#nba fluff

yourusername

♫ the sweetest taboo · sade

liked by yourbestieeee, theestallion, sza and others.

yourusername life lately 💐

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yourbestieeee i want more matcha it’s not even funny

❤︎ liked by the author

yourusername omw bbg <33

user1 all the baddies are in texas!!

user2 megan thee stallion liked the pic! i #needthat collab asap

user3 who does that arm belong to in the picnic pic 🤨

user4 OMG WAIT… user9 and the flowers? oh she’s in lovee user10 i just hope she’s careful, you can’t trust a man from texas

user5 she’s cheating on me 💔

user6 um she cheated on US

user7 everyone’s worried abt her man but do we not see she’s in the studio 😭?

user8 the queen is workinggg we’re so back 🙏🏾

spurs

liked by nba, wemby, lesspurs, and others.

spurs B2B HOME DUBS!!!

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user23 we own okc 💪💪

user5 go spurs go!

user18 that baddie sitting courtside must've made wemby lock in 😂

user31 i've seen enough give wemby MVP and DPOY

user75 championship season incoming...

user0 🔥🔥🔥

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yourbestieeee are you with him AGAIN??

yourusername maybe... yourbestieeee let him know i want you back at ur hotel by 12 am SHARP 😒 yourusername yes ma'am!

wemby now post the score...

yourusername the score where i beat you by 50?? wemby no, the score where you made 5 points. in 5 minutes. yourusername it's not my fault i'm not 7'5ft tall like you 💔

deuxmoi

liked by no1yndefender, wembylover, randominfluencer and others.

deuxmoi DEUXMOI EXCLUSIVE… basketball star victor wembanyama and mystery woman caught sharing a kiss in front of an arcade 3 days ago in san antonio by paparazzi.

they left shortly after hand in hand.

📸 @backgridusa

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user28 wait didn’t y/n just post herself at an arcade?

user50 AND she was at the spurs game earlier! user11 there is no way wemby bagged THE y/n i refuse to believe it

user6 idk who that “y/n” girl is but it’s obvious the woman is wemby’s ex

user13 these comments r so shocking, since when does wemby have an ex?

user90 i think they broke up after the draft. user6 they were very private about their relationship! but i hope they’re back together though, they were perfect for each other 💕

user53 how do we even know if it’s wemby with how blurry this pic is 🤦🏾‍♀️

user32 maybe i’m wrong but is this not @randominfluencer?

user7 lowkey it looks like her?? user82 not her liking the post 💀 user21 she's prettier than y/n, ngl i ship it user89 idk why you’re commenting on looks when you look like… that.

You introduced yourself first, flashing a grin at the camera before side-eyeing Devin, who was already flipping through his cards.

“And I’m Devin Booker,” Devin added, voice low and smooth, though his fingers played impatiently with the edges of his cards. “We’re here to take the GQ Couples’ Quiz—which I will be winning today.”

You scoffed, flipping your hair over one shoulder like you were brushing off his confidence. “Baby, please.” You tapped the edge of your cards against the arm of your director’s chair, the sound captured crisply by the studio microphones.

“‘Baby, please’ what?” Devin asked as he finally looked up from his cards to look directly at you. The corner of his mouth twitched, fighting a smirk. “You already conceding?”

Your eyes narrowed, your lips curling into a slow, dangerous smile. You crossed one long leg over the other. “Conceding? Dev, baby, I don’t even know why that word is in your vocabulary in the first place.” You lifted the top card from your stack between your fingers. “Let’s start easy. What is my favorite movie of all time?”

Devin didn’t even blink. “A Goofy Movie,” he said, the words rolling off his tongue like he’d been waiting for this exact question. “You love singing that one song—”

“Stand Out? Yes!” You cut him off, almost bouncing in your seat. “But that’s too easy. Everyone knows that. Next question.” You flipped another card before Devin could speak again. “What was I wearing the first time we met?”

His head tilted, eyes lifting up toward the ceiling to grasp the answer. “Uh...” he thought aloud. “I’m pretty sure you were just in some training gear.”

“Like what?” You pressed, tapping your fingers against the card with mock impatience. The studio lights caught the gleam in your eyes as you watched Devin rub at his jaw.

Devin exhaled through his nose, fingers drumming against his thigh. “Phoenix Mercury practice jersey. Black basketball shorts. Probably rolled up the waistband.” He paused, then smirked. “And those ugly neon green Nikes.”

You rolled your eyes, “They weren’t neon green.”

Devin was already shaking his head, reaching over to pluck the card from your fingers before you could protest further. “They were ugly.” He flashed that quiet, smug grin of his.

You snatched the card back with a playful glare. “Excuse you,” you huffed. “That’s minus one point for disrespecting my shoes.” You turned to the camera, lowering your voice conspiratorially. “Y’all see how he treats me? In front of company?” Devin chuckled, sinking deeper into his chair as you flipped another card. “Alright, superstar. Since these questions are too easy let’s get into some real shit. When’s our anniversary?”

Devin made a face of disbelief, pointing at the cards in your hands. “What? Is that a hard question?”

“So answer it,” you challenged. “Tell me the date, Devin Booker.”

“March 6th,” Devin answered without missing a beat. “Two-thousand-twenty-three.” His fingers curled lazily around his own stack of cards, the edge of his mouth tilting up as he watched you nod your head. “You thought I didn’t know that?”

“Correct,” you hummed, ignoring his question. “But don’t get cocky. I got sum for yo ass.” You leaned back in your chair and lowered your voice. “What designer did I wear when I got drafted?”

The corner of his mouth twitched, betraying the hesitation he was trying to play off. “Okay, hold on,” he said, raising a hand.

“Uh oh...” you murmured, your smirk growing as Devin’s fingers stilled against his cards. The studio lights caught the way his brow furrowed, the slow drag of his tongue over his bottom lip as he racked his brain. You tapped a fingernail against your own stack, the sound sharp in the quiet. “Tick-tock, baby.”

“This is a trick question,” Devin muttered, rubbing his jaw as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “You had two outfits the night you got drafted.” His fingers flexed against the cards, the edges bending slightly under the pressure of his grip. “One was for the ceremony, one was for after.”

You shrugged, smiling to yourself as you watched him think. “You have thirty seconds.”

He recoiled at that. “You can’t just—”

“Twenty-nine, twenty-eight...” you cut in, a singsongy lilt to your voice as you counted down with a lazy swing of your crossed leg.

Devin exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head as if to dislodge the answer stuck somewhere in his brain. “You had a Versace dress for one of them. The yellow-ish one.” He tapped his fingertips against his thigh, brow furrowed deeper. “No—wait.” His eyes lit up suddenly. “The other one was Roberto Cavalli.”

Your smirk faltered for half a second, just long enough for Devin to catch it, before you recovered with an exaggerated sigh. “Roberto Cavalli,” you nodded, stretching the syllables. “The question was which designer did I wear when I got drafted.” You moved the top card to the back with a triumphant little flourish. “You didn’t specify which designer between the two, so that’s minus two for you.”

Devin’s fingers paused mid-tap against his thigh. His expression flattened into something between amusement and exasperation. “Oh, so we’re cheating now?”

"Cheating?” you echoed, tilting your head. “Baby, precision matters. You had three points, now you have one.”

“Giving her too much power,” Devin muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he flipped through his own cards with exaggerated deliberation. The studio mic still caught it, and your sharp laugh bounced off the soundproofed walls.

“What is my pregame ritual?” you read from your next card.

Devin didn’t hesitate this time. “You listen to ‘Dreams and Nightmares’ by Meek Mill at full volume in your headphones while going through your skincare routine.” He held up his index finger, indicating it was step one, before adding, “Step two, you tie your left shoe first every single time.” His lips curled at the edges as you nodded slowly, prompting him to continue. “Step three, you do your little stretches.”

“In what order?” you asked.

Devin balked. “What do you mean what order? That’s not the question.”

“The question is whatever I say the question is,” you countered smoothly, tapping your index finger against the card. You arched a brow when Devin let out a slow, disbelieving exhale. “What, you don’t know the order?”

Devin leaned back in his chair, the plastic creaking under his weight as he rolled his eyes skyward. “Baby,” he groaned, dragging the word out like it physically pained him. “You’re making up rules as we go. That’s not how quizzes work.”

“That’s how my quiz works. I can just subtract the points now if you’d rather just say you don’t know.”

Devin stared you down before relenting. “Alright,” he muttered, shifting forward in his chair, elbows braced against his knees. His voice dropped. “First, you stretch your legs, then back.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “Then you roll your neck, left to right. Then shoulders.” His fingers continued counting. “Then you crack your knuckles. Left hand first. Then arms and wrists. Are you happy now?”

“You missed my hip circles so that’s half a point gone already, but continue,” you said, waving a dismissive hand, though the corner of your mouth twitched like you were fighting a grin. The camera caught just the slightest shake of his head in response.

“Hip circles,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You never do hip circles unless—” His voice cut off abruptly, lips pressing together as realization flickered across his face.

“Don’t finish that sentence,” you warned, pointing a manicured nail at him. Devin’s slow smirk was all the confirmation you needed: he remembered exactly when you bothered with hip circles, and it had nothing to do with basketball.

“Give me my half a point back,” Devin demanded. His smile deepened as you narrowed your eyes at him. He knew exactly which buttons to press. “Unless you want me to elaborate on camera about why you—”

“Half of a half-point,” you counter, flipping your hair over your shoulder with practiced nonchalance. You ignored his smugness and leveled him with your best deadpan stare. “And you’re on thin ice, Booker. What’s the rest of my routine?”

Devin leaned back in his chair, fingers laced behind his head, the picture of relaxed arrogance. “After hip circles...” He paused deliberately, letting the silence stretch just long enough for your eyes to narrow. “You take exactly three deep breaths, left hand on your chest, right hand on your stomach." His voice dropped into a teasing mimicry of your voice. “‘In through the nose, out through the mouth.’”

Your fingers tightened around your cards, your lips pursing as Devin’s mimicry hung in the air between you. “That was,” you said slowly, “a very... inaccurate impression.” Your thumb flicked the edge of a card idly. “I will give you your half of a half a point back but only because I’m feeling generous.”

“Where’s the rest of my point?” Devin asked, voice lifting with protest.

“You forfeited it when you played about my hip circles. And your impression was trash,” you replied.

You each stared at one another, unblinking for a moment, before Devin broke first. “That’s fine,” he said, straightening his shirt. “My turn.” He plucked a card from his stack, eyes skimming the question before his lips curled into something dangerously close to a smirk. “What was my first text to you after our first date?”

“Okay, first of all, I gave you like three super easy throwaway questions,” you said, stretching your legs out and crossing them at the ankles. “And you’re hitting me with that?” You scoffed, shaking your head as you flipped through your own stack of cards like you might find a loophole written in the margins. “Sore ass loser. They need to do something about you.”

“Let’s get some time on the clock,” Devin spoke out loud to no one in particular. “Gimme 30 seconds. Twenty-nine, twenty-eight...” He mimicked your earlier singsong tone perfectly.

Your fingers froze mid-card-flip. A slow, incredulous smile spread across your face as Devin’s mock countdown filled the studio. “You’re petty,” you mused, tilting your head. The camera caught the way your eyes flickered with amusement and the exact moment you decided to play dirtier.

“Probably begged me for a second date. Something corny. ‘I had a great time tonight. Let me take you out again.’”

Devin’s fingers paused mid-card flip, his brows lifting as your answer hung between you. A slow, disbelieving laugh escaped him. “Damn,” he murmured, shaking his head. “These questions might expose me.” His thumb traced the edge of his card thoughtfully before he glanced back at her, something mischievous glinting in his dark eyes. “You were close. But nah, I said—” He cleared his throat. “‘You got home safe?’”

“Corny. Like I said. That’s at least a full point for that alone.” You arched a brow.

“No ma’am. That’s a zero,” Devin shot back, moving on to his next card. “Next question. What do I like to order when we go out for sushi? And don’t just say ‘salmon’, I want specifics.”

Your nose scrunched as you leaned back in your chair, the plastic creaking under your weight. “You like having extra wasabi at the table. Salmon nigiri, spicy tuna rolls, unagi...” You ran your hands down your thighs, eyes narrowing in thought. “And the salmon caviar... it’s called... roe...?”

Devin couldn’t hide his smile. “Salmon roe,” he corrected softly, but his fingers tapped the edge of his card in approval. “That was clutch. I’ll give you that one, full point.”

You preened at the compliment. “Right. Because I pay attention. Not everyone can say the same.”

Devin’s fingers paused mid-card flip, his smirk deepening as he watched your smug satisfaction settle over you like a second skin. “Alright, baby girl,” he drawled. “Next question: what’s the one thing I always make sure to do before I fall asleep when we’re together?”

Your smile softened immediately, glancing down at your lap before meeting his gaze again. The studio lights caught the warmth in your expression, the way your fingers loosened around the cards. “You check if I’ve had my iron pill,” you murmured, voice quieter now. “Every single time.” You paused, then added with a playful tilt of your head, “And then you steal all the blankets to make me come closer.”

“She likes to be as far as possible for whatever reason,” Devin murmured, eyes flicking toward the camera like he was sharing some grand secret. “Acts like she needs space until she’s cold. Then she gets those cold ass feet on me.” His lips twitched behind a hidden laugh when you scoffed loudly.

“It’s never intentional,” you lied. The corner of your mouth betrayed you, twitching upward as Devin leveled you with a knowing look. “Sometimes I woke up in the middle of the night and you were right there, breathing all hot on my neck. My cold feet got you off me.”

“Breathing hot on your neck? Baby, you be the one wrapped around me like a damn octopus by midnight.” He tilted his head. “Who woke up last week halfway pushed off the bed? And whose fault was it?”

You rolled your eyes, pointing to his cards. “Irrelevant. Ask me another question.”

Devin flipped another card, again reading the question to himself first. “If I had to wear one shoe in my closet for the rest of my life, what would it be?” His eyebrows lifted, glancing up at you.

This was another easy question for you. An immediate, “The Chuck 70s you wore when we went to Sedona last summer.” Devin didn’t bother hiding his pride this time, the corner of his mouth lifting in silent acknowledgment. He moved the card to the back of his stack with a satisfied flick of his wrist.

“I’ll double your points if you get this next one correct,” Devin challenged.

Your eyes narrowed. “Devin Booker, don’t ask me about stats.”

Devin’s grin was all teeth now. “What’s my career-high in assists?”

“Devin...” you groaned.

“Take your time, baby,” Devin teased, leaning back in his chair with the kind of smug satisfaction only a man who’d just set a trap could muster.

“Higher than mine,” you said, voice laced with playful venom as you fished for a hint.

Devin simply shrugged. “You tell me,” he said. “Since you pay attention.”

The studio lights made the rings on your fingers gleam as you tilted your head, considering Devin’s not-so-helpful hint. “Fifteen,” you said finally, lifting your chin.

“Final answer?” he prods.

You nodded but said nothing, suddenly quiet.

Devin’s grin widened like he’d just won the lottery. “It’s fifteen,” he confirmed, nodding as your shoulders relaxed. “But you hesitated, so instead of double points, I’ll do a point and a half.”

“So I won,” you declared.

“Because I don’t cheat,” Devin countered, sliding the card back into his stack. “Unlike some people in this room.”

Your fingers tapped against the stack of cards. “Cheat? Baby, I don’t cheat. I just—” You paused, tilting your head as if considering your words carefully. “—strategically reinterpreted the rules.”

“Strategically reinterpreted,” he repeated. “That’s a new one.”

“You love me,” you sang with a victorious little wiggle in your chair. The camera caught the way Devin kept his eyes on you, his smile kept soft.

“Thank you to GQ for having us,” Devin said smoothly. “We appreciated y’all.”

He’s passionate about this, the filming, the vlogs, and his steadily growing YouTube channel that brings in the fans of other teams. You were roped in with the productions not that long ago; he didn’t want you to feel burdened with it, but you were more than happy to help. Besides, it’s not like your view was awful. 

The playoffs started over a month ago, and ever since then your schedule has been overloaded with… him. You were expecting it, anticipating it even with a happy heart. Jared’s become a different person, not in an obvious way. He didn’t grow cocky or agitated like you thought he would; he mostly remained the same eccentric guy you've always loved. But you see it shine through the cracks on the quiet days. The insecurities, the worries that build up every passing day—how much longer does he have before the team is ejected and forgotten for the next few weeks?

It was hard for you to see him like that, in the times when sad tears can’t help but slip down his pretty face. You don’t like the sad tears, but you didn’t seem to mind the other ones. Tears of pleasure, involuntary bursts of emotion that turned into wet eyelashes and furrowed brows. 

“And now we're in the playoffs, which is awesome and—”

You tilt your head and watch him through the viewfinder and then peer up once to flutter your eyelashes at him. He pauses, the giddy tone stuttering just enough for it to catch your attention. Jared tries to laugh it off, the brief moment of distraction, but it doesn’t really work. His eyes flicker between yours and the blackened lens of the camera in your hand. Then, his gaze trails down the length of your arm and then to your chest. You have only a tank top on, a size too small; not your intention, but it worked anyway. Your tits are pushed up and strain against the fabric; he clears his throat. 

“Anyway I—uh, I was—” His voice stumbles over the words that move faster through his brain than his feet do on the court. You try to silence your laugh as much as you can, but you're sure it was picked up by the camera anyway. 

“What?” he rasped, tongue centred on the roof of his mouth. You shake your head, attempting to hold the camera steady. It catches something else too, not just your laugh but something much more visible. You notice it too, the apparent bulge now in Jared’s sweatpants. He chokes when you smirk; you click your tongue and move to turn the recording off.

“Wait! Don’t stop filming.” 

“Baby, you’re hard.” 

“I know, just—just wait," He moves slowly, socked feet shuffling over the wood floor until he’s right in front of you. His voice sits low, lower than it normally is. “Wanna make a movie?” 

You snort at that but fall silent immediately when you realise he’s being serious. His eyes gloss over with need, pupils dilating until they're close to clouding over his irises. You inhale sharply, your hand squeezing the camera. It’s pointed at the centre of his chest now; ripples of off-white fabric focus in the view. He kisses you softly, barely a touch there as you mould together into one. One arm slides around your waist and pushes until your navel is flush with his. You can feel the swell of him much closer now; it sucks a breath out of you that Jared just swallows down with ease.

The makeout stays lazy for the most part, slow kisses that fizzle out into biting; he slips his tongue into your mouth, and you stabilise yourself against him by placing a manicured hand on his abdomen. He breathes out into your mouth at the touch, his fingers digging into your hip. You're more than sure the recording is actively picking up the worst of the sounds—sloppy, wet, and gross. 

Jared backs you up onto the sofa; your knees buckle, and before you know it, your ass is planted on the textured furniture. "God", he purred, slipping a hand under your chin, "you're so perfect, baby.”

The subtle praise makes you keen, and that's exactly why he did it. He found out early on in your relationship just how much you loved it whenever someone complimented you, even if you tried to hide it. He used it as much as he could; it got increasingly more embarrassing the moments he’d use it around others. The mere idea of a camera recording this moment made your face heat up and heart speed. 

“It’s okay, baby, it’s just for us, okay?” 

You don’t trust your voice, too nervous that it’ll break, so you nod instead. He smiles in that way that everyone loves, dimples pressed into his cheeks. Your head tilts once more from where it’s held in his hand, and you place a faint peck to his calloused palm. Years of basketball will do that to your skin; you've finally been able to convince him to use hand cream just to soften the harsh flesh. 

You feel the wetness drip between your legs; you clench your thighs together, but the pressure only makes it worse. 

“Here, give me this,” he starts, hand reaching for the camera. “I got a better idea.”

Jared places the camera on the coffee table, pointing in the direction of the two of you on the couch. The lens now taking you in makes you even more nervous, and for a moment you wonder how he’s able to be in front of it nearly every day. The audience hardly sees you, not that he’s keeping you a secret but more just keeping you quiet. To himself, like a personal possession. The media barely knows you either, his fans theorise for sure, but Jared’s smart enough to not let it faze him.

You fall back against the sofa, spine flush with the cold leather. Your tank top has risen up to sit above your ribs; Jared uses the opportunity to slither his hand up it. You shudder the second his pointer and middle finger reach your nipple, arching into the velvety touch. He scoffs cheekily as it happens, rotating his fingers until your pricked skin rolls with it. You bite back a moan, teeth tucking into your bottom lip harshly enough until you taste blood. 

“Oh shit.” 

All reason leaves your mind; the concern you felt having a recording camera pointed at you whilst your boyfriend toys with your nipples is gone. All that’s left is the painful pleasure. 

You tug him down meanly until he’s practically on top of you; pulling his hand out from under your shirt and stuffing it into your shorts. He moans into your mouth, kissing you firmly against the couch. He slips into your heat easily, reaching all the way up until he hits that spongy spot that makes you whine. 

"Fuck…" You need more, so much more. "Are you hungry?” 

He chuckles; it reverberates in the quiet apartment air. “Yeah, I’m hungry.” 

Your shorts and underwear are pulled off in one swoop. He places a faint kiss to the place right above your cunt, and you fight the urge to kick him. He leans into the space between your spread legs, hot breath brushing over your intimate skin. Then, he laps at the core once, then again, then again until he can’t stop. You tug at his hair as he delves in, the wet muscle dragging through your folds and then flicking over your nub in the most irritating way possible.

“Oh my God, J.” He moans in response, tonguing harder until you squeal.

It happens quickly, quicker than it should've. Your eyes flutter shut as waves of pleasure roll through your body. Your mind spins for a moment, and thoughts shift through your brain and disperse like wildfire. Jared slows his actions on your warmth but doesn’t halt entirely. Paced kitten licks over your tepid skin; you shudder out one final huff.

Mid-December in San Antonio still felt warm, which somehow made the lack of Christmas decorations in Victor’s apartment even more diabolical.

You noticed it the second he opened the door, he had no lights, no wreath, not even a damn tree.

The place looked exactly like it always did; sleek, clean, and a bit boring for someone who was in their twenties.

You stepped inside, dropped your bag, and slowly turned in a circle towards him as he shut the door.

“Victor..”

He was reaching for his phone in his back pocket. “What?”

“Where's all your Christmas decor?”

He glanced around like he was seeing his apartment for the first time. “Oh yeah… So?” Furrowing his brows at you with an unsure expression.

“So?” You stared at him. “It’s almost Christmas.”

He shrugged, long shoulders lifting easily. “I’m busy, you know that. Games, practice, travel. It’s whatever.”

You squinted at him. “You don’t even have a tree.” He tilted his head. “Do I need one?”

You groan dramatically and run a hand over your face. “You can’t be serious, Vic.”

He shakes his head, walking out of the entrance and in towards the living room. “It’s not that big a deal.”

You frown a bit, bending down to take off your shoes and rest them against the wall.

You: can i come by in an hour or so?

Vic: Yeah, what’s up?

You: Oh nothing..

About two hours later.

Victor had a knock at his door; he set his book down on his coffee table, then rushed over to open the door, anticipating you. What he didn’t anticipate was you bearing gifts.

You had your arms full of bags from various stores, Christmas decorations peeking out, and behind you a giant cardboard box.

Victor stared down at you. “Uhhhh,” he said, confused.

You beamed at him, completely unfazed by his reaction. “Merry Christmas! I got you some stuff.” You lifted the bags a few inches higher, as if he somehow hadn’t noticed the obvious cluster of bags on your arms.

“I see that,” he replied, still standing squarely in the doorway.

You tilted your head at him, your smile turning pointed. “Are you going to let me in, or…?”

It took him a second to respond, “Oh—yeah. Sorry.” He stepped aside, pressing his back to the wall as you nudged past him, shouldering your way into his apartment with a small grunt of effort. The bags rustled loudly as you shuffled inside, heavier than you’d anticipated.

Sitting just outside the door were a few more bags and the large cardboard box; he stared at it. “…Is that a tree?”

From the kitchen, you called out. “Maybe.”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, though he thought it was sweet.

“If you could be a peach and grab the rest of that, that’d be amazing,” you added lightly, already starting to sort through the bags with a rustle.

He obeys your suggestion, bending down to pick up the tree box, tucking it under his arm like it’s nothing, and sliding the other bags onto his forearm. Then he kicks the door shut and does the same, setting the bags on the counter and resting the tree box against the countertop.

The counter was nearly full now, his once-clean kitchen overtaken by the assorted decoration.

He looked at you, then at the bags, already thinking about how much you spent. “You really shouldn’t have.” He says.

You look up at him, holding a small box of ornament hooks. “It’s fine, Vic I didn’t even spend too much.” with a lazy shrug, already knowing what he’s about to say.

“Seriously, it’s fine.” Then you looked around his house, lacking Christmas whimsy and warmth. “I just figured your place needed some Christmas cheer.”

He smiles but then sighs. “I’m not even here that much, like I won’t even see it like that.” You frown, then shake your head. “Well, when you are here, you get to see it.” Switching your expression to a cheerful smile.

You interrupt him again with a tease. “Don’t be such a grinch, Vic.”

Victor shook his head slowly, a quiet laugh escaping him as he took it all in—the bags, the tree, and you standing in his kitchen like you’d always belonged there.

The artificial tree finally clicks into place, the last section settling with a soft snap. You step back, hands on your hips, surveying your work.

Victor had helped you set up the tree, and of course he’s taller than the tree.

You glance from the tree to him, then back again, lips twitching before you can stop yourself. “Sorry,” you say, your cheeks warming up. “They didn’t have any seven-foot-plus trees in stock.” Holding back your proud smile at your own joke.

Eyebrows lifting, with the faintest smile at your dumb joke. “That’s unfortunate.”

You’re kneeling on the floor, the ornaments organized in a container it came in, deciding what goes where. Then you stand, stepping back to judge your work, before adjusting a branch of the artificial tree. Your soft Christmas playlist hums through the room, meanwhile while Victor is sprawled out across the couch, watching the Christmas movie you put on for additional holiday ambience.

Bending down to pick up an ornament from the box, then glancing over at Victor, “You gonna help?” He looks towards you with a light smile. “I think that’s your domain.”

Victors POV:

This was supposed to be casual.

That’s what we said. No pressure. No expectations. Just time together when we both had it, easy.

But there’s nothing simple about the way my chest feels right now.

I lean back against the cushions of my couch, arms crossed, eyes following your movements. You’re hanging ornaments across the branches, moving around the tree with a smile. The lights from the tree casts a warm glow on your face, I think quietly to myself.

Imagining this next year, the year after that, I know that we agreed this would be casual, but nothing feels casual about this. I know you’re just trying to cheer up my apartment for the holiday season, but it feels like there’s more to this, or that there could be more.

paige bueckers |

loves to leave her stuff around your place. it’s not that she’s worried that you’re bringing other ppl around and wants to scare them away, but she lovess the thought of her being around even when she’s really not. whenever she’s on away games, she knows you won’t forget about her because her toothbrush is on the counter of your sink, her fav hoodie on ur bed, uconn and wings merch scattered around your apartment, and that damn ipad charging somewhere!! and don’t get her started with those polaroids. she’ll take 50 of pictures and play hide n seek with them. you found one in your fridge once. trust and believe she’s going nowhere. you like it that way anyways.

wemby |

i saw a pic on pinterest talking abt him being an npc and lowkey, i can imagine him hitting this 🧍🏽‍♂️pose like a npc all the time. you could literally be in the bathroom, calmly doing ur makeup and he comes in, standing straight while staring down at you. no words spoken, just watching. considering he’s 7’3, it’s a bit more scary because this random french guy is basically looming over you without saying a word? when really, he’s admiring you and thinking, “wow my gf is so pretty 🥰 i love her so much!”

luka doncic |

luka still gets shy and blushes a lot around you— you could be married to him for 10 years straight and somehow, his face still flushes bright red when you tease him, call him handsome or some random petname, hold his hand, kiss him, etc. or when ever you appear, he gets all smiley, all 32 and gums showing mind you…if you call him out on it, he’ll brush it off and act like it’s nothing. it’s not. he’s really whipped btw.

jared mccain |

lowkey a secret therapist?? he is so in tune w/ ur emotions and feelings that it confuses you sometimes. you’ll be unaware you’re acting different— maybe you place a bottle of water down harder than usual and jared’s like, “mhm, yeah, you’re having a bad day aren’t you?” how does he always know??mcthat’s a secret he’ll never tell. but anyways, he gives the best advice. he’ll sit you down, bring a bunch of blankets, snacks, hugs, and hits you with that “so what happened today? how did that make you feel? should we try some breathing exercises?” if you’re looking for comfort or want to rant instead, he’s prepared for that as well. now if you want him to be mad with you? say less cuz he’s ready to cuss somebody out too!

steph curry |

great photographer, but gives superr facebook mom vibes. if you’re on vacation and you ask him to snap a pic of you, he’s making sure he gets a good background set up, makes you do 50 different poses, and says “just like that sweetie! remember to smile! now look off into the distance! justtt like that, yep!” you can complain all you want, but steph will make sure this camera captures your your beauty! btw he also posts it everywhere. seriously, even in a gc with his friends, he’ll show u off all proud like, “that’s my girl y’all!! always looking good!!”

jimmy butler |

thinks he's the funniest person on earth (he is but don't tell him that bc his ego will inflate too much.) dies laughing after he says something like, "that's what she said" or a random deez nuts joke. it's never that funny but the way jimmy reacts after saying it makes it funnier than it really is. jimmy gets so proud of himself the second he makes you laugh— genuinely starts considering becoming a stand up comedian... sure, babe!

nikola jokic |

the most helpful person ever, but acts like he doesn’t want to help if that makes sense?? you’ll ask him to bring you a cup of water and he’s like, "okay... 😐" but will bring back a full cup with the right amount of ice and a slice of lemon. if you offer to do it yourself instead, he is so quick to say no!! deep down, he loves helping you in whatever way he can. so absolutely not, don’t even think about lifting a single finger. never tries to make you feel bad about it, he's just a lil sassy.

anthony edwards |

always wants a kiss!! he will literally hold you at gunpoint until you give him one. it’s that serious. you could be late for an appointment, damn near rushing out the door, and he’ll stop you saying, “damn i can’t get no kiss goodbye? c’mere ma,” then kisses you like it’s his last day on earth. do not give in!! next thing you know, you’re making out and he’s about to carry you back to bed. go ahead and reschedule, because you’re gonna be late. even if he says, “just 5 minutes, i promise.”

austin reaves |

austin does not play about his playlists!! he has one for when he’s feeling sad, feeling good, warmup playlist, car playlist, and the one he shares with you. honestly, he’s probably more of a rock, country, and rap guy. if you have completely different taste in music than him, at first he would tolerate listening to it. now? it doesn’t matter if it’s hyperpop, metal, or music in another language — he’s vibing along with you! is he a singer? absolutely not, but he tries. and with his country accent, it’s the cutest thing ever. as long as you ignore his voice cracks.

jj redick |

i saw a vid about how he’s a huge lego nerd and i cannot stop thinking about it!! i’m sure y’all would have lego date nights— dinner with a glass of wine while you build ridiculously intricate lego sets together. sometimes, you’ll even have competitions to see who can finish a set first (somehow he wins every time??). i feel like he’s one of those really talented people who can make anything out of random legos too, so he’ll probably build a bouquet of flowers or your favorite character. a little wonky looking maybe, but it means so much because it’s from him. i know in my heart y’all have tiny lego versions of yourselves attached to your keys.

luka who. . . is completely different to the beast he is on the court. as soon as he gets home, he turns into the softest baby you’ve seen. he goes from screaming at refs about their bullshit calls, talking crazy shit on the court, to melting in your arms the second he gets home from the arena. he doesn’t say much, simply mumbling, “i missed you”. i know in my heart that he’s the type to be knocked out the second he gets comfortable (seriously, you have pictures of him sleeping in the most unconventional places..)

luka who. . . has a hand on you at all times. there’s a bunch of pictures of him out with you, hand on your hip (sometimes dangerously close to your ass), walking together hand in hand, and it’s worse when you’re at home. he’d probably hold your foot just because. 

luka who. . . loves yapping to you about anything. he’s probably given you 1 hour lectures about his cars and the mechanics of them, but honestly, you let him because everytime he does, he looks cute when he starts getting excited about whatever he's talking about. and if you start yapping to him about anything, mans is sat. attentive and actively listening to the point where he stares into your soul. not one detail is ignored!! loves you sm that everything you say means the world to him.

which brings us to, luka who. . . does anything you ask. you could tell him to jump and he’d ask, “how high?” he’s a natural born giver and isn’t ashamed of it. people may call him a simp, but he just sees it as making sure his girl stays happy. plus, it's worth it because he gets to spend more time with you. i think since he's often gone for games, he really tries to make it up as best as he can, especially during the off season. i wouldn’t be surprised if he puts stuff really high or tightens the jar just so you can ask him to do it. 

luka who. . . doesn’t forget a single thing you tell him. it doesn’t matter if its your favorite show, singer, or the name of a random teddy bear you had when you were 10, he will always remember. to him, everything about you is important. he basically sees it as his duty to make sure you’re loved and taken care of, and remembering things that make you who you are in the first place is one of the ways he does that. so if he ends up gifting you something you barely mentioned like three months ago, do not be surprised. 

luka who. . . does not play about you. he gets so protective sometimes it’s genuinely ridiculous. if you give one of his dogs more attention than he does, he’ll be so pouty for the rest of the day, saying stuff like “do you not love me anymore?” as a joke just to piss you off. but in more serious situations, he’s very quick to act. if he sees some paparazzi getting all up in your personal space, he is not afraid to shove someone away. somebody talking shit about you around him? he doesn’t hesitate to defend you.

luka who. . . constantly lets you know that he loves you. he really has no limits— he shows it through words, actions, gifts, etc. like when he tries to cook dinner after a rough day (doesn’t taste…the best, but he tries!), hyping you up as you get ready, posting you on instagram constantly, mentioning you whenever he can during interviews, getting you the most thoughtful gifts ever. his love truly knows no bounds. 

NSFW HCS

luka who. . . gets hard no matter what you do. seriously, it’s insane. you could simply look at him and he’s up and ready to go. you say it’s because he must be really whipped for you, and he agrees every time. 

luka who. . . cannot finish sex without having you cum on his tongue at least once. yeah, it’s nice when you do it on his cock, but being able to taste you is an even better feeling. he probably keeps his stubble so you're extra overstimulated while he's going down on you. he’s addicted to your taste and hearing you moan and whine is like a song he never gets sick of.

luka who. . . loves a bit of pain. nothing too crazy, but feeling your nails dig into his back is heavenly. or if you tug on his hair? oh, he’ll get so loud, you practically have to gag him so he shuts up. (hint: he also likes that. more than he should.)

luka who. . .  who loves talking dirty in slovenian. he really takes it up a notch, saying the filthiest shit ever in your ear, knowing you won't understand. don't be fooled though, he's not scared to say it in english either. he'll say stuff like:

"come on, one more time,"

"fuck, take it all. i know you can,"

"look at this pretty fucking pussy. all nice and wet for me, hm?"

“keep your eyes on me while i fuck you.”

luka who. . . has a serious breeding fixation. he doesn’t mind cumming anywhere else, but if you give him the go ahead to finish inside? he’ll bust in seconds. he’s so possessive that he’ll do whatever to mark you as his. don’t even let him watch it leak out. he’ll be tempted to push it back in with his fingers, hoping it sticks. it’s even worse when you say, “gimmie a baby, luka,” or “please, make me a mommy,” because how could he ever say no? 

luka who. . . has probably taken pictures/videos of y’all while having sex. you don’t mind, because you know he’d rather die than ever let anyone else see. he respects you too much to ever do that without your permission. he mainly keeps it in a private folder to use whenever he’s at away games or when you’re gone. his favorite video is you taking backshots from him, mainly because your ass looks beautiful taking him. that, and when you’re marked up with his cum after a blowjob, smiling and looking up with teasing eyes. if he focuses hard enough, it’s almost like you’re there. god, he really can’t get enough of it.

luka who. . . always gives you aftercare. as an athlete, he knows more than anyone that a body needs to recover after any kind physical activity. he never forgets to run you a bath, clean you up, and most importantly— make sure you know you’re loved. expect cuddles and kisses hours after sex.

all the while, you're on a trip to ibiza with your girlfriends for a week, most likely sunbathing and clubbing until your mind is foggy and feet ache from standing with heels for too long. and yeah, he could do the same in LA— where it’s sunny and parties are thrown every other second with plenty of shots and girls. 

but none of them are you. 

and if luka’s going to drag himself out to a function he doesn’t even want to go to, he'd rather bare it all with you by his side. 

his phone shines bright in the dark bedroom, highlighting your recent conversation with luka. you haven't sent anything else other than the pictures you wanted his opinion on, asking which ones are "perfff for insta?"

he tried to pay attention. you've always cared about the aesthetic of your page, every post and caption particular to your vibe— he knew better than to steer you in the wrong direction. you look gorgeous, he thinks while scrolling through the bundle of pictures you sent, but his breath hitches when he comes across the second half of them.

different than your shots of you in flowy dresses, posing next to palm trees, behind sunsets, or a peek of the fancy dinners you've had— no, this was you, wearing the skimpiest bikini he’s ever seen in his life. it’s blue, his favorite color.

all he can do is stare at the sight, mouth open agape, literally analyzing every pixel on his screen.

it’s almost like you did this on purpose. like you knew he's been craving you terribly since you’ve been gone. 

again, he tries, really tries to hold himself back and be respectful. text you back, "these are fine," and ignore how his dick is straining through his boxers, begging to be touched. luka scoffs at the thought of him jerking off to you like some teenage boy. i mean c'mon— he's better than that.

but the way the blue straps of the bikini digs into your skin, emphasizing the soft rolls of your body? or how the cups barely cover your areola? don’t even mention the tan line he so desperately wants to trace with his tongue or how he's so jealous of the sand your ass rests on. who can blame him for you being so fucking hot?

his left hand rubs up and down his cock harshly, breaths sharpening when the other clumsily zooms into your chest, needing to have a closer look— only to throw his head back against the pillow, sharp eyes noticing that the camera captured your hard nipples. they’re poking through the fabric, practically begging him to wrap his pink lips around one and twist the other between his fingers. fuck, fuck, fuck. he can’t stop. 

and he doesn’t want to stop— it’s so shameful, but luka’s never felt better since you left. the sooner it’s over, the better.

this is really fucked up, he thinks. but his shame isn't enough to drown out how bad his heart yearns to be with you again. 

luka could rip that joke of a swimsuit off of you, while you scold him with a, "hey—! that was expensive!" but he'd continue anyway, muttering about how he'd buy you a hundred of the same pair to make up for it.

swim trunks kicked to the side, your boobs would be the first thing he goes after, wrapping his mouth around your nipples like he promised— mind fogged up, lips sucking and playing with them in a trance. maybe he’d graze his teeth and bite around the flesh, making you squeal out, but he'd kiss it better anyway.

or, what if, he'd sit up on the beach chair, his thick figure between your thighs, ready to indulge in your sweetness. luka would beg for just a taste, and you'd let him have it, needing to feel his warm tongue before he ruins you with his cock. 

or maybe, instead, he'd be too impatient to taste, quickly lining his cock against your wet pussy. his darkened blue eyes would watch every twitch of your expression as the head rubs between your folds, your composure crumbling each time he barely presses inside, and then pulls away. somehow, luka actually can hear you mewl below him, begging— "please, please, luka! need it s' bad!" it would be his punishment for you after keeping this heaven away from him for so long.

or, how about this? he’d just shove it in, not being able to resist your cries. luka can’t say no to you, after all. fuck you hard and deep, his body folding you in half on the flimsy chair, to the point where his tip brushes against your cervix with every thrust. "oh god, luka, right t—there!" and he’d smirk, and say, he knows. 

all he’d want to hear are your whimpers and thighs slapping against each other, like thunder echoing throughout the whole airbnb. he'd fuck you to the point where no other man could ever make you feel the same, beg him to cum inside, and mark you up forever.

and you'd be so tight, now that, he’s sure of. greedily sucking him in, not being able to pull out even if he wanted to. your walls all warm and ready for him to drench in his cum in, and god, he'd do anything for it to happen—

then in an instant, the sunshine, palm trees, and you, naked and wanting, disappear. mind blanking out as luka groans your name into the open air, whimpers leaving his throat rough and deep, jerking out his cum onto his sweaty chest.

the thick silence settles around him as he stares into the dark— only reminding him of how still, you’re not here.

is he pathetic for feeling this way? i mean, it’s just a week. he can totally handle a week. 

luka reaches blindly for a napkin on the nightstand, quickly wiping at himself before the sticky liquid dries on his skin.

as if the faster he wipes it away, it'll erase all the evidence of how much he misses you.

his phone dings from the other side of the bed— probably fell out of his hands while he was… occupied, knowing it’s you from the special ringtone he set on his phone.

"oh, i forgot!" you text him, and before luka can finish reading what you sent, 10 more attachments come through at once. 

"...fuck my life," he groans. 

the first photo is from behind. you're sat on the edge of the pool, water glimmering beneath you. your back arches just slightly, the curve of your spine drawing his eyes down, down to where the thin strap of the yellow and purple thong disappears between your cheeks, wedged in place as if it belongs there.

and again, luka can’t even comprehend what that bikini is supposed to cover exactly. 

he swallows. before he can stop himself from looking at you for too long, his cock rises back up, hard once again.

"i took more photos of myself today. what do you think of these?"

yeah. he's done for.

but most importantly, the knicks team who are now legends, celebrities, family members, and lifelong fans pass by on top of decorated floats, waving to thousands of people screaming below them.

it's a dream, tyler thinks to himself. he doesn't want to ever wake up from it.

besides the part where he first climbed down from his float to walk around, interact with the crowd, spray a little champagne... only to get stopped by security because they thought he was some random guy trying to sneak into the parade.

actually, nah, even that part. every single chaotic moment of today has now become part of the best day of his life.

especially this one.

it started as a dare from your homegirl.

i mean realistically, what are the chances tyler kolek notices you in a crowd this big? there's thousands of other people screaming his name, doing whatever they can to get his attention— odds of him singling you out in the crowd? zero.

so when your friends started hyping you up, daring you to get him to sign your chest, you went along with it, acting far more confident than you actually were. you can't be nervous if you're prepared for the most expected outcome: tyler doesn't approach your section and the dare becomes a memory you'll laugh about five years from now.

but the second you look up from your phone, you spot tyler making his way through. he's even closer now, stopping every few feet to hug fans, hand out high fives, and pose for pictures.

"oh my god, it’s him!" your best friend screams into your ear.

you feel your stomach drop to your ass. a few minutes ago, the dare felt harmless. impossible, even. now, there's no excuse, no pretending it was never going to happen in the first place. glancing at the excited look on your best friend's face, you know she expects you to back up all that talk.

"wait, girl, i take it back—!" you try to tell her, until your best friend yells with all her might, "tyler! can you sign my best friend’s boobs?!" pointing her finger straight at you.

to your horror, he hears her very clearly. tyler’s head immediately snaps in your direction, grin spreading across his face as he makes his way over. by the time he reaches the barricade, he looks both amused and confused but clearly willing to fulfill her request.

he looks at you, then pauses, because of how much you stand out to him. wait fuck— you're gorgeous. the realization hits him so unexpectedly that he just stares.

tyler didn’t realize he zoned out until your best friend repeats the question, louder this time, making sure he actually heard what she said.

"uh, are you sure?" he yells back, not at her, but you, eyes searching for any discomfort. you just nod eagerly, despite the bewildered look on your face, and hand him the sharpie as fast as you can— like he might disappear forever if you don’t hurry up. "alright, m’ready when you are."

you silently thank whatever possessed you to cut a v neck into the knicks shirt you bought yesterday, putting your cleavage on full display. when you lean in, tyler braces a hand against the side of your breast as he scribbles his signature.

not that he was trying to cop a feel… but damn, you’re so soft.

you look back to find your best friend recording the whole interaction, grinning so hard she looks like she's in disbelief. hell, it's happening to you and you can barely believe it yourself.

when tyler finally lifts the sharpie from your chest, his eyes linger on the pitch black signature scrawled across your rich brown skin, admiring it as if it’s a masterpiece. he can’t take credit for your beauty though, he’ll have to thank you and your parents.

"thank you, champ!" you say, eyes sparkling.

he looks up and catches your smile, laughing despite himself. he likes the way you say it, champ. likes the way your eyes light up when you smile. your coils, your lips, your sweet smell— everything.

especially the way he doesn’t know a thing about you. hopefully, you’ll let him find out.

shit. if he lets himself walk away without getting your name, without ever seeing you again, he'll never forgive himself.

"what’s your name?"

you lean forward, closing the distance between you and yell your name into his ear. tyler pulls back just enough to look back with a smile.

"i’m tyler!" he shouts over the crowd. "tyler kolek!"

"i know!"

"oh right, duh."

the two of you share laugh together, until it’s interrupted by a security guard nudging tyler’s shoulder. it’s been four long minutes. he needs to keep moving with the rest of the parade.

tyler glances over and nods, but not before turning back to you one last time. his rough fingers reach for your hand. you blink up at him, confused, until he lifts the sharpie up in silent question.

can i?

you don’t hesitate at all saying yes.

a grin tugs at his mouth as he flips your palm over and quickly scribbles his number across it, the digits a little uneven from the alcohol in his system, but still readable.

"promise me you’ll text me." he says, finally moving along with the security guard. "i gotta see you again!"

he sees your lips move, but can barely hear as the distance between you grows. tyler prays he wasn’t being delusional when he saw you mouth,

"i promise."