#nba fics

[bluewatersfairy]

daydreamin' - j.t.

a/n: I started writing this at the beginning of the '22-'23 season and have been meaning to do something with it for literally 2 years. Hope you enjoy lmao!

synopsis: reader gets a little too lost in her head whilst on set with Jayson

warnings: mature content, MINORS DNI! small mentions of oral sex (female receiving), unprotected sex, exhibitionist kink mentioned/depicted, slight degrading/name calling (literally once if you squint), filth but like in a fun way.

word count: 5.3k (imagine if i could just shut the fuck up)

•••

Time felt slowed and your eyelids were droopy, despite the clock behind you reading 11am.  An early call time mixed with a red-eye meant that there wasn’t much time to rest horizontally, or at all.  Some things were worth the sacrifice for though.  He was most definitely one of those things.

When the story first landed on your desk, you almost couldn’t believe it.  The Celtics had been playing on your television for as long as you could remember.  You’d grown up watching every draft and noting down each new player that joined the roster.  You were always in to support the new up-and-comers as a child and in your professional life.  

You’d written and pitched a few stories about the young core over recent years but nothing had ever been picked up for a full length piece.  The best you got was a short piece for one special edition that highlighted the great women that stood behind the biggest sportsmen in sports today.  The NBA section was one of the smallest word counts you’d been given, but you did the best you could.

A full length piece like this being handed to you, a cover story no less, made little sense to you.  You weren’t going to turn it down, but it took you a few minutes to process what was being asked of you.  Truthfully, it hadn’t properly sunk in until you were on the plane, flying cross-country for a 48-hour stay.  A full cover story on someone with all eyes on him meant that it was going to be the biggest opportunity of your career.  Not only was it a big deal for him, it was for you too.  You were not going to let yourself waste it by getting lost in him. 

Even as the sirens wailed, trying to pull you back to reality, your eyes couldn’t pull away from Jayson.  Like magnets, his hands forced you to scan over his chest with his next pose.  The fake sweat that had been sprayed over him caught the light as the photographer wanted and your heart almost stopped.  You didn’t understand why this story meant he had to pose for thirst-trap-like pictures in his Celtic uniform.  Did the universe have something against you?

Someone called your name from behind you and snapped you out of your daydream.  They were clearly impatient, the sound of a clicking pen matching with the click of dress shoes on concrete floors.  With your attention turned back to the little prep work you had left to complete, you did a final once over of the questions you’d prepared for Jayson.  His agent was watching every move you made and when you finally handed them the sheet, they marched off calling a hurried ‘thank you’ to you.  

You took a deep breath for the 100th time and looked over your recorder again.  Full battery?  Yes.  Storage status?  Completely empty.  Vocal tests?  All three completed.  It was fine, perfect even; ready to go whenever Jayson was.  Your anxiety, however, was making it difficult for you to be ready.  In a quiet tone, you started to count to ten, reaching for a cracker as you did.  You needed to nibble on something that wouldn’t come straight back up.  Looking at your hand holding the cracker, you noticed just how obviously your now jumpy nature was.  Your nerves were starting to present to others; this is not good, you thought to yourself, just fake it, smile and push through.  You needed water, a lot of it.  Was your throat always this dry?

“They want me to wear a tie,” Jayson’s voice cut through your thoughts, forcing you to turn around a little too quickly.  His deep and raspy tone had caught you off guard.  Your body’s immediate response was to send spirals to the pit of your stomach and float to your chest with impeccable speed.

“If you’d rather not, I don’t think it’s necessary?”  you replied, your uncertainty and want to please him clear as day. 

“Nah,” he shook his head and flashed his charming smile at you, “they’ve got a vision, I’ll stick to it.”

He had changed into his formal look for the shoot.  It was a classic black Dior suit with a white button up.  It was tailored to his figure beautifully and gave him a really classically handsome look.  It was the lining of the suit jacket that made it special as well as the socks he wore.  Custom-made with embellishments of his home city and his mother and sons’ names stitched over his heart.  He looked incredibly dapper and handsome, clean and perfect.  

You swallowed and let your eyes fall to his hands as he showed you the three ties he’d been given.  They were all quite simple and classic, but you were immediately drawn to the Dior silk black ribbon tie with a bee embellishment

“Which one do you think?” Jayson held all three of them up to his chest and posed for you.  He let out something of a chuckle, his eyes focusing on you as he scrunched his nose.  He was absolutely adorable, and he was starting to make you melt.

You gently tapped on the tie you thought was best and expected him to step away and give you a second to breathe.  Instead, he reached behind you to put the unchosen ties down before putting the one you had selected over his shoulder. 

“Here,” Jayson said, starting to tweak his collar, “could you, y’know?”

You nodded your head quickly and took the tie from him, your fingertips lingering against his warm skin for a second too long.

“They’ve got a stool here somewhere,” you said more to yourself than him as your eyes scanned the room.  You spotted it and brought it over to him, hoping it would help close the height difference.

Jayson’s gaze stayed on your face from the moment you lifted the tie from his hand until the moment you stepped off of the stool.  It was intense.  It didn’t help the way he smirked when you fiddled with the tie.  Or the way he tugged on his bottom lip to stop himself from laughing.  You almost told him to stop, not that you were actually sure what it was that you wanted him to stop doing.  If anything, you were the one that needed to stop. 

It took almost every part of you to stop the image of you wrapping the tie around his wrists instead of the collar of his dress shirt.  Like dominos, the scene that unfolded couldn’t be stopped, so you’d just have to push it down and ignore it.

Ignore the way he’d look, completely naked with his wingspan stretched out to either side of your bed.  The cool black silk ties secured his big hands against the wooden headboard.  He didn’t struggle against the ties, all he did was wriggle his wrists to see how much he could do.  It wasn’t a lot, he could tell this wasn’t your first time. 

His head turned away from his wrists to find you standing at the foot of the bed, only in an emerald green two-piece lingerie set.  It complimented your deep brown skin devilishly well, Jayson couldn’t look away.  He let out a deep, throaty groan as he watched you slip your thumbs under the hem of your panties and began to pull them down your hips.

“You’re so good to me,” he part moaned, “look at you baby, I can’t say nothin’.”

His entire body flexed as you knelt on the bed only in your bra.  You licked your lips and watched his girthy cock move with the rest of his muscles.  You were so tempted to crawl up his body, and stop with your mouth hovering dangerously close to his dick.  Teasingly, you’d kiss the tip and gently caress the shaft.  Your mouth watered at the thought.  You knew yourself well enough that you wouldn’t stop with a little teasing.  You’d end up taking the whole thing in your mouth, making a mess of your lipstick and your mascara as your eyes watered.  

To compromise, when your mouth hovered over his cock, you gripped the shaft with your left hand.  Jayson’s response was similar to one of pain or a burn – a gasp of surprise that expressed both pleasure and discomfort.  It made you giggle and you wondered if he had ever been like this with anyone else.  

“Fuck,” he dragged out as he watched your spit fall from your plump lips to his tip.  

You rubbed your thumb over the head and dragged the saliva down his shaft, pumping him so you could hear him sing out in pleasure.  He threw his head back and looked up for the first time that night.  He was met with the surprise of a lifetime.  You had had a mirror on the ceiling installed, and he now had two of the best views possible. 

“You could be a professional,” Jayson said as he looked over himself in the mirror.  “I’ve never been able to get my ties just right.”

“I’ll add that to my resume,” you smiled at him and carefully stepped down from the stool.  “Great sports journalist, even better tie-tyer.”

“You could pimp yourself out to fashion houses and modelling agencies,” he laughed, “you’d get an inside scope of what goes on behind the scenes as well.”

“That’s not half bad, actually.”  You shared a moment of laughter, and another of silence and gazing at each other before you were brought back to the real world by the photographer.  

Jayson went back to posing, though now it was less structured.  They were getting shots of him smiling and showing off the inside lining of his jacket, as well as a few of him holding his shoes.  You took a seat and let yourself go over your notes, though you were still distracted by him.  You weren’t sure if it was that he was a natural in front of the camera or simply that he was very handsome, but every time you looked up, he looked beyond good.  You were constantly reminded of just how fine he was and it was so overwhelming.  

He oozed that type of physical attraction that you felt deep in your uterus.  Your whole body just wanted him everywhere and there wasn’t much to stop it.  His quiet manner was no help either.  As a journalist, you were always digging for a bigger story and you wanted to just get into his mind and learn as much about him as possible.  He was easy to talk to, and you found that a connection between the interviewer and interviewee was what made a great piece.  

You needed this to be the best story of your career, an opportunity like this had the possibility of elevating your life and opening countless doors.  Hopefully, you’d finally get that job offer that would bring you to the east coast, the one you’d been looking for for close to a year.  

Your name being called from across the room pulls your gaze away from Jayson and you began to make your way over to what looked to be a team meeting.  There wasn’t much for you to say or do, except listen and nod when appropriate.  Jayson’s team was taking the lead of a majority of this shoot as he had a few other things he had to fit into his day.  You knew going in that the interview portion would come at the end, that you were really only there to get a feel of the vibe and find your footing with him.  

“I’ve gone over your questions,” Jayson’s agent turned to face you, “they’re good, nothing I can tell he won’t answer.  He seems to like you as well so he should give you more than you need for this to be an excellent cover story.” 

You nodded your head, agreeing, to show you were listening and noticed their gaze had gone back to Jayson.  When you turned to follow it, you found Jayson was looking directly at you.  He wasn’t being subtle about it either.  When your eyes found his, he smiled his stunning smile and the camera flashed.

“I might need you to cover him more often if you can get him to smile like that,” his agent commented, “he’s like a child sometimes when he smiles for the camera.”  Without another word, they’d walked away and you were standing alone again.  

You could sense that things were starting to move a bit quicker.  His team seemed to be prepping more and you caught bits and pieces of the requests and questions being thrown around amongst them.  Someone was sent off to get coffee, someone else was sent outside to make sure the balcony was accessible, comfortable and private.  You had assumed you would interview Jayson inside but it seemed everyone else had a different idea in mind.  

It was Jayson who approached you first to invite you out there to get started.  In your past experiences of interviewing professional and famous athletes, this wasn’t a norm.  Usually you were sent to the preferred interview spot to wait for the interviewee and they certainly weren’t the people to direct you there either.  But this was Jayson.  This is the narrative he’d created for himself, a polite, respectable young man.  

He walked two steps behind you, now in a pair of grey sweats and a black Jaylen Brown graphic tee.  He was more relaxed now and in turn, you felt a little more at ease.  If he was still in his Dior suit, it would’ve been a different story, you would’ve felt under-dressed in your business-casual outfit.  

“It’s beautiful out here,” Jayson said as you both stepped out, his hand reaching to the small of your back to guide you around the table and chairs to see the view properly.

“It is,” you breathed out as you placed your hands on the balcony rail.  You felt like you could see forever from right there, like you were at the top of the world.

“It’s so much better at night, when all the city lights are on.  You really feel like you’re on top of the world,” he paused as he placed his hand next to yours, “it’s romantic too.  All the lights in the dark, you’re just a world away from everyone else.  No one can see or hear you up here, it’s comfortable.”  you watched closely as his hand moved to rest on top of yours. 

You tried to imagine it, what it would feel like to be this far removed from everyone, just you and him.  The small of your back seemed to burn as you tried to remember what it felt like to have his hand there.  What would it feel like if there was no material in the way, and he was pushing you forward, making your back arch?

Pitch black surrounding you and just the sparkling lights of the city far below you.  You can barely hear the cars driving by, just the soft breeze brushing past your ears and the melodic rhythm and harmonious sounds of your grunts and moans mixing together.  You’d felt far too exposed when Jayson had first started to undress you but his mouth had quickly erased all your worries and insecurities from your mind.  He covered you in kisses before he reached your core.  He’d turned you around so fast, you’d barely had a moment to catch yourself on the balcony before he’d buried his face in your pussy, his tongue lapping at your folds and only breaking to nip at your inner thighs and round ass. 

The second you’d got him naked after he’d chivalrously made you cum twice, his body was immediately pushed up against yours.  Your hands were hot on his body, grabbing at his waist and hips while your lips fought against his own.

“You’re eager,” he teased as he broke away from your lips, grinning as he dropped his head to your clavicle, “‘bit of a change from before.”

“I think it’s more than you’re an exhibitionist and I think logically about how sex with us works.”  Jayson stood up straight at your rebuttal so he could look down at you properly. 

“Exhibitionists like to be seen and heard, look around princess,” he smirked as he spun you back so your ass was pressed to his front again, “no one can see or hear us up here.”

Jayson, truthfully, was exhilarated by the freedom that came with fucking outside and it became very obvious to you, very quickly.  He was louder than usual, but he was making you that much louder too.  His voice was rough as he told you to let him hear you, telling you to say his name louder and louder.  He wanted you to praise him unashamed and let everyone know exactly who was making you cum at that very moment.  

He also wanted someone to see how good you were for him, he was basically begging to see a flash in a window somewhere.  Jayson Tatum and his beautiful mystery whore, oh he could see it in white writing as he pulled out and sprayed his load on your back.  

“Do you want a napkin?”  Jayson asked as he got comfortable in the chair across from you.  

One of the people from his team had brought out their coffees and had given Jayson a handful of napkins.  You made a note in your mind that it was likely because he asks for extra when he had his son with him and it was just what his team did without thinking.  

You smiled and took one from him before crossing your legs and letting yourself relax into the chair a bit.  You mumbled a thanks as you slipped it under your tablet that was resting on your lap.  

You pressed the green button on your voice recorder and placed it on the table in front of you before asking Jayson if he was ready.  He nodded his head eagerly and rubbed his hands together.

“Where would you like to start?”  you smiled across at him and he returned the smile.

“In the middle, like all the good stories.” 

That was what you wanted to hear and you glanced at your notes, not that you needed to.  You knew exactly where you were going to start.

“In your relatively short career thus far, you’ve managed to accomplish many things other players spend their entire lives trying to reach, and many retire without touching the surface.  You’ve got gold medals, a signature shoe, multiple all-NBA placings and now a world championship, and that’s within the world of basketball.  If we stepped out, we could list so many more business endeavours.  We know you idolised Kobe and his own off-season adventures and his life outside the league went far beyond basketball.  What I want to know is what you want your future off-seasons to look like?  Do you have a desire to pursue something creative?”  

It was a long-winded question, but asking it made Jayson light up, this seemed to spark something that he was eager to share.  Starting in the middle was always the best when you had a good vibe with an interviewee.  You’d managed to create an emotional bond of sorts with Jayson already so you didn’t have to do the relationship-building-questions.  You could just ask something incredibly personal and trust that you would be given something you can easily build off of.  And that was exactly what Jayson gave you.

He begun by explaining that in the last two-years or so, he’d grown an interest in art and had started something of a collection.  “It’s not necessarily something to brag about compared to some of the collections I’ve been exposed to in the art-world, but it’s a start and I’m really proud of it.”

He was inspired too, he continued to explain.  He loved the portraits and landscapes he’d been exposed to and the realism of it all, but he was a story-lover above all things and it’s those type of paintings that draw him in.  

“You don’t always know straight away what you’re looking at, but when you read or hear the title of the painting, or a brief explanation about it, you start to see the painting as the story it is.”

“Would you ever consider picking up a brush and trying something yourself?”

“I think about it all the time,” he admitted with a tilt of his head, “but I wouldn’t want it to be for anyone but me, y’know?  Like them sex portraits and intimate art pieces that are created out of lust and love.  

“I’m lucky ‘cause my job is my passion, right?  I go to work and I train really hard and play even harder and while basketball is a creative process, it’s set in its ways.  I’m so attracted to the idea of doing something that’s physically and mentally freeing and I think that’s why I’m kinda obsessed with those types of paintings and why I wanna make them myself.”

He paused for a second, his eyes pulling away from yours for the first time since he’d started talking about it.  “Maybe,” he adds quickly, “I maybe want to make them myself.”  He laughed lightly and shook his head a little, definitely questioning a little bit why he’d said so much.

But it was good, it was what you wanted to hear from him.  It humanised him, showed more of his personality that he was so protective of.  It was an easy spot for you to jump from as well, you had a million things that you could ask from here and you sure as hell were gonna ask them.  You just had to avoid anything to do with sex and lust, because that was where you’d been stuck for the better half of the last 3 hours since you’d arrived at this shoot.

It was not helping you at all either, that Jayson was manspreading in his seat and you could definitely see his dickprint in his grey sweats.  It was unprofessional, of course, but you could not stop looking at it every few minutes.  And while he was talking about a sex portrait, you could’ve sworn you’d seen it react.  God help your mind and where it was running off to in that moment.

A locked door and a series of paints could be spread all around him and he could be instructing you what to do.  Promising you everything was safe and it was just an idea he had, and a massive canvas he’d found a little too easily.  

Or maybe it would start more innocently.  He’d wanted to try a live-model art class but it felt a little wrong for him, as a well known face and figure around Boston, to show up to a class to draw a naked woman.  So instead, he’d ask you to.  Sketching would turn to painting, or him trying to do something abstract.

“Can I see it?” you’d crossed your arm over your chest, holding your large breasts from spilling out as you walked to stand beside him.  He had this look of amusement on his face that you quickly shared.

What he’d painted and sketched maybe looked somewhat like you, if you focused on your body shape, but everything else was unclear.  You bit back a laugh and tried to wait for Jayson to say something regarding what he’d done.  

“I don’t think painting is my God given talent,” he mumbled quietly and before you could stop yourself, you started laughing.  Jayson turned to look at you and watched for a moment, before he very smoothly flicked paint over your arms and chest.  

“I didn’t say anything!” You squealed as he managed to throw a small amount of paint on you again.  There was this look on his face now that seemed so joyous yet dangerous, like he was plotting something that was no good.  

Your suspicious were confirmed when he started to pull off his own clothes and you realised that he was evening the playing field – this was now war.  Like teenagers, the two of you started running around the room throwing paint at one another and laughing with the highest amounts of joy you’d experienced in so long.  It was freeing and peaceful.  The type of thing, you realised, love songs and stories were made of.  

“God, I love you,” Jayson confessed as he grabbed you around the waist, his chest covered in the red and yellow paint that covered your hands, and you covered in the blue and green that covered his.  

“I love you,” you replied with a massive grin, your arms wrapping around him and you pressed your lips to his.  

“I have an idea,” Jayson smiled as rubbed your core over his dick.

“Are you ever not horny?” you asked, feeling just how much he’d started to feel in a very short amount of time.

“‘Could ask you the same thing?” he smirked before raising his eyebrows at you.  

It was the easiest transition from him holding you to the two of you on the floor, on top of a massive canvas he’d had laying there for the past few days.  You’re on top of him, hands pressed against the canvas as he switched between gripping your hips and your tits, while you rode his cock like a pro.  Your head was thrown back, the lube he’d drenched on his cock before you climbed on made everything feel so much better.  

“Roll your hips just like that baby,” he encouraged you with dark eyes, “you know how to do me right.”

You keep going on top of him until he tells you to stop.  You climbed off him and watched as he hit his cock roughly.  He didn’t want to cum yet, he wanted to do more, you could see it in his face.  You carefully lent forward, your hands leaving prints on the canvas and you gently kissed his lips.

“You okay?” he asked softly as he slipped his hand down your back.

“I’m okay, baby,” you smiled, “I’m just checking if you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” he echoed and kissed you again, “I have an idea though.”

He sat up as he spoke and moved to be behind you.  He kissed your shoulders and your neck and moved you gently, but with a certain sense of control that made you that much hotter.  You on all fours had given him this idea of your body’s print on the canvas.  Your tits were covered in paint, as was the rest of your torso, it would be a sight to see.  One he needed to see.

He pushed your chest down and guided your ass up leaving your pretty pussy on full display for him.  He let a stream of spit drip onto your throbbing hole and pressed his thumb against it, rubbing and teasing you and making you moan loudly.  You pushed your hips back and wiggled your ass, trying to get him to slip inside you again.

“I want you face down and ass up till I fill that pussy up,” he ordered, his hand pushing you down even more so you were pressed fully into the canvas.

“Whatever you want Jay, just fuck me.”

When he slipped into you again, he filled you to the hilt and did nothing to hold himself back.  He fucked you into the canvas and watched with a devilish grin as you spread your hands out to try and grip on to something.  It left pretty marks over the canvas and made him think more and more about how your tit print is gonna look.

“Your tits are gonna look so good on here baby,” he moaned before smacking your ass, “almost as good as you fucking feel right now, oh fuck.”

You turned your head to the side and let your moans sing along with his.  He was so turned on that it was driving you crazy, you didn’t even know what it was but you needed it to happen more.

“Are you gonna cum?”

“Say that again?” you asked as you lowered your coffee mug from your lips, your cheeks red.

“Are you gonna come?” Jayson asked again, “to the ring ceremony?  I know you’ve covered me and Jaylen before, so it would make sense if they fly you out for it.”

You smiled and nodded your head, “I hope they do.  I’ll let them know you asked, might give them the push to do it.”  

“You can give them my number if you want, they can call and I’ll let them know that I personally want you there.”  He winked at you and made you blush yet again.  

You only had a few more questions left, you’d gotten a lot of content from Jayson in the past 30 minutes, you were really grateful for it.  You knew it would read well too and would most likely give you more opportunities for future cover stories.  You knew you could write this well.  You were determined to as well, not just for yourself but for Jayson too.  

You had one final question to ask and it made you smile, this was all very full circle considering you started with a middle-type question.

“Lastly, how are you?  How does it feel to be doing a cover story?”

He chuckled a little and rubbed his temple, “no matter how many I do, I always love doing them.  I forget how good it feels to be in front of the camera, honestly.  I feel real important and I really enjoy being the centre of attention.”  

You giggled a little at this comment and it makes him smile even more, “I really enjoyed talking to you too, I hope we can do this again sometime.”

“Hopefully when I’m in for the ring ceremony,” you replied and you both share a short laugh before you’re thanking him and officially ending your audio recording.

Wrapping things up is a much quicker process than getting everything set up.  Before you know it, you’ve shaken everyone on his team's hands and thanked them for having you.  The photographers have told you they’ll be in contact within the next few days and just like that you’re standing in the elevator and the doors are almost closed.

Almost closed before someone stuck their hand in and forced the doors open again.

“Sorry,” Jayson said and slid in quickly, and pushed the closed door button.  He moved to stand beside you and together, you watched the doors closed.

“I’ve been waiting to do this all day,” Jayson mumbled as he cupped your face in his hand and kissed you.  You welcomed his embrace and wrapped your arms around his waist.

“Hey baby,” you cooed, looking up at him.

“How long are you here for?” he asked, his hand not so subtly grabbing at your behind, “I’m not leaving your side for the rest of it.”

“30 hours,” you went on your tiptoes quickly and kissed the base of his neck, “I have a couple things I want to do.”

“Mm,” he hummed at the feeling of your lips still on his neck, “I’m so proud of you, this is such a big opportunity and you crushed all that shit.  Everyone was saying they’re so impressed with you.”  

“Do you wanna show me how proud you are?” you asked looking up at him, finally feeling like you can let out everything you’ve been feeling and thinking about.

“Oh,” Jayson said as he realised, “okay then, we gotta go.”

[reizeken]

fics i wanna write cause there's a criminal lack of steph curry works in NBA rpf

Lebron/Steph (i think they literally can't stop going back to each other, doomed couple, I love it)

KD/Steph (COME ON, AM I INSANE, OR DID NONE OF YA'LL ACCEPT THE SEXUAL TENSION PRESENT, EVEN LOFTER ISN'T ALL TOO HOT WITH THIS)

Giannis/Steph (Since the mandarin authors left I need more, cause the size diff)

Ja/Steph (ok, guilty pleasure, I think I'm legit the only one who's ever written it lmfaooo)

sorry klay.....you've lost privileges for a bit

[goldfades]

THAT ONE INTERVIEW OF NIGEL HAYES!!! where he compliments an interviewer not knowing his mic was on!!! but with Melo and reader 😏

that little clip makes me laugh out loud every time, he's such a cutie<3 here's the link to the clip if anyone doesn't know what it is.

The press room buzzed with the usual energy—journalists murmuring amongst themselves, cameras flashing, the scent of stale coffee lingering in the air. You adjusted your recorder, waiting for your turn to speak, your pulse steady despite the way Lamelo Ball leaned back in his chair, all loose confidence and easy charm.

His chain glinted under the fluorescent lights as he rubbed a hand over his jaw, eyes scanning the room with the kind of half-lidded amusement that said he was here, but not really.

When the mic was passed to you, you cleared your throat, steady and professional. Business first.

"Lamelo, you had 12 assists tonight, really facilitating the offense. What was your mindset going into this game?"

He turned his attention to you, and for a split second, something flickered in his gaze—something slow, like recognition, or maybe curiosity. Then he nodded, smirking a little before responding.

"Man, you know, just trying to get my guys involved," he said, voice smooth, a little lazy, like he had all the time in the world. "Push the pace, play my game. We locked in."

Then, in the space between his answer and the next question, he turned slightly to his right, speaking under his breath to the teammate beside him, like a secret meant to slip between the noise.

"God, she's beautiful."

Except—his mic was still on.

The room went silent.

A half-second delay before the realization hit, the weight of it settling over the space like a held breath. Someone coughed. A few reporters exchanged glances. And Lamelo—blinking, tilting his head slightly—hadn’t caught on yet.

But you had. Oh, you definitely had.

You sat there, frozen, your brain short-circuiting as the words settled.

God, she’s beautiful.

There was no mistaking it. No talking your way around it. The mic was on. Everyone heard it. You heard it.

Heat crawled up your neck, an involuntary reaction, and you prayed—begged—that it wasn’t obvious. That the flush creeping up your skin wasn’t as bright as it felt. You swallowed hard, fingers tightening around your recorder as you willed yourself to keep it together, to stay composed like a real professional and not someone who’d just been complimented—unintentionally—on live broadcast.

The press room stayed eerily quiet for a second too long, just enough for Lamelo to register the shift in energy.

His brow furrowed slightly, scanning the room like he’d missed something. Then—

"Yo," one of his teammates next to him muttered under his breath, stifling a grin. "You know your mic’s still on, right?"

Lamelo blinked.

Paused.

Then, realization hit.

“…Man, stop playin’.”

His friend just snorted, shaking his head. Someone a few seats away coughed in that way people do when they’re trying not to laugh, and Melo’s whole posture shifted—his lips pressing together, his shoulders tensing just slightly. The usual smooth, cocky ease he carried himself with wasn’t gone exactly, but there was a crack in it now, like he was trying to figure out if he could play it off or if he was officially cooked.

He glanced up.

Right at you.

You felt it like a pulse, like a static charge in the air, your stomach flipping as his eyes met yours—just for a second, but long enough. You could tell he was watching for your reaction, waiting to see if you’d ignore it, laugh it off, maybe call him out for it. And, honestly? You didn’t even know what to do.

But then, someone from the back made it worse.

"Boy got caught up bad," a voice snickered, and the laughter spread.

Lamelo exhaled sharply, shaking his head, lips twitching like he was this close to breaking into a smile but still trying to keep some kind of composure. "Man, y’all do too much."

"You did that to yourself, bro."

More laughter. A few reporters shifting in their seats, some smiling like they were already drafting the headlines in their heads. Melo let out a low, disbelieving chuckle, tilting his head back for a second like he needed to reset before shaking it off. When he looked back down, he was him again—cool, unbothered, like this was not about to be the most viral moment of the week.

"Anyway," he said, stretching the word out, voice dipping into something smooth, like he could charm his way out of this. "Y’all got basketball questions or what?"

His teammates lost it.

"Ooooh, nahhh, don’t try to switch up now."

"We still on that, bro."

"Nah, 'cause what happened to ‘she’s beautiful’ though?"

Your breath hitched.

You should have moved on. Should have just kept your eyes on your notes, pretended none of this was happening. But instead, you made the mistake—the critical, game-ending mistake—of looking back at him.

And Melo?

He was already looking at you.

And smirking.

That was it. That was the moment you knew you weren’t making it out of this press conference alive.

The second the press conference ended, you were on autopilot—grabbing your recorder, gathering your notes, avoiding eye contact like it was a sport. You could feel the looks, the amused glances from reporters who were definitely about to tweet about this, the knowing smirks from the camera crew. But you kept it moving, acting like nothing happened, like your name wasn’t about to be in some viral caption in the next twenty minutes.

At least your coworkers were chill. Kind of.

"You good?" Mark asked, struggling to hold back his grin as you joined your group near the media area.

"Perfect," you replied, pretending to check your notes.

"Right, right," Sarah chimed in, biting her lip, clearly trying not to laugh. "Not at all flustered. Totally unfazed. Just another day at work."

You exhaled sharply, rubbing your temples. "Please do not start."

Mark raised his hands in mock surrender. "I mean, listen, I’d be flustered too if a whole NBA player called me beautiful in front of the entire league—"

"Goodbye," you said immediately, turning like you were about to walk away, but before you could, the air around you shifted.

A presence.

A tall, effortlessly smooth presence.

You didn’t have to look up to know who it was.

Sarah and Mark definitely did, though, because they both stiffened slightly before immediately straightening up.

"Alright, well—gotta go file this story," Mark announced way too quickly, already backing away.

"Yeah, same, crazy deadlines, you know how it is," Sarah added, shooting you a look before she turned on her heel and disappeared.

Traitors.

You sighed through your nose, finally turning—only to be met with Lamelo Ball standing way too close, looking way too pleased with himself.

"Your friends move fast," he noted, watching them go with mild amusement.

You folded your arms, leveling him with a look. "Gee, wonder why."

Melo just grinned at that, head tilting slightly, eyes doing that slow, deliberate scan like he was taking his time. "They ain’t real for leaving you like that."

"They’re very real for leaving me like that," you shot back. "They don’t wanna be part of whatever this is."

He raised a brow. "This?"

"You know exactly what I’m talking about, Ball."

That smirk—God, that smirk—was back, effortless and cocky, like he thrived off moments like this. Like getting caught slipping on the mic wasn’t even a little embarrassing to him.

"You ain’t gotta say my last name like that," he mused, tilting his head. "Sound like my coach."

"I am trying to coach you. Into leaving me alone."

Melo let out a low chuckle, shaking his head like you were funny. "Nah, you love this."

You opened your mouth, ready to object, to say literally anything to wipe that look off his face—but then he took one slow, deliberate step closer, lowering his voice just slightly.

"And I was right, by the way."

You blinked. "Huh?"

He looked right at you then, gaze steady, almost lazy with confidence. "What I said. In there."

Your breath hitched before you could stop it.

Melo noticed.

And the way his smirk deepened—like he could hear the way your pulse jumped—was borderline illegal.

You should’ve played it off, should’ve brushed past it, but the words weren’t coming, and he knew it.

"Anyway," he drawled, finally breaking the moment with an easy shrug. "You got your little questions in. Think it’s only fair if I ask one now."

You exhaled sharply, finally regaining some sense of control. "I highly doubt anything you’re about to ask is relevant to basketball."

He grinned. "Might be. Might not be."

You narrowed your eyes. "Lamelo."

His smirk only grew. "Lemme get your number."

Your stomach flipped.

"You’re unbelievable," you muttered, shaking your head like you couldn’t believe him.

He put a hand over his chest, mock offended. "What I do?"

"You know what you did."

"Just tryna network," he said, all faux innocence. "Make connections. Y’all in media, ain’t that your thing?"

"You’re ridiculous."

"But you laughin’, though."

Dammit. You were.

And Melo saw it.

He leaned in just slightly, voice dropping again, all warm amusement. "C’mon now. You got me out here embarrassing myself—least you could do is gimme a chance to redeem myself."

You exhaled, fighting the involuntary smile creeping onto your lips.

And then—before you could stop yourself—you reached for your phone.

[melosgirl]

boyfriend!lamelo ball headcannons

his love languages are physical touch and quality time.

he’s busy a lot so he always tries to spend as much time with you as possible. even if it's not an extravagant date he wants to spend time with you.

during away games he will facetime you every night, even if he's tired.

he's an ass squeezer. you often get mad at him for it but he doesn't care. he’ll grab your ass every chance he gets.

he loves it when you play with his hair. he loves laying on your chest and getting his hair played with.

he needs comfort after bad practices and games. sometimes he takes it out on you and needs a reminder not to do that. but you put up with him and realize what he needs.

this man is always sleeping so lots of naps together. he struggles to sleep without you on away games.

he just loves physical touch. he will come home and literally flop on top of you. he’s always wrapping his arms around you. he's more of an arm around the waist guy instead of holding hands.

he’s honestly a really nervous guy around you at the beginning of the relationship. he’s really respectful and cautious when you guys start dating but once he warms up to you he becomes his usual loud self.

he loves it when you kiss his neck. this is a random one but i can just see him loving neck kisses.

he sits in the bathroom while you shower and vice versa. you guys often shower together but if not you guys will sit in there while the other person showers just to talk to eachother.

when you guys argue its usually over stupid stuff but if its a real argument he gets petty but if he knows he messed up he will apologize first.

when youre on your period this man is an angel. he will literally do anything for you if youre sick or on your period.

speaking of, when melo is sick he is the biggest baby. he will whine and cry for you anytime you leave the room.

he loves to play basketball with you, even if you suck, he will lift you up so you can dunk.

gets you all the free LaFrance you want. he’ll also ask you to model for LaFrance.

he loves you so much and if an interviewer ever asks about you he gets so excited and praises you so much.

he loves carrying you. when you fall asleep he will always carry you to bed.

“baby” , “ma” , “mama"

~ NSFW BELOW THE CUT ~

size kink. we all know this man is 6’7 so he looooves when you tell him how big he is and he loves seeing the size difference between you two.

he loves your ass. like i said earlier it applies to sex too. he just grabs your ass and is obsessed with it. this also means he loves backshots.

he gets hard just from you sitting in his lap. or just being around you in general.

this is oddly specific but he loves when you ride him in his car. like for some reason rhat really urns him on.

he’s such a praiser when your riding him,

“youre doing so good baby” “keep going, feels so good"

he’ll get so worked up when he’s away from you and he will be so desperate the second he sees you.

he’s literally up for anything.

he’s definitely an ass man but still loves your tits. no matter the size he loves them. the first time he saw your tits he was shook and became obsessed.

he gets jealous a lot. which means jealous sex. being an NBA player he's often around a lot of good-looking guys. when you interact with them he gets jealous and fucks you so you only remember his name.

he gets really turned on when you call him ‘lamelo'

[vintagebueckers]

   ꒰       ࣪˖𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ─  𝓟𝐑𝐎𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅𝐅 , lamelo ball    .ᐟ  .ᐣ       ꒱

★ he needed to be nothing like your ex and everything your parents hated. he needed to be loud, flashy, heavily tattooed, and slight obnoxious. everything your ex boyfriend wasn't, just to spite your ex for cheating on you with some no name bitch at a party and your parents for constantly pushing you to date there friends insufferable children. they were all the same, insecure, shallow and boring. sure you would go along with it for your parents sake, but there was only so much jealousy and fragile male ego you could take before you had enough.

★ and today was that day. this wasn't by any mean's a premeditated plan of action. no quite the opposite, it was a spur of the moment decision that was born from boredom and a result of retail therapy on you ex's card (which he didn't know was missing) failing to lift your spirits. that's when you decided date someone you knew would get a rise out of both your ex boyfriend and parents, kill two birds with one stone.

★ someone so outlandish and removed from the safe cookie cutter rich boy's you were use to having on your arm, and someone who could both give your mother a heart attack and make your ex spiral with jealousy before the weeks end. it was a masterstroke of genuine, and to be honest you should have though about doing this sooner. it was genius, all you had to do was go on a date have the paparazzi snap a few pictures and boom everyone who you wanted to be pissed of would be that and then some in a matter of seconds.

★ your friend had set this up for you, her text stating that she had found the perfect person for your devious plan and send you the link to a reservation at you favourite new york restaurant with a hundred percent guarantee of paparazzi being present. guaranteeing your face would be all over the front page by nine o' clock tomorrow, though your friend wouldn't say who would be waiting for you at the restaurant. and though you would never admit it.

★ the idea of not knowing who you were meeting in advance made you nervous, as while you did want to piss of as many people as humanly possible in twenty four hours. what if this went horribly wrong? you mulled it over during the two hours you took to get ready, as you picked out your best outfit, applying a light face of make-up but with a sharp eye as to not look to plain, giving yourself a simple yet effortless hairstyle to tie it all together. before adding the final finishing touches, simple yet elegant jewellery and perfume. and by the time you were done, your driver was waiting to whisk you away.

★ which means it was to late to turn back now. any trace of uncertainty you had the moment you stepped out of the car, game faces only. but nothing could have prepared you for the shock of who was at the table. lamelo ball, your ex's favourite basketball player someone who he would yack on about for hours at a time to the point it had become white noise. a smile tugged at your lips as you walked to the table "this seat taken?" you asked knowing full well what the answer would be. "nah, all your ma." he said standing up to pull out her chair "you come here often, or am I just lucky tonight?" oh now this was going to be fun "show me a good time and you'll find out handsome"

all rights reserved, ©vintagebueckers.

[darling-flora]

reader’s camera roll during jp3's golden state era

inspired by this post by @elyseesarchive ❤

[trentlvrr]

Take care - J. McCain

info n stuff: I was so surprised to see that there are literally no fics of Jared McCain so yk i had to take things into my own hands lol! This is a pretty short lil imagine/oneshot, hope you enjoy! :D

—————————————————————————

Jared and I’s skin glowed gorgeous golden shades as the afternoon sun shined through the living room. I softly hummed along to drakes 2011 album as I parted my boyfriend’s hair in 4 sections, preparing to try out a new curl routine for his soft coils. The tv buzzed with info and opinions on last nights game, my boyfriend’s attention fully focused on the screen - or so I thought. I smiled softly, thinking about how simple yet beautiful this moment is. “Baby,” Jared’s voice softly spoke. “Yes love?” I replied. “I love you babe, so much” he continued. I chuckled heartily. “I know J, I love you more” I retuned. I couldn’t see it, but I could feel a wide grin forming on his face. I smiled as I pulled his head back gently, placing a delicate kiss on his forehead. I pulled back not soon after, his tender brown eyes beaming into mine. “What is it?” I giggled airily. “I love you” he whispered. “You said that already J” I responded, my face hurting from the huge smile taking over it. “I know” he smiled softly. I grinned as I adjusted his head, continuing the curl routine. Jared moved a bit, reaching to grab crimson red, pure white and royal blue nail polishes before settling back down. I watched him, my eyes full of admiration, as he gently repainted his nails. I watched closely as he tried his hardest to not be messy with the application. I smiled to myself as I twisted the first section of his hair up, getting it out of the way. Sigh, I’m really in love with this man. 

[csacg]

Someday - JM

summary: molly and her boyfriend of one year, jared, have a conversation about their future while driving back home.

warnings: none

word count: 621

a/n: this is entirely self-indulgent, i'm obsessed with sweetheart Jared rn and his energy. someone get him on an nba team with people who want to win.... anyways...

The soft hum of the tires against the road filled the car, mixing with the faint music playing in the background. Molly rested her head against the window, watching the streetlights flicker past. Jared drove with one hand on the wheel, his other resting casually on the gearshift, his thumb drumming a quiet rhythm.

They had been at one of their favorite late-night spots, and now the comfortable quiet of the drive home felt just as special.

Jared broke the silence first. “So, I was thinking,” he started, his tone casual but deliberate.

Molly turned her head toward him, raising an eyebrow. “About?”

“About us,” he said, glancing at her briefly before returning his focus to the road. “About the future.”

Molly blinked, the words catching her slightly off guard. “The future, huh?”

“Yeah,” Jared said, his lips twitching into a small smile. “You ever think about it?”

She hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. “I mean, yeah. Sometimes. Why?”

Jared shrugged, his thumb tapping against the wheel. “I just… I don’t know. I guess I’ve been thinking about where this is going. What we want, you know?”

Molly’s chest tightened, her heartbeat quickening. “And… what do you want?”

Jared’s smile softened, his eyes glinting in the dim light. “I want you. Like… in my life. For a long time.”

Molly stared at him, her breath catching. “Jared��”

“I mean it,” he said, cutting her off gently. “I know we’ve only been together for a year, but I just—” He paused, gripping the wheel a little tighter. “I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

Molly was quiet, her mind racing as she processed his words.

“And I don’t mean, like, tomorrow or anything,” Jared continued, his voice steady but earnest. “But someday. You know?”

Molly swallowed hard, her hands clasping together in her lap. “Someday?”

Jared glanced at her again, his smile returning. “Yeah. Someday. Like… our place. Maybe a dog. Or two. Definitely not a cat, though, because I’m allergic.”

Molly let out a small laugh, though her eyes were wide. “You’re serious.”

“Of course I’m serious,” Jared said, his tone softening. “I love you, Molly. I’m not going to pretend I don’t think about this stuff. About us.”

Her heart swelled, and she felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. “I just… I didn’t think guys your age thought about things like that.”

Jared smirked. “Guess I’m not like other guys.”

Molly smiled, wiping at her eyes as she shook her head. “No, you aren’t,” she said, her voice warm. "You're something else."

“Maybe,” Jared said, reaching over to take her hand in his. “But I’m also in love with you. And I know what I want.”

Molly’s fingers tightened around his, her chest feeling impossibly full. “Jared… I don’t even know what to say.”

“Say you’ve thought about it too,” he said quietly, his voice laced with hope.

She smiled, her thumb brushing against his hand. “I have. I mean, I’ve always thought about the future in a general sense, but… you’re in it. You’re all over it.”

Jared’s grip on her hand tightened, his expression softening even further. “Good. Because that’s how I feel too.”

Molly looked at him, her chest filling with a warmth she couldn’t quite describe. “You really mean it, don’t you? All of this?”

“Every word,” Jared said, his tone steady and sure.

She smiled, her heart feeling impossibly full. “Okay. Someday, then.”

“Someday,” Jared agreed, lifting her hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles.

And in that moment, with the quiet hum of the car and the stars lighting their way, it felt like someday wasn’t so far away.

[swiftsmlb]

dating jayson tatum includes.

jayson tatum x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of sex.

authors note: hi. jayson tatum imagine here! hope you all like it. my first nba imagine on here! requests are open!

the both of you met after a game, after he accidentally fell on you during the game

he NEEDED to make sure you were alright. and you were. thankfully!

jayson asking you to dinner as an apology

things took off from there

you both became inseparable

jayson is such a gentleman. treats you so right

jayson teasing you about how short you are

cuddles 24/7

jayson being the big spoon all the time

he loves it when you run your fingers through his hair

jayson loves everything about you

tells you how beautiful are, every damn day

now… if we are being honest: jayson is the jealous type

he gets possessive easily. but not in a toxic way

he just loves you and hates lingering eyes on what’s his

facetime calls when he’s away

post-game sex.

make up sex

shower sex!

jayson loves to praise you. even if it isn’t during sex

helping him when he’s sore

late-night car rides !

getting matching tattoos with one another

jayson giving you nicknames “ darling” and “ angel”

going to every home game

wearing his jersey, always

supporting one another always

baking together! he loves to help - even though he sucks at it!

being there for him through the toughest losses

and being there for the huge wins

being loyal to one another

your his angel. it was like fate when he fell on you that night

[realtapiocafan]

The Jays - Invisible String

credit: anontatum on twitter

[padfootastic]

i just want to put it out there that sirius black is scary as fuck from a purely physical point of view.

he’s tall as shit, has been since fifth year when he got his growth spurt, and he has tendency to loom over most people.

there’s also the matter of his poker face—it’s impeccable, untouchable. can make anyone feel like him stuck to the bottom of his shoe. he learnt it from the best in house black and it’s his default. there’s a reason people are afraid of approaching him, and are slightly awed by james’ ability to unconditionally do so at all times.

his magic is ridiculously sentient. it swirls around him at all times, often feeling suffocating to those near him. he doesn’t even notice how it swells with his emotions, rising in his defence without him having to call it. at times, it can feel like a brick wall, that’s how powerful it is. and it’s cold. people have been known to shiver and turn into metaphorical icicles around him.

and he’s also just intimidating in a—social capital way ykno? so much money, training, and status. it shows. he could be dressed in a potato sack and he’d still reek of royalty. which is essentially what the blacks are.

and this is it u don’t take padfoot into account. this fuckoff huge Grim who’s literally an omen of death, easily twice the size of any human around him, just bounding around with sharp canines on display and malice in his eyes. it’s the easiest thing to piss ur pants when u come into contact w him.

[bluewatersfairy]

ease my mind (come over) - j.p.

a/n: happy new year! here's the first part of a series that's been sitting in my drafts for months (it'll be about 4 parts, the first two are written).

synopsis: reader is in their first year on the wizard's media team and has a run in with the teams star while working late at the facility.

warnings: none! my first clean nba fic, how far we have come.

word count: 1.8k she's short and cute

•••

Your eyes felt like they were starting to burn with how long you’d been glued to your computer screen.  This was your first year working media for the Wizards and you were determined to prove yourself a worthy hire.  

Having lived in Washington for University, you’d attended several Wizards games over the years – they were a good first date option and you often found yourself cheering for the underdog.  One of the last guys you’d gone with had assumed you were from the area, commenting on how you were so overprotective of a team that has definitely seen better years.  That’s part of the reason why when someone posted the job vacancy on one of your old class pages, you applied.  

Now you were a week in with the media team and today was your first day with the actual team and everything had been blowing by you so quickly, you barely had time to process it.  So far, they’d given you jobs that were difficult to fuck up, but you wanted more than that.  You were above an intern (thank god) so you were actually shooting the camera and editing, but it was all behind-the-scenes shots.  

It was a bit like being a kid at a family event.  You were shadowing a few higher ups and fading into the background as best as possible while they were doing their thing with the players.  Most, if not all, of your shots that you’d been working on all night had included no players' faces.  Barely any faces actually.  But you’d created something of a story out of it and had managed to turn each photo into something you were proud of.  

In your head, it was giving justice-league doing interviews after saving the city.  You had everyone on the roster and could easily make a graphic out of it.  You had that fizzy feeling in your fingers as you switched between your tablet and the computer, mapping out what it could be for your pitch tomorrow.  

Interrupting your stream of thought, your phone lit up on the desk beside you, violently vibrating – making you jump.  It was your roommate calling to see when you were going to be home.  It was gone midnight and they were starting to get worried.  You begrudgingly told them you’d be home by one and started to get ready to go.  You made sure to transfer the pictures you’d spent hours on to your tablet as well as a few video clips you’d taken “just in case”.  It was gonna take 25 minutes for everything to transfer (the wifi was stupidly slow), so you grabbed your camera and phone and figured you’d take a walk around the facility and see if there was anything that caught your attention.  

You weren’t thinking of much, maybe you’d find a fun angle of the courts or something about the building that seemed aesthetically pleasing.  You were all of 3 metres out of your office when you heard the faint echo of basketballs hitting the floor and shoes squeaking.  Not exactly what you were expecting, but you followed it all the same. 

Standing at the doorway to the basketball courts, you were met with the one and only #13, Jordan Poole, shooting mid range jumpers.  He had his earbuds in and was shirtless, glistening in sweat.  He’d clearly been here for a while.  You hadn’t realised you’d been so concentrated that you didn’t hear the only other sound in the building until you were pushed out of your office.  The door was wide open too. 

“Yoo,” Jordan dragged out in surprise when he turned to see you.  His hand instinctively reached up to take one of his earbuds out and he knocked away a ball.  His eyes first scanned over your face, then down your body before they landed on your camera.  He made eye contact with you and stood still for a second before pointing at you.

“You’re the new media girl,” he identified as he started to walk a bit closer to you, a ball now tucked under his arm, “I’m not gonna pretend to know your name but I’m Jordan.”  He held his hand out to you and you slowly took it, staring up at him minorly confused and somewhat dazed.

“I know,” the words fell out of your mouth before you could stop yourself.  He smirked briefly and let go of your hand, “I’m Y/N, and yeah.  The new media girl.”  

“I didn’t think anyone else was here,” he said tilting his head to the side, “I would’ve let you know otherwise.  I’ve got a key and all the alarm codes so you don’t have to worry about me getting out if you’re heading home.”  

“Oh, I’m not-” you cut yourself off again and looked behind you at nothing in particular, “I mean, I am about to leave, but I’m not.  Yet.”  Every part of your body was telling you to stop talking, to say goodnight, turn around and leave.  But your feet couldn’t move.  You were stuck in mud under Jordan’s gaze.  He looked tired, really tired.

“You look like you have a question,” he smiled as he took out his other earbud, “or like you're lost.  I can’t really tell.”  He chuckled a little, mostly to himself and turned his eyes to the floor before he started walking to where his stuff was.  

“I’m not that type of media person,” you said, slowly following him, “I just take pictures and videos, I don’t ask questions.”  You stopped about 4 metres away from where he was bent over.  He was putting his earbuds away, you realised.

“You, as a person,” he turned his head to face you, “don’t ask questions?” he raised his eyebrows and again started to smirk.  He was playing with you, teasing you.  You were too tired to properly process any of this. 

“I do, of course!” you exclaimed a little too loudly, your eyes widening at the sound of your voice, “I ask too many actually, but I don't get paid to, y’know?  So you don’t have to do any dodging with me, I just,” you paused and raised your camera, “take pictures.”

“And videos,” he added, pointing at you.  

��And videos.”  You took a deep breath and lowered your hand.  You were realising, right then, that you did in fact have a question for him.  

“Can I ask you a question?”

He smiled, like he was waiting for you to get there and patted the seat beside him, “only if you sit down next to me.”

So you did.  You sat down and pulled your legs up to tuck them under you.  Jordan turned slightly so he was facing you better and for the first time, you caught his scent.  It was mixed with his sweat, but it was rich and smooth, and oh so familiar.  Not that you could put your finger on it.  

“Hit me,” he said, pulling you out of your head again.  He smiled brightly at you and you returned it.

“Is there something about our media team that makes you uncomfortable?” you blurted out, it’d been on the tip of your tongue all day.  “At Golden State, you seemed so warm to the media team, but here, you look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

His smile slowly faded and he looked down at his lap, biting his bottom lip slightly before pushing his lips together.  He looked at you and pushed his tongue between his teeth. 

“It’s not just with this team, your team,” Jordan said honestly, “there was just a point where I felt like I couldn’t say the right thing so I just,” he paused and leant back in his seat, “pulled back with them.”  

Jordan sat in thought for a moment before turning to look at you to see what you had to say.  You didn’t have much, to be honest.  You’d not known this media team all that long and the only reason you even knew any of this was because you were a fan of the team.  And Jordan.  

“I feel like I’ve seen you before,” Jordan broke out of the conversation and leant forward, dropping the look of vulnerability that very briefly crossed his face.  “‘You come to games often?”

You laughed, accepting you were moving on from your once serious conversation.  “I do, it’s sort of my go-to first date idea.”  

Jordan made a face before the two of you shared a quick chuckle, “you like watching your home team lose on a date?”  

“Hey,” you quipped, swatting at his arm, god his arms were solid, “you guys won most of the games I was at.”  

He rolled his eyes and chuckled a little, “no wonder I remember your face then, you must be our good luck charm.”

Before you could respond your phone started buzzing again.  Your roommate was video calling you this time, not a good sign.  So, you declined it and tucked it under your thigh.  

“It’s late,” Jordan said as he glanced at his watch.  He’d watched you decline a call from one ‘loveyyy’ and he decided he wasn’t putting himself in a smart position.  “You must have someone waiting at home for you.”

“Just a roommate who listens to the traffic radar too much,” you stood up, following Jordan and looked up at him for a moment when a thought crossed your mind.

“Did you enjoy doing the mini mic interviews?”  He was caught off guard, it showed in the way his eyebrows shot up and he instantly smiled.

“I did,” he nodded his head, “I dunno why they didn’t try and keep them going here.  They talked about it for a minute last season.”  

That was your entry point, you were sure of it.  Jordan was always stand offish towards everyone but he seemed to like talking to you.  If you could get him a mini mic and a few questions, you were sure you could make something of it.  A season-long series would basically prove your worth, secure you a proper spot on the team and Jordan was their best option for media engagement.  He was charismatic and good looking; the perfect poster boy. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you called to him as you started walking off, your brain in quick motion, “hopefully with a mini mic.”

“I look forward to it,” Jordan called out after you.

Truthfully, he wasn’t sure what he’d just set up, but he liked your vibe.  You were easy to talk to and finally stopped the thought that had been spinning in his head all day.  This felt like a do-or-die season.  If he didn’t play his best, he wasn’t sure they’d keep him around come February.  And he wanted to stay here, he wanted to make a name for himself separate from everyone else.   

[reizeken]

I need bitches to pitch in with the ja/steph fics cause otherwise i'mma have to make my boy yuki stay awake to beta read thee most devastating ja/steph and steph/bron fics

GIVE ME IDEAS YA'LL

[goldfades]

first i just wanna say that i’ve been LOVINGGGG your devin fics, i’ve been waiting for someone to start writing for him on here and you’ve been killing it. with that being said could you maybe write like a dad devin fic??

omg thank you sm!! im so glad youre enjoying the dbook fics as much as i've enjoyed writing them!

yes, dad!dev is something we ALL need, i hope you enjoy!

Devin swore he was having a boy.

The whole pregnancy, he just knew. Called it early. Told everyone who would listen. He pictured it perfectly—mini jerseys, driveway hoops, passing down his fadeaway, teaching him how to read defenses like second nature.

“Booker Jr.,” he’d joke, smirking as he rested a hand on your belly. “I can already tell he’s gonna have a jumper.”

You’d just roll your eyes, smile soft, amused by his certainty. “And what if it’s a girl?”

He’d never outright say he didn’t want a girl, but you knew him well enough to recognize the hesitation. Not because he wouldn’t love her—of course he would—but because he didn’t know what to do with a daughter. A boy? That was easy. He could see the whole blueprint. But a girl?

That was unknown territory.

Then the ultrasound happened.

And all his confidence? His dead-set knowing? Completely shattered the second the tech pointed at the screen and said, “It’s a girl!”

You’d laughed as his mouth dropped open, as he blinked in complete disbelief, staring at the grainy black-and-white image like it had personally betrayed him. “Nah. No way.”

The tech had just chuckled. “Definitely a girl, Dad.”

Dad.

That word hit him harder than anything else.

And from that moment on, something in him started to shift.

It was slow at first. Small things. The way he’d linger in the baby aisle a little longer when you were shopping, eyes tracing over the tiny pink onesies even though he swore he wasn’t a “pink” guy. The way his hand would automatically settle over your stomach, like he was already getting used to the idea of protecting her.

And then she was here.

And everything he thought he knew? Everything he thought he wanted?

Gone.

The first time he held her—this tiny, wrinkly, impossibly small little thing—his whole world shrank down to just her. Her little fingers wrapping around his pinky, her sleepy sigh as she settled against his chest, the way her presence alone made everything else feel insignificant.

The moment was so much bigger than him. Bigger than basketball, bigger than all the things he thought mattered.

And suddenly, he couldn’t remember why he ever thought he needed a boy.

Because this? This little girl in his arms? She was everything.

And from that moment on, Devin became that dad.

The one who used to think pink was “too much” but now found himself voluntarily buying pastel-colored sneakers because they matched his daughter’s bows. The one who had always rolled his eyes at those dads who got wrapped around their daughters’ fingers but now found himself sitting through tea parties with a too-small tiara perched on his head like it was a Championship ring.

And the crazy part?

He loved it.

Every single second.

He had gone from being scared shitless of raising a daughter to being the most obsessed girl dad on the planet. His daughter—his baby girl—had him in a chokehold from day one, and he didn’t even try to fight it.

He swore she came into this world knowing she had him wrapped around her tiny little finger.

When she was barely two, she started “watching” games with him—not really understanding, just mimicking whatever he did. If he cheered? She clapped. If he groaned at a missed shot? She pouted dramatically, even if she had no clue what was happening.

One night, after a rough loss, he was sitting on the couch, still in his game shorts, running a frustrated hand down his face. And just like that, his little girl—dressed in an oversized Suns hoodie, her curls wild from bedtime—crawled into his lap, patted his chest with her chubby little hand, and said, “It’s okay, Daddy. You win next time.”

Devin had never recovered.

He melted on the spot.

From that moment on, she became his unofficial post-game therapist, always offering tiny pep talks, her voice sweet and serious, completely unaware that she had way more power over him than any coach ever could.

When she was four, she started getting serious about basketball. Devin had been waiting for the day she’d show interest, but he never expected it to happen so early.

It started with her following him out to the driveway whenever he went to shoot around. At first, she’d just sit on the pavement with a juice box, watching him with wide eyes, like she was studying every move. Then one day, she grabbed a tiny rubber ball, stood about three feet from the hoop, and launched it with all the strength her little arms could muster.

It didn’t go in.

It didn’t even come close.

But when she looked up at him, grinning like she’d just hit a game-winner? He swore it was one of his proudest moments.

From then on, every night turned into a mini training session. He bought her a kid-sized hoop, adjusted it just right, and let her shoot until her little arms were too tired to lift the ball. And even then? She still wanted to keep going.

“Again, Daddy!” she’d say, bouncing on her toes.

He’d fake a sigh, wiping pretend sweat off his forehead. “Man, you’re working me harder than my coach.”

She’d giggle, so pleased with herself. “Cause I’m the coach.”

Devin would shake his head, laughing, but the truth?

She was already calling the shots.

When she was six, she had officially claimed the title of Dad’s Biggest Fan.

It wasn’t even up for debate. She was at every home game she could be at, sitting courtside next to you, decked out in her tiny Suns jersey with “BOOKER” on the back—customized, of course, because she insisted on having a pink version instead of the classic orange and purple.

She had every single one of his moves memorized, mimicking them from her seat. The moment he’d hit a three? She’d throw up her little arms, yelling “BANG!” just like the announcers.

And when the camera landed on her? She lived for it.

One game, after a tough play, Devin was walking back to the bench when he heard a tiny voice shout from the front row—

"DADDY, LOCK IN!"

He turned, eyebrows raised, only to see his six-year-old standing on her seat, arms crossed, looking dead serious.

The entire bench lost it.

He could hear KD laughing, Chris shaking his head, even Monty Williams hiding a smile. Devin, meanwhile, had to bite back a grin as he shot her a thumbs-up.

He knew she was going to be a problem.

As she got older, her love for basketball never faded. But she also never let it take away from the other parts of her.

She was a girly girl—the type who wanted her nails painted but also had no problem getting them scuffed up from dribbling too hard. She’d show up to the gym with a pink bow in her hair but would cross you up if you underestimated her. She had your grace and style but his competitive streak, a combination that was downright dangerous.

Devin lived for it.

One night, when she was about ten, she waltzed into the living room in a sparkly dress, hair curled, looking like she was about to walk a red carpet.

Devin raised an eyebrow. “Where you going?”

She grinned. “Dinner with Mom.”

He nodded, approving. “You look beautiful.”

She beamed, twirling once before suddenly stopping, her expression turning dead serious.

“Oh, also…” She adjusted her stance, hands on her hips. “I watched your film from last night. You gotta stop forcing the contested threes.”

Devin choked. “I—what?”

She sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “Dad, be for real. Attack the rim.”

You, sitting on the couch, lost it.

Devin just blinked, completely at a loss, before dragging a hand down his face. “I got my own kid coaching me now?”

She just shrugged, smiling sweetly. “Somebody has to.”

Yeah. He was never recovering from this one.

But no matter what, the older she got, the more Devin realized something:

He had been so stupid for ever thinking he needed a boy.

Because this girl? His girl?

She was his whole world. And every single day, she reminded him of that.

[melosgirl]

hello!! i love your writing it’s so good, could u do a fic where reader is a famous actor and she decides to go to a basket ball game for the first time and is sat court side, u can go wherever u want from there idkk

courtside - lamelo ball

you walk into the arena, the buzzing energy of the crowd hitting you like a wave. the lights are bright, and the air smells like popcorn and excitement. you, y/n l/n, famous actress, used to this kind of attention, but there’s something about tonight that feels different. you're here to unwind, to enjoy the game and forget about the cameras and red carpets for a while.

finding your seat, you slide into it with a comfortable ease. the game starts, and you lose yourself in the rhythm of the court—the bounce of the ball, the swish of the net, the roar of the fans. you’ve always loved basketball, the way the players move like they’re dancing, like they're all in sync with the game.

midway through the first quarter, something catches your eye. one of the players, lamelo ball, dribbles down the court, his tall frame moving smoothly, effortlessly. there’s an undeniable confidence in his step, a swagger, and as he shoots a flawless three-pointer, the crowd erupts. but, strangely, your gaze doesn’t leave him. for a moment, it feels like he’s looking right back at you.

you try to shake it off, figuring it’s just the lighting, or maybe it’s all in your head. but then, after a few more plays, you notice him glance over again. this time, he doesn’t look away. a small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, and you can’t help but feel a flutter in your chest.

after a few minutes, the game pauses for a timeout. the arena’s energy dips slightly as the players gather. lamelo’s eyes linger in your direction for just a second longer, and before you know it, he’s jogging towards the sidelines, pulling off his jersey with a casual air. your heart skips. is this really happening?

he approaches the section where you’re sitting, his confident swagger now unmistakable as he flashes you a quick grin. "hey," he says, his voice deep but warm, almost like he’s known you forever.

"hi," you reply, a little caught off guard by how direct he’s being. your heart beats faster now, your mind racing with thoughts you can barely keep up with.

"i saw you earlier. you’re y/n l/n, right?" lamelo asks, looking at you with curiosity in his eyes.

you nod, surprised he recognized you. "yeah, that’s me."

"thought you looked familiar." he shrugs, his smile widening. "what brings you to the game?"

"just needed to get away for a bit," you say, your voice more casual than you feel. "how about you? just another day on the court?"

he laughs, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "yeah, but i gotta admit, i was hoping to make a good impression tonight."

you can’t help but laugh, feeling the spark between you both grow. you’ve always admired confidence, and lamelo has that in spades.

"well, you’re doing pretty well so far," you tease, feeling your nerves start to melt away.

he grins again, stepping a little closer. "good to know. maybe after the game, i could show you around? i know a few places around here that are perfect for unwinding."

you hesitate for just a second, but the thought of spending time with him sounds pretty nice. you nod, your smile matching his.

"yeah," you say, voice soft but steady. "i think that’d be nice."

he winks at you before turning back to the court, ready to jump back into the game. but the connection is there, undeniable, hanging between you both like an invisible thread.

as the game continues, you can’t help but keep an eye on lamelo, watching how he plays with a fire and focus that matches his personality. and in the back of your mind, you already know that tonight might turn into something unforgettable.

[hvnsinureyes]

𝓃𝑒𝑒𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝒷𝒶𝒷𝓎, 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝐼 𝒷𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝒷𝒶𝒷𝓎. . . | austin reaves

request | “beggingggggggg for reader and drunk!austin after the lakers win the championship and he goes a little too hard on the celebrations”

warnings | nsfw— austin is a munchh, both parties r having consensual sex!!

author’s note | arghhh i’m so happy i got this request…i hope i got this right bc idk why my first thought was smut (i need him so bad)

BY THE TIME YOU REACH THE BATHROOM, purple and gold confetti stuck in your hair, austin is on you like a clingy baby. hands roaming over whatever skin he can touch, lips kissing yours sloppily. he corners you against the wall, stumbling as his palms glide down to the round of your butt. “austin!” you chastise him, surprised at his neediness. earlier he wasn’t this bold.

before this, you were having a conversation with another lakers wag, until austin grabbed your arm and dragged you away— not even excusing himself or anything. just walking straight into the bathroom, ignoring all the “congratulations” hurled at him, and closing it shut. “what has gotten into you?”

“i need you,” he murmured against your skin. “i-i’m so fuckin’ horny.”

“you’re so fucking drunk, actually.”

“i had 4 shots, max.” sure, totally. you open your mouth to protest once again, but he interrupts you, with his stupidly sweet voice.

“c’mon…” he whispers. he grabs your jaw, making you look into his hazy eyes. he’s flustered, like how he gets red after playing for too long. “your baby’s a champion now. you gonna deny the champion what he wants?” you snort at him referring to himself as “the champion”, but austin’s dead serious about taking off your pants.

he pulls down your panties, clothes pooling around your knees, lowering his knees to the ground— you can hear muffled shouts and the pop! of champagne outside, but austin doesn’t give a single damn. he prefers this way of celebrating more. he looks up at you with a lazy grin, proud as he says, “oh, i see she’s missed me too. don’t even need to prep ‘er.”

“you’ve got jokes, huh— oh, fuck.” austin’s fingers enter inside of you, pressing against that one spot that makes you go crazy. you feel so full— unable to think properly as his fingers motion in and out.

“that’s what got me a shot with you, ain’t it?” one thing about austin is that he never shuts up. he talks you through the whole thing, even when his fingers bury deep into your pussy, practically squelching around him. “god, i need a taste,” he breathes out. “can i? please hun?” he knows he doesn’t have to ask, but does anyway to get under your skin. just another way to tease you, to hear you beg because being wanted by you is better than any party or celebration.

“yes, yes!” you cry out, head dropping back to the wall. moans tumble out of your bruised lips, tugging on austin’s hair as he sucks on your clit. that accompanied with the quickened pace of his digits, your legs tremble in pure pleasure, damn near ready to give out beneath you. the nerves in your body burn— unable to keep in the overwhelming pleasure leaving you. "aww, you must be close. gotta be, the way you're squirming," he murmurs, tone dripping with amusement. you shoot him a glare, sharp and filled with frustration— it only makes his smile deepen.

his words aren’t enough to distract you from what you’re feeling, a rush of pure heat overtaking your body. it’s too much, overbearingly so, making you sob as you moan austin’s name. the hand that once held your hips against the wall, now gently intertwines with yours, offering stability through the overwhelming pleasure. your orgasm crashes over you in waves, but austin doesn’t let up, sinfully slurping every drop up as you whimper under him.

despite your world being completely rocked, the party goes on, bass thumping throughout the bathroom. you pray the music masked the noises from the bathroom, not wanting a repeat of last time, regaining your senses as you come down from your high. austin pulls away from your thighs, lips glossy with your release. his southern accent comes out even thicker this time, low and rough.

“i think the champion wants another round.”