#knbweek2025

The smell of stale sweat and floor wax hit you the second the gym door automatically clicked shut behind you. You’d only come back for your forgotten textbook while meeting Satsuki an hour or so ago. Your footsteps echoing in the vast, empty silence. A mistake. A shadow detached itself from the bleachers, moving with a lazy, predatory grace that made your heart slam against your ribs.

Aomine.

He was already on you before you could breathe. He spun you around and clamped your mouth with his big hand, while his other arm snaked around your waist to crush your back against his solid chest. His heat seared through your clothes. “Look what wandered in,” his voice was a low, hungry growl in your ear. “Little mouse in the lion’s den.”

You shuddered, a pathetic whimper escaping against his palm. He just chuckled, the vibration rumbling through you. Fuck, he was strong. His grip was absolute. He half-dragged, half-carried you into the boys’ locker room, kicking the door shut. The sound was like a gunshot in the tiled room.

He spun you around again and shoved you back against the cold metal of a locker, the impact knocking the air from your lungs. His eyes, dark and burning with something possessive and mean, scanned your terrified face. “You’ve been watching me during practice,” he accused, his voice dropping to a filthy whisper. “All those shy little glances. You think I didn’t notice? You wanted this.”

You shook your head, a denial that was a lie even to you. His smirk was vicious. He didn’t bother with a rebuttal. His mouth crashed down on yours, not a kiss but a claiming. It was hard and desperate, all teeth and dominating tongue. You moaned, your body betraying you, melting against the cold locker as he plundered your mouth. His hands were everywhere, groping your tits through your shirt, squeezing your ass, pulling you hard against the thick ridge of his cock straining against his sweats.

“You feel that?” he snarled against your lips, grinding his hard-on into your stomach. “That’s what you do to me. This is all your fucking fault.” His fingers hooked into the neckline of your shirt and tore. Buttons pinged against the lockers as your top fell open. His greedy eyes devoured the sight of your bra-clad tits. “Fuck, look at you.”

He didn’t give you a second. His hand shoved into your bra, cupping your breast, his rough thumb circling your nipple through the fabric until it was a hard, aching pebble. He pinched it, and a sharp, exquisite pain made you cry out. “You like that, you fucking tease? You like it rough?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He spun you around a third time, pushing your face firm against the locker, his body a furnace at your uplifted back. One hand fumbled with your skirt hem, yanking them up and pulling your panties down to your thighs in one rough motion. The cold air hit your wet cunt and you gasped. His fingers didn’t even tease, just plunged two thick digits inside you without warning.

Your eyes went wide as you tried to support yourself with your hands, holding the locker handles.

“So fucking wet for me already,” he grunted in your ear, his voice thick with lust. He fucked you with his fingers, a brutal, satisfying rhythm that made your knees buckle. “This pretty little cunt is dripping. You were just walking around campus, thinking about my dick, weren’t you?”

You could only moan, pushing back against his hand, your hips moving on their own. He curled his fingers, hitting a spot deep inside that made you see stars. Oh god. You thought.

He withdrew his slick fingers and you heard the rustle of his clothes, the sound of his zipper. A second later, the broad, insistent head of his cock was pressing against your entrance. He was huge. You tensed.

“Relax,” he commanded, a note of dark promise in his tone. “You’re gonna take every fucking inch of me.” He didn’t ask. He pushed, a slow, brutal invasion that stretched you impossibly wide, making you sob with the overwhelming fullness. Fuck, he was so big. He bottomed out, his hips flush against your ass, his body blanketing yours. He stayed there for a second, both of you panting, you pinned between the cold locker and his burning heat.

Then he started moving. No, thrusting. Hard.

He set a punishing pace from the beginning, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back into your soaking cunt. Each thrust jarred you against the locker, a metronome of pleasure and power. His grip on your hips was bruising, holding you in place for his use. The sound of skin slapping against skin, his ragged grunts, your own helpless moans and cries—it was all so fucking nasty and perfect.

“This my cunt now,” he growled, his breath hot on your neck. “You understand? This tight, wet little hole belongs to my dick.” He punctuated each word with a deep, vicious thrust. “You come to my games, you wear those little skirts, you get this. You get fucked raw in the locker room like a cheap slut.”

His words were filthy, degrading, and they sent another wave of molten heat straight to your core. You were close, so close, the coil inside you winding tighter and tighter with every brutal plunge of his cock.

“That’s it,” he rasped, feeling your inner muscles start to flutter around him. “Come on. Squeeze my cock with that pretty cunt. Come for me.”

He snaked a hand around your front, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing rough, frantic circles. It was too much. Your vision whited out as your orgasm ripped through you, a silent scream, muffled by his hand again, tearing from your throat as your body convulsed around his pounding dick.

The violent clenching of your cunt pushed him over the edge. With a guttural roar, he buried himself to the hilt, his hips stuttering as he emptied his hot cum deep inside you, pulsing again and again. He held you there, impaled, for a long moment, both of you breathless and shaking.

Slowly, he pulled out, a wet, lewd sound echoing in the quiet. He turned you to face him, his eyes still dark with possession. He brought his fingers, slick with his own release, to your lips.

“Clean it up,” he ordered, his voice low and dangerous. “You don’t waste a single fucking drop.”

This was the moment which made you realize that you belong to Aomine. And nobody else could even look at you.

A/N