#devin booker

[nosimpincurly]

[myhobari]

can you do a fic with devin booker where the media finds out about his and reader's engagement? :)

ring.

a devin booker fic

summary ~ requested!

includes ~ fluff // slight angst // the internet being the internet // engaged devin and reader // mistakes probably lol

a/n ~ loved this request, all for the soft booker fics.

————————————————————————

You and Devin had managed to keep the engagement private for exactly eleven days.

Eleven peaceful, sweet, delicate days where the only people who knew were family, your closest friends, and the jeweler who had apparently signed his life away because Devin was serious about privacy. Eleven days of waking up with your left hand tucked under the pillow because the ring still startled you in the morning. Eleven days of Devin catching you staring at it and getting that quiet, satisfied look on his face like he had done something right.

“You looking at it again?” he asked one morning, walking into the kitchen with sleep still in his voice.

You were standing by the counter in one of his shirts, holding your coffee mug with your ring hand wrapped around it just so the diamond could catch the light.

“No,” you said.

Devin leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “You lying.”

“It’s a beautiful ring.”

His face softened. “Beautiful girl needed a beautiful ring.”

You looked away, cheeks warming. “You say stuff like that and expect me to function.”

He came up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist, chin resting near your shoulder. “You been functioning fine.”

“Barely.”

He smiled against your cheek. “Good.”

The engagement had happened quietly, exactly the way you loved.

No stadium screen. No cameras. No crowd of people clapping before you even had a chance to breathe. Devin proposed at home, after dinner, in the backyard under the soft glow of string lights, with your favorite flowers on the table and candles flickering in little glass holders. He had been so calm the whole night that you didn’t suspect a thing until he started talking too slowly.

That was how you knew something was wrong.

Or right.

He took your hand, looked at you with those pretty eyes, and said, “I’ve been sure about a lot of things in my life, but nothing like I’m sure about you.”

You had started crying before he even reached into his pocket.

The ring was perfect. Oval diamond, simple band, elegant and not too flashy, though still clearly Devin Booker-level expensive. He knew you well enough not to choose something that looked like it was trying to yell at people.

You said yes so fast he laughed.

“Let me finish,” he said, still on one knee.

“No, because what if you change your mind?”

He looked up at you like you were ridiculous. “I’m not changing my mind.”

“Then yes.”

He slid the ring onto your finger with hands that trembled just enough to tell you how much the moment meant to him.

Then he stood, pulled you into him, and kissed you like the world had gone quiet around you both.

Afterward, you both agreed to keep it private for a while.

Not secret.

Private.

There was a difference.

Devin’s life already had so many eyes on it. Games, interviews, tunnel fits, cameras, strangers online making confident opinions out of blurry photos and half-seen moments. Your relationship had survived because the two of you protected the center of it. You didn’t hide like you were ashamed, but you kept the softest parts out of reach.

The proposal was one of those soft parts.

So for eleven days, the ring stayed mostly at home. When you went out, you turned the stone inward or wore it on a chain under your shirt. Devin teased you about that once.

“You hiding my hard work?”

“I’m protecting our peace.”

He smiled, pulling you close. “Alright, fiancée.”

That word still got you every time.

Fiancée.

From him, it sounded warmer. Like a promise wrapped in a title.

The problem started at dinner.

You should have known better than to wear the ring out, but it was supposed to be a quiet night. Just you, Devin, his sister, and a couple of close friends at a dimly lit restaurant where the staff knew how to mind their business. You wore a fitted cream dress, gold hoops, soft makeup, and the ring because, honestly, you missed wearing it.

That sounded dramatic, but it was true.

It felt strange leaving it behind. Like taking off the future for a few hours.

Devin noticed immediately when you walked into the living room.

His eyes dropped to your hand.

Then lifted to your face.

“You wearing it tonight?”

You looked down at the ring, suddenly shy. “Is that okay?”

His expression softened in that slow way that always made your stomach flutter.

“Baby, I want you to wear it everywhere.”

“You said we should wait.”

“I said I’d wait if that’s what you wanted.”

You blinked.

He came closer, taking your hand gently and lifting it between you. His thumb brushed beneath the ring.

“I’m proud you said yes,” he said quietly. “I’m not scared of people knowing. I just don’t want them taking the moment from you.”

Your throat tightened.

“They won’t,” you said.

And for most of dinner, they didn’t.

The night was warm and easy. Devin sat beside you in the booth, his arm resting behind you, occasionally leaning close to say something that only you could hear. His sister kept asking wedding questions you weren’t ready for, and Devin kept pretending he didn’t already have opinions.

“You say you don’t care about flowers,” you told him, “but you had a very strong reaction to baby’s breath.”

He frowned. “Because it looks like filler.”

His sister laughed. “So you do care.”

“I care about it not looking lazy.”

You pointed at him. “See?”

He shrugged, unbothered. “I got taste.”

“You got opinions.”

“That too.”

It was sweet.

Normal.

Exactly what you wanted.

Then, as you were leaving, a camera flashed.

You didn’t even notice at first.

You were too busy laughing at something Devin said while he helped you into your coat. Your left hand was on his chest, ring visible for maybe three seconds under the restaurant lights.

Three seconds was enough.

By the time you got home, your phone was already buzzing.

At first, you ignored it.

Then Devin’s phone buzzed.

Then his sister called.

Devin answered while toeing off his shoes near the door. “Yeah?”

You watched his face.

It changed just slightly.

Not panic.

Devin didn’t panic easily.

But his expression became still.

Focused.

“Where?” he asked.

Your stomach dropped.

He listened for a few more seconds, then looked at you.

You knew.

Before he even said it, you knew.

When he hung up, the house felt too quiet.

“What happened?” you asked, though your voice already sounded small.

Devin walked toward you slowly. “There’s a photo.”

You closed your eyes. “Of the ring?”

“Yeah.”

Your phone buzzed again in your hand.

This time, you looked.

A friend had sent you a post.

The photo wasn’t even good. It was a little blurry, taken from an angle outside the restaurant. But there you were, smiling up at Devin with your hand on his chest, diamond catching the light like it had been personally hired to cause chaos.

The caption was worse.

DEVIN BOOKER ENGAGED? NBA STAR SPOTTED WITH MYSTERY FIANCÉE WEARING MASSIVE RING

You stared at the words until they blurred.

Mystery fiancée.

Massive ring.

Spotted.

Like your life was a scavenger hunt.

“Oh my God,” you whispered.

Devin reached for the phone, but you held onto it.

You made the mistake of scrolling.

There were already comments.

Some happy.

Some shocked.

Some nosy.

Some rude.

Some people asking who you were. Some people acting like they already knew everything about you. Some zooming in on the ring. Some debating whether it was real, whether it was recent, whether you were “the one” or just “the current one.”

Your chest tightened.

Devin’s voice came low and careful. “Baby, don’t read.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

You locked the phone and set it face down on the table, but the damage was already done.

“They weren’t supposed to know yet,” you said.

“I know.”

“I wore it one time.”

“I know.”

“I should’ve kept it off.”

“No.” Devin stepped closer immediately. “Don’t do that.”

You crossed your arms, suddenly feeling exposed in your own living room. “Do what?”

“Make it your fault.”

You looked away.

He softened his voice. “You’re allowed to wear your ring.”

“I know, but—”

“No but.” He moved into your line of sight. “You’re my fiancée. You shouldn’t have to hide your hand because people don’t know how to act.”

Your eyes stung.

“I just wanted a little more time,” you whispered.

That was the part that hurt.

Not that people knew. You knew they would eventually.

It was that they had found out before you got to decide how to share it. Before you got to call your aunt. Before you got to tell one more friend personally. Before you got to sit with the feeling long enough to make it yours.

Now it was out there.

A headline.

A photo.

A rumor with your ring attached.

Devin saw it all on your face.

He pulled you into his arms.

You went without fighting it, pressing your cheek against his chest. His hand moved over your back slowly, steady and warm.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“You didn’t do anything.”

“I still hate that it upset you.”

You closed your eyes.

For a while, you just stood there in the entryway, his arms around you, your phone buzzing on the table like a tiny machine of stress.

Eventually, Devin reached over and turned both your phones off.

You lifted your head. “What if it’s important?”

“It’s not.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know enough.”

That made you laugh softly despite yourself.

He looked down at you, and his expression eased a little when he heard it.

“There she is,” he said.

You rubbed your eyes. “I’m overwhelmed.”

“I know.”

“And I’m mad.”

“I know.”

“And I kind of want to see if people think the ring is pretty.”

Devin blinked.

You looked up at him.

For a second, neither of you spoke.

Then he laughed, low and surprised, his shoulders relaxing. “That’s where we at?”

“I’m upset, not dead.”

His smile widened. “The ring is pretty.”

“You bought it. You have to say that.”

“I bought it because it’s pretty.”

“And because I’m pretty?”

His eyes softened. “That part came first.”

You hated how quickly that got you.

You sighed and leaned back into him.

The next morning, it was everywhere.

Not truly everywhere. The world had bigger problems than Devin Booker’s engagement. But in the sports and gossip corners of the internet, it had spread fast enough to feel suffocating.

A few blogs reposted the photo. Some accounts claimed they had “sources.” One page said the engagement had happened months ago. Another said you were secretly planning a destination wedding. Someone said Devin had proposed after a Suns game, which made you laugh because it was so wrong.

“Apparently you proposed in a private suite with roses and a violinist,” you told him from the couch.

Devin looked up from his coffee. “A violinist?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I don’t even know a violinist.”

“That’s what you want me to believe.”

He sat beside you, amused. “You reading again?”

“A little.”

He gave you a look.

“I’m not spiraling,” you said. “I’m observing.”

“Observing what?”

“How loud people are when they’re wrong.”

He nodded. “That’s the internet.”

His team called later that morning.

Public relations.

Strategy.

Whether he wanted to comment.

Whether he preferred to ignore it.

Whether you were comfortable being mentioned.

You sat beside him at the kitchen island while he took the call, his hand resting on your thigh the whole time.

He listened quietly, then said, “I’m not denying it.”

Your heart jumped.

He glanced at you.

“No,” he said into the phone, voice calm. “I’m not giving details either. But I’m not acting like it’s not true.”

You looked down at your ring.

He continued, “If they ask after practice, I’ll keep it simple.”

There was a pause.

Then Devin’s voice got a little firmer.

“Don’t call her a mystery anything.”

Your eyes lifted.

His jaw was set.

“She has a name,” he said. “And she’s not part of some storyline.”

Your chest went warm and tight all at once.

He listened a little longer, then ended the call.

For a second, you just looked at him.

“What?” he asked.

“You got serious.”

“They were annoying me.”

“They weren’t even being mean.”

“They were being careless.”

You softened.

He turned toward you fully. “You okay with me saying something if they ask?”

“What would you say?”

He shrugged. “That I’m happy. That we’re engaged. That I’m not talking about anything private.”

You nodded slowly.

“You sure?”

“Yes.” You took a breath. “I don’t want to hide it.”

His eyes softened.

“I just don’t want them inside it.”

“They won’t be.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“No,” he admitted. “But I can promise I won’t invite them in.”

That helped.

A lot.

That afternoon, you watched the clip live from home after Suns practice.

You told yourself you weren’t nervous.

You were lying.

Devin stood in front of reporters in team gear, face calm, towel draped over his shoulder. He answered a couple of basketball questions first — injury updates, matchup talk, routine stuff. Then someone asked it.

“Book, there’s been a lot of speculation online about your engagement. Anything you want to share?”

Your breath caught.

Devin’s expression barely changed, but you knew him well enough to see the shift. The tiny pause. The way his eyes lowered for half a second before he answered.

“Yeah,” he said simply. “I’m engaged.”

The room reacted softly, a few murmurs, some smiles.

Devin nodded once, almost to himself.

“I’m happy,” he continued. “She’s happy. That’s what matters.”

Your eyes stung immediately.

Another reporter asked, “Can you tell us anything about the proposal?”

Devin’s mouth curved faintly.

“Nah,” he said. “That one’s ours.”

That one’s ours.

You pressed a hand over your mouth.

He looked so calm saying it. So sure. Like the line between public and private was not up for debate.

Someone else asked, “So no wedding details?”

Devin smiled a little more.

“Y’all not getting those either.”

A few reporters laughed.

Then he shifted right back to basketball, smooth and finished.

The clip went viral within an hour.

Not just because he confirmed it, but because of how he confirmed it. Calm. Direct. Protective without being dramatic. Happy without performing happiness for people. The comments changed after that, at least some of them.

“That one’s ours” oh he LOVES her.

He said y’all are NOT getting the details lmaooo.

Protective Booker is kinda adorable.

She’s happy, he’s happy, leave them alone.

Later that evening, Devin came home with flowers.

Not huge ones. Not a dramatic bouquet meant to apologize for something he didn’t do. Just your favorite flowers, wrapped simply, carried in one hand as he walked through the door.

“You watched?” he asked.

You took the flowers. “Yes.”

“And?”

“You did good.”

He smiled softly. “Yeah?”

“You didn’t give them too much.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“And you didn’t make it weird.”

“I’m talented like that.”

You gave him a look. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

He laughed and pulled you close, careful not to crush the flowers between you.

“You feel better?” he asked.

You thought about it.

The internet still knew. People were still talking. Your ring was still being zoomed in on by strangers with too much time. The engagement had still been exposed before you wanted it to be.

But Devin had stood in front of everyone and made it clear.

Yes, it was true.

Yes, he loved you.

No, they could not have all of it.

“I feel… okay,” you said.

His hand moved along your back. “Just okay?”

“I feel protected,” you admitted.

His face softened completely.

“Good.”

He set the flowers down on the counter, then took your left hand in his. The ring caught the kitchen light, bright and impossible to ignore.

“This,” he said, brushing his thumb lightly beneath the diamond, “is ours. The night I asked, what I said, how you cried before I finished—”

“You didn’t need to include that part.”

His smile deepened. “How fast you said yes.”

“I was being efficient.”

“You were being impatient.”

“I knew my answer.”

His eyes softened.

“I did too,” he said quietly.

For a moment, the house went still around you.

No cameras.

No headlines.

No blurry photos or captions.

Just Devin holding your hand in the kitchen, thumb moving slowly over the ring he had chosen, looking at you like the world could talk all it wanted and still never touch the center of what you had.

“I love you,” you whispered.

He lifted your hand and kissed your ring finger gently.

“I love you too, fiancée.”

You smiled at the word this time.

No flinch.

No fear.

Just warmth.

That night, you posted one photo.

Not because you felt pressured.

Because you wanted to reclaim the moment in your own way.

It was simple: your hand in Devin’s, the ring visible but not the whole point. His thumb rested over your knuckles, the edge of his sleeve in frame. No faces. No location. No caption full of details.

Just three words.

Forever sounds right.

Devin reposted it ten minutes later.

His caption was even shorter.

It does.

And that was enough.

Let them talk.

Let them guess.

Let them zoom in.

They could have the headline.

They could have the confirmation.

They could have one photo, one caption, one clean little glimpse of the truth.

But the proposal?

The tears?

The backyard lights?

The way Devin’s hands shook when he slid the ring on?

The way he whispered, “You sure?” even though you had already said yes?

The way you laughed and cried into his chest while he held you like he had just been trusted with the rest of your life?

That stayed yours.

Just like he said.

--------

taglist ~

@yourleogf @amyaaaaaaaaaaa @kyomionline @iam-lulu @butterflyeras-blog @luvziza4ever @magicalienicorn @v4mpteija @thelightknight21 @teafluvsz @cosmicautomatonshark @tojislittlesluttt @fabulousgurlll

[v6quewrlds]

i miss you⠀⋆⠀devin booker.

⋆⠀author's note & warnings: another draft i need to get rid of, semi edited don't look too closely. fluff (you/your), language potentially. read more for #1⠀⋆⠀series masterlist.

You were sure your voice sounded terrible. It had that raspy, sandpaper quality that came with a head cold and the feeling of pain every time you swallowed. You sniffled loudly into the phone. “And now I sound like this,” you muttered, half to yourself.

On the other end, Devin chuckled softly, deeply, quietly. You could tell he was tired, his adrenaline finally receding after a game in Atlanta. “Baby girl,” he murmured, “you could sound like one of those anti-smoking commercials, and you’d still be the prettiest thing I ever heard.”

You rolled your eyes, though you knew he couldn’t see it, and curled deeper into the nest of blankets on your oversized sectional. Outside, Phoenix’s skyline glittered through the windows, the purple, deep blue, and orange watercolors indifferent to your plight. “I’m just annoyed by the fact that I couldn’t go,” you grumbled, voice thick with congestion. “I was looking forward to that restaurant. I got a bunch of videos on my For You Page about it, and I was going to post, like, a bunch of pics on IG.”

Devin’s laugh was muffled, like he’d pressed his face into a pillow. “Baby, you act like that place might disappear tomorrow,” he said, voice warm with that slow, unhurried drawl of his. You could picture him sprawled across some hotel bed, plain white tank over a pair of sweats, one pillow clutched under his arm, phone balanced in his hand. “Ain’t no rush. We’ll go when you’re better. Hell, I’ll make it up to you when I get home… take you twice.”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Yeah, but I wanted to go now,” you whined, then immediately regretted it when your throat protested. You coughed, wincing, and reached blindly for the tea on the side table that was lukewarm now, but still sweet on your tongue. “Ugh. This sucks.”

“You always want shit now,” he teased. “Like when you saw them heels last month and texted me ‘baby I need these’ at 3 AM.”

You huffed, pouting dramatically even though he couldn’t see it. “First of all, I did need those,” you croaked, then sniffled. “Second, their menu changes seasonally, Dev. What if they take the truffle gnocchi off before I get to try it?”

“Then I’ll buy a damn truffle and learn to make gnocchi,” he said, so casually you could almost see the shrug from the sound of his voice alone. “You think I won’t?”

“Do you know what gnocchi is?” you rasped, pressing your fingertips to your temple.

Devin made an offended noise. “Do you want the shit or not?”

“Baby, I love you, but the last thing I need is you burning the fuck out some mushrooms in my very expensive kitchen,” you muttered, letting your head fall back against the couch cushions. The ceiling fan spun lazily above you, casting uneven shadows across the room.

Devin exhaled, long and slow, and you could picture him running a hand over the lower half of his face. “Fine, alright,” he said finally. “Then I’ll just slip the chefs a couple hundred to make it special for you.”

You smiled despite yourself, tucking your cold feet further beneath the throw blanket. “Never beating the allegations.”

Devin’s chuckle was lazy. “Allegations?”

“Don’t worry about it. You bribe the chefs, I’ll stand behind my man,” you rasped, grinning when Devin laughed softly.

Silence settled over the two of you for a few moments. Then you heard him taking a slow breath before finally speaking up. “Wish you were here,” he added softly.

You knew he hated road games, hated waking up in strange beds without you snoring in his ear, hated missing the way you pushed him away in your sleep when you got too warm. You missed the weight of his arm slung over your waist, his nose pressed into the curve of your neck, following when you rolled over in the middle of the night, and the half-asleep mumble of, “Baby… back, come back,” when you drifted too far to your side of the bed.

You smiled into your mug filled with tea, pressing your lips together to clear your throat and keep yourself from coughing again. “Yeah, well,” you murmured, “you’d just complain I’m getting germs all over your side of the bed.”

“Nah. I’d let you sweat all over me. Wrap you up till you couldn’t move.”

You let out a weak laugh. “You say that now,” you cleared your throat, “but you’d be peeling me off you by midnight.”

Devin hummed. “You ever seen me let go of something I want? Exactly. So stop actin’ like I wouldn’t deal with your sniffly ass in bed. Love you sick, love you healthy, love you when you’re stealing the covers.”

You sneezed through your nose, the sound wet and unflattering. You wished he were next to you now, making fun of your scratchy voice and your tiny sips of cold tea. “You’re lucky I’m too weak to argue with you,” you muttered with an air of fondness.

“Nah, you just love me too much to argue forreal. You know I mean that shit,” he countered, voice low and warm, and you rolled your eyes again, even as your lips curled into a smile.

You shifted on the couch, wincing as your sore muscles ached with the movement. You could hear Devin breathing softly on the other end of the line. “Tired?”

“Dead tired,” Devin admitted, his words slurring slightly with exhaustion. “Shit’s finally hitting me. I should be home with my baby instead of staring at this ceiling.” The mattress creaked faintly as he shifted, and you imagined him stretching his long legs out, settling deeper into the mattress. “You picked up some NyQuil?”

You wrinkled your nose at the thought. “Baby, you know I don’t do that stuff.” You took a sip from your tea again, letting the sweetness coat your throat before you continued. “I got tea, soup, and I’ll sweat the rest of this fever out tonight.”

Devin hummed, finally giving in to the pull of sleep, his voice dropping to a mere whisper. “Mmm. You better.” There was a rustle then a yawn before he added, barely audible, “Call me if you need me, beautiful.”

You exhaled, letting the silence settle in before you replied. “I will. Get some sleep. I love you.”

[lipglosslovr]

NSFW alphabet - devin booker

a- aftercare what he’s like after sex

king of aftercare! he’s not just getting you a rag. he’s running you a hot shower, putting a towel in the dryer and waiting for you to get out so he can wrap the warm material around your body. he fixes the bed, sheets pulled ready for you to slide in and lay in his arms as he picks a movie to watch.

b- body part his favorite body part of yours

legs. legs. legs. he’s always touching them, running his hands down them. offering to put lotion on for you. almost always letting his hands wander a little too high up. 

c- cum anything to do with cum, basically

inside you most times. the others in your mouth. wiping the extra that’s dripping out from in between your lips taking his thumb to part your mouth open to push the rest back in nodding for you to swallow.

d- dirty secret pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of his 

he keeps a pair of your lacy black underwear in his glove compartment from one of the times you had a car quickie before a game. you’d be absolutely humiliated. he considers it his good luck charm now.

e- experience how experienced is he?

extremely experienced. the kind that makes you nervous and slightly insecure. but he’s patient, attentive and communicative. loves the thrill of seeing the look of uneasiness in your eyes when he’s putting you in a position you didn’t even know existed but he's in your ear the whole time telling you how good you’re taking him.

f- favorite position 

prone bone. the feeling of his weight on top of you drives you crazy as he’s quite literally fucking you into the mattress.

g- goofy is he more serious in the moment? is he humorous? etc.

when he’s in the moment he’s in the moment not much can get him out his zone. nonetheless the occasional dog barking in the distance or a funny one liner from the tv he caught will throw him off causing you both to stifle a laugh. it takes you longer to regain control prompting him to shove a pillow in your face teasingly. annoyed you’ve now broken out into a full blown laugh. he senses the moments ruined tugging his underwear back on with a smile still on his face telling you to finish yourself off. 

h- hair how well groomed is he?

he’s trimmed, lined up and always well maintained. he takes his area routine quite seriously. exfoliating with a specific loofa and a santal scented body wash to do the job.

i- intimacy how is he during the moment? the romantic aspect 

he’s an intimate guy. he loves being in the moment with you. it’s one of the things that can clear his mind. no distractions, no noise it’s just you and him. your bodies connecting, nothing else matters to him.

j-  jack off masturbation headcanon

he’s away often, he has needs. he’ll be looking at pictures of you he has saved in his phone, the pg kind first. you kissing his check or a mirror selfie of you washing your face in the morning. then he gets to the ones he took of you tanning in a much too small bikini or you on your knees looking up at him your lips wrapped around him. he feels his shorts tighten then the next thing he knows he’s looking at your contact photo wondering if his needs are worth waking you up at 2am to watch him finish. 

k- kink one or more of their kinks

Praising. loves to hear you say how good he played, how you couldn't take your eyes off him the whole game and you had to squeeze your legs closed every time he looked at you after he took a shot. wants to feel your hands all over his body rubbing him down, tongue tracing his abs as you straddle him.

l- location favorite places to do the do 

hotels. it always starts when you shower. he sees your reflection in the foggy mirror as he’s brushing his teeth. then he’s stepping in behind you pushing you up against the marble wall pinning both your hands above your head. 

m- motivation what turns him on, gets him going

knowing that he’s pleasing you. he literally won’t stop until tears are streaming down your face and he can feel your legs shaking on top of his shoulders. 

n- no something he wouldn’t do, turn offs

oof. i’m gonna go out on a limb here but threesomes. maybe in his younger days it was probably something he could have been into, but now? I don’t see it. the idea doesn’t even cross his mind this time around. just wants to focus on you, wants you to focus on him. 

o- oral preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.

he’s a giver and a receiver. he likes it messy on both ends. will fuck your face until you can’t breathe, eyes watering and spit dripping down your chin. he’s eating you until you’ve almost drawn blood from bitting your lip so hard his obscene noises filling the room.

p- pace are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? 

he takes his time. he’s slow yet rough, wants to make sure you can feel his love. he can fuck obviously. but he’s not in a rush with you. it’s not just sex to him anymore he needs to feel you respond to every thrust, every beat feel you pulse around him.

q- quickie his opinions on quickies, how often, etc.

he loves a quickie. he’ll bend you over anywhere. but his favorite kind is when you're both too needy to make it home. he pulls off somewhere quiet and secluded. sometimes it’s even in the drive way. the backseats not usually an option as he would most definitely not fit. leaving you to crawl across the center console. your jeans and underwear hit the floorboard 2 stoplights ago as his fingers hovered over your core just enough to make you dig your nails into his forearm pleading for more. so you ride him, his mouth never leaving your neck muttering a string of fucks as he’s spilling into you. you’re both breathless enjoying the high, the car filling up with fog.

r- risk is he game to experiment? does take risks? 

he follows your lead. he’s always down for whatever you want, he’ll push your boundaries here and there just to see if you’re up for it.

s- stamina how many rounds can he go for? how long do they last?

mans plays 4 quarters, he can go 4 rounds easily. he wears you out to the point where you need to stop for water, catch a breath maybe even stretch your legs. something about seeing your fucked out face makes him want to try for a fifth round, see how much you can take.

t- toys do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves

hm no. his eye could literally twitch at the thought of something else beside him giving you pleasure. 

u- unfair how much they like to tease

not too much, just enough to see you squirm and grip the sheets in desperation. he doesn’t like to see you unsatisfied for too long but he loves to hear you beg for it.

v- volume how loud is he, what sounds does he make, etc.

he’s a low under his breath type moaner. whimpers. in your ear, against your neck and in between kisses. he doesn’t need to be loud for you to know he’s losing himself inside you.

w- wild card a random headcanon for the character 

doesn’t care too much for over the top lingerie. you in one of his shirts or even a jersey is the sexiest thing you could wear. secretly loves to watch you get ready. makeup, clothes and hot tools scattered across the bathroom sink. he pretends that it gives him a headache but he counts down the days until he hears the familiar clanking of your brushes against the counter.

x- x-ray let’s see what’s going on under those clothes 

we’ve seen the anons 😵‍💫 he’s 6’5 toned as hell. pecks, collar bones, abs?? phew!

y- yearning how high is his sex drive?

very. (scorpio) he wants you all the time. the smallest things turn him on. seeing the small of your back when you bend down or hearing you say his full government when trying to get him to focus. he craves you he can't help himself. looks at the tapes you’ve both made and says it’s his ‘film study time’ wants to improve his game. 

z- zzz’s how quickly they fall asleep afterwards

depends. If it's night sex once he sees that you’re comfortable and settled he’s out, i’m talking mouth open snoring into oblivion. other times all it does is give him more energy, walking into the gym with his head bigger than usual.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

thank you to the anon for the request! 

if anyone wants the sfw version pls let me know, i’d love to do it <3

[goldfades]

Something about pregnant and abnormally clingy reader with “plopping down on their lap like they're a portable sofa “ and devin booker is sending me, congrats on 6k 🥳

AAA<3 thank you so much baby!!!! i hope u enjoy<3

warnings: pregnancy (duh), otherwise just fluffy

You didn’t think you’d be the clingy type, really.

You’d always been a little too proud for that — too independent, too self-sufficient, too I got it, even when you very much did not got it. But that was before pregnancy. That was before hormones turned your brain into soup and your body into a twelve-hour-a-day beanbag, before your fiancé started looking suspiciously like a heating pad and an emotional support animal in one.

Now?

Now you followed Devin around the house like a shadow with a baby bump, attached to him like a barnacle any time he sat down longer than ten seconds. The man couldn't even tie his shoes without you hovering nearby like you were waiting to be let in a club and when he did sit? Forget it. You were plopping down on him, full-body, belly and all, no warning.

Today, he was mid-phone call in the sunroom, one of those serious, basketball-voice calls, the kind where his tone dropped an octave and he paced like someone’s dad trying to sound calm. You heard him say something about “off-ball movement” and “rotations” which you politely ignored in favor of flopping directly onto his thighs with a dramatic oomph, knocking the air out of both of you.

Devin didn’t even flinch anymore. Just curled a steadying arm around your waist without missing a beat in conversation.

You pressed your cheek to his shoulder and closed your eyes like he was a mattress and the rest of the world was made of concrete. “You’re warm,” you mumbled, like that explained everything.

He glanced down at you, mouth twitching then looked back up at nothing while the guy on the other end of the call kept talking. Devin adjusted his grip to cradle your stomach with one hand and rub absent circles into your back with the other.

You weren't even listening. You never were, not when he was touching you like that.

You’d only been like this for... what, three weeks? Four? Ever since the third trimester hit and your belly officially entered the room two seconds before you did. Devin kept saying it was cute. Said you were cute, in this amazed, half-exasperated way like he couldn’t believe he’d ended up with someone who wanted to sit on top of him all day like he was public seating.

“You know there are actual chairs in this house,” he said last night when you crawled into his lap again while he was trying to game.

You just blinked at him, unimpressed. “Okay but none of them love me back.”

He couldn’t argue with that. And he didn’t. He just adjusted the controller, one hand guiding your thigh over his, and let you stay right there.

Let you stay every time.

Always.

Because the truth was he loved it. And you? You were too busy trying to fuse your atoms with his to stop and say it out loud.

[briaschronicle]

⟡ falling on deaf ears

pairing ⟡ devin booker x reader

word count ⟡ 1.4k

summary ⟡ new world shattering news causes you to rethink what this relationship with devin really means

warnings ⟡ angst, mentions of pregnancy and abortion

author’s note ⟡ i’m not sure how i feel about this but it’s been awhile since i posted so here we are!

The room felt smaller. The fluorescent lights of the bathroom burned your eyes as you sat on the tiled floor. Positive. This stupid piece of plastic in your hand had now determined your future in a matter of five minutes.

You could hear Devin on the other side of the door. He knocked when he realized that you had been in the bathroom for ten minutes without hearing anything running. You didn’t let him in. Just the possibility of you being pregnant was bad enough, but now it’s actually true? God knows what this’ll lead to.

You stare blankly at the cabinet in front of you when Devin knocks on the door again, “Babe, what’s going on in there? You good?”

His voice was slightly muffled through the door. You could hear his hoodie brushing against it. “I’m fine,” you say plainly, not a hint of emotion behind it.

Although the two of you had been dating for a little over two years now, pregnancy had never been a real conversation. Yeah, Devin mentioned wanting kids one day, but one day. He always made it seem like years from now in the far off future. And you, well you were okay with that. Kids had never been the highest on your list of priorities but it was something you saw for yourself at some point.

You push yourself off the floor, shorts falling from where they were bunched up at your thighs, before finally opening the door. Devin’s still standing there, leaning against the doorframe. “What’s wrong with you?” he asks, bringing his hand up to your forearm.

You quickly brush by him, placing the test in his now open hand. You began slowly pacing the room. Devin took a moment, confused by your actions before looking down and noticing the plus sign. He looked between you and the test a few times before letting out a deep sigh.

“Is this for real?”

“No, of course not. I just decided I was bored and that I’d hand you a fake ass pregnancy test for the fun of it! Be fucking for real Devin, of course it’s real!” It definitely comes out harsher than you imagined in your head, but who could blame you, what kind of question was that?

You stop pacing for a moment, going to the dresser to grab a hair tie, putting your braids up. “Look at me.” He says it with a hint of irritation. Like you panicking over an unplanned child is an annoying inconvenience for him.

You whip your head around, glaring over your shoulder. “I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, was it for sure, accurate?” His features felt slightly softer but the lines littered between his eyebrows were evident.

“I took three. All positive. Sounds pretty accurate to me.”

Devin walks closer to you, placing the test on the surface behind you. He takes your hands, rubbing over your knuckles with his thumbs. “Then we deal with this. Get you the best doctors, I can bring some of my family out. You aren’t alone-“

“Wait, what? I’m not having a baby,” you say it matter of factly. Like you made your decision before you even walked out of the bathroom, because you had. This was the easiest decision you could’ve made in your life.

Your boyfriend is clearly taken aback by this, dropping one of your hands, looking you dead in your face. “What the fuck are you talking about?” He sounds genuinely confused and it almost breaks your heart. Almost.

“I’m not having this baby, Devin. I can’t be a mother right now.”

He takes a step back, running his hands down his face.

“So I wasn’t gonna be a part of this conversation? Like I’m not the father or something?”

You let out a huff of laughter, but more so of disbelief. “Well you wouldn’t be the one carrying a baby for nine months, now would you?” you ask it rhetorically, placing a hand on your hip in the process. “You were the one who said you’d support anything I’d do if we ended up in this situation!”

“And I am! And I will! But I’m not gone act like you just deciding that you were gonna get rid of it without even telling me first isn’t crazy. You can’t even think about what I want,” he starts to raise his voice, not a yelling tone, one of assertiveness.

“Because it’s my life on the line! You’re not gonna quit your job to be a stay at home dad while I’m away for weeks at a time for work! And I’m not gonna be one of those people whose kid sees a nanny more than their own parents!” you are yelling now. You feel unheard and so disregarded. “This is such a stupid fucking conversation.” The last part comes out quieter as you turn and walk out of the room.

Devin gets up and follows closely behind you. “What did you just say?”

“That this is a stupid fucking conversation! We’ve talked about this at nauseam because you’re worried about that damn career more than me!” You turn yourself around in the hallway, now facing him. Your voice is shakier now, a tear even falls that you quickly swipe away.

“How could you even say something like that to me? Everything I do is for us, for you! I was considering taking a step back for you-”

“No one asked you to! You keep bringing this shit up like I begged you to be home more often. I knew what this was when we got together. I also knew that we could not sustain having a kid in the near future!” You cut him off, jogging down the stairs as if to separate yourself from the tension further emerging in the room.

He pauses behind you, unable to try and keep a poker face as he seems too confused to understand where you’re coming from. “Why am I the bad guy cause I wanted to be included on a big fucking decision?”

You stop in your tracks before opening your mouth, still facing away from him, “I never said you were the bad guy, but you automatically assumed that I would want it. Doesn’t look like you were gonna include me in that decision either.” You let out a loud sigh before continuing, “ I understand that you apparently want a baby now but I do not. Especially if we’re not even married, Dev.”

“Then we can talk more, we can get married. Baby we can do whatever you want.” He threw his arms up in defeat.

Taking another breath you started towards the front door, slipping your shoes on. “We can’t do whatever I want Devin because it leads back to you and what you want. I’m not gonna marry a man who cannot fathom that this is not what I want and I sure as hell am not gonna do it on a whim just so you can keep me pregnant.”

“Bro, you reading too much into what I’m saying. I’m just saying that I want you and I want you to be happy. If you good, I’m good, baby.”

“I am telling you right now, I want an abortion. That would make me happy. Are you still good with that?”

Devin opened his mouth but nothing came out. Just a slight inhale before bowing his head. And that right there was it. All you needed to reassure you that this talk would never be over, that it would be something brought back up again and again. Just how easily he could say something like that and take it back in the same breath.

You took your keys from the console table before opening the door. “Goodbye, Devin. Call me when you get your head out of your ass.”

Devin walks right up behind you, almost reaching out to grab you before his hand falters. “Babe, where are you going? You really finna leave like this?”

“Yes I am. I’m sick of you right now, so please give me some space.”

The door slammed shut behind you, walking to your car and sitting for a moment. Your eyelids fluttered as you took multiple deep inhales and exhales. You were unsure of how your relationship would move on and get past this. It felt like you both had a gap in your understanding with each other, but this would forever change the opinion of one another in the back of your heads. Maybe this was necessary in a weird way. That now you two would finally see each other even if it wasn’t what you imagined.

[doncicdoll]

𝑂𝑁𝐸 𝑂𝑁 𝑂𝑁𝐸 ⛇･:*౨ৎ

Synopsis ⋆⁺₊❅ : After teasing and poking fun at Devin, he finally cracks and challenges your words.

Pairing ⋆⁺₊❅ : Devin Booker x Reader Warnings ⋆⁺₊❅ : Teasing, kissing Word count ⋆⁺₊❅ : 1.1k

Authors Note ⋆⁺₊❅ :

Hi everyone! This is my first post for my 12 days of Christmas series, as always I hope you enjoy and happy holidays! (proofread)

You’d been talking shit for weeks; nothing serious, it’s been all fun and games to you at least. Devin always rolled his eyes at you and pretended your teasing words didn’t get to him.

Every time he had an off night?

“Oh wow, maybe I should sub in for you.”

“Are you sure you weren’t playing with your eyes closed?”

and of course:

“I could‘ve done better than that Dev.”

He always shot back a dry “You’re not funny,” but kissed you after anyway.

It was one of his off days, and you managed to drag him into making some classic sugar cookies for a Christmas party coming up. You haven’t bothered him too much, except for when he wanted to take the aux while baking, and you weren’t going to let that happen.

After being elbows-deep in flour, you had baked up the sugar cookies to a perfect balance of crispy yet soft and chewy. Now being left with the bland design of the cookies, shaped in various seasonal shapes, which you had to jazz up.

“Here,” you said, sliding a sugar cookie and a piping bag toward him. “Make something cute.” with a smile.

He narrowed his eyes. “Define cute.”

“Not ugly,” you answered sweetly, returning back to your cookie, sprinkling on some sugar glitter.

He muttered something under his breath, and sighed, picking up the bag of icing and began to decorate his cookie.

Five minutes later, he pushed the cookie toward you, like he was nervous for a teacher to grade his assignment.

It was…

a crime.

The snowman looked like it had melted, refrozen, and lived a tragic life. One eye was bigger than the other, the mouth drooped into a squiggly smile, the buttons had mixed into the white icing, creating an unpleasant grey swirl, and the carrot was overlapping with the janky smile.

You tried to hold back your laugh; his cookie was really cute beside all of its flaws, but you couldn’t hold it together any longer. Bursting into a grin with a laugh, “Babyyyy,” you said, covering your mouth, “what is thattt?” you whined, your voice cracking.

“It’s a snowman.” He said innocently, his sweet brown eyes looking into yours. You pouted a bit, now feeling a bit bad, but you still kept going. “That snowman looks like he’d sell me crack.” You joked behind your hand in a poor effort to hide your grin.

He glared with a small downturn in his lips, you moved your hand to turn the plate to look at it through a different angle.

You try to recover. “No, it’s nice, no, it’s so nice.” but then having to smack your hand to your mouth again to cover your cheesy grin.

“Alright,” Devin says calmly. “Get your shoes on.” Nudging his head out towards the patio door. Furrowing your brows in confusion, yet that amused smile lingered on your cheeks. “For what?”

“We’re playing. One-on-one.” He says calmly.

You laugh again until you see he isn’t laughing with you, crossing his arms like it’s a big thing.

“Dev. Baby. It’s a joke. I’m joking.” You say softly, hoping he’s not actually butt hurt about your comments about his cookie.

“Nah,” he says, shaking his head, voice dropping low “You’ve been talking shit all week. Time to back it up.” You fold your arms, matching him. “I’m not playing you. I’m just joking; it’s all meaningless teasing, babe.”

He rolls his eyes, glancing around the kitchen before picking up the oven mitt off the stove. “Fine. I’ll play with an oven mitt on my right hand.” Your hands travel to rest on your hips with an amused expression. “You’re serious?” With furrowed brows.

“And,” he adds, stepping closer to you. “Whoever loses has to do whatever the winner wants. All weekend.” A proud smirk comes across his face, like he has already won the one-on-one.

“C’mon, Dev,” you mumble, a weak attempt at talking him out of it.

He nudges his knuckle against your chin a bit , smiling with that dumb arrogant smile, like he’s been waiting for this for years. Bending down to whisper in your ear. “Talked all that shit,” he pauses, “and now you’re scared?”

Backing up to let him see his cocked brow, challenging you, yet you stand your ground with a defensive, “I’m not scared.”

“Good.” He slips on the oven mitt. “’Cause I’m ’bout to humble you.” Backing out of the kitchen towards the back patio door.

You look at your half-done Santa cookie, then at his disaster of a snowman, then you catch him already heading for the door with his open hand.

And you shout, “I hate you.”

From outside, he calls back:

“You’re gonna hate losing more.”

Devin dribbles lazily with his left hand, the right one covered by the ridiculous holiday themed oven mitt. With a smug smile, he asks, “You ready?” bouncing the ball to you.

You catch it with a sigh. “I can’t take you seriously like that.”

“You shouldn’t,” while rolling up his shorts with his open hand. “Not when you’re about to lose.” You toss the ball back to him for the checkup.

He grins, and God, it’s unfair how good he looks in a plain hoodie, shorts despite the cold, and the oven mitt making him look like a lobster, but a cute one. He taps the ball back to you, and the game starts.

You dribble once, and he goes to steal the ball with the mitt, like, and you burst out laughing, the ball bouncing off.

“See?” he says, scooping the loose ball and shouting out. “Too easy!” Walking closer towards you. “What?” he says, childishly grinning down at you. “You started it.” You say childishly.

You suddenly grab the front of his hoodie and pull him down; he stumbles forward, the ball rolling from his hand, and he shakes off the mitten and drops it onto the court.

“You cheatin' already?” he murmurs. You smirk back. “Maybe.”

He leans in first, the one-on-one not even on his mind anymore, pressing a slow, warm kiss to your mouth. Your hands fist at his hoodie, his hand cups your jaw, and the other is at your waist.

“Why is this kinda actually cute?” You mumble against his lips, then he immediately shuts you up with his mouth, hand on your waist moving down to palm your ass.

Mid kiss he mumbles with a groan “Cause we are.” His hand commanding you closer to him, tongue delving into yours.

“You know,” he says gently, “you’re very distracting.” Pulling back to look at your face, his thumb tracing your cheek. “You started it,” you breathe.

“No,” he says, kissing your forehead. “You did with all that bullshit.” You’re about to rebut, but he silences you by slapping your ass, and you gasp, “Hey!”

“Ball up,” he says. “We’re finishing the game.”

[female-buckets]

Mama Dee with her Cancún babies 🥲