Discover Top Posts Tagged with #natasha cloud x reader

lyricii’s masterlist ii

Paige Bueckers:

one shots:

wrapped in your jersey:

summary: it’s the holidays at uconn, and finals have you stressed. luckily, you’ve got paige by your side for your very first christmas together. between snowstorms, late-night cuddles, and her steady encouragement, you realize that finals aren’t so scary when she’s waiting for you on the other side.

Come Here

Natasha Cloud x Fem!Reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

Summary: Y’all just chillin’. At least you thought that.

Word Count: ~ 5.1k

Genre: Flirty slow-burn, teasing, discovery

Warnings: SMUT. Dom!Tasha. Sub!Reader. Sensual tension, queer questioning, Tasha bein’ too smooth.

(Written with Liberty Players. My bad. I linked Phoenix)

Second year in the league and you were vibin’. Cool with everybody, chill about everything. You weren’t the loudest on the Liberty, but you were the one people gravitated toward—laid-back, funny, a lil unpredictable. You didn’t talk much about your business, and you liked it that way. Let ‘em guess.

The internet? Always trying to figure you out.

“Are you gay?”

“You like girls?”

“Are you and so-and-so a thing?”

You never gave a straight answer. A shrug, a smile, maybe a slick lil “I like…vibes” and that was that. ’Cause why would you explain yourself to people who don’t even know your middle name?

Still—there was always something about Tasha.

Natasha Cloud was your vet, technically. A real one. Confident, grown, fine in that “I know exactly who I am” kind of way. People loved her. So did you. But not in a loud way. Just… in the way you always ended up standing next to her. Sitting beside her. Touching her without thinking.

You didn’t even notice half the time.

So y’all win a game. Good energy all around. It’s late, y’all in the hotel lobby area, a lil tipsy off post-game wine and adrenaline. She’s live on Instagram, talking to fans, still got her jersey half on like she didn’t just drop 15 points and coach a rookie through a panic attack.

You wander into the frame and slump against her side, head against her shoulder, hand casually resting on her thigh.

She smirks, glancing at you sideways. “Oh, so we cuddlin’ on live now?”

You blink like you just woke up. “Girl what?”

Chat blowing up instantly:

“WAIT HOLD ON”

“they always this close??”

“are they together?”

“Oh she is touchyyyy 😭😭”

“THE THIGH GRAB?? HELLO??”

You wave them off. “Y’all be reading too much.”

Someone asks again: “y/n you like girls?? 👀👀👀”

You shrug like always. Cool. Smooth. “I like… vibes.”

Tasha turns toward me slow, like she’s just now remembering I’m here, like she hasn’t been fully aware of my presence this entire time. Her voice drops, quiet enough that it cuts through the background noise like a secret not meant for the live.

“So if I kissed you right now,” she says, real calm, like we not in front of thousands of people, “would it be a vibe?”

She doesn’t even look at me at first. She says it with her chin tilted forward, her elbows still resting on her knees like she’s locked into the screen, like she’s talking at the chat—but then she glances back. Real slow. Over her shoulder. Straight at me.

I feel that look in my chest.

I’m leaned back, deep in the chair, my head pressed to the top cushion like I could melt into it. Legs stretched out, arm flopped behind her, fingers brushing the back of her jersey. My body’s loose but my heart skips anyway.

I’m not sleepy—just drained, heavy from the game, the come-down after the win. The kind of tired where your body still humming but your mind’s already floating.

I shift slightly, eyes narrowing just a little. “You wouldn’t. But it comes out softer than I meant it. Less challenge, more dare.

She smirks at that, all slow and smug, her eyes dropping to my mouth like it’s a question she already answered. Then back up. “I think I would,” she says, sitting back a bit like she’s settling into the moment. “Just to find out.”

Her hand shifts at the same time—subtle, but I feel it. Sliding a little lower on my thigh. Not wild, not disrespectful, but intentional. Like she wants me to feel it, like she knows I felt it and she’s waiting for me to say something.

But I don’t. And neither does the live.

The chat has slowed down, like everyone’s collectively holding their breath. Tasha’s eyes are still locked on me. Mine flicker to the phone screen, to the little hearts floating up, to the comments flooding back in all caps, but I can’t read a single one. My focus is stitched to her—her mouth, her hands, her energy.

“You bold,” I murmur, trying to keep my voice casual, but my throat’s tight.

She leans a little closer. Not closing the space completely—just enough to feel the heat. “You scared?”

I scoff under my breath, even though yeah, maybe I am. Just a little. Because it is a vibe. That’s the problem.

“Nah,” I say. “What…why you being messy.”

She grins. “Only a little.”

The way she says it..it’s not just flirting anymore. It’s a promise.

She laughs low, like she got away with something, and turns back to the live like the moment didn’t just shift gravity.

I try to play it cool. My head still against the back of the chair, arm lazily hanging behind her, chest tight but my face chill. Like that didn’t just happen. Like she ain’t just test me with that look, that tone, that touch.

But she don’t let up.

Her hand slides up and down my thigh now—real slow, like she’s tracing a pattern. Absent-minded, but not really. She knows exactly what she’s doing. Then her other hand. Drifts behind her like she reaching for something—nah, she grabs my knee and starts squeezing it like I’m a damn stress ball.

I pop her hand without even thinking. “Girl, gone somewhere.”

She laughs again, unbothered. “Don’t act like you ain’t leanin’ all over me ten minutes ago.”

“I was tired,” I say, smirking. “That ain’t mean open season.”

Tasha shifts again, more into my space now, leaning back so her shoulder presses into my chest, like she tryna recline on me this time. Her hand comes up, fingers lightly dancing over the hem of my shorts.

I catch her wrist real easy. Not hard—just enough to let her know I peeped. “Touchy ass.”

She grins, eyes still on the comments flying up the screen. “They eatin’ this up.”

“Oh, I know they are,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “They delusional.”

She turns her head just enough to look up at me. “Are they?”

I blink. My grip loosens on her wrist, but I don’t move my hand. “Stop playin’.”

“I’m not.” She shrugs, eyes soft now but still teasing. “You don’t be stopping me either.”

I suck my teeth, trying not to smile. “You so annoying.”

She just hums, real pleased with herself, and lets her hand rest right back on my thigh like she never left. I pop it again. She laughs again.

I pull my phone out, pretending to scroll like I’m not still feeling her hand on my leg. Notifications lighting up like fireworks. Texts, DMs, screenshots already in my mentions. I see the live getting clipped in real time.

“She be actin’ brand new but LOOK at her,” one comment says.

“She lowkey folded,” another.

“Natasha Cloud bout to snatch her,” someone added with crying emojis.

I shake my head, smirking at the screen. “Y’all wild.”

Tasha glances at my phone over her shoulder, then back at the live. “They tryna be messy.”

“They always messy, you like they leader” I mumble, still scrolling. “I’m used to it.”

She watches me for a second. Real quiet. Real still. Then she picks up her phone and ends the live. Just like that. Click. Gone. Whole vibe shifts.

I look up, confused. “Damn, you ain’t even say bye—”

She sets her phone down and turns her whole body toward me, eyes locked. Serious now. No more smirking. No more teasing.

“So you gon’ let me show you or what?” she says. Calm. Direct.

I freeze for a second, blinkin’ like she just short-circuited my whole system. “Huh?”

She nods toward my phone. “You on there actin’ like you unfazed. Like this ain’t nothin’. But you feelin’ it, huh?” She leans in, slow but confident. “You want me to stop touchin’ you, you would’ve made me. You don’t want me to stop. You just don’t know what to do with it yet.”

I open my mouth—close it. Suddenly real aware of how warm my skin feels. How close she is.

“Tasha,” I say, voice quieter than I want it to be. “Don’t do that.”

She tilts her head. “Why not?”

“‘Cause I don’t know what you tryna prove.”

She smiles, soft but dangerous. “I ain’t tryna prove nothin’, baby. I just wanna show you.”

She slides my phone out my hand like it belongs to her now, sets it on the table next to hers. Her fingers brush mine, slow. Her other hand slides up my thigh again, same spot as earlier—but this time I don’t pop her.

I just look at her. And she knows.

“Say the word,” she murmurs, leaning close enough for her lips to graze my cheek. “Or I’ll go.”

But I don’t say go. I don’t say shit.

The team’s still kinda around, kinda not—scattered between the hotel lobby, the pool, kitchen, whatever. But it don’t matter. ‘Cause Tasha and I in our own little world. Always have been.

She’s been looking at me. Not glancing. Looking. Like dinner. Like seconds. Like dessert she ain’t supposed to have but gon’ eat anyway.

Ain’t even subtle. And I know that look.

“Stop starin’ at me like I’m the menu,” I mutter, still scrolling but smiling.

“I’m try’na see what the special is,” she fires back without missing a beat.

I nearly choke. “Aht aht—relax, mama. You tryna risk it all in front of the Gatorade cooler.”

She leans back, arms stretched out across the top of her chair like she owns the room. Her eyes dragging over me with that lazy, cocky smirk. “You the one sittin’ there all fine and glowy talkin’ about you tired.”

“I am tired.”

She leans in, voice low like a damn secret. “Let me wake you up then.” I blink. Now hold on.

This grown ass woman really talkin’ to me like that. Meanwhile, I’m still new to this. Technically still got my rookie softness even if I’m in year two. I talk like I’m chill. I act like I’m unbothered. But deep down…I’m very much botherable.

So I glance around. Ain’t nobody paying attention—except Kennedy, who clocked the whole exchange from across the room and shot me that little “mmhm, finally” smile like she been waiting on this episode to drop.

I lean toward Tasha just a little, trying to whisper but definitely cheesin’. “You tryna show me or somethin’? Like you… serious?”

She doesn’t even blink. “Girl, I’ve been waitin’ on the green light since preseason.”

Now I’m lookin’ at her like she crazy. “Oh so you was plottin’ this whole time?”

“Hell yeah.” She adjusts her seat, gets a lil closer. Her hand casually finds its way back to my thigh like we ain’t still half in public. “I knew you was a quick learner. But I also know one thing about you—you like a woman in control.”

I pause. My whole body heatin’ up and we not even touchin’ like that. She say that line like she’s narrating the beginning of a documentary called How I Took Her Soul on a Tuesday.

I let out a breath, cheeks hot. “Mm You ain’t never lied.”

I mean it too. I do like somebody grown. Somebody who knows what they doing. I ain’t tryna lead—baby, give me a lil direction and watch me follow it like a damn GPS.

Tasha tilts her head, studying me like she reading instructions. “So what’s up? You ready or you still tryna play cool?”

I look at her. I mean really look. My leg’s bouncing. My palms sweaty. And I’m grinning like I just got handed a backstage pass to heaven.

“You got it,” I say, and I barely get the words out before—BOOM.

She stands up and picks me up. Not even dramatic about it. Just scoops me up like I’m groceries. Like she do this all the time. Arms under my thighs, grip firm, face serious.

I gasp loud as hell. “OH—okay!”

She laughs once, deep and low in her chest. “You said I got it, right?”

“Yeah but damn!” I wrap my arms around her neck real quick, holding on. “You strong as hell, girl—this what you be doin’ in the off-season?” It be the small ones.

“Nah,” she says, walking us smooth out the room like the credits just started rolling. “This what I do when I know it’s finally go time.”

As she carries me past the team, I catch eyes doing synchronized double takes. Somebody claps once. I think I hear, “bout time!” in the distance.

But I’m in a daze. Still laughing. Still hanging on to her. My voice drops into her ear like a confession.

“You really bout to turn me out, huh?”

She smirks, kissing the side of my jaw. “Girl. You ain’t even gon’ recognize yourself tomorrow.”

I just laugh again, already breathless. “Then lead the way, Coach.”

Game time.

She don’t say a word when we step in her room—just locks the door, kicks off her slides, and walks over to her little Bluetooth speaker like this a ritual. Like she been planning this night since training camp. Like she got a playlist titled “rookie initiation” or some shit.

I’m still by the door, jacket halfway off, watching her like she suspicious.

“What you doin’?” I ask.

“Setting the mood,” she says over her shoulder, all calm like this a wine commercial. “You gone thank me in a minute.”

Before I can even roll my eyes, I hear it. The first few chords. That slow, warm, sensual-ass hum.

Sexual. Healing.

I drop my head back and groan instantly. “TASHA. Are we deadass right now?!”

She turns around with the dumbest grin on her face, like she just hit play on the Super Bowl. “Hell yeah. I’m takin’ my time, shit—I just got you.”

I cover my mouth trying not to laugh. “You are so unserious.”

“And you,” she steps closer, pulling my jacket off smooth, “are about to be very much in serious trouble.”

I snort, still grinning as she tosses my jacket on the chair and starts working on the drawstrings of my sweats like it’s nothing. Like we not in the middle of a slow jam from the ‘80s. Like this ain’t my first time and she not up here playing the damn original soundtrack to soul snatching.

“You really got Marvin Gaye on,” I mutter, even as I let her pull my shirt over my head. “You not even shy about this?”

She presses a kiss to my collarbone. “Why would I be shy? You know how long I been wantin’ this?”

I don’t even get the chance to answer before she kisses me for real—slow, deep, steady like she tryna write the rhythm of the song on my lips. And baby… I’m gigglin’. Straight up gigglin’ into her mouth, breath hitchin’ between laughs like I can’t believe she actually has me cheesin’ this hard while actively getting undressed.

“I hate you,” I say into her smile.

“You love me,” she whispers back, hands slipping under my waistband like she tryna test the waters with just her fingertips. “That’s why you still here.”

She’s right. I’m still here. Shirt gone. Pants unbuttoned. Knees weak and chest rising like I just ran sprints at practice.

But she’s not rushing.

She takes her time, guiding me back toward the bed, still dancing a little with the song, still doing too much. Grinning the whole time, like she got the cheat code and I’m just now realizing I’m the damn controller.

She moves behind me, wraps her arms around my waist, mouth pressed to my neck as she hums along to the chorus like it ain’t currently ruining my life.

“Feel that?” she whispers, her lips brushing right below my ear.

I shiver. “Tasha…”

“I got you,” she says. “You know I got you, right?”

I nod, small, barely audible. “Yeah.”

Then she starts. Slow kisses down my spine. Hands trailing like she memorizing a language, not even rushing to get between my legs. Just holding me, touching me, showing up in every little place I never realized needed her.

I laugh again—light, breathless. She pauses.

“What now?”

“Ion know,” I say, blushing. “You just… really doin’ it. Like… this what I thought it would feel like.”

She smiles into my skin, low and sure. “That’s ‘cause you was right.”

Her mouth is soft on mine, but her hands are already working—slow, steady, intentional. She got my pants off without me even realizing, like her touch was meant to be there. And she keeps whispering little things between kisses, stuff that ain’t even nasty but still make my knees weak.

“Just relax, baby,” she murmurs. “Let me get you right.”

We’re still standing for a second, caught in this warm, slow motion. My shirt’s gone, pants and panties a memory, and she’s just… holding me. Arms around my waist, mouth against my jaw. Gentle. But that heat is real.

“Come sit with me,” she says soft, leading me to the bed.

I follow, floaty. She sits first, legs spread, and guides me right between them. Her back hits the headboard, and I end up sitting in front of her, back against her chest, thighs open—body bare, nerves everywhere.

“You comfy?” she asks, voice like silk, arms sliding around my waist.

I nod slow, already leaning into her. “Mhm.”

Her hands are warm on my thighs, smoothing over skin like she tryna calm the butterflies. Her lips trail slow kisses down my shoulder, her breath brushing my ear.

“You breathing a little fast,” she says, teasing.

I let out a breathy laugh. “I feel everything.”

She smiles against my neck. “Good. That’s how I want it.”

Her hands start to drift lower, fingertips tracing between my legs with the lightest touch, and my whole body jerks. She pulls me closer, one hand pressing to my stomach to ground me, the other moving slow and careful—testing.

“Shh, I got you,” she whispers. “Let me hear you.”

And baby, I do not disappoint. A soft moan slips out of me, mixed with this lil giggle I can’t even help—like a laugh that got lost in pleasure.

Tasha hums, clearly pleased. “You always laugh when it feel good, huh?”

I nod, still squirming, voice shaky. “I—I can’t help it.”

She kisses the side of my neck, fingers stroking gently. “I like it. That’s how I know I’m doin’ it right.”

I whine, hands gripping the sheets now. My head’s tilted back against her shoulder, eyes closed, body trembling. And all she doing is touching me. Real slow. Real intimate. Just the pads of her fingers gliding through heat and slick, not even applying pressure yet—but it’s already got me clenching my thighs, chasing more.

She notices.

“Open up for me,” she whispers, nudging my thighs apart with her own.

I do it without thinking, already gone. And now she’s got the perfect view. Me, laid bare in her lap, body twitching, breath catching with every stroke.

“You so sensitive,” she says, voice deeper now. “That feel good?”

“Yeah,” I breathe, eyes fluttering. “Real good.”

“Mhm.” Her other hand comes up to cup my breast, thumb brushing slow over my nipple while the first keeps teasing. Still not rushing. Still just… working me.

I let out another soft whimper, a breathy “fuck,” followed by that same little moan-giggle she loves so much.

“There it go again,” she murmurs, smiling. “You sound so pretty when you laugh like that.”

I cover my face, overwhelmed. “Tasha—”

“Nah, don’t hide now,” she says, voice close to my ear, lips brushing it between words. “I want you to feel everything, baby. You trust me, right?”

I nod, shaky. “Yes.”

Her fingers slide in deeper now, slow and smooth, and I cry out. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just this sweet, broken sound like I never knew it could feel like this. And I didn’t. Not till her.

She starts to move her fingers, curling just enough to make me squirm, to make my hips roll back into her. Her voice stays right there with me—in it with me.

“Good girl,” she whispers. “That’s it. Just like that.”

She’s everywhere. Her breath, her hands, her calm. I’m melting in her lap, thighs shaking already and we just getting started.

My laugh turns into a moan again, and I swear I can feel her grin.

“You gon’ laugh all the way through this?”

I moan again, breathless. “Maybe.”

She kisses my temple, fingers moving slow but deeper now. “That’s fine. I’m’a make you cry too.”

The way she says it. Not as a threat. As a promise.

Through it all—she never stops talking.

“Yeah… there she go. That’s it. Give it all to me.”

I do. I’m trying not to, but I do. My body jumps under her, legs trembling, throat tight with a moan so ragged it sound like confession. I come so hard my hands fly to the sheets, one leg kicking a little like I’m short circuiting, and all I can say is her name. Over and over.

“Tasha—Tasha, please—”She don’t stop.

Just grips my thigh tighter when I try to close up, keeps rubbing slow deliberate circles that make my hips twitch. Her voice never changes. Still calm. Still steady. Like this all part of the plan.

“Nah, baby. Don’t run now. That was just one,” she whispers, lips brushing my jaw as I shake under her. “We just gettin’ started.”

I try to scoot up the bed—reflex, survival—but she pulls me right back down with one arm. The other hand? Back between my legs. Real slow. Real messy. Just rubbing it in.

“You actin’ like I didn’t just break you in. Let me finish it.”

I let out the softest laugh, breathless, overwhelmed. “Tasha—girl, I can’t even think.”

“You ain’t supposed to think. You supposed to feel me.”

I squirm, giggling and moaning at the same time, legs trying to clamp together again. And she snatches them right back open, throwing her leg over mine to pin me in place. She don’t look mad, just determined. Like this is her sport. Like I’m her court.

“You try to close these thighs again, I’m tellin’ you right now—I’m not lettin’ you sleep tonight.”

The way she says it she Deadass. Like she means that. Like she’s already cleared her schedule for the rest of the week.

I cover my face, teeth sinking into my bottom lip to keep quiet, but that just make her grin. She dips her head down, kisses my thigh, my stomach, then my mouth—messy and slow—and her fingers Still playing with me like she tryna see how many shades of undone I can get.

“You know what I like?” she whispers, voice hot against my mouth. “You got that sweet lil laugh. That cute ass smile. But you nasty too, huh?”

I blink at her, face flushed, lips parted.

“You a freak, huh baby? Giggling and coming like you ain’t been waiting on this.”

All I can do is nod. ‘Cause she’s right. I have been. And now she got me melting. Sweaty. Legs open. Voice gone. Hips jerkin’ every time her thumb hits that same spot—

She leans in, grips my chin between her fingers, tilts my head just enough to look into my eyes. Her mouth barely touches mine as she talks. “Say it.”

I can’t even hear myself, but the words fall out. “I’m a freak…”

She kisses me hard, deep. Groaning low into my mouth. Then she pulls back, her voice dropping into that possessive whisper again.

“I know. You mine now.”

Her hand moves lower, two fingers sliding in slick and smooth like my body been waiting for her. My back arches, a loud cry escaping before I can stop it.

“Aww, look at you,” she coos. “You tryna be quiet but your body tellin’ on you.”

I swear I can’t take it. My thighs trembling, hands searching for something to hold—her wrist, her shoulder, the sheets, my sanity. But she don’t give me a break. Just grips my throat gentle and firm, pressing me back down with control that make me whimper.

“You like when I talk to you like that, huh?”

“Yes,” I moan.

“You like being touched like you mine?”

“Yes.”

“You tryna tap out?”

I pause—honestly, I might need to. But then she smirks and kisses my shoulder, whispering right in my ear: “Don’t.”

That’s what does it. Again. Wetter. Louder. Deeper than the first.

I come apart in her hands, crying out, thighs shaking like I’m being reborn. She watches me—watches—like this a game tape she gon’ replay later. Her fingers still curling in slow, dragging out every last tremble until I’m damn near gasping.

Then she kisses my mouth, slow and greedy, still whispering, “That’s it. That’s it, baby. Look how good you doin’ for me. You takin’ it so well.”

I’m dizzy. Clingy. Floating.

“You okay?” she asks, voice warm again.

“Uh huh,” I breathe. “I just feel like a—”

“A hoochie mama?” she finishes, laughing.

I laugh too, face still buried in her. “Yes.”

She grins, rubbing my back, smug as hell. “Good. That’s exactly what I wanted.”

And then real low, right in my ear. “Now turn over. You ain’t done yet.”

I blink up at her, barely functioning, body limp and overheated, still wrapped around her like I’m tryna become a part of her skin. She strokes my back, kisses my jaw, soft little things that should feel like an ending—except she already told me:

I’m not done yet.

“Turn over,” she says again, quiet but real firm, real smooth. Like it’s a courtesy, not a request.

I lift my head slow, eyes wide. “Girl…”

She grins, all teeth. “You still talkin’?”

I blink again, dead serious. “I’m sensitive.”

She kisses my lips once, slow and full. “I know. That’s what’s gon’ make it real good.”

Like a damn fool, I turn over. Because my body don’t listen to me no more. My brain is all “survival,” but my hips? My hips are up, ass arched, thighs still trembling like I didn’t just get rocked into another dimension.

Tasha settles behind me, real calm. One hand running down my back, tracing the dip of my spine. The other Pressed flat to my lower back, holding me steady.

“You so wet,” she mutters, low like she talkin’ to herself. “I ain’t even touched you again yet.”

She spreads me open just a little, and I gasp, arms shaking under me. “Oh my God—”

“Mmhmm.” Her voice is smug now, but it’s focused. “That’s all me, huh?”

“Y-yeah,” I stammer, barely able to get the word out.

She leans forward, body draped over mine, her chest warm against my back. Her hand slides under, fingers brushing my mouth.

“Open,” she says, still soft.

I do. And when she slips her fingers in my mouth—just the same ones that were inside me—I damn near lose it. She don’t even move them, just lets them sit on my tongue like a reminder.

“You taste that?” she asks. I nod, moaning around her fingers.

“That’s mine. And I’m not done takin’ it.”

She slides them back out, kissing the side of my face, then sits back on her knees. Her hands grip my hips, pulling me back just slightly until I whimper. My thighs are shaking again and she ain’t even done anything yet.

“You ever been touched like this before?” she asks. I shake my head, biting the pillow.

She hums like she expected that. “Good.”

Then her fingers slide back in—slow and deep. From behind. It’s worse like this. I can’t see her. Can’t read her face. All I can do is feel. She moves her thumb to circle my clit, slow, firm pressure that got my whole body jerking with every pass.

I start whining again. That soft, breathy sound I’ve been trying to hide.

“Ohhh, that’s the one,” she laughs, leaning over me again, whispering in my ear. “That little whimper you do? That’s the sound I’m keepin’ for later.”

I moan into the pillow, legs twitching as she picks up the pace. Not rough. Just enough. Just enough to make me stay open, just enough to keep me there.

“Tasha,” I gasp. “Tasha I’m—fuck—”

“Don’t run,” she whispers, hand gripping the back of my neck now. “Don’t move. You gon’ give it to me again.”

“I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.”

Her hand slides to my chin, pulls my head up and turns it slightly so she can kiss me—backward, messy, tongues meeting between moans.

“You a good girl, right?” she whispers into my mouth.

“Yes…”

“Then be good and take it.”

I’m still trying to breathe, face buried in the pillow, body loose and slick with sweat, thighs twitching. And she’s behind me, watching it all like art.

Tasha runs her hand down the back of my thigh, trailing light touches like she ain’t just had me shaking. I glance back at her, still panting, trying to laugh through it.

She smirks, head tilting. “You lucky I ain’t bring it. Oh I would’ve worked you ass.”

I blink. “…Wait.”

She leans down, all slow, and kisses the curve of my ass, hand sliding up to grab a handful, spreading me gently.

“Baby,” she murmurs, mouth warm and close, “if I had it, you wouldn’t be walkin’. But don’t worry it only ya first time…plus I got something better.”

Then she lowers her head. Oh my God.

The first lick got my soul trying to evacuate. My hands fly to the sheets, back arching off the mattress instantly.

“Tasha—girl—what the f—”

She flattens her tongue and drags it slow, moaning against me like she been starvin’. Her arms hook under my thighs and pull me deeper into her mouth—close, close like she tryna eat through me.

She’s overly freaked’ out too—low groans, breath catching, hands gripping like she losing her mind. It’s not even cute. It’s crazy. Like she waited too long and now she feasting.

Her mouth is sloppy, tongue moving in circles, then flicking just right, and all I can do is whimper. Real soft. Real messy.

I try to scoot up the bed again—natural reflex, survival instincts, Jesus take the wheel—but she yanks me right back down.

“Stop.”

That’s all she says. Just stop. And she keeps going. And I start losing it.

I’m moaning into the pillow now, whining, hips lifting, legs shaking again even though I know I ain’t got another one in me.

“You gon’ come again,” she murmurs between licks, voice low and hungry. “Let it out, baby. Make that pretty sound for me.”

I whimper, one hand clawing the sheets, the other trying to reach back and stop her, but she just laughs against me.

“Don’t you pull away from me.”

“Tasha please—”

“Open up,” she says, voice sharp, hand gripping under my thigh to hold it open. “Don’t be shy now.”

My body folds. I’m grinding into her mouth now like I ain’t got no shame left. I feel her everywhere. She moves her tongue in slow circles, sucks gently, then moans again like I taste better the more I shake.

That’s what really get me. She’s eating me like she love it. Like she missed it. Like she don’t care how loud I am, how soaked she gets, how many times I try to run—she’s not letting up until I cry again.

I do.

Whole body goes limp. That ugly moan escapes, one I ain’t never made before. My thighs clamp around her head but she don’t care—just groans into me louder, dragging the orgasm out like she tryna ruin me on purpose.

When it’s over she don’t say nothing. She just comes up slow, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, kisses my cheek, and whispers

“Next time, im using the strap.”

@letsnowtalk @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog @kaliblazin @liloandstitchstan @footy-lover264 @tpwkrosalinda @lightsgore @em-nems @yorubagirlsworld @daffodil-darlings @h4untedghOul @followthesvn @hibiscusblu @sevikasleftbicep @swiftie4evr @babyphatbrat @sivensblog @beeop223 @huntedghOul @salemsuccss @villain-ryuk @ihrtsarahstrOng @liyahh037

Well-Maintained By Love

Pairing: Natasha Cloud x Reader

Fandom: WNBA-New York Liberty

Summary: Public calls you spoiled—Natasha not with of that.

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @elswhore , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog , @sayurireidotcom , @let-zizi-yap , @latenighttalkinqwp , @fairyblossomsav , @gabischeeseballs

I didn’t think a shopping haul could cause a digital riot.

It started as something innocent—just me and T laughing in the car—her driving, me the passengers princess, shopping bags in the back, the city lights blinking behind us as I showed off the honey-blonde crochet set I’d been eyeing for weeks.

We’d hit Zara, Nordstrom, Aritzia… and even made a late-night detour to this Black-owned candle shop I love because T said she wanted to “spoil her favorite scent.”

Then dinner. T paid. Like she always does. I tried to get the bill but she just looked at me with that smug, stupidly hot smirk and said, “You get dessert, I got us.” I rolled my eyes but melted all the same. It was just us—soft and safe and warm.

Until the comments rolled in the next morning.

“Y/N don’t even reach for the bill 💀”

“T paying for everything??? yeah she spoiling a high-maintenance princess lol”

“Gold digger energy, lowkey.”

“I wish Natasha was with grounded women.”

“She got T buying out stores and she don’t even work fr.”

It didn’t matter that I had a job. That I freelanced. That I budgeted. That I paid my own bills—I wanted to pay rent but T said not a chance once I officially moved in. Or that I took care of my grandparents like they once took care of me.

People saw a few shopping bags and a girl in acrylics and assumed I was living off someone else’s dime.

It wasn’t just a shopping haul. It became a referendum on my worth.

It festered. All week.

Every time we went to do anything—T tried to pay for groceries, I blocked the card reader with my body.

She reached for the Uber app? I already had Lyft open.

Dinner? “I’ll cook,” I told her. “We don’t need to eat out all the time.”

She looked at me sideways every time, like I was glitching in real time.

“You okay?” she finally asked on Friday when we were curled up on the couch watching Snowfall, me unusually quiet.

I nodded. “Just tired.”

She paused the show. I winced.

“No, you’re not. You’ve been dodging my card like it’s cursed all week.”

I tucked my knees up under my chin. “I just… I don’t want people thinking I’m with you for what you can buy me.”

T frowned. “Why would anyone think that?”

I unlocked my phone, scrolled, and shoved it at her. She didn’t even flinch. Just read. Blinked. Exhaled.

“That’s what this is about?”

“It’s not just that. I know you love me. And I love you, too. But the way people are talking? Like I’m some bougie leech or—”

“Stop.”

She didn’t say it mean. Just firm. Unmoving.

“I’m serious, T—”

“I know. That’s why I’m stopping you.” She turned toward me, both her hands finding my thighs. “You think I don’t see how hard you work? The nights you stay up editing content for clients, running errands for your grandparents, baking for your friends, picking out my vitamins like a personal chef-nutritionist hybrid?”

I bit my lip. “I just don’t want you thinking I expect you to—”

“Baby, I like paying for you.”

That made me shut up.

“I love paying for you. You know why?” Her hands slid to my waist. “Because I love you. And I live for that smile on your face when I get you something you’ve been saving up for. You light up like a little kid. You squeal. You show me your Pinterest boards. You do happy dances.”

I tried not to laugh. “I don’t squeal.”

“You squeal, baby. Don’t lie.”

“…Maybe a little.”

T leaned her forehead against mine. “You are not high maintenance. You are well-maintained. By me. Your loving-ass fiancée.”

My throat tightened.

“I see how you handle your own, and then some,” she whispered. “This? The money? The clothes? The food? That’s just my way of saying thank you. For the love. For the laughs. For being soft in a world that tries to harden you.”

A tear slipped down my cheek. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

She kissed it away. “Let ‘em talk. They don’t know you.”

The next morning, Natasha went live.

I didn’t even know until I came back from the kitchen with her coffee and my latte and heard her saying, “I wasn’t gonna say anything, but let’s clear the air.”

Her phone was propped up on the coffee table.

She looked… calm. But sharp. Like she wasn’t here to play.

“So there’s been a lot of noise lately about my girl. About how she’s ‘spoiled’ or ‘high maintenance’ or ‘a gold digger’ because I paid for a few shopping bags and a meal.”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Let me make something real clear: Y/N’s been working since she was fifteen. Now she’s taking care of her grandparents. They taught her life lessons before she even knew how to take care of herself. Has a job. A savings account. An emergency fund and a backup plan.”

I stood frozen with the drinks in hand.

“She’s not high maintenance. She’s high value. And I maintain her. Because that’s my job. That’s my privilege.”

My heart stopped.

“She’s not spoiled. She’s loved. And if loving her loudly makes y’all uncomfortable, that says more about your relationships than it does ours.”

She leaned in closer. “So next time you want to call her out of her name, remember she earned every soft thing I give her. Every brunch. Every candle. Every pair of boots. And if that makes me a simp?”

She shrugged. “Then I’m the proudest one alive.”

I set the mugs down and climbed into her lap mid-live, wrapping my arms around her neck.

She grinned, pressing a kiss to my cheek as the comments blew up.

“Whewwww Natasha said what she said.”

“Relationship goals FR.”

“Y/N not spoiled, she’s cherished 🥺”

“And I oop—let me go apologize to my girl.”

I whispered, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.” Her voice softened. “You protect me all the time. It’s my turn.”

That night, she tucked me in like I was made of porcelain. Rubbed my back while we listened to whatever was on TV. Let me cry a little, because being misunderstood when you’re soft-hearted is its own kind of hurt.

But in her arms, I didn’t feel like a stereotype.

I felt seen. Safe. Chosen.

“I still want to pay sometimes,” I whispered into her neck.

“And you can,” she whispered back. “But only if you let me spoil you too.”

“Deal.”

She chuckled. “You do squeal, though.”

“Shut up.”

But I smiled.

Because yeah—maybe I was spoiled.

But only by love. Only by her. And that? That was nothing to be ashamed of.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!💚💙

-prettygirl-gabi✨️💗

waitwaitwait. mirror sex with natasha cloud... maybe reader is a microinfluencer on tiktok or insta or whatever n has been receiving nasty comments abt her body recently and it's starting to get to her. so tash like. ducks her in front of the mirror and is like look at yourself. look how pretty. look how perfect. this is how i see you. js being overly freaked out w it. being like if you look away i'll stop.

idk she seems like the type to enjoy mirror sex w her partner. am i insane for this.

no absolutely not insane at all (i say as im being wheeled away in the straitjacket) tasha is just soso sweet with her wifey i know it... i may or may not have gotten carried away a little with this

fic under the cut (2k words)(unedited)

#wnba #wnba x reader #natasha cloud imagine #natasha cloud x reader #natasha cloud #natasha cloud smut #wnba imagine #wnba smut #lesbian #wlw

Does anyone have any fluffy fics they can post to keep me from crying myself to sleep tonight?

#paige bueckers x reader #pazzi x reader #jada williams x reader #bella hines x reader #grace knox x reader #natisha hiedeman x reader #natasha cloud x reader #kayla mcbride #wnba x reader #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #paige bueckers fic #uconn wbb #uconn x reader #pazzi fics #paige x reader #juju watkins x reader

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐰 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬

Pairing: Natasha Cloud x Reader

Fandom: WNBA (New York Liberty)

Content warning: none?

a/n: for @yailtsv ♡ happy birthday !

divider by @aquazero !

You smiled when you heard the door open, running to greet your girlfriend who was coming back from an away game. You were, unfortunately, unable to join her due to work commitments, but you’d watched the whole game from home, yelling at the TV and all.

“Hi baby.” You grinned, pulling your girlfriend into a hug. She dropped her bag to the ground, hugging you equally as tight and everything was fine because your girlfriend was back home again. As you pulled away however, you squeezed her arm and you could hear her sudden sharp intake of breath.

Her tell.

She was in pain.

You let go immediately, rushing to check on her. “Sorry, did I hug you too tight?” She just shook her head, eyes darting away. She hid the arm from your view, and your eyes narrowed at the action. She only did that when she lied, after all.

You reached out, and she just sighed defeatedly like you already won, extending her right arm out.

A long scratch, fresh and barely healed, sat on her forearm. Her index and middle fingers were taped, which wasn’t unusual since she sometimes jammed her fingers. But the scratch was red and barely healed, skin still raised to form a bump.

“It’s not as bad as it looks, I swear. A-And the medics already cleaned it and it’s healing. It’s fine, princess, really.” She tried to calm you down, but you were already fuming.

“Who the fuck hurt you, Tash.” It wasn’t a question.

“I don’t even know. It happened during the game, these things happen and it’s fine, baby, really. I didn’t notice it.” She grabbed your hand, but the cogs were already turning in your mind.

“Did they call a foul?” Your voice was comparatively calmer than before, still holding that same edge to it.

“…No.” Tash winced.

“I swear to god, these refs are useless and blind, letting you get hurt.” You mutter harshly, running a finger over the cut. Despite your aggressive tone, your touch was significantly softer. You’d never hurt your girlfriend, after all, especially when she hadn’t done anything.

“At least we won?” Tash tried, smiling and visibly trying not to laugh. And honestly, you did too. Her ability to diffuse you was undoubtedly one of her strongest.

“Idiot.” You rolled your eyes, bringing her arm to your lips and pressing a kiss to the cut. Then another. By the end of it, you’d peppered kisses along the entire stretch of the scar.

“Yeah, but you love me.” Tash replied, full on grinning by now. You let her arm fall to her side again.

“Any other injuries I need to kiss better?” You watched her carefully, the way she winced like she knew this was coming. Slowly, she rolled her shirt up to reveal her side, a small bruise already in full bloom.

“I know when this one happened at least. 3rd quarter right? Elbowed?” She nodded, flinching slightly when your fingers grazed the purple-blue skin. You kneeled slowly, hands gripping her hips and pressing multiple kisses around the bruise before placing one last one right on top.

When you stood up, her face was tinted pink, and you laughed at how easily flustered she was, hugging her tight and carefully avoiding injuries.

“I love you so much.” She mumbled, kissing the side of your neck gently, making you giggle slightly at the ticklish sensation.

“I love you too, baby. Movies and cuddles like always or are you too tired from travelling?” You smiled at her, melting into her touch like I lived in her skin.

“Never too tired.” She squeezed you tighter to her chest, kissing the top of your head.

“…Race you to bed!” You sprinted off before she could even process it, and you could hear a string of curse words and protests through bouts of laughter.

Even with the head start, she still won (even if she cheated by grabbing your shirt and pulling you backwards). She grinned at you triumphantly when you entered the room and she was already on the bed. With a devilish grin of your own, you jumped on top of her, still careful to avoid her arm and side.

Eventually though, it slowed down. (After spending 30 minutes arguing about movies and then at some point getting derailed and arguing about lasagna???) You tucked your head into her side, a Studio Ghibli film rolling on the TV in the dark room.

She wrapped an arm around you, and wordlessly yanked your head onto her lap. You didn’t say anything either, just smiled to yourself and adjusted so you were comfortable.

At some point, you glanced up and saw her head dipped down, eyes closed. You smiled softly, carefully getting off her lap and turning the TV off. You woke her up just enough for her to lie down properly, snuggling into her chest in the way that felt like puzzle pieces clicking.

The room was cold, the AC’s hum audible in the silent room. But the atmosphere was warm and loving and safe, and that was all you two needed.

#wnba #natasha cloud #natasha cloud x reader #wbb #ao3 writer #wnba players #wbb x reader #womens basketball #wnba basketball #new york liberty #wlw

⋆˚꩜ requests!!

i’ve decided to start writing and posting fics on here, and desperately need some ideas 👀

i write only for wnba players x fem!reader, specifically these players for now:

gabby williams

rhyne howard

nika muhl

natasha cloud

jackie young

jewell loyd

dijonai carrington

but i’m open to writing for other players as well. i’ll write fluff, angst, and smut, so if you don’t have a specific plot in mind, just specify which genre and player in your request.

#wnba x reader #wnba basketball #rhyne howard x reader #jackie young x reader #natasha cloud x reader #nika muhl x reader #gabby williams x reader #jewell loyd x reader #wlw #wlw smut #dijonai carrington x reader #wnba fanfic

The Great Escape (Natasha Cloud x Reader)

Summary: You and Natasha tackle a spooky escape room, solving puzzles and teasing each other along the way. With teamwork and quick thinking, you escape just in time, solidifying your playful bond.

Word count: 1,059

The faint scent of fresh paint and disinfectant greeted you as you pushed open the door to the escape room lobby. The dim lighting and moody decor—a mix of eerie antiques and glowing puzzle pieces—set the perfect tone for the adventure ahead. Natasha stood beside you, her arms crossed and a playful smirk dancing on her lips.

"You sure you're ready for this?" she teased, her dark eyes sparkling. "Because I don't like to lose."

You shot her a mock-serious look. "Natasha, I'm ready. But let's be honest, if we don't make it out, it's probably because you're too busy making jokes."

She laughed, a low, infectious sound that filled the room. "Fair enough. But don't be mad when I solve everything before you can blink."

A staff member approached, clipboard in hand, and gave you the usual spiel. "Your mission is to escape the haunted manor before the ghost locks you inside forever. You'll have 60 minutes to find clues, solve puzzles, and unlock the door."

"Piece of cake," Natasha said confidently, flashing a grin.

The staff member led you into the escape room, a dimly lit space decorated like a decrepit Victorian parlor. Faded wallpaper peeled from the walls, a broken chandelier hung overhead, and dusty furniture was scattered around. The air smelled faintly of something metallic, and a record player in the corner played distorted music that added to the unsettling atmosphere.

The door shut behind you with a dramatic creak, and a timer on the wall began to count down.

Natasha turned to you, cracking her knuckles. "Alright, partner. Let's show this ghost who's boss."

You nodded, already scanning the room for clues. Your eyes landed on a small desk cluttered with papers, and you walked over, sifting through them while Natasha poked around a bookcase on the opposite wall.

"Found anything yet?" you called out.

"Just a bunch of fake books," she replied, pulling one off the shelf and flipping it open. A key fell out, and she held it up triumphantly. "Never mind. Look who's carrying the team already."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't help smiling. "Let's see if it opens anything."

The two of you scoured the room, eventually finding a locked drawer in the desk. Natasha handed you the key with a flourish, and you opened it to reveal a folded piece of paper with strange symbols drawn on it.

"What do you think this means?" you asked, showing it to her.

She leaned over your shoulder, her brow furrowing in concentration. "Looks like some kind of code. Maybe it matches something else in the room?"

The two of you split up again, combing through every nook and cranny. Natasha's playful banter filled the space as you worked, lightening the eerie atmosphere.

"Hey, check this out!" she called after a few minutes. You turned to see her crouched by a fireplace, pointing to a small panel hidden behind a loose brick.

Inside was another clue—a note scrawled with cryptic instructions. Natasha read it aloud dramatically: "'The key to your freedom lies within the ghost's favorite possession.' What the hell does that mean?"

You glanced around the room, your eyes landing on the record player in the corner. "Maybe it's the music?"

Natasha's eyes lit up. "Good call! Let's check it out."

The two of you walked over to the record player, inspecting it closely. Sure enough, there was a hidden compartment underneath, which opened to reveal a small figurine of a ghost holding a padlock.

"Creepy," Natasha muttered, holding it up. "But also kind of cute. Do we keep this as a souvenir if we win?"

You laughed, nudging her. "Focus, Natasha. We've got 40 minutes left."

The figurine led to another clue, which led to another, and soon you were both fully immersed in the game. Natasha's competitive side came out in full force, and you couldn't help but admire how her quick thinking and sharp instincts kept you moving forward.

"I told you I was good at this," she said at one point, solving a particularly tricky puzzle involving a series of levers and gears.

"Okay, okay, I'm impressed," you admitted, grinning. "But let's not forget who figured out the music clue."

She laughed, holding up her hands. "Fine, I'll give you that one. Team effort."

The timer ticked down as you worked together, each success bringing you closer to the final puzzle. The pressure was mounting, but Natasha's steady confidence kept the mood light.

"Alright, this has to be it," she said as the two of you stood before a locked door. You'd collected a series of numbers throughout the room, and now you just had to figure out the right combination for the keypad.

"Okay, so it's either 3472 or 7342," you said, biting your lip as you considered the options.

Natasha tapped her chin, pretending to weigh the options. "Let's go with 7342. Lucky number seven, right?"

You nodded, punching in the code. The lock clicked open, and the door swung wide to reveal a hidden passageway.

"Let's go!" Natasha shouted, fist-pumping the air.

The two of you hurried down the passageway, where the final clue waited—a riddle inscribed on an ornate mirror. Together, you pieced together the answer, unlocking the last door with just seconds to spare.

The staff member greeted you on the other side, clapping politely. "Congratulations! You escaped with 10 seconds left."

Natasha grinned, slinging an arm around your shoulders. "Told you we'd crush it."

"You mean I crushed it," you teased. "You were just along for the ride."

"Excuse me?" she said, feigning offense. "I was the MVP of this team. Admit it."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Alright, fine. You were pretty great. But don't let it go to your head."

As you left the escape room, the adrenaline still buzzing in your veins, Natasha turned to you with a soft smile. "That was fun. We make a good team."

"Yeah, we do," you agreed, feeling a warmth in your chest.

She nudged you playfully. "So, what's next? Another escape room? Or do you think you can handle laser tag?"

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't stop smiling. "One victory at a time, Natasha."

She laughed, slinging an arm around your shoulders as you walked into the night, already plotting your next adventure.

#basketball #wnba #women’s sports #wnba basketball #women’s basketball #wnba x reader #natasha cloud #phoenix mercury #Natasha Cloud x Reader #wnba imagine #wbb #wbb x reader #wbb imagine