I was wondering if you could write a little something about Devin Booker coming back after a long road game stretch and him and reader making up for a long lost time iykyk (smuttt). You can probably come up with a better plot 😭😭

love your work btwww

far, devin booker.

summary: the worst part about away games for devin is how far he is away from you, but he always makes up for it when he comes back home.

pairing: devin booker x blackfem!reader

warnings: smut (18+), p in v, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap dolls!), brief mention of phone sex, established relationship, not proofread!

notes: this request saved me from the devin fic drought 🙏🏾

Devin's bags met the floor with a soft thud, a sigh leaving his lips as he closed the side door of the house connecting to the garage. He walked in, his eyes wandering around in search of you as he went.

It's been almost two weeks since he last saw you. Almost two weeks of a stretch of away games, calling you late at night, two weeks of missing you near him, wanting to be suffocated by your presence and nothing more.

He couldn't wait to get home to you, the thought simply spurring him on to get those wins. A 4-2 result wasn't bad at all, it was definitely more than what was expected from Phoenix according to analysts.

And you watched every game like you would've in person, pretty much on the edge of your seat until the very last second, the dogs by your side on the sofa, ears perking every time you cheered or gasped, especially at Devin's inability to get calls.

After checking everywhere downstairs for you, Devin made his way up the stairs, surprised he hadn't yet been almost knocked over by his dogs coming to greet him, which could only mean they were wherever you were.

extra, extra, read all about it devin is in his feelings and he can’t get out of it

d.booker

he first noticed when he got out the shower. he reached up out of habit when he was drying himself off and felt his earlobe oddly empty. he looked on the shower floor, nothing. checked his cars, nothing. tore his closet apart and- nothing.

it was just an earring, at least that’s what you told yourself when you found it while making your bed. you lose jewelry all the time, shit always goes missing from the washer but this, of course it found its way back to you. a small gold hoop in the middle of freshly cleaned sheets that no longer smelled like him, yet a small piece of him still remained.

he racked his brain over what to say, typed out message after message only to delete the whole thing and turn his phone off. you weren’t talking and he was scared of rejection. it wasn’t about the earring anymore. the days were flying by and he felt his window of opportunity was beginning to close.

you wondered if he was as miserable as you were. did he think about breaking too? and how set in stone was a mutual agreement to stay no contact? were you allowed to inform him of his jewelry you stumbled upon?

was it selfish that you didn’t want to give it back?

you finally got used to the silence and how sleeping alone was starting to become easier. it was like learning how to live again. except you had the memories of being with him this time. how he looked when he was sleepy, how he leaned against his car when he picked you up from the airport. how he held out his hand for you as he opened his passenger door.

he felt hardwired into every inch of your brain. how could one occupy a space that was no longer there’s to take?

it was the little things he missed the most. he wanted to call and say he was 10 minutes away from yours, wanted to pick up souvenirs for you from some tourist shop, send you a picture of the sunset from his backyard. it only felt like poison to himself.

a week after you left, he disappeared for 3 days. winding somewhere between arizona and nevada chasing something he wasn’t sure he could find. he ate at diners where no one knew him and drank shitty coffee in a sweater that still had your makeup on the collar. he drove along the highway the sunlight in his eyes, pulling down the sun visor only for a photo booth strip to stare right back at him. it was from some hole in the wall bar you had stumbled into while getting hopelessly lost one night.

in the first frame, you were laughing before the camera had even gone off. in the second, your cheek was pressed against his shoulder. by the third, he’d been looking at you instead of the lens, completely unaware the flash had already gone off. he should’ve thrown it away by now, but he could still smell the cheap whiskey on your breaths and hear your laughter that filled the booth. he pushed the photo back into and place and flipped the visor away. the sunlight no longer bothered him.

he went against his better judgment and frequently looked at your socials more often than he’d care to admit. you looked happy. it appeared that way at least. he found comfort in your existence. seeing proof that time didn’t seem to stop for you. because for him, time had never started moving again. did losing him feel as permanent as losing you felt? did you feel the hollowness in your chest too? if so, why was it so easy for you to keep going forward and why was he the only one still standing in the same place you’d left him?

he didn’t know how hard it was for you to look back. how much your hands shook when you packed away his things into a box and how a sob escaped your lips as you put the lid down on a chapter that felt unfinished. you had no choice but to keep going forward. living in the past did you no favors. it was better to pretend it never happened rather than to think about what could’ve been.

he couldn’t wrap his head around how alone he felt. how much he missed your products scattered across his bathroom sink, the little pieces of you that filled his space. how he still caught himself waiting up for you to come to bed while you finished just one more chapter in the living room, only to remember there was no one coming down the hall anymore.

he didn’t know how to turn off missing you. didn’t know how to quiet the ache of reaching for someone who wasn’t there. your love still filled every corner of his mind. no matter how hard he tried to move forward, he kept finding traces of you in everything. it was painful, but the constant reminders of your existence was better than nothing at all.

you stared at the earring for far too long, running your thumb against the delicate gold metal the same way you did when it was still attached to him. it felt about a hundred pounds heavier in your hand, almost knocking the wind out of you forcing you to take a seat at the edge of your bed that was still unmade. it’d been about three months since you stripped the bed of your sheets, throwing them in the wash. only to shove them in the back of a drawer after they were dry. out of sight out of mind.

you could still picture what he looked like as he laid his head against the fabric, dark lashes resting against his cheeks as he slept peacefully beside you. you watched him take shallow breaths in and out, his face scrunching up every so often. you wanted to memorize every inch of him- to trace the shape of his nose, the curve of his lips, the faint crease between his brows. you wanted time to stop right then. it was blissfully painful to know it could never be this way forever.

the hardest part wasn’t trying to forget him, but still remembering him perfectly. how warm he was, how safe you felt when he was next to you. some nights you swore if you closed your eyes long enough, you’d feel the mattress dip beside you again.

but when you opened them again, it was only you in sheets that felt foreign and no longer held his warmth. that was the cruel thing about loving someone so deeply. they were gone but they still felt woven into your soul like fabric, unable to bring yourself to pull them apart.

―

he did something drastic.

he wasn’t even sure why he did it.

the idea came to him as he laid wide awake staring at the ceiling, sleep refusing to come. at 11:45 on a thursday night, he grabbed his phone and texted his assistant an idea he hadn’t fully thought through.

a few messages later, the plan was already in motion.

by the time his alarm went off for his 5am workout, he had confirmation waiting for him.

100 blush-colored roses were set to arrive at your door at precisely 8 o’clock am.

he looked at the message again. 100 hundred roses.

it was ridiculous. an absurd amount of roses, surely. it was the kind of thing he would’ve rolled his eyes at if anyone else had done it. he didn’t care. he just wanted your attention.

this was something so ridiculous, it just might cause you to react. he hoped they’d be able to say something he couldn’t quite say out loud.

i miss you. i’m still here. i don’t know how to forget you.

he checked his phone at 8:02, nothing.

he paced around his kitchen looking for absolutely anything to occupy his mind.

by 8:15 his hands were starting to get sweaty.

the silence felt manageable when there was no one in control. but now, he’d done something. he reached across the distance between you, and for the first time in months, there was something to lose. at least for him.

he glanced at his phone again. nothing. maybe you threw them away. sent a picture to your friends at his vulnerability, laughing at how naive he was to think flowers could undo months of suffering. his stomach twisted at the thought.

At 8:22, he was already reaching for his phone.

his thumb hovered over his assistant’s contact, prepared to call and say it had been a mistake. that he’d lost his mind last night and that sending one hundred roses to his ex was objectively insane and there had to be some way to undo it.

maybe they could call the florist.

maybe they could somehow stop the delivery.

maybe he could save himself from whatever humiliation was waiting on the other side of this.

then his phone lit up. your name flashing across his screen. for a split second, his heart stopped. for months he imagined what it would feel like to see your name appear again. he rehearsed conversations in the shower, during workouts, in the middle of sleepless nights. in every version, he knew exactly what he’d say.

now that your name was staring back at him, his mind went completely blank. he thumb moved faster than he had anticipated, swiping across screen as the line clicked against his ear. it was silent as neither of you wanted to speak first.

“hi” he finally said, desperate to fill the silence.

then quietly, “hi”

the single word nearly made him close his eyes in relief. the sound of your voice made this feel too real. too familiar. it made his chest ache.

“you got them?” he asked.

a soft yet sarcastic laugh escaped you making him squeeze his eyes shut.

“kinda hard to miss a hundred roses”

he swallowed tightly, needing to proceed with caution going forward. he couldn’t read the situation well enough yet to know if you called to thank him or cuss him out.

“you hate them?” he asked carefully.

“no” your answer came quickly, making his head a tad bit bigger.

he could picture you perfectly- standing in your kitchen, probably leaning against the counter, phone tucked between your shoulder and ear while you stared at the ridiculous arrangement sitting pretty next to you.

“no?” he repeated.

“devin what were you thinking?” you sighed into the phone, your fingers rubbing at your temples as a headache began to settle behind your eyes.

“i wasn’t” his admission was immediate, almost pathetic.

“flowers aren’t gonna fix this” your voice softened, somehow making him feel worse.

“i know”

“no, i don’t think you do” you trailed off, somewhere in-between disappointment and defeat.

his blinking grew rapid, grip tightening around his phone as continued to pace around the kitchen island like a zoo animal gone mad.

“that’s not why i sent them” he insisted.

“then why?” you pressed him further.

why now? why on a random friday morning three and a half months later did he decide to make a move?

he closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.

because he missed you.

because every room in his house still looked like you had just stepped out and would be back any minute. because he’d spent weeks convincing himself not to call. because the distance had become so unbearable he felt like a ghost in his body.

he still wanted to tread lightly. he couldn’t put it all out on the table just yet.

“i wanted you to know I was thinking about you”

“devin…” you whispered.

his heart dropped at the sound of his name leaving your lips. you weren’t angry, it wasn’t cold, just defeated.

he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“i’m trying to leave you alone” he continued against his own advises. “but it feels wrong”

the crack in his voice nearly undid you. his honesty threw you for a loop. you expected an argument an excuse. something. instead, he sounded exhausted.

“devin-” you tried to reason with him. not just for his sake, but the guilt was beginning to eat at you the longer he went on.

“let me finish” his voice was gentle, not demanding.

you closed your eyes and slowly slid down the cabinets until you were sitting on the kitchen floor. the cool tile pressed against your bare legs as you pulled your knees to your chest as he continued.

“i wanna respect you and your decision” he laughed something completely absent of humor. “but i just can’t let you go”

your eyes burned as your vision began to blur, wiping the corners of your eyes with the back of your hand before the tears could roll down your cheeks.

you didn’t say anything right away. his confession hung heavy in your chest making your throat tight. the silence that lingered felt suffocating. he wasn’t trying to argue with you or make a compelling case. he was grieving someone who was still alive. just the way you were too.

“you left your earring in my bed” you let out a shaky breath unsure of the direction you were headed.

“the gold one?” he asked trying not to let you hear the arrogance in his voice that was peaking through.

you could’ve mailed it back to him, asked his assistant to pick it up. hell, you could’ve thrown it away. but you didn’t. you kept it safe, a remnant of him still lived with you. that was something.

“yeah, it’s on my nightstand” you hummed.

“you can keep it, if you want to” he didn’t want it back. he liked the idea that you still held a piece of him with you.

a sad smile pulled at your lips, a single tear trailed down your puffy cheeks no longer feeling the urge to stop it.

“…devin”

“yeah?” he answered, a beat barley passing by sensing your change in tone.

“can i see you?” you asked slowly as the room began to spin around you.

he suddenly felt like he might fall apart as your question rang through his head.

“yeah, you can see me” he whispered, the words came out immediately. without thought. no hesitation like he’d been dying to say them.

neither of you moved. neither of you spoke. both too afraid that if you said the wrong thing, this moment would disappear.

“when?” he finally asked, clearing his throat anxiously.

you glanced up toward the roses covering your kitchen counter. thought about his earring resting on your nightstand, and all the other pieces of him that still lived inside you.

“now” the word left before you could second guess it.

a sharp breath sounded through the phone.

“now?” he glanced at the watch on his wrist 8:29

that was an eventful 7 minutes he thought to himself.

“unless you’re busy” you added quickly, trying to backtrack before he could answer.

he laughed, shaking his head in disbelief as if you could see him.

“i’m not busy” he reassured, hand still sweaty at his side as he tapped his fingers against his leg.

“okay” you smiled through your tears that were still flowing steadily.

you heard movement on the other end of the line. his keys. footsteps. his front door opening and closing. the familiar beep of his car as he reached for the handle.

“i miss you” you said, unable to swallow the words any longer.

the driver’s door remained open and he engine never started. devin’s head fell back against the seat as he closed his eyes. for a moment, all he could do was breathe. because he’d spent month after month wondering if you missed him at all. weeks convincing himself that he was the only one still carrying this weight around.

“ten minutes away, baby”

neither of you pointed out that it was the first time he’d called you that since the breakup. you didn’t want to admit how it made your stomach drop or how familiar it felt. you pressed your lips together to keep them from trembling.

his grip tightened around the steering wheel, every part of him already eager to reach for you. he pulled the driver’s door shut, the heavy thud echoing through your ears, then the engine came to life. for a moment, he didn’t put the car in drive.

he simply sat there, phone still pressed to his ear, letting the reality of the last few minutes settle over him. you wanted to see him. not next week. not when the timing was better. now.

“i’ll be there soon” he murmured, smile audible through the phone. a smile he hadn’t worn in weeks.

“i’ll be waiting” you promised, the line then came to an end.