⋆⠀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.”
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?
extra, extra, read all about it devin is in his feelings and he can’t get out of it
d.booker
he first noticed when he got out the shower. he reached up out of habit when he was drying himself off and felt his earlobe oddly empty. he looked on the shower floor, nothing. checked his cars, nothing. tore his closet apart and- nothing.
it was just an earring, at least that’s what you told yourself when you found it while making your bed. you lose jewelry all the time, shit always goes missing from the washer but this, of course it found its way back to you. a small gold hoop in the middle of freshly cleaned sheets that no longer smelled like him, yet a small piece of him still remained.
he racked his brain over what to say, typed out message after message only to delete the whole thing and turn his phone off. you weren’t talking and he was scared of rejection. it wasn’t about the earring anymore. the days were flying by and he felt his window of opportunity was beginning to close.
you wondered if he was as miserable as you were. did he think about breaking too? and how set in stone was a mutual agreement to stay no contact? were you allowed to inform him of his jewelry you stumbled upon?
was it selfish that you didn’t want to give it back?
you finally got used to the silence and how sleeping alone was starting to become easier. it was like learning how to live again. except you had the memories of being with him this time. how he looked when he was sleepy, how he leaned against his car when he picked you up from the airport. how he held out his hand for you as he opened his passenger door.
he felt hardwired into every inch of your brain. how could one occupy a space that was no longer there’s to take?
it was the little things he missed the most. he wanted to call and say he was 10 minutes away from yours, wanted to pick up souvenirs for you from some tourist shop, send you a picture of the sunset from his backyard. it only felt like poison to himself.
a week after you left, he disappeared for 3 days. winding somewhere between arizona and nevada chasing something he wasn’t sure he could find. he ate at diners where no one knew him and drank shitty coffee in a sweater that still had your makeup on the collar. he drove along the highway the sunlight in his eyes, pulling down the sun visor only for a photo booth strip to stare right back at him. it was from some hole in the wall bar you had stumbled into while getting hopelessly lost one night.
in the first frame, you were laughing before the camera had even gone off. in the second, your cheek was pressed against his shoulder. by the third, he’d been looking at you instead of the lens, completely unaware the flash had already gone off. he should’ve thrown it away by now, but he could still smell the cheap whiskey on your breaths and hear your laughter that filled the booth. he pushed the photo back into and place and flipped the visor away. the sunlight no longer bothered him.
he went against his better judgment and frequently looked at your socials more often than he’d care to admit. you looked happy. it appeared that way at least. he found comfort in your existence. seeing proof that time didn’t seem to stop for you. because for him, time had never started moving again. did losing him feel as permanent as losing you felt? did you feel the hollowness in your chest too? if so, why was it so easy for you to keep going forward and why was he the only one still standing in the same place you’d left him?
he didn’t know how hard it was for you to look back. how much your hands shook when you packed away his things into a box and how a sob escaped your lips as you put the lid down on a chapter that felt unfinished. you had no choice but to keep going forward. living in the past did you no favors. it was better to pretend it never happened rather than to think about what could’ve been.
he couldn’t wrap his head around how alone he felt. how much he missed your products scattered across his bathroom sink, the little pieces of you that filled his space. how he still caught himself waiting up for you to come to bed while you finished just one more chapter in the living room, only to remember there was no one coming down the hall anymore.
he didn’t know how to turn off missing you. didn’t know how to quiet the ache of reaching for someone who wasn’t there. your love still filled every corner of his mind. no matter how hard he tried to move forward, he kept finding traces of you in everything. it was painful, but the constant reminders of your existence was better than nothing at all.
you stared at the earring for far too long, running your thumb against the delicate gold metal the same way you did when it was still attached to him. it felt about a hundred pounds heavier in your hand, almost knocking the wind out of you forcing you to take a seat at the edge of your bed that was still unmade. it’d been about three months since you stripped the bed of your sheets, throwing them in the wash. only to shove them in the back of a drawer after they were dry. out of sight out of mind.
you could still picture what he looked like as he laid his head against the fabric, dark lashes resting against his cheeks as he slept peacefully beside you. you watched him take shallow breaths in and out, his face scrunching up every so often. you wanted to memorize every inch of him- to trace the shape of his nose, the curve of his lips, the faint crease between his brows. you wanted time to stop right then. it was blissfully painful to know it could never be this way forever.
the hardest part wasn’t trying to forget him, but still remembering him perfectly. how warm he was, how safe you felt when he was next to you. some nights you swore if you closed your eyes long enough, you’d feel the mattress dip beside you again.
but when you opened them again, it was only you in sheets that felt foreign and no longer held his warmth. that was the cruel thing about loving someone so deeply. they were gone but they still felt woven into your soul like fabric, unable to bring yourself to pull them apart.
―
he did something drastic.
he wasn’t even sure why he did it.
the idea came to him as he laid wide awake staring at the ceiling, sleep refusing to come. at 11:45 on a thursday night, he grabbed his phone and texted his assistant an idea he hadn’t fully thought through.
a few messages later, the plan was already in motion.
by the time his alarm went off for his 5am workout, he had confirmation waiting for him.
100 blush-colored roses were set to arrive at your door at precisely 8 o’clock am.
he looked at the message again. 100 hundred roses.
it was ridiculous. an absurd amount of roses, surely. it was the kind of thing he would’ve rolled his eyes at if anyone else had done it. he didn’t care. he just wanted your attention.
this was something so ridiculous, it just might cause you to react. he hoped they’d be able to say something he couldn’t quite say out loud.
i miss you. i’m still here. i don’t know how to forget you.
he checked his phone at 8:02, nothing.
he paced around his kitchen looking for absolutely anything to occupy his mind.
by 8:15 his hands were starting to get sweaty.
the silence felt manageable when there was no one in control. but now, he’d done something. he reached across the distance between you, and for the first time in months, there was something to lose. at least for him.
he glanced at his phone again. nothing. maybe you threw them away. sent a picture to your friends at his vulnerability, laughing at how naive he was to think flowers could undo months of suffering. his stomach twisted at the thought.
At 8:22, he was already reaching for his phone.
his thumb hovered over his assistant’s contact, prepared to call and say it had been a mistake. that he’d lost his mind last night and that sending one hundred roses to his ex was objectively insane and there had to be some way to undo it.
maybe they could call the florist.
maybe they could somehow stop the delivery.
maybe he could save himself from whatever humiliation was waiting on the other side of this.
then his phone lit up. your name flashing across his screen. for a split second, his heart stopped. for months he imagined what it would feel like to see your name appear again. he rehearsed conversations in the shower, during workouts, in the middle of sleepless nights. in every version, he knew exactly what he’d say.
now that your name was staring back at him, his mind went completely blank. he thumb moved faster than he had anticipated, swiping across screen as the line clicked against his ear. it was silent as neither of you wanted to speak first.
“hi” he finally said, desperate to fill the silence.
then quietly, “hi”
the single word nearly made him close his eyes in relief. the sound of your voice made this feel too real. too familiar. it made his chest ache.
“you got them?” he asked.
a soft yet sarcastic laugh escaped you making him squeeze his eyes shut.
“kinda hard to miss a hundred roses”
he swallowed tightly, needing to proceed with caution going forward. he couldn’t read the situation well enough yet to know if you called to thank him or cuss him out.
“you hate them?” he asked carefully.
“no” your answer came quickly, making his head a tad bit bigger.
he could picture you perfectly- standing in your kitchen, probably leaning against the counter, phone tucked between your shoulder and ear while you stared at the ridiculous arrangement sitting pretty next to you.
“no?” he repeated.
“devin what were you thinking?” you sighed into the phone, your fingers rubbing at your temples as a headache began to settle behind your eyes.
“i wasn’t” his admission was immediate, almost pathetic.
“flowers aren’t gonna fix this” your voice softened, somehow making him feel worse.
“i know”
“no, i don’t think you do” you trailed off, somewhere in-between disappointment and defeat.
his blinking grew rapid, grip tightening around his phone as continued to pace around the kitchen island like a zoo animal gone mad.
“that’s not why i sent them” he insisted.
“then why?” you pressed him further.
why now? why on a random friday morning three and a half months later did he decide to make a move?
he closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.
because he missed you.
because every room in his house still looked like you had just stepped out and would be back any minute. because he’d spent weeks convincing himself not to call. because the distance had become so unbearable he felt like a ghost in his body.
he still wanted to tread lightly. he couldn’t put it all out on the table just yet.
“i wanted you to know I was thinking about you”
“devin…” you whispered.
his heart dropped at the sound of his name leaving your lips. you weren’t angry, it wasn’t cold, just defeated.
he pinched the bridge of his nose.
“i’m trying to leave you alone” he continued against his own advises. “but it feels wrong”
the crack in his voice nearly undid you. his honesty threw you for a loop. you expected an argument an excuse. something. instead, he sounded exhausted.
“devin-” you tried to reason with him. not just for his sake, but the guilt was beginning to eat at you the longer he went on.
“let me finish” his voice was gentle, not demanding.
you closed your eyes and slowly slid down the cabinets until you were sitting on the kitchen floor. the cool tile pressed against your bare legs as you pulled your knees to your chest as he continued.
“i wanna respect you and your decision” he laughed something completely absent of humor. “but i just can’t let you go”
your eyes burned as your vision began to blur, wiping the corners of your eyes with the back of your hand before the tears could roll down your cheeks.
you didn’t say anything right away. his confession hung heavy in your chest making your throat tight. the silence that lingered felt suffocating. he wasn’t trying to argue with you or make a compelling case. he was grieving someone who was still alive. just the way you were too.
“you left your earring in my bed” you let out a shaky breath unsure of the direction you were headed.
“the gold one?” he asked trying not to let you hear the arrogance in his voice that was peaking through.
you could’ve mailed it back to him, asked his assistant to pick it up. hell, you could’ve thrown it away. but you didn’t. you kept it safe, a remnant of him still lived with you. that was something.
“yeah, it’s on my nightstand” you hummed.
“you can keep it, if you want to” he didn’t want it back. he liked the idea that you still held a piece of him with you.
a sad smile pulled at your lips, a single tear trailed down your puffy cheeks no longer feeling the urge to stop it.
“…devin”
“yeah?” he answered, a beat barley passing by sensing your change in tone.
“can i see you?” you asked slowly as the room began to spin around you.
he suddenly felt like he might fall apart as your question rang through his head.
“yeah, you can see me” he whispered, the words came out immediately. without thought. no hesitation like he’d been dying to say them.
neither of you moved. neither of you spoke. both too afraid that if you said the wrong thing, this moment would disappear.
“when?” he finally asked, clearing his throat anxiously.
you glanced up toward the roses covering your kitchen counter. thought about his earring resting on your nightstand, and all the other pieces of him that still lived inside you.
“now” the word left before you could second guess it.
a sharp breath sounded through the phone.
“now?” he glanced at the watch on his wrist 8:29
that was an eventful 7 minutes he thought to himself.
“unless you’re busy” you added quickly, trying to backtrack before he could answer.
he laughed, shaking his head in disbelief as if you could see him.
“i’m not busy” he reassured, hand still sweaty at his side as he tapped his fingers against his leg.
“okay” you smiled through your tears that were still flowing steadily.
you heard movement on the other end of the line. his keys. footsteps. his front door opening and closing. the familiar beep of his car as he reached for the handle.
“i miss you” you said, unable to swallow the words any longer.
the driver’s door remained open and he engine never started. devin’s head fell back against the seat as he closed his eyes. for a moment, all he could do was breathe. because he’d spent month after month wondering if you missed him at all. weeks convincing himself that he was the only one still carrying this weight around.
“ten minutes away, baby”
neither of you pointed out that it was the first time he’d called you that since the breakup. you didn’t want to admit how it made your stomach drop or how familiar it felt. you pressed your lips together to keep them from trembling.
his grip tightened around the steering wheel, every part of him already eager to reach for you. he pulled the driver’s door shut, the heavy thud echoing through your ears, then the engine came to life. for a moment, he didn’t put the car in drive.
he simply sat there, phone still pressed to his ear, letting the reality of the last few minutes settle over him. you wanted to see him. not next week. not when the timing was better. now.
“i’ll be there soon” he murmured, smile audible through the phone. a smile he hadn’t worn in weeks.
“i’ll be waiting” you promised, the line then came to an end.
It felt like he was finding his way home, not to a place- but to the person who was waiting for him ten minutes away.
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.
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.
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!”
