warning/summary: masc reader, established relationship, student athlete reader, jealousy, car sex, fingering, mild vouyerism, Uconn, freaky college students (over 20)
a/n: 1.7k. if you like this, request your own!! i luv everyone’s ideas
we can share one seat
Streetlights streaked across the windshield as you sped through the empty backroads, one hand lazily on the wheel, the other resting possessively on Nika’s thigh. You’d picked her up straight from practice, her skin still flushed and damp with sweat, and now you were on the way to the women’s hockey training facility to grab your gear before heading home.
She’d been chirping at you ever since you picked her up. Cocky, teasing, testing exactly how far she could push you. It was cute at first, watching her smirk and roll her eyes like she owned the night. But you’d been ignoring her advances on purpose, letting her squirm while you kept your cool. At a red light, she finally broke. Nika leaned over, lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice low and tempting.
“You’ve been driving me crazy” she murmured. “Feels like you’re trying to make me lose it.”
Your grip on the steering wheel tightened, knuckles engraved against the leather. “Careful,” you warned, your tone low and edged, carrying the weight of a promise Nika clearly wanted to test. The air between you was already crackling with tension when your phone lit up on the console. A message. From your ex. Not just a former lover, but — to Nika’s disgust — your current teammate.
Her eyes flickered down before you could swipe the notification away. The name burned across the screen, and Nika’s smirk vanished in an instant, replaced with something sharper, darker. Jealousy cut across her expression like a blade. “Really?” she bit out, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re still talking to her?”
You exhaled hard through your nose, jaw clenching. “Nika, not now. She’s probably just asking if I’m still coming to grab my gear.”
She scoffed, leaning back into her seat with a derisive shake of her head, jaw tight. “Okay, but why does she need to be the one asking you? Maybe she’s the reason you’re making me wait.”
The words dug under your skin, hot and unforgiving. Your blood simmered, not because she was jealous you could handle that, hell, part of you even liked it. No, what burned was the idea that she thought you could look at anyone else. That you’d let another woman take up even a fraction of the space she filled in your head. Playing alongside your ex every day already put you in an impossible position, but Nika needed to know she was the only one. She needed proof. And you were more than ready to give it to her.
For the next few miles, silence roared louder than the low hum of the music. Streetlights cut across her face in fleeting gold stripes, throwing every sharp detail into focus — the defiance in her narrowed eyes, the stubborn twist of her mouth, the way her chest rose and fell a little faster than normal. You gripped the wheel harder, pulse pounding. By the time you hit the empty lot behind the complex, the tension was so thick it was choking you. The engine ticked softly as it cooled, bass pulsing like a heartbeat. You slammed the gearshift into park so hard the whole car jolted.
“Back seat,” you demanded, your voice sharp enough to cut.
Nika blinked, startled at the venom in your tone. Then, mockingly slow, she crawled between the seats, throwing a smirk over her shoulder like she wasn’t already pushing her luck. “Bossy tonight, huh?” she teased, deliberately careless as she sprawled out across the back seat.
Nika got settled, her toned legs spreading just enough to make your pulse spike and your lust burn hotter. You didn’t bother with an answer. Instead, you climbed in after her, caging her between your arms until her back hit the cool leather.
“Bossy?” you echoed, your veined hand sliding up her throat, fingers curling firmly around her jaw. “No, sweetheart. This is me finally shutting you up.”
Her breath hitched, bravado flickering for just a second before she leaned up, smirking through it. “Guess we’ll see if you can.”
Your lips crashed into hers before she could get another word out, biting her lower lip until she gasped. Your free hand slid down her toned side, caressing her hip before cupping her ass, squeezing hard enough to make her whimper into your mouth. You devoured every soft, desperate sound she made, pressing your knee between her center until her body jolted against you. Her nails clawed at your hoodie, dragging across your chest like she wanted to mark you. Your hand slipped beneath her jacket, rubbing over her breasts through the fabric, the friction pulling a strangled moan from her.
“That’s better,” you murmured against her lips, pulling back just far enough to watch her eyes blaze. “Nice and quiet for me.”
“Quiet?” she panted, voice thick with challenge. “Make me.”
A dark laugh rumbled from your chest as your hand trailed lower, creeping slowly, deliberately, into her shorts. Your fingers pushed past the elastic of her underwear, brushing through soft stubble before parting slick folds. She was already soaked.
“Fuck, Nika,” you growled, dragging your thumb in slow circles over her clit, just enough pressure to make her arch off the seat. “You love mouthing off, don’t you? Gets you worked up.”
Her only answer was a strangled whimper, thighs twitching as her hips rolled toward your touch. The sound made your smirk deepen.
“Take off your jacket,” you ordered.
When she hesitated, you yanked the zipper down yourself and peeled it off her shoulders, tossing it aside. “Now the shirt.”
This time she scrambled to obey, tugging the fabric over her head in one quick motion. The sight of her flushed, toned body under the dim car light stole your breath for a moment. You hooked a finger under her sports bra and shoved it up, baring her chest. Her nipples peaked instantly in the cool air. You savored it, unbothered by the risk of anyone passing by, she was yours to look at. Yours to touch.
“God, you’re perfect,” you muttered before sealing your mouth around one nipple, sucking hard and rolling it with your tongue. Your free hand roughly cupped her other breast, thumb flicking the sensitive peak. Her head slammed back against the leather as your knee resumed grinding into her core.
“F-fuck—” Nika gasped, thighs trembling as you switched sides without warning, teeth grazing the tender skin. Her hands tangled in your hair, nails biting into your scalp.
“Please—” she choked, hips jerking desperately against your knee.
“Please what?” you demanded, pulling back just far enough to let your hot breath ghost over her wet skin.
Her pride cracked like glass, her voice breaking. “Please, fuck me. I—I need you.”
Your smirk was vicious. Slowly, you shoved two fingers inside her, burying them to the knuckle and curling until her whole body seized.
Nika’s cry filled the car, high and broken. Her head slammed against the door as she tried to rock down onto your hand, greedy for more. You found a rhythm. Relentless and deliberate, dragging your fingers out only to slam them back in, curling into the soft spongy spot inside her. Her slick coated your hand, dripping down as her walls clenched tight around your fingers.
“That’s it,” you praised, thrusting harder, faster, until the car jolted with each movement. “Good girl. Take it for me.”
The windows fogged instantly, sweat beading along your hairline, the air thick with the scent of her arousal. Her moans rose higher, frantic and raw, bouncing off the car’s interior. When she reached up blindly, trying to grab your wrist and slow you down, you caught her hand and slammed it against the headrest, pinning it above her head.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” you snarled, leaning close so her wild eyes had nowhere else to look. “You’re gonna fall apart when I say so..”
Her defiance shattered, replaced with a sob of desperation as you slid a third finger into her, stretching her open until her back arched off the seat. Your thrusts turned merciless, ruthless, angling deeper until her thighs shook uncontrollably. Tears welled at the corners of her eyes, slipping hot down her flushed cheeks.
“Say it,” you demanded, your lips brushing her sweat-slick skin. “Say who owns you.”
“You!” she gasped, the word torn from her throat like a confession. “You do!”
“Damn right,” you rasped into her ear, your fingers hammering into her one last time. “Now cum for me, Nika.”
The command was her undoing. Her whole body went taut beneath you, muscles locking up as if she were bracing for impact. Her thighs clamped tight around your wrist, trembling uncontrollably, every vein in her neck standing out as she fought to hold herself together—and failed. A strangled gasp tore from her lips, broken and desperate, followed by ragged breaths that came in sharp bursts of panting. Her nails dug crescent moons into your shoulder as her back arched off the seat, every nerve set alight. You felt her clench down around your fingers, tight and pulsing, her body wracked with spasms that dragged you deeper into her heat. She tried to thrust against your hand, chasing every wave as it ripped through her, only to fall apart harder with each curl of your fingers.
She shattered around your hand with a scream, body convulsing violently as her walls clenched down on your fingers like a vice. You didn’t stop, not until she was clawing at the seat, babbling incoherently, and begging for mercy. Finally, you slowed, dragging your soaked fingers out and trailing them down her trembling thigh. “Look at you,” you murmured, voice soft now. “So fucking pretty when you fall apart.”
Her dazed eyes fluttered open, tears streaking her cheeks, lips swollen and parted. “That… that was insane.”
You smirked, settling back on your heels, already reaching for your belt. “Oh, baby,” you said darkly, gaze raking over her wrecked body. “We’re nowhere near done.”
The bass of music throbbed like a second heartbeat in your car, and outside, the night stayed dark and silent while the car began to rock harder.
Later that week, after your little episode of automobile-based voyeurism, you found yourself strolling through the UConn halls with Nika and a couple of her friends, her hand tucked securely in yours. The group was headed toward the dining hall when something on the bulletin board caught one of their attention. A freshly posted flyer, stamped with the college seal, read in bold letters:
“NOTICE: Reports of inappropriate relations in vehicles. Violators will be reprimanded.”
KK squinted at it, then barked out a laugh. “Now who the fuck was hunching in a car?” she teased, loud enough to draw stares.
In perfect comedic timing, the whole group slowly turned their heads toward you and Nika - the most feral, sex-driven lesbians on campus - suspicion written all over their faces. Nika’s cheeks flamed red as she threw her hands up.
“What? That wasn’t us!” she sputtered, her voice cracking on the denial. You, of course, were useless; laughter burst out of you so hard you had to clutch your stomach, which only made everyone’s eyebrows lift higher and Nika swat at your arm in mortified protest.
category: caitlin clark x girlfriend!reader (angst, fluff)
summary: after seeing you talking to another after one of her games, caitlin goes into an obsessive spiral of jealousy, unknowingly sending you down your own rabbit hole.
warnings: way sadder than i intended
word count: 1.2k
author’s note: i tried capital letters, y’all fw it?
_________________________________________
“I mean, it was electric, truly.”
Caitlin’s voice echoed into the microphone of a random media reporter who was interviewing her. She tried her best to stay focused on the questions whilst the camera clicked and pump-up music blared. Iowa had just won a home game and she knew you were in the crowd. She regained consciousness with the present and began answering the interview questions with basic textbook answers about ‘the Iowa culture’ and how great her shots felt, whilst scouring the stadium for you. You interlocked eyes and waved to her. She waved back and politely wrapped things up with the media girl (hehe) and headed your way.
In the minutes she had spent with her eyes off of you, an umich girl from the opposing team had walked up to you. She was, in Caitlin’s eyes, getting a little too friendly. Smirking, and smiling too wide. Caitlin backed away, choosing to head to her teammates instead and pose in photos with fans. See… people love me she thought. And we literally bet them and that fucking umich girl had the nerv-
“Caitlin!” you ran, hugging her from behind. “You do so good, omg!”
“Thanks, babe.” She slipped away from you, cold and isolated. Caitlin spent the night with the girls on her team, which wasn’t irregular for away games, but you were looking forward to getting to spend time with her when she was actually in town. You were slumped in your apartment, staring at yourself in the mirror, picking a pulling at your skin, hair, and hair. Meanwhile, Caitlin was glued to her phone in the corner of the room her teammates were in. Staring at that umich girl’s stats and Instagram. Caitlin knew she was a good player, she knew she was a good girlfriend, she knew you. She knew you wouldn’t do her wrong but she couldn’t stop thinking about it. About finding someone different. She knew she wasn’t there for you all the time, on account of her schedule with basketball that seemed never-ending. She felt like a bad girlfriend. You deserved the world, more than she could ever give you.
Sounds of shoes squeaking and balls dribbling filled her ears as Caitlin entered Iowa’s gym. After nights of stressing, overthinking, and flashes of your interaction with the umich girl appearing in her head, Caitlin was ready to clear her head with some practice. She stretched, dripped the ball a bit, and began shooting. First shot, miss. She went and grabbed the ball. Second shot, miss. Everyone has bad days. The third shot, she could barely focus, overwhelmed with this stinging feeling of inferiority as she missed that basket. “Fuɔk me,” she muttered under her breath. She suddenly turned around when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Kate was standing, now facing her. “Hey Caitlin, can we talk?”
“Yeah of course, what’s up?”
“I’ve noticed you’ve been kind of off…down, you okay?”
“Um yeah,” she tried to hold her guard up, “yeah, I’m fine.” She smiled, “Need to lock in.” Kate laughed, agreed, and went on with her practice.
Later that day you, being friendly with the Iowa team, reached out to Kate. You texted her,
You: hi kate!
i haven’t seen caitlin in a bit and just wanted to check in and make sure she’s doing okay
Kate: Hey! Thanks for reaching out, she has been acting a little weird.
I was going to ask you but I guess you don’t know what’s up either.
You: no, i don’t know
has she talked about me?
at all?
Kate: No, not really. Is everything okay?
You: (…)
You stared at your phone for a solid five minutes attempting to keep your emotions under control.
You: yep! everything's good
just been a hot minute since ive seen her
but thats prob just cause shes so busy lol
Kate: Fair. But if anything does you can always talk to me.’
You: awww thanks kate! that's so sweet.
Days passed and you finally got a day to spend with Caitlin. You had invited her over to your apartment. You had excitedly and worriedly done up your hair and makeup, cleaned and refreshed every inch of your apartment: fresh sheets and fresh flowers, and made sure to wear an outfit you knew she liked. You felt it in your bones that your behavior was suspicious and 100% fueled by insecurity but you told yourself that you were doing this to make Caitlin feel comfortable, let her relax from working so hard. Totally not convincing her to want to stay with you.
You and Caitlin were in your bed watching a tv-show and you could sense something was off. “Hey baby, can I get you anything?” you ask, trying to make yourself useful.
“Um, yeah sure,” she replied, “water works.” You scoot yourself off the bed and head to the kitchen. Caitlin watches as you walk away, thinking about how you’re perfect in every way. She pulls out her phone, and her most recent search on instagram, umich bitch, is controlling her thoughts again.
You come back with a glass of water for Caitlin and see she’s engulfed in her phone. Goddamnit you’ve bored her.
“I’m sorry,” you muster out. The stress of the possible end of your relationship that you conquered up in your head makes you almost fold into tears.
Caitlin sprung up, “Sorry, babe, sorry about what?” she went to hold you. You slithered yourself out of her arms,
“You’re probably sick of me, I need to stop holding onto you.”
“What?” Caitlin asked, “Okay, first of all, I would never be sick of you. You are the most gorgeous, fearless, kindest, perfect girl I’ve ever seen. I would be crazy to ever let you go. But I know you deserve, you need better than me.” your tears turned to happy ones as you exclaimed,
“Caitlin what? You are the best girlfriend in the whole wide world.” You grabbed her face in your hands as hers found their natural place around your hips.
“I love you,” she whispered before moving her face close to yours and kissing you passionately. Your arms wrapped themselves around her neck as you leaned into the kiss. You slightly pulled away, whispering back,
“I love you too.” Caitlin then pulled open her phone, to delete the umich player from her search history, but not without catching your nosy eye. “Wait. This was about her?”
“What?” Caitlin said, trying to sound clueless.
“I spoke to her for five seconds? Wait…you were jealous?” you inquired.
“No- I- who-” she stuttered, trying to deny it. “Also, I don’t get jealous.”
“You goofball,” you said, pulling her into a deeper kiss, to which Caitlin picked you up and plopped you back onto your bed, pulling you into her chest, and kissing your forehead.
“I don’t get jealous” she re-enstated.
“Mhmmmmm…” you replied, nodding your head, in a non-believeing tone. “Got it. Not jealous.”
“I’m being serious,” she said. You, too lazy to lift your head, nodded and closed your eyes falling into a deep sleep, to which Caitlin would follow you.
“I only have like 2 minutes to talk, I really wanna-” Caitlin was cut off by a screech and a muffled ‘nope don’t wanna hear whatever it is you were about to say’.
Paige had seen Kate’s phone light up and start to vibrate across the counter. The blonde had just walked off to use the bathroom so she quickly answered, thinking if it was an actual call it was probably important. The phone was thrust into Kate’s hand as she returned, a playful grin plastered on Paige’s face. “Your phone rang, I thought you’d want to take that call.”
“Oh uhm.. Okay.” Kate replied then saw who it was. “Heeyyy hi. I thought you were doing a thing at Nike in Oregon?” Her voice and tone softening as she spoke. Paige nudged her while walking away, rolling her eyes all dramatically.
“I am. I wanna see you.” Caitlin wasted no time knowing it was limited and her agent would be circling back to get her at any minute. “There’s a flight later or- shit that would put me there really late. I’ll do the redeye and get in tomorrow morning. Is that okay? Unless..”
“No. Don’t uhh, don’t do that.” Kate’s heart started to race and she could feel her palms start to get clammy.
warning/summary: established fwb, dark academia, semi public sex
a/n: finally got around to this! this is for @jupitermoonbaby who requested nika with smut prompt 3 and 14 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆
The library was completely empty at this hour. Just the faint hum of the heating system and the muted click of your pen as you finished another catalog entry. The desk lamp threw a golden halo over the open ledger, your cardigan slipping from one shoulder as you leaned forward, glasses sliding down your nose.
You loved the quiet here. The world shrank to the soft scratch of ink on paper, the faint scent of old bindings and dust. It was safe and familiar to you. The kind of silence that made time feel suspended. The library had been closed for nearly an hour, the doors locked, the front lot empty except for your car. Which meant when Nika spotted it on her way back from practice, she knew exactly where you’d be. And she knew how to get in, too — slipping through the back entrance near the old bronze statue, the one she’d shown you once during a late-night walk across campus.
You hadn’t heard her come in until the soft click of the back door swinging open echoed faintly in the vast space. The sudden shift in the still air was like a ripple across a still pond. Then her voice, low and teasing, cut through the quiet like a spark in the dark.
“Hey, bookworm.”
She appeared just beyond the stacks, framed by the glow of the dim hallway light, her damp hair pulled back messily, warm-ups clinging to her like a second skin. She walked toward you slowly and deliberately. She was confident. It was like she was claiming the sanctuary for herself and for you.
“Shouldn’t you be heading back to your dorm?” you asked, trying to act casual as you pushed your glasses up.
She walked over, setting her elbows on your desk and leaning in until her smirk was just inches from your face.
“Could be. But then I wouldn’t get to see you like this.” Her gaze dragged deliberately over your chest, your cardigan, the mess of papers around you.
You cleared your throat, glancing back at your ledger. “I have to finish cataloging.”
“Mhm.” The way she hummed it told you she didn’t care. “Or…” She tilted her head, that mischievous spark lighting in her eyes. “You keep working… and I’ll handle the rest.”
The implication hit instantly, and you froze, pen hovering above the paper. “Nika—”
But she was already moving, circling behind your chair, her warm-up pants swishing softly in the hush of the library. Her fingers trailed over your shoulder, slipping the cardigan the rest of the way down your arm. You shivered, and she caught it, smiling softly against the shell of your ear, her breath warm and scented faintly with the sharp tang of sweat and mint from practice.
“Keep working,” she murmured, her voice a low promise that sent heat curling through your veins.
You tried. For maybe ten seconds. But then her hands slid lower, unbuttoning your blouse with unhurried precision, fingertips grazing over your skin like whispered secrets. The cool air of the library pressed against your exposed flesh, a sharp contrast to the fire blossoming wherever her fingers touched. By the time she tugged your skirt down, your breath had grown shallow, the taste of her lips still lingering on yours.
She stayed fully clothed, the soft rustle of her hoodie brushing lightly against your bare skin as she knelt between your legs. The position felt deliciously daring — her warm, confident hands parting your thighs while the cool air of the library brushed over your heated skin, anchoring you in the electric tension humming between you.
“You look so pretty like this,” she said, voice low, almost reverent. “All naked for me while I’m still dressed.”
The first touch of her mouth made you gasp, the sound too loud in the silence. You glanced toward the darkened rows of shelves, half-expecting someone to appear, but no one did. The danger only made your pulse race harder.
She was unhurried, wickedly so, building you up until you were gripping the edge of the desk, knuckles white. Your pen rolled off the ledger, hitting the floor with a small clatter you barely registered.
“You’re not working anymore,” she teased. The sudden loss of warmth made a hollow ache settle deep in your chest.
“Shut up,” you breathed, fingers tangling gently in the damp strands at the nape of her neck, pulling her closer like a lifeline.
She smiled against your skin, sharp and satisfied, before diving back in. The wet heat of her mouth trailed fire along your jaw, down your throat, making your vision swim in a haze of sensation and need. Her hands ghosted over your ribs, fingertips tracing delicate patterns that sent shivers racing across your skin, while the soft scrape of her nails tugged lightly at your hips.
You were close—so close—when she eased up just enough to force your eyes open, your lashes fluttering like fragile wings against the lamplight.
“Look at me,” she whispered, and you obeyed. Her gaze held you captive, dark, smoldering, and fiercely alive, hoodie casting shadows that softened the sharp edges of her face.
The feeling broke over you like a wave: sudden, overwhelming, raw. Your knees buckled, and you slumped back in the chair, breath catching in a ragged gasp.
Your cardigan pooled forgotten on the floor, a soft reminder of how undone you’d become.
Nika rose, still fully dressed, and bent down to press a slow, steady kiss to your temple, as if nothing about the messy papers, your flushed skin, or the racing of your heart was out of place.
“Library’s a mess now,” she said, eyes flicking to the scattered papers and your disheveled state.
“You’re a menace,” you muttered, voice thick with breathlessness.
Her smirk deepened, wicked and unapologetic. “And you love it.”
She was already halfway to the door, but glanced back with a final tease. “Finish cataloging, bookworm.”
warnings: ~4k, hardpacking, dt being 6”0, dom!DT, sub space, drooling, BDSM, established secret romance, age gap (reader in 20's), affair, hair yanking YAGA, cheating, toys, ass play for lil, munch!DT, sorry to the fictional wife, angstyyy, very lesbian a lot going on
a/n: omg hiii y'all. this has been in the graveyard for so long. but i'm finally catching up. enjoy! comment, reblog, ily!!! the song this is inspired by is so sexy, it's called
"material girl by the weeknd (unreleased)"
material girl, anything ya need and imma give it to ya.
The knock comes late on a Wednesday night. It's a familiar tempo, and you hope that's not who you think it is. You're in the middle of your whole nighttime routine. Sheet mask on your face, the cheap ones from Target that smell like fake cucumber. You had just put on your toner, the one that's too thick and takes forever to sink in, so your face is shiny and greasy. This is the version of yourself that nobody pays to see. Especially not her. But you know that knock. Three sharp raps, pause, two more. You've memorized it.
You stand there for a second. Go through different scenarios in your head. Maybe you could pretend you're asleep, let her think you're not home. You should probably do that, actually. It's 12 AM on a Wednesday and you have shit to do tomorrow and this whole thing is already complicated, and likely to wreck you. But you're walking to the door anyway. Peeling off the sheet mask as you go, dropping it in the trash. Your face is still damp and sticky. You look insane.
When you open the door, Diana's still in her warmups from practice or the gym or wherever the fuck she was. Her hair's damp at the edges, curling up the way it does when she sweats. Eyes wild and glassy with something you can't name. She's sticking out so bad in your hallway. You forget sometimes when you're lying down, but standing in your doorway she's just tall. Her hands are shoved in her pockets but you can see them flexing, those big athlete hands, the ones that palm a basketball like it's nothing. She looks at you like she's been drowning and you're air. You don't move from the doorway. Don't let her in.
"I saw you have kids," you say. Your voice comes out flat. Maybe when this whole thing started you wouldn't have cared at all. But she never mentioned kids, and you saw a Mother's Day post that almost made you throw up. I'm not sure if Diana just thought you wouldn't mention it or ever find out.
Diana's whole face changes. The desperation drains out of it and something cold slides in. "What?" Diana is genuinely confused, not understanding where this is coming from.
"Your Instagram. I saw the pictures. Your two kids. A whole family." Maybe it was easier when you naively listened to her talk about her failing marriage. But, she has a whole family?
"Leave my kids the fuck out of this." She's not loud but her voice has an edge that could cut. She steps forward into your space and you should back up but you don't.
"Why? They're part of the package, right? What other shit are you conveniently hiding—"
Diana moves fast after that. One second you're standing in the doorway and the next she's got you by the throat knocking the air out of your lungs, just holding, and she's walking you backward into your apartment. The door slams shut behind her.
"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about," she says, and her face is so close to yours you can smell the alcohol on her breath. Hennessy, something dark maybe. Her pupils are blown wide. Your heart is hammering but not from fear. Something that makes your thighs clench.
"So tell me then," you say, and you know you're pushing it. Know you should shut up. "Tell me how this works. You love me but you're going home to her every night. You're fucking me and then tucking your kids into bed—"
Diana presses her whole body against yours and you feel it. Something hard pressing right below your belly button. Your breath catches. She's wearing a strap. She's never done that before. Never shown up with one already on. Your pussy clenches around nothing and you hate yourself for it but you're so turned on you might pass out.
"You done?" Diana asks, her voice low and dangerous.
You should be, but your mouth opens anyway.
"No, I'm just saying, must be nice. Having your cake and eating it too. Getting to play house with the wife and kids and then coming here when you need to get your pussy wet."
Diana's hand tightens on your throat. Not enough to hurt but enough to shut you up. "You want me to leave? Say the word. I'll walk out right now and you'll never see me again."
She's bluffing. You can see it in her eyes. She needs this. Needs you. Some part of you knows you need it too. But you don't call it.
"That's what I thought," Diana says after beats of silence from you. Then she's dragging you toward the kitchen. She finds the granite countertop and slams you against it face-first. Your cheek hits the cool stone and the shock of it makes you gasp. Her hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back, and her other hand gropes your body up and down. The granite is cold against your hot skin. She bends you over the counter and ruts against your ass. Even through your thin sleep shorts you can feel the girth of it. This isn't the normal one. This is bigger and thicker.
"You want me quiet?" you manage to get out. "Make me."
Diana goes still for a second. Then she removes her hand from your body and hair and yanks your oversized t-shirt up in a bunch in her hands, pulling your back flush against her chest. The side of your face that was just pressed to the counter is burning hot. You can feel her breath against your ear.
"You're gonna regret that," she says, her voice all gravel and sex, and you let out a soft moan you can't control.
She strips your t-shirt off in one harsh motion. Your breasts spill out, nipples hard from the cold air and the adrenaline. You put a hand on either side of your body to stabilize yourself against the counter. Diana waits there for a beat. Just stands behind you breathing hard. Then she smacks your ass so hard that you yelp.
"You're a brat, you know," she spits out, and yanks your sleep shorts and underwear down in one go. They pool at your feet and you step out of them. Your pussy is already embarrassingly wet. Fluttering around nothing. Literally begging for anything. You hear her behind you, rustling with something. You turn your head to look and oh my god. It's big. Like, you've taken her huge fingers, you've taken the strap, but this is different. This is thick and long and you're a little scared you're in over your head.
Diana catches the look on your face and smirks. "What, afraid I might break you?" she taunts. She steps up behind you and you feel the head of it teasing your core. Just stroking there, not pushing in yet. Your legs are shaking already. You know this is gonna be intense. What you don't know is that Diana and her wife got into a huge fight tonight. Screaming match. Angry text threads being brought up, old shit that should've stayed buried, maybe a picture of you giving Diana head that she revisits frequently... Her wife threw a glass and it shattered against the wall. Threw Diana out of the house so fast she didn't even have time to grab her keys. Just her wallet and her phone and the clothes on her back.
Her driver took her to the liquor store first. She bought a bottle of Hennessy and drank half of it in the backseat before they even pulled away from the curb. Then the sex store. Because her wife threw her out so fast she couldn't grab any of the stuff she usually brings to your place. So she bought three things. Lube. A vibrator. And a strap that was definitely bigger than anything she'd used on you before.
And now you're here. Bent over your own kitchen counter. And Diana's about to fuck all that anger right into you. She grabs the lube and you hear the cap pop open. The cold slick of it against you makes you gasp. She takes her time, coating the strap, coating you, her fingers sliding inside just enough to make sure you're ready. You're more than ready. You're desperate for this feeling.
"Please," you whisper.
"Please what?" she asks, and you can hear the smile in her voice even though you can't see her face.
"Please, baby."
She pushes in so achingly slow. You know she's being careful even though her whole body is tense with the effort of holding back. The stretch is intense. It's more than you've ever taken and your breath catches in your throat.
"Breathe, baby," she reminds you, her hand splayed across your lower back.
You force yourself to breathe. In through your nose. Out through your mouth. And then she's all the way in and you're so full you think you might lose your mind.
"Oh fuck," you gasp.
Diana pulls out almost all the way and then pushes back in. Building a rhythm that has you gripping the counter so hard your knuckles hurt. She takes your right leg and lifts it up onto the counter, changing the angle, and suddenly she's hitting something inside you that makes your vision blur.
"There?" she asks, and you can only nod because words aren't happening anymore.
She reaches down and you hear a familiar buzz and hum. A vibrator. She's using it on herself while she fucks you and the thought alone almost sends you over the edge.
"You're doing so good," she murmurs against your shoulder. "Taking me so well."
She gives your ass a hard spank and you cry out. Her hands grip your hips so tight you know there will be bruises tomorrow. Dark finger marks that you'll have to hide. Evidence of her. Something tangible in this fucked up situation. The room fills with the wet, rhythmic sounds of her fucking you. The constant slap of her hips against your ass, the sound of her strap driving into you, your own desperate moans echoing off the kitchen walls.
Her thrusts become harder and less controlled. You can feel how close she is, how much effort it's taking her not to lose it completely. The vibrator buzzes steadily, a constant hum underneath everything else. Your gasps and whimpers mix with her ragged breathing, with the occasional grunt of effort as she drives deeper. The granite counter is cold and hard beneath your palms, and you can hear the faint scrape of your skin against it with each thrust. You're drooling on the counter, you realize distantly. You don't care.
"Just like that," Diana breathes. "Good girl. You're taking it so good."
Her face is probably contorted in concentration, you think. Like she's in the finals of a championship game. Trying so hard not to finish but it's impossible with the way you're rutting backwards, the sounds you're making, and the vibrator doing its work.
Your orgasm builds like a wave. She keeps hitting a spot you barely knew existed. You can feel it coming from somewhere deep inside your core, unstoppable and building fast.
"Diana, I'm—"
"I know, baby. I know. Fuck." She rasps out.
Your whole body goes rigid with a wave of euphoria and then you're shaking, clenching around the strap, around her, your pussy pulsing in waves. She follows you over the edge almost immediately, her hips jerking into you, her breath ragged against your neck.
You both stay there for a moment. Pressed together. Her still inside you. Your legs trembling so hard you're not sure they'll hold you up when she finally pulls out. When she does, you feel empty. Wrecked. She helps you stand, her hands steady on your waist even though she's shaking too.
Diana wipes the tears and drool from your face, admiring you. Both of you slick with sweat. The post-orgasm haze wears off fast and all you want is to get clean and cozy for bed. There’s another feeling you can’t shake, you just need to get away. Need to run away. So, you walk to your en suite bathroom without saying anything.
Diana just stands there. Utterly confused. She shakes her head, muttering something to herself as she takes off her sweaty clothes. She hears your shower come on and she's dumbfounded by your instant coldness. She doesn't ask to come in. Just slides the glass door open to your glistening body that she will remember for later. Her guard is down. There's something in your eyes that's raw, and Diana can tell whatever you're about to say is not good.
"Maybe this is the last time we see each other," you say. Your voice flat. You don't dare to look at her.
Diana freezes, unsure if she even heard you correctly. "What?"
"It's different when it was just sex." You turn to face her now. Water running down between you. "But now I've seen the life you have. I- I just didn't fit into that at all."
"Baby—" You cut her off before she can try to salvage whatever this is.
"You'll never love me the way I deserve. It’s dumb to keep the facade going."
"That's not true." Diana's voice cracks. "I would give it all up for you. I swear to God I would."
You laugh. It comes out bitter and sad. You look at her with pity, your eyebrows furrowing. "You really believe that, don't you?"
She reaches for you but you step back.
"We can't keep doing this," you say.
Diana's face crumples. She actually sinks down to the shower floor, water beating down on her shoulders. She's crying on yoyur shower floor. Actually sobbing. You've never seen her like this. Even when she confessed her feelings she wasn't this wrecked.
"I don't," she chokes out. "I don't love her. Not like I love you. I'm trapped." She's looking up at you now. "My whole life is built around this image, the legacy. If I leave her, if I choose you, I lose everything. My endorsements, my coaching opportunities, everything I've worked for."
You want to feel sorry for her. You do feel sorry for her. But also you're standing naked in a shower listening to the woman you're in love with explain all the reasons she cannot be with you.
"So I'm just supposed to accept that?" Your voice is quiet. "Be your secret forever?"
"No. I don't know." Diana wipes her face roughly. "I just need time. To figure out how to do this right. How to leave without destroying everything."
"You're not going to leave."
"I am." She stands up now, reaching for you. "I swear to God I will. Just give me time. Please."
"How much time?" you hear yourself ask.
Diana's eyes light up with hope. "I don't know. Maybe a few years. I just need to get everything in order. Line up my next coaching position. Make sure the divorce doesn't destroy my reputation completely."
A few years. She's asking you to be her secret for another few years. Minimum.
"And in the meantime what am I supposed to do? Just sit around waiting for you to maybe choose me?"
"No." Diana pulls you close despite the water still running all over the both of you. "Let me take care of you. Let me show you how much you mean to me. Tomorrow. Clear your schedule. I'm taking you shopping."
"Diana, I don't want your money—"
"I know. But I want to give it to you anyway." Her hands frame your face. "Please. One day. Let me spoil you. Let me show you what you mean to me. And if after that you still want to end this, I'll respect that. I'll leave you alone."
You know it's a trap. You know one day will turn into another and another. You know she's buying time and buying you and buying her way out of actually making a choice. But you're tired. And you love her. And maybe one more day won't hurt.
"One day," you say.
Diana kisses you. Desperate and grateful. "One day," she repeats against your mouth. You both know she's lying.
"Okay," you say, and Diana's whole face transforms with relief.
"Tomorrow," she murmurs. "Clear your schedule. I'm taking you shopping."
-
The Cartier boutique doesn't open until ten, but Diana has the manager opening the doors early just for you two. Private appointment, she'd said. No crowds, no cameras, just you and her and more luxury than you've ever seen in one place. You feel weird about it. The whole thing. Diana texted you what to wear and you put on the nicest thing you own but you still feel underdressed. Out of place.
"Ms. Taurasi, welcome back." The manager, Laurent, he introduces himself, greets Diana like an old friend. His eyes flick to you with polite curiosity. "And who is this lovely young woman?"
"This is my girl," Diana says. Her hand possessive on the small of your back. "She needs to be taken care of."
Her girl. The words send a thrill through you even as your brain whispers but not really, not where it counts. Laurent leads you to a private viewing room. Champagne and velvet chairs. He brings out trays of jewelry that cost more than your annual rent. Rings, bracelets, necklaces that catch the light and throw rainbows across the walls.
Diana picks up a delicate band with a single diamond. "Give me your hand."
You extend it. She slides the ring onto your finger. It fits perfectly. Of course it does. She probably asked your ring size at some point, filed the information away for later use.
"Beautiful," Diana murmurs, but she's looking at your face, not the ring. "We'll take this one."
"Diana, that's too much." You glance at the discreet price tag. Fifteen thousand dollars.
"Nothing's too much for you." She's already moving on to the next tray, picking out a tennis bracelet that probably costs twice as much. Her movements are almost manic. "This too."
You let her decorate you with diamonds. Laurent fasten clasps and adjust chains while Diana watches with satisfaction. When you catch your reflection in the mirror, dripping in diamonds, Diana standing behind you with her hands on your shoulders, you look like someone else. Someone who gets to keep her. The thought makes your chest ache. Next is Christian Louboutin. More champagne, and more private viewing rooms. Diana has you try on pair after pair of heels. Classic black pumps, strappy sandals, thigh-high boots that make her eyes darken with want.
"These," she says, pointing to a pair of stilettos with the signature red sole. "And these. And, fuck it, we'll take all of them."
"Di, okay come on," you try to halfheartedly protest.
"You're going to look so fucking good in these," she murmurs, low enough that only you can hear. Her hand slides up your calf, fingers tracing the line of your leg. "Can't wait to see you in nothing but these heels."
Heat pools low in your belly. The sales associate is definitely pretending not to notice Diana's hand creeping higher up your thigh.
At the denim boutique Diana picks out jeans that hug your ass. She makes you model each pair, her gaze hungry as you turn for her. "That back," she says appreciatively. "Goddamn, baby."
You feel exposed but spoiled. Watching her spend money on you like it's nothing - it might mend some of the pain caused by this. The lingerie store is last. La Perla. Diana makes you try on set after set. She's been touching you all day. Casual brushes that don't feel casual. Her hand at the small of your back. Her fingers lingering at your waist. Possessive in a way that makes your skin feel too tight.
The black lace set is the one that does it. Barely there. Sheer enough that your nipples show through, the lace just covering what it needs to cover and nothing more. Diana looks at you like she's starving.
"Turn around," she says, her voice rough.
You do. Slowly. You can feel her eyes on every inch of you. When you face her again she's closer. Right there in the dressing room with you, the door closed but not locked. People are outside. You can hear footsteps, voices.
"You look perfect," Diana murmurs. Her hand comes up to adjust the strap at your shoulder. Except she doesn't just adjust it. Her fingers linger, tracing along your collarbone. Down your spine. Barely touching but you feel it everywhere.
She's so close you can feel the heat of her body. Smell her cologne mixed with something else, something that makes you dizzy. Diana's hand slides to your hip. Her thumb strokes bare skin just above the lace.
"This one," she says softly. Her hand moves higher. Fingertips brushing the underside of your breast through the lace. Your breath catches.
"Diana," you whisper. You don't know if it's a warning or a plea.
Her eyes are so dark. "I know," she says. Her thumb brushes over your nipple through the lace and you have to bite your lip hard to keep from making a sound. "We're buying everything you tried on."
The promise in her voice is clear. Not here. But soon. You're trembling with want by the time you leave the store. She keeps her promise.
Back at your apartment, shopping bags scattered across your living room floor, Diana lays you out on your bed. She takes her time undressing you from the new clothes, kissing each piece of skin as it's revealed. The new jewelry stays on. The ring, the bracelet, the necklace. She likes seeing her marks on you, along with the bruises from last night.
"My princess," she murmurs, settling between your thighs. "My beautiful girl. Let me give you everything."
She works you open with her fingers, three of them stretching you wide while her tongue circles your clit with devastating precision. The dual sensation builds until you shatter. Your pussy clenching rhythmically around her fingers as waves of pleasure crash through you.
Before you can catch your breath, she flips you over with strong hands, pulling your hips up and spreading you open. Her tongue licks into you from behind, obscene and relentless, while her fingers dig into your ass to hold you exactly where she wants you. You can feel her opening you wider, giving herself deeper access, and it's too much—you're sobbing into the pillow, thighs trembling, overstimulated and wrecked.
"You're mine," she gasps against your skin, her voice ragged. Her hips grind desperately against the mattress, chasing her own release. "Say it. Say you're mine."
"I'm yours," you moan, the words barely audible against the pillow before your orgasm crashes through you, your body going rigid as you clench hard around her. You lie tangled together in the aftermath, both of you breathing hard, skin slick with sweat. Diana's fingers eventually find the strength to move again, tracing lazy, reverent patterns along your spine, following the delicate line of the bracelet still circling your wrist.
"I meant what I said," she whispers. "I love you. I'll give you everything I can."
Everything except the one thing that matters, you think, but you don't say it out loud. So you don't say it back. You hear Diana stir behind you. Feel her arms wrap around your waist. She rests her chin on your shoulder, meeting your empty gaze.
"Are you happy?" she asks softly.
You look at yourself. At the woman Diana's made you into, decorated in her devotion. You think about the wife she's going home to tomorrow. The life she's going home to. The future that doesn't include you.
"Yes," you say. It's not entirely a lie.
Diana kisses your neck, your shoulder, the spot behind your ear that makes you shiver. "Good," she whispers. "That's all I want. To make you happy."
You close your eyes and let yourself believe it. Just for this moment. Tomorrow you'll remember that this has an expiration date. You'll feel the weight of being someone's everything except their actual choice. But tonight you let her turn you around and kiss you. Let her whisper promises against your skin that you both know she can't keep. Tonight you're her princess. Her material girl. And for now that's enough. It has to be.
warning/summary: shower sex, strap on, established relationship, praise kink
a/n: hii! can you write smut prompt 16 w either t hiedeman or t cloud? they're both so sweet and i need more fics of them🥺 love your work btw <3
The Minnesota Lynx had been electric that night, riding a twelve-point lead all the way to the final buzzer. The whole team was buzzing in the locker room, laughter bouncing off the walls, plans for post-game drinks already flying. But in the tunnel, Natisha’s hand found yours and didn’t let go.
“Wanna skip all that?” she murmured, low enough only you could hear. Her eyes still carried a sharp, competitive gleam, but it softened now, just for you. “I just wanna unwind. My place?”
The answer was obvious.
The drive was a slow burn. Her hand rested on your thigh the whole way, thumb brushing higher with every shift of the city lights. At red lights, she stole kisses and quick pecks that deepened into slow, lingering ones, until your head spun and your body ached for more. Horns blared behind you when Natisha missed the light turning green. The leather of the seat was warm under you, the faint hum of the engine only making the air between you feel heavier and hotter.
When you stepped inside her apartment, the LED lights washed everything in a bright pink glow. It was pure Natisha: clean, warm tones, and a quiet kind of confidence that made you feel like you’d stepped into her orbit completely. The faint scent of vanilla and amber from a candle on the counter wrapped around you, heady and inviting. She toed off her sneakers, glanced at you over her shoulder with a half-smile that made your stomach flip, and said, “Shower with me.”
The curve of your lips and the mischief in your eyes told her everything she needed to know.
Clothes fell away one by one, your gaze tracing the elegant strength of her body when her clothes came off. She made you feel utterly breathless. You caught yourself admiring the sculpted definition of her core, the taut lines of her arms, the smooth curve of her chest, and the flushed, sensitive peaks that seemed to beg for your lips before you even realized you’d moved. She let out a low, breathy laugh when you dipped down to take her nipple into your mouth, the soft peak warm against your tongue. Her fingers threaded through your hair, a gentle tug that sent a shiver through you before she guided you toward the bathroom.
Steam greeted you the moment she turned the water on, heat curling into every corner of the small space. You stepped into a wide shower lined with smooth tile. The spray pounded steadily against your shoulders while warm water traced over your skin. Her mouth was on yours instantly, all tongue and heat. The taste of her sent sparks through your veins.
At first, it felt almost innocent, her hands soaping your shoulders, laughs echoing softly against the glass. But then her palms lingered at your waist, sliding lower, nails grazing lightly over slick skin. Your lips found the curve of her shoulder, and the sound she made that low, hushed groan, vibrated straight into your chest.
The air between you was thick with heat and something else, that unspoken closeness that felt dangerous in its own way. Now, she pressed against you slowly and steadily, her firm and warm abs against your stomach, and her voice's velvet rasp made your pulse trip and your thighs tense.
The water cascaded over both of you when Natisha reached for the black gym bag she’d left just outside the shower door. You raised an eyebrow, breath still unsteady from her mouth and her touch.
She just grinned, pulling out a tangle of black straps attached to a waterproof base with a gleaming metal ring.
“Gonna make you feel me everywhere,” she said, voice dripping with heat, holding up a thick, deep-pink silicone strap that made your core clench hard. The base slid neatly into the harness, and she stepped into the straps like she’d done it a hundred times before, tightening them low across her hips with practiced ease, eyes barely leaving yours.
“Still with me?” she teased, water dripping from the ends of her hair, her competitive gleam now something darker.
“Very,” you breathed, voice catching on the edge of something you weren’t ready to name.
There was a certain silliness to it at first, the bright deliberate length jutting from Natisha’s lean hips, but it disappeared the moment she stepped closer. The wet heat of her body pinned your back to the slick tile, water cascading over her shoulders and down the ridges of her muscles. Her eyes had darkened to something almost dangerous, locked on you as if the steam itself bent around her focus.
Her hands were steady, sure, sliding along your hips before one trailed between your legs. She took the tip of the strap and dragged it through your slick folds, the textured silicone catching just enough to make your breath stutter. She moved with maddening patience, running it over your clit in slow, deliberate passes until your knees nearly gave out — and when they did, she caught you without hesitation, one strong arm bracing you against the wall.
“Hold on to me,” she rasped.
You were in no position to oppose. Natisha moaned as your nails dug into her wet, flexing shoulder muscles. A gasp left your lips as she hoisted you up with effortless strength. Your legs wrapped around her waist, the brutal position sliding the tip inside you in a slow, stretching glide that made your head tip back. Bruised lips parting in a shaky gasp. She filled you so perfectly it bordered on unbearable, her hips moving with a measured rhythm that made everything beyond her touch fade into nothing. Her hands guided every thrust at your waist, pulling you down onto her like she owned every inch of you.
“Breathe, baby… look at me.”
You forced your eyes open just in time to see her pull out almost completely before driving back in, the sharp press of her hips stealing the air from your lungs. Steam clung to your skin, curling in your hair, the heat from the water tangling with the furnace of her body until it was impossible to tell which made you shiver harder. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed in the shower, each thrust punctuated by the deep rasp of her breathing and the soft, unguarded grunt she made when you clenched around her.
The moment her angle shifted, she found that spot — the one that made you jolt and cry out, hands clutching at her like you could anchor yourself against the pull of it. Your hips began to move with hers, the two of you falling into a rhythm that had your core tightening, heat blooming in your stomach until it was all you could feel.
“Just like that… that’s it… you’re doing so good for me,” she murmured, the words wrapping around you like silk and pulling you in deeper. Heat curled low in your stomach, every thrust winding you tighter. Her breath brushed your ear, warm and uneven, and the scent of her shampoo mixed with the steam around you until it was all you could taste.
“So tight for me… taking me so well…” Her hips rolled with precision, each movement stealing a little more air from your lungs. The slick slide of her inside you made your thighs tremble, your nails pressing into her shoulders just to keep yourself anchored.
“God, I could stay right here forever…” She kissed you between words, lips and tongue dragging you under until you couldn’t tell where the heat of the water ended and hers began.
“Look at you, baby, so perfect like this.” Her gaze locked with yours, dark and unyielding, and the rhythm of her body against yours sent you hurtling toward the edge before you could even think about stopping.
Her praise came between hot, open-mouthed kisses. Natisha’s tongue sliding against yours, tasting of lust and something darker, hungrier. Her breathing matched yours, ragged and urgent, her hands gripping you with a kind of intimacy that went beyond just holding you in place. She kissed you like she could press every ounce of herself into you, her thrusts never faltering even as your moans tangled together in the thick, humid air.
You were falling apart, the tension snapping in a rush of heat and wetness, the sound of your release mixing with her low groan. Somewhere between the pulse of your heartbeat in your ears and the relentless slide of her hips, you heard it.
Soft, almost swallowed by the noise.
“I love you.”
It took you a moment to realize what had slipped out of her mouth, the words soft and unguarded in the steam. When it clicked, you felt the faint tremor in her hold, like she wasn’t sure if she’d just crossed a line neither of you could uncross.
Her movements slowed, just enough for you to notice. A flicker of something, surprise maybe even fear, cracked through her usual composure. Her lips parted, and her breath stalled like she wasn’t sure if she should lean into it or pull away. Her eyes searched yours, still wide, but the corners of her mouth softened. She pressed her forehead to yours, her breath warm and uneven against your lips, and when she moved again it was slower and deeper, like the words had settled between you in a way she wasn’t ready to name but could not ignore.
You smiled, fingers brushing her jaw, your thumb stroking over the damp line of her cheekbone.
The water still poured over you both, but the urgency had melted into something molten and unhurried. Her hips slowed, drawing the moment out until you were clinging to her more for balance than for release. Then she eased back, slipping free with a careful pull that left you aching from the sudden absence. The loss of her made your breath hitch, a hollow throb where the fullness had been, your body instinctively chasing her even as she steadied you.
Her palms stayed firm at your hips, thumbs brushing slow circles like she could soothe the emptiness she’d left behind. You leaned into her touch, forehead resting against her collarbone, the heat of her skin a tether in the cooling air.
Eventually, she reached past you, twisting the shower knob until the water stilled. The silence that followed felt strange—heavy in your ears after the steady roar, broken only by the faint drip of water from your hair onto her chest.
Beyond the glass, her LED lights spilled into the bathroom, a soft wash of pink and gold that made the steam glow. She didn’t rush you. Just stood there, hands still on your waist, eyes tracing over you like she wasn’t quite ready to let go.
You giggled when she started drying your hair with slow, messy swipes, and she smirked like she was memorizing the sound of your laugh. In the mirror’s fogged reflection, you caught the way her gaze lingered on you — not lust now, but something warmer, steadier. She pressed a kiss to your temple before guiding you toward her bedroom, where the sheets were cool and the air smelled faintly of the candle still burning low in the corner.
You collapsed together in a tangle of limbs, her arm around your waist, your head on her chest. She traced lazy circles against your hip, the rhythmic drag of her fingertips syncing with your slowing breaths. You felt her lips press to your hair, her quiet murmur of your name sinking into your skin.
And maybe she didn’t say it again right away, but the way she moved against you, the way she whispered your name, made it feel like she was saying it over and over, keeping the world suspended until sunrise.
pairing: britney griner x press!reader
warnings: ~2k. drinking liquor, size kink, BG is 6”9, strap sex, strap/wall sex, wlw, (this request is from august omg), mdni, no specific descriptions of reader, mature language
“are you down to be a distraction, baby?”
The press row at the Atlanta Dream game is buzzing with reporters and flashing screens creating a sense of excitement. You adjust your press badge and smooth your blouse, already feeling the adrenaline from tip-off coursing through you.
Midway through the third quarter, you finally get your chance. Weaving through the sideline crowd, mic hot in your hand, you quickly catch Britney's attention. She arches an eyebrow, and that trademark smirk is playing at her lips as she heads your way. The arena noise swells around you, and she has to bend down, way down, so her ear is just inches from your lips. You try to keep your voice steady as you ask about her defensive strategy, but your core heats up at the proximity. Her gaze lingers a beat too long, and you swear you see her tongue dart across her bottom lip.
Nearby fans cheer, oblivious to the current running between you, to the flutter in your chest you desperately try to ignore. When she straightens up and walks away, she glances back over her shoulder, and her smirk deepens. She knows exactly what she's doing to you.
Atlanta pulls ahead in the fourth, sealing the win with a roar from the crowd. You're gathering up all your gear when your phone buzzes.
"Drinks at your hotel tonight?"
You've been flirting with each other for months: stolen glances across crowded press conferences and lingering conversations that stretch well past professional courtesy. The tension between you is impossible to ignore, the kind that makes your skin hum whenever she's near. There have been close calls before, a hand on your lower back that lingered too long, her eyes dropping to your lips mid-sentence, but neither of you has crossed that line. Tonight feels different.
You meet in the lobby, and the moment you spot her leaning against a marble column in joggers and a fitted tank, your pulse kicks up. She straightens when she sees you, that slow smile spreading across her face.
"There she is," Britney says, pushing off the column with a grin. "My favorite reporter."
"Your favorite?" You arch a brow. "Pretty sure you left me hanging last week when I asked about your pre-game ritual and you said, ‘positive energy and manifestation.’"
She laughs, low and genuine. "Yeah, and watching you scramble for a new question? Adorable." Her gaze drifts over you, slow and deliberate. "Plus, you bite your lip when you're thinking. It's distracting."
"Distracting?" You fall into step beside her toward the elevators, warmth creeping up your neck.
"I'm a serious journalist, Griner."
"Uh-huh." She presses the elevator button, glancing down at you with a smirk. "And I'm just here for the intellectual conversation."
The elevator doors slide open. Inside, the space feels smaller than it should, the air charged. She leans against the brass railing, arms crossed, studying you with an intensity that makes your stomach flip.
"You know," she says as the floors tick upward, "I've been thinking about you all game."
"Yeah?" Your voice comes out breathier than you intended.
"Yeah." She steps closer, close enough that you can smell her cologne—something clean and expensive. "Couldn't focus on the post-game interviews. Kept wondering if you'd actually say yes."
To drinks?" You meet her eyes, emboldened. "Or to something else?"
The elevator chimes. Doors slide open, but neither of you moves right away. Then her hand finds the small of your back, firm but easy, steering you out into the hallway. You can’t help noticing how effortlessly she takes the lead.
"Let's start with drinks," she murmurs near your ear, voice low enough to spark heat along your skin, "and see where the night takes us."
At the minibar, your hands buzz as you pour two shots, the smell of tequila cutting through the air. She clinks her glass against yours with a lazy grin, and you two throw back shots.
Britney settles onto the barstool, elbows resting casually on the minibar counter like she’s perfectly at home. You’re still standing, somewhere between nervous and bold, and before you realize it, you’ve stepped between her knees. Her thigh brushes yours— her firm muscle under the soft give of joggers and your breath catches.
"So," you blurt out, powered by tequila and proximity, "what are we doing here, Griner?"
She grins, all mischief and heat. "What do you want us to be doing?"
You pour another round, the tequila burning down your throat. "I don't know yet," you admit. "But I have some ideas."
"Yeah?" She pulls you closer, her hand finding your hip. "Tell me."
Instead of answering, you kiss her. She tastes like salt and lime. When she deepens the kiss, pulling you flush against her, your knees nearly buckle. Her hands slide down to cup your ass and you gasp into her mouth. She pulls you closer until you can feel every breath she takes. The counter digs lightly into your hip, but you don’t care—you’re too caught up in the way her tongue moves against yours.
Your hands find her shoulders, then her jaw, fingers tracing the sharp line of it before curling into her hair. The kiss grows slower, heavier, your mouths parting only to find each other again. Her lips are slick and swollen, and every time they meet yours, you feel that heady mix of liquor and want curling low in your stomach.
When she finally pulls back just enough to breathe, your lips tingle, your chest rising and falling fast. You’re dizzy, drunk on tequila and her, every nerve alive and buzzing.
"Bed," you manage between kisses. "Now."
She walks you backward until your legs hit the mattress, and you fall together onto the plush duvet. She hovers over you, all six-foot-nine of her, and the size difference makes your pulse race. Her mouth finds yours again, hungry and demanding, while her hands pull your shirt over your head. She's exploring the newly revealed skin, calloused fingers trailing up your ribcage.
"You're so fucking beautiful," she murmurs against your lips, her hand cupping you through your bra. You arch into her touch, and she grins.
"Britney—" you gasp as her hands tighten on your chest. She silences you with another kiss, her thumb brushing over your nipple until it peaks beneath the fabric. You whimper, and she unhooks your bra with practiced ease pushing the fabric aside. When her mouth closes around your nipple, you cry out.
"That's it," she encourages, her tongue circling and flicking while her hand works your other breast. The dual sensation has you squirming beneath her, heat pooling between your thighs.
Her hand slides down your stomach, popping the button of your jeans. "Can I?"
"Yes, God, yes-"
She works your jeans down your hips, her fingers trailing teasingly over your inner thighs. When she finally cups you through your underwear, she groans. "Fuck, you're soaked."
"Your fault," you gasp, hips bucking into her hand.
She laughs, low and satisfied, rubbing slow circles that have you seeing stars. "All for me?" She pushes your underwear aside, her fingers gliding through your wetness.
You're trembling. "Wait..." You nod toward her bag. "What's in your bag?"
She pauses, eyebrow raised, then that wicked grin spreads across her face. "You want to know?"
"Show me."
She climbs off the bed, crossing to her duffel bag near the door. When she unzips it and pulls out the harness and a strap on, your breath catches. "I had a feeling," she says, watching your reaction. "That okay?"
"More than okay."
She strips off her clothes unselfconsciously, all lean muscle and confidence, then steps into the harness and adjusts it. The sight of her like this makes your core clench with anticipation.
She starts heading back toward you, but you hold up a hand.
"Wait, I want another shot first."
She laughs, surprised, but gestures toward the minibar. "Go ahead."
You pour tequila with shaking hands, bringing the glass to your lips. Just as you are about to drink, you feel her behind you—her presence massive and overwhelming. Her large hand wraps around your throat, not choking, just holding, possessive and sure. Your head falls back against her chest, the shot glass trembling in your hand.
"Mmhmm," you manage, the sound caught between a moan and a sigh.
"Take your shot, baby," she murmurs against your ear, her other hand sliding around your waist. "Then I'm taking you against that wall."
You down the tequila in one burning gulp, grab the lime, and bite down. Before you can even set the glass down, she's spinning you around, lifting you, pressing you against the wall with a force that steals your breath.
"You ready?" The head of the strap presses between your legs, and her eyes are on you.
"Please."
She slowly pushes in, watching your reaction. The stretch makes your head thunk back against the wall, and she fills you completely. Her hands grip your thighs, holding you up.
"Fuck, Britneyy"
"Yeah, that's it." The angle is perfect. Every thrust hits that spot and you're clinging to her shoulders, nails definitely leaving marks.
Britney is so strong it's stupid, holding you up like it's nothing, her hips snapping into you with a perfect rhythm.She's watching your face the whole time, reading every reaction, adjusting based on the sounds you're making.
"Look at me," she says, voice rough. "Taking it so good. You gonna come for me?"
"Yes—fuck, yes—"
Her thumb finds your clit and you completely unravel. You come hard, crying out her name. Your core clenching around the strap while you try to catch your breath. But she keeps moving, keeps talking you through it until you're shaking and can barely hold on.
"Good girl," she says, kissing your temple. "I got you."
Your legs are jelly. Actually useless. "I can't... I don't think I can stand."
She laughs, still holding you up easily. "Good thing I'm not done with you yet."
Britney carries you to the bed, sitting down on the edge with you still impaled on the strap. The new angle makes you gasp, and she grins up at you.
"Come on, baby," she says, hands on your hips. "Ride me."
"Britney, I just... I can barely..."
"I know." Her hands guide you, helping you move. "I've got you."
You start to move, grinding down, and oh fuck. This angle is different. Deeper somehow. Your hands brace on her shoulders because your thighs are still shaking.
"That's it," she encourages. "Use me. Take what you need."
You find a rhythm, rolling your hips, grinding down. The friction is doing something to her too because her breathing gets heavier, her grip on your hips tighter.
"Fuck," she mutters. "Keep doing that. The harness... you're..."
Oh. Oh. The base is rubbing against her clit every time you grind down. You do it again, harder, and she actually groans.
"You like that?" you manage, even though you're the one falling apart.
"Don't get cocky," she says, but her hips are moving now too, meeting your movements, and suddenly you're both chasing this.
You're laughing a little, breathless and overwhelmed, because this is fun. It's hot as hell but it's also fun, the two of you grinning at each other between moans, her hands everywhere, your bodies moving together.
"Come on," she says, voice strained now. One hand slides between you, fingers finding your clit again. "Come with me. Can you do that?"
"Yeah... fuck, yeah..."
She works you with her fingers while you grind down harder, faster, the strap hitting deep and her breathing ragged in your ear. When you come this time it's different, slower but somehow more intense, and you feel her tense beneath you, her hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise as she comes too.
You collapse against her, both of you breathing hard, sweaty and spent. She wraps her arms around you properly this time, holding you close.
"Holy shit," you mumble against her shoulder.
She laughs, the sound rumbling through her chest. "Yeah. Holy shit."
Afterward, she carries you to the bed, both of you collapsing in a tangle of limbs and laughter. She holds you close, wrapped in her arms. You drift off against her forearm, your heartbeat syncing with hers.
Sunlight eventually peeks through the hotel curtains. Your phone buzzes on the nightstand:
"Early morning press. Didn't want to wake you. Let's not wait so long next time."
