Five pieces of data Momoi never collected in the aomomo universe I AM PRETTY SURE THAT IS A UNIVERSE.
1. She knows he can cook. She just doesn’t think it’s good for her own pride if she writes down all the things he can do better than she can.
2. Momoi never lists down all the girls that like Aomine from the first flush of fifth grade wonder to the more forward, more shameless ogling of high school. Not the ones that left chocolates on his desk or love letters left unanswered, unnoticed in his shoe locker, no.
She doesn’t think Aomine needed yet another thing to boost his ego, and she doesn’t have the heart to do more than feel sorry for those girls.
3. She knows the number of shoes in Aomine’s closet, the sneakers littered across the steps, things his parents bought for him on an off-day, like they tried to give him something comforting in its newness, its scent, things they couldn’t give him for some reason at that time.
She doesn’t like to ask why, because she’s afraid to ask.
4. Once she’d fished around his drawers for something to watch. Then she learned to never open that brown paper bag stuffed with CDs ever again.
At least, not in front of her parents.
5. She knows all the idols he stalks online, all the gravure models he likes to talk about with Kise.
It’s just. She doesn’t like it when he talks like a boy, that’s all.
addendum: “I don’t see why size is relevant to me,” says Momoi.
“It’s relevant to me,” says Aomine, desperately. “Satsuki, I have to know.”
“I’m not that kind of girl,” Momoi squawks, clutching her bag to her chest. “And anyway, why don’t you just peek when you’re in the bathroom together?”
“I’m not a pervert,” says Aomine.
Momoi stares at him.
“It’s for my self-esteem,” Aomine plows on. “Think of my pride. What if I can never play basketball again.”
“I hope your ass hits the door on your way out,” says Momoi. Stupid, stupid Dai-chan.
I know what's sure to get asked, I'll go with... Takao, to cover bases. *_*
How I feel about this character Eeeeeeeee I love him so much eeeeeeeeeeeee! The clearly wicked sense of humor and the fact that he goes along with Midorima’s whims and selfish requests and the way he quietly, determinedly works his ass off, chasing after Midorima. And also: the biceps. What, I’m shallow.
All the people I ship romantically with this character Midorima.
My non-romantic OTP for this character I would frankly love to see Kuroko and Takao united in their efforts to troll the rest of the basubros, not gonna lie.
My unpopular opinion about this character …I… don’t think I have one of those?
One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon. I really wanted to see the scene where he and Shin-chan graciously accepted their first-place Wintercup medals and then strolled off into the sunset together, but I knew that wasn’t gonna happen. Sucks to love the rival teams!
Midorima being tsun about Pemberly because wow man the feng shui of this place it’s so so great and takao is like :D :D :D MY HOUSE IS GREAT RIGHT pls do not let my prejudice against your crazy sister who stabbed my friend in the face spoil our love.
now I’m curious about who caroline would be
WHO WILL TWIRL/FLOUNCE AROUND IN FRONT OF MIDORIMA WHEN AKASHI IS SICK IN BED
miyaji????? I mean, he already hates midorima’s guts
How I feel about this character: I like him because I am sympathetic to his Midorima woes, but I also feel like his character is wasted in basketball. :( TAKAO TAKE UP SOMETHING YOU WOULD BE TOTALLY ACE AT OK, SO YOU CAN BE GREGARIOUS AND HAPPY AND LESS INSECURE OR SOMETHING
All the people I ship romantically with this character: Midorima, Kasamatsu (FFFFFFFF YES)
My non-romantic OTP for this character: MIYAJI-SENPAI
My unpopular opinion about this character: idk about how unpopular this would be but
I feel like Takao’s coping mechanism for interacting with Midorima prior to getting used to him was to complain about him all the time to other school friends. Horrified looks at ~backstabbing~ aside, Takao’s pretty open about how he feels Midorima is a total weirdo when it comes to his inner thoughts, and I could totally see him formulating his opinions by airing it out to classmates/whoever cared to listen. He doesn’t really strike me as particularly masochistic, or even that patient, but he’s sociable enough for it, and if there’s something I’ve learned from school, it’s that talking about ~problem people~ goes a long way to helping you interact with them civilly next time.
Wow okay I think I just got kicked out of midotaka fandom.
One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: Takao pre-basketball days, SHOW THIS TO ME PLEASE.
also my headcanon of Takao is that he will be the guy everyone invites to their parties, and not in the you’re-so-popular-and-cool way, but in the you-make-me-laugh-sometimes-and-inviting-you-wouldn’t-be-a-chore. Partying must happen in college or even in senior year.
I. Uh. Think about these boys in conjunction with irl basketball hs boys’ lives a lot.
Takao props his foot up on the vanity and runs a damp washcloth up and down the length of it before he fills his palm with shaving cream. The water rattles in the basin and gurgles in the drain as he covers his leg from ankle to knee in snowy white, working up the lather with single-minded concentration. He reaches for the razor, holds it under the running water, and leans forward to stroke it over his skin, drawing a clean, bare line in the foam. He rinses the razor, repeats the action; his eyes are narrowed with concentration for the task. The barest tip of his tongue shows between his lips, pink.
The long expanse of his calf and thigh go quickly enough, smooth strokes of the razor gliding over the sleek lines of his muscles. Takao spends the longest time on the skin around his ankles, maneuvering the razor around the knobby protrusion of the joint carefully. He frowns in concentration, stops to run his fingers over his skin, testing it, then moves on to his knee, which earns the same careful attention and short, delicate strokes of the razor.
Remarkably, he does not nick himself even once.
He runs his hands up and down his leg, probing for missed spots; he finds one and attends to it before he runs the washcloth over his skin again, wiping away the remnants of the shaving cream.
Then he switches legs and repeats the performance. It takes an inordinately long time to do both legs, an eternity before Takao reaches for a towel and pats his skin dry, and then still more time while he massages lotion into his skin with the same tender care.
It’s not until he’s done finished with these ablutions that he straightens again, balling his fists at the small of his back and stretching it, and turns to where Shintarou has been watching from his perch on the edge of the bathtub (his hands fisted on his knees; his slacks painfully tight). Takao smirks at him, saunters across the tile, and props his foot up on the lip of the bathtub next to Shintarou. “Go ahead,” he says, his grin a dare. “Tell me it doesn’t make a difference.”
Shintarou lays his fingertips against Takao’s calves, silky smooth and tender, and must admit, however reluctantly, that perhaps Takao is right.