This is short I’m so sorry anon 😕 also somewhat repetitive I think and like ooc I’m sorry
The sound of the basketball hitting the backboard of the goal sounded in the background as you let out a frustrated groan. You leaned down to grab the ball and started to get into position again, only to feel your boyfriend’s body behind yours. His hands adjusted the way you stood and held the ball before he stepped back. You took a deep breath and shot the ball again. And you missed. Again.
“You’re doing wrong, babe.”
“I’m doing it as you’re telling me to…”
“You need to follow through.”
“What the hell does that even mean???”
“Just— just let me show you.”
With that, he picked up the ball and handed it to you. He stepped back behind you when you got back into position, and helped you hold the ball correctly. When he had helped you shoot, his hands adjusted guided yours to follow through. And you made it, but probably because he helped. You weren’t very surprised, though. It was him.
“See? You can do it in your own now.”
“I’m gonna miss.”
“Just try.”
You rolled your eyes, but and turned around and grabbed the ball as it rolled back in your direction. You barely cared to get back into the same position for the millionth time, but you wanted to prove that you could do it, so you did. You shot the ball — following through this time — and finally, finally made it. You gasped and turned around with what had to be the widest smile ever on your face. You pressed a kiss to his cheek, and got that stupid smirk of his to make its way back onto his face.
“Good job. Can we go now? I’m hungry.”
You slapped his chest.
“Can’t you be a little happier you got your girlfriend to shoot properly?”
“Fine, fine. I’m happy my girlfriend shot a ball. Can we get food now?”
You groaned, but you nodded anyway. Who were you to deny your lovely boyfriend food, anyway? You picked up the ball and moved to put it in his big ass bag that was in the bench, but you let him grab the bag himself. You grabbed his hand, barely even waiting on him to fully pull the strap over his shoulder before you started pulling him along the sidewalk. If he wanted food, he sure as hell was gonna get it.
Guess it was time to feed your fatass of a boyfriend after he laughed at you for being bad with the ball.
A/N: I deadass hate this sm please nobody read this
When his partner shows up to the game wearing Aomine’s jersey number, he pretends he doesn’t care at all. Like, “What’re you all dressed up for?” But in reality, he can’t take his eyes off them, and the corner of his mouth keeps twitching as he tries to hide a smile.
The number and name is the real pride
He notices it’s his number. His name. His merch. His jersey. Even if it’s an official jersey anyone could buy, to him it feels personal. Like his partner chose him out of the whole team. It warms him more than he’d ever admit.
Showing off in front of the team? Oh yeah.
He deliberately walks over to his partner in front of everyone and throws an arm around them or lazily rubs the back of his neck, muttering something like:
“You look especially sexy in my uniform today.”
The team howls. He catches their approving looks, not because he’s bragging, but because he secretly loves when everyone can see who chose him.
Extra motivation on the court? Yeah, of course.
Aomine usually plays off pure talent, but this time he’s a little more focused. A little more aggressive. A little faster. One thought pulses in his head: They came here for me. I have to be the best on this court.
The secret glance are here too and not THAT secret.
During a break, he scans the stands for his partner. When he finds them, he lifts a brow, gives a small smirk, and nods like he’s saying: I’m doing this for you.
After a win, he walks up, hugs them, buries his face in their neck, and whispers:
“It suits you so well I don’t want you taking it off ever.”
(And later, of course, he’ll help take it off himself, but that’s at home, not in the stands.)
Instant jealousy mode ON!
If someone stares at his partner a little too long while they’re wearing his jersey, Aomine’s eyes narrow dangerously. Like....
“What’re you staring at? That’s my uniform. And my person.”
The jersey is something as a charm?
His partner starts wearing the jersey on other days too - at home, out for a walk, even to sleep. At first he teases:
“What, you a fan now?”
But inside he melts. Sometimes he’ll even pull it over their head himself, like he’s claiming a trophy. “Now it’s definitely mine.”
On tough days, he remembers how his partner showed up to support him, glowing in his colors. And it makes things easier, because he’s not alone anymore. He has his number one fan.
And yes, now he wears merch too. Not team merch. Something else. Like a hoodie he designed himself: a photo of his partner in his jersey printed on it. And underneath, the words:
only too (you) - aomine daiki
des. fluff-intimate. where aomine daiki falls again, twice this time: the second time was with basketball and the second time was with you. too!student!reader
notes. includes strong language! mni.
i am getting hooked with knb once again and it literally feels likes 2016 again, omg, i missed my boys so much. i rlly hope the fandom is still alive. anyway, aomine, my beloved you are always loved. and basketball will always love you back. ooc? aomine??? also this is just me jumping to new hyper fixation every time. enjoy!
w.c 2.5k
The ace of the generation of miracles is known for his tenacity and elite action in the world of basketball, girls and boys look forward to his plays and the games he’ll be at. Aomine Daiki is one hell of a player, everybody knows that—but few people actually know him: how his favorite food is teriyaki burger, how he visualize himself as a police officer, how he likes to catch small animals like cicadas, maybe Satsuki or Tetsuya would notice but for Aomine to openly say who he is, that takes a lot courage that shooting a formless shot in a championship game. Then, came, you.
Aomine never believed in love at first sight, hell, he doesn’t even believe in love at all—maybe he did once, with basketball or the dirty magazine sitting in his room, but never once did he think he would experience it. He is more of working for it or rather he’ll take what he can get. At one point in his life, he imagined his life with the models hanging in his room, oh, he would look hot next to them. How cool he would be if he met someone as cool as him but you were clumsy and a mess when you met him, to be honest, it was more of his fault rather than yours because during a practice at Too Academy, where your club is organizing an event where you were finishing a team flag then a bucket of paint spilled on the cloth courtesy of a very annoyed Aomine who just dunked and broken the ring.
“Hey! You did that on purpose!” You pointed out, as he glared at you, but as he met your eyes: the words died in his mouth, it seems like you have a kryptonite to the poor ego-maniac ace of Too Academy. He blinked for a minute, wondering who you were and why you were shouting at him. Typically, he would’ve snapped back because he is his own person, based on his ideals. But for a moment, he is back again, that Daiki who got scared of ghost at Teiko, he is that kid wiggling around the net when Midorima thrown it over him, he is that kid eating ice pops with his friends again, and in the filling tension, a soft whisper came out: “Sorry.”
And he simply left. You were furious but before you could butt in a word, he left. From that day on, Aomine Daiki left an impression on you, while he wonders why looking at you feels a bit like home? Was it your eyes? Your voice? Was it the light? Or is he mistaking you for someone else? But all answers lead to none, he simply just sees you and somehow his body decides to disarm themselves, as if you had a gift. Eventually, he realizes that you two are in the same class, he finds himself staring at you as you write notes. And when he skips practice and goes to the school rooftop, he often thinks of you and him practicing how your name sounds in his mouth.
“Aomine-kun.”
He thought of your hair, your bag, and how your voice was heard earlier.
“Aomine-kun!”
He wonders if he was being delusional, but for once, he finds himself looking forward to something, or rather someone. Somehow, this gnawing feeling rumbling in his chest and stomach makes him wonder about basketball, whether it's a bad thing or a good one, he finds it refreshing meeting someone like you.
“Aomine-kun!”
His eyes finally snapped back at the pink haired girl he knew for years.
“Satsuki, what are you doing here?” He blinked and adjusted with the afternoon sky’s light. “You’re skipping practice again.” She grumbles and eyeing him madly. “Satsuki, what’s the point? I am better alone anyway, I’ll keep scoring and all done, leave me alone.” Momoi looked at him helplessly, because despite her constant trial to reach Aomine, over and over again, she gets tired too. She sincerely hopes, one day, something or someone will be able to put Aomine back to his light, right back to his place, a place where he can’t be tense and just enjoy basketball.
Days have passed and somehow Aomine still hadn’t gathered the courage or rather his pride is blocking him from talking to you, but what are the odds—the moment the class ended, you went to him asking about the schedule of his game. He curses Kise in his mind wishing he listened to Satsuki’s data, he grumbled and answered your question.
“Two days from now. Why? Are you planning to be there?” He asked. You glanced at him and nodded sharing that the school paper had asked you to cover them and write an article. He scoffed, finding writing about his team is amusing and quite performative but then your eyes happily sparkled when you set the date on your phone, he didn’t know if it was the light that day or you just looked like that every single time.
He finally realizes he envies you. He envies you so badly because you still find yourself loving something. Longing for something. Getting excited for something, while he kept skipping practice wondering if basketball is still fun.
“Aomine? Are you still there?” He blinked in haze as you waved your hand in front of him, he clicked his tongue and looked at you. With your words, his breath sucked out of his lungs and realised how much care you have that it simply spilled in your words: “Good luck.” He didn’t even need a damn luck, he is the ACE of the generation of miracles for crying out loud, but against his better judgement he accepted the luck by simply nodding.
The Interhigh came quickly, Too Academy won second place while Yosen stood at third and Rakuzan at first. You somehow find the Too Academy amazing that despite their solitary play, they work as a team—then, Aomine’s former light in Seirin, you wanted to dig deeper about it but the moment Seirin lost, Aomine was nowhere to be found, So, here you are staring at the blank page of your paper, wondering where to start.
“That asshole.” You muttered as you glanced at the time. You recalled their game and wondered if Aomine enjoys playing because he is too mad in the play. You went to the rooftop to take a breather only to see a sleeping Aomine. You walked towards him and as if he felt your presence. “Satsuki, I told you, I am not practicing.”
“Why not?” The pitch of your voice is embedded in Aomine’s head so he opened his eyes and met yours. That eyes of yours that somehow has the ability to break the walls he desperately built for himself. “I am completely too good. You saw my game.”
“I personally think you suck.” That was a lie. Aomine sat up and was completely surprised because for one: they won, second: he basically scored the winning points, and third: he is the ace. He side-eyed you but before he could speak, you continued to say: “You suck because you didn’t have fun.”
“So? I won.”
“Yeah. But, did you have fun?”
That question left a hollow silence in Aomine’s heart because did he have fun? The last time he did was when he was playing with Tetsu, or the time Kise almost caught up with his score, but gods, it seems like a thousand years ago.
“See? You didn’t.” You sat next to him. “Was it boring? Too easy? Or is basketball not for you anymore?” The last one was the most painful so he glared at you. “Shut up.” From that day and on, Aomine thought it would be the last time he would be accompanied by you at the rooftop, but he was wrong as the time stretches into days and months, you find yourself next to the monster in basketball.
Three months before the Winter Cup, Aomine finds your presence his. It was as if he got used to you being there, he somehow reduced himself back to the first time meeting you. Maybe it was envy? Hate? Or Love? But with the time he had with you, he simply wants to keep you around. He wants you like he said sorry for the first time meeting you.
“You’re more annoying than Satsuki.”
“I’m glad I set a new standard.”
That let out a laugh in him, which it sounds foreign but yet, who is he not to laugh, for the person in front of him was able to disarm him with their eyes from the moment they met. He looked away for a bit and finally asked a question that would eventually pave a path to them being something more.
“How do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Whatever, the way you find joy in something. Isn’t it tiring if you’re too good at something? It becomes boring.” You glance at him and the streaks of afternoon light never look too good on anyone but here he is. Yet, he looked like he was talking to himself rather than you.
“It does.” It seems like your words surprised him, he looked at you hopelessly. As if he was trying to convey what this is all for. “But it also means you can keep growing. Something boring is something familiar, if you’re familiar with something, it simply means you’re not growing. But it’s different for people, I don’t know what you’re on about but I think it’s pretty normal to feel burnt out at something you used to love.” He glanced at the sky.
“It simply means you’re trying to fall in love with them again, it’s like falling over and over again.” You continued, he snickered a laugh at that.
“You make everything sound so simple…” You chuckled at that.
“I do? Because maybe they actually are. We just like to think they aren’t.” You replied.
That’s how Aomine finds himself getting pulled and pulled more. He looked forward to the afternoons with you, even if sometimes you two don’t talk, he finds your presence grounding him. The envy eventually died down as you kept on being the only thing he looked forward to, Momoi also said that he became a lot more calmer with you in his life, whether it’s a lie or not, he knows he is a lot calmer now.
One afternoon, he simply asked why you kept bothering him. You had told him because he lets you, somehow, it was a mutual understanding between you two.
“You surprise me, I fucking hate it.”
“How so?”
“You had this look of pity that I hate but somehow, I can’t look away. You’re a fucking viper.”
“Glad I scare the Ace.” He smiled at that and closely moved his hand closer to yours. Which you moved closer to him too.
“I’ll fucking win the Winter Cup.” You nodded as he simply finally held your hand and kissed the back of it. “Write about it, yeah?”
“I will.”
The Winter Cup came along; before the game, Too Academy had seen Aomine nowhere, in which Momoi asked you to find him, you find him sitting in a railway near the game location. He didn’t say anything when he spotted you, but he simply patted the space next to him and held your hand. “Should I go there now?” You nodded as you stood closer and he gave you space.
“You should, Momoi is pestering me.” He clicked his tongue. As he leaned in and lay his forehead on your shoulder and finally, he bare his greatest fear.
“I’m scared that if I keep doing this, I’ll lose basketball.” In silence, you simply moved to hug him and he hugged back too.
“Well, for what’s worth,,,I think you’ll be fine. You’re the Aomine Daiki.” He pulled away and nodded. “That I am.” He stares at your eyes and leaned to kiss your forehead as if his own way of thank you,
The game with Seirin ended with Too losing, you find yourself staring at Aomine, if he was okay—but somehow, despite his lost look he looks calmer and in the last moments of the game he was smiling, Momoi finds it amusing too. He glanced up at the bleachers and saw you, he lost but he looks calm, he fades into the background as once again you find him in the railings like an hour ago.
“There you are. You okay?”
“Hm. I lost.” He said as you sat next to him.
“Yes, but did you have fun?” He smiled at that and nodded as he took your hand; shared that he is more content with the result because now he has an equal, something to look forward to, something new. “It feels good…I’ll be buying new shoes with Satsuki tomorrow so I can train.” He finds you staring at him.
And then, a lips felt home landed on yours.
“Aomine?”
“That was my thank-you.”
“For what?”
“For being the most sympathetic person I know. You’re too kind, especially your eyes.” He tucked your hair and leaned again and this time his kiss was welcomed with the same warmth he intends to. After a minute, he smiled—smugly he said you know everything about him that it is scary because for a shortspan, he laid bare his emotion and heart to the person he met when he messed up the paint, that somehow despite him not believing shit tons about love, here he is experiencing it: falling twice—for basketball because of Tetsu and Kagami; and then you, the person he will be willing to share his teriyaki burger, who will help him catch tiny animals, and who will know the police dream job of his. And then came you, a soft storm that somehow took him by surprise.
Not that he is complaining. Actually, he didn’t mind because bearing it to you didn’t feel like a chore, it felt like coming home, So, as he pulled away, he knew that his home will always be you. That despite him hating himself, there’s you.
“The only one who can see me, truthfully….” He kissed your forehead.
“Is you, Only you.” You chuckled and somehow, you realize the title of the article you’re about to write a wordplay of you and Too.
i really hope this will reach people who misses knb just like me. i apologize if he may seem ooc but yay, i miss his dramatic ass.
You knew the outfit was a mistake the second you stepped inside. A low cut tank top and shorts, gold necklace dangling against your collarbone, the inferno that was going on lately was just too much.
Your eyes immediately found Kagami already seated on the couch in Aomine’s bedroom, arms crossed, red shirt loose on his frame, and his legs spread like he didn’t know what to do with himself. He glanced up when you entered—and then did a double take, clearly not expecting you to show up looking like that.
You stared back with the exact same silent energy.
The bedroom was dimly lit, a soft blue from the LED strip running above Aomine’s desk, and the TV was already playing. Some god-awful thriller flickered across the screen—overacted, over-scored, under-budgeted.
Aomine was lounging beside Kagami, legs kicked up on the low table. His eyes flicked to you with a cocky grin. “Took you long enough.”
You rolled your eyes and shut the door behind you, dropping your bag by the corner before sitting down on the couch. You left space between yourself and both of them, but somehow Aomine still managed to lean just a little too close. You could feel his arm behind your back, his leg casually brushing yours and your lips curled slightly with irritation. After about fifteen minutes of silent sitting from just watching the film, you exhaled—bored.
“Okay,” you muttered. “This is terrible. Do either of you have actual taste?”
Kagami cleared his throat. “I brought a game.”
Aomine snorted. “Let me guess. Uno?”
Kagami ignored him and pulled out a card deck from his bag—black and red with golden lettering across the box. “Twenty Questions or something. It’s like Truth or Dare, gets people talking.”
Aomine raised a brow. “Gets people fighting, more like.”
You leaned forward and took the deck from Kagami’s hand. “Honestly? I’m desperate enough to give it a shot.”
Aomine shrugged. “Fine by me.”
None of you noticed Aomine slip a couple of other cards into the deck while you were shuffling the half in your hand.
Five rounds in, the game was mostly harmless. It wasn’t until Kagami pulled a card and paused that the air shifted. He stared at it, blinked then frowned hard.
You hovered over. “What does it say?”
Kagami glanced at you, red creeping up his neck and Aomine smirked.
“Kiss the person to your left,” he muttered, voice tight.
You stared.
You were to his left.
You closed your eyes, and then slowly brought your palm to your forehead, sighing. “You have got to be—”
“I’ll do it,” Kagami blurted and you froze, unsure.
“…If you want to?” Kagami added and looked like his head might explode, but his eyes were locked on yours, steady and serious now, like he’d made up his mind and there was no backing out.
You straightened slowly, studying him. His eyes flickered to your lips once—then back to your eyes.
And then he leaned forward and kissed you. It was chaste, barely any pressure at all and his lips were warm and gentle, like he was hesitant. Unsure on what was okay, what was fine to cross the line. Despite this, his kiss lingered and your initial thoughts on the two began fading, your eyelids closing without your permission.
The moment broke with a loud, theatrical scoff.
“That’s it?” Aomine said, grinning like the devil.
Kagami pulled back, flushing deeply. “Shut up.”
“Nah,” Aomine said, already hovering over the table toward you. “Lemme show you how it’s really done.”
You blinked, still flustered from the kiss. “What—”
Before you could finish, Aomine’s hand found your wrist, fingers light but firm, pulling you toward him. He looked at you—really looked—his eyes trailing from your eyes to your nose to your mouth like he was mapping out his path before taking it.
“You cool with this?” he asked, voice low. You hesitated but your hormones didn't, tingling with anticipation.
“…Yeah.” And then he kissed you. Aomine kissed like he meant it. With an open mouth and slow drag of his lips, his tongue brushed yours, and your breath caught before your palms pressed flat against his chest, to push him away or keep him close, you didn’t know. You melted into it for a second too long.
When you broke apart, breathless, the room felt smaller.
Kagami scoffed. “That was sloppy.”
“Oh?” Aomine leaned back with a lazy smile. “Jealous?”
“You wish.”
Aomine chuckled, licking his bottom lip where your gloss had smudged. “Want me to teach you, Kagami?” You were oddly quiet. Your breath caught in your throat and you flicked between the two of them.
You didn’t feel like you had the upper hand anymore, that’s for sure. Clearing your throat once, then twice, you reach over, murmuring, “my turn,” and for the first time—your voice actually cracked. You snatched a card from the pile, not looking at either of them as you flipped over. The silence was broken only by the soft hum of the TV still running behind you. Your eyes scanned the text and you blinked.
“Sit on the tallest person in the room for a minute.” You read slowly and you felt your jaw clench. Gaze narrowed, your head spun to glare at Kagami who was already turning red, rubbing at the back of his neck.
“Where the hell did you get these cards?”
“Uh...my captain. I didn't know they had that type of stuff.”
“Sure you didn't,” you said, card still in hand. You heard Aomine laugh at you outright, head tipping back. “C’mon princess, gotta play fair."
You sighed heavily, looking between them. It was obvious who was taller. You slumped a little and you muttered under your breath. Then, with the grace of a reluctant queen, you crawled across the plush floor of Aomine’s bedroom and planted yourself onto his lap.
Facing Kagami.
The second your thighs straddled Aomine’s, his hands instinctively found your waist. Not greedy—just firm. His thumbs brushed over your sides, and you felt your breath stutter, even as you kept your face blank. Kagami, seated directly across from you, was visibly fighting for composure. His hand twitched against the carpet.
Aomine smirked behind you. “Comfortable?” You didn’t dignify it with an answer.
Kagami grabbed a card before the minute could even begin, his movements brisk and irritated. “My turn.” Even though it wasn’t. He flipped it, eyebrows drawing together in a dark scowl as he read it. Then froze.
“What’s it say?” Aomine asked lazily, clearly enjoying himself. Kagami hesitated. Then muttered lowly, “Give the person with the longest hair a… hickey.”
Your brows arched. “You’re joking.” You glanced at Kagami. His face had gone full crimson, ears pink to the tips. Your hair fell just past your collarbone, loose from the heat of the room and the tension. The neckline of your top dipped, leaving a perfect canvas along the curve of your neck.
Aomine was already chuckling. “Come on, man. You’re redder than a damn tomato.”
Kagami glared. “Shut up.”
You sighed and slid off of Aomine’s lap, crawling across the short distance between them, then shifting so you were seated just in front of Kagami.
You pulled your hair back with one hand and tilted your chin up slightly, exposing the side of your neck to him.
“Go ahead, Kagami or are you chicken again?” Aomine drawled.
“Enough Aomine,” you said, voice like cut glass. You turned your eyes back to Kagami.
“I’m letting you,” you added, quiet but firm. He leaned forward slowly, hesitating once just before his lips brushed the slope of your neck. You could feel the heat of his breath before anything else. Then, he kissed and again, lower. And finally—he pressed a firmer kiss, letting his lips linger. His teeth grazed, gently, before he bit down just enough to make your pulse jump. You sucked in a breath.
A small sound escaped you, barely a hum but it was enough to make the other man click his tongue.
“I’m getting fomo,” he muttered, shifting from behind.
You had just started pulling away from Kagami when Aomine’s hand found your chin, turning your face toward him—and suddenly his mouth was on yours again, kissing you like the moment owed him something. This kiss was deeper than the last, more desperate. Your breath caught, but your mouth responded before your brain could stop it.
You didn’t know how this game escalated this quick, all you know is you suddenly found yourself on your knees, the carpet rough under your legs as you looked up at them—Aomine towering with that lazy smirk, and Kagami awkwardly avoiding your eyes, his cheeks flushed deep crimson.
The redhead pretending to study the wall turned his head and Aomine—well being him wasn’t so subtle, gaze dipping to your bare chest before locking eyes with you, a flash of smug satisfaction crossing his features. You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms, unimpressed. “Can I stand now?”
Aomine nudged Kagami with his elbow. He responded by sighing irritably, looking at the clock. “Nope, you still got time,” he muttered.
You exhaled through your nose, head dropping as your fingers drummed endlessly on your thighs. Aomine tilted his head slightly, amusement dancing in his expression.
“You don’t look bad like this,” he said, voice rich with teasing, “Actually kind of cute—suits you.” He proceeded to then nudge Kagami again.
Kagami frowned. "What are you-"
But then he glanced down at you, and something shifted in his face. Slowly, a grin started to pull at his lips, like he hated to admit it. "He's right. As much as I hate agreeing with this guy."
You scowled and smacked Kagami's hand away when he reached to pat your head. "Fuck off," you snapped, looking to the side to hide the way your heartbeat stuttered. That touch had done more than you wanted to admit.
"Babe," Aomine murmured with a laugh, "your thighs are tensing."
You didn't answer, but started to rise—only to be stopped by a hand on your shoulder, gently but firmly pushing you back down. Aomine wasn't smiling anymore. His expression had darkened with something heavier.
You shot him a glare, then turned that same heat on Kagami—until you finally noticed the tension in both of them. Your eyes dropped, and your lips curved upward into a sly, slow grin.
"Oh? You two are really this easy?" you asked, voice sugary and mocking. "All it takes is a pair of tits and you're this hard?”
Kagami flushed deeper but didn't hide himself.
Aomine shrugged with a crooked smirk.
"Can't blame us," he said. "But the real question is... what are you gonna do about it?"
You leaned back slightly, gaze flicking between them. The clock ticked past your time limit but you didn't move. A spark lit in your eyes, something wild and wicked tempting you from the inside.
"Nothing," you said smoothly—but your tone suggested otherwise.
You crawled forward just slightly, palm trailing up the inside of Aomine's thigh, eyes locked with his. His breath hitched, and you felt the shift in the air as Kagami took a half-step closer, caught in the gravity of your pull, straight into your face.
"I'm just horny, don’t think much of it.” you grunt under your breath like it was a warning-to them, or to yourself, like you weren’t sure. In no matter of seconds—Kagami was bare, flushed, his cock twitching right near your face, eyes wide with disbelief at just how far this had gone, and how you let it.
"You're actually—fuck," Kagami muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, like the sight of you between them had short-circuited him.
"Don't get shy now," you smirked, hand wrapping around the base of his dick without warning. He hissed out a breath through his teeth, his head dropping as your grip tightened just enough to make him twitch again.
Beside you, Aomine's hips rolled forward lazily, letting you feel the weight of him pressed against your palm. "Keep teasing like that," he muttered into the air, voice low and dripping,
"and I'll make sure you're the one begging."
You laughed-genuine, amused, wild. "Who said I wasn’t already?” Then you spat into your palm, dragged it over Kagami's length without breaking eye contact. The sound he let out wasn't even human. His hips jerked forward once, just once, and you rewarded it with a little twist of your wrist. You heard a small tsk from Aomine and you smiled, pulling his sweatpants down.
"Easy," you teased. "I've got two hands for a reason." You reached and found Aomine's cock next, hot and heavy and already leaking. He groaned when you gripped him, his breath hitching as he buried his face in his shoulder, trying to keep composure.
"Fuck," he muttered, "Imagine what your mouth's gonna do."
You didn't give him the satisfaction of an answer—you just leaned away and licked a slow stripe up Kagami's shaft. He cursed, both hands flying to your shoulders, like if he didn't anchor himself, he might lose it right there.
You took him into your mouth-slow, deliberate, letting him feel every inch of heat and spit and tongue. His head fell back with a broken moan, muscles shaking with restraint.
“Look at you go,” Aomine teased, bucking his hips into your palm. You didn't answer—mouth too full. But you lifted your hand and gave him a slow stroke anyway, twisting your wrist just right, feeling him twitch against your palm.
"Get up,” Aomine muttered, voice rough. You were flipped on the bed before you could blink—Kagami's hands guiding you to your hands and knees, his fingers lingering like he didn't want to let go. Aomine was behind you in a flash, kneeling between your thighs like he'd waited all damn day for it. In front of you, Kagami was kneeling as well, shirtless, chest rising and falling like he was holding back. His eyes were locked on yours, jaw clenched. You could tell he hated seeing you on someone else’s bed, especially his bed.
“So where is this going now?” Kagami asked, voice flat, but laced with heat, eyes drifting from your eyes to your chest.
Behind you, Aomine leaned down, his voice brushing your ear. “I think she’s smart enough to figure it out.”The air between the three of you was thick. No one said what they really wanted to say directly. You were caught between two storms—Kagami’s burning stare and Aomine’s lazy possessiveness. And you didn’t want to back down from either.
“You two are exhausting, stop talking as if I’m dumb,” you muttered, eyes flicking between them. Aomine chuckled low behind you. “Then why’re you still here?”
“Because I’m curious,” You shifted slightly, legs tingling from their bent position, which only pushed you further against Aomine's cock. He let out a sharp whistle. You bit your lip and sighed, already regretting how badly you wanted this, but the heat between your legs was louder than your pride.
"Sure you are,” Aomine grinned into your neck. "Don’t kid sweetheart, turns you on being between us like this doesn’t it?”
Kagami said something under his breath, then leaned in, the line of sight between your eyes and his cock undeniable. "Ignore him," he muttered. "Just...continue sucking me."
“Okay, Kagami.”
You kissed slowly along his V-line, your hand wrapping around him—thick, warm, heavy and still wet from your spit. His breath caught and Aomine hummed behind you, lazily grinding his length between your thighs, smearing your slick along himself without going in. "Atta girl," Aomine murmured. "Give us a performance."
Kagami looked down at you, embarrassed, but too hard to stop you. His cheeks burned as your fingers stroked him, slow and reverent. You tapping his tip on your tongue, watching the way his body shuddered. Aomine leaned over you, one hand still gripping your hip as he glanced down at the lace panties crumpled on the floor. "Lace?" he scoffed. "You did know what you were doing."
You moaned around Kagami's cock, the sound muffled, needy. You hollowed your cheeks and watched him try to stay composed—and fail. Drool slid down your chin as you pulled off with a wet pop, then licked your lips and smiled. "I can't wait anymore," you said breathlessly.
"Kagami, you go first."
Aomine scoffed. "Why don't / get to go first?"
"Because you talk too much," you muttered, then added, "And I doubt either of you wants your dicks touching inside me, right?" You lay back against Aomine's thighs, your legs spreading shamelessly. Your body glistened, already soaked. He knew—knew down to the gut—that this view of you would’ve been perfect if not for the way tanned hands were roaming across your breasts like they belonged there, and Aomine’s mouth slotted against yours shamelessly.
"Well? Fuck her before I do," Aomine said smugly, pulling away with gloss and spit smeared over him.
Kagami grunted, grabbed your legs, and pushed them apart to kneel between them. He dragged himself along your slit, spreading the mess, and you exhaled, breathless.
"Get it over with already," you tried to say, but the words broke apart little by little when he pressed into you, slow and thick. The stretch forced your mouth open and your hand gripped Aomine’s thigh as you groaned. Your body twisted—Kagami fucking you deep and slow. The heat—of him and the sun—was overwhelming. The sounds of skin meeting skin, your gasps, their ragged breaths filling the room. Aomine watched you fall apart, his face unreadable except for the tension in his jaw.
"Shit," he said quietly. He wasn’t going to let his rival beat him this time. Once was excusable—barely. But twice? Never. The moment your quiet gasps turned into breathless moans for a second too long, he dragged his palm across your collarbone, chest, stomach—reaching to press low, tantalising touches onto your clit. "She's not loud enough, Kagami."
"Shut up," Kagami snapped, but his hips sped up.
You moaned out, voice boosted a little louder. "Right there, Kaga..."
Aomine rolled his thumb over your clit, smirking as your thighs twitched. "C'mon, Kagami. I’ve heard her sing louder at practice than this." Your brows furrowed, lip tucked between your teeth as you tried to block them out—focused on your pleasure.
Kagami gritted his teeth, looking down on you “ Don't worry about him, just focus on me."
But his focus cracked the second you gasped, trembling under Aomine's touch as his fingers increasingly moved over you.
"Don't rub too fast Aomine," you panted. "I'm gonna-"
"Did you hear that?" Aomine teased. "She called my name, not yours.”
"Yeah, and who's actually inside her?" Kagami snapped, adjusting his angle to go deeper. Aomine smirked, that cocky, unbothered kind—the kind that said he’d already won. Then, he dipped his head and bit lightly at the curve of your neck, fingers slowling slightly.
“You know…” he muttered, just loud enough for Kagami to hear, “if I was the one doing the job, she would’ve been satisfied by now.”
Kagami’s jaw clenched. His eyes shut for a second, breath heavy and ragged through his nose before— he let go of your thigh and swung.
You gasped but the punch never landed. Aomine leaned back, easily dodging it, lips still curved like he was enjoying every second of this. The problem came when the motion shoved you forward slightly—folded in half between them and your moan breaking in half—Kagami’s cock slipping out from inside you.
"Thanks a lot, you fucking hotheads," you said weakly, approaching orgasm gone.
Kagami glared. "Let's switch if you're so confident."
“Of course.” Aomine flipped you easily, laying you on your stomach with your ass arched up. He rubbed himself through your slick again, lining up. You glanced back and blinked—he was thick.
Stupidly thick, how you didn’t really notice while jerking him off was beyond you.
"Bigger, right?" he said, cocky. You rolled your eyes, about to answer—but Kagami grabbed your chin and forced your mouth open.
"Fuck you look so good for me,” Kagami whispered, brushing your lips with his thumb.
"For us," Aomine corrected, smirking at the two pairs of eyes that rolled back so far into their heads at him, it was almost synchronized. Kagami chose to kiss you, tongue deep, possessive, fighting to kick him out. You whimpered against his mouth, bits of pride unraveling with every second.
“Sorry, can’t wait any longer.” Then, without warning, Aomine pulled your hips back and slid in—hot, deep, slow. Your moan was muffled in Kagami's mouth. Kagami sat up in front of you again, stroking himself slowly, watching your face twist with every thrust Aomine delivered.
"Open up,” Kagami said, voice dark, needy.
You didn't hesitate.
Your mouth parted, tongue out, spit already dripping from your lips and Kagami easily slid back in, groaning as you wrapped your lips around him like you'd been starving for it. Your moans were muffled, guttural. Each time Aomine thrust in, it made your lips sink further down Kagami's cock. You were forced to gag and drool further—but you kept going, eyes rolling when Kagami grabbed your hair, using it to guide your rhythm.
"Filthy girl," Aomine murmured behind you. "Taking dick in both ends after all the denying you’d never be with one of us."
Kagami chuckled breathlessly, sweat glistening at his temples. "You hear how wet she is? Shit— she loves this."
Aomine reached around, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing with slow, devastating circles that made your legs tremble. Kagami stared down at you, his cock twitching in your throat, your lips wrapped tight, your jaw aching—and still you kept moaning. Then Aomine leaned over, breath against your ear. "Say it," he growled. "Tell us you fucking love it."
You pulled off Kagami's cock with a wet gasp, panting, spit stringing from your lip to his tip.
"Nah, you guys love it.” you rasped. Both of their heads tilted slightly, lips twitching into smirks. Still standing on business, still in ‘control’, even though they’d reduced you to this. Kagami wiped your lip with his thumb gently, then shoved himself right back into your mouth. "Not done."
Aomine groaned, picking up the pace, thrusts hitting harder, deeper. "Choke on him—fuck.” You reached back blindly, fingers digging into Aomine's thigh as you choked on Kagami again. Your legs were shaking. Every part of you was shaking. And you knew you were close—so damn close. "I—fuck—I'm gonna-" you tried to say, voice strangled and muffled between moans and movement and their dicks.
Their eyes trailed across you slowly.
Kagami's jaw clenched as he watched the bounce of your ass with every roll of Aomine's hips, the slap of skin echoing off the walls.
Aomine, in contrast, was lazily enthralled by your mouth, watching your lips stretched around Kagami's length, cheeks hollowed, head bobbing, your throat working like it was made to take him.
You were a mess, and they were feeding off it—off each other.
Most men would be tense in this kind of scene. Competitive. Jealous. But Aomine just smirked, eyes dragging over Kagami's chest, his arms flexing where they braced above your head, his face twisted in restraint.
"Can't believe how quick you folded," Aomine said, voice rough and low, watching you without shame. "Not even half an hour ago you were mouthing off like we couldn't handle you."
You pulled off Kagami's cock, till his tip pressed on your swollen lips, drool slipping down your chin. "Still can't," you rasped. "I'm doing most of the work."
Kagami groaned, biting back a laugh. "You're unbelievable."
Aomine leaned forward slightly, his hand still gripping your waist. He wasn't looking at you now—his gaze was on Kagami. "That outfit was screaming fuck me. She knew what she was doing."
Kagami narrowed his eyes, bracing harder against the mattress. "What the hell are you staring at?"
Aomine smirked. "The veins in your neck," he murmured. "The way you're about to lose it." He was closer now, breath brushing Kagami's jaw, their tension spiking in the air.
You pulled back from Kagami completely, coughing softly, eyes flicking between them. "Oh, for fuck's sake," you muttered. "Just kiss already."
Kagami glared down at you. "Use your mouth properly."
But Aomine's hand didn't move from Kagami's shoulder. And before either of you could say another word, his fingers threaded between his hair on the nape of his neck.
“Shit—you gonna kiss me?” Kagami joked lightly, but his lips parted as if he anticipated it and Aomine tugged him forward, with a soft nod.
The kiss was soft. Kagami's eyes widened, breath stolen right from his chest. But he didn't pull away. He leaned in, and the tension snapped like a rubber band—sharp and hot. Their mouths moved, tongues brushing like they'd been thinking about it far too long.
You blinked, stunned.
“That was…” You trailed as they broke apart just slightly, still close enough to breathe each other in, eyes locked in something hotter than rivalry now. Then Aomine looked down at you, lips wet and curved.
"You gonna keep watching, or get back to work?" he said lazily. And just like that, Kagami shoved back into your mouth without another word, groaning like he needed it more than air. Aomine's hands were already roaming again, fingers between your legs, pressing against your slick heat like he was claiming the rest of you.
They didn’t need to say much.
That kiss said everything.
It knocked down the last of the tension between them—and you. Aomine finally pulled out with a low growl, his cock slapping against your ass, soaked with your slick. He gripped himself tight, pumping hard, watching you get used like a toy by Kagami.
"Fuck—look at you,” Aomine groaned deep in his chest, hips jerking forward uselessly before he gripped your ass with one hand and came in thick, hot ropes across your back, thighs, and that perfect ass of yours. You moaned around Kagami's cock at the sensation, the mess, the filth of it all.
"Shit—shit—“Kagami groaned, pulling back just in time to spill across your lips, your tongue, your chin. His thighs shook. "Take it—just like that, fuck-" You did. You sat there, panting, covered—mouth open, jaw slack, cum smeared across your skin like a trophy.
The room fell into a heavy silence, just breathing. The hum of the AC. The creak of the bed under shifting weight of three people. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, slow, dramatic, and looked up at the two of them with a raised brow.
"That's it?" you said, voice raspy, mocking. "All that and I still didn't get an orgasm?"
The boys exchanged a glance, smug and dangerous.
Aomine leaned in. "You don't like us, remember?"
"Finish yourself off," Kagami added with a smirk.
You opened your mouth to protest—but Aomine was already between your legs, tongue flicking expertly, and Kagami's fingers curled inside you, drawing gasps from your throat.
Your orgasm hit like a wave, your body trembling as you slumped deeper into the bed.
You missed the moment Kagami stuck his fingers into Aomine's mouth, sucking lazily before they both leaned back, smooshing you between their sweaty bodies.
"You satisfied?" Kagami asked, voice husky.
You smirked through the afterglow. "I don't know. I still don't like you guys that much.”
Aomine grinned, “Then maybe…we just need to try harder.” Hands on your waist, on your neck, in your hair. Warm mouths pressing slow, hungry kisses to your skin—your cheek, your collarbone, the corner of your lips. The real adventure was about to begin.
authors note: Y/n = your name// not proof read// GIF not mine // Have fun <3 // Guys, it turned out so cute. Like, low-key, I love it. I think his character comes across well. What do you think? I'd love to hear your feedback.
pairing: Aomine Daiki x fem!reader
summary: When two idiots like each other, there is wild flirting, bets are made and things get chaotic. Luckily, a surprising realisation dawns on them during a day at the beach together: pictures only reflect reality!
genre: romance, beach, KnB Universe
word count: 4.8k
If there was one thing that could always be found in Daiki Aomine’s room, it was chaos. Basketballs. Sneakers. Empty snack bags. During the week, everything was simply scattered all over the room. It was like a war zone, much to his mother's dismay.
If you let your gaze wander around the room, a few things would immediately catch your eye: the azure blue bed linen, the basketball hoop above the bed AND the many posters of attractive, scantily clad girls from Idol magazines. Lots of them. Lots and lots of them.
Not normal magazines. No. The kind filled with very pretty girls with shiny hair, perfect smiles, and poses that made you roll your eyes so hard it physically hurt. Especially the fact that most of them wore nothing more than a bra or bikini. He was such a lecher.
It bothered you. It really bothered you. Especially because you yourself would never look like those models. You were a pretty girl. But without magazine retouchers, perfect lighting and high-end make-up. Sometimes you wondered if he only liked women like that... if so, that would be the end of you.
You may or may not have been completely smitten with him. Unfortunately. He was a total hot mess: bad grades, super intelligent, tall and handsome, bored and super sexy. Since you didn't look like those girls, you would probably have to forget about your crush. You didn't stand a chance against them.
___ _ _ _
You stood in his doorway, arms crossed, watching him flip through one like it was the most important book ever written.
“Wow,” you deadpanned,“Fascinating literature.”
Aomine didn’t even look up,“Mm.”
Wakamatsu had once again ordered extra lessons. This happened from time to time when Akashi was once again in danger of failing the school year. Sometimes you cursed Wakamatsu... after all, he had brought you into this basketball universe full of beautiful men. Without him, you would now be single, happy and definitely with more time on your hands. Currently, you thought about Daiki every minute... even though it was pointless. He was hopeless. And yet you loved every minute of it.
The little moments in the classroom, or when you came by to take photos for the school newspaper. When you saw him, your heart beat faster. And when Wakamatsu asked you to tutor Daiki, you couldn't say no.
You walked over and leaned down, peering at the page,“Page 42, huh? Ah yes. The classic "Girl leaning against a sports car for absolutely no reason other to appeal to dudes" pose.”
Still nothing. He flipped the page like he didnt hear what you just said. You snatched the magazine out of his hands. Now he looked up,“Oi.”
You held it above your head,“Aomine, I’m serious. Don’t you ever get bored?”
“With what?”
“This!” You shook the magazine,“You’ve seen like a thousand girls posing the exact same way...Looking the exact way.”
“They’re not the same,” he said lazily.
“Oh?,” you questioned him. He pointed,“This one’s wearing blue and has blonde hair, totally different.”
You stared at him,"God...you’re unbelievable.”
He stretched his arms behind his head, completely unbothered,“You’re the one who came over just to complain.”
You leaned closer, eyes narrowing,“Ugh, I came over so we could study...so you can actually pass school....But fine.”
Aomine blinked. You smiled sweetly,“Then I have a proposal.”
“…That sounds suspicious.”
“You like looking at pretty girls, right?,” a sly plan formed in your head.
“Yeah,” he replied, already turning to his magazine again.
“So it’s only fair that I get to look at handsome guys also.”
His eyebrow twitched. You continued innocently,“But I don’t see any around.......There is just...you...”
Silence. Aomine slowly sat up,“…What’s that supposed to mean?”
You shrugged,“I mean, if you’re gonna sit around reading about attractive people all day, shouldn’t you try becoming one too?”
His eye twitched again,“Oh?”
“Yeah.” You tapped his shoulder, “Work out more. Train harder. Get abs or something. So I can look at something pretty too.”
“I already play basketball,” he exclaimed.
“You also nap during practice,” you beat his stupid argument.
“That’s called conserving energy.”
“Sure it is,” you chuckled. You leaned close to his face,“Think about it. You look at pretty girls.”
You poked his chest,“I look at a handsome guy.”
“Fair trade.”
Aomine stared at you. Then he smirked,“You wanna look at me that bad Y/n?”
You leaned back instantly,“In your dreams, Aomine. Youre a loser. We both know it.”
He laughed,“Oh, you definitely wanna look.”
“You wish,” you tried to safe yourself.
“You literally just said it.”
“I said handsome guys,” somehow you didnt have any more arguments.
“Ouch,”he expressed his opinion. You could be a beast, a new side of you. He liked it.
You grinned,“Guess you’ll have to try harder.”
___ _ _ _
From that day onward, something very strange happened. Aomine started training more. Like… a lot more. Push-ups. Running laps around his house. Suddenly doing extra basketball drills. He even went to the schools gym to lift weights.
Kagami stared at him one day in the gym,“…Are you dying?”
“No.”
“Then why are you doing sit-ups at 6 a.m.?,” Kagami was totally confused. This was abnormal behaviour.
Aomine grunted,“Shut up Bakami.”
Meanwhile, you watched all of this with a suspicious squint. You were on your way to art class. It was beneficial that the fitness room, also known as the gym, had a large glass front. Your girlfriend Ellie was also thrilled about this fact, especially that the boys visited each other to play sports. Since the Too Academy was well equipped, they were often here.
___ _ _ _
You found him one afternoon doing pull-ups,“…Wow.”
He dropped down and wiped sweat from his neck,“You impressed?”
You walked around him like a scientist examining a specimen,“Hmm.”
“What?,” he said indignantly.
“Well, you might almost qualify as a handsome guy now,” you finally admitted.
“Almost?,” now it started to provoke him. You playfully warned him,“Don’t get cocky”
He leaned closer,“You’ve been watching though. So it's worth seeing.”
Your face warmed,“I have not.”
“You literally came to the gym three times this week.”
“I like the air,” you tried to joke.
“There’s no windows stupid.” Why did he always have to be so intelligent and quick-witted?
“…Shut up,” you demanded. He laughed loudly. You shoved him.He shoved you back. It was always like that between you. Neither of you noticed that both your hearts were beating way too fast.
___ _ _ _
A few weeks later…Everyone went to the beach. As always, the "brilliant" team-building ideas came from Kuroko and Satsuki. Packed to the brim and squeezed together, you guys travelled by city bus. Man, Kuroko, you couldn't go to karaoke. Seeing Daiki without his shirt would have been bad enough before. But now... after countless workouts... you'd probably sink into the sand out of embarrassment. What if he saw you staring at him?
Sun. Waves. Chaos. The motto of this afternoon. The quiet fizzing of the soda cans blended perfectly with the sound of the waves and the noises on the beach.
Kagami and Aomine were already in the water arguing about volleyball rules. It's incredible that the boys can play something other than basketball. Even though Satsuki said they wouldn't last longer than five minutes.
“You’re cheating!” // “That’s not cheating!” // “You spiked it at my face!” // “That’s strategy!” Some of the snippets of conversation that reached you girls on the beach. You sat on a towel watching the disaster. The beautiful disaster:
Aomine jumped up and spiked the ball. Water sprayed everywhere. His hair was wet. His shoulders glistened in the sun.
You looked away immediately,“…Stupid handsome idiot.”
You had to distract yourself, otherwise it would happen again. How embarrassing. Your eyes followed the towel next to yours: dark blue. It was Daiki's. Lime elderflower soda, sunscreen and clothes scattered carelessly next to his sneakers. Then something caught your eye:
His bag. It was half-open. And inside…Magazines.
Of course. You groaned,“Seriously, Aomine?” He would probably never change that side of him. Horny lizard.
Then curiosity got the better of you. You opened one. Flip. Flip. Flip. Models. More models. More poses.
You sighed,“God Daiki, youre so predictable.”
Then something slipped from between the pages. A tiny little photo. A polaroid. You picked it up. And froze.
It was you. A candid picture. The one you took together at the school's last summer party. You were sitting on the school steps laughing at something Momoi had said behind the camera. Sunlight on your hair. Eyes closed mid-laugh.
Your heart stopped,“…What?”
You flipped the magazine again. Another one: You holding a drink, you reading under a tree, you tying your shoelace in the gym.
Your brain short-circuited,“AOMINE?!”
A huge splash. He turned,“What?!”
You stormed toward the water holding the photo. His eyes widened instantly,“…Oh.”
“Oh?!”
Kagami slowly backed away,“Uh… I’m gonna go drown over there.”
You waved the photo,“EXPLAIN.”
Aomine rubbed the back of his neck,“…It’s not what it looks like.”
“You have secret photos of me hidden in your magazine stash.”
“Okay it is exactly what it looks like,” he admitted. You stared,“…You creep.”
“You were never supposed to find those!”
“YOU PUT THEM IN ONE OF THEM FILTHY MAN MAGAZINES I CONSTANTLY COMPLAIN ABOUT!”
He groaned,“I panicked!”
“About what?!,” you asked seriously in tone. He muttered,“…You.”
You blinked,“…What?”
He scratched his cheek,“…You kept teasing me about pretty girls.”
“Yes...and?",You were curious to hear the excuse he would come up with now. It had to be something good if he wanted to wriggle out of it.
“And I didn’t want you to know…”
“…know what?,” you pushed him further. He sighed,“That the only one I actually enjoy looking at is you.”
Your brain completely shut down. Silence. What...what did he say just now????
Waves. Kagami choking somewhere in the distance.
Your face turned bright red,“…You idiot.”
“Yeah.”
“You absolute idiot.”
“Probably.”
You poked his chest,“You...you actually trained like crazy because I told you to become more attractive.”
“…Yeah.”
“Did you think I wanted to look at other guys?”
“…Yeah,” he admitted quietly. You stared at him. Then you burst out laughing. Hard. Aomine blinked,“What’s funny?”
You wiped tears from your eyes,“Aomine.”
“What,”now he seemed a little mad.
“I never wanted to look at other guys...I just hated the way you admired these beautiful girls...I can't keep up with that,” you voice shy and soft now.
He froze,“…Oh.”
You smiled,“You were already the one I was looking at.”
Silence. Then Aomine grinned slowly,“…So all that flirting…”
“Yep.”
“…You liked me the whole time?,” he asked smirking.
“Yep.”
“…And I suffered through 500 push-ups for nothing?”
You looked him up and down dramatically,“Well…” You leaned closer,“…they worked.”
His ears turned red,“…Shut up. And...you look like these models. For me you are just as beautiful as them. Even better.”
You laughed. Then he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into the water. You shrieked,“AOMINE—!”
SPLASH. When you surfaced, he was laughing like a villain,“You deserved that!”
“For what?!”
“For calling me almost handsome!”
You splashed him,“You are almost handsome!”
“Oh yeah?!,”He grabbed you again. You both nearly drowned laughing. And somewhere on the beach…A magazine layed open.
SYNOPSIS: Everyone at Touou wants to know why Aomine listens to you. They don't know he's been keeping the same promise since he was nine years old.
WORD COUNT: 14.2k
The late winter light slanted through the tall windows of Touou Academy’s main building like blades of cold steel, catching on the polished floors and turning them into mirrors. You adjusted the strap of your bag, the unfamiliar weight of your new uniform still stiff against your skin. Transferring midway through the year wasn’t ideal. Especially with the new faces, new rhythms, the quiet judgment of students who already had their cliques locked tight, but you’d faced worse.
A soft voice called your name from down the hall.
“You must be the new transfer! I’m Momoi Satsuki. Nice to meet you!”
She was a burst of pink hair and brighter energy, clipboard in hand, smile wide enough to disarm a warzone. Before you could even bow properly, she’d looped her arm through yours and was steering you toward the athletics wing with the confidence of someone who’d done this a hundred times.
“I already talked to the teachers. You’re officially our new assistant manager! The basketball team needs all the help it can get, trust me. Especially with certain people.”
You laughed lightly. “I used to help out with the team at my old school. I’m not bad with schedules or stats. Should be fine, right?”
Momoi’s smile twitched even if it was just a fraction. “Mmm. Let’s get you settled first.”
The gymnasium smelled like polished wood, sweat, and faint rubber from bouncing balls. The rhythmic thump-thump-thump of dribbles echoed off the high rafters like a heartbeat. A few players were already on the court, moving with a sharpness that spoke of serious talent. But the moment Momoi led you inside, every head turned.
A tall, blonde-haired boy with an easy grin jogged over first. “New manager? I’m Wakamatsu. Welcome to the chaos.”
Others followed with polite nods, curious glances. You introduced yourself, shaking hands, trying to memorize names. The atmosphere felt… normal. Intense, sure. These guys were clearly national-level. But manageable.
Then someone, maybe a second-year, muttered under his breath as he passed, “Good luck with Aomine.”
The temperature in the gym seemed to drop ten degrees.
Wakamatsu froze mid-step. A couple of players nearby exchanged grim looks like they’d just heard a curse spoken aloud. One of them actually shuddered.
Momoi sighed the sigh of the long-suffering. “Yeah… about that.”
You tilted your head. “Aomine? Is he the ace or something?”
A short, explosive laugh escaped Wakamatsu before he could stop it. “Ace? That’s like calling a typhoon ‘a bit of wind.’ He’s the best player in the country, probably. And also the biggest pain in the ass Touou has ever seen.”
“He skips practice more than he shows up,” another player added, voice low like he was afraid the devil himself might hear. “Ignores Coach. Doesn’t answer texts. Shows up to games when he feels like it and still destroys everyone. We’ve lost count of how many managers have quit because of him.”
You blinked. “That sounds… exaggerated?”
The entire group stared at you with something between pity and awe.
Momoi patted your shoulder gently. “You’ll see. Just… don’t take it personally when he doesn’t even look at you. Most of us gave up trying years ago.”
You nodded politely, but inside you felt a small flicker of determination. People were people. Even geniuses had to respond to basic human decency eventually. Right?
Practice continued in fits and starts. You helped Momoi organize water bottles, jot down observations on player form, and familiarize yourself with the team’s current playbook. The boys were good, possibly scarily good, but there was an undercurrent of frustration in the air, like a machine running without one vital gear.
Then the gym doors slammed open.
The sound cracked through the space like a gunshot.
Every player on the court slowed, then stopped. The ball bounced once, twice, and rolled forgotten toward the sidelines. Even the air seemed to hold its breath.
He stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, navy blue hair wild like he’d just rolled out of bed and decided the world could deal with it. Tall with the kind of lazy, predatory grace that made the court feel smaller just by his presence. His eyes, sharp and dark, scanned the gym with complete disinterest.
Aomine Daiki.
You felt it before you even processed his face: a jolt. Not recognition, exactly. Something deeper. Like the ghost of a memory brushing against the back of your mind and vanishing before you could catch it. Your pulse kicked up without permission.
He started walking which seemed more like prowling toward the benches, completely ignoring the coach calling his name.
Momoi nudged you. “That’s him. Brace yourself.”
You watched as he dropped onto the bench like he owned the building, legs stretched out, eyes half-lidded. The team resumed practice, but the energy had shifted. Tense. Waiting for the inevitable explosion or, more likely, total indifference.
You swallowed, clutching your clipboard a little tighter.
He’s just a guy, you told yourself. A ridiculously talented, apparently impossible guy.
But when his gaze swept across the court and landed on you for the briefest second, something in his expression flickered, it was too fast to name. Then it was gone, replaced by that same bored mask.
You didn’t know it yet, but the world had already tilted on its axis.
The miracle manager had arrived at Touou.
And the most untamable player in Japan had just seen the one person he’d spent years searching for.
The next morning arrived with the crisp bite of February air slicing through the open gym doors. Sunlight poured in, catching dust motes in lazy spirals above the court. You stood beside Momoi at the scorers’ table, clipboard balanced on your forearm, pen tapping a steady rhythm against the plastic. The team was already warming up with their occasional sprints, stretches, the occasional shouted insult that dissolved into laughter. It felt almost routine. Almost.
Until the stories started spilling out like water from a cracked dam.
Wakamatsu jogged past during a water break, wiping sweat from his brow. “So, new manager. How long you think you’ll last?”
You raised an eyebrow. “That’s a weird way to say hello.”
He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Aomine’s chewed through three assistant managers this year alone. One lasted two weeks. Another cried in the equipment room after he told her to ‘stop breathing near him.’”
Momoi leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Last semester he skipped seventeen practices. Seventeen. Coach nearly had a stroke.”
You flipped a page on your clipboard, jotting down notes on shooting percentages. “Seventeen seems… excessive. Maybe he has a good reason?”
A collective groan rose from the players within earshot. One of them, a lanky point guard player named Imayoshi, actually stopped dribbling to stare.
“Good reason?” he echoed, deadpan. “His reason is usually ‘I felt like sleeping in’ or ‘street ball is more fun.’”
You laughed, assuming they were piling it on for the new girl. “Come on. He can’t be that bad. He’s still on the team, right? Must show up for games at least.”
Wakamatsu snorted so hard he nearly choked on his water. “Oh, he shows up for games. Shows up, destroys the other team single-handedly, then vanishes before the handshake line. We’re basically his personal cheering squad with better jerseys.”
Momoi flipped through her own binder, pulling out a chart that looked like it had been color-coded in a war room. “See this? Attendance record. Red is ‘showed up and participated.’ Blue is ‘showed up and napped on the bench.’ White is ‘didn’t show.’ It’s mostly white and blue.”
You stared at the chart. It was… bleak. “Okay. That’s pretty bad.”
“Welcome to reality,” Wakamatsu said, clapping you on the shoulder hard enough to jolt you forward. “Just don’t expect miracles. We’ve tried everything—threats, bribes, group interventions. Kid’s a force of nature. You can’t negotiate with a hurricane.”
The rest of practice unfolded in that strange, fractured rhythm you were starting to recognize as “normal” for Touou. Plays ran sharp and clean when the ball moved, but there were long stretches where energy dipped, eyes darting toward the doors as if waiting for the missing piece. The ace-shaped hole in their lineup.
You threw yourself into the work anyway. By timing sprints, noting weaknesses in defensive rotations, helping Momoi reorganize the storage closet that looked like it had lost a fight with a tornado. The boys were surprisingly welcoming once the initial shock wore off. Teasing, loud, competitive… but they listened when you corrected a drill or suggested a different stretching sequence. It felt good. Familiar.
By the time the afternoon session wound down, the gym smelled of effort and faint victory. You were wiping down the benches when Coach stepped up beside you, arms crossed, expression carved from granite.
“Don’t waste your energy on him,” he said without preamble. His voice carried the weight of too many lost battles. “Aomine does what Aomine wants. Focus on the team that actually shows up.”
You straightened, meeting his eyes. “With respect, Coach… if he’s that good, he should be here. Right?”
A bitter chuckle escaped him. “Should be. Isn’t. Good luck changing that.”
As the players filed out, shower bags slung over shoulders and voices echoing off the walls, you lingered near the doors. The sky outside had deepened to bruised purple, streetlights flickering on one by one along the academy grounds. You told yourself the stories were exaggerated. Teenagers loved drama. A guy like that that is talented enough to carry a school’s hopes couldn’t possibly be as impossible as they claimed.
Right?
The thought followed you all the way home, lingering like an unsolved puzzle as you unpacked another box in your new room. A faded photograph on your desk caught your eye for a moment but you brushed it aside.
Just another Monday at Touou.
Little did you know the hurricane was already on its way.
The gym doors flew open with a heavy metallic bang that cut through the rhythm of bouncing balls like a blade. Golden afternoon light sliced across the polished floor, framing the silhouette in the doorway. Every head turned. Every dribble stuttered to a stop. The air itself seemed to thicken, charged with the kind of tension that preceded a storm.
Aomine Daiki had decided to grace them with his presence.
He strolled in with that trademark lazy stride with his hands buried in his jacket pockets, navy hair messy, shoulders rolled back like the entire world was simply background noise. Tall, sharp-featured, radiating an effortless, almost arrogant power that made the vast gymnasium feel suddenly cramped. His dark eyes swept the court once, indifferent, before he headed straight for the benches without acknowledging anyone.
The team reacted like they’d spotted a live grenade.
Wakamatsu muttered a low curse. Momoi’s pen froze mid-note on her clipboard. Coach’s jaw tightened so hard you could hear it from across the room. The usual practice chatter died into uneasy silence.
You felt the shift in the atmosphere immediately. Your pulse quickened despite yourself. This was the guy they’d been warning you about, the walking natural disaster. Up close, he looked every bit as intimidating as the stories suggested: lean muscle honed from countless battles, a gaze that could freeze fire, the kind of presence that dared the universe to test him.
You gripped your clipboard tighter, steeling your nerves. Just do your job. Heart hammering, you crossed the floor toward him, shoes squeaking softly against the wood. He’d already dropped onto the bench, legs sprawled out, one arm slung casually over the backrest as if practice was an optional suggestion rather than a requirement.
“Aomine-kun,” you said, keeping your voice calm and professional. “I’m the new assistant manager. Nice to meet you.”
He looked up.
For a long, heavy second, his eyes locked onto yours. Something flickered across his face, too brief and unreadable to name. The gym held its breath. No one moved. No one spoke. Even the dust in the air seemed suspended.
You waited, suddenly aware of how intensely he was staring. It wasn’t hostile. It wasn’t bored, either. Just… piercing. Like he was seeing straight through you.
Then the moment passed.
Aomine blinked once, slow and deliberate. The mask of lazy indifference slid back into place. He exhaled through his nose, almost like he’d been holding his breath without realizing it.
“… Yeah.” he muttered, voice low and rough around the edges.
The single word dropped into the silence like a stone into still water.
You offered a small, determined smile, refusing to let the weight of everyone’s stares rattle you. “We’re working on some new defensive rotations today. If you’re staying for practice, we’d appreciate you joining in.”
Behind you, the team was collectively losing their minds in slow motion. Wakamatsu’s eyes were wide as dinner plates. Momoi looked one breath away from dropping her binder. A couple of players whispered frantically to each other, the words “what the—” and “no way” drifting across the court.
Aomine stared at you another beat, then pushed himself up from the bench with fluid, reluctant grace. He rolled one shoulder, cracking it loudly in the quiet gym.
“Whatever.”
He didn’t sound enthusiastic. He didn’t sound annoyed, either. Just… compliant. In a way no one at Touou had ever witnessed.
You nodded, turning back toward the court before the surrealness of the moment could fully register. “Alright. Let’s get back to it, everyone.”
As you walked away, clipboard in hand and focus already shifting to the next drill, the gym behind you erupted into barely contained chaos. Whispers exploded. Someone dropped a basketball with a loud bounce that no one bothered to chase. Wakamatsu looked personally betrayed by reality.
Aomine lingered for half a second longer, gaze following your retreating figure with an intensity he didn’t let reach his expression. Then he moved onto the court, joining the warm-ups without another word.
Practice resumed technically. But the energy had completely shifted. The untamable ace was participating. Voluntarily. After a single polite request from the new girl.
No one could explain it.
Least of all you, who simply thought he seemed a little less impossible than the legends claimed.
Practice unfolded like a fever dream no one at Touou had ever experienced.
Aomine moved across the court with his usual terrifying efficiency. Long strides eating up space, shots raining down from impossible angles, defensive slides so quick they left afterimages. But the real anomaly wasn’t his talent. It was the fact that he stayed. He ran the drills. He listened when you adjusted formations. He didn’t vanish midway through or sprawl dramatically on the bench like a bored cat.
The team kept stealing glances at him like he might sprout a second head at any moment. Wakamatsu nearly tripped over his own feet during a fast break. Momoi’s pen hovered uselessly above her notes, forgotten. Even Coach kept pausing mid-instruction, eyes narrowed in wary disbelief.
You, meanwhile, felt a quiet sense of accomplishment. Maybe the warnings had been overblown. Sure, he was intense but when you’d called out a correction on his positioning during defensive slides, he’d simply adjusted without complaint. No sarcasm. No walk-off. Just a low grunt of acknowledgment and flawless execution on the next rep.
He’s actually pretty cooperative, you thought, jotting down observations as sweat cooled on your skin. The stories must have grown taller with each retelling. Typical high school basketball drama.
As the final whistle blew, echoing sharply through the gym, players collapsed onto the floor or staggered toward water bottles, chests heaving. The air smelled of effort and polished wood, the late afternoon light now softer, painting long shadows across the court. Aomine grabbed a towel, wiped his face once, and headed straight for the doors without a backward glance.
Coach approached you slowly, rubbing the back of his neck with a heavy sigh. His expression was a mix of exhaustion and reluctant pity.
“Don’t get your hopes up, kid,” he said quietly, voice carrying the weight of repeated disappointment. “That was a fluke. Tomorrow he’ll probably skip entirely. Or show up late and leave early. Aomine does what he wants. Always has. Save yourself the headache and focus on the rest of the team.”
You wiped your hands on your track pants, glancing toward the exit where Aomine’s tall figure was already disappearing. Something stubborn flickered in your chest, the same determination that had carried you through the transfer, through new schools, through starting over again and again.
“I’ll keep that in mind, Coach,” you replied politely. But your feet were already moving.
The gym doors were half-open, letting in a rush of cold evening air. Aomine had one hand on the frame, about to step through.
“Aomine-kun!”
Your voice rang out clearer than you expected, cutting across the murmurs of the dispersing team. Every head snapped toward you. Wakamatsu froze mid-stretch. Momoi’s eyes went wide. The entire squad watched like spectators at a car crash they couldn’t look away from.
Aomine stopped. His shoulders tensed before he turned his head, dark eyes meeting yours across the distance.
The silence was deafening.
You jogged a few steps closer, clipboard tucked under your arm, trying to ignore the dozens of stares burning into your back. “Can you come tomorrow? We’re refining those zone defenses. Your input would help a lot.”
For a heartbeat, nothing. Just the faint hum of the overhead lights and the collective disbelief of twenty high school athletes holding their breath.
Then Aomine shrugged one shoulder, casual as ever.
“… Sure.”
One word. Delivered in that same low, unbothered tone.
The gym exploded.
Wakamatsu let out a strangled noise that sounded suspiciously like a dying animal. Someone dropped their water bottle again. This time it rolled all the way to the half-court line. Whispers turned into outright chaos: “Did he just—?” “No way.” “She’s a witch.” “I’m hallucinating.” Momoi actually clutched her clipboard to her chest like it was a life preserver, mouth opening and closing without sound.
You blinked, glancing around at the pandemonium with genuine confusion. “What? Did I miss something?”
No one answered. They were too busy staring between you and Aomine’s retreating back as he pushed through the doors and vanished into the twilight, hands back in his pockets like nothing extraordinary had happened.
Coach pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something that sounded like a prayer for patience.
You simply shrugged, a small smile tugging at your lips. “See? He’s not that bad.”
The team looked at you like you’d personally offended every law of physics.
As you helped Momoi gather the remaining equipment, the whispers followed you like echoes. No one could explain it. The untamable Aomine Daiki had just agreed willingly to show up for consecutive practices. Because the new assistant manager asked.
You didn’t understand the magnitude of what you’d just done.
Not yet.
Morning practice the next day felt like stepping into an alternate universe.
The gym buzzed with the usual energy with balls bouncing in sharp staccato rhythms, shoes squeaking against the wood, shouting instructions cutting through the air. But underneath it all was a current of anticipation so thick you could almost taste it. Players kept glancing at the doors every few seconds. Momoi had her phone out, refreshing something obsessively. Even Coach arrived earlier than usual, arms crossed like he was bracing for impact.
You moved through your routine calmly, setting up cones for agility drills and double-checking the updated playbook notes. “He said he’d come,” you reminded Momoi when she shot you another worried look. “It’ll be fine.”
Momoi let out a nervous laugh. “You say that like it’s normal. Last time someone tried a direct request, he told them to ‘go bother someone who cares’ and left for three days.”
You shrugged, smiling. “Maybe he just needed the right approach.”
The doors slammed open right on time.
Aomine strolled in wearing the same lazy expression, track jacket half-zipped, hair still damp like he’d rolled out of bed and decided the world could wait. The entire gym went dead silent for two full seconds.
Then he walked straight to the court and started warming up without being asked.
Wakamatsu dropped the ball he was holding. It rolled sadly toward the baseline.
“No way,” someone whispered. “He’s… early?”
You didn’t notice the seismic shift. You simply clapped your hands once. “Alright, Aomine-kun! Let’s start with the zone defense adjustments from yesterday. Can you show the others that sliding footwork you used?”
Aomine glanced over, dark eyes meeting yours for a brief moment. Then, without a single complaint, he demonstrated the movement. The team copied him in stunned silence.
By the time the first water break hit, the running commentary had begun in earnest.
“Warm-up sprints next,” you called out, checking your clipboard. “Aomine-kun, lead the pace?”
He pushed off the bench he’d barely settled on. “Yeah.”
And just like that, he led the sprints. Full effort. No shortcuts. No dramatic sighs. The team followed in a daze, their usual groans replaced by disbelieving stares.
Wakamatsu jogged beside you during the next rotation, voice hushed like he was sharing state secrets. “Okay, new manager. Be honest. What did you do? Bribe him? Blackmail? Sell your soul?”
You laughed, genuinely confused. “I just asked. He’s actually pretty easy to work with once you talk to him directly.”
Wakamatsu looked like he wanted to scream. “Easy? Easy?! I’ve seen him ignore the principal during a school assembly!”
Momoi appeared on your other side, eyes sparkling with a mix of awe and mischief. “This is incredible. Hey, try telling him to help put away the equipment after practice. I need to see this with my own eyes.”
You raised an eyebrow but played along. When the session wrapped up and sweat-soaked players started drifting toward the locker rooms, you called out casually, “Aomine-kun, mind giving us a hand with the cones and balls?”
Without missing a beat, he turned back, grabbed an armful of equipment, and started stacking it neatly in the storage closet. The sight was so surreal that half the team stopped to watch, mouths slightly open.
Imayoshi leaned against the wall, adjusting his glasses with a slow, disbelieving shake of his head. “I’ve seen miracles on the court. This? This is something else entirely.”
You dusted your hands off, smiling. “See? Teamwork makes everything smoother.”
The whispers exploded the second you stepped away to help Momoi with the score sheets.
“She’s got superpowers.”
“Hypnosis. Has to be.”
“Or she’s from the future.”
Aomine finished his task in silence, slinging his bag over one shoulder as he headed for the exit. But right before he pushed through the doors, he paused just long enough to glance back across the gym. His gaze lingered on you for a heartbeat longer than necessary before he disappeared into the hallway.
You caught the look but misread it completely. Maybe he’s finally warming up to the team, you thought, a small spark of satisfaction warming your chest.
Behind you, Momoi was already plotting. “Tomorrow I’m using you as a weapon. If he ignores my texts again, I’m sending you after him.”
You rolled your eyes good-naturedly. “You guys are so dramatic.”
The team stared at your back like you were a walking enigma wrapped in a mystery.
Practice had gone perfectly. Aomine had participated fully. And no one, least of all you, understood why the untamable genius of Touou had suddenly decided the new assistant manager’s words were worth listening to.
The legend of the Miracle Manager had officially begun.
The rumors had already spread like wildfire through Touou Academy by the third day.
Students who had never cared about basketball were suddenly whispering in the hallways. Upperclassmen exchanged knowing glances in the cafeteria. Even the teachers seemed to walk a little lighter, as if the impossible had finally happened: Aomine Daiki was showing up. Consistently. Almost on time.
And it was all because of the new assistant manager.
You, of course, remained blissfully unaware of your growing legend. You simply did your job. Clipboard in hand, voice steady, treating the team’s ace like any other player who needed occasional direction. To you, he was intense, sure. Quiet in that brooding way. But cooperative. Almost… reliable?
Which is why, when he vanished midway through afternoon practice again, you didn’t hesitate.
“He’s probably on the roof,” Momoi said with a sigh, handing you a spare jacket. “He does that sometimes. Just… be careful up there. Wind’s picking up.”
You nodded, already heading toward the maintenance stairwell. The metal ladder to the rooftop access creaked under your shoes as you climbed, skirt fluttering dangerously against your thighs. The late winter wind whipped across the school grounds, carrying the faint scent of distant rain and cherry blossom anticipation. Your hair lashed across your face, and you cursed internally, one hand gripping the cold rungs while the other tried and failing miserably to keep your skirt from turning the moment into a comedy show.
Halfway up, the wind gusted harder.
A low voice suddenly cut through the air from above.
“Oi. Stop.”
You looked up. Aomine was already leaning over the edge of the rooftop, one arm extended down toward you. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes narrowed at the way your skirt billowed wildly.
“Don’t move,” he ordered, voice rough. He swung a leg over and descended a few rungs with effortless strength until he was right above you. One large hand planted firmly on the ladder beside your head, the other reached down to tug the hem of your skirt down against your legs, shielding you from the wind’s mischief. His body blocked most of the gusts like a human wall.
Your face burned. “A-Aomine-kun, I can manage—”
“Shut up and climb,” he muttered, staying close, one step above you the entire way. Protective in that gruff, no-nonsense way that left no room for argument. His presence was overwhelming this close. The warmth radiating off him, the faint scent of sweat and cold air, the steady rhythm of his breathing cutting through the wind.
When you finally reached the top, he hauled himself up first then offered a hand, pulling you onto the flat concrete rooftop with surprising gentleness. You brushed your skirt down quickly, heart still racing from the climb (and from him).
The rooftop was quiet, empty except for the two of you and the distant hum of the city. Aomine dropped onto a weathered bench near the edge, legs stretched out, staring at the skyline like it owed him answers. A half-eaten convenience store onigiri sat beside him.
You sat a careful distance away, catching your breath. “Practice isn’t over, you know.”
He grunted, not looking at you. “Too loud down there.”
“You still need to work with the team. They’re counting on you.”
Aomine was silent for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, the corner of his mouth twitched. “You gonna climb that ladder every time I disappear?”
“If I have to.” You smiled, determined. “Though maybe next time I’ll wear pants.”
He let out a short, surprised huff of laughter which was the first real one you’d heard from him. It transformed his face for just a second, making him look younger, almost approachable. Then the mask returned.
“Whatever. I’ll go back in a bit.”
You stayed anyway, the wind easing slightly as you talked about nothing and everything. The drills that needed work, how Wakamatsu’s form was improving, the upcoming practice match. Aomine listened more than he spoke, but he didn’t leave. And when you finally stood up, brushing off your skirt, he rose with you.
“Next time,” he said as you headed for the ladder, “just text me. Don’t climb in a skirt again.”
You glanced back, surprised by the protective edge in his tone. “Noted, Aomine-kun.”
Down in the gym, the team nearly lost their minds when the two of you returned together. Aomine actually rejoined drills without complaint. Momoi shot you a look that said we are discussing this later. Wakamatsu just stared like you’d tamed a dragon with nothing but polite persistence.
Later that evening, after practice finally ended, you caught a glimpse of something unexpected on your way home.
In a small neighborhood park lit by flickering streetlights, Aomine was playing street basketball. Alone. The ball moved like an extension of his body by dribbling between his legs with blinding speed, pulling up for impossible shots that swished through the rusty hoop every single time. No crowd. No pressure. Just raw, breathtaking talent poured out under the dim lights, his movements fluid and almost… lonely.
You watched from the shadows for a minute, hidden behind a vending machine. There was something beautiful and heartbreaking about it, the genius who dominated games but found peace here, in the quiet.
You didn’t interrupt. Not this time.
But the image stayed with you long after you walked away.
The untamable ace was listening. Slowly, inexplicably, letting you in.
And Touou Academy still had no idea how or why.
The following week at Touou Academy felt less like a basketball team and more like a poorly scripted comedy show with one very confused lead actress which happened to be you.
Word had spread beyond the gym. By Wednesday, random students were loitering near the entrance during practice just to catch a glimpse of the miracle. The vending machines near the gym mysteriously stayed stocked with your favorite drinks. Even the usually indifferent third-years gave you respectful nods in the hallway, as if you’d performed some ancient ritual to bind the school’s most feral asset.
You still didn’t get it.
“Aomine-kun, can you demonstrate the full-court press again?” you called out during morning drills, voice carrying clearly across the polished floor.
Without hesitation, he jogged to the center line, ball in hand, and executed the defense with terrifying precision. Long arms stealing invisible passes, feet moving like lightning. The rest of the team scrambled to follow, faces a mix of determination and lingering disbelief.
Wakamatsu collapsed dramatically beside you during the next break, sweat dripping, eyes wide. “This is the fourth time this week. Fourth! He actually ran a drill. Voluntarily. I think I’m having a stroke.”
You handed him a water bottle, amused. “He’s just participating like everyone else. You guys make it sound like I performed an exorcism.”
Momoi appeared like a pink-haired ninja, grabbing your arm with both hands and shaking it gently. “Please. I’m begging you. He ignored my last six texts about the equipment inventory. Can you just… tell him? Anything. I don’t care what.”
You sighed but couldn’t hide your smile. “Aomine-kun,” you called toward where he was lazily spinning a ball on one finger. “Momoi needs help with the inventory list after practice. Think you can stick around for ten minutes?”
He caught the ball mid-spin, dark eyes flicking to you. A beat of silence. Then a casual shrug. “Yeah, sure.”
Momoi made a strangled squeak of victory. The entire team froze mid-drink.
Imayoshi adjusted his glasses slowly from the sidelines, muttering, “This defies every known law of Aomine physics.”
The comedy continued after practice. While the rest of the boys headed for the lockers, Aomine actually followed you and Momoi into the storage room. He moved boxes without complaint, stacking them with that same effortless strength, occasionally glancing your way when you pointed out where things needed to go. Momoi kept shooting you wide-eyed looks behind his back, mouthing how?! every thirty seconds.
You simply organized clipboards, completely oblivious to the chaos you were causing. “See? It’s not that hard when everyone works together.”
Aomine’s low chuckle rumbled behind you. “You’re too nice to them.”
The comment caught you off guard. You turned, catching a glimpse of something softer in his expression before it vanished behind the usual lazy mask. For a second, the storage room felt smaller, the air thicker. Then he hoisted the last box onto the shelf and headed out.
That evening, the running gags escalated.
During a team meeting in the clubroom, Coach was mid-lecture about upcoming opponents when Aomine started drifting, eyes glazing over toward the window. Momoi nudged you urgently.
You leaned forward. “Aomine-kun, focus. This part’s important for your matchup.”
He straightened instantly, gaze snapping back to the whiteboard. The collective jaw-drop from the team was audible.
Wakamatsu threw his hands up. “I give up. She’s got him on a leash. A polite, well-mannered leash.”
You laughed it off. “You all exaggerate so much. He’s just… straightforward. If you explain why something matters, he listens.”
The team stared at you like you’d grown a second head.
Later, as golden hour painted the gym in warm amber light, you caught Aomine alone again near the doors. He was scrolling through his phone, but the moment you approached, he pocketed it.
“Heading out?” you asked.
He nodded. “Street ball. You coming to watch again?”
You blinked, surprised he’d noticed your quiet observation the other night. “Maybe. If you don’t mind an audience.”
For a fraction of a second, something almost like a real smile tugged at his lips. “Do what you want.”
He left, and you found yourself walking home a different route that evening, curiosity pulling you toward that same neighborhood park. The streetlights hummed to life as Aomine dominated the cracked outdoor court. No teammates. No pressure. Just him and the ball, moving with a raw, almost poetic intensity with crossovers that blurred, jump shots kissed by the fading light, the sound of the chain net rattling like distant applause. Sweat glistened on his skin. There was freedom in his movements here, but also a quiet solitude that tugged at something in your chest.
You watched from the shadows again, not wanting to intrude. The genius who could crush any opponent looked almost… human. Lonely in a way talent couldn’t fill.
When he finally finished and grabbed his bag, you slipped away before he could spot you. But the image lingered as you walked home under the streetlights.
Back at school the next day, Momoi cornered you in the hallway with a mischievous grin. “You’re officially my favorite weapon. Keep this up and we might actually win Nationals without Aomine threatening to quit every other week.”
You rolled your eyes, but a warm feeling settled in your stomach. Slowly, without realizing it, you were becoming part of this chaotic team. And Aomine was becoming part of your routine.
Neither of you knew how deep that pull would eventually go.
The practice match against a strong local rival hit like a thunderclap on Saturday afternoon. The gym was packed. With students crammed into the bleachers, rival team warming up with cocky energy, referees checking nets. Sunlight streamed through high windows, turning the court into a blazing stage.
You stood courtside beside Momoi, clipboard ready, nerves buzzing under your skin. Aomine lounged on the bench until the very last second, but when the starting whistle blew, something had changed.
He moved.
Not just with his usual overwhelming talent, but with sharper focus. Every cut, every steal, every thunderous dunk carried a different weight. When Wakamatsu missed a screen, Aomine adjusted instantly. When you called out a defensive shift from the sidelines, he executed it perfectly on the next possession. The rival team’s ace tried trash talk. Aomine shut him down with a vicious crossover and a three-pointer that silenced half the gym.
The score climbed fast. Touou was dominating.
From the bench area, the team’s reactions were pure comedy gold.
“Holy shit, he’s actually passing?” Wakamatsu whispered during a timeout, eyes wide as dinner plates.
Momoi clutched your arm so tightly it hurt. “This is your fault. In the best way. He’s never played like this in practice matches.”
You shrugged, smiling despite the chaos. “He just needed consistent rhythm. Everyone’s contributing today.”
Coach gave you a long, searching look during the break, muttering, “Whatever magic you’re working… keep it up.”
By the final quarter, the rival coach was yelling himself hoarse. Aomine hit a step-back jumper that kissed the glass and fell through, then immediately stole the inbound pass for a fast-break dunk that rattled the rim. The final buzzer sounded: Touou by 28 points.
The gym erupted. Teammates mobbed Aomine with slaps on the back, shouts of victory. He tolerated it with his usual lazy grin, but his eyes kept drifting toward the sidelines. Toward you.
You jogged over with water bottles as the celebrations died down. “That was incredible, Aomine-kun. Your timing on those defensive rotations was perfect.”
He took the bottle, fingers brushing yours for a split second. “Tch. Wasn’t bad.” His voice was gruff, but there was something almost warm beneath it.
The team noticed. Of course they did.
Wakamatsu fake-sobbed into Imayoshi’s shoulder. “She compliments him and he plays like Zone from the start. I complimented him last week and he told me to die.”
Momoi was already planning. “Next game I’m having her give the pre-game speech.”
You laughed it off, helping pack up equipment while the high of victory lingered in the air like sparks. The gym slowly emptied, golden light fading into softer evening hues through the windows. Aomine lingered longer than usual, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
That’s when you noticed it.
A small, worn charm dangled from the zipper of his gym bag with faded colors, cheap plastic that had clearly seen years of wear. It looked oddly familiar, like something from a childhood gachapon machine or a convenience store prize. A tiny basketball with a cracked smiley face. Something tugged at the edge of your memory, faint and unreachable, before slipping away.
“Cute charm,” you said lightly, pointing as he adjusted the strap. “Didn’t expect that from you.”
Aomine froze.
His entire body went still, hand shooting up to cover the charm in one swift motion, tucking it into a side pocket with surprising speed. For a moment, his usual lazy mask cracked. Something raw and guarded flashing across his face. His dark eyes met yours, intense and unreadable.
“… It’s nothing,” he muttered, voice lower than usual. Almost rough. He turned away quickly, shoulders tense. “Forget it.”
You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry—”
He was already walking toward the doors, pace faster than necessary. “See you Monday.”
The gym felt quieter after he left. You stood there, staring at the empty doorway, that strange tug in your chest refusing to fade. Momoi approached, noticing your expression.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” you replied, shaking it off with a small smile. “Just… Aomine being Aomine.”
But something had shifted. The comedy of the untamable ace listening to you was giving way to quieter, heavier questions. Why did that silly little charm make him react like that? Why did his eyes look almost… hurt?
You didn’t know it yet, but the things Aomine carried in silence were starting to surface.
And they ran far deeper than anyone at Touou could imagine.
The victory high carried into the following week like a lingering echo, but something quieter had settled beneath it. Practices ran smoother than ever. Aomine still arrived with that signature lazy swagger, but he stayed longer, pushed harder, and started watching you when he thought no one noticed.
You noticed anyway. It was hard not to.
Monday evening found you at home, the soft glow of your desk lamp cutting through the dim room. Boxes from the move still lined one wall, half-unpacked relics of your old life. You’d meant to organize clothes. Instead, you found yourself digging through an old photo album your mother had tucked into the bottom of a storage bin.
Dust motes danced in the light as you flipped through pages. Grainy smiles. Birthday parties. A faded summer at the old neighborhood park. One photo in particular stopped you cold.
A group shot of kids on a rusty playground. You, gap-toothed and seven years old, stood in the center with your arms crossed triumphantly. Beside you, slightly blurry from motion, was a boy mid-laugh, holding a battered basketball like it was treasure. His face wasn’t clear, but the energy was unmistakable: loud, bright, unstoppable.
You smiled softly, tracing the edge of the photo. “Wonder what happened to that kid…” The memory felt warm but distant, like a dream you’d outgrown. You closed the album, setting it aside. Just another piece of childhood left behind in the moves, the new schools, the years that blurred together.
Across town, in a dimly lit room cluttered with basketball magazines and forgotten homework, Aomine stared at the ceiling.
The charm lay in his palm, the cheap plastic warmed by his skin. He rubbed his thumb over the cracked smiley face, the same motion he’d done thousands of times over the years. It had been his anchor through Teikō’s hollow victories, through nights when the court felt too empty and the cheers too meaningless.
She’d noticed it.
Of course she had.
He sat up, elbows on his knees, jaw tight. The frustration had been building since that first day in the gym. She was here. Real. The same quick smile, the same stubborn determination that once made a lonely kid feel seen. But she looked at him like a new teammate. Polite. Professional. Occasionally amused by his reputation.
No spark of recognition. No breathless “Daiki?” No shared secret pulling them back together.
He’d imagined this reunion a hundred different ways. None of them involved her treating him like everyone else did, another problem to manage.
His phone buzzed on the desk. A text from you, simple and straightforward:
New Manager: Don’t forget the film study tomorrow morning. Your matchup notes are on the sheet I left in your locker.
Aomine stared at the screen. His thumb hovered. Then he typed back, shorter than he wanted:
Aomine: Yeah.
He tossed the phone aside and stood, pacing to the window. The streetlights outside blurred. She was close now. Close enough to reach. But telling her… what then? What if she forced a smile and pretended? What if the guilt changed everything? What if the girl who once sat beside him in the dirt was gone, replaced by someone who only saw the arrogant ace everyone feared?
The thought carved deeper than any missed shot ever had.
The next afternoon, the gym carried a different energy. Lighter, but threaded with something heavier you couldn’t name.
You were reviewing stats with Momoi when Aomine arrived early and dropped onto the bench near you. He didn’t speak at first. Just watched as you organized the water station.
“You find anything interesting in those old boxes?” he asked suddenly, voice low.
You glanced over, surprised. “How’d you know I was unpacking?”
He shrugged, looking away toward the court. “You mentioned it once.”
You laughed softly. “Yeah, actually. Found some old photos. Me as a kid with this blue-haired boy at a playground. Couldn’t even make out his face properly. Feels like forever ago.”
Aomine’s hand tightened around the strap of his bag. The charm was hidden safely inside now. He didn’t flinch outwardly, but the muscle in his jaw ticked.
“Sounds lame,” he muttered.
You nudged his shoulder lightly with the clipboard. “It wasn’t. He seemed fun. Loud. The kind of kid who’d drag you into trouble and make it the best day ever.” Your voice softened with nostalgia. “Wish I remembered more.”
He turned his head then, dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that stole the air from your lungs. For a second, the gym faded. Just the two of you, suspended in something unspoken.
Then Wakamatsu’s voice boomed across the court. “Oi, Aomine! You actually early? The world ending or what?”
The moment shattered. Aomine leaned back, mask sliding into place with practiced ease. “Shut up and warm up before I make you.”
The team dove into drills, but the laughter felt a little forced. Momoi kept glancing between you and Aomine, brow furrowed like she was solving a puzzle with missing pieces.
Later, as practice wound down and the sky outside turned deep indigo, you caught Aomine lingering by the doors again.
“Street ball tonight?” you asked quietly, remembering the lonely grace of his movements under the park lights.
He paused, then nodded once. “You watching from the shadows again?”
Your cheeks warmed. “Busted.”
A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “Come closer next time. Not like I bite.”
The words hung between you, simple but charged. You smiled, something fluttering in your chest you couldn’t quite name. “Maybe I will.”
He left without another word, but the air felt different. Warmer. More dangerous.
Aomine walked into the cooling night, fists shoved deep in his pockets. Years of waiting, and now she was slipping into his present as effortlessly as she’d once filled his past. He was falling again but only harder this time while she walked beside him completely unaware.
The things he didn’t tell her were starting to weigh like lead.
And the longer he stayed silent, the more it hurt.
The library after hours was a different world with the hushed footsteps on creaky floors, the faint scent of old books and polished wood, golden desk lamps casting warm pools of light against the growing dark outside the tall windows. Most students had gone home. The basketball club, however, had invaded the far corner like a small, chaotic army.
You sat across from Aomine at a wide wooden table, textbooks and notebooks spread between you like battle lines. Momoi had “conveniently” disappeared ten minutes ago with a flimsy excuse about helping the coach. The rest of the team had scattered after practice, leaving the two of you in a pocket of quiet that felt dangerously intimate.
Aomine slouched low in his chair, long legs stretched under the table, one arm draped over the backrest. His math textbook lay open but ignored, pencil tapping an impatient rhythm against the page.
“This is stupid,” he grumbled, glaring at the equations like they had personally offended him. “Who needs this crap when you can just play ball?”
You tapped his notebook with your pen, smiling patiently. “You do, if you want to stay eligible for Nationals. Come on, Aomine-kun. Focus. This one’s not that bad once you see the pattern.”
He leaned forward reluctantly, shoulder brushing yours as he squinted at the paper. The contact sent a small, unexpected spark up your arm. You ignored it, circling a problem and walking him through the steps in a calm, clear voice. For once, he actually tried. His brow furrowed in concentration, occasionally muttering curses under his breath when he got it wrong.
After the third successful problem, you grinned. “See? You’re not hopeless.”
Aomine shot you a sideways look, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Only because you’re annoyingly good at explaining it like I’m five.”
“Better than Wakamatsu trying to teach you last month. He said you threw an eraser at his head.”
“He deserved it.” Aomine’s low chuckle filled the quiet space, warm and surprisingly soft. It made the library feel smaller, the air thicker. For a moment, the usual lazy mask slipped, revealing something almost boyish beneath the arrogance.
You worked in comfortable silence for a while, the scratch of pencils and occasional page flips the only sounds. Outside, rain began pattering softly against the windows, turning the world beyond the glass into a blurred watercolor of streetlights and dark trees.
Eventually, Aomine set his pencil down and leaned back, studying you instead of the homework. “Why do you bother?” he asked suddenly, voice quieter than usual. “With all this. The team. Me. Most people would’ve quit by now.”
You paused, considering. “Because it matters. You matter when you actually show up. There’s something special about the way you play. Not just the talent. The way you move like the court belongs to you. I saw you at the street court the other night. It was… beautiful. Lonely, but beautiful.”
Aomine’s eyes darkened, something raw flickering behind them. His hand twitched toward his bag where the charm still hid, but he stopped himself. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Maybe not,” you admitted, meeting his gaze steadily. “But I want to.”
The rain picked up, drumming harder against the glass. Thunder rumbled in the distance, dramatic and low. For several heartbeats, neither of you spoke. The tension stretched, electric and unspoken with years of his memories crashing silently against your gentle present.
He broke first, looking away toward the rain-streaked windows. “Tch. Keep tutoring me and I might actually pass.”
You laughed lightly, the sound easing the heavy moment. “Deal. Same time tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
As you packed up, Momoi reappeared at the library doors with suspiciously perfect timing, eyes sparkling with mischief. “How’s the study date going?”
“It’s not a date.” you and Aomine said at the same time.
Momoi’s grin only widened. “Sure. The whole team’s been betting on when you two will finally admit it. Wakamatsu owes me money if it’s before Nationals.”
Aomine stood abruptly, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Tell them to mind their own damn business.” But there was no real bite in it. He waited by the door while you gathered your things, then walked you partway home under the shared umbrella Momoi had “forgotten” to take back.
The streets glistened with rain. Neon signs reflected in puddles like scattered jewels. Aomine kept pace beside you, hands in his pockets, closer than necessary.
At the corner where your paths split, he stopped. “Text me when you get in.”
You blinked, surprised by the protective note in his voice. “I will. Thanks for today, Aomine-kun.”
He nodded once, watching you walk away until the rain swallowed your figure. Alone under the streetlight, he pulled the charm from his bag, thumb tracing the faded smile.
She was falling for him again, he could feel it in the quiet moments, the way her eyes lingered. But she still didn’t remember the boy who once promised to always come when she called.
The ache in his chest sharpened. He wanted to tell her. Every day the words climbed higher in his throat.
But fear kept them locked inside.
What if the truth broke the fragile thing they were building now?
The rain from the night before had left the air crisp and clean, carrying the faint promise of early spring. Touou’s rooftop was quieter than usual that afternoon, the concrete still damp in patches where sunlight hadn’t reached. You climbed the ladder carefully this time with pants, as promised, only to find Aomine already there, sprawled on the bench with his back against the chain-link fence, eyes closed against the pale blue sky.
He didn’t open them when you approached, but the tension in his shoulders eased slightly.
“Skipping again?” you asked, sitting on the opposite end of the bench, leaving a careful distance between you.
“Needed air.” His voice was low, almost rough. “Team’s too loud today.”
You pulled out a small notebook from your bag, flipping to the page with his stats. “You still crushed those drills earlier. The team’s starting to look like an actual unit because of you.”
Aomine cracked one eye open, watching you with that piercing intensity that always made your pulse stumble. “Because of you,” he corrected quietly. “They listen when you talk. Even I do.”
The admission hung between you, simple but heavy. You felt heat rise in your cheeks and looked away toward the distant city skyline. “I’m just doing my job.”
“No. You’re not.” He sat up straighter, elbows on his knees, staring at the ground. “Most people give up. You don’t. You climb ladders in the wind. You stay late to tutor idiots who hate textbooks. You watch me play street ball like it actually means something.”
You turned back to him, surprised by the raw edge in his tone. The usual lazy mask was gone, replaced by something restless and frustrated. “It does mean something, Aomine-kun. The way you play when no one’s watching… it’s different. Real. Like you’re chasing something only you can see.”
He let out a short, bitter laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. Something like that.”
Silence stretched, comfortable yet charged. The wind tugged gently at your hair. Below, the faint sounds of the school day continued. Distant shouts from the sports fields, the bell ringing for club activities. Up here, it felt like the rest of the world was miles away.
Aomine’s hand drifted unconsciously toward his bag before he caught himself and shoved it into his pocket instead. “You ever feel like you’re missing pieces of your own life?” he asked suddenly, voice barely above the wind. “Like something important got left behind and you don’t even know what it is?”
You thought of the blurry blue-haired boy in the old photo. The faint tug of half-forgotten summers. “Sometimes. Moving around a lot as a kid… a lot of faces blur together. Why? You sound like you’re carrying something heavy.”
He looked at you then. Dark eyes searching your face for something you couldn’t give. The moment stretched, thick with everything he wasn’t saying. You saw the conflict there, the way his jaw clenched like the words were fighting to escape.
For a heartbeat, you thought he might speak.
Instead, he stood abruptly, pacing to the edge of the roof and gripping the fence. “Forget it. It’s nothing.”
You joined him, standing close enough that your shoulders nearly brushed. “It doesn’t sound like nothing. If you ever want to talk… I’m here. Not as the assistant manager. Just… me.”
Aomine’s grip tightened on the metal until his knuckles paled. The frustration rolled off him in waves with the years of searching, the lonely courts, the stupid charm that had become his only proof that what they’d shared was real. She was right here, offering friendship, offering understanding, and he was too scared to reach for it.
He turned to face you. The wind whipped between you, dramatic and cold. Up close, you could see the faint scar near his jaw, the exhaustion hidden behind sharp eyes.
“You really don’t remember, huh?” he murmured, so softly you almost missed it.
“Remember what?”
He shook his head, forcing a crooked smirk that didn’t fool either of you. “Doesn’t matter.”
Before you could press, his phone buzzed. Momoi, no doubt demanding your return. The moment shattered again.
“Back to practice, Miracle Manager,” he said, the nickname carrying a new, private weight.
You walked down together, his hand hovering near your back as you descended the ladder, protective, always. In the gym, the team picked up on the shift immediately. Wakamatsu elbowed Imayoshi. Momoi’s eyes narrowed with knowing suspicion.
Later that night, your phone lit up with a text.
Aomine: Street court. 9pm. Come if you want.
You went.
The park was bathed in the warm glow of streetlights, the cracked asphalt court slick from earlier rain. Aomine played hard, pouring everything unsaid into every move. You didn’t hide in the shadows this time. You sat on the bench and watched openly, cheering softly when he sank an impossible shot.
When he finally collapsed beside you, breathing hard, sweat glistening, he bumped your shoulder with his.
“Thanks for coming.” he said gruffly.
You smiled, heart doing something complicated in your chest. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Neither of you spoke about the almost-confession on the roof. But the air between you had changed with thicker with possibility, heavier with everything still hidden.
Aomine walked you home again, the silence full of things he wished he could say.
He was falling harder every day.
And the fear of losing this new version of her kept the truth locked behind his teeth.
The streetlights hummed softly overhead as spring began to creep into the evenings, turning the air milder and carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers from nearby parks. You walked beside Aomine after another late street ball session, the rhythm of your footsteps syncing without effort. His gym bag bounced lightly against his hip, the hidden charm tucked safely away, though its presence seemed louder than ever tonight.
“You were holding back less today,” you said, glancing up at him. The moonlight caught the sharp lines of his face, highlighting the faint sheen of sweat still clinging to his skin. “It looked… freer. Like you weren’t proving anything to anyone.”
Aomine shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, a low grunt his only immediate reply. But his shoulder brushed yours deliberately as you turned the corner. “Maybe I wasn’t.”
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It had become something else lately. Full of glances that lingered too long and words that danced around bigger truths. Touou’s rumor mill had gone nuclear. Half the team now openly referred to your “study sessions” as dates. Momoi had started a betting pool. Wakamatsu claimed he’d seen Aomine smile during practice when you corrected his form.
You denied it all with flustered laughter. Aomine ignored the teasing with his usual cutting remarks. But neither of you pulled away.
The next afternoon, the shift deepened.
Practice had ended early due to a sudden rainstorm drumming against the gym roof like impatient fingers. Most of the team had scattered, but Aomine lingered near the equipment room while you finished logging stats. When you stepped out, he was waiting, umbrella in hand. His, of course, because Momoi had once again “forgotten” hers.
“Walk with me.” he said. Not a question.
You fell into step beside him under the shared cover, rain cascading around you in silver sheets. The academy grounds looked cinematic in the downpour. Puddles reflecting gray skies, cherry trees just beginning to bud trembling under the weight of water. Aomine kept the umbrella tilted more toward you than himself, his free hand brushing your arm occasionally as if to steady you on slippery paths.
At the old school courtyard, he stopped beneath a sheltered overhang. Water roared off the edges in miniature waterfalls. He leaned against a pillar, watching the rain, jaw tight.
“You’ve been different lately,” you ventured softly, standing close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him. “Not just with practice. With everything.”
Aomine’s eyes flicked to yours. The intensity there stole your breath that was carrying depths you couldn’t name. “Yeah. Guess I have.”
He looked like he wanted to say more. The words hovered, heavy and unspoken. Instead, he reached into his bag and pulled out the small charm, holding it between his fingers like it was both precious and painful. The cheap plastic gleamed dully in the dim light.
“This thing,” he muttered. “Been with me a long time.”
You leaned in, curiosity sparking. It looked so familiar—the little basketball, the cracked smile. A strange warmth bloomed in your chest, fragments of memory flickering like old film: a playground, a loud boy, a promise made with all the sincerity of childhood.
“I think… I might have had one like that once,” you said slowly. “Gave it to someone. A friend. Can’t remember who, though. It was years ago.”
Aomine’s hand closed around the charm tightly. His breathing hitched but you caught it. When he spoke again, his voice was rougher. “Must’ve been important to them.”
The rain intensified, thunder rumbling dramatically in the distance. Lightning flashed, illuminating his face for a split second. Vulnerable in a way the great Aomine Daiki never allowed himself to be. You wanted to reach out, to bridge the sudden gap you felt opening between you.
“Aomine-kun… whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it alone.”
He looked at you then, really looked, and for a terrifying, beautiful moment, you thought the walls might come down. His free hand lifted halfway toward your face before he caught himself and dropped it.
“Tch. You’re too damn nice.” The words were gruff, almost angry, but his eyes betrayed him, full of years you didn’t know about.
The walk home after that was quieter. He stayed closer, the umbrella a small shared world against the storm. At your door, he waited until you were safely inside, then lingered on the street a moment longer, staring up at your window.
Alone in his room later, Aomine pressed the charm to his forehead, eyes closed.
She was remembering pieces. Slowly. Painfully slowly.
He had waited years for this. Dreamed of the moment she’d look at him and know. Now that it was happening, the fear was worse than the waiting. What if the new her, the one falling for him now, disappeared when the old memories returned? What if she pitied the boy he used to be?
He was in love twice over. With the girl from the playground who saw him when no one else did, and with the strong, kind young woman who had tamed Touou’s wild ace without even trying.
The storm outside mirrored the one inside him.
And still, he stayed silent.
The cherry blossoms had begun their tentative bloom, delicate pink petals drifting across Touou’s grounds like soft confetti in the breeze. The team was in high spirits after another dominant practice match. Wakamatsu was loudly recounting Aomine’s latest dunk to anyone who would listen, Momoi was updating stats with uncharacteristic cheer, and even Coach wore something resembling a satisfied smirk.
You and Aomine had fallen into a rhythm that felt dangerously natural.
After practice, instead of disappearing, he waited. Every time. Today was no different. He leaned against the gym wall, arms crossed, watching you organize the last of the water bottles. The golden evening light filtered through the high windows, catching on his navy hair and turning it almost ethereal.
“Street court?” he asked when you finally approached, voice low enough that only you heard.
You smiled, adjusting your bag. “Only if you let me play this time instead of just watching.”
Aomine’s smirk was sharp, but his eyes softened. “You’d get destroyed.”
“Try me.”
The park court was bathed in the warm hues of sunset, petals scattered across the cracked asphalt like nature’s confetti. Aomine went easy on you at first with lazy passes, teasing crossovers that he slowed just enough for you to attempt steals. Your laughter echoed across the empty park as you missed shot after shot, the ball clanging off the rusty rim.
“Terrible,” he declared after your fifth airball, but he was grinning, the kind that transformed his whole face. He stepped behind you, adjusting your shooting form with careful hands on your shoulders and elbows. His chest brushed your back, warm and solid. “Like this. Follow through.”
The contact lingered a second too long. Your heart stuttered. When you finally and barely sank one, he ruffled your hair roughly, almost boyishly. “Not bad for a manager.”
You swatted his hand away, cheeks flushed. “High praise from the great Aomine Daiki.”
He barked a short laugh, the sound rich and rare. The team would never believe this version of him existed.
Later, as the sky deepened to indigo and streetlights flickered on, you both collapsed onto the bench. Sweat cooled on your skin. Aomine’s bag sat between you, the charm partially visible again where the zipper had caught.
You reached out without thinking, fingers brushing the small plastic basketball. “This really does look familiar. I swear I had one just like it. I used to tell people it was a lucky charm for lonely days.”
Aomine went completely still beside you.
Your brow furrowed as a fragment surfaced. A warm summer grass, a boy with bright eyes looking at you like you’d hung the stars. “I think… I gave it to someone who needed it more than me. A kid who got in fights a lot. He was loud and stubborn, but… he listened when I talked.”
The words hung in the cooling air. Petals drifted between you like slow-motion snow.
Aomine’s voice came out strained. “What else do you remember about him?”
You shook your head, the memory slipping away like sand. “Not much. Just that he promised he’d always come if I called. Or maybe I imagined that part.” You laughed softly, self-conscious. “Childhood stuff gets fuzzy after all the moves.”
He stared at the ground, fists clenched on his knees. The pain in his expression was raw for one unguarded second with the years of solitary waiting crashing down. Then the mask slammed back up.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Sounds like a dumb kid.”
You nudged him gently. “Whoever he was, I hope he’s doing okay. That charm clearly meant a lot to him.”
Aomine didn’t answer. Instead, he stood abruptly and offered you his hand, pulling you up with more force than necessary. His grip lingered as you walked out of the park, thumb unconsciously brushing your knuckles.
The team noticed the shift the next day.
During lunch, Momoi cornered you in the hallway with a triumphant grin. “So. You two are basically dating, right? The whole team’s been watching. Aomine-kun waits for you after every practice. He smiles. He even did homework without threats.”
You sputtered. “It’s not like that! We’re just… friends. Good friends.”
Wakamatsu appeared behind her, arms crossed. “Friends don’t look at each other like that. Yesterday during film study he was staring at you instead of the screen for twenty straight minutes.”
Aomine rounded the corner then, drawn by the commotion. He took one look at your flustered face and the teasing crowd and growled, “All of you shut up and go eat somewhere else.”
The team scattered with knowing chuckles. Momoi winked at you before disappearing.
Alone in the hallway, Aomine rubbed the back of his neck, uncharacteristically awkward. “They’re idiots.”
You laughed, the sound easing the tension. “They kind of have a point though. We’ve been spending a lot of time together.”
He met your eyes, something deep and vulnerable flickering there. “Yeah. We have.”
The bell rang, cutting the moment short. But as you walked to class together, his shoulder brushing yours with every step, you felt the pull stronger than ever. Something important was hovering just out of reach, like a half-remembered dream.
That night, alone in your room, you pulled out the old photo album again. The blurry blue-haired boy stared back at you from the playground picture. You traced his figure, a strange ache blooming in your chest.
Daiki…
The name surfaced unbidden, faint as a whisper.
You blinked, shaking it off. Just your imagination.
Across town, Aomine lay awake, the charm clutched tightly in his hand.
She was so close.
And he had never been more terrified.
The Touou basketball team’s community outreach event had sounded innocent enough. A weekend exhibition game and youth clinic in the old eastern district. You hadn’t thought much of it until the bus rolled through familiar streets that tugged at something deep in your chest. Cherry blossoms were in full bloom now, painting the sidewalks pink and white, but the neighborhood felt like stepping into an old dream.
Aomine sat beside you on the bus, earbuds in but one side pulled out, his knee pressed against yours. The team had long stopped pretending not to notice. Wakamatsu made exaggerated gagging noises whenever you two spoke quietly. Momoi just smiled like she’d won the lottery.
The old park appeared as the bus turned the corner.
Your breath caught.
It was smaller than you remembered, the playground equipment rustier, but the same battered basketball hoop still stood at the edge, chain net swaying gently in the breeze. The bench where you once sat with a bruised, angry boy. The patch of grass where he’d first shown you how to dribble.
A strange pressure built behind your eyes.
“Everything okay?” Aomine asked, voice low. His hand hovered near yours on the seat.
“Yeah… just déjà vu,” you murmured.
The clinic went smoothly. Aomine dominated the exhibition game with his usual overwhelming talent, but he was different today. He seemed more grounded, passing to the kids more often, demonstrating moves with surprising patience. You watched from the sidelines, heart doing complicated flips every time his eyes found yours in the crowd.
After the event wrapped, while the team packed up and parents chatted with Coach, you wandered toward the park. Aomine followed without being asked.
The sun was setting, bathing everything in warm amber and rose. Petals drifted lazily through the air like slow snowfall. You stopped at the old bench, fingers tracing the weathered wood.
Aomine stood a step behind you, hands in his pockets, tension radiating from him like heat.
“This place…” you whispered. “I used to come here. With someone.”
He didn’t speak.
You closed your eyes, fragments rushing in faster now. Loud laughter. A boy with wild blue hair yelling at kids who’d tried to pick on you. The way he’d puff up like an angry cat when anyone called him troublesome. The way his eyes lit up when you listened to him talk about basketball for hours.
You turned to Aomine. “There was this kid. Stubborn. Always getting into fights. Everyone said he was a handful, but he was just… lonely. I told him that once. He looked so shocked.”
Aomine’s breath hitched audibly.
You laughed softly, the sound fragile. “I called him something silly. Dai-chan, I think. He hated it. But he always came running when I needed him. Promised he’d always show up if I called.”
The words unlocked something.
Memory slammed into you like a fast break.
Summer evenings. Scraped knees. The cheap charm pressed into a small, calloused palm. “If you get sad, hold this, okay?” A bright, gap-toothed grin. The sudden move. The tears you’d cried on this very bench because you didn’t even get to say goodbye properly.
Your eyes snapped open. You stared at Aomine for a long minute.
The navy hair. The sharp eyes. The way he carried himself like the world owed him nothing and he’d take it anyway. The protective hand on the ladder. The way he listened when no one else could reach him.
“Daiki…?” The childhood nickname slipped out, raw and disbelieving.
Aomine went deathly still. The mask shattered completely. Pain, relief, fear, and something deeper, all of it raw on his face.
“You…” His voice cracked. He stepped closer, towering over you but looking heartbreakingly vulnerable. “You remember.”
The charm. The promise. The boy you left behind without meaning to.
Tears stung your eyes as more pieces flooded back. From the fights he got into defending nothing and everything, the way he’d light up when you sat through his endless basketball rants, the last goodbye that came too suddenly.
All this time.
He’d been right here.
“You knew,” you whispered, voice breaking. “From the first day in the gym. You knew it was me.”
Aomine looked away, jaw tight, but he didn’t deny it. The weight of years pressed down on both of you under the blooming cherry trees.
The miracle manager and the untamable ace stood in the place where their story first began, the air thick with unspoken pain and the terrifying new truth blooming between them.
The cherry blossoms continued their gentle descent around you both, pink petals catching in your hair and on Aomine’s shoulders like nature itself was trying to soften the moment. But nothing could soften this.
You stood frozen on the old playground, the same bench from years ago now behind you like a silent witness. The exhibition event had long since wrapped up; the team’s distant laughter and the rumble of the bus engine felt worlds away. It was just the two of you, the fading sunset painting the sky in bruised oranges and deep purples, and the crushing weight of truth finally breaking free.
“Daiki…” you whispered again, the childhood name tasting both foreign and achingly familiar on your tongue. Tears blurred your vision. “All this time… you knew. From the very first day.”
Aomine didn’t move. His tall frame was rigid, fists clenched at his sides, dark eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that bordered on pain. The lazy, untouchable ace was gone. In his place stood the boy you’d once known that was carrying far too much for far too long.
“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “I knew.”
The words landed like a physical blow. You took a shaky step back, hand pressed to your chest as if you could stop the ache blooming there. “Why didn’t you tell me? The first time you saw me in the gym… every practice, every rooftop talk, every late-night street court… You just let me treat you like a stranger. Like some project I had to manage.”
Aomine’s jaw tightened. For a second, he looked like he might walk away. Just like he always did when things got too heavy. But then something in him snapped. Years of silence, of searching empty playgrounds and scrolling through old yearbooks, of clutching that stupid charm like a lifeline, finally poured out.
“Because I was scared, damn it!” His voice cracked, raw and loud enough to startle a few birds from a nearby tree. He raked a hand through his navy hair, pacing a tight circle before stopping right in front of you. “I looked for you for years. After you moved, I kept coming back here every damn day like an idiot, thinking maybe you’d show up. Teikō, middle school, all those empty wins… I carried that summer like it was the only real thing I had. And then you just… appear at Touou? Smiling at me like I’m just another pain-in-the-ass player?”
He laughed, but it was broken, bitter. “I thought when you saw me, it’d click. That you’d remember the kid who promised he’d always come running. But you looked right through me. Polite. Professional. Like I was nothing. And I… I couldn’t risk it.”
Your tears fell freely now. “Risk what?”
Aomine stepped closer, close enough that you could see the faint tremble in his shoulders. “What if you pretended? What if you only acted nice out of guilt? What if the girl who sat with me when everyone else called me a troublemaker was gone, and all that was left was someone who felt sorry for the lonely genius?” His voice dropped to a whisper, devastating in its honesty. “What if I wasn’t the same kid you remembered? I’ve changed. You’ve changed. I didn’t want the memories to ruin the person you are now.”
The wind picked up, swirling petals around you both in a dramatic flurry. You stared at him, heart shattering and reassembling in the same breath.
“All this time,” you choked out, “you were alone with it. The charm. The promise. The searching. While I just… forgot. I moved on like it was nothing.”
“Don’t,” he cut in sharply, but his hand reached out anyway, hesitating before gently brushing a petal from your cheek. The touch was feather-light, trembling. “Don’t do that. It wasn’t your fault. We were kids. Life happened. I just… I couldn’t let go.”
Silence stretched between you, heavy and sacred. The old park felt alive with ghosts. The laughter of two children, the quiet promise made on this very bench, the sudden goodbye that had quietly shaped both your lives.
You stepped forward and pressed your forehead against his chest, fists clutching his jacket. “I’m sorry, Daiki. I’m so sorry you carried it alone.”
His arms came around you slowly at first, then tightly, like he was afraid you’d vanish again. His chin rested on top of your head, breath shaky. “I fell in love with you twice, you know,” he murmured into your hair, voice rough with emotion. “Once when we were kids. And again these past weeks. Watching you handle the team. Climb that stupid ladder. Tutor me like I wasn’t a lost cause. You made me want to be better without even knowing why it mattered.”
You pulled back just enough to look up at him, eyes shining. The sunset painted his face in gold, highlighting every sharp feature and the rare softness in his gaze.
“I think I’m falling for you again too,” you whispered. “The you from before… and the you now.”
Aomine’s breath caught. For once, the genius who always had the last word was speechless. He leaned down, forehead resting against yours, the world narrowing to just this moment under the blooming trees.
The confrontation didn’t end with grand declarations or perfect resolutions. It ended with two people standing in the wreckage of lost time, choosing each other anyway. The past and present colliding in the most beautiful, painful way.
Somewhere in the distance, the team was probably wondering where their ace and miracle manager had disappeared to.
They had no idea the real miracle had just happened.
The old park lay bathed in the soft lavender hush of twilight, cherry blossom petals drifting lazily through the air like whispered secrets from the past. The exhibition event had long ended, the distant rumble of the team’s bus fading into memory. Only the two of you remained standing beneath the same trees that had once sheltered two lonely children years ago.
Aomine hadn’t released your hand. His grip was firm, warm, almost reverent, thumb tracing small circles against your skin as if grounding himself in the reality that you were truly here.
You sat together on the weathered wooden bench, shoulders brushing, the familiar creak of old wood beneath you echoing like a sigh of relief from the past. Fireflies began to flicker above the grass, tiny golden sparks dancing in the cooling evening breeze. The rusty basketball hoop stood sentinel in the distance, its chain net swaying gently.
Aomine reached into his bag with his free hand and pulled out the small charm. The cheap plastic basketball, faded and scratched from years of silent companionship, rested in his palm like a fragile treasure.
He held it out to you.
“You told me to keep this,” he said, voice low and rough with years of unsaid words. “When I was sad. Back then. Remember?”
You took the charm carefully, fingers brushing his. The familiar weight sent another wave of memories crashing through you. The summer sun on your skin, a stubborn blue-haired boy with scraped knees, the serious way you’d pressed it into his hand like it could fix the whole world.
“I remember,” you whispered, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.
A faint, crooked smirk touched his lips, but his dark eyes remained painfully sincere. “Did it work?”
You looked up at him, heart aching. “For you?”
“No.” His voice cracked slightly. He glanced away toward the old hoop, petals catching in his messy navy hair. “It didn’t. Not really.”
“Why not?”
Aomine swallowed hard, the muscle in his jaw flexing. “Because you were gone.”
The words landed heavy and honest between you, carrying the weight of every lonely night, every empty court, every time he’d rubbed that charm like a prayer. The wind picked up gently, swirling blossoms around you both in a cinematic flurry of pink and white.
You closed your fingers around the charm and his hand, pressing them both against your chest. “I’m here now, Daiki. I’m not going anywhere this time.”
He turned to you fully, towering even while seated, his usual arrogant mask completely stripped away. What remained was raw, vulnerable, and devastatingly real. The genius who needed no one had been waiting for someone—you—for far too long.
“Stay this time,” he murmured, the plea rough and unguarded. “Not just because of that summer. Because of us. Now. The way you make me want to show up. The way you see me even when I’m being an ass.”
You smiled through your tears, cupping his face with both hands. His skin was warm beneath your palms, sharp cheekbones and the faint scar near his jaw so achingly familiar now.
“I’m staying,” you breathed. “I fell for you twice too. The loud, lonely boy from the playground… and the impossible ace who listens when no one else can reach him.”
The world narrowed to just this moment.
You leaned in first, closing the distance with a kiss that had been years in the making.
It started soft. Then Aomine made a quiet, broken sound deep in his chest and pulled you closer, one strong arm wrapping around your waist as he kissed you back with all the pent-up longing, frustration, and love he’d carried alone. The kiss deepened under the falling cherry blossoms, passionate and cinematic, his hand tangling gently in your hair while petals continued their graceful descent around you.
When you finally parted, foreheads resting together, both breathing unsteadily, Aomine’s smirk returned.
“Took you long enough, Miracle Manager.”
You laughed, watery and bright, swatting his chest. “Shut up, Dai-chan.”
He groaned fondly, pulling you into his side. “Don’t you dare start that again.”
You stayed on that bench long into the night, talking quietly about everything. From the fights, the basketball rants, the sudden move, the years apart, the slow burn of falling for each other all over again in the present. The charm rested between your joined hands, no longer a symbol of loss, but of return.
For the first time in years, Aomine Daiki wasn’t carrying the memory alone.
And under the same sky that had once watched two children make a promise, they had found their way back to each other.
Monday morning at Touou Academy arrived with bright spring sunlight streaming through the gym’s high windows, turning the polished court into a golden stage. The air smelled of fresh rubber and anticipation. For the first time in recent memory, the entire team was early.
And so was Aomine Daiki.
He strolled through the doors at 8:45, gym bag slung casually over one shoulder, the small charm now proudly dangling from the zipper again. It was no longer hidden, no longer a secret. His navy hair was still slightly tousled from the walk, but his posture carried a new kind of ease. He dropped his bag, joined the warm-up drills without being asked, and even corrected Wakamatsu’s footwork with a surprisingly patient grunt.
The gym went dead silent for three full seconds.
Wakamatsu fumbled the ball, staring like he’d seen a ghost. “Okay, I’m officially dead. Someone check my pulse.”
Imayoshi pushed his glasses up, smirking. “Or we’ve entered an alternate timeline. Quick, someone ask him to run suicides.”
Momoi spotted you entering a few moments later and practically teleported across the court, pink hair flying. She grabbed both your hands, eyes sparkling with pure delight. “Finally! I’ve been dying for this day. You two owe me big time. Emotional support manager fees. Cake. Every single week. No negotiations.”
Your face heated up instantly. “Momoi, it’s not—”
Before you could finish, Aomine appeared beside you, sliding a possessive arm around your shoulders and pulling you gently into his side right there in front of everyone. The casual display of affection was so uncharacteristic that half the team pretended to retch dramatically.
“About damn time!” Wakamatsu shouted, pumping a fist. “We had a pool going for months! I lost money because of you two!”
Coach stood near the sidelines with his arms crossed, but the usual deep lines of frustration on his face had smoothed into something like quiet relief. “As long as you both keep showing up and the team benefits… I don’t want to hear about any drama. Aomine, keep this version of you. We might actually win everything this year.”
Aomine’s smirk was lazy, but his eyes were warm when they glanced down at you. “No promises on the drama. But yeah… I’ll be here.”
Practice that day was electric. Aomine played with focused fire, but he also passed more, encouraged the underclassmen, and most shockingly stayed until the very end to help put away equipment. Every time you looked up from your clipboard, his gaze was already on you, carrying that new, quiet intensity that made your heart skip.
During a water break, Momoi leaned in conspiratorially while Aomine was distracted. “So… how was the park? Did he finally spill everything? The charm? The dramatic childhood backstory?”
You smiled softly, cheeks warming at the memory of falling petals and that long-awaited kiss. “Something like that.”
Aomine returned, tossing you a water bottle with perfect aim before draping his arm around you again. “Stop interrogating her. It’s none of your business.”
Momoi just grinned wider. “It became my business the moment you started listening to someone other than yourself.”
The team erupted into laughter and teasing, the gym filled with the kind of chaotic joy that only came after a long, hard-won victory. As the session wrapped and golden afternoon light poured through the windows, Aomine walked you out, fingers loosely intertwined with yours.
At the gym doors, he paused, pulling you close for a moment. “No more secrets,” he murmured against your hair. “Not anymore.”
You rose on your toes and kissed him softly, quick, but full of promise. “No more secrets.”
The team catcalled from behind you. Wakamatsu yelled something about “getting a room,” and Momoi started planning celebratory team dinners. Aomine flipped them off without looking, but his smirk was genuine.
As you walked across the academy grounds together under blooming cherry trees, the past and present finally felt perfectly balanced. The lonely genius and the girl who once saw him clearly. The untamable ace and the miracle manager who changed everything with nothing but patience and heart.
Aomine Daiki had kept his childhood promise.
And in doing so, he’d won something far greater than any game.
collage chaose romance // fake dating // slow corruption of control // smoke, ink, sweat, silence
a chaotic college romance between noise and silence, where she learns that calm isn’t always peace and chaos isn’t always danger
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frataominedaiki x stoner femreader
⮑ NEXT
parts: 1. stormy eyes, 2. little show off, 3. these violator,
cw: awkward flirting with consequences, aomine daiki being a problem (as usual), fake dating proposal energy (preliminary stages of bad decisions), emotionally unavailable reader™ behavior, mild panic via academic burnout + ghosting frustration, caffeine + thc haze / dissociation-lite vibes, mutual “i see too much but we will not talk about it” energy, basketball boys invading your personal space (literally), reader having a very inconvenient crush at the worst possible moment, tension that is absolutely not being addressed like normal people would
STORMY EYES
“shit, shit, shit,” you muttered under your breath, aggressively deleting the passive-aggressive message you’d been trying to send your client.
you did beta reading and proofreading for a small publishing house, and occasionally you picked up extra money correcting essays and other academic projects. right now, you’d put aside a manuscript you were working on just to deal with this short essay. what you hadn’t expected was for the girl to ghost you for two days straight.
you sat annoyed on the front patio of the campus café. you couldn’t stay locked up in your dorm anymore - you’d suddenly felt like you were going to lose it if you didn’t get out.
so here you were.
outside.
in your pajamas, hair lazily clipped up, glasses sliding down your nose as you absentmindedly hit your thc vape. you slammed your phone onto the table and let out a long breath, trying to shake off the tension.
“not worth it,” you muttered to yourself. “i’ll just bill her anyway. you spent the whole weekend on it, and she only texted last minute.”
after your little motivational speech, you took a sip of iced tea and stared at your laptop screen.
you started rereading your own words, scanning for inconsistencies in your assignment for your writing seminar. gradually, you became oblivious to the passage of time and your environment.
a random, monotonous piano track played through your headphones. your eyelids felt heavy. your body was comfortably relaxed despite the awkward position you were sitting in.
a tall shadow fell over you, breaking your moment of peace.
it took you a second for your foggy brain to register the shift. with a slight frown, you tilted your head back and met sharp, stormy dark-blue eyes.
looking down at you was the ace of the basketball team, wearing a faintly dismissive expression. tousled dark hair with that deep indigo tint, one eyebrow raised as he studied you.
his eyes dragged over your oversized fluffy sweatpants - at least two sizes too big. your light robe didn’t reveal much of your top, but he still caught the faded band logo on your shirt.
in his head, he briefly wondered if your outfit was some kind of fashion choice or just a malfunction.
the moment he noticed your red, tired eyes, he had his answer.
"you're the tutor who does proofreading work?” he asked from above, voice rough.
“yeah?” you answered, slightly caught off guard.
aomine didn’t hesitate.
he pulled out the chair in front of you and sat down, arms crossing over his chest. he glanced around the patio once before focusing back on you.
“need help,” he said bluntly. “with my grades. if i don’t fix them, i’m off the court.”
“okey..” you blinked slowly. “and you are?” you asked without any extra thought . the question slipped out naturally. you knew you’d heard of him - you just couldn’t place him in that moment.
aomine stared at you.
“…are you serious?”
“yes, keep talking,” you said instead, taking a sip of your drink, slightly more irritated now.
“daiki aomine,” he said flatly, like that should’ve been enough.
“okay, so what do you need, aomine?”
“grades,” he said. “need to catch up. missing assignments, seminar work, a few other things.”
you started mentally rearranging your schedule, calculating where you could even fit that in. you removed your glasses, pinched the bridge of your nose, and let out a frustrated sigh.
you weighed it.
but when you did the math on what you could charge, you realized it might actually free you from other smaller projects.
“it’s gonna be expensive,” you said, looking him straight in the eye.
aomine’s expression shifted immediately - something like satisfaction, like he’d already expected that answer.
“don’t worry about money, babe,” he said lazily, a hint of confidence in his voice. “i’ve got plenty. just name your price.”
you were already regretting getting into this.
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a few days later, you were standing in front of the campus dorm housing the basketball team. you silently cursed yourself for agreeing to this in the first place. you shifted nervously from foot to foot, fingers still fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.
with a long exhale, you finally knocked on the door.
you hated that you’d gotten yourself into this situation. you’d wanted to meet somewhere public, but aomine had insisted on here. apparently, “so his fangirls wouldn’t bother him,” as if he didn’t have plenty of those.
the door suddenly swung open, filling the frame with a tall, muscular figure. you tilted your head up and met kise’s golden gaze.
the corners of his mouth lifted instantly the moment he saw you. his charm practically hit you in the face. he gave you a confident once-over and licked his lips almost absentmindedly.
“you’re…?” he asked lightly, leaning one arm against the doorframe.
“y/n,” you answered quickly. “is aomine here? i’m supposed to help him with school,” you added just as fast.
“y/n?”
the voice from inside came out surprised, and a chill ran down your spine the moment you recognized it.
a second later, murasakibara’s massive figure appeared in your line of sight.
his tired, slightly reddened eyes looked down at you from above. he smiled faintly, almost absentmindedly, a bowl of fresh popcorn in his hands.
“what are you doing here?” he asked, his voice full of surprise. “it’s weird seeing you here and not on lecture.”
your heart skipped and you swallowed dryly.
murasakibara had been your crush since last year. it had been hard not to notice him - he literally stood out in every crowd of freshmen. his quiet, calm presence had settled somewhere deeper than it probably should have.
you opened your mouth nervously, but no words came out.
after a beat too long, you just offered a small, awkward smile at your silence.
“she’s here to help me with school,” aomine’s voice cut in from behind him, irritated. “so can you move and let her in already? jeez.”
you slipped past aomine into the house, silently grateful he had appeared at exactly the right moment.
the two of you made it through the house without further interruption and finally reached the closed door of aomine’s room.
you glanced around as you stepped inside, taking in the mild chaos. you moved toward the desk and sat down, eyes drifting over scattered laundry and messy stacks of books. it was a sharp contrast to the neatly organized bulletin board and schedule pinned above it.
“did you look at that essay?” aomine asked as he dropped onto his bed, phone already in hand, pulling your attention away from his room.
“yeah,” you sighed, resigned, pulling your laptop out of your bag. you opened it and pulled up the document he’d sent you two days ago, scanning your notes and trying to make sense of them again.
“if i put the information nicely,” you started, glancing toward him - just in time to see him half-smiling at his screen, a silver chain between his teeth, “it’s a disaster.”
the second it registered, his head snapped toward you.
you had his full attention instantly.
“a disaster?” he repeated. “what do you mean, disaster? it’s fine; i wrote it.”
“oh, sorry. must be amazing then, since you wrote it,” you shot back dryly, shifting onto his bed so you could get closer and start pointing at your notes on the screen.
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“that’s it for today." you closed your laptop and stared out the window. it was already getting dark, and the exhaustion from the entire day was starting to settle in your bones. “good work,” you added toward aomine, who was frowning at his phone.
you rolled your eyes at him and started packing your things back into your bag. you didn’t really pay him any attention until he let out a weary sigh and tossed his phone onto the bed.
“what?” you asked automatically, more out of habit than actual interest. the second it left your mouth, you internally regretted it.
“hypothetically,” aomine started.
“i’m honestly impressed you know the word ‘hypothetically,’” you muttered under your breath with a faint amused smirk.
“ha ha,” he laughed dryly. “you’re hilarious.”
“it was right there. sorry," you chuckled lightly. aomine noticed it - how your usual guard slipped for a second. “so what is it?” you added after a short pause.
“okay,” he said slowly. “so, hypothetically… if you were dating someone, broke up, everything was over, and that person still kept texting, calling, and showing up… what would you do?”
“i’d block them?” you answered with a shrug.
“and if that doesn’t work?”
“i’d call the police,” you said calmly, placing your full backpack onto the chair by the desk.
aomine let out an amused huff and shook his head in disbelief at your solution.
“yeah, probably not that extreme,” he said, slightly less sure now. “she’s not bad. she just doesn’t really get boundaries.”
“then date someone else, even if it’s fake,” you said thoughtfully. “i don’t know - go to a party, find a girl, post a couple stories, make it look real. she’ll get the hint eventually.”
in the dim light of the room, something in aomine’s eyes caught. he shifted forward on the edge of the bed, long legs spreading as he leaned his elbows onto his knees, studying you with sudden interest. a slow, victorious smirk spread across his face.
“and what about you?” he asked, voice lighter, teasing. “you wouldn’t do that for a friend?”
“don’t flatter yourself,” you cut in easily. “we’ve known each other for a few days. i wouldn’t even call you an acquaintance yet, let alone a friend.”
“rude,” he laughed, but he didn’t let it drop. his mind briefly flashed back to how you froze earlier when murasakibara appeared - how easily you gave yourself away.
something clicked.
“if you help me, i could help you, you know?”
“what do you mean?” you asked, crossing your arms as you studied him. the way his stormy eyes stayed locked on you, the corner of his mouth pulled into that provoking grin - it already made you distrust whatever was coming next.
“i noticed how you look at atsushi,” he said quietly, confidence sharpening his tone. “how you froze up and got all red. you help me, i help you.”
“i wasn’t looking at him,” you scoffed flatly, forcing an indifferent shrug.
you were trying to deny something that had probably been painfully obvious to everyone in that hallway.
still, you had to try.
“bullshit,” aomine said immediately.
you shot him a glare.
“just admit it.” he shrugged, a sickeningly satisfied smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “you like him. not exactly a crime.”
he knew exactly what he was doing.
you fell silent for a moment, doing nothing but stare back at him. suddenly, you were aware of everything.
the weight of his sharp gaze.
how annoyingly difficult it was to take a normal breath when he was looking at you like that. like he’d already figured you out and was waiting for you to catch up.
it was ridiculous, stupid - almost embarrassingly childish.
you didn’t expect yourself to actually consider it.
and you hated that part of you that did.
you figured out there was no point hiding anything from him. he had literally seen your entire embarrassing performance the moment murasakibara spoke to you.
“no,” you shook your head. “that’s a terrible idea, and my love life is none of your business. go bother one of your fangirls.”
“come on,” he muttered, almost exhausted now. “it’s a win-win. you’ll see. it won’t even be for long. just until she backs off. and then i’ll do everything i can to set you two up.”
“murasakibara is definitely going to notice we’re ‘dating’,” you said, making air quotes with your fingers around the word.
“trust me, he won’t care,” aomine said with a shrug. “he’s never really paid attention to my love life.”
“probably because you hook up with someone new every week?” you shot back, raising an eyebrow with a sharp little smile.
“ouch,” he exhaled, amused. “so… deal or what?”
the way he looked at you - too direct, too persistent - sent a faint chill down your spine. it irritated you how straightforward he was, how easily he cornered you into making a decision you’d already said you would rather not make.
and yet he kept pushing, like he already knew you’d give in.
you bit the inside of your cheek absentmindedly, fingers tugging at the hem of your shirt.
“fine.”
a/n: hello hello!! :dd figured i’d try something a little different this time and finally start a longer fic 👀 i’m planning for this one to be 10+ chapters (hopefully even more if everything goes according to plan hehe). consider this the pilot episode!! ^^ i’d absolutely love to hear your thoughts, reactions - anything, really :’) every comment means the world and keeps me motivated to keep writing. i really hope you’ll enjoy the ride and stick around for the next chapters… and maybe for more fics in the future too <3
Your movements halted, and your eyes grew wide as you processed the words just spoken to you. You tilted your head to the right, and your bewildered gaze landed on his back just as he was dunking. A swish and then a thump as the ball and his trainers hit the ground.
When Aomine turned to face you, he found you still staring at him, your mouth opening and closing a few times before you uttered a single word.
"Uh?"
He wiped off the dampness from his forehead with the hem of his shirt before striding toward your position.
"Go out with me," Aomine repeated as he looked at you. "Let's hang out together, just the two of us, and see where things go from there."
You blinked owlishly. "You're not kidding, aren't you?"
Aomine raised an eyebrow. "Does it look like I'm joking around?" His tone was confident and tinged with humor, though the way his shoulders seemingly stiffened wasn't lost on you. "I just want to take you out."
The hint of a dazed smile appeared on the corner of your lips. "I thought you didn't like me."
"Hmm." He closed the distance between your bodies while holding your gaze, and then his eyes narrowed briefly. "You thought wrong." His gaze dipped to your lips before returning to your eyes. "Well?"
You slightly tilted your head to one side. "Okay," you breathed. "I will go out with you."
His smirk morphed into a genuine smile. "Good," he said, feigning to be deep in thought for a few moments, "so I can finally convince you to wear my shirt number at my games."
A soft snort left your lips. "I do like wearing my general Touou Academy basketball shirt, though. It's pretty stylish. And..." you trailed off, then your eyes sparkled with mischief. "It was actually a gift from Imayoshi-san."
His brows furrowed. "Oi," he warned, and you couldn't help but grin at the oblivious jealousy that suddenly appeared on his features. "I definitely don't want to hear about evil glasses giving you things right now."
You smiled playfully and brought one of your hands up to his face. You ran your fingertips along his jawline, and his cheeks flushed as he tried to maintain a stern expression.
"You're naughtier than I thought you'd be," Aomine rumbled, wrapping his hands around your wrists as he gazed at you through half-lidded eyes. "Not that I mind it."
You hummed and peered at him expectantly. "Don't look at me with those dreamy eyes," he gruffed, though his words had the softest tone you'd ever heard from him. "It's very distracting."
You bit your lower lip to stifle a grin at his flustered state. "Then how do you want me to look at you?"
Aomine sighed and leaned forward until his lips brushed against yours. "You're a damn tease," he muttered against your mouth. "You're lucky I'm into it."
