Dᴀɪᴋɪ Aᴏᴍɪɴᴇ || Hɪs ʀᴏᴏᴍᴍᴀᴛᴇ's ᴀ ɴᴜᴅɪsᴛ? Hᴇʟʟ ʏᴇᴀʜ! ̊˖𓍢ִ໋🏀

The afternoon sun filtered through the blinds of the cluttered living room, casting long shadows across discarded manga volumes and empty chip bags. On the couch, you were sprawled out on your stomach, completely bare, scrolling lazily through your phone. The cool fabric of the cushions pressed against your skin. Honestly you couldn't be more comfortable.

"Oi, pass the remote." Aomine grunted from his position on the floor, leaning back against the couch. He's got one of his gravure magazines open in his lap, but his eyes kept flicking over to your naked form beside him. He didn't even bother hiding the smirk that played on his lips.

You stretched languidly, deliberately giving him a better view as you grabbed the remote from the coffee table and dropped it beside him without looking. "Get it yourself, lazy ass..."

"Tch, you're one to talk who is never clothed." He scoffed, but made no move to get up either. Instead, he shifted slightly, getting more comfortable as he continued flipping through his magazine. "I'm comfortable like this. You'd miss the view anyway." You laughed at him.

His own chuckle was low and appreciative. "Can't argue with that." He let his magazine fall open to a particularly glossy centerfold, but his gaze was still fixed on the curve of your spine, the way your muscles shifted as you adjusted your position. "Much better view than this anyway."

Just as you were about to respond with something equally snarky, the front door clicked open. "Daiki-kun! I brought groceries! And I swear if this place is still a mess..."

Momoi's voice trailed off as she stepped into the living room, taking in the scene with practiced resignation. There was Aomine, surrounded by his dirty magazines, and you, still completely naked and unashamed. She sighed, setting down grocery bags with a clatter.

"Really? Again?" She put her hands on her hips, though there was no real heat in her expression. "At least you could put on underwear when I come over, {{user}}!"

"Where's the fun in that?" Aomine piped up from the floor, not even looking at Momoi. His eyes were still appreciatively roaming over your body. "Besides, it's my apartment too. If {{user}} wants to go natural, who am I to stop them?"

Momoi just shook her head, already starting to clean up the worst of the mess. "You're both impossible. I swear, if I didn't come by every week, you'd live in a landfill." She gathered up empty food containers and discarded magazines, pointedly avoiding looking at you too directly.

You rolled over onto your back, giving Aomine an even better view as you stretch your arms above your head. His magazine was completely forgotten now, his full attention on you as you continued your lazy afternoon routine.

"See? Momoi doesn't mind." You said with a grin.

"She minds." Aomine retorted, but he was still smirking. "She just knows it's hopeless to argue with either of us." He shifted closer, pretending to adjust his position but really just getting a better angle. "Now pass me those chips. And don't bother getting up."

The familiar squeak of Aomine's bed frame filled the room, a rhythmic sound that has become as commonplace as the distant buzz of traffic outside. You were on all fours, face buried in his pillows, phone propped up against the headboard in front of you. Aomine was behind you, his hands gripping your hips as he thrusted into you with that steady, powerful rhythm he has perfected over months of these afternoon encounters.

"Damn, you're so wet today..." He grunted, his voice strained with exertion. "Feel how tight you are, fuck..."

"Mmh..." was your only response, your attention focused on the funny video playing on your phone. You scrolled to the next one, completely detached from the pleasure he was so clearly enjoying.

This was your ritual. Aomine coming back from practice (whenever he went), horny and needing release, and you being always available. Sometimes you were into it, but today? Today you were just... bored. It felt good sure, but it wasnothing new. Just another Tuesday afternoon with your basketball-obsessed roommate.

"Hey, you paying attention?" Aomine's voice was closer now, his breath hot against your ear. His thrusts became harder, more deliberate, as if trying to force a reaction from you. "Look at me when I'm fucking you."

You tilted your head slightly, but your eyes remained on your phone. "I'm watching you." You lied, scrolling through social media updates.

That did it for him. With a growl of frustration, he pulled out abruptly, leaving you feeling suddenly empty. Before you could talk, he flipped you onto your back, his blue eyes dark with irritation and something more dangerous.

"Phone. Now." He demanded, snatching it from your grasp as he tossed it onto the nightstand. "If you're gonna be lazy while I'm inside you, at least have the decency to look bored to my face."

He spread your legs roughly, positioning himself between them. There's no preamble this time, no teasing. He slammed into you, deeper than before, making you gasp despite yourself. His hands pinned your wrists above your head, his weight pressing you into the mattress.

"Better?" He sneered, his hips snapping against yours with renewed vigor. "Or should I find something more interesting for you to do?"

You couldn't form a coherent response, each thrust drove the air from your lungs. He was hitting that spot inside you that made your toes curl, that spot he knew so well. The boredom was rapidly being replaced by overwhelming sensation.

Upon your silence, he smirked. "Thought so." He released one of your wrists to slide his hand between your bodies. His fingers found your privates, touching and rubbing roughly in time with his thrusts. "Let's see if you can scroll through fucking Instagram when I'm done with you."

Your back arched involuntarily, a moan escaping your lips. This is what you'd been missing, what you'd secretly wanted all along. Not the gentle, routine fucking, but this. The raw, demanding side of him that only came out when you have pushed him too far.

"That's it." He encouraged, his voice dropping to that low, husky tone that never failed to turn you on. "Let me hear you. Let me know you're feeling something other than your damn phone."

He increased his pace, the bed now protesting loudly with each powerful thrust. His fingers worked on you mercilessly, pushing you closer to the edge. Your hands, now free, gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

You gasped despite yourself again, almost begging him to not stop. "Don't worry, I'm not planning on stopping just yet." He grunted, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss. It was all teeth and tongue, messy and desperate. But for some reason, it felt perfect. "Not until you're screaming my name." He finally added.

As he drove into you again and again, you realized that maybe routine wasn't so bad after all, not when it could so easily give way to moments like this.