Analytical Beauty

Momoi Satsuki, Aomine Daiki, Shoichi Imayoshi, Ryō Sakurai and Kōsuke Wakamatsu - Kuroko no Basket 

“ There’s NO WAY I wouldn’t be aware of how many shots I’m capable of. 

She didn’t want to speak because she knew exactly how it would go down. She had not said a single word since leaving the match after the defeat, knowing that if she said anything at all she would come across as what she saw as weak or she would get angry. Winning was everything. She was not used to losing.

As the other girl persisted, Junko finally stopped in her tracks which would allow her to catch up to her properly, before turning to face her.

“Yeah, and we still lost! Do you even know how humiliating it is to lose with all of those people watching? With you watching–” 

♥ -- She's startled, to say the least, when the other girl promptly stops in her tracks. Momoi nearly collides with her, teetering on the balls of her feet as she rocks precariously back and forth before finally regaining her balance.

Junko's tone is sharp, harsher than normal-- and it's not as if she hadn't expected this. Working so hard, striving toward victory with all your heart, only to have the opportunity ripped away...It's heart breaking. But to think of defeat as humiliating is just too heavy a burden to bear.

Seriously the weather could be such a bitch during this time of year, fluffy clouds deciding right then and there that the world could burn under this ridiculous onslaught of water disguised as a spring shower. Spring shower, his fucking ass, even he knew as soon as he took off his blazer to at least try and cover Satsuki from the heavy fall, it was going to be useless. And what do you know, fucking rain did it’s job, indiscriminately soaking everything that was still attached to the ground. 

Could you really blame the guy now for cursing like this? His shoes squish disgustingly the minute the both of them slip into the house, wrinkles deepening as he practically peeled off his soaked socks as soon as he could. Fuck, if his thicker socks are this wet, maybe he’d have to offer Satsuki like a towel or something along with that shirt she’s asking for, Aomine making a small half turn to glance over in her direction.

Whoa whoa now, what did we have here? A leer spreads over the line of his lips, Aomine shucking off his own damp shirt and taking a step closer to the other. 

Her carmine irises flicker to rake down the length of his newly exposed chest, fingers itching to reach out and touch the damp, cool skin just to feel it heat beneath her fingertips. She bites her lip at the thought, trying to hide the grin that's threatening to overtake her features. Since when has she been such a pervert...? In a way, she's come to embrace it, given she grew up alongside Aomine Daiki, of all people. But still-- she'd hoped to retain at least some of her innocence. Oh well; innocence is overrated.