lorelai

Jessica Shepard didn’t mean to say it.

Honestly, it just slipped out naturally.

One second she was answering a postgame question about offseason training during an interview after a game, and the next—

“My wife actually helped me a lot with staying disciplined during the offseason,” Jessica said casually.

Silence.

Then every reporter in the room immediately perked up.

Jessica noticed it instantly.

And internally?

She knew she was cooked.

very short blurb abt pervert pazzi

Paige and Azzi have a fixation on being your personal stalkers, watching you in the shower, and peeping through the cracks of the door, trying to get an unauthorized glimpse of your body. They tried to keep their thoughts of you in a friendly space, trying you respect you as a roommate, but that soon failed.

You knew they were together, and never felt uncomfortable with their relationship until you swore you heard Azzi moaning your name one night, then hearing foot steps creep every time you got into the shower.

For some reason, being a pervert towards you caused the girls to feel things they never did before, maybe it was the fact that they were doing it together, or the fact that you just looked so easy to manipulate, but nothing happened until one night when you thought you were home alone.

The slight hum of your vibrator, as you lay tucked under the covers, biting your lip, doing your best to conceal your moan. You were so caught up in your own pleasure, you failed to hear the door open and shut.

Inching towards your orgasm, you let your sounds escape, grinding against your toy, moving the towel underneath you up and down.

Paige grabbed Azzis arm, stopping her from going into their bedroom, signaling her to be quiet as they listen to you touch yourself. Moaning and whimpering like you’re dying for them to come in there.

A few minutes past, you jump as 3 soft knocks were let off to your door, before granting permission, they storm into your room.

Paige and Azzi stood in the doorway, eyes locked on your flushed face and the way your hips kept rolling under the blanket. Paige smirked first, biting her lip as she stepped closer.

"Fuck, look at you, knew you were a little perv, grinding on that toy like you wanted us to catch you”

Azzi shut the door behind them, leaning against it, her voice low and teasing. You think we didn’t notice you leaving the door cracked when you shower? We’ve been watching you for weeks, baby. Watching water run down your tits, listening to you touch yourself when you thought you were alone."

Paige moved to the side of the bed, pulling the blanket down slowly so your naked body was on full display. "Look how wet you are, that pussys dripping for us and you haven’t even said yes yet."

Azzi knelt on the mattress, crawling closer until her face hovered near your thigh. “ Let us help you baby, we wanna to use that pretty cunt until you can’t think straight, you can say no… but we both know you won’t. You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?"

Paige’s hand slid up your leg, fingers brushing your inner thigh without quite touching where you needed. "Tell us we can have you baby”

Azzi’s breath ghosted over your clit, kissing your thighs. Your mind raced with responses, subconsciously, you grind towards Azzis face.

“Words baby, come on, use that pretty mouth”

She Plays for Us

MASTERLIST | MORE

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You are fine, flirty, and a little too good at everything—on and off the court. When UConn plays USC, things get heated fast.

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ:Basketball rivalry, high-key thirst, bold!reader, possessive team energy, locker room chaos

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:Heavy flirting, language, reader is a hoe (with heart), gay panic, team claiming you like a trophy, tension between teams

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: ~0.7k

ᴠɪʙᴇ:Reader walks like the game hasn’t started until she arrives

You walk in like it’s a fashion show.

Baggy sweats. Crop top. Warmup unzipped halfway. Gloss poppin’. Lashes ridiculous. Everyone’s stretching, locked in, and you? You strut in late with headphones on and hips moving like you’ve never tripped a day in your life.

The crowd shifts.

USC’s bench turns. JuJu leans forward like she just spotted dessert. Aaliyah straightens up like she wasn’t just tying her shoes.

“That’s her?” one of them whispers.

JuJu smirks. “Number seventeen. Heard she’s got a roster longer than the bench.”

They all laugh. You don’t even look over. Just wink once—and keep walking.

KK sees it first.

“Why they looking like that?” she mutters, eyebrows raised.

“They better not be talking about who I think they talking about,” Nika adds.

“She didn’t even play yet,” Paige says under her breath. “And they already plotting.”

⸻

Warmups start. You’re at half court, stretching deep, ass up, no shame. USC’s side watching like it’s halftime already.

JuJu strolls by on her way to the table, slows down, and lets her eyes sweep over you.

“Don’t play too hard, baby,” she says. “We still need you in LA.”

You smirk, slow and dangerous. “You tryna recruit me or date me?”

She shrugs. “Whichever gets me the win.”

You laugh. Loud. The UConn bench collectively malfunctions.

KK jumps off the seat. “Oh hell no—nah. NAH. She not with y’all!”

Azzi grabs her arm. “Sit down before you get ejected pre-tip.”

“She just let JuJu flirt with her,” Paige says. “I’m gonna vomit.”

“She flirts with everyone,” Nika deadpans. “That’s not the point. The point is they’re trying to claim her.”

⸻

Tip-off.

You’re in. Hair slick. Gloss reapplied. Lining up next to Aaliyah from USC, who looks dangerous in red and gold, shoulder ink peeking from her sleeve.

“You wear 17?” she asks, voice low.

You nod.

“That’s cute. But I think 22 looks better on you.”

You turn. Raise a brow. “You tryna switch jerseys or undress me?”

“Both.”

From the sideline:

“SHE PLAYS FOR US!”

KK, at full volume, standing on the bench like a rabid chihuahua.

⸻

Game flows. You light it up. Steals. Floaters. You let JuJu body you up full-court and whisper, “I like it rough,” and she chokes on air.

Aaliyah gets physical in the paint. You let her. You lean close and say, “I’d let you pin me any day. Just not during game time.”

She bricks the shot.

Every time you wink at USC, your bench loses it.

“She tryna get flown out mid-quarter?” Nika snaps.

“Say one more word to them and I’m subbing myself in,” Paige threatens.

⸻

Fourth quarter. Tight game. Tie score. You sink a corner three and blow a kiss—not at the crowd. Directly at JuJu. That’s when it breaks. Timeout. Geno pulls the team in. But KK’s already at your side.

“Nah. Get over here.”

She pulls you into a huddle mid-timeout.

“You done playing ambassador to USC?”

“I’m just having fun,” you grin.

“You look like you’re auditioning to leave us.”

“I would never,” you tease. “Y’all jealous?”

“Jealous?” Paige scoffs. “Baby, we’re territorial.”

“Possessive,” Azzi corrects.

“Loyal,” Inês whispers.

You laugh. Finally. But something in your chest twists. Because yeah… you flirt with everyone. But they’re the ones who bring you Gatorade before you ask. Who walk you home from the bus. Who still laugh at your dumb little pickup lines after all this time.

⸻

You win. Final buzzer. You drop 24. UConn by 6.

As you walk off the court, JuJu calls out, “You know where to find me if you wanna switch teams.”

You slow. Smirk. Then turn around, walk straight to your bench sitting on kks lap. She Doesn’t even flinch. You rest your chin on her shoulder and look right at the USC bench. Then kiss KK’s cheek and say, “I only play hard for my girls.”

——————————————————————————————-

@draculara-vonvamp

Dance Breakk

So i was thinking about a concept where reader used to dance or still currently does majorette or something like that and during halftime she comes on the court and just does a lil dance or maybe she does a little choreography with like 2 of her teammates after they win to be a lil funny. And in the concept that she does a halftime dance maybe she does it with a few other professional dancers or a team and surprises her whole team because they didn't know she could dance. If you choose to go the majorette dance, when we usually do dance performances we either do stands, which are tiny ripple chorography's that we do in the stands of the court or arena or we do full out half time performance's.

Again you dont have to majorette, you can do regular dance too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oh boo. Don’t you know. I watch dancing dolls. Yeah. I am majorette. 😭 Ok but in all seriousness I have only watched. I have no clue what I’m writing bear with me!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

UConn x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Dance Break

MASTERLIST | MORE

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: They knew reader could ball. They did not know she could dance like that. When halftime rolls around and reader hits the court in full glam with a majorette squad or professional dancers at her back, the team loses their minds.

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: Fluff, humor, team reactions, playful flex, shock and awe

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: None—just sweaty palms, weak knees, and girls gasping in gay

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: ~0.3k

ᴠɪʙᴇ: “WHO TAUGHT YOU TO MOVE LIKE THAT?” / “Don’t look at me, I’m blushing.” / “Nah. Be so real. You did a toe touch and made eye contact with me. What’s that about?” / “I need water. I need Jesus.”

I didn’t tell them.

Not a soul. Not Paige, not Nika, definitely notKK.

They knew me as the calm one. The one who stretched in silence, stayed locked in, barely cracked a smile until the scoreboard hit 0:00.

But they didn’t know this part of me.

Didn’t know about the hours I spent in another life—on the field, under stadium lights, moving like my body was built for rhythm and heat and high kicks.

Didn’t know I used to eat up halftime shows like they owed me money.

Until tonight. I walked off the court at halftime, towel around my neck, ignoring the team’s questions when I dipped past the locker room and kept going.

“Where you going?”

“Did she forget something?”

“Why’d she bring a separate bag?”

They’re still asking when the lights drop. And then the music hits. Heavy drumline. Southern brass. That bounce.

I step onto the court in a completely different fit—custom two-piece, rhinestoned top, cut-off shorts that glitter under the spotlight. My hair’s slicked, edges laid, lashes full. And behind me? My old dance girls. Full formation. Tight. Smiling.

The crowd starts screaming before we even move.

I hear Nika first.

“WAIT A MINUTE.”

Then KK: “Is that—OH HELL NO.”

And then Paige, already grabbing her phone: “She did not hide this from us.”

We hit our first set hard. Ripples, toe touches, floor slap, hair flip—all sharp, no hesitation. I don’t even blink. My body knows what to do.

It’s hips and heels and attitude. A strut down center court, a drop to the floor, a fast eight-count of pure filth. I hit a split so clean the ref on the sideline audibly gasps. The crowd’s roaring. But I’m not listening for them.

I’m listening for the girls. For my team.

“Oh, I’m not okay,” Ashlynn breathes.

“She’s got jumps?!” Bri shrieks.

“IS SHE LOOKING AT ME?!” Paige yells, borderline hysterical.

I wink. I definitely make eye contact. Then I hit a windmill, flip my hair, and throw a little solo eight-count straight toward their bench. They lose it.

KK’s on the floor like she’s been shot.

Nika’s standing on the bench yelling “THAT’S MY GIRL” like it’s a final.

Aaliyah just covers her face and mutters, “I can’t even look at her right now. I’m embarrassed. She’s so fine. I’m embarrassed.”

The dance ends in a pyramid pose. I’m in the center. Chest heaving. Grinning. And as I walk off—slow, strut-heavy, towel tossed back over my shoulder—I glance at them one time and say:

“What? Y’all thought all I could do was hoop?”

(See I hate being seen as hurt soooo honestly I didn’t know how to right this.)

UConn WBB x Menace!Fem!Reader

When She Goes Quiet

MASTERLIST | MORE

Summary: You hit the floor hard, couldn’t breathe, but got up like always. Played it off like always. Until after the game, when the pain hit too deep—and for the first time, you couldn’t hold it in.

Genre: Angst, team dynamics, emotional reversal

Warnings: Injury (on-court), panic, language, emotional distress, protective behavior from teammates, flipped roles

Word Count: ~0.9k

Vibe: “you okay?” turns into dead silence, teammates realizing the loudest one going quiet is the worst sign, fierce love under pressure, team panic turned protective wall

It didn’t feel that bad when it happened.

Hard screen. Caught high in the back. Lower spine twisted a little too sharp, maybe, but you bounced back. You always do. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t rattle you for a second—knocked the wind out of your lungs and made your arms go tingly—but you got up. You always get up.

Finished the quarter. Then the next.

No one really noticed you grimace every time you turned your torso. Or how your stride shortened after halftime. You still clapped loud, still talked shit, still hit your free throws. Didn’t flinch during press. Didn’t ask for a sub. You ran it through like nothing was wrong.

Because that’s what you do.

Take the hit. Make the play. Laugh it off.

Even if it hurts like hell.

Especially if it hurts like hell.

And when the buzzer sounds and UConn takes the win, the locker room explodes.

Shoes flying, towels whipping, KK yelling at full volume, Ice dancing, Paige hugging Aaliyah in slow motion while the music kicks in over the speakers. Someone’s dumping water on someone else. Everyone’s screaming. Including you. Sort of.

You’re in the back corner. Sitting on a chair. Hoodie on. Clapping when someone makes eye contact, nodding like you’re in it, but your body’s not keeping up. You’re sweating and shivering at the same time. Your lower back feels like it’s cemented. And every time you inhale, something catches mid-spine, like the air gets stuck somewhere it’s not supposed to.

You try to sit up straighter. Then you hiss. Quiet, but sharp. Paige glances over. You wave her off before she even asks.

Geno walks in five minutes later. Whistle in his mouth, trying to be heard over the chaos. “Hey. HEY. Shut it down for a second.”

The room quiets. Not out of fear—just respect. You’ve won, and now he’s about to give the speech. The one that ends up quoted on Instagram slides and shared on TikTok edits.

“You showed up,” he starts, voice gruff, pointing toward the whiteboard like he’s not getting emotional behind it. “Y’all showed me some grit tonight. That’s a physical team and we answered every time. I don’t give a shit if it was ugly. It was ours.”

Applause. Slaps on the back. KK yells, “SAY IT AGAIN,” and you force a smile from the corner. Then your body shifts just a little too fast.

Pain slices straight through your lower back and into your ribs. Your vision whites out for a second.

You bite down hard. Chest tightening. You can’t breathe right. You press your hand to the bench like grounding will help, but it’s no good. The sweat on your face isn’t from the game anymore—it’s panic. Raw pain. It feels like something’s locked up inside you, like your body’s telling you, no more.

“…Ay.” Geno’s voice cuts through the noise.

He’s looking at you now. Everyone is.

You’re still hunched, breathing shallow, hand gripping the edge of the bench.

Geno steps forward, brows furrowed. “You alright back there?”

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out.

KK turns around, face dropping the second she sees you up close. “Yo.”

You try to nod. You really try. But you shake your head. That’s all it takes.

In a heartbeat, the energy in the room shifts.

Geno’s across the room in three strides, crouching a little in front of you, hand hovering near your shoulder. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

You finally gasp it out. “It’s my back. I—I couldn’t tell during the game. But I can’t—” Your breath breaks. “I can’t breathe right. It’s—it’s locking up.”

Trainer’s already on the way. Paige is right behind Geno now, not saying anything, just watching with wide eyes. KK’s kneeling to your left, face full of that same panic you had when she went down two games ago.

“I didn’t want anyone to know,” you whisper. “I didn’t want to mess it up. We were winning.”

Geno doesn’t even scold you. His voice softens instead. “You’re not messing anything up.”

You’re shaking now. The pain’s catching up to the adrenaline. Every second hurts worse. And it’s scary. Not just soreness. Not something you can walk off. It’s the kind of pain that makes your chest feel tight and your head spin. And worst of all—it’s public.

You start crying.

Not loud. Not like a breakdown. Just quiet, frustrated sobs, shoulders trembling, eyes stuck to the floor as the whole team watches the strongest one break.

“I didn’t want them to see me like this.”

You don’t even know who you’re talking to anymore.

Geno’s hand settles gently on the back of your neck. “Hey. Come here.”

You don’t think. You just lean forward.

And you hug him.

You let it all go. Press your face into his chest, trying to breathe through it, hands clenched in the front of his jacket while the trainer checks your back. You hear Paige clear her throat. Hear Ice whisper something to KK. No one’s making fun of you. No one’s laughing.

They’re just there. Watching you finally fall apart.

“I’ve seen you take hits no one else would get up from,” Geno says, low so only you can hear. “This doesn’t make you weak. This makes you human.”

You cry harder. You don’t care anymore.

“I didn’t want to ruin the win.”

“You are the win,” he says.

And for once, you let yourself believe it.