Title: AoKise:24/7.
Author: SYNdicate 930.
Drabbles from the lives of Aomine and Kise, ranging between fluffy K – M rated scenarios (with warnings before each drabble).

Note: All drabbles taken off my RP tumblr, Bakaomine.

Always open to requests on Bakaomine, but nothing to specific please! Only one liners or a word or a kink or something. I'll be sure to credit.~


Prompt: Angsty!POV of Aomine's relationship with Kise.
Rating: K.

"Why me?"

Aomine doesn't understand as he watches Kise talk and socialize with his model friends across the room. He hates it when Kise invites him to events like this as he feels—knows—that he's out of place and unwanted; the sharp looks and confused expressions he receives from the other models are tell-tale signs of it.

Is it that strange for someone like him to be with someone like Kise?

Aomine's never thought Kise to be better than him—He's always annihilated him in basketball, so, if anything, he's thought of himself as higher up and that's how it's always been. Kise was a good player, but there was still a gap between their prowess, but it never meant a thing.

However, as unimportant as that was, as a person—not as a player, but an overall person, Kise was clearly out of his league. Aomine knew it from the start, but he refused to admit it aloud in fear of it swaying Kise and his own feelings.

Sure, there was that gap—the gap between a normal boy who lived a normal life, dating a boy who appeared in magazines and billboards across Japan more than Aomine appeared at school—but was it really that big?

He looks down at himself, suddenly and surprisingly insecure and self-conscious under the barrage of stares and hushed whispering centered around him. He is dressed plainly and simple; a dark t-shirt and blue jeans. Now he looks up to stare at Kise a few feet away in his expensive clothes. His being radiates not only warmth, but wealth and flawlessness that is so blatant that is almost hurts. Even he takes a moment to wonder how something like that ended up with someone like this—someone like him.

Even the people at school and Kise's fans look at the two of them and wonder how Aomine was ever able of snagging someone like him.

Aomine looks back down at him, this time at his lower half. His jeans are a dark shade of navy, a little worn and faded, but still okay looking, and he suddenly sees a pair of familiar shoes come into view. He feels a frown tug at his lips and he looks up. Aomine is met with a pair of worried honey irises.

"What's wrong, Aominecchi?" Asks Kise and, behind him, Aomine can see the boy's colleagues scoff at him.

He shakes his head, "Nothing."

A yawn rips past Kise's lips and they leave together. Kise takes his hand into his own, and Aomine's grip goes slack.

Though Kise doesn't mind, Aomine is aware that he also doesn't realize it, nor does he realize how much better he can do. Aomine wants him to have the best, and clearly he's not capable of giving it to him. He's thought of telling him this many times in the past, but Aomine is selfish, and he doesn't like the thought of anyone else having him. But he is holding him back, and the guilt claws at him with every time he see's the other boy.

Aomine is awoken, his eyes opening tiredly to look at Kise's relaxed features, listening half-awake as he mumbles softly in an unconscious haze. Things should come to an end. It would be the best he could ever possibly give him, but it wouldn't be.

He can't stand to look at him at the moment, and he rolls over, bringing the sheets over his head, conflicted.

"Why me?"


Prompt: Aomine trying to confess.
Rating: K.

Despite always having been lazy and uncaring of most things—Or, at least he's been like that for a while now—Aomine finds himself going out of his way to do or say certain things every now and then, but nothing too great a deal that it becomes too bothersome a burden for him. The overwhelming majority of the time, though, they are Aomine's poorly (and recklessly) made attempts at conveying the feelings he holds for a certain, unknowing—if anything, doubtful—blonde.

Though he understands he may not be the best with words or girly little things like 'feelings', Aomine still tries. He tries. And tries. And tries. Almost to the point where it seems perpetually hopeless. But it's in Aomine's nature that makes giving up not an option.

It's not in him to be cheesy about it or to get it right on the first time, so he often finds himself writing everything down, countless hours spent at his desk at home as he writes in his little blue notebook. Page upon page is ripped out in frustration, tossed into his little garbage bin beside the door; at this rate, he is sure he'll be dead before he get's anywhere.

Sometimes it's in these moments, where he takes a break to slowly collect his thoughts, that Aomine realizes that the work he goes through for Kise is doubled in comparison to what the blonde goes through for him. For one thing, Kise is a model with tons and tons of fans who fawn over him as if he were some sort of deity.

Whenever he tries to see him, Aomine often finds himself getting lost in the crowd of screaming girls, leaving him no choice but to leave each and every single time this happens. How they still communicate, Aomine still wonders. Not to mention the amount of choices Kise has at his disposal as a result of his fame and terribly good looks.

"That's right…" He mumbles to himself as he leans into the back of his computer chair. Aomine spins himself around gently, his eyes stuck on the strange contours of his ceiling. "He has so many people to choose from—"

He glances over to the filled garbage bin and the crumpled pieces of lined paper that lie within and around the little tin. Though the sight motivates him even more, it makes him realize that, well, yeah—He isn't the best with words, or girly little things like 'feelings', but he still tries.

He tries.

And tries.

And tries—

To the point where it is perpetually hopeless as he dumps his newest ball of notebook paper into his garbage bin.

It is in this hopelessness that makes giving up look easier and better, the bigger and messier the pile of scrapped letters becomes, but he still doesn't call it quits.

It's only when he realizes he's reached the last page that he considers throwing in the towel.

It isn't in him to handle something that is too great a deal that it becomes too bothersome a burden for him, anyway.