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kayable ([personal profile] kayable) wrote in [community profile] valentineslockers2017-02-01 08:10 pm

2017 Locker for candyharlot

Name: candyharlot

Friending Meme Post: http://valentineslockers.dreamwidth.org/9523.html?thread=248627#cmt248627

Fandoms: Haikyuu!!, Yowamushi Pedal

Characters/Pairings/Moresomes: Haikyuu!!: Ushi/Oi, Ushi/Ten, Ushi/Oi/Ten, Ushi/Reon, Bo/Kuroo, Bo/Kuro/Dai | Yowamushi Pedal: Midousuji/Onoda, Ashikiba/Teshima, Kinjou/Fukutomi

Likes: enemies to friends to lovers OR enemies to lovers, rival ships, mutual pining, slow build, breaking up and getting back together, drunken shenanigans
Dislikes: A/B/O, noncon, gore, pointless drama/angst, cheating

Anything else: Ushijima Wakatoshi is the light of my life

Reminder that NOTES are welcome too - just a nice little comment (either plain, or you can even type it up on a nice little graphic/image etc.) for the recipient.

(Comments are going to screened until the reveal on Feb 14. Lockers will be open until the end of Feb.)
fickle: (Default)

[personal profile] fickle 2017-02-13 02:26 pm (UTC)(link)


The door swung open, revealing the beaming face of the nurse and the equally-beaming Onoda.

“Four Eyes?” Midousuji asked blankly, squinting dubiously at the smaller figure that was coming into the room. “What are you doing here?”

“He’s come to visit you!” The nurse said before Onoda could speak. “Isn’t that nice? Now, come here, Onoda-kun and take a seat. Poor Mido-chan’s had nobody come to visit him since he chased off that nice Ishigaki-kun.”

Midousuji allowed the nurse to fuss over him, propping him a little higher up in the hospital bed and adjusting the pillows, too bewildered to protest the way he normally did.

“Ah – hello, Midousuji-kun,” Onoda said timidly, clutching a bag to his chest. The sunlight glinted off his glasses as he peered up at Midousuji. “I hope you’re feeling better.”

“Why are you visiting me?” Midousuji asked bluntly, clinking his teeth together and hoping that the usual chilling effect of the sound wouldn’t be lost on Onoda.

“I thought that it must be very boring for you alone in hospital and, well, last time we talked you said that you would be the Royal Forces Humanoid Battle Weapon Unit-02 and it turns out that we actually get prize money from Inter High and-” Onoda pulled a box out from the bag and presented it to Midousuji proudly.

“Here! It’s you.”

Midousuji stared at the toy encased in the plastic box that so proudly proclaimed it had 45 moveable joints and real action pellets, then at Onoda’s hopeful face.

“Gross,” he proclaimed.

Undeterred, Onoda put the box on the bedside table.

“I also brought you the last two episodes I thought that we’d miss it since we were at the race and set it to record. Here, I’ll just put it into the DVD player and then-”

“I don’t have a DVD player or a TV in here, Four Eyes,” Midousuji interrupted. Onoda looked around, his usual smile vanishing briefly, then it returned as he put the burnt CD away.

“That’s okay! I’ll bring you a laptop next time I visit and we can watch it then. Until then, do you want to talk about it? No spoilers, I promise. Who’s your favorite character?”

Midousuji didn’t mean to answer. He really didn’t.

His mouth just moved without any input from his brain as he seized upon the implicit promise of ‘next time’. Onoda was going to keep coming to see him? Here? In the hospital?

There was sweat dampening Onoda’s hair. Had he biked all the way?

…At least he’d remembered which toy it was that Midousuji had identified himself as. Maybe he should just indulge Four Eyes for a little. After all, it wasn’t as if he had anything better to do.
catlarks: (Kinjou: Captain)

[fic] Fukutomi/Kinjou, Work Social

[personal profile] catlarks 2017-02-21 09:25 pm (UTC)(link)
A/N: fukukin is my original pedals home and if I'm coming back to bikes, why not come back to my first bikes OTP? These aren't exactly shenanigans, but Fukutomi sure is drunk.

“Kinjou,” Fukutomi says. “Kinjou, come outside.”

Kinjou doesn’t immediately respond, caught by the tail end of the story one of Fukutomi’s coworkers has been telling him. The bar isn’t a quiet place, filled with the constant low-grade hum that’s all he can make out of the other patron’s voices, distance transforming their words into an unintelligible, dull wash of sound. Fukutomi’s voice cuts in above that, sharp and insistent. Kinjou turns his head.

“Sit back down,” he invites instead, moving over on the bench and making room. “Weren’t you getting another drink?”

Fukutomi looks down at his empty hands, brow creasing in confusion. “I was,” he says slowly. “I drank it already.”

Kinjou sighs, but then he smiles. He’s never been much for these work outings — not the drinking part, anyway. He can put on his game face, nurse a beer, make conversation with his coworkers and laugh politely at his supervisors’ jokes, but it never seemed wise to throw away his good sense simply because he was off the clock. If the point of a business outing was networking, Kinjou would much prefer to attend it with his wits about him.

Fukutomi, on the other hand, has adapted to the ways of the bar-crawling civil servant with astounding ease. He’ll drink beers and take shots till he’s pink in the face, and still have the breath to weigh in on the finer points of law. Kinjou can’t say much for his boyfriend’s coherency either way; his science background makes him no match for Fukutomi’s briefings even when the man is sober. (It doesn’t stop him from listening when Fukutomi has trouble with their phrasing; he’s patient that way, always willing to lend a hand.)

“Sit down,” Kinjou says again, when a slow minute has passed and Fukutomi remains standing. “I think you may have had enough drinks for tonight. I’d be remiss if I let you go off to retrieve yet another.”

“But Kinjou,” Fukutomi says. His hand is heavy on Kinjou’s shoulder, warm, backed by too much of Fukutomi’s weight as he leans in. It’s a heavy pressure, heavy like the weight of Fukutomi’s stare as he levels unblinking — only slightly unfocused — eyes on Kinjou’s face. “I wanted… To go outside.”

Kinjou weighs the worth of arguing with him. He had been talking to one of Fukutomi’s coworkers, and had been intent on making a good impression. Working in different fields, it was rare that their professional circles overlapped, and Kinjou was absolutely enterprising enough to take advantage of the rare occasions where they did while he could. But the conversation has moved on without him, and he finds himself willing to concede the field.

“Alright,” he says, pushing up from the table. “Let’s go outside.”

The air outside the bar is chilly and brisk, with a wind blowing down the street that gets in underneath Kinjou’s collar and sends a shiver coursing down his spine. He begins re-winding his scarf around his throat, insulating himself from the wintery chill, though his eyes remain on Fukutomi even as his hands move.

Fukutomi says nothing, which isn’t uncharacteristic of him. He sways slightly on his feet, which is, and Kinjou concedes that his boyfriend may be yet drunker than he’d accounted for. It’s early enough yet that there’s brisk foot traffic moving past them, but no one comes near. They remain isolated in their own little bubble, half-sheltered from the wind in a nook outside the bar.

“Is this what you wanted?” Kinjou asks, soft words exhaled into the night. “To be alone?”

It’s more an illusion of privacy than the reality, and for a long minute Fukutomi remains silent, though his gaze rests heavily on Kinjou’s face. He reaches out, taking Kinjou’s hand and squeezing firmly. Easily, naturally, Kinjou squeezes his fingers back, a smile spreading itself slowly across his lips.

“It isn’t too chilly,” he decides. “A perfectly fine night for a walk. Let’s go home, Juichi.”

“Wait,” Fukutomi says.

Kinjou does, turning as Fukutomi pulls him around, as Fukutomi sways close in that uneven manner only drunk people have. He’s clearly intoxicated, but Kinjou doesn’t mind. When Fukutomi kisses him, Kinjou can taste the shochu he was drinking at the bar on his lips.

“Now,” Fukutomi says, when he pulls away. “Now we can go home.”

Kinjou laughs, low and fond, and squeezes Fukutomi’s hand again as he begins to lead him away from the bar. “Of course,” he says. “It’s a fine enough night for romance as well.”

It’s hardly fair to tease a drunk man, but much as Fukutomi couldn’t refrain from kissing him, Kinjou cannot resist.