ON HIATUS;

Quietude is not a trait you handle well. It takes more energy for you to resist checking your phone than it does to actually pick it up and find your phone void of notifications. At this point, you figure that this is what your relationship has come to. Like ashes fluttering in the wind, a burnt and destroyed memento dissipating into nothing.

The days pass in a blur, every day a wash, rinse, repeat of the previous. You bury yourself in work and your manager compliments you for your hard work, unaware of the turmoil plaguing your heart. Mountains of paperwork weigh heavy on your shoulders, but you prefer to deal with that than the issue that you can't even begin to tackle.

When you finally get home at the end of the night, weariness clings to your bones like an old friend. You soak in your tub, finding the steam a welcome comfort. Just when you think you're finally finding some peace, your phone pings with a familiar tune. Lurching towards it is instinctual at this point, you're desperate for any small morsel of information.

Where are you?

After a week of zero communication, this is what Aomine starts with. Flames lick up your cheeks as you feel your blood surge in irritation. Not even a sorry or an I miss you. Pursing your lips, you put your phone screen down on the counter and decide to ignore it for now. After the bath, you can barely keep your eyes open — the emotional and physical turmoil finally taking its toll on you. You walk straight to bed and succumb to slumber soon after.

When you awake, nighttime still blankets the sky in darkness. Your room is bathed in pale moonlight, but it is not your lonely companion that startles you from your sleep. Instead, you hear a distant, rhythmic thumping outside. At first, you figure it’s one of your drunken neighbors. But the sound occurs in rapid succession and you wonder if you should be concerned. You pad over quietly to the door and glance through the peep hole to find no one there, so you unlock your door and swing it open.

The sight before you feels like a shivering wake up call. There, Aomine sits on the floor by your door, his tuft of midnight blue hair unruly. You realize then that the sounds was from his dribbling basketball, ever present in his hands. The noise stops the moment you open your door and Aomine jerks, looking up in sheer surprise. His eyes, dark and wide, seem to glimmer. 

He jumps to his feet almost instantly, taking you aback. “What the fuck? You were here the whole time?” His voice is gruff and dry, tainted by the cold. 

However, your brain is still playing catch-up, failing to grasp the fact that Aomine isn’t thousands of miles away, in another city, country, and continent. He’s here. At your door. 

“What are you doing here?” is the only thing you manage to ask. 

Aomine doesn’t grace you with a response, instead shuffling his feet as he scowls. “I thought you were out.”

“Well, I’m not,” you clear your throat. 

Aomine doesn’t seem to push any further, instead frowning as he asks, “Can you let me in? It’s fucking freezing.”

Wordlessly, you step to the side and grant him space to enter your house. Aomine is quiet as he steps in. You take his jacket to hang it and the cold pierces through the comfort of your home. His large frame feels imposing in your small apartment, and you never realize how much space he takes up wherever he goes. While he gets himself settled, swapping out jeans for sweats, you boil water to prepare tea for him. 

The tension hangs heavy in the air, unsaid words stringing the atmosphere tight. You’re not sure what to say in that moment, you don’t even know why he’s here instead of Los Angeles. As your mind scrambles for theories, Aomine puts a hush to the racing. His shadow falls upon the counter before you, his hands splayed out on either side of you as he hovers close. He tucks his chin on your shoulder and you hear him breathe in before exhaling slowly. 

Your kettle whistles to signal the water is done, but Aomine doesn’t move even after you switch off the stove. “Let me get some tea for you,” you say quietly.

He’s still for a moment, deciding what to do, but then shifts over to give you some breathing room. 

When the two of you finally seat yourselves in the tiny living room, knee to knee, Aomine sips his tea without a word. “What are you doing here, Dai?” The nickname slips too easily from your lips. A sign of familiarity.

“Wanted good Japanese food,” he grumbles under his breath.

You know that’s a lie because he raves about LA’s Little Tokyo and Japantown, stacks of restaurants that serve delicious dishes that remind him of home. “Dai,” you sigh.

“I thought you were out, why didn’t you respond? I was knocking for a while.” He swiftly maneuvers the conversation, opting to push blame on you instead as his brows pucker in a frown.

“I fell asleep, long day.”

Aomine purses his lips, mulling over his thoughts. “Shoulda answered. It’s cold as shit out there.”

“Well, it’s not as if you gave me a heads up you were coming.”

“Don’t people like surprises?”

You lick your lips, crossing your arms over your chest as you shift slightly away from him. “We haven’t spoken for days and you just suddenly show up here.” 

“Well, what the hell was I supposed to do when you gave me an ultimatum that you wanted to break up with me?”

“You communicate, that’s what couples do,” you snap.“You didn’t text me.”

“You didn’t either.”

By the look on his face, you can tell he’s biting his tongue. “Figured it would be good to talk in person. Been a while since we saw each other anyway.”

“We could’ve just video-called.”

“You always text me,” Aomine emphasizes instead, putting his cup down. “You didn’t text.”

If you didn’t know any better, you swear he’s sulking. Aomine doesn’t sulk. He’s the Aomine Daiki — he doesn’t go to people, people come to him. The same way you had done years ago. “I didn’t feel like talking to you, and it didn’t seem like you wanted me to talk to you either.”

“That’s not true,” Aomine retorts. 

“Conversations are a two-way street. It doesn’t really count if I’m just texting someone who doesn’t respond; I might as well talk to a wall.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“And so have I.”

This discussion is going nowhere, the two of you too difficult to admit when one’s in the wrong. Or both. 

“Will you come here?” Aomine grunts instead, gesturing to himself. 

Just to be petulant, you pinch your lips and look away. “Don’t feel like it.”

Without a warning, he tugs you over to his side. His strength has always been clear, but you still let out a yelp when you’re yanked onto his lap. His arms are quick to wrap around you, keeping you in place no matter how much you struggle. “Sit still,” he mutters.

“What is wrong with you?” You twist around and smack his chest. “You can’t just show up here without telling me. You’re supposed to be in America with your cool team and your cool friends doing cool things. Why the fuck did you come here?”

“Can’t help it if a certain someone wasn’t talking to me.”

“It’s not like you tried either!”

Aomine shifts his gaze to the wall past you, to the shelf that holds frames with photographs of your loved ones. Aomine is in one too many of them. “You always text first.”

“Maybe this time I wanted you to do it yourself.”

He nuzzles his face into your neck, nose still cold. “Missed you.”

That confession is perhaps what startles you the most. Aomine has always been insufferable when it comes to relationships. You’ve heard it before from your friends how the man isn’t great at maintaining friendships or romantic pursuits, because he’s never been one to show effort. But you knew better. At least you thought you did, until he moved away oceans away from you. “Missed you too,” you reply begrudgingly, knowing full well that you mean it. 

Aomine turns you away from him, keeping your back pressed against his front as he leans his forehead on your back. “I was worried,” he mutters, “when you didn’t text. You always text me in the morning. I thought—” he swallows “—you broke up with me. That you were serious. Gave it a day, thought you were just busy. You still didn’t text.”

You stay quiet, waiting for him to continue, but quietly absorbing his words. Aomine’s never been the vocal type unless on the basketball court. So when he speaks, many listen. 

“I didn’t… call, because I didn’t want to hear you say that we were done. Because if I called or texted and you didn’t respond, I don’t know what I would’ve done.” He takes a deep breath. “Took me a while to convince the coach to let me go home for a little bit, but he could tell my head wasn’t in the game. Kept picking fights with my teammates, and I know how much you hate when I do that.”

You do know that. After all, you built your high school reputation on taming the feral Aomine. The one who could never work well with his team. You had called him out on it years ago, reminded him that this was a team sport. He had called you annoying, but listened anyway. He stopped arguing so much with his team. 

Aomine doesn’t say anything else and you release a deep exhale, turning around to face him. You run your fingers through his hair, silky strands slightly stiff from the breeze. “I wouldn’t do that,” you mutter, “I didn’t mean to give you an ultimatum, I was just upset. I’m sorry for making you worry.” You press a kiss on his temple and you feel his shoulders sag. “I just hated feeling like I was the only one who still cared about this, about us. You’re living your life there and… it just felt like you were moving on without me.”

At that, your boyfriend scowls again. “The reason I’m still there is because I have you to keep me going, stupid.” You frown at the insult, but before you can interrupt, he continues. “I wanna do my best, become the best, for you. Kind of fucking pointless if you’re not gonna be there to cheer me on.”

“You’re so stupid,” you say. 

“Well, you are too. Why the fuck are you getting jealous over some other girl over there? No one even comes close. Fucking obsessed with you and I can’t even begin to think about anyone else. Anytime I do anything, all I can think about is doing all these things with you once I come back.” 

The thing about Aomine is — when he starts spilling his heart, you can’t help but gather all the pieces and place them into your own. When he says something, you know he means it. “I love you,” you whisper, leaning down to brush your lips against his.

Aomine’s hand wraps around the back of your neck as he hungrily chases your lips. “Fuckin’ love you too. Don’t be stupid again. Swear to god, next time you don’t text, I’m strapping your ass on a plane and taking you with me to the states for good.”

“Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Maybe you’ll be the one sticking your butt on a plane again for an impromptu visit. Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve done it.”

His lips curl into a slow smirk. “You’re a fuckin’ menace.”

“But you love me.”

You take your time packing your things when class is over, mainly because you’re too distracted watching Kasamatsu do the same. He is blind, or chooses to ignore, the whispers and shy glances thrown his way. Perhaps this is why you haven’t approached him yourself. You’re just one of his many admirers, a stroke in the massive painting of his life. Sighing, you pick up your pitiful self and make your way to the dining hall where you’re supposed to meet your friend for breakfast.

When the two of you settle on a table, you begin your weekly rambling about how beautiful Kasamatsu looks in the morning. Moriyama, being the good friend that he is, nods and listens intently.

Moriyama is an intriguing character. The two of you met because he had tried a line on you. In your perpetual state of flustered embarrassment, you had stupidly confessed to him: “Sorry, my heart belongs to Kasamatsu Yukio.”

In another twist of fate, he revealed that he had actually gone to high school with the guy and knew him pretty well.

“You know I can introduce you to him, right? No need for all this pining and drooling from three feet away.”

“It’s not the same,” you argue, “he’s practically a living legend on campus. I’m too intimidated to even breathe in the same air as him.” Your obsession has perhaps taken you too far, but if you expect to continue being his fan, the last thing you want is to scare him away.

“You’re so overdramatic,” Moriyama rolls his eyes. Coming from him, this sentence means a lot.

“What? It’s not my fault Kasamatsu’s so hot. He could bang me so hard backstage then pretend I don’t exist and I would still pay to watch his next show,” you groan, spooning yogurt into your mouth.

In that moment, several things happen. Moriyama’s eyes widen and fly behind you. Footsteps sounding at that same spot suddenly cease completely. You, realizing what possibly just happened, feel the heat flare up your cheeks.

Kasamatsu, in his sleep deprived state and probably completely delirious, had stopped in his tracks. His head whipped around to the source of the comment, finding Moriyama sitting with someone who looks distinctly familiar, but he can’t quite put his finger on it.

“Kasamatsu—”

Before Moriyama can even finish his sentence, Kasamatsu is already blurting out. “Okay, maybe I’m crazy but did I just hear you say that out loud?”

You want to crawl into your hole six feet underground and never see the light of day again. Ducking your head, you don’t even want to chance a glance up. The utter mortification is chewing away at your bones and you wish you could just evaporate into thin air.

Moriyama quickly interjects with a quick laugh, “Hear what? Also how have you been, man? I haven’t seen you in forever. Come join us for breakfast.”

Kasamatsu’s brows pucker. Maybe he really is going insane. And horny. Which is a very bad combination. Nevertheless, he slides into the empty seat next to Moriyama. He stares at you for a few seconds, squinting, before snapping his fingers. “Oh, I remember now. You’re in my calculus class.”

He knows you? “How do you know me?” you squeak, cursing your fangirl self for losing your voice. You never speak up in class, always choosing to come up to your professor for questions at the end of lecture. You’re quiet and tucked away behind him, so you never expected him to recognize you.

The smile he sends you is blinding. Even with shadows under his eyes, he still looks gorgeous. “You’re always first to arrive and last to leave. Figured you’re a hard worker in class and probably acing it.”

Your mouth dries. Kasamatsu noticed you. He actually noticed you. “Oh, um, I’m okay. I’m okay in class, I mean.”

“The question you should be asking is her name, Kasamatsu,” Moriyama scolds, smacking his back.

Kasamatsu pinks sheepishly. “Sorry, yeah. I’m Kasamatsu Yukio, by the way.”

Idiotically, you blurt out “I know” before your name. When you finally introduce yourself, you also clarify, “I’m a huge fan of Blue Devils. I mean, I’ve been following you guys since like high school. Absolutely love your music.”

The man actually reddens even further, but still he beams proudly. “Thank you! That’s crazy. Have you been to our shows?”

Almost all of them. “A couple, yeah.”

“We have one tonight in an actual venue. Are you coming?”

“Ah, it was sold out before I could get a ticket, actually.”

Kasamatsu blinks, “Oh, you’re more than welcome to come. I can get you a pass. Both of you—if Moriyama’s interested.”

“That would be amazing!” You grin, “Is there anything I can get you in return? I don’t want to just accept a gift from you for free.”

“Well, if you are good at calc, I wouldn’t mind some extra tutoring,” he suggests with a teasing grin.

Moriyama rolls his eyes, “Just ask her out instead of using tutoring as an excuse.” The two of you sputter, face colored a dark shade of red. You’ll kick his ass when you get the chance.

—

That one mistake turned out to be the greatest opportunity of your life. In addition to attending his show that night and meeting all of his bandmates, each one more good looking up close than then other, you manage to have weekly study sessions (you’re holding off on calling it dates) with Kasamatsu. The two of you take turns booking rooms at the library to cram, which mainly consists of you reexplaining concepts to the man. Although he isn’t a bad student, he’s also still struggling a bit to keep up.

“Hey” is what you hear before you feel a warm surface press against your cheek. You look up to find Kasamatsu with a steaming cup in hand. Gratefully accepting it, you catch a whiff of freshly brewed tea. You take a sip and smile. Black tea, no sugar. “Just the way I like it.”

“Noticed you never add anything to your tea,” Kasamatsu says almost proudly.

You raise the cup to him in thanks. Both of you go through your usual routine—you focusing on reviewing material for next week while Kasamatsu pores over his notes from this week, occasionally poking you to ask questions.

Honestly, a big part of you still wonders if this is all a dream. This guy you’ve been crushing on for years is sitting in the flesh right across from you. You peek at him from time to time, watching the way he frowns at his book. His blue, almost grey, eyes shine underneath the flickering lights. Even the way his lips curl unhappily is cute.

When he catches you staring, you quickly drop your gaze back to your laptop, missing the way he smiles quietly.

“Will you come to our show this weekend?” He asks as the two of you pack up.

“Ah, I have a shift at my part-time job.”

He looks surprised, “That late?”

You shrug, “Food never sleeps, I guess. It’s at the burger diner by campus.”

“Oh, are you guys open late?”

“Close at one.”

He nods, “Maybe I’ll see you there after then. The guys usually get really hungry after a gig so we can drive some business your way. I’ll make sure they tip well too.”

Your heart warms at the thought. It’s a thoughtful gesture but you’re even more thrilled at the prospect of seeing him. “Sounds good.”

True to his word, Kasamatsu brings the guys to your workplace at midnight after their show ended. They order quite a spread, practically everything on the menu. Kasamatsu goes as far as to help you carry orders to their table. You shoot him an appreciative smile.

Over the time your friendship has bloomed, Kasamatsu has been nothing but a gentleman. He walks you home to your dorm if you’re studying late into the night. He meets you in class with a muffin or a cookie from his early Starbucks runs. Surprisingly, he begins placing himself next to you each session. “This is better anyway,” he mutters. “Two birds, one stone.”

His vague words had you tilting your head in question.

“I don’t have random people coming up to me to sit with me and, well, I get to enjoy your company.” It’s a nice thought—him enjoying your company, that is. He had blushed a little when he realized what you said, but chose to direct his attention to the slides pulled up before him, missing the way you hide your smile behind your sleeve.

Now, you hear the rowdy boys chattering on as they devour their meal as if it’s their last. They speak through mouthfuls of burgers and fries, but you find the sight endearing, mainly because you’ve never seen Kasamatsu so relaxed. It’s quite refreshing really. Your attention is piqued when you hear one of them ask: “So doing it tonight huh?”

Kasamatsu retorts with a “shut the fuck up” and flings a fry his way. The way the other guy wiggles his brows suggestively has you freezing. What if he was meeting up with someone tonight? What if he was going to do the deed?

Somewhere in the distance, you hear the faint cracking of your heart. Of course, Kasamatsu is popular. It’s no surprise he’s got his nights covered as well. You sigh dejectedly, feeling the hope inside you crumble into dust. The rest of your shift goes by rather uneventfully, but you try to avoid going to their table too much, lest you hear more details about Kasamatsu’s planned tryst. The man himself steals glances your way, wondering if you’ll be checking on them anytime soon.

“Your check,” you smile as you set the bill on the table, “I got the owner to give you a discount since you guys ordered a good amount.”

All of their eyes seem to sparkle as they thank you in unison, their synchrony almost puzzling. As you move to pick up the bill and change, Kasamatsu catches your hand before you move away. “What time does your shift end?”

“Half an hour. Why?”

The other guys are already packing up their things and giving you little waves as they exit the restaurant, leaving the two of you alone. “I’ll walk you home, it’s late,” he murmurs, fingers still wrapped around your wrist.

“Oh, you don’t have to! I usually take the bus back anyway so it’s no big deal.” You want to confirm whether he had plans that night anyway. You’d hate to be in the way of that.

He shakes his head, “I insist. Also, um, are you doing anything tomorrow?”

“Catching up on studying most likely.”

“Oh,” he pauses, “if you have time tomorrow night, do you want to catch a movie with me? Maybe dinner after?”

You blink at him in surprise. Now that you’re looking at him properly, you notice that his cheeks are several shades darker than the red neon glow of the diner sign. He’s shifting on his feet and his other hand finds purchase on the strap of his bag, fidgeting with the material. “Um, like a date?”

“Y-yeah,” he stutters slightly, his throat moving as he swallows. “Sorry, I probably should’ve made that clear,” he coughs, “b-but if you don’t want it to be the we can also go as friends.” Perhaps you’ve tortured the boy long enough but you can’t help but relish in his awkward chuckle as his hand lifts to rub the back of his neck nervously.

Biting back a huge grin, you nod. “It’s a date.”

Kasamatsu’s eyes light up and a pleased grin spread across his face. “It’s a date.”

The hollering outside the building has the two of you whipping to face the window where his bandmates have their faces pressed up against the surface, laughing and smiling to congratulate and embarrass their friend. Kasamatsu flushes, “I’ll see you later to pick you up.”

You nod but he’s already out the door, leaping to kick his friends away. “You stupid idiots!”

–

“I’m not fucking working with her, are you kidding me?” Aomine spits out at his boss. Any other person would’ve been kicked out of the room or probably fired, but Aomine is the best detective in his division so Akashi would never do such a thing. For now. Aomine’s been wearing his patience thin. 

The red-haired man sighs, folding his hands together atop his desk. “Aomine, I understand you both have had your immaturity in the past. This, however, isn’t the time for such trivial matters. There’s a double homicide downtown during a robbery. She’s the lead for the case on the robbery end because they’ve been tracking a series of these.” Aomine opens his mouth to argue again. “No more buts. She’s already down there getting witness statements. Unless you want to be behind again, I suggest you get in your car and start driving.” 

He grits his teeth. Breathe. Don’t strangle your boss, he’ll probably kill you first. “I’ll take Wakamatsu.”

By the time he arrives on the scene, a crowd has gathered behind the police line, snapping pictures in the hopes of getting something Twitter worthy. He growls past all of them and ducks underneath the tape. “Where’s the officer that called it in?”

“Inside talking to the detective.”

“I’m the detective,” he snaps right back, knowing full well you’re already three steps ahead of him. And you definitely won’t let him forget that.

He marches past the thick front doors, Wakamatsu in tow. From a distance, he spots you talking to another officer. When he finally approaches you, he realizes that you’re in a skin tight dress covered by an oversized police jacket.

Your name slips past his lips. “Did we interrupt a hot date?” He smirks.

You whirl around, knowing full well the irritating voice that grates on your nerves. Aomine Daiki. “Unlike you, I have actual friends and actual plans on a Friday night. Did you decide to give your wrist a break for the night?” 

Aomine bites back, “Well, it’s not getting much rest either when I had my fingers knuckle deep in something tight and wet tonight.” Complete lie but he’s not about to lose this battle. “Not sure you know how that feels though.”

“If you’re talking about the pudding in your fridge, you might want to ease up on that. Doesn’t look like it’s doing you any favors,” you smile right back at him, knowing full well you’ve won this argument.

Aomine growls low under his breath, jabbing Wakamatsu hard with his elbow when he hears the snort escape him. “Brief me on the situation,” he tells the police officer.

“Well, uh, I already told this detective here—”

“I’m the other detective in charge for homicide. Now, you better fucking brief me before I tell your captain.”

The guy glances at you warily and you just laugh. “Told you he hasn’t gotten any in a long time. Come on, sugar, I’ll brief you on the way down to the vault.” You curl your finger in a gesture to get him to follow you and he sucks up his pride for the first time and do as he’s told. If he solves this case, he still gets the credit and you can go back to that sewer where you came from.

There are two bodies at the vault and forensics are already working to collect evidence when they arrive. “Your area of expertise, double homicide. Both are surprisingly the robbers. Four of them broke in, only two were seen exiting with money bags. No other casualties.”

“Fucking weird,” Aomine mutters. It’s not new for robberies to go wrong, but for two of them to die with no civilian casualty? That’s fucking weird.  

“Interesting, isn’t it?” You grin, seeming way too pleased considering there are two dead people in front them. “The ammo is the same as the previous bank robberies in the area. We’re going to assume they’re linked to the Red Dragon clan.”

“Fuck,” he groans, “I fucking hate those guys. Bitches to deal with. Hard to infiltrate.”

You flick your hair over your shoulder, grinning at him. He can’t help but draw his gaze to your neck, a very attractive neck. Now that he notices how tight that dress is, he can’t help but admit that it has been a while since he’s gotten any action. The curves of your breast defined so clearly by the fabric that stretches across the mounds, the flow of your hips, every dip and rise. Your exposed legs further emphasized by your heels. God fucking damn. He feels his pants tighten as he licks his teeth. Get it together, Aomine. 

Of course, the clothes do nothing to remove the memory of your nude body from his mind. He’s seen all parts of you some time ago. A drunken mistake that ended in a brief, but extremely satisfying night of passion. Your tight pussy wrapped around his cock, your nails digging into his biceps. He can still picture the sheen layer of sweat on your skin as he rams into you, your broken moans falling from your lips. 

“Well, lucky for you,” you start again, pulling him out of the hazy cloud of lust. “I already have someone on the inside. They’ve set up a meeting for me tomorrow night meet with the head’s son. I’ll try to get some information done.” 

“Lucky for you, I’m free tomorrow to be your backup. You’re welcome,” Aomine smiles, “Don’t fuck this up. I don’t feel like cleaning up after your ass.”

“I should say that about you, asshole.”

–

Aomine is sat in a dingy van just across the street from the bar you’re having your meeting. You’ve hidden your mic in the perfect spot, a location which you do not disclose to Aomine. However, he has a feeling it’s somewhere promiscuous that he wants to be aware of. They can see the restaurant clearly, their brat hacker Sakurai having plugged into the restaurant’s security cameras. 

“Shut the fuck up, Aomine. I can hear you munching on your stupid sour cream and onion chips.” You mutter into your mic before the guy arrives. You sip your wine and take a deep breath. This isn’t the first time you’ve gone undercover but it is the first time to have Aomine behind you while you do so. 

The detective looks down at the can in his hands. Sour cream and onion. How did you know? He sets it aside, bringing the mic up to his lips. “Maybe you should do your job better and focus on your meeting instead of listening to me. Why are you so obsessed with me, hm?” 

However, a man’s voice on the other side of the headphones has him straightening. “Good evening, I didn’t expect to be meeting a lovely lady like you tonight,” the sleaze says and Aomine can just imagine him kissing your hand. “When Tanaka said I’d be meeting with the right hand of White Claw, I didn’t expect it to be a woman.”

“Well, we are moving up in life, Mr. Ito.”

“Your good looks are certainly quite persuasive. I’m sure there are ways you can convince me to strike a deal.”

Fucking. Sleaze.

“Oh,” you laugh lightly, “what a flatterer. You’re not so bad yourself. I can imagine people fall at their feet for you.”

“Well, I am quite knowledgeable in more ways than one. Perhaps I can show you tonight after dinner.”

The two banter back and forth, trading flirty comments that puts Aomine on edge. You’re supposed to be doing your job and he knows that. He knows this is all an act but you’re a damn good actress. 

“Aomine, where are you going?” Wakamatsu’s concerned voice carries through the speaker.

You freeze. This fucker better not screw this whole operation up. “Well,” you say, “this has been a lovely dinner. I’m sure we both can come to an agreement without doing anything reckless.” 

The double meaning, a sentence meant for the man across from you and the man listening to you rings clear. Aomine growls, sitting back down petulantly in his seat. He was about to rage in there and start a war, but holds himself back. Be professional, Aomine. Job first, dick needs later. 

“The same to you. It’s been a pleasure meeting you,” the man smiles. “Are you sure you won’t join me for the night?”

Aomine snarls low into his mic. Wakamatsu shoots him a weird look. You let out a little giggle and he knows it’s meant for him. “No, thank you, Mr. Ito. I’m afraid I have other commitments to tend to.” 

When he knows it’s safe, he storms into the restaurant where you still sit, sipping your drink. Sliding into the seat across from you, he rolls his eyes. “Enjoy yourself?” 

He didn’t see when you were set up with the mic earlier so he also hadn’t seen what you were wearing. He’s almost grateful because he knows he might’ve lost it if he did. Tight ass dress, deep neckline that shows ample cleavage (he’s always a sucker for this), sultry eyes, red lips. God, all his favorite things packaged into one. 

Your lips quirk up. “The breadsticks here are quite nice.”

“Fucking hilarious. Let’s go.”

“Why the hurry?”

“Unless you want Wakamatsu to hear me fuck you, you better dump that mic and get your ass up.”

You lean back, narrowing your eyes at him. “I’m not sure I like your tone.”

“Trust me, you don’t have to like my tone to enjoy what I’m going to do to you.”

Licking your lips, you consider your options as you bring the wine back to your lips. “Fine,” you mutter, unclipping the mic from the strap of your dress. Aomine moves faster though, snatching it from your hands and dumping it into the wine. Before you can protest, he already has a hand wrapped around yours, tugging you up from your seat and into the back room. 

You’re stumbling in his manic rush, heels barely keeping up with your movements. “Aomine!” You chide as he pushes all the way to the employee break room. The space is fortunately empty and Aomine locks it to make sure it stays that way. “Can you please stop?! You’re such a caveman, I—”

He’s quick to shut you up, swallowing your words with his lips as they slot over yours. He doesn’t waste time, shrugging off his leather jacket as he licks your bottom lip for permission. You gasp a complaint, but he takes advantage of the situation to stick his tongue in, pressing it up against yours. 

All your worries fall away into a moan as he separates from you only to gasp for breath and pull his t-shirt over his head. With nimble fingers, he’s unzipping the back of your dress and yanking it down, leaving your top half exposed. Shivering, you’re about to voice your disapproval but your brain seems to stop functioning the second your gaze lands on his tanned body.

Aomine’s always been attractive. No one can deny. There’s a reason why he’s simultaneously the precinct’s most eligible bachelorette and most insufferable jackass. His confidence matches his skills. His looks live up to his brags. Hard lines and shadows are painted on him like a masterpiece in a museum. His broad shoulders make him look even bigger with his height. His jeans that hang just low enough to be tantalizing with the hint of a v that leads to the space between his legs. 

Your mouth dries up at the sight and Aomine smirks knowingly. You’ve fallen into his bed before, he can make it happen again. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“Fifth grade humor doesn’t become you, Aomine.” You scowl as he backs you up against the table in the middle of the room. He effortlessly grabs you by the ass to lift you up and onto the surface, the metal cool against your exposed thighs. 

“Did you dress up for me, doll? Knowing full well that this was going to happen,” he grins devilishly, bringing his hands up to shamelessly cup your breasts. 

It’s not as if you’re embarrassed for being so bare before him. You’re proud of your body and he damn well knows that. You let him fondle you through your bra for a little bit. “No, you animal. I dress for the job.”

“You tell me you wear this flimsy thing—” he teases the light coverage of your lingerie. The lace is sheer and barely covers your nipples, the material holding onto your breasts for dear life. “—for the job?”

“I do my job right, asshole,” you spat right back. “So are you just going to stand there or are you going to fuck me?”

A wide grin stretches across his face. The heat in his eyes carry to his hands as he works to unclasp your bra and let it fall to the ground. Aomine doesn’t waste time as you lean back on your palms, granting him full access to fondle and suckle on your tits. His tongue swirls around the sensitive nubs that have grown stiff in the contrast between the cold air and his warm breath. His teeth graze the sensitive skin hard enough to have you groaning in pleasure. His lips close in around them and suck. He uses his hand to tease and tug your other breast, pinching it to elicit that delicious whimper out of you. Aomine alternates between the two, making sure you stay warm. 

Meanwhile, you let your hand fall to the bulge between his legs. He lets out a small grunt at the initial touch but seems to respond favorably to the way you stroke the tent, nudging his hips forward for more friction. “Is that a gun in your pants or are you just excited to see me?”

“You’re so fucking ridiculous,” Aomine mutters, both humored and unamused by your comment. 

“Fuck,” you let slip as your fingers struggle to unbutton his jeans. “Your fucking pants. Don’t you live in sweats? You choose today of all days to wear your stupid tight jeans?”

Aomine chuckles, “Patience, baby. You know you like my ass in these.”

You do, but you’re not about to admit that. He quickly works off his pants, letting them drop to his ankles as he moves towards you again. While he continues to stimulate your tits, your hand begins groping his cock which is rock hard and peeking from the top of his boxers.

“God, I miss having this inside me,” you whine, pulling the flimsy fabric off and letting it pool on top of his jeans. “Condom?”

“You don’t want me raw? You know you want to feel all of my cock,” he grins. You throw him a glare and he just chuckles as he reaches for his wallet on the floor, pulling out a packet and tossing it onto the table. “But first,” he pauses, letting his hands slide down to cup your pussy, which is admittedly already drenched at that point. 

He hisses when he feels your juices drip and coat his fingers. “You’re so fucking wet, goddamn. How long have you been waiting for this?”

“When that robbery happened, I was about to get laid for the first time in months. So fucking sue me,” you snarl at him. 

“Well, I am here to please,” he wets his lips. He slips one finger in, sliding in all too easily. So he adds another finger and feels your walls pulse around him. He begins pulling it out before shoving it back in, repeating the measure to stroke your walls. He curls his fingers inside as he watches your face closely.

Your expression morphs from irritation to blinding pleasure in an instant. Your eyes slide shut, your lips part to exhale shaky breaths. Aomine seems to know exactly how to angle and twist his fingers to induce a heart attack. The sounds falling from your mouth are ephemeral, Aomine wishes he can film this moment so he can replay it over and over again. 

He pumps his fingers into you and ducks his head to take your nipple into his mouth again, tongue circling the tip. “God, you taste so fucking good. I forgot how wet you can get. Don’t even need lube to slide into you, huh? You’re already dripping for me.” 

“Asshole,” you murmur weakly, clearly in no place to retort. 

“Remember the first time I fucked you? God, you were so easy,” he grins, “you were so wet, so turned on already. Remember when I stuck my tongue in your pussy? Licking up your juices. You tasted so sweet.” 

Your breath stutters in your chest, hitching in your throat. “Fuck you, let’s not forget how quickly you came when I sucked you off.”

“I mean, the sight of you on your knees is enough to get anyone off, sweetheart.” 

“Fuck me,” you groan. Any rational thought has fizzled from your brain. The feeling of his fingers inside you is enough to consume you whole, overwhelming you in waves of rapture. 

“What was that?”

“Dickwad.”

He chuckles darkly, licking his lips again. “Beg me.”

“I’m not going to—”

Aomine yanks his fingers out, looking down at you, taunting you. He waits as you internally struggle with your moral convictions. Are you willing to give up your pride for one night just to get fucked out of your mind?

Easy.

Yes.

“Please,” you huff, “please fuck me.” 

“Please fuck me who?”

Your eyes find the ceiling, wondering what in the hell you did in your lifetime to have met the devil that is Aomine. Biting your lip, you lean closer to whisper, “Please fuck me, Da-i-ki.” 

The man is a sucker for you calling him by his first name. And to get what you want, you’re willing to play into his hands. Aomine lets out a low growl before ripping open the condom packet and rolling the thin rubber along his length. Your pussy squeezes at the sight. Just imagining what it’s like to have that thickness inside of you, fucking you full, has you on edge. 

He doesn’t waste a single second, pulling you forward and slowly positioning himself in front of you. He holds onto his cock, letting the tip trace your pussy lips, circling it and letting your juices drip onto his cock. Stroking the wetness along his dick, he uses it as a lubricant before he slides himself inside you.

When he’s buried to the hilt, Aomine leans forward and lets his forehead rest on your shoulder. Your pussy is so fucking tight. It’s squeezing and throbbing around him with the engulfing heat. He feels as if he’s going to explode right then. 

“Fuck, you really haven’t been screwed in a while,” Aomine rasps. 

“Told you.”

Aomine starts off slow, pulling out and pushing back in. With how thin the condom is, he can feel every ridge, every bump in your heat rub up against his cock. The sensations is enough to have his thighs quivering, but he’s not one to back down. He begins to pick up the pace, thrusting deep inside of you repeatedly. HIs mouth latches onto your neck, tongue lapping and teeth nipping to paint purple blooms upon your skin. 

His movements are building a bubbling pressure in the pit of your stomach. You feel your heart tightening with every move, your insides squeezing. The absolute pleasure that crashes over you has you breathless, your hands finding purchase on his arms. 

He mutters filthy words in your ear, one of his hands reaching up to tangle in your hair. He yanks back lightly, just enough to have you moaning. You like it rough, he’s well aware of that. He pounds into you relentlessly, hands keeping you in place as whimpers tumble from your mouth. 

“Fuck, right there, oh god,” you gasp, “fuck me harder. God, your dick feels so good. Filling me up so full with your thick cock.” 

“Keep talking like that and I’ll be tempted to come in you, baby,” Aomine grazes his teeth along your ear, hot breath kissing your skin. “God, I want to just fucking cream inside you.” 

“Better watch yourself, Daiki.”

Aomine grins lasciviously, sweat beginning to bead his forehead as he attempts to keep himself in check. He feels you tighten your pussy, walls closing in around him. “Bitch,” he growls. You know what you’re doing but he’s not about to let you gain dominance of the situation.

So his hands dig deeper into your hips as he fucks you harder and deeper, his cock pulsating inside of you on the brink of his self-control. “I’m about to come,” he says with eyes squeezed shut. If he sees your tits bouncing as he fucks you again, he might actually combust in that second. 

“Me too,” you panted, fingers scraping down his arms. 

With a few more pumps, Aomine spills into the rubber with a grunt. He feels you convulse around him, your entire body trembling in the aftermath of your orgasm. He can feel his come continue to leak from his cock. God, he hasn’t come this hard in a fucking long time. 

His heart is thundering in his chest from the impact of his climax. He slumped forward, leaning against you for support—also partially to feel your tits press up against his chest. “Fuck,” he huffs.

“That was good,” you admit to yourself, still breathing heavily as you begin fixing your hair. “We should do that again sometime.”

Aomine just laughs, huffing against your skin. “You’re the fucking she-devil.”

“Says the guy who’s fucking me in the back room in the middle of an undercover operation.”

“Dick first, job second.”

–

Wakamatsu looks at him when he walks into the precinct that morning. “You do realize the captain is going to kill you for fucking up that expensive mic, right?”

24 was a far cry from his expected settlement age. The two of you butt heads on many things, including your relationship and the long-term perspective. He viewed marriage as a trap, a cage to keep him locked up and away. But you had illuminated the difference in his mind. 

Marriage wasn’t a prison, it was a commitment. Commitment that didn’t leave him feeling stuck, but instead liberated. The thought of spending the rest of his life with you both terrified and enthralled him. Terrified not because he feared giving up the rest of his life, but because the idea of losing you imprinted a searing pain into his heart.

He twiddled with the ring box in his hands, feeling the smooth velvet underneath his fingertips. He had bought it on impulse - a glance into a jewelry store when the two of you were out for your biweekly date (given your busy schedules – Aomine with training and you with your mundane desk job). He had gotten a bonus for the season for doing particularly well, not that it was hard.

It was the extra cash, he would say, that made him do it. When you traipsed off into a bakery, he wandered in the opposite direction and ended up back in front of the glimmering diamonds. He was just going to take a look, he figured. No harm done.

However, he ended up walking out with a small bag that he quickly hid from sight in his gym bag – the weight of the tiny compartment placing a heavy burden on his shoulders. His nerves crept up on him as if the box would sear right through the fabric and you would find out that This Idiot had bought a ring on a whim. A pricey one at that (he had to recalculate his budgeting for the month after this).

“Daiki,” you called, snapping your fingers in front of his face.

Aomine descended back to reality and to the meal before him. The two of you were sharing dinner and apparently you had been sharing a story about your coworker who he couldn’t really give less shit about but he just enjoyed listening to the sound of your voice fill the room. 

“Huh?” he asked, mouthful of pasta opening to let bits fall out.

You crinkled your nose in disgust, eyeing the fallen pieces on his plate. “You’re gross, first of all. Second, you’re not listening to me.”

“Yes, your coworker has stolen multiple pens from your table and hasn’t given a single one back but you’ve seen it on other people’s desks.” Years of “not” listening to Momoi nag his ass off had trained him to pick up on key points of conversation. He had gotten multiple earfuls from his childhood friend for not listening and he was almost thankful that he had a skillful ear. 

Oh. That had you closing your mouth and blushing. Cute. “Okay, fine, so you were listening. But still!” 

“Babe, it really isn’t a big deal. Just ask for them back from your other coworkers, I’m sure they’ll be cool with it.”

“I guess,” you mumbled. 

Aomine’s lips quirked up. You didn’t like confrontation and especially not over something so small. Cute.

“Are you cleaning the bedroom tomorrow or am I?” you said, collecting both your plates and leaving them in the sink. Aomine instinctively followed after you to get started on the dishes – he had been well-trained in the art of kitchen hygiene mainly through your incessant criticism of how bad he was at it. 

Meanwhile, you headed over to your shared bedroom only to be dismayed by the sight of his gym bag. You could practically see the smell leaking out from it. “Daiki,” you groaned again. What was it this time, he wondered. He was distracted by getting every inch of stain off the plates when you grumbled, bringing out his bag. “What did I tell you about leaving your gross, used uniform in your bag? We have a laundry basket, babe.”

“Yep, sorry, forgot,” he noted almost robotically. This happened weekly and, no matter how many times you reminded him, he was going to keep forgetting. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t going to sweat in the clothes again. 

He heard you distinctively moan some more in the background but he was so focused on that one sauce mark that he barely processed what you were saying, answering your questions with half his attention on you.

“When did you bring these back?”

“Two days ago.”

“Two days ago! Do you not smell it?”

“No.”

“My god, what is this mess? What’s this stain?”

“Probably the burger I ate with the team.”

“Your towel has another stain.”

“Oh, Eiji spilled his soda on it.”

“What’s this box?”

“Engagement ring.”

It didn’t register with him what he just said. It was another answer to another question, nothing else. It was only when the silence weighed heavily in the air that he turned to check on you.

You who were standing frozen in your spot, velvet box still in hand and eyes the size of saucers. “A what?”

Aomine blanked out then. How in the fuck was he supposed to get out of this situation? He wanted to do this properly, the way that you deserved. It wasn’t as if you were a die-hard romantic who needed roses spread across their apartment, but he certainly wanted to give you something equivalent that you would enjoy. A gesture that you deserved for all the time you spent putting up with him. 

So he thought of the next best thing. “For my friend. Um, he asked me to pick it up.”

“Daiki, I know all your friends and I don’t think any of them have significant others.”

“It’s a distant friend, he did it to not be suspicious.” 

You shrugged, shoving it back into his bag. For a moment, he could’ve sworn he saw a flash of hurt across your eyes. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t brought up marriage before, but it’s something Aomine had always waved off. Perhaps you were instantly convinced, a dream close to your fingertips but still out of reach. 

“I lied,” he quickly blurted out, getting up from his seat to approach you and pluck the box from your hands. He ran his thumb across the smooth cover, taking in a deep breath. “This is for us. For you. I wanted it to be a surprise, but I also want you to know that I am serious about you, no matter how many times I joke about it. You... mean the world to me and there’s nothing I won’t do to keep you by my side.” 

He watched your lips part in surprise, a revelation that had struck you to the core. Aomine, who had been so adamant that marriage was nothing but a lie, was thinking of proposing. You could feel your brain shortcircuit and it seemed to show on your face.

Aomine chuckled, ruffling your hair, “Don’t look so shaken. I’m not going to do it now. Like I said, it’s going to be a surprise so I’m not going to ask you now. But just know that I will ask you—and ask you properly. When that time comes, you better be ready to say yes.”

“You run everyday and you can’t even keep up?” he teased, wiggling his fingers mockingly as he jogged backwards. You were struggling to maintain your pace when your irritation was beginning to wash over you. 

Rolling your eyes, you chose to ignore his petty comments and focus on the rhythmic slapping of the soles of your shoes against the concrete. The park was relatively empty this time of day with only a smattering of people here and there on their evening, calming walks. While you would normally indulge yourself in the solitude, Hanamiya seemed to have other plans.

He ran backwards, sideways, up front and wiggling his ass. Literally anything he could do to poke fun at your slowness. It wasn’t your fault that his stupid genetics blessed him with stupidly long legs. It was an advantage that you didn’t quite have. On top of that, winter was dawning upon the city and that meant that the air was a little frostier, and your breathing a little heavier. Puffs of air formed from your lips as you continued to run in an attempt to catch up to him. Your thin shirt was in fact not sufficient to protect you from the sudden chill that snaked down your spine. 

Winter was miserable and so were you.

Hanamiya slowed down when you did, laughing as he came up to you and flicked your hair around. You glared up at him and slapped your hand in the air wildly to catch him. “Don’t tell me you’re already tired,” he chuckled. 

“You’re an ass,” you groaned, “it’s freaking freezing, I can’t even breathe anymore. Ugh, maybe I should start going to the gym.”

“No way,” Hanamiya chided, narrowing his eyes at you, “I don’t want fuckin’ perverts, those damn gym rats, to ogle your cute ass when you’re running. Fuck knows your ass jiggles so—ow!”

You had propelled him backwards with an annoyed huff. “Must you always be so vulgar?”

“You love my mouth, especially when it’s on your—”

Another shove was due. Hanamiya barely budged, only taking a step back in feigned pain. He clutched his scarf before unwinding it and shoving it in your face. “It’s getting too hot, do you want to slow down? It’s a nice day out, not everyday you get to admire my looks in the outdoor light.”

“That’s because you’re a hermit,” you grunt, matching his slower pace. He eventually shifts to a walk, taking your hand and shoving it in his pocket. “What? Turning soft on me, Ma-ko-to?”

“No, I just don’t need your hand to be dried out. It’ll be too rough and then you can’t stroke my d—”

“If you finish that sentence, I will hit you.”