly to his arm one at a time. 'sawamura,’ he begins, threat sharp and ready at his tongue. 'i asked you -’

miyuki should have known better. somewhere in the back of his mind, he did know better. the hard set of sawamura’s shoulders, the uncharacteristic line of his mouth.

'i heard you,’ he growls, shaking miyuki off him, twisting his back until miyuki’s arm falls from his shoulders. 'i heard you.’ he repeats.

two steps backwards, an infinitesimal step forward, miyuki’s tripping over words that haven’t left his mouth yet.

the match against ichidai wasn’t anything spectacular - furuya started, kawakami came in and finished. ichidai won by a single run, the match ending at 2-1. a simple practice game, something to get them back in shape before senbatsu. sawamura didn’t play and it wasn’t abnormal; katoka had let him pitch all nine innings against yakushi last week and they had won that match. miyuki saw no reason for him to be upset and yet

'what is it sawamura? what are you doing back here alone?’

it would be simple, miyuki thinks, watching sawamura work through his thoughts, filter through his emotions. his eyes glance up finally, stares straight ahead across the field. his hair sticks to the side of his cheeks and miyuki thinks it’s odd place to have sweat.

it would be simple to reach over and grab one of his hands. miyuki isn’t sure what’s wrong, doesn’t have the patience to try and figure it out for himself, but he could listen. he could squeeze those precious fingers, run a thumb against a set of callouses he help put there. sawamura sniffles, loud and gross and miyuki realizes it’s not really hot enough for sweat anyway. his arm betrays him again, moves unwittingly towards sawamura’s clenched fist.

'it’s not fair,’ he grumbles, stomping his foot into the ground for good measure. 'it’s not fair.’

'you’re right,’ miyuki consents, albeit for different reasons. 'a lot of things aren’t fair.’

'is there anything i can do at all?’

'you can try,’

try and be better, push forward. make larger efforts, pour everything you have.

it definitely isn’t fair - sawamura’s lip trembles with aggravation. his gaze finally finds miyuki’s and it’s enough to nearly stop his breathing. eyes a lit with hope, anger and desire. frustration mars his brow and miyuki cannot help himself; he reaches for sawamura’s forehead, delicately palms his face until the wrinkles have subsided and smoothed out.

'stupid,’ he whispers, ending the moment and flicking him in the forehead. 'don’t be so stupid. if you work hard, things will play out the way you want them to. you’re an amazing pitcher and an irreplaceable asset to the team.’

sawamura’s cheeks swell with color and miyuki has to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. 'irreplaceable?’ sawamura questions, his voice thick and gaze bright, holding miyuki to this extremely cliché moment. 'amazing?’

'yes, stupid,’ miyuki chokes down a laugh, squeezes the boy’s shoulder. 'it’s nearly terrifying what you’re capable of when you’re focused and committed.’

miyuki swears he can hear sawamura whisper 'oshi,’ under his breath but he ignores it; he watches the familiar pride realign sawamura’s posture, straighten his shoulders and curve around his neck. the pitcher turns for the field once more and from where miyuki is sitting, from where the sun shines against sawamura’s jersey, how the sun leaves a halo of gold surrounding him - if miyuki squints he can see a single number pressed against the boy’s back.

'thank you miyuki-senpai,’ sawamura preens, turns around grabs miyuki’s shoulders, forcing him into a hug that felt more like an assault. 'thank you,’

his body is uncomfortably warm against miyuki’s chest. the boy has gained some muscle, finally, and the press of his chest is nearly the span of miyuki’s. it takes him a minute, but miyuki returns the hug, let’s his hands drape at the small of sawamura’s back.

'you’re welcome,’

maybe miyuki didn’t confess. they didn’t hold hands and miyuki will continue to wonder how sawamura’s lips would feel against his own.

this was enough, for now.

i have 452489 projects to do but maybe this, soon

[momo-senpaii]

kiss koshien! have some furumiyu

his lips are quivering and furuya is inclined to believe its the cold that has miyuki trembling, except his teeth aren't chattering - his hands shake at his sides, fingers clenching, unclenching and his gaze is fixated on something behind furuya's back; unwavering but none the less not on furuya.

'senpai,' he whispers, and furuya is worried miyuki can't hear him, that he's already left the conversation mentally and it'll only be a few more seconds before the rest of him departs as well.

a breeze rolls through, harsh and deliberate, rousing the hair on furuya's head, lifting the shirt from his back. furuya unwittingly moves forward and his palm grazes miyuki's jacket.

perhaps, furuya ponders, watching miyuki's eyes come into focus, perhaps actions would make miyuki understand.

in a swift movement, furuya captures miyuki's lips, casually slipping his hand beneath the boy's chin and tilting it higher. furuya is rewarded with the smallest of gasps and in the moment just before furuya closes his eyes he can see miyuki's gaze widen, shock blowing out his pupils.

his lips are soft, malleable but still and unmoving - disappointment seeps through his skin, encasing around him like an uncomfortable heat. he lets his hand fall from miyuki's face, determined to keep his eyes shut as he walks away. he can't be confident of his expression, of the turmoil that sure to wilt his face. his intention was never to burden miyuki and he won't start now.

furuya savors the moment, cements it to memory - he tastes of coffee, feels as if he spends a lot of time biting his lip.

two years

two years spent watching an unmovable force crouch over home plate, eyes steely and focused, always bringing out his best and dissuading his worst

for two years furuya has felt his heart drop at every missed glance, throb at every touch, leap at his every word.

two years of pining and in less than two months he'll be gone - furuya had accepted the fact that his feelings may not be reciprocated, but he refuses to let miyuki leave without knowing.

he pulls back, mourns the warmth that leaves his parted lips.

furuya mumbles out an apology, turns his hips, face and shame away from miyuki, but is stopped in his tracks by an icy press of fingers on his back. he nearly hisses, breathes sharply and turns to glare at miyuki but his words are stolen; miyuki pulls him closer, fingers digging into his hips and furuya doesn't even have time to register the blotches of rose dusting miyuki's face before their lips are touching again, smashing together in an unpracticed rhythm. furuya relaxes, opens his mouth to breathe; miyuki's tongue darts across his as if he was invited, as if he belonged there. their breaths come out short, staccato and ladled with apprehension.

licking his lips, furuya opens his eyes and searches miyuki's face, his eyes surely exposing the question at his lips.

'my hands were cold,' miyuki grumbles, his fingers slipping into the waistband of furuya's pants.

'and your lips?'

'those were cold too.'

[alwayskaysanova]

send me a pairing and a number and i'll write you a drabble

“Come over here and make me.”

“Have you lost your damn mind!?”

“Please, don’t leave.”

“Do you…well…I mean…I could give you a massage?”

“Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

“Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”

“I almost lost you.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Don’t you ever do that again!”

“Teach me how to play?”

“Don’t you dare throw that snowba-, goddammit!”

“I think we need to talk.”

“Kiss me.”

“Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always.”

“So, I found this waterfall…”

“It could be worse.”

“Looks like we’ll be trapped for a while…”

“This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in.”

“The paint’s supposed to go where?”

“You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”

“We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain?”

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

“Just once.”

“You’re the only one I trust to do this.”

“I can’t believe you talked me into this.”

“I got you a present.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“Marry me?”

“I thought you were dead.”

“It’s not what it looks like…”

“You lied to me.”

“I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”

“Please don’t do this.”

“If you keep looking at me like that we won’t make it to a bed.”

“You heard me. Take. It. Off.”

“I wish I could hate you.”

“Wanna dance?”

“You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

“Hey! I was gonna eat that!”

“Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?”

“You did all of this for me?”

“I swear it was an accident.”

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

“If you die, I’m gonna kill you.”

“Tell me a secret.”

“Hey, have you seen the..? Oh.”

“No one needs to know.”

“Boo.”

“Well this is awkward…”

Writer’s preference

[momo-senpaii]

Kick in the Ass # 2 is so funny! Love the story! ^_^

WEEEEEH (///▽///) THANK YOU FOR THE KIND WORDS. 

i’m hoping to get working on it soon, i have 8208490328 projects ahead of it but I thought maybe i’d share anyway >.> 

thank you for messaging me, this was incredibly kind ♥ 

[nee-saan]

chestnut, amber, bronze or maybe gold

for @kuroohina ٩ʕ◕౪◕ʔو

How unlucky, Kuroo thinks, somewhere dark and shitty in the back of his head. How unlucky that he has to be around when he watches his friends fall in love, watches their eyes light up in understanding, as if every single second they have lived from birth until now has been irrelevant, because nothing has mattered until they loved this person.

[momo-senpaii]

wrong blog goddamnit

[momo-senpaii]

idk what this is but i’m gonna finish it before i start working on prompts (still accepting by the way, even tho i kinda suck most of the time) 

so stormy

satoru gazes out window, shoulder cold from leaning against it. he's too lazy to move, too content to switch sides so he stares up at the sky mournfully, only mildly distressed that he forgot his umbrella in his room.

heavy drops pound at him, blurring his view and berating his ears but satoru simply closes his eyes and loses his thoughts, sighing deeply while settling into a more comfortable position. the bench is a bit hard underneath him but it doesn't feel so bad with his make shift pillow (backpack) stuffed behind him. he'll just wait here, nap for a few moments and wait for the rain to pass. the walk back to the dorms is brief but satoru is sure to come down with something should he risk walking home in the rain.

it's tempting and remembering hokkaido showers - soaking through his shirt to his back, cold sticking to his skin like gum to his shoes - makes it harder to sit still, to prioritize his health over his desires but

baseball was first and everything else came last.

'oi, furuya,' came a voice and satoru is sleeping, resting so deeply that at first he thinks he's dreaming.

a sharp grin in the pouring rain, standing straight, still and taunting, glasses askew and marred by relentless water from the sky. 'what are you doing, furuya?'

what an excellent question - hand outstretched and twitching, reaching for a part of him that you'd never touch - what were you doing?

the line of his jaw is sharp, twisted away from satoru, a silent warning that any efforts would result in more than just rejection. his lips pull into a smirk and it's darker somehow, heightened by black clouds and streaks of water slipping down his face.

'what are you doing, monster?'

'furuya, get up,' miyuki repeats and satoru feels a jerk at his shoulder. he opens his eyes, blinking them rapidly while trying to reorient himself with his surroundings.

the rain

sure enough it was still going and satoru was impressed; it looked like even the gutters were flooding a little bit, carrying autumn's death with soaked leaves that floated pitifully down the curb before falling into a drain.

'don't ignore me,' he says and satoru stifles a giggle, clenches his teeth and turns away. as if he could ignore miyuki kazuya.

miyuki bumps his knees into satoru's as he sits down, slides his backpack off his shoulders and tosses it behind him before settling down on his back and resting his head on it. satoru fails at hiding his surprise, slack jaw opening once before staring at miyuki, the soft pout of a question at his lips.

'senpai?' he begins, momentarily forgoing his silence, tongue darting out to lick his chapped lips. miyuki already has his eyes closed, thick eyelashes curling against his cheek and satoru stiffens when one of his feet comes to a rest on his leg, the weight of it pressing more into him than it should.

'mmm?' he groans, adjusting his glasses and crossing his legs, still on satoru's lap, as if it was completely normal to be like this.

'p-practice?' satoru manages, eyes transfixed on sliver of skin showing between miyuki's sock and the cuff of his pants. he can feel miyuki's gaze on him, but remains still, knowing that he'd never glance up quick enough to catch miyuki staring at him anyway.

'cancelled, dummy. this rain is relentless. coach says he'll bench us if he catches us out in this weather.'

satoru tilts his head, says something he doesn't want to. 'senpai, i'm not the pitcher known to be reckless for training.'

the catcher cackles, a low sound that seems to resonate all the way from the feet on satoru's lap to the sharp mouth that uttered it.

'i called in a favor. chris is pitching with him until the rain lets up and then handing him off to kuramochi.'

'ah,' satoru breathes, trying to concentrate on his legs. they wanna shake, wanna betray him, but they're nothing compared to the devil his hand is, lingering a half inch over that tiny, small, insignificant patch of skin.

what is this i swear to god i get more vague with every piece u.u

[momo-senpaii]

decided to start taking prompts again to help get out of this block. I’ll probably only take around five, since i tend to get carried away with a lead. tagged are the pairings i’m willing to write or at least give a shot, but no promises. 

i wanna branch out too, so i guess offer anything for either haikyuu or daiya

nsfw is ok, but make it a good one if ur gonna rquest it hehe

[momo-senpaii]

i only have two more spots open!