WYNTER

warning(s): smut, a little bit of dom!reader

genre: smut

pairing(s): ice brady x reader

“stop.” ice muttered, grabbing your hand off her thigh and putting on your own. “what’d i do?” you mutter back with a small smirk. “they’re on live bro, and it can see us.” she side eyes you. you just shrugged at her words, moving your hand higher. ice just ignores you, hoping it makes you stop. you smile, rubbing your hand up and down her leg, slow and teasing. she slowly turns to look at you, grabbing your hand and putting it back on your lap, holding it there for a few seconds, “stop for real.” she says firmly, “okay.” you smile, laying your head on her shoulder.

-

after her teammates got off of live, ice went back to her dorm, and you decided to follow her. she was sitting on the edge of her bed when you walked in, “no, leave.” she says as you walk in, clearly a little irritated from earlier, “are you mad?” you question with a smile, already knowing the answer. instead of responding, she just blinked at you. you laugh at her reaction then walk over, standing in between her legs. she attempts to ignore you, continuing to scroll on her phone. “stop ignoring me.” you whine, taking her phone from her and tossing it on the bed somewhere behind her. ice sighed, putting her hands on your hips, “what do you want?” she asks, pulling you closer, “you.” you reply, smiling.

-

“shit.” ice said lowly, squeezing your head with her thighs slightly. you were in between her legs tearing it up. licking and sucking on her clit harshly, fingers slamming in and out of her at a relentless pace. ice was trying so hard to hide her moans, trying to aggravate you, which only made you laugh and keep doing what you were doing until she folded, which didn’t take long.

she accidentally let a moan slip, slapping her hand over her mouth immediately after. you were watching her and when you seen her cover her mouth you laugh against her clit, sending vibrations through her. she slightly jolted at the feeling, moaning into her hand. “ice stop covering your mouth.” you demand as you pull your mouth away, continuing to finger her. you give her a few seconds to listen, which don’t happen, so you do it yourself. you force her hand off of her mouth, placing it on the bed, holding it there. after moving her hand, you go back down, eating her out again.

“God, y/n.” she mumbled breathily, her hand going to the back of your head to push you deeper, you letting it happen. her hips start to buck up and she’s starting to squirm, you know that mean she’s close. you hold down her hips and continue on, determined to make her cum. she lets out a moan as she cums all over your fingers, slightly out of breath. you pull away, wiping your face off with the back of your hand and walk to the bathroom, getting a tail to clean her with.

as you wipe her up, you have a huge smile on your face. “what’s so funny?” she asks, watching you intently, “you.” you answer, finishing wiping her and putting the towel up. her head physically jumps back at that, “what’d i do?” she questions as she continues to watch you, “you were just mad like not even 45 minutes ago.”’you laugh out, sitting next to her, intertwining your fingers. she scoffs, squeezing your hand “shut up.”

knee deep in the passenger seat and your eatin me out . ۫ ꣑ৎ

syn : faceriding with aubrey

pair : aubrey griffin x fem!reader

warn : smuttiest of smut, dom!aubrey, face riding because yea

note : muhahah, @sweetbcgs @janaelalfysblunt

SYNOPSIS: aubrey sees a picture of you looking stunning at a party and becomes obsessed. when you get home, aubrey pulls you into her lap, complimenting you and kissing you.

WARNING(S): suggestive (making out), pet name (baby 1x), nothing else ! :)

WORD COUNT: 800. RECOMMENDED SONG: cameras — drake. info. masterlist. taglist.

NO CHILL

SYNOPSIS: a chaotic, secret situationship between you and aubrey griffin spirals into something real—jealousy, mixed signals, and late-night confessions—until love forces you both to stop pretending it’s casual.

WARNINGS: suggestive, toxicity, idk if there’s anything else but lmk! :)

WORD COUNT: 3.8k. RECOMMENDED SONG: no chill — partynextdoor. info. masterlist. taglist.

(Please Read Warning)

UConn!Team x Senior!Fem!Reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

Summary: She gave everything. Played through the heartbreak, the silence, the emptiness. Just to finish what she started.

Genre: Angst | Drama | Emotional Slow Burn

Warnings: Reader Passing On. Mental health themes, emotional withdrawal, ambiguous ending, implied depression, silent departure, strong emotional undertones

Word Count ~ 3.7k

My senior year started with a funeral. Not a literal one—nobody died. But something in me did. Quietly. Without ceremony. I remember waking up that first morning back on campus with my mouth dry, my eyes burning, and this hollow throb in my chest like I’d been grieving something all night in my sleep. And I didn’t know what for. Or maybe I did. I just didn’t want to say it. That I was tired. That I didn’t want to be here. That I was already counting the days until the season ended so I could stop pretending I was okay.

I brushed my teeth like a robot. Washed my face even though I didn’t look in the mirror. Couldn’t. I didn’t like the eyes staring back anymore. She looked like me but off—too still, too heavy, too drained. I pulled on my UConn hoodie, tied my shoes, forced down a granola bar I could barely taste, and walked to practice like I didn’t just want to curl up under the covers and never come out again.

I was a Husky. A captain. The example. So I played the part. Every damn day. Early to film. First on the court. Last to leave. Took charges. Dived for loose balls. Clapped loud. Smiled harder. I told myself if I could just keep up the act, it would become real again. That I’d eventually feel like myself. That I’d wake up one day and the emptiness would be gone. But it never was. And every day it got a little heavier.

Nobody noticed. I mean, why would they? I made sure they didn’t. I was so good at hiding it I started to forget where the lie ended and I began. The girls would joke in the locker room, laugh so loud the walls shook. I laughed too. Loudest of all. I cracked jokes. Pulled pranks. Learned how to change the subject when anyone got too close. You good? Always. You look tired. Long night watching film. You sure? Always.

Some days I showered twice just so I could cry without getting caught. Let the water mask the sobs, let the steam blur my face. I’d sit on the floor until my skin went numb and my fingers pruned. I’d come out smiling. Towel over my head. “Damn, girl, you were in there forever!” Yeah. Sorry. My bad. I just like the heat. I’m always cold.

But the truth is I hadn’t felt warm in months.

Classes were a blur. I stopped raising my hand. Stopped taking notes. Stopped showing up unless I had to. But my professors didn’t say anything—student-athletes get passes. Coaches vouched. Tutors covered. I was barely present. My thoughts kept wandering off to scary places. Like what it’d be like to just stop. To disappear. To vanish without making it anyone’s fault but mine.

I journaled in secret. Wrote letters I never meant to send. Some to the girls. Some to coach. Some to my mom. Some to myself. They all said the same thing in different words. I love you. I’m sorry. I don’t want you to blame yourselves. I’m just tired. I tried. I really did. One time I wrote twenty-seven pages without looking up. My hand cramped. I didn’t feel it.

People praised my composure. Commentators talked about my focus. My poise. My maturity. Geno called me the rock of the team. Said I kept everyone steady. But they didn’t see me walking back to my dorm after practice, taking the long way just so I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. They didn’t see the way I kept my lights off when I got home. The way my phone stayed face down, unanswered. The way I sometimes sat on the floor by my bed just staring at nothing.

I stopped going home on weekends. Told my mom I had team stuff. Told my little brother I was too tired to FaceTime. Told my best friend from back home that I was “just busy.” I wasn’t. I just didn’t want anyone to see me like this. Didn’t want to explain what I couldn’t name. I kept thinking—if I can just make it to the end of the season, I’ll be fine. If I can just stick it out, I’ll get to walk away quietly.

It was like I was leaking—bit by bit, drop by drop—but I smiled through it. Nobody ever checks on the strong one. Nobody checks on the captain. I think that’s what really got to me. That I could be dying right in front of them and they’d still ask me to lead warmups.

But I didn’t blame them. I blamed me.

Because I let it get this far. Because I never said anything. Because I thought needing help meant I wasn’t strong enough to wear the jersey. Because I thought if I admitted it out loud, they’d look at me different. Like I was cracked. Weak. Like I didn’t deserve to be here.

So I held it. Every ache. Every scream. Every tear I didn’t let fall. I held it all.

And every day, it got harder to carry.

We made it to March. Barely.

My body hurt in places I stopped naming months ago. My knees screamed every time I sat, every time I got up, but I smiled through it like always. “You good?” someone asked while I limped toward the bus. “Yeah,” I grinned, “just old.” I wasn’t. I was twenty-two. But I felt ancient. Heavy. Like I’d lived three lives in this one season.

That morning, I woke up before the alarm. I laid there in the dark, flat on my back, staring at the ceiling like maybe it would crack open and swallow me whole. I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t even sad anymore. I was quiet. Numb. Not because I didn’t care—but because I had nothing left in me to give. This was it. The last game. The last promise I made myself: Make it through the season. Don’t quit. Don’t ruin it for everyone else.

So I got up. I brushed my teeth. Taped my ankles. Braided my hair tight, so it wouldn’t fall out of the bun mid-game like it always did. Slipped on my jersey like it meant something. Let the trainer crack my back like we weren’t both pretending I was okay. Put my headphones on. Looked in the mirror.

Smiled.

We played our hearts out. I played like I had nothing left to lose because I didn’t. Four quarters of grit. Of breathless sprints and aching legs and a throat raw from calling switches and picks. I shot until my arms burned. I bled—literally—elbow to the floor, skin split open, and I didn’t even flinch. Someone handed me a towel. I wiped it off like it was sweat. Tossed it. Kept going.

The crowd was loud. But I couldn’t hear them. Everything around me felt distant. Fuzzy. Like I was moving underwater. Like I was already fading.

We lost by four.

That’s the part nobody saw coming. UConn doesn’t lose in March. Not like that. Not with me. I was supposed to be the one to carry us through. I was supposed to be the one to leave with a net around my neck, confetti in my hair, and the W etched in my last chapter.

Instead, I walked off the court in silence. The buzzer still ringing in my bones. Hands on my hips. Staring at the scoreboard like if I looked hard enough, the numbers would change. They didn’t.

We lined up. Shook hands. Posed for cameras with hollow eyes. Someone shoved a mic in my face.

“How do you feel?”

And I smiled.

I fucking smiled.

Because what else was I supposed to do?

“I’m just happy,” I said. Like I wasn’t dying inside. Like that hadn’t been the last thread. Like I hadn’t just crossed the finish line of something I never wanted to start in the first place. My voice was steady. My eyes were dry. I had practiced this. Knew how to keep my chin up. Knew how to say what they needed to hear.

Then I walked to the locker room. Peeled off my jersey like I was taking off a costume. Took one last look at my name on the tag. Folded it. Placed it on the bench. Sat there in silence while the girls cried, while the cameras waited outside, while the season collapsed around us.

I didn’t say much.

Told them I was proud. Told them I loved them. Told Coach thank you. Hugged him a little too long, but he didn’t notice. Told my roommate I’d see her back at the dorm. I wouldn’t.

That night, I went home. Quietly. No fanfare. I skipped the team dinner. Said I was tired. Nobody pushed. I got in the Uber. Played music that didn’t sound like anything. Kept the window cracked.

When I got back to my dorm, I sat on the edge of the bed, still in my warmup pants. Took my shoes off. One by one. My socks were damp. I didn’t care. I didn’t even move.

I didn’t sleep that night.

I wrote, and wrote, and wrote—my hands cramped, my eyes burned, my heart… numb. But even then, I couldn’t bring myself to just go. Not yet. Not without saying goodbye, even if I couldn’t say the real thing out loud.

So I got up before sunrise.

Put on the gray UConn hoodie I wore my freshman year. Pulled the drawstrings tight so no one could really see my face. No makeup. No jewelry. Just me. Plain. Small. Already fading.

I had places to be.

I started with Caroline. She was always up early, always reading outside her dorm with her AirPods in. I found her exactly where I knew she’d be—on that little bench near the north quad, still in her bonnet, legs tucked under her hoodie. I didn’t say anything. Just walked up, held out my arms. She didn’t ask why. She just stood up and hugged me back. Tightly.

“You okay?” she whispered.

I nodded. “Just needed a hug.”

I left before she could say anything else.

KK was in the study hall, earbuds in, muttering lines under her breath for her speech class. She looked surprised to see me. “Girl, what you doing here this early?” she laughed.

I sat next to her. Leaned my head on her shoulder for a second. “I missed you.”

“Missed me?” she scoffed. “You saw me yesterday.”

“I know,” I said, “but still.”

I hugged her. Long. She held on tighter than I expected.

“You good?” she asked, and I smiled.

“Always.”

I knocked on Aubrey’s door around 8:15. She opened in a bonnet and a tank top, face all soft from sleep. “What’s wrong?” she said immediately, rubbing her eyes.

I shook my head. “Nothing. I just wanted to tell you I love you.”

That got her. Her face crumpled for a second like she didn’t know what to do with it. Then she hugged me like her arms could fix whatever was broken inside me. I let her. I let all of them.

I passed by Ice in the hallway and caught her off guard. “Yo,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

“Come here.”

“Why?”

“Just come here.”

She didn’t ask again. We hugged in the middle of the hallway while people passed us, laughing, yelling, dragging backpacks. None of it touched me.

I went to Coach Geno’s office last. It was empty at first, but the door was unlocked like always. I sat in the chair I always used, the cushion still indented with my weight. I looked around at the old pictures on the wall, the signed balls, the framed newspaper clippings. He’d given his life to this place. So had I.

He walked in ten minutes later, surprised but not suspicious.

“Hey, kid,” he said, sitting across from me. “You didn’t have to come in today. I figured you’d be wiped.”

I nodded. “I just wanted to say thank you.”

He blinked, then frowned. “For what?”

“For believing in me. Even when I didn’t.”

He stared at me for a beat. “You sure you’re alright?”

I smiled again. The same tired, practiced one. “I’m always alright, Coach.”

He didn’t believe me. I could see it in his eyes. But he didn’t push.

I hugged him before I left. And I meant it. That hug was real.

I went back to my dorm one last time. Placed the letters neatly. Labels written in all caps, taped to the front. One on each bed. One slid under each door. Geno’s I left on his desk. The janitor’s I taped to the vending machine.

Then I sat on the floor by my bed, where the carpet was worn and the wall was cold. I curled up small. I held the last note against my chest.

And I closed my eyes. But I didn’t stay. Because the thought of them finding me like that? My girls?

Seeing me on the floor, cold and gone, nothing left but letters and a limp hoodie?

That shit made me sick.

I knew what it would do to Caroline. She’s sensitive, she pretends she’s not. She’d walk in joking and find me and never be the same. Azzi would blame herself. She already does—for stuff that ain’t hers. And Coach? Coach would sit with it like it was his failure. Replay every practice. Every timeout. Try to find where he went wrong.

No. I couldn’t do that to them.

I got up. Shaking. Heart pounding. That kind of panic that flutters in your chest like a trapped bird. My fingers were ice. I grabbed the notes. All of them. Threw them in my backpack. Slipped on slides. Didn’t even change.

I walked right out the dorm at 2:04 AM. Didn’t look back. Got in my car. Started driving.

Didn’t know where I was going. Didn’t care. I just needed to be far. I needed the trees to look different. I needed the sky to shift. I needed miles between me and that locker room. Me and that gym. Me and those people who loved me so hard I forgot how to hold it.

At first, I told myself I’d come back. That I just needed air. A weekend. A reset. That I’d find a quiet place, sleep, maybe cry. Then drive home and say, my bad, I just needed space.

But the farther I drove, the quieter everything got.

By sunrise, I’d crossed state lines. Somewhere in Pennsylvania. Mist rolling low over the hills. Fog coating the windshield. My eyes felt dry but heavy. My body was on autopilot. The world was still. Still in a way I hadn’t been in months. Maybe years.

I didn’t play music. Just let the tires hum and the wind rush. My phone buzzed. Once. Then again. Group chat. I didn’t check it. Didn’t want to.

I stopped at a gas station around 11. Got coffee. Black. Hot. I sipped it like it would fix something. Wrote another note on the back of a receipt with a pen from my glove box.

“It’s not your fault. It was never your fault. I just didn’t want to make it yours.”

Tucked it in my pocket like maybe someone would find it one day. I kept driving. Three states. Eight hours. Ten gas stations.

I pulled over at a rest stop once and just… screamed.

Loud. Ugly. Guttural.

No one heard. Nobody cared.

And that made it easier.

At some point, I ended up by the water. Not sure where. Lake? Ocean? Didn’t matter. Just wide and endless and blue. I parked the car. Took off my shoes. Walked to the edge and sat in the sand. Let the wind burn my cheeks.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t some movie moment.

It was just… quiet. The kind of quiet I’d been begging for since October. No plays to memorize. No weights at six. No eyes on me. Just me and the sky. Me and the ache.

I curled up in the front seat that night. Hugged my knees. Let the letters stay in the back seat like ghosts. Staring.

I didn’t cry. I’d already used every tear.

I just whispered, “I’m sorry.”

To nobody.

To everybody.

To myself.

They said it took two days before someone noticed I was gone. Not panicked. Just noticed. I’d already stopped showing up to class here and there. Said I needed to rest my knees. Said I was catching up on work. Said a lot of things.

But I was consistent with love.

That’s what made them worry. When I didn’t send a dumb meme to the group chat. When I didn’t like Paige’s story. When I didn’t repost the highlight. When I didn’t show up to lift. That’s what cracked something open in them.

Azzi knocked first. Said she stood at my door with her forehead against the frame for a long time before she opened it. Said the air in the room felt still. Too still. Like it had been holding its breath.

My bed was made. Lights off. Drawers mostly empty. And the letters—stacked neatly on the desk. Names written in black Sharpie. In my handwriting.

There were fifteen.

⸻

To Caroline

She read hers in the stairwell. Alone. She read it once, then again, then dropped it. It fluttered down three steps before she scrambled after it, breathless. Shaking.

“I used to watch how soft you were with everyone and wish I could be that brave. Thank you for making this place warmer. I don’t know if you ever noticed, but every time you hugged me, I held on longer than I should’ve. I needed that. You were my safe place.”

She cried for hours.

She called her mom and said she didn’t know how to live with the fact that someone had died needing her and she hadn’t even noticed.

⸻

To Coach Geno

They said he read it once, then locked his door and didn’t come out until morning.

“You gave me purpose when I was breaking. You demanded more from me when all I wanted to do was disappear. I used to think you saw something in me that wasn’t really there, but now I realize you just saw me whole—before I started falling apart. Thank you for letting me feel like I mattered. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep being your example.”

He didn’t talk much after that. He didn’t yell at practice. Didn’t say her name, either.

Just kept a folded piece of paper in his wallet and touched it during timeouts.

⸻

To Azzi

She didn’t read hers right away. Held it like it was going to shatter. Like it was alive and breathing and bleeding. When she finally opened it, she curled up in a ball on her bed and rocked herself.

“You always asked how I was. And I always lied. I’m sorry for that. I didn’t want you to carry me. You already carry so much. I loved watching you play. You made the court feel like a sanctuary. Like church. And when I didn’t believe in much anymore, I still believed in you.”

Azzi didn’t sleep for days. Her roommate said she started wearing her hoodie like armor. Said she only spoke when she had to. Said she took a walk every night to the bench outside the gym and just sat there, clutching the letter to her chest like prayer.

⸻

To Paige

She opened hers in the hallway. Leaned against the vending machine. Didn’t speak for ten minutes.

“I think if I had told anyone, it would’ve been you. But I didn’t. And that’s not your fault. You were sunshine to me. That sharp kind of light that stings when you’ve been in the dark too long. I loved you. In my own quiet way. I hope you felt it, even if I never said it.”

She didn’t cry in public. But people said they could hear her throwing up in the locker room after. Said she punched the mirror in the bathroom.

Said her hand was bleeding for an hour before she let the trainer see.

⸻

To the janitor, Mr. Elroy

The note was simple.

“Thank you for always waving. For saying ‘Hey champ’ even when I didn’t win. That meant more than you’ll ever know.”

He kept it folded in his back pocket. Every day. Still says hey champ when he turns the hallway corner, even if no one’s there.

⸻

To Me (To Herself)

They found this one last. Folded in a notebook. Scrawled across both sides of the paper.

“You made it. I know you’re scared. I know you don’t think this is brave. But you tried. God, you tried. For so long. Longer than anyone knows. You carried silence like it was your jersey number. You smiled with a breaking jaw. And I’m proud of you. I love you. Even if they never understand why, I understand. I forgive you. Rest, baby girl. You did good.”

The trainer framed it.

Hung it in the player’s lounge.

Didn’t ask for permission.

Said it was hers now too.

⸻

They held a vigil. Lit candles. Hung her jersey over the railing.

Sat in silence for nine minutes and thirty-three seconds—one for every win that season. No one spoke.

Then Caroline stood up and said:

“She wasn’t loud. But she mattered. She mattered so fucking much.”

⸻

When they play that final clip now— That last three-pointer. That last smile.

That moment when the mic picked up her voice and she said “I’m just happy”—

Nobody believes it anymore. But they keep playing it anyway. Because it’s all they have left. And because somewhere deep down, they wish it had been true.

Heaven. I don’t know if I’ll move on from here. Don’t know if I want to. I like the stillness. I like the echoes of their love. But if I had one wish—just one—it wouldn’t be to go back.

It would be to hold them one more time. To tell them I didn’t leave because they failed me.

I left because I didn’t know how to ask them to stay.

Now I stay in the light. Now I rest. And when they say my name in the gym, in the huddle, in the silence— I’m there.

I’m always there. Because all dogs go to heaven.

And I was a Husky.

MESSY - 𝕬.𝕸.𝕽

SYPNOSIS : angel reese x fem!reader smut hcs !! ,

WARNINGS : smut , 18+ , fruit play

angel reese who sits you on the counter, feeding you pieces of cold fruit one by one — but letting her fingers linger against your lips each time.

angel reese who takes a strawberry, dips it in whipped cream, and runs it down your chest before licking it off slow, making sure you feel her tongue trace every drop.

angel reese who presses a slice of mango between your lips, kissing you deep so you both taste it together.

angel reese who loves the mess — letting juice drip down your stomach just so she can trail her mouth after it.

angel reese who takes control, pinning you back with one hand while she feeds you grapes with the other, smirking at how you squirm.

angel reese who slides a piece of chilled pineapple along your inner thigh, teasing closer and closer until you’re aching for her.

angel reese who pulls you into her lap, biting into fruit and sharing the taste with you through slow, dirty kisses.

angel reese who finishes by licking your sticky fingers clean, eyes locked on yours the entire time.