Prompt 1: holding hands
holding hands
g: fluff
aomine/kise, aokise
"Hold my hand, of course!" Was the cheerful reply.
an: i don't really know how one usually go with prompts so i'm a little lost for the moment. sorry! but yeah, here's for the first day. it's already 2am so why not right? ^^ hope you like this :3
He does not like to draw attention to himself; not in public, not in private, not ever. It's bothersome enough that people knows him and stares at him like he's one of those paintings that is displayed in an art gallery, just there for everyones eyes. But he's not, goddamnit, he's not and this is why the ticks on his forehead are multiplying and the twitching of his eyebrows are bordering to looking like they might've learned how to samba or some shit like that. That's how annoyed he is and the reason for that is standing there, there, looking so bright he puts the sun to shame (and yes, he knows that's cheesy as the cheesiest cheese a damned rat has ever eaten) and smiling so charmingly he's tempted to punch a hole through that pretty face. Tempted is the keyword because he kind of loves that face. Just not right now.
Dark-blue eyes narrows more, the irritated aura that he's emitting leaking from his body out to the innocent bypassers and idiot fucking fans. Really, all he wanted was a nice stroll out and he should've really seen this coming but his love-struck brain was on vacation that morning. Apparently.
Refocusing his eyes (because wow, narrowing ones eyes really takes a fucking toll on your body. no kidding), he meets bright-hazel ones that sparkles, fucking sparkles, and before he's able to look away, the owner of those eyes has already opened his pretty mouth and is shouting his name, gaining everyone's attention.
"Damn idiot," He mumbled as the continuous 'Aominecchi, Aominecchi, Aominfuckingporn' echos above everyone's voice and he doesn't know if he wants to pretend to not know the dumb blonde or humor him and smile (if a millisecond twitch of the lips can be called a smile then so be it).
Aomine Daiki, yes, that Aomine Daiki ignored the shouting blonde, choosing the first choice and tries his hardest to pretend that he's not Aomine Daiki and is some other dark-haired dude with the same dark skin-tone and the same basketball skills. Note: he tried. But luck's never on his side, you see.
"Ahomine Daiki! Stop ignoring me!" Came the shout that he hoped didn't break his eardrums, the shorter guy now in front of him.
Sighing, as if he's real miserable, he looks at the blonde and cocks a brow in question. "What is it, Kise?"
Kise Ryouta, oh yes!, that Kise Ryouta - model and copy cat extraordinaire (basketball wise, of course), rearranged his lips and pouts at Aomine, puppy dog eyes on full force. "You were ignoring me. That wasn't nice, Aominecchi!"
Aomine crossed his arms and shrugs. "Don't care."
"Well, you should!" Kise stomped, yes, stomped his foot like 5 year old child which he probably is mentally.
"Don't care." He repeated before uncrossing his arms and sighing again. "You done with being popular because this wasn't what I had in mind for today." He stated flatly. As flatly as he could without sounding like the jealous idiot lover that he really is.
Kise, god bless his sweet nature, didn't say anything nor acknowledge the jealousy that was laced with the sentence that the other delivered. He only smiled and nodded twice before offering his hand to the other guy.
"What?" The taller one questions, confused.
"Hold my hand, of course!" Was the cheerful reply.
"Oh." And a large hand grabs a pale wrist, fingers sliding down to its palm before lacing them together tightly, squeezing and rubbing comforting circles on the other's knuckle. They fell on step, aligned with each other as their locked hands swing between them slightly, and that was that.
Kise's fans were forgotten, Aomine's annoyance was left behind, the bickering a distant memory, and the only thing that they took with them was the fact that when they're glued to the hip, the hand, the side, no one dare to approach their happy bubble and they continue to walk down the street leisurely, holding hands like they should be.
g: fluff
aomine/kise, aokise
"Hold my hand, of course!" Was the cheerful reply.
an: i don't really know how one usually go with prompts so i'm a little lost for the moment. sorry! but yeah, here's for the first day. it's already 2am so why not right? ^^ hope you like this :3
He does not like to draw attention to himself; not in public, not in private, not ever. It's bothersome enough that people knows him and stares at him like he's one of those paintings that is displayed in an art gallery, just there for everyones eyes. But he's not, goddamnit, he's not and this is why the ticks on his forehead are multiplying and the twitching of his eyebrows are bordering to looking like they might've learned how to samba or some shit like that. That's how annoyed he is and the reason for that is standing there, there, looking so bright he puts the sun to shame (and yes, he knows that's cheesy as the cheesiest cheese a damned rat has ever eaten) and smiling so charmingly he's tempted to punch a hole through that pretty face. Tempted is the keyword because he kind of loves that face. Just not right now.
Dark-blue eyes narrows more, the irritated aura that he's emitting leaking from his body out to the innocent bypassers and idiot fucking fans. Really, all he wanted was a nice stroll out and he should've really seen this coming but his love-struck brain was on vacation that morning. Apparently.
Refocusing his eyes (because wow, narrowing ones eyes really takes a fucking toll on your body. no kidding), he meets bright-hazel ones that sparkles, fucking sparkles, and before he's able to look away, the owner of those eyes has already opened his pretty mouth and is shouting his name, gaining everyone's attention.
"Damn idiot," He mumbled as the continuous 'Aominecchi, Aominecchi, Aominfuckingporn' echos above everyone's voice and he doesn't know if he wants to pretend to not know the dumb blonde or humor him and smile (if a millisecond twitch of the lips can be called a smile then so be it).
Aomine Daiki, yes, that Aomine Daiki ignored the shouting blonde, choosing the first choice and tries his hardest to pretend that he's not Aomine Daiki and is some other dark-haired dude with the same dark skin-tone and the same basketball skills. Note: he tried. But luck's never on his side, you see.
"Ahomine Daiki! Stop ignoring me!" Came the shout that he hoped didn't break his eardrums, the shorter guy now in front of him.
Sighing, as if he's real miserable, he looks at the blonde and cocks a brow in question. "What is it, Kise?"
Kise Ryouta, oh yes!, that Kise Ryouta - model and copy cat extraordinaire (basketball wise, of course), rearranged his lips and pouts at Aomine, puppy dog eyes on full force. "You were ignoring me. That wasn't nice, Aominecchi!"
Aomine crossed his arms and shrugs. "Don't care."
"Well, you should!" Kise stomped, yes, stomped his foot like 5 year old child which he probably is mentally.
"Don't care." He repeated before uncrossing his arms and sighing again. "You done with being popular because this wasn't what I had in mind for today." He stated flatly. As flatly as he could without sounding like the jealous idiot lover that he really is.
Kise, god bless his sweet nature, didn't say anything nor acknowledge the jealousy that was laced with the sentence that the other delivered. He only smiled and nodded twice before offering his hand to the other guy.
"What?" The taller one questions, confused.
"Hold my hand, of course!" Was the cheerful reply.
"Oh." And a large hand grabs a pale wrist, fingers sliding down to its palm before lacing them together tightly, squeezing and rubbing comforting circles on the other's knuckle. They fell on step, aligned with each other as their locked hands swing between them slightly, and that was that.
Kise's fans were forgotten, Aomine's annoyance was left behind, the bickering a distant memory, and the only thing that they took with them was the fact that when they're glued to the hip, the hand, the side, no one dare to approach their happy bubble and they continue to walk down the street leisurely, holding hands like they should be.