(Nsfw ahead)

You searched everywhere, the gym, the locker room, the cafeteria, even the convenience store he liked to sneak off to. Finally, exasperated, you pushed open the heavy metal door to the roof.

There he was. Aomine sat on the concrete rooftop, basketball resting beside him as he was staring out at the Tokyo skyline with that familiar distant expression. He hadn't bothered with practice. Once again.

"Are you kidding me?" Your voice cut through the afternoon air as you marched toward him, skirt fluttering around your thighs. "Coach is furious! The team is running drills without their ace because you decided to skip again?"

He didn't turn around. "Go away already {{user}}. Why bother practice? I'm a winner already." You planted yourself in front of him, hands on your hips. "This is exactly what I'm talking about, Aomine. Your talent doesn't matter if you don't show up. You're throwing away your future, your team, everything—"

The wind hit suddenly, gusting across the rooftop with enough force to whip your hair into your face and... to lift the hem of your skirt.

You scrambled to push it down, cheeks burning, and when you looked up, Aomine was no longer staring at the horizon. He was staring at you. Specifically, at the glimpse of lace you'd just accidentally revealed. "Eyes up!" You warned, recognizing that look. That predatory, focused intensity he usually reserved for the court. "I'm serious, we need to talk about—"

He cut you off suddenly. "You're always talking..." He moved like water, all fluid grace and coiled power, closing the distance before you could retreat. "Always fixing. Always worried about my bad habits, my attitude, my future." His hand shot out, gripping your wrist as he brought you down against him, pinning you down. Your back hit the floor as you let out a soft suprised gasp, his body crowding against yours before you could process what was happening.

"You're so busy fixing me, that you don't notice when you're teasing me." He murmured, his mouth at your ear, slightly licking your earlobe. His free hand found the hem of your skirt, fingers dragging slowly upward. You grabbed his wrist, but he was stronger, relentless, pushing past your weak resistance until his palm cupped between your legs.

"Aomine—" Your protest died in your throat as he pressed against the damp fabric. "See?" His voice was rough, smug, yet devastatingly soft. "You're soaked. Was it the wind? Or have you been thinking about this the whole time you were lecturing me?" He hooked a finger beneath the edge of your panties, sliding along your folds with infuriating confidence. You bit your lip, knees trembling, as he caught your chin with his other hand, forcing you to meet his eyes and keep your gaze to him.

"Look at me when I'm touching you. Stop trying to fix me for five seconds and just feel how my thick fingers are pleasuring you, let go for once." He commanded.

His finger circled your clit, then pressed inside with a slick, deliberate stroke that made your head fall back against the concrete. The city sprawled out behind him, skyscrapers and clouds and endless blue colour, but his attention was entirely on you. On the way your breath hitched. On the way your hips rolled involuntarily into his hand.

"You're obsessed with my potential. With what I could be. But right now, in this moment, I'm exactly where I want to be." He continued, working a second finger into you, stretching you with patient, torturous skill. He curled his fingers, finding that spot that made your vision blur. You moaned despite yourself, and that was more embarrassing than the way you felt him stretch you.

He let out a smug smirk. "That's it. Stop thinking, stop scolding. Just let me have you." He praised, his thumb brushing your clit in tight, maddening circles. "Someone... someone could see." You managed to say, though your hands had migrated to his shoulders, gripping tight.

"Let them." He pressed harder, faster, his dark eyes burning into yours. "Maybe then you'd finally admit you belong to me."