My Thoughts Have To Stay In My Brain.

my thoughts have to stay in my brain….

take care.

caitlin clark x reader type beat PART 2!!!!!!!!

6.2k (what the fuck)

ok. Listen!!!!!! This is long time coming and also is a disgusting amount of words and dialogue and like weird subtextual angst masked with smut honestly it’s pure delusion on a page also ending only slightly abrupt bc it was unfathomably long sorry

wasn’t gonna make the sequel so in depth like ??? How’d this one shot turn into a fic 😐 no Clue but all i know is that insecure sort of self deprecative caitlin clark with this soft dominance of a reader combined with two bitches who won’t admit their feelings is my crack!!!! let me know if a part 3 is even needed or if yall even care teehee

no beta simply just vibes

ANYWAYYZZZZZ love u guys sorry that i suck!!!

two weeks.

it had been two weeks since you’d texted that number with your name, a simple contact, and she’d liked the message, and that was it.

it wasn’t like things immediately changed— you still, somehow, made your flight despite the throbbing headache that reverberated in your skull, and you still were able to make sure you didn’t leave a toothbrush or a stray apple watch charger in the hotel room but, miraculously, you find a way to not mention a single thing about your one night stand until you touch down at home; manchester, connecticut.

you tell your friends all about it— probably missing some implied understanding about nda’s— and pretend like it isn’t that big of a deal that one of the biggest basketball players for women’s college wasn’t knuckles deep inside of you only the night before.

but it’s a big deal. and you know it is.

like her breath, fierce and rampant with each spellbinding curl of her fingers, wasn’t startlingly still replaying in your mind, her mouth soaking in each warm, huff of air that you expelled in the form of a moan. like she hadn’t watched as she fucked you, dark eyes somehow impossibly darker as her biceps flexed, the line of thick, corded veins that traveled her muscular arms somehow jumping with each pump of her fingers inside of you.

that the same, somehow blushing girl that stood in the elevator had regarded you like something to be challenged, like something she could fight for. something she could win.

you didn’t forget a single thing. not in the way she leaned down over you as her fingers quickened their pace, the force of it eliciting grunts from caitlin’s mouth as she tore you apart, piece by piece, licking the remains as her teeth grazed over a nipple, the sensitive jut of your collarbone.

“so pretty,” she’d murmured against your skin, almost absently, like she didn’t even realize she’d said it. “you like that?” obviously, it went without saying that you did (very much), but really, you’d learned that she wanted to hear you say it. it was in the same way that - as she’d recounted to you drunkenly in a hotel bar that night - she needed to hear the audience cheer. that the fans hollering and shouting was when she felt like she was on fire. it was the external validation that urged her forth, amped her up, kept her alight.

somehow, you could see exactly how it applied to her then, her eyes quick to scan over your face— your lips, to kiss them, before she’d ask again, urgently, “you like how i fuck you? huh? tell me.”

you’d nodded furiously, words tumbling past your trembling lips, “y-es, fuck, yes—“ god, it would’ve been impossible to pull more than a few words from you with how wrought you are, body unrelentingly tense, shaking and weak until she’d coaxed another orgasm out of you, her name sounding broken on your tongue as her fingers slow, the unrelenting grind from the heel of her hand finally relaxing to ride you through it.

she was unforgivingly good with her fucking hands, you’d come to realize.

and yet, beyond all of that, much to your friends dismay, you don’t call her.

no, in fact, you mute her name on twitter and block the IOWA womens basketball page because it becomes suddenly like a frenzy. she’s everywhere, more than usual, like some sick sign from the universe and as much as it seems almost the complete opposite of how you really feel, you decide that you can never see her again.

it’s not like the sex wasn’t phenomenal, or that when it’s late and your hand sneaks into your pants, your imagination doesn’t always seems to conjure up tall, pretty girls with brown hair and green eyes, or that she didn’t completely captivate you from the moment she’d looked at you, dumbfounded and sheepish in an elevator with a blush staining her cheeks.

it wasn’t that. in fact, it was the complete opposite.

it was because the moment you’d seen a picture of her online after the fact, looking tougher than you knew she was, you’d realized that the last place you’d seen her was from between your legs, and it felt like a fucking soul crush.

because she was beautiful, and smiling, and playing up that celebrity, all-star mentality that you knew she could back up, but that you realized wasn’t her in the slightest. because now, you knew her— sort of— and saw her in ways that nobody else had— that you knew of. more so, that she’d learned your body in the span of a night and then just left, and somehow that just wasn’t fucking fair.

there was a shroud of mystery that surrounded her, even if she belonged to the world, to her supposed boyfriend, to everyone, really— way more than she ever belonged to you, even if just for a night.

so you go on about your life, and you pretend you don’t notice the draft is coming, or that soon, the already well known athlete was gonna be world renowned, taking her biggest leap to play professional, and you’d be nothing to her, nothing but the girl she’d screwed in a hotel room when she’d gotten too drunk after the final four.

and sure, you find solace in it. but there’s also this lingering, nagging feeling of being unfinished, like there’s still more. there has to be more.

so, no, you don’t call her.

but, somehow, you find last-minute tickets for the draft— which, in the grand scheme of things isn’t completely selfish. the moment you’d seen nika muhl and aaliyah edwards up for the league, you’d known that you were going to try for tickets. you just, probably, maybe, weren’t actually expecting to hookup with the projected top number one draft pick, either.

but you did, so, you buy them anyway.

you let your friends tease you for picking a dress that’s sorta slutty and for spending more time than you should doing your makeup at whatever hotel you picked in boston, only a few blocks from the draft.

all in all, it goes exactly how you expect. caitlin gets number one draft, which only slightly makes you antsy in your seat, thinking about the fact that she doesn’t know you’re there, that she doesn’t know you saw her win big and that she possibly could’ve been thinking about anyone fucking else. your favorites, nika muhl and aaliyah edwards, get teams that you’re more than happy to celebrate, and watch paige bueckers and azzi fudd get shoutout after shoutout. it’s good, it’s fun— but fuck it.

you think you miss her. maybe just her fingers, or her mouth, but you realize in a weird swell of recognition as the guests are ushered out, your head spinning back every few moments to see if you can catch a glimpse of her, that you do.

you miss the cait you’d met— you just didn’t know the one that sat in the room now.

then, it’s all sorta funny, in a way, considering the situation you find yourself in once everyone begins to disperse, limos and SUV’s pulled up and parked outside of the venue, crowds of fans standing around the barricades to sit for their favorite athletes to pile out of the doors, to go to some super elite, exclusive party that you knew you had no place at.

you don’t expect any special treatment, and you don’t expect a text or a call— which is good, because they don’t come.

no, actually, they don’t come until later.

later, after you’d spent the rest of the night in a nearby bar with a couple of girls you’d met leaving the draft. they’re funny and they’re nice, gushing about the picks, talking miles a minute about all their favorites and making you pretend that the tequila doesn’t burn just a tiny bit more when they mention caitlin’s name.

it doesn’t come until you’re showered, dressed in sweats and pleasantly drunk, scrolling through the shitty channels when your phone buzzes once, then twice, then three times and it almost makes you click the lock button, shove it over in assumption of your friends bothering you about an unsuccessful night to woo a pro athlete— but then it happens again.

you can’t really decipher what makes you look at the random assortment of numbers and it suddenly click. maybe it was because you’d spent the past few weeks in a complete back and forth, scanning over a crumpled napkin with the name ‘cait’ and these specific numbers beside it.

you know who it is, and despite yourself, your heart catches in your throat.

“hello?”

“you made it.” her voice is deeper than you remember, and it doesn’t fail to make your cheeks burn almost immediately. fuck.

“huh?” you play dumb, mostly because it’s more embarassing to admit that you’d came all this way for this, for the slim possibility that she’d fucking notice.

“tonight, i mean. you- i didn’t know— i didn’t know you were coming.” you stay silent, because what else is there to say? had she seen you?

but she continues, “you should’ve told me.” and then, “i, uh— i would’ve liked to see you.”

she’s pathetic, and so are you. a hand comes up to shove back your hair from your face, breath increasing only slightly. “i have a hotel, like, smack in the middle of boston if you’re… like, if this is an offer.”

now, she’s silent. there’s a shuffle on the other end, a murmur of a voice that you don’t recognize, before she’s back, her voice closer, softer. “yeah. yeah, i’d, uh, i’d like that.”

you open your mouth to say something, probably alcohol fueled and embarassed, but she’s speaking now, a bit quicker, “just text me, yeah?”

then the phone clicks, and for half a second, you stare at the home screen as if this couldn’t possibly be fucking real.

but it is, miraculously, and god, it makes you kind of fucking horny to think that she’s willing to see you at half past three in the morning, so your fingers fly over the keyboard in record time— a pin being dropped through imessage with a confirmed ping.

it’s fucking go time after that.

you find the lacy, practically nonexistent underwear you’d brought, forgo a bra entirely, and try to find something a little less boring than your sweatsuit, before you realize with a sickening realization that the revealing dress you’d worn for the draft was the outfit you’d expected to see her in, and as much as you cared, you kinda fucking didn’t— she’d been inside of you, by now. clothing didn’t seem as pressingly urgent as it would otherwise.

it’s only about twenty minutes before she texts you, a simple ‘here’. you send a brief message, just the number of your hotel room, and pretend like your heart doesn’t practically pound out of your chest for each passing moment, eyes flickering from the door, to the window outside, the city bustling even at a time like this.

she knocks only twice, and it startles you enough that it takes your breath away.

the moment the door swings open, it’s like a wave of calm washes over you, a weird sense of solace that you hadn’t realized she could offer, mostly due to the fact that before you stood the caitlin you’d remembered from all those weeks ago, after final four. not the exquisitely dressed, superstar you’d seen earlier that night, in shades and clothing that you could never afford with an attitude you didn’t recognize.

instead, she stands before you at her startling height, in sneakers, sweats and a windbreaker, a hood over her head and her hands tucked into her pockets. once again, looking impossibly small for someone of her stature and it takes all that’s within you to not kiss her right there.

“you got here quick.” you mention, still only slightly breathless as she offers a smile that resembles more of a smirk than anything else.

“i was scared you’d fall asleep,” and it sounds as sheepish as it makes you feel.

you step back, let her walk in and inhabit the space, only slightly making your palms sweat to have her here, in front of you again.

you decide to take the initiative to plop onto the bed, looking up at her as you toy with a stray string from your hoodie, “i wasn’t gonna fall asleep,” you retort, looking up at her, catching a glance that you don’t break, “congrats on top draft pick.”

now, she’s blushing, shaking her head and pursing her lips, “still feels unreal, dude.” she murmurs, looking down at her feet before slowly, her movements unsure, she sinks onto the bed next to you. “you’re unreal.” you say quietly, smirking at her, because you know how she’d cringe at it, scrunches her face before shaking her head. “god, not by a long shot.”

you open your mouth to say something else, maybe tease her about it, but she clears her throat quietly, “but i don’t, uh- wanna talk about that right now?” she offers a mirthless laugh, “is that stupid?”

she turns to look at you, and it happens to only be a couple centimeters from your face once you look up, shake your head “then we don’t have to.” you agree quietly, and it’s impossible to miss the way her eyes flicker down at your lips, back up to your face, and it’s equally as impossible to ignore the flip you get in your stomach before you surge forward to kiss her.

she kisses the same, tastes like what you remember, if not marked by whatever cocktails she must’ve had, whatever liquor still sat on your own breath, and it washes over you greedily that you do fucking want her— more than whatever you tried to convince yourself of during the past two weeks, more than what you’d downplayed to your friends.

“been thinking about you,” it comes out rushed, murmured against caitlin’s lips, shakily from your own mouth as she lets out a slow, wanton breath. you turn to crawl up on your knees, swinging over her hips to push her back against the bed.

she makes a noise like it stems from disbelief, almost like denial, but doesn’t pull away, not even once as her hands, fingers long and palms wide, spread beneath your sweatshirt, span across the expanse of your back and grasp.

“i did,” you insist between breathless kisses, foreheads pressed together hard as her hand races up the front now, over your stomach, palm your breasts and elicit a pitchy gasp from the immediate contact of her cold hands to your sensitive nipples, “every fucking day.”

“shut up,” she denies it again, which only slightly irks you because as cliche as it felt to say during a makeout, it’s not like you would lie about how much you’ve craved this— or more specifically, her.

you try to really expand on the thought, but it becomes almost impossible when her lips attach to your jaw, suckling until her teeth are teasing the sensitive, thin skin beneath your ear, and you make a noise too embarrassing to recount before you can gather your words. “…missed you.”

caitlin makes a noise in her own throat, something between a growl and a groan as she arches her hips up slightly to press against you, before she shakes her head, pulling back only to look up at you from your position on her lap with this sick, almost torturous gaze. her eyes are lidded and feverbright, cheeks pink, and lips glossy, kiss-bitten.

“you shouldn’t think about me.” it comes out quick with her breath, her thumbs still slow in the circles they rubbed around your nipples, making your head arch back with a whimper before you swallow hard, her words almost too quiet to hear, “not worth it to think about.”

the admission surprises you, “fuck off, clark.” you snort, the words fall lazily out of your mouth, “so humble, huh?”

she gets hot at that, and you can tell from the way her face is pressed into your neck, the way a heat radiates from her cheeks right at that moment that makes your stomach swirl, your own hands coming up to tangle into her hair.

“…i‘m serious.” she insists, still mouthing against the same area of skin that you knew would be bruised, and pretend like her totally incognito, self deprecative words weren’t somewhat confusing and worrying you.

she was fucking perfect, didn’t she realize that? how could she not when practically everyone else in the world thought the same? maybe you were being dramatic or maybe you were just horny, but it felt achingly real in the moment that she knew that, even if she wouldn't listen, even if you'd have to show her instead.

“cait, i’m fucking serious.” you counter now, using the hands in her hair to tug, exploring the reaction that it elicits, which is something that apparently caitlin enjoys by the soft whine that jumps from her throat, the way her breath quickens, the wide eyed look she gives you.

it makes your head spin, your thighs clench involuntarily. she seems so fucking innocent, and yet, all knowing at the same time.

“is that… bad?” you continue, your own head ducking to latch your lips against her neck, feeling her pulse jump beneath your teeth, “that i… touched myself and thought of you?” maybe it was the cocktails or the fact that this could be the last fucking time you see her, but it’s like word vomit— every thought and emotion that comes to you is spoken without hesitation, and apart of you wonders where you’d gotten such newfound bravery.

caitlin must be wondering too.

“not bad,” it comes out of her weak, weaker than she is right now, melting under your mouth and the tight grasp you have on her dark hair, the way each strand twines around your fingers to where even the most minuscule move of your fingers elicit a huff or a sigh, “it’s… fucking hot, what the fuck.”

it fuels you, in some way, to hear her validation. for some reason, you don’t try to hold off much longer— your own sweatshirt is being pulled off in record time, tangled in your arms momentarily and flung across the room as you go to reach for hers, “off?” you hum in the midst of the movement, to which she nods, quickly, obedient and yet, so unruly.

she was a dichotomy of everything she stood for. a shy girl pretending to be a superstar, and yet, even in moments like this, quiet and intimate, it felt like a superstar pretending to be shy. you knew just how easily she could unload, dominate the situation— pin you down by your wrists and eat you out within an inch of your life, because she had.

but now, she’s relenting, and it makes something within you burn, strengthening wildly to try and tame that beast that you knew sat fervent beneath her skin, to try and prove that caitlin didn’t always have to be caitlin clark, she could just be this.

just a pretty girl you wanted to fuck.

besides, maybe you were making up for lost time, returning favors you’d been too drunk and blissed out to give the first time around when she’d finished you off with fucking ease.

as soon as she’s exposed, her black sports bra yanked off with little effort to reveal her breasts beneath, pale and dotted with freckles, a red line from the band of it standing starkly against it, you find your mouth lowering to suckle on a spot near her nipple, teasing against the bud and licking gently at the skin until you hear her breath increase, breaking only slightly into a whine that makes you swallow hard.

you pull away, just to look at her— dark eyebrows furrowed, focused in a concentration that you can only discern as someone fighting for the need to control, to dictate, to display the same use of her strategic authority that she’s used time and time again on the court.

you decide in that moment, that you won’t let her.

“let me take care of you?” it comes out softer than you mean it to, and you can see the trust building within her, slow to register as safe— and you don’t blame her.

you both are practically strangers, knowing nothing of each other than drunken conversation that had turned too deep, nothing but the sound the other made when they came, the faces they made. it was intimately unfamiliar, and perhaps that’s where caitlin had found the solace.

maybe she knew that at this point in her career she wouldn’t have normalcy. it was practically impossible for any person knowledgeable in sports to not know her, or even just of her. to a further degree, even most, with the exception of being well versed in women’s sports, had at least heard of her, and that was simply a piece of herself that had been taken, one she’d never be able to retrieve.

but this, this might be the one standing, single piece of lucidity and realness that was hers— locked away in a hotel room in a city unfamiliar to the both of you, and it’s enough.

it’s enough for now.

“you wouldn’t even text me back.” she counters, but it’s clear in her tone, regardless of how ragged, that it’s to prod at you, and it works.

“shut up.” you murmur as you press your hands to her shoulders, push her back against the bed to straddle her fully as you brush your thumb over her abused nipple, reddened and too easy to bruise. she moans when you press on it, and it elicits a smirk to your face that’s impossible to hide. “you’re here now, aren’t you?”

for some reason, it causes a sad sort of smirk to her face that’s impossible to miss, regardless of how quickly she covers it with an exhale of want, one that you know isn’t feigned, “where else would i be?”

there’s a million answers to that. press, interviews, sleeping, with her fucking boyfriend, but you settle for a small smile, “good point.”

you hope it centers her a little when the bruising press of your fingers translate into something gentler, more of a caress against her chest that you trail up to her face, and it almost twists something inside of you to see the way her face relaxes, leans against it as if it was some type of treatment or medicine to some ailment you weren’t aware of.

you go to pull away, to begin working at the ties on her sweatpants to unwravel her even more, lost in the softness of the moment and yet still blinded by the hazy lust until she speaks, quiet and barely there.

“did you really think about me?”

it stuns you for half a second, because the simple confession hadn’t registered to you as something she’d recall, something she’d look to expand upon.

but you’d always been honest, brutally so.

“yeah,” you say it as if it was obvious, when truly it wasn’t, and more so, probably wasn’t reciprocated, “i had fun,” a gross understatement, a weak replacement for all that you really wanted to say. then, if not a bit more revealing of your inner voice, “didn’t you?”

caitlin makes a noise that resembles a huff, but it’s not impatient, it’s honest. you wonder how often she gets to do that. “you know i did.” it comes out like an admission of guilt, under her breath, yet her eyes are unrelenting as they are sincere and it makes your eyebrows lift.

it makes your breath halt slightly, “is… not having fun in your contract or something?” you lace it with a quiet chuckle, mostly because you don’t want to make it too deep, too revealing to ask, but part of you thinks it’s expanded beyond that already, had been since she'd called you at three in the morning, just to say that she'd seen you, that she wanted to see you again.

her hands rise from her sides to rest against your thighs, and the touch is welcome, one that you relax into before she manages a half smile, “might as well be.”

but then, you see that surge of confidence again, something in her eyes glimmering as she squeezes at the skin of your thighs, hard, but your eyes remain fixed, even as hers drop, almost shy in her show of strength. “it’s why… i’ve thought about you like, everyday since... final four?”

that certainly makes your breath halt, invoking a reaction in your stomach and between your legs that you choose to ignore as you swallow, thumb still slow in its brush against her cheek.

“yeah?” it comes out of you rough, and she grants you with a nod as a response, then, after only a moment, she whispers, an echo to your words from before. “so... is it bad that i missed you too?”

“god, shut up.” you repeat again, as if somehow that was a valid response to being told such a thing by a girl you’d only had met twice, by a girl you knew nothing about.

you wanna ask her a million questions, know anything and everything: ask her if she’s actually into girls, if she’s actually into her boyfriend. mainly, if she’s actually into this pedestal that she’d been thrust into, if the fame was too much, maybe if it was never enough.

but you settle for shutting her up for now, because you can see the way her chest rises and falls rapidly, can hear the strain that it took to admit, and you realize, selflessly, that maybe you won’t let yourself ask for more.

not now, anyway.

instead, you lean up, uncharacteristically tender as you slide your lips against hers, feels the way she relents against you, slow and subservient.

“can i show you how bad i missed you?” your fingers tease the edge of her sweatpants, and she lets out a creaking groan, head tilting back and eyes closing as if in exasperation, before she nods. “please.”

you get right to work.

it takes only a little bit of adjustment to get her pants off of her long legs, to reveal the simple pair of black boy shorts that she wore, before you can finally tease a finger against the soaked fabric, reveling in the wetness that you knew matched your own.

her hips jump up, caged in only by your legs as you arch your middle finger, riding the knuckle against her heat, watching the way her face twists only slightly, lips parted in silent noises that you wish you could beckon out of her.

it is fun, you realize in the back of your mind, to pull her apart like this. without the inebriation clouding your mind from the last time, you feel almost startlingly cognizant of your own movements, of her reactions.

when you finally pump your middle finger into her, you notice the way her stomach and abs flex involuntarily, the way her voice pitches up and almost keens in her throat, catching with every stuttered inhale.

when you lean down to press your lips against the slickness of her cunt, press the pad of your tongue to her clit, she says your name— loud. it’s something mixed between a whine and a plead, long, dexterous fingers tangling into your hair and holding on tight.

you devour her, tongue slow to slide against her slick folds, to feel the surge of wetness spill out around your fingers, mixed with your own saliva. you drink her in like she’s a potion, or an elixir, something that you swear you can find and savor if you just go deeper, harder.

it isn’t until you feel her thighs tense, clamping around your head as she lets out a sound close to a gasping breath, marked with a moan that makes your head spin— she sounds so fucking desperate, and you’re bound and determined to give her exactly what she wants. what she deserves, really.

she comes on your fingers, in your mouth, and you relish every bit of it, quick to clean up the excess with fervor. she’s sensitive still, her breath huffing out whenever you breach too close to her clit, but you’re gentle. that’s what this was all about, right?

it’s quiet after the storm, your wrist sore and mouth wet as you sit up a bit, eyes careful to observe how hard her chest rises and falls. the way her hair, having fallen from its loose bun, sat in messy waves around her face, nothing like the impeccably straightened strands you’d seen at the draft, and it sort of makes you smile in an off handed way that you can’t explain, especially not when she opens her eyes finally to look at you.

“quit.” she says, and there’s a smile, tired and breathless, teasing at her own mouth as the hand that had fisted your tangled locks finally released, dragging down the side of your head to push your chin away lightly,

you can’t help but snicker, raising a brow, “what?” she rolls her eyes, and you repeat yourself, this time with a snort, “sorry, you’re just— you just look pretty like this.”

it’s hard to pretend that something inside of you doesn’t wince when her smile drops slightly, and you pretend like it isn’t uncommon to compliment the stranger you just ate out with such sincerity and honesty.

she’s slow when she says it, “...you always look pretty.” and it sounds wistful, murmured in a way that you can’t help but flush a bit at, as you roll your eyes now as if to return the favor, “you’ve only seen me twice, drunk, in sweats.”

but for some reason, that makes her smile return and for half a second, you let yourself pretend.

that maybe, this random series of hookups between you two weren’t fueled by some weird attraction slash escapism slash secret infidelity that had to be shared between you, or tucked away from the world. for half a second, she wasn’t caitlin clark, women’s basketball superstar, future member of the indiana fever.

she was cait, a girl you’d met at a bar that you’d hooked up with who just happened to see you again, and maybe, if you were a little dumber, and maybe a bit drunker, you’d admit to yourself that there’s a part of you that likes her, and each time you’d thought about her in the past few weeks, it had become achingly apparent.

but, you’re smarter than that, and definitely not drunk enough, so you pretend that her next words don’t make your heart skip multiple beats, as if it doesn’t cause a flutter in your chest.

“still,” she scoffs, and she’s sitting up a little, her hand having laid lazily against her stomach, reaches over to grasp your wrist, almost absently, “plus, i saw you earlier tonight, in that dress?”

it shouldn’t make you almost stunned into silence, but it fucking does.

“sorry— not to like, be weird and say i was looking for you but, i dunno, i just— i remember you saying something about UCONN, so i just assumed you'd be ther—“

you’re kissing her before even you can register what she’s saying, or why she says it all in this shy, almost sheepish tone that fills you with a flood of endorphins, butterflies being set alight inside of you.

“god, you’re so…” you’re not sure where you’re going with it, but you can’t help the way your hand comes up to hold the side of her face, dip your thumb against her bottom lip as if to make her taste herself, all as your eyes watched, lidded and fixed.

then, you exhale, only a whisper, “i’m gonna get you in trouble.” you manage to say, despite the very obvious fact that watching her suck on your finger is doing unspeakable things to you, before you drag the wet digit out, her bottom lip pulling only slightly.

“with who?” she says it almost as if you both know the answer, both thinking about the multitude of bigger names and bigger people who had long since been the determinant in caitlin’s career— at least from the little that you knew— and it lapses you both in a measured silence.

until she speaks, and it’s quiet, and sincere. “you’re just like… the only thing in my life right now that has nothing to do with basketball.”

it's a compliment, wrapped up in something a lot more sad, a lot more sincere. it shouldn’t make you want to hug her, but it does, so, you do.

your arms twine around her neck slowly, your face lowering to bury against her neck, just beneath her chin, and you can feel her chest vibrate slightly with a chuckle or a laugh, before her arms are around you, squeezing you tight, “don’t go all sappy on me, dude.” she murmurs, but it’s present in the way she doesn’t pull from it, or really, the way she fucking clutches onto you, almost desperately, that you pretend once again that this doesn’t mean anything. that this is traditional, hookup behavior, and that once she leaves this hotel room, everything will shift right back into place.

a place where caitlin clark gets to be caitlin clark and you get to be you, and there’s no overlap.

except, that doesn’t happen.

no, instead, once you pull away from the hug she kisses you again, hungrier this time, her hands sliding from your back to your hips so she can hook fingers in the edge of your panties, urging you to sit up on your knees so she can pull them down.

instead, she lets you ride her thigh— both hands firm and strong, her own biceps lfexing to keep you glued to her thick, muscle corded thigh, your cunt unforgivably wet as she dragged your hips down, over and over.

your head tips forward to press to her forehead, and she kisses you through each desperate cry that escapes your lips, the friction and slide becoming wetter, slicker by the moment, drawing these high pitched noises from your throat that you know caitlin is drinking in, all while she murmurs to you in this soft little voice, “show me good it feels, lemme hear you.”

in the end, you both pass out there, somewhat in a laying position as caitlin lays on her back, arms loosely wrapped around you, who’s laying stomach down atop of her, a thigh lazily hiked up to hang against her hip, your face pressed into her neck.

it’s fucking bizarre when you think about it.

how you both had talked more than you ever had before, and when you look back on it in the morning, nothing but a ghostly reminder of her presence by the sheets that lay strewn about, the undeniable smell of sex and sweat that still hung in the air, you pretend like you don’t realize just how little you still knew about her, and just how much that you wished you knew.

you also pretend like you don’t miss her, or that when you’re gathering your clothes to check out, a soreness in your body unlike one you’ve really ever felt, you’re practically stunned to see her faded, gray, IOWA shirt, thrown lazily over the desk chair that makes you wonder just how accidental it was for her to leave it.

you wear it anyway,

it isn’t until you make it back to connecticut, making up some excuse for your friends as to how you hadn’t been able to meet up with caitlin, how she’d been too busy anyway and you’d spent the night drinking at a bar, that maybe, just maybe, there was a part of you that wanted to keep her protected, confidential.

maybe it was the post-sex fueled lust that wanted you to keep it close to your chest, a dirty secret only for you to enjoy, or maybe it came from somewhere softer, somewhere that remembered how caitlin had such little privacy, that it almost hits you like a pang just how much you wanted her to still have that, even if it was at the expense of not seeing your friends faces when you told them that you guys had hooked up, again. even if she'd never know that you didn't say a word.

fuck it. it’s the least you could do.

you try not to think about her for days really, not until you’re doing laundry and come across the grey t-shirt, deciding only then that you’d pull up your goddamn bootstraps and finally send a message.

it’s cheeky, the wrinkled t-shirt thrown on over your underwear, leaving your thighs on display and the peek of a hip that you know is intentional before you snap a picture, sending it with little hesitation, and subsequently throwing your phone afterwards at the bed.

“you left something”

cc loved your message, “you left something”

“i know”

“guess i’ll have to come get it back”

it’s stupid, you know it is, but it makes you smile, typing with an urgency only known when texting back the pretty girl you like, before you send it, bottom lip teased between your teeth.

“how close are you to connecticut?”

Exposed - CC

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x Reader

Summary: 3 times Caitlin almost exposes your relationship and 1 time when you do (based on THIS, THIS, and THIS request)

Warnings: fluff, like 3 curse words?

Word Count: 4.4k

Sweetbans Masterlist

AN: I like this.

ONE. live.

It's the summer before senior year and the team is back together for the first time in over a month. A handful of the girls spent some of what they would call 'summer' (aka - the month they had off) together at a lake house, Caitlin included. You, on the other hand, were on a month-long family vacation throughout several European countries to celebrate your parent's 25th wedding anniversary.

You had the best time and were glad to be able to travel with them but you are happy to be back on campus. Yes, you were excited to get back into training, but you were mostly excited to be back with your girl.

You and Caitlin had started dating halfway through junior year. It was something that you decided to keep just between the two of you. Neither of you wanted your relationship in the media especially since you were teammates. Cait went as far as suggesting not telling the team until senior year which you combated at first then ultimately agreed to when seeing how big their mouths can be.

It wasn't too hard to keep your relationship just between the two of you considering everyone knew you were best friends. It was normal for everyone to see you together and get up in each other's personal space. That is until one warm summer afternoon when Jada decided to go live after the first team practice back.

Caitlin hasn't seen you in over a month and the first time she does it is with the whole team. The two of you tried to get together before practice but thanks to some delayed flights you landed just in time to make it to practice.

It was not ideal to go from the airport straight to the gym but you were not going to miss it. The first practice is more of a team bonding than anything and you know how important that is to go into training.

Practice itself was good - the hardest part for Cailtin was keeping her hands off of you in the presence of others. Even if she couldn't directly put her hands on you, she was always standing next to you and/or leaning into you.

It started when you were greeting everyone. You gave hugs all around, ending with your girl who had no desire to release you. You had to pinch her sides to get her to let go before anyone got suspicious. She settled on standing with her arm around your shoulder as the coaches laid out the plan for training. When everyone was dismissed she hugged you from behind and waddled with you over to the first group activity.

"Caitlin, you aren't in this group," you say as you try to remove her arms from around you.

"But I want to stay with you," she says as she hides her face into your back.

"We can catch up later - this time is for the team," you say, still trying to remove the girl from you who just seems to be squeezing you tighter. She doesn't say anything, just keeps attaching herself to you like a child.

"Caitlin Clark, we are not doing this right now," you say in a warning tone.

"Fine," she says releasing you and stomping over to the group she is supposed to be in. You shake your head and roll your eyes at the girl.

After practice, a handful of the team decided to head back to Jada's apartment to go live. It was an end-of-summer tradition when the team got back to campus and was one they fully intended to keep.

Caitlin attempted to get you to go back to your place to spend some time together but that would be a major flag to your guy's relationship. You promised that you would be all hers after hanging out with the team which she reluctantly accepted.

Now the team is sprawled out in Jada's living room as she starts the live. Everyone is so excited that their favorite team is back together and starts asking all kinds of questions about what they did with their month off. You and Caitlin were on the couch in the back - really just there for visibility.

You are sitting next to Caitlin when she realizes she wants you closer. She brings your legs up in one seamless motion and drapes them across her lap, drawing small patterns on your shins.

"CC - what else did you do over the summer, aside from the week we were together," Jada asks, relaying one of the questions that someone asked in the comments. Caitlin's hands come to a stop, one of them planting firmly on your thigh and the other on your ankle.

"Not too much, just some strength and conditioning training," she says. "Oh ya, and wait for this one to get home." She squeezes your thigh causing you to jerk a little as her thumb, unseen to anyone except the two of you, rubs the inner part of your thigh. She is teasing you and you both know it.

"Ya, we all waited for her to get back from her European getaway. Did you meet any cute guys while you were there?" Jada asks as the chat goes crazy. You can feel Cait tense underneath you. If she can tease you, you can do the same.

"Oh you know I did," you say with a sweet smile. "The trip was amazing but the people were even better."

Caitlin moves your legs off of her as you bring yourself to a sitting position again, making sure you are tucked right next to her.

Jada asks the other girls there and you are thankful the attention is off you. Caitlin leans over and whispers in your ear.

"You are joking right?" She asks as her breath tickles your ear.

"Well wouldn't you like to know," you say and lean away from her, She wraps her arm around your shoulder and pulls you in closer to her.

"I wasn't there to show them you belong to me," Caitlin says possessively and you become extremely aware of your surroundings.

"Cait, this is not the time nor the space," you say and smile sweetly at the camera. Your hand comes up to hold hers - keeping her arm around you so she can't do anything else. You were wrong as her free hand comes to rest on your crossed knee.

Kate keeps glancing over at you guys - she knows Caitlin is typically handsy but the way she is around you is different than how she presents herself around others. Kate wasn't the only one to catch on as there have been several comments that Jada has avoided asking if the two of you are a thing.

You are trying to hide the fact that you are extremely flustered, which Caitlin is aware of. You start to get up and think you are free from her touch when just as you are about to take a step, her arms wrap around your waist pulling you to sit in her lap. She holds you as her head comes to rest against your back.

"M just ready to have you to myself," she says, rubbing her face into you. You blush a little hoping no one heard your girlfriend's comment as Jada closes out the live. You believe you are in the clear but Kate sits there trying to process Caitlin's actions and words.

TWO. fight.

It is the third quarter when Caitlin has pretty much had it with no.30 on the other team.

Typically Caitlin can keep her cool, at least when it comes to you in games. But there was something about the way your defender kept her hands on you and would make little snarky comments to you that had you laughing. Little to Cait's knowledge, every time you laughed it was sarcastic.

She was good - anyone on and off the court can see that the girl defending you was doing everything in her power to put you off your game. Little to everyone's knowledge, she was affecting Caitlin's game more than yours.

Caitlin is bringing the ball up the court, looking at all her options - waiting to make the play coach called. You are moving around to break free from your defender and move around a screen getting open. Caitlin passes you the ball and you fake a three, driving in the paint for a difficult layup.

As you are jogging back, your defender catches up to you.

"Not bad, ma," she says with a little smirk. "The way you move is flawless."

You wave her off. Caitlin hears her comment and feels her blood being to boil for what feels like the 20th time this game.

"Why don't you just shut up and play the game," Caitlin mutters under her breath, but loud enough for her to hear. She glances over at Cait, face smug but intrigued by her reaction.

The third quarter comes to an end. As you are making your way back to your bench, the girl who has been all over you bumps into you, grabbing your arm and saying something in your ear. You shake your head and move along but Caitlin is making a beeline to her.

When Kate sees Caitlin moving in a direction that isn't the bench she runs after her and grabs her.

"What are you doing?" Kate asks as she tries to pull a seething Caitlin back to their bench. At this point, Kate is the only one who knows about your relationship. After seeing how touchy-feely Caitlin was towards you at the end of summer and how protective she became of you it was hard to unsee. Kate then finally got Caitlin to spill - which ended with Kate swearing not to tell anyone. In your opinion, it was nice having someone know.

"Going to teach no.30 a lesson," Caitlin is fighting Kate's pulls.

"You aren't going to do anything with a whole 10 minutes left," Kate states.

"You see the way she is touching her and talking to her - that’s my girl," Caitlin says - eyes burning into your defender.

"You can get her back by kicking their team's ass," Kate says finally making headway with getting Caitlin back to the bench.

The fourth quarter begins. You would think Caitlin would settle down but that is far from the case. She is watching your defender's every move, making sure her hands stay within a certain range.

There are 4 minutes left and you are up by 20 when Caitlin snaps.

You had just poked the ball away from the other team when you felt a shove from behind, knocking you down face-first into the floor. It startles you at first but once you realize nothing hurts more than normal, you work your way to your hands and knees. That is when you feel a pair of hands come snaking around your waist, helping you stand from behind.

You instantly know they don't belong to your girlfriend.

As you stand, you feel the girl's hands slide from your stomach to your waist lingering much longer than necessary.

Before you know it, you see Caitlin pass you and shove the girl who has been guarding you all night.

"Keep your fucking hands off of her," Caitlin yells as she pushes the girl, who you learn very fast is not one to back down from a fight. She pushes Caitlin back which causes Caitlin to grab her and throw her to the ground.

You are frozen in place - watching as another girl comes and tries to punch Cait in the face, which she just barely dodges. You are brought back to reality and go to grab your girl, wrapping your arms around her from behind making sure to enclose her arms in yours as some other teammates from broth teams come over to separate those who are getting too heated.

The refs come over and help break everything up as you walk Caitlin away.

"You can't do that," you whisper in her ear.

"She is crazy if she thinks she can touch you like that and in a fucking game where everyone can see. Bullshit," Caitlin mutters and you can feel how heavily she is breathing.

You walk her all the way back to your bench before finally letting her go. You turn her around to see if there are marks on her face from the girl taking swings at her. You go to gra her chin but she swats you away mumbling 'I'm fine'.

"Quit it Clark," you say firmly and she knows you are mad at her. Over the years she has learned how you use different ways of addressing her to show your mood. Caitlin, CC, and Cait were all endearing. Caity and Caitlin Clark were used only in sarcastic situations or to get her attention. Which left the use of just her last name to signal your anger.

You grab her chin and examine her face to make sure she is okay.

"She didn't get me," Caitlin says quietly.

"Sure as hell, glad she didn't," you mutter. "Imagine if she did? You would have lost it more than you already had and gotten yourself kicked out for the next few games. So stupid," you say shaking your head. Caitlin began to fume again.

"Do you think I was just going to stand aside and let her touch you like that? Sweet talk you the entire game and not do anything about it? She was flirting with you the entire game and you just let it happen!" Cait whisper-yells as she throws her arms up.

"You can't let the personal interfere with the professional. You know I am capable of holding my own. I agree - she was much more handsy than she needed to be but we both know who I am going home with. She was doing it to get in your head - and she won." You say frustrated.

Caitlin groans in frustration knowing the two of you are on the same page but she let her temper get the best of her.

"I'm sorry, babe," she says pulling at your jersey for a hug. Her overprotective nature during the game melts away as she just wants to cling to you.

You remove her hands from your jersey, knowing if she hugged you now it would lead to exposing the two of you as more than just friends. She gives you a needy look and you shake your head. Despite her apology, you are still upset at the fact that she lost her temper.

The refs announce that Caitlin and the two girls from the other team are ejected from the game. Security comes over and escorts each of them out.

"I'm never going to let her live this down," Kate says to you as the two of you take the floor for the final few minutes.

"Girl needs to learn how to bite her tongue," you say.

"You know she can't do that when it comes to you," Kate says. "I mean if I was in her position, I would have knocked the girl out cold."

You let out a laugh. You know Caitlin has the best intentions when it comes to you but doesn't always know how to navigate that with her actions. You really aren't mad but know the two of you need to figure out a way for her to control it better.

THREE. sick.

Caitlin wakes up and feels like death. She wakes up in a pile of sweat with you nowhere to be found. She tries to get up to find you but knows her body is weak. A groan escapes her lips. Eventually, she makes her way out of bed and to the couch.

You make your way through the front door just minutes after Caitlin sits on the couch.

"Woke up without you," she says disappointed and you chuckle. "S'not funny."

"I went to go get you some soup," you say taking it out of the bag and putting it in a bowl.

You woke up in the middle of the night to see Cait had sweat through the sheets, causing you to move to the couch for the rest of the night. You already knew you were going to get her soup when you woke up because the two of you have a game - one that had the potential to be pretty important.

"Don't want soup, want you," she says and you know she means cuddles.

"Soup first," you say knowing you don't have time for cuddles.

You sit on the couch next to her and feed her the soup. You also got her electrolytes which you force her to drink.

"How are you feeling?" You ask, knowing she feels and looks like trash.

"Better," she says and you know she is lying.

"How do you feel about today?" You ask.

Caitlin sits there and thinks. You watch as she thinks through all the different outcomes of today, what it meant if she played and what it meant if she didn't.

"Wish I didn't feel like this, but I have to play," she says and you nod.

It's the reality of the situation. Nobody understood that better than she did. Caitlin was willing to endure in the toughest of times and you admire her for that.

"Alright, let's get you ready," you say and help her up.

The two of you get ready and get to the gym. The bus ride is a long one, which Caitlin sleeps for most of it. When you arrive in Nebraska, you go over to your girl and rub her back.

"Caity girl, time to get up," you say lightly and you feel her stir. Everyone has gotten off the bus except the two of you.

She groans and sits up. You grab everything and help her up, passing her just her backpack.

"You got this, I am right here if you need me," you say and have her lead you off the bus.

The team goes through shoot around and you can tell Caitlin is feeling weak. She is making her shots, but the way she holds herself is far from normal. When the team is in the locker room getting fired up, you can see her begin to shift.

Going out to the court - Caitlin looked normal. She held herself well and kept her energy up as much as she could. You kept an eye on her as you you both played the first half.

When the team heads into the locker room at the half, Caitlin immediately finds you and opts to sit in your lap while the coaches are talking. Any other day and you would be pushing her into the chair next to you but knowing how terrible she feels, you sit there and hold her. Her head is buried in your neck as her arms are in her lap. Your arms secure her on you, making sure all she needs to do is lean into you.

The team looks at the two of you but doesn't question your actions. They know Cait is sick and they know you are best friends, but watching as Caitlin buries her face in you has more of the girls suspecting something is going on.

When it is time for the team to head back out, Caitlin gets up but stands right in front of you - blocking your ability to stand.

"Caitlin, step forward," you say as the team files out soon leaving the two of you alone.

"I don't know if I can do this," she says as she comes to stand between your legs. You bring your hands up to rub her hips as her hands fall to your shoulders.

"You don't have to," you say looking up into her eyes. "But I know you can. Use the team - we got you."

"Hey you two, come on," Kate says as she sticks her head back in. She gives the two of you a knowing look then waves her hand for you two to go out and join the team.

You push Caitlin back and stand, bringing her into a hug.

"When we get home, I will cuddle you until you are 100% okay?" You say rubbing her back. You feel her nod.

"Love you," she mumbles into you.

"I sure hope so," you say and she pushes you away, hitting your arm. You laugh at her. "Love you more."

FOUR. pro.

Life has been a whirlwind - Caitlin got drafted to the Indiana Fever and the two of you moved to Indiana in the short span between the draft, graduation, and her season starting.

Up to this point, the two of you had told your Iowa team that you had been dating and it really didn't come as a surprise when you finally did tell them. They all had talked about the two of you and tried to pinpoint when it happened, which left you and Caitlin in disbelief. Kate on the other hand was proud that she as able to keep your secret for so long.

With moving to Indiana - the two of you didn't explicitly publicize your relationship but also didn't plan on keeping it a secret anymore. It was just sort of in this place of 'when it happens, it happens'.

It became a little game between the two of you to see who would crack in the public eye first.

You believed it would be Caitlin because of how physical she was but she believed it would be you in a moment of overflowing adrenaline.

The point was - the two of you had placed a little bet on who would be the first to cave.

Caitlin had begun training camp and every night when she came home you could see how tired she was. As exciting as it was to be playing pro and living out her dream - it was also a very quick turnaround. It has only been weeks since the two of you were playing in the NCAA championship game and now she is busting her butt in practice again.

You did the best that you could to make sure she was taken care of. As much of an adjustment it had been for her, it was also an adjustment for you. No longer being on the court in a competitive nature was both a relief and a heartbreak. One of the things that you prioritized was finding a gym that you could join for weekly pick-up games.

After moving you were planning on getting a job - mostly to keep yourself busy and to help with income. Caitlin wasn't a huge fan of that.

"No," she says, giving no explanation for her response.

"What do you mean no? It's not a big deal," you say frustrated at her response.

"No," is all she says again.

"Cait it is nothing major, it's literally an animal care assistant - it honestly seems more fun than work and it will keep me busy while you are busy. A win-win," you say trying to get her to hear you out.

Caitlin takes a second to think about what you said.

"No," she says and picks up another chocolate chip cookie.

You grab it out of her hand and take the plate away.

"Why?" You ask. She looks at you like you just took her firstborn child (not that you two have one...yet). She only had a couple of inches on you but you know how to use your body to keep her away.

"Give me back my cookie," she says reaching for it over the counter that's separating you two.

"Not until you tell me why you don't want me to get a job," you say and slowly take a bite of the cookie you confiscated from her hand. Her eyes widen.

"Stop eating my cookie!" She yells and you give her the 'you are only doing this to yourself' look. She sighs.

"If you get a job, you can't come to all my games," she says. "Now give me my cookie."

"Babe, I would still be at all of your games," you say and take another bite before handing her back the half-eaten cookie.

"Not my away games," she says shyly.

"Caitlin," you say now making your way to her side of the counter. "I need something to do while you are at practice and this way I am helping contribute to rent and stuff."

She holds your hands.

"Babe, you know you don't need to work for financial reasons," Caitlin says in all seriousness. "Anything you want and it's yours."

"Even a job?" You say knowing her answer.

"Everything except that," she says with a laugh. "How about this, you can volunteer at the zoo whenever you want. That way you can keep busy when I am not here and you aren't tied down for any of my away games."

You think about it.

"Fine," you say. She smiles and kisses you.

You find yourself booking trip after trip when you get Caitlin's schedule. You don't mind it but feel a little overwhelmed when you put it all in your calendar.

You are currently sitting in College Park Center watching Caitlin play in her first preseason W game. It is crazy to wrap your head around the fact that she is actually living out her childhood dream and you are a part of it.

The game ends in a loss but you are extremely proud of her. You make your way down to the court and get overwhelmed by the crowd and space resulting in you running and jumping into Caitlin's arms.

She catches you and hugs you back, only putting you down after spinning you around once. When your feet hit the ground, you pull out of the hug and pull her in for a kiss. Your hands on her face and her hands on your hips.

"You're a pro," you mumble against her lips. She laughs and pulls away, pulling you back into a hug. Both of you blind to all the camera flashes, only focused on each other.

"I am," she says with a smile, looking down at you. "And you, my love, lose."

You look at her in a questioning manner and then it all clicks. You facepalm completely forgetting your little bet.

"Looks like someone owes me a massage," Cait says in a teasing tone.

"Ya, ya, ya," you say. "Swore it was going to be you."

She laughs and brings you into a side hug, letting the reporters get photos of the two of you.

You both stand there smiling. The next day you are bombarded with tags and comments about Caitlin's fans and your Iowa fans saying they knew the two of you were together.

AN: I think these are cute, but let me know what you think! And as always, thank you for your love and support 🤍

i’m sweating

guys i’m crying sm

SOMEONE SEDATE ME

DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THE WAY SHE LOOKS AT THE REPORTER BUT THE LITTLE HI

SHES SO LOVEY GOLDEN RETRIEVER

PLS

And They Were Roommates

Summary: Moving to Iowa was a big change for you. Transferring to another state was scary…luckily you found people to make Iowa City your home away from home. You’re happy there but your living situation is too small for the life you lead, good thing your good friend needs a roomate.

ʚ series!

Part 1 - And They Were Roommates

Part 2 - Off Day

Part 3 - It Was Doomed From The Start

Part 4 - The One Where You Royally Screw Up

Part 5 - So Bad

ʚ series one shots!

Bear - How Kate got her nickname ‘bear.’

There most likely will be other parts (i think still unsure) but stay tuned!