M

still ballin harder than your fav

[melobballin]

🌀 melo (mé.lo), fragment of shattered glass.

20. blk. woc. she/her. bi. afro/caribbean — born & raised in france. french | english | spanish speaker. kwn evangelist. juju watkins’ wifey fr. kk arnold, aubrey griffin, azzi fudd, ayanna patterson girlie. former wattpad menace (unfortunately it shows). +18 only. under move. W vibes only. anyway VIVA LA WNBA!

FREE 🇵🇸🇸🇩🇨🇩🇭🇹🇱🇧

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© written by melobballin | inspo is free, but copying is lazy. keep it cute y’all

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[melobballin]

Omggg more juju smuttt

through her lens. juju watkins

✶ warnings ✶ 1.8k words count. black!fem reader. established relationship. +18 under dni. smut. beach sex. juju has a pic kink (whatever the fuck this means). boobs sucking. pussy eating. fingering. juju is obsessed. wlw.

hope you’ll like it baby. 🤍

YOU DON’T EVEN HEAR THE CLICK ANYMORE. That’s how used to it you were. The soft shutter sound, low and sneaky like her grin right before she ruined your whole damn day or night. Or made it, depending how she touched you after.

You never really questioned it before. The way juju held the camera like it was extension of her. The way her eyes searched for something to freeze in time—always sharp, always specific. It wasn’t just any camera, either. It was that vintage-ass polaroid, a little beat up, pink grip tape on the sides, and a Sharpie heart drawn near the flash. She carried it everywhere like it was a limb.

And somehow… it was always aimed at you.

From the first time y’all ever chilled in private, she took a picture. You didn’t even know her like that yet—barely even liked her at the time—but she aimed it at you anyway, said, “Don’t move. You look kinda pretty right now.”

The flash popped and your attitude cracked, just a little. Just enough to let her keep doing it.

Since then, you’ve collected dozens. Pinned to your mirror. Stuck to your laptop. Hidden inside your phone case. Some of them blurry. Some goofy. A few so pretty they look like they belong in a museum.

And then, some that don’t belong anywhere but under lock and key.

Because once y’all got closer—once the tension finally snapped and you let her touch you like that—she started taking pictures during those moments too. Quiet little snapshots that no one else will ever see.

YOU DIDN’T EXPECT IT THE FIRST TIME. You had her shirt bunched in your fist, mouth gripping one of her tits, while your other hand took its time dragging lazy patterns across her stomach like you were tracing something you could see. Her palm rested warm and steady against your neck, kind of grounding you even as you damn near came in your panties just from the way she breathed.

Then, outta nowhere, with her voice—low, calm and almost amused she whispered, “Don’t move, ma,”

You blinked, confused—until she reached over, grabbed the camera off the nightstand, and clicked. Just like that. A flash, a whirr, and a photo of you on top of her, breathless and glowing.

You froze, blinking hard.

“Ju… did you just take a picture of me sucking your tits?”

She didn’t even flinch. Just set the camera down and smiled.

“I did.”

Your jaw dropped.

“Ain’t no way. I know you’re fucking lying right now.” You started laughing, burying your face in your hands, heat crawling up your chest.

And then she said it.

“You looked too fucking pretty not to.”

That made you shut up.

Because when you finally looked at it… god. It was beautiful. Not just hot—intimate. Soft in a way only y’all understood. Something that felt like yours.

Now it was kinda your thing.

TODAY WAS DIFFERENT, THOUGH.

Both of y’all were at the beach. The one y’all always come to when things got loud. And lately juju’s been quieter than usual. Maybe it was the pressure. Maybe it was the press. Maybe it was just the weight of being her. You knew how heavy that could feel. So you suggested the waters. No press. No people. Just you, her, the ocean.

You had been here for a couple hours now. Your braids tied up in a loose bun. Juju’s curls were tucked under her hoodie, still a little damp from running in the waves earlier. The sun was setting now, casting everything in that perfect gold.

She was quiet, camera in hand.

You were sitting on the blanket, legs tucked under you, arms hugging your knees, the sand clinging to your thighs. She crouched a few feet away, squinted through the viewfinder, then snapped a photo.

Click.

You giggled. “You already got like twenty of me today, ju.”

“Don’t care.” Her voice was soft, almost sleepy. “You look good in this light.”

She took another one.

You pretended to be annoyed, tossing a piece of seaweed at her. “You’re obsessed.”

“I am. And you like this shit.”

you did.

The wind picked up, making you shiver a little, goosebumps chasing across your arms. She noticed. Shrugged off her hoodie and pulled it over your head, tugging the hood up around your braids. You looked up at her, all cozy and warm and wrapped in her scent.

“You okay, ma ?” you asked.

She nodded. “Yeah. I just…” Her tongue runs over her bottom lip. “I wanna remember this.”

Your breath caught.

She took another picture. Then reached for you.

IT STARTED SLOW. It always started slow with juju. Her mouth brushing against yours like she was asking for permission, not just from you but from the damn universe too. Like every time was the first, she didn’t want to take anything for granted. Her mouth barely brushed yours, soft and tentative, and you met her halfway, kissing her deeper. Sweeter. Your hands cradled her jaw, thumbs grazing her cheeks like muscle memory.

The sun was sinking now, dripping gold over her skin. The wind had quieted. The world felt still—just the hush of waves and your breathing tangled together.

Click.

You heard it again. That soft, familiar shutter.

You glanced up. “You deadass taking pics right now ?”

Juju was already grinning, half-lidded “You know I am. You look too damn good, mama. I need to remember how you look when I be fuckin’ that pussy right.”

You sucked your teeth, face burning as you turned your head, but your body didn’t move away—not even a little. You didn’t stop her. You never stopped her.

You let her guide you down onto the blanket, back hitting the soft fabric. Let her settle between your thighs like it was her favorite place on earth. Her hands slid under the hoodie slow, like she had all the time in the world, palms spreading over your chest with that reverent heat that always made you arch into her touch.

And when she kissed down your neck, your collarbone, the curve of your tits—pausing only to snap another photo—you didn’t roll your eyes at her this time. You just let her.

Because this ?

This was how juju loved you. Through her hands, her mouth, and through her camera.

“LOOK HOW PRETTY YOU ARE, BABY.” For the first time today, she had finally set her camera down for a second. No shutter, no clicks— just her eyes on you now.

You whimpered, soft and breathy, as her lips trailed lower. You felt her smirk against your stomach, warm breath kissing your skin right before she hooked her fingers in the waistband of your shorts. She pulled them down slow, almost as if she was unwrapping something fragile. Precious.

“Ju… please,” you whispered, voice already shaking.

She tilted her head, cocky-ass grin stretching across her mouth. “What do you need, mama ? Say it.”

“I want you,” you breathed. “I need you, baby.”

“I got you,” she murmured, camera now resting beside her like it could wait. Like she wanted this part just for her.

She kissed the inside of your thigh, then the other, and your hips twitched under her. Her hands never left your body—always anchored, always warm, like she was mapping you again from memory.

Like you were her favorite poem.

One she didn’t ever wanna forget the words to.

“You okay ?” she asked against your skin, her eyes flicking up to find yours. Her voice was lower now, like the sea itself—calm but heavy with intention.

You nodded fast, hand sliding down to grab hers. “Im good, ma. I’m right here.”

Her smile turned tender for a second. She kissed your knuckles sliding lower again, pressing her mouth to your pussy with a slowness that made you cry out on the first lick. Her tongue was slow, deliberate against your pussy, taking its time painting worship across your lips.

Your hands flew to her curls, fingers curling, breath stuttering out of you. “F-Fuck, Ju… don’t stop, baby, please—”

Click.

Your eyes flew open. “I know you did not just take a picture—”

But she was already smirking into you, not even looking up. “You’re so wet, baby. You don’t want proof of this ? Of how pretty you look falling apart ?”

You let out a breathless laugh, legs trembling around her shoulders. “Fuck… take another one.”

“Yeah?” Her voice dipped into something darker. “Open that pussy up for me. Show off for the camera, pretty girl.”

You gasped, your whole body tightening. The wind picked up just enough to carry your moans out to the ocean. She then worked her fingers deeper, slower, more intentional—like she wanted to make sure the moment was tattooed on your soul.

Your back arched off the blanket, thighs quivering, body damn near levitating with how good she was fucking you with her fingers. She felt so good inside of you.

“Ma, i’m cumming, fuck— uhh don’t stop.” You were right there—so fucking close, shaking and reaching and praying—

Click.

“Judea!” you cried out, one hand flying to the camera in scandal while the other dragged across the blanket. “Have you lost your mind—”

She looked up, face and fingers wet, eyes dark and full of nothing but love. “Nah,” she said, almost too soft to hear over the waves. “I’m just in love.”

SHE COULDN’T STOP LOOKING AT THOSE PHOTOS. Back in her car now, the air was still thick with you—sex, salt, and the kind of quiet that only comes after being loved on real good.

You were curled up in her lap, your arms wrapped around her like you didn’t wanna let her go. Still a little sensitive. Still warm all over. The blanket y’all had been laid out on now wrapped around both of you.

And even now, juju still reached for one of the polaroids she’d taken earlier, pulling it from the cup holder like it was a damn love letter.

There were three.

The first one was your face, eyes closed, wind dancing through your braids, the softest little smile on your lips. You looked peaceful. Untouched. Whole.

The second was filthier—your bare thighs spread, her fingers still buried in you.

And the third— the third was your face right after you came. Mouth parted. Eyes glassy. Sunlight catching the sweat on your skin like you were glowing from the inside out.

you were beautiful.

She held that one the longest. Brought it closer. Smiled like her chest was too full. Then she kissed your temple softly and whispered against your skin,

“That one’s my favorite.”

You didn’t say a word. Just held her tighter, burying your face in her neck and thinking,

Yeah. Mine too.

“…You be on some freaky-ass shit sometimes,” you mumbled, but it came out lazy. More fond than anything.

She snorted. “Girl, shut up. You love that shit.”

You smiled into her skin. Damn it. She was right.

© written by melobballin | inspo is free, but copying is lazy. keep it cute y’all

[melobballin]

OMG WE NEED MORE JUJUUUUUUU

like enemies to lovers type beat, with loads of tension and breaking points, where they finally get together and it’s just confessions after confessions while they’re kissing etc

heat check. juju watkins

✶ warnings ✶ 3k words count. black!fem reader. enemies to lovers. rivalry. trackstar!reader. Juju is messy af. hater!juju. reader hates juju to her guts. kissing. crashout!reader. petty ig lives. wlw.

hope you’ll like it baby ! 🤍

“YOU’RE GONNA HAVE TO BE BETTER THAN HER IF YOU WANT THAT ENDORSEMENT.”

Your dad didn’t even look up from his reports containing your last records as he said it, like it was the most obvious fact in the universe. No “good job”, no “I’m proud of you”—just that cold-ass line hitting you like a punch to the ribs.

You’re standing in the gym locker room, still soaked in sweat, legs still trembling from the last race you ran, and you swore your heart dropped every time he said her name : juju watkins.

“She plays basketball, Dad,” you said low, voice tired, the frustration bubbling just under your skin. “She’s not even in track world.”

“You’re not listening,” His eyes finally met yours, sharp and serious. “I don’t have time for excuses. This school, this program—nobody cares what sport you play. It’s about who’s the face, who’s selling the image, who’s getting the endorsements. And right now ? She is.”

You wanted to argue, wanted to tell him it wasn’t about juju or endorsements or all this noise. You wanted to tell him you ran for you.

But the words stuck in your throat.

“Be better than her,” he repeated, voice low but heavy like a verdict. “Or get used to watching her take everything you worked for.”

You hated that you wanted to scream.

You hated that tears pricked your eyes.

You hated that he was right.

YOU DIDN’T EVEN TALK TO JUJU LIKE THAT. But you saw her. Everywhere. She was the golden girl on campus. Basketball star. The one who drew the crowds. The one who got the interviews, the likes, the clout.

You were the track princess who ran hard and kept herself humble but somehow always felt like running in her shadow.

Social media feeds made it worse. Always comparing. Always pitting you two against each other like some game.

But no matter what you did—her name was always sitting in your mentions.

“Track princess vs Juju again 👀”

“The nike add ate. But I don’t know who I want more, juju, or ✶.”

“They def got beef and I’m here for it.”

“Juju def the type to bag shorty just to mess up her race day 😭”

You hated it. You hated that it followed you everywhere.

You hated that sometimes… you click on her page.

You scroll through her posts at night when you can’t sleep. You rewatch the press clips. Her voice. Her smile. The way she runs her tongue across her teeth before answering a question. Her highlights. That game where she crossed two girls and then acted like nothing happened.

You saw it.

Went through the comments.

You fucking hated that.

YOU WERE CHILLING AT YOUR BEST FRIEND EVY’S PLACE. You were trying to decompress after yet another brutal practice.

Evy had been teasing you all day about your big-framed, black-rimmed glasses—the ones you wore to hide from the world sometimes, or maybe because you lowkey loved how they made you look like the serious, mysterious track star no one can mess with.

You threw them on after practice while Evy filmed you lip syncing to ‘whim whamiee’. You were feeling yourself. The gloss on your lips, the way the sun caught your braids. It was the first time you really let yourself just be, no pressure, no expectations.

Next thing you knew, Evy was groaning next to you. “Tell me why juju is on live and people are mentioning your name.”

You took her phone and scrolled to the live and there was juju, glasses on too and hooded up, looking all casual but somehow cute, scrolling through the comments.

#IG!LIVE COMMENTS

that girl from track wearing glasses too 😭😭😭 copying her ?

not juju having her glasses on too

just ask for her @ atp

u coming to kim’s party on friday ?

She squinted at the phone. Smirks.

“Can’t lie,” she said into the camera. “Shorty fine. I’m finer thought.”

You blinked.

Evy side-eyeded you, smirking.

“She wants you so bad,” she whispered, almost laughing. “Y’all are so disgusting.”

You rolled your eyes but your head was pounding hard.

You knew what the fuck she was doing. She wanted them to talk. Because see, the thing with juju was that, there always was this back and forth thing where she would throw jabs, or shades but then compliment and smirk when press mentioned you. It was almost as if she liked the rivalry.

JUJU COULD BE SO MESSY AT TIMES. And each time the press would eat her shit up, like they couldn’t tell she was doing this on purpose to indeed make them talk.

She just scored 29 and made a last-second three.

As usual the press was all over it. When asked her if there was any athlete on campus she felt “pushed by,” she only tilted her head and said :

“There’s this track girl, maybe her. She doesn’t scare me though, I know she doesn’t compare. Or so the streets are saying.”

And listen. You blacked out a little.

Safe to say— you showed up to her dorm an hour later, hoodie up, fists balled, rage vibrating through your chest. Because what the hell was that ?

She opened the door almost like she was expecting you.

“Oh,” she said, one brow raised. “Came to congratulate me ? Nice coming from you.”

“Say that shit to my face, judea.” you snapped.

“I already did.”

You stepped forward. “Juju, you don’t know me, I’ll dig through your bitch ass on your fucking doorstep. I don’t care anymore for your bullshit.”

She only looked you up and down. Smirked.

“Bro,” she said, voice low, “I’m not fighting you.”

You blinked, one of your eyelids shaking under the pressure.

She stepped closer. Close enough for you to see the gold flecks in her eyes. She liked this shit. “I won’t be fighting you,” she repeated. “I’m trying to stop fighting with you.”

You only stared.

She reached out. Fingers brushing your wrist, as if she was trying to calm you down. But she was full of shit, and you knew it.

“Go fuck yourself, juju.” You say, swatting her hand away. Your finger went in her face, pointing at her. “Don’t mention my name unless you can handle the smoke that comes with it. Stop fucking playing with me.”

She smiled a little as she watched you stand back and go back to your dorm.

You looked good mad.

THE PARTY WAS LOUD AS HELL. Hot. Sticky. Shoulder-to-shoulder kind of packed. The music was so loud your heart synced with the bass. It smelled like weed, sweat, and sugar-rimmed solo cups. The lights were low, flickering in red and blue, and the house was packed—wall to wall with athletes, campus regulars, people you ain’t seen since syllabus week—everyone was here.

And you ? You looked dangerous tonight.

Tucked near the kitchen with your teammates, frames sliding low on your nose, lemon drop in hand. That baby pink tank top was fighting for its life on your chest, and you’d swapped your usual braids for a slick high pony that had your whole face snatched. Edges crisp. Lips glossy. Skin glowing.

You hadn’t even planning to stay that long—you just came to roll with Evy and maybe do a little two-step before dipping. But then they played “Bartier Cardi” and your homegirls pulled you into the corner like it was a video shoot. Suddenly, you were mouthing every word, fingers moving, drink in hand, laughing like you didn’t have practice at 7 a.m. sharp.

And that’s when the air shifted.

Like the music didn’t just drop—a vibe did.

She walked in.

Of course she did. Because where you were ? Juju always followed. Or maybe she just knew how to find you.

Black boyfriend jeans slung low on her hips, oversized crop tee, teasing just enough skin to be criminal. Her braid swung behind her like punctuation, crisp and cocky, the same way she walked. Chains stacked on her collarbone, diamond studs catching every bit of the light like they were in on the plan. She moved like she knew people were watching—and like she didn’t give a single fuck about any of them.

Except you.

You didn’t even notice her at first. Too busy shining, posing, lip-syncing cardi like it was your job and somebody’s phone was about to catch the magic for their story.

But then someone yelled her name—and everything paused.

Your head turned, slow. Your eyes trying to find her.

But she was already looking.

Already staring.

Already smiling.

Your phone buzzed.

From : (bitch ass) judea

Glasses again ? aren’t you tired of copying me ?

To : (bitch ass) judea

judea why are you in my phone again ?

From : (bitch ass) judea

wow

can’t even compliment you

To : (bitch ass) judea

told you to come say shit to my face

or you can’t handle the smoke ?

From : (bitch ass) judea

Turn around

You turned.

And she was there.

Two feet behind you. Looking too good for you to admit it, her lips glossed. She tilted her head like she was studying you.

You opened your mouth to speak—but Evy dragged you away before you got the chance.

IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE YOUR MOMENT. All season long, you’d been grinding—up at 5am, lungs burning through intervals, legs screaming on hills, phone on dnd. You had stopped going out, skipped parties, blocked distractions, everything—because this race ? This was the one.

The scouts were here. The brand reps. The photographers. Your dad.

“Remember, be better than that damn kid,” he said to you the night before. Didn’t even say her name. Just her—like juju was the final boss you hadn’t beaten yet.

And for a second, you believed you could.

Believed you could make him proud.

You had the fastest prelim time. The best start of your season. You looked good. Felt even better. Kinda.

But when the gun went off—

Something… slipped.

Maybe it was the pressure. Maybe it was the thousand thoughts screaming in your head. Maybe it was the way you saw juju’s name trending on twitter right before you warmed up.

But you clipped a hurdle.

Just one. Just enough.

You didn’t fall, but it wrecked your rhythm. Your arms flailed, your stride staggered, and suddenly you were in second place, fighting like hell to catch the girl in lane four.

And you didn’t.

You crossed the line second.

Not even a close second. Just… not first.

Not who you were supposed to be.

The crowd still cheered, but it felt like background static. Your coach tried to say something—you didn’t hear it. Your dad was somewhere in the bleachers. Silent.

Almost disappointed.

Your chest heaved. Your vision blurred. Your legs trembled as you stumbled past the finish line and dropped to your knees near the fence. Hands on your thighs. Gutted.

The cameras were still flashing. You could feel people watching.

And then you heard it.

Her voice.

Soft. Close.

“Hey.”

You didn’t even have to look. You knew. “Don’t talk to me, please not now juju.”

Your fists curled, throat tight. You dragged your head up anyway, cheeks wet and jaw clenched. As you went straight towards the lockers, not wanting to crash in front of everyone, she followed you.

“Go ahead,” you said, stopping in your tracks to turn and look at her. “Laugh, juju.”

She blinked.

“What ?”

You walked up to her fast, heart pounding in your ears. “That’s what you do, right? You win, you gloat. You throw lil jabs in interviews and act like you’re above everybody else. So just say it. Say something slick so I can finally pop your shit.”

She didn’t.

She stepped closer, her brows furrowed—not smug, not playful. Just… soft. “What’s wrong with you ? I already told you I wasn’t gonna fight you.”

you kept your fists clenched.

“I’m not gonna laugh at you,” she said, voice low.

Your lip trembled. “Why not ? That’s what you’ve been dying to do ever since we met.”

“Because you’re allowed to have a bad day,” she said, like it was obvious. “And because second place doesn’t mean you’re not her. And first of all, that last part is not true at all.”

You swallowed hard, looking away, trying to blink the tears back. But they kept spilling over.

She stepped in again, real close this time, until her hand gently gripped your shoulders.

“Look at me.”

You didn’t want to. But you did.

Juju was surprisingly looking at you like you were something fragile and precious—not weak, not pitiful. Real. Her thumbs brushed over your shoulders.

“You don’t have to be perfect for me to see you,” she murmured.

That broke you.

A sob cracked in your chest, and you buried your face in her shoulder before you could stop yourself.

She caught you. Held you. Let you cry.

And for once you didn’t want to slap her across the face.

IT HAPPENED AFTER A GAME. One of hers, this time.

She dropped 31. Broke a record. Everybody was screaming her name, chanting M-V-P while camera flashes went off like she was a damn movie star. You were there, of course—hood up, sitting in the bleachers with some of your teammates, hands in your jacket, trying not to stare too hard. Trying not to look like you came for her.

But you kinda did.

That’s what you did now.

You stayed through the whole thing. Watched her shine like she was built for it. Like the court had always belonged to her. And yeah, you even cheered a little. Quietly. Just to yourself.

And when it was over, when the crowd filtered out and the team disappeared into the locker room, you left.

No text. No “good game.”

Just… left.

And she wasn’t having it. Didn’t want to let it end there.

At 12am, you got a text.

From : (dumb ass) judea

u at home ?

To : (dumb ass) judea

yea why ?

From : (dumb ass) judea

come outside

need to see u

Your stomach flipped. You sat up in bed, pulse thudding. The house was quiet—Evy was knocked out, your other roommate’s light turned off an hour ago, and your body still sore from practice.

But you were up.

You were slipping on your pink slides, tugging on a hoodie, sneaking downstairs like you were sixteen again and doing something you swore you wouldn’t.

She was outside leaning against her car, black hoodie on, curls up in a messy bun and still a little damp from her post-game shower, chain glinting under the porch light like punctuation.

“Hey,” she said, voice soft.

You squinted at her. “You good?”

She shruged. “I just… I wanted to see you.”

Your heart skipped.

She wasn’t playing tonight. She wasn’t smirking or being slick. She looked tired. Vulnerable, almost. Like the weight of the court was still sitting on her shoulders.

You shifted, crossing your arms. “You could’ve said that in a text.”

“I know,” she said, and leaning forward. “But I wanted to say it to your face, for once.”

Silence fell between you.

The wind brushed against your ankles. Her eyes searched yours.

“I saw you tonight,” she said. “You were in the back row, right ?”

You swallowed. “I didn’t think you noticed.”

“I always notice.”

You looked away. Your throat felt tight.

Juju exhaled. “I used to get hype off crowds. The noise, the pressure. I liked it. But now, after every game, I’m checking the stands for you.”

You blinked.

She turned to you. She was now close enough for you to see the curve of her lip, the sweat still shining on her cheekbone.

“I don’t care what people say anymore,” she said. “About us. This rivalry thing. The drama. None of it.”

You stayed still. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.

“I care about you showing up,” she continued. “I care about you watching me. I care about you thinking I’m good enough.”

“Juju…”

Her name tasted shaky on your tongue.

She licked her lips, nervous. Her voice dropped.

“I think about you all the damn time. After games. After practice. Before sleep. Before interviews. You’re just—there. Stuck in my head. And I hate it.”

You sucked in a breath. “Why are you telling me this now ?”

“Because I can’t hold this shit in anymore.”

She reached out, fingers brushing against your arm.

“I never meant what said during all those press conferences. That slick shit. I was trying to look unbothered. But the truth is… you bother the hell out of me.”

You almost laughed. “That’s not helping your case, dummy.”

“I mean you got fucked me up,” she said. “Like, I’ll be running plays and suddenly I’m thinking about the way your lips looked when you were mouthing that cardi song at that party.”

Your eyes widened.

She smirked. “Yeah. You know I saw it.”

You shook your head. “You’re dumb as fuck.”

“And you’re fine,” she said. “And I’m tired of pretending I don’t want you.”

She stepped even closer. Now you were toe-to-toe next to her car, hearts thudding in sync.

You were quiet for a long beat.

Then you whispered, “I thought you hated me. And I wished you did because I kinda hated you too.”

“I did, at some point.” she said. “But not really. I hated how much I wanted you.”

And that’s it. That was the unraveling.

Your eyes stung. Your chest tightened. You reached for her before you could think twice, hands sliding around her shoulders, fingertips brushing the warm skin of her neck.

“What the hell are we doing ?” you said, voice warm.

She grabbed your jaw. “You tell me, baby.”

You leaned in, forehead pressed to hers.

“I thought if I didn’t loose to you,” you whispered, “my dad would stop looking at me like I was a waste. Like all this work was for nothing. But when I lost that race, you didn’t laugh—you held me, that felt nice.”

She kissed you.

Soft, slow, with the kind of patience that said she had been waiting for it.

You sighed into her mouth, fists curling into her hoodie, her arms tightening around your waist. The world faded out. There was only her. Only this.

When you pulled back, breathless, you whispered, “What do we do now ?”

Juju smiled.

“You can start by stopping pretending you want to dig into me each time you see me and accept that I’m fine as fuck,” she said.

And she kissed you again.

This time like a promise.

© written by melobballin | inspo is free, but copying is lazy. keep it cute y’all

[melobballin]

hi can u please do kk smut where she is using the strap on reader and reader tries to run from it and she tells her to take it? thank you!!!

can’t quit. kk arnold

✶ warnings ✶ 1.1k words count. black!fem reader. +18 minors dni. nasty smut. strap using. sweet!kk. kk talks reader through it (iktr). reader has glasses. fingering. Lots of nicknames. wlw.

hope you’ll like it baby !! 🤍

KK WAS ENJOYING THE SHOW. Ass up, face down— yeah it was safe to say that the view you gave her was delicious.

You couldn’t even remember why and how it started. One minute you were chilling on her bed, phone in hand, still humming whatever dumb tiktok song she’d been stuck on earlier, and the next…you were on all fours.

You felt it before she even touched you. That slow burn creeping up your spine, the way the air shifted when she walked in. The room was quiet, but kk’s presence was never. Her energy filled all the space between you two before her voice even did.

No “hey, lovie !”

No playful grin or flirty jab.

Just the click of the door locking behind her and the low thud of her phone landing on the bed next to you. You glanced at her over your glasses, lips parting—but you didn’t even get a word out before she crossed the room and softly reached for your hand.

“I miss you,” she said, soft but dead serious.

That made your whole chest squeeze.

You hadn’t even gone anywhere. Had been at her place for three nights straight, half your stuff in her drawers and the other half in a bag on her floor. But it didn’t matter. That’s not what she meant. kk missed this. Missed you in this way.

So you gave her your hand. Let her tug you closer.

And when she finally did kiss you, gave you that slow and deliberate kiss she always gave you to when she wanted you to know she craved you— your knees went soft. She tasted like whatever cheap lip balm you made her put on earlier and the sour punch straws y’all fought over in the kitchen earlier. You sighed into her, your hand already giving in, and going to her tits.

“I feel like I ain’t seen you in hours,” she whispered, lips dragging across your cheek before her teeth caught your jaw. “baby, you just went for a run, not overseas.”

“God forbid a girl misses her woman,” she breathed against your neck, making you laugh a little as she backed you a bit more into the mattress.

You didn’t argue. You just let her manoeuvre your body the way she wanted to, knees sinking into the edge of the bed, arms going loose as she pressed you forward—until your cheek hit the comforter and your ass was tipped up just enough for her to groan low in her throat.

“Damn,” she muttered, hands bracketing your hips like she was praying. “You drive me crazy, you know that, baby ?”

You looked back at her, smiling just enough to be bratty. “Didn’t do nothing thought.”

“Got me wanting to do so many things to you, boo.”

You giggled until she slapped the inside of your thigh, not rough, but just enough to make you freeze. Then her hand soothed softly the sting, thumb rubbing circles against your skin. You hated how much that contrast made you wet. She always did that—rough one second, soft the next. You never knew what was coming, and that kept you hooked.

“You been looking so pretty all day,” she muttered, tugging your shorts down slowly. “Got me wanting to act reckless.”

“You started it,” you murmured into the comforter, breath already hitching when her hands smoothed up your thighs again, this time her nails lightly scratching over the backs of them.

“I started it ? You’re gonna lie on my name like that ?” she asked, one brow raised. She leaned over you now, chest against your back, lips ghosting your ear. “You sat in my lap talking about some “I’m cold”…rubbing all up on me like I ain’t got shit to do today.”

You bit your lip.

Kk’s hand was now between your legs, slow and heavy, dragging through your wetness like she wasn’t shocked at all by what she found.

“Yeah… that’s what I thought,” she whispered. “You ready, lovie ? Can I ?” She’s asks, looking for any sign of disapproval on your face.

“Please..”

You gasped as she slipped two fingers in, your hips instinctively trying to wiggle back, but her other hand held you down by the small of your back.

“UHH, FUCK !” kk was now stretched out on top of you, one hand steady under one of your ass cheeks, the other holding onto the headboard of her bed while she slid in and out of your pussy with her strap.

“You okay baby ?” She murmured, going to kiss your neck sweetly but kept pounding your cunt at a merciless pace.

You just nod.

But you knew she would be having none of it. “You know better. Use your words, please.” she said, lips grazing your shoulder. Her other hand squeezed your thigh, slow and grounding. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, voice not above a whisper. “I’m good, please don’t stop, baby.”

Your words only made her more needy, more greedy for your touch. She continued to whisper filthy things in your ear as she stretched you out on her shit. “Yeah, you feel good ? where do you feel me ? Tell me.”

You don’t even hear yourself say it.

“Fuck— uhh. I feel you in my fucking stomach, k.”She hummed like she knew better. Like she knew that behind those breathless whispers was something deeper, something restless, something scared and needy at the same time.

And maybe that’s what pulled her closer. Maybe that’s why she never rushed. Kk might move with power, with confidence, with that quiet cockiness that drips off her when she’s on the court or in your sheets—but she always moves with care, too.

You whimpered when she went deeper, forehead pressed to her shoulder, biting it as she gripped your ass tighter. But then when it went downhill and you started to actually feel your body reach a level of pleasure you never thought you would ever be able to reach, you started doing what kk hated the most : you ran.

You squirmed. Your toes curled. Your eyes got glassy. Your voice became more whiny by the second. You couldn’t handle the smoke no more.

“Uh-uh. Don’t run from me, love.” She caught your hips. She leaned down and kissed your temple, still driving fast and deep. Each roll of her hips more deliberate than the last.

“Let me see you. Don’t hide from me, pretty.”

She hit that spot again and your moan cracked—raw, high, and needy.

She grinned against your jaw. “There she goes.”

“C’mon, take it,” she said, voice firm but tender. “You can take it, baby.”

You did. You always did.

© written by melobballin | inspo is free, but copying is lazy. keep it cute y’all

[melobballin]

masterlist. kk arnold

headcanons :

still in progress!

fics / blurbs :

can’t quit

© written by melobballin | inspo is free, but copying is lazy. keep it cute y’all

now playing!

[melobballin]

WOWWWW I js found you and omfg your writing is so so good

omg hi babyyyy ! PERIODT !!!! I’m so glad y’all are liking this ! I actually hesitated for so long before posting so thanks for the support !!! more is coming tho 😎

don’t hesitate to request !!! 🤍🤍🤍

[melobballin]

residue. juju watkins

✶ warnings ✶ 1.6k ish words count. black!fem reader. +18 minors dni. smut. y’all are so fucking toxic. reader is dumb af for staying. toxic!juju. pussy eating. fingering. tribbing. reader got a smart mouth. flirty!juju. wlw.

SHE SWEARS SHE’LL NOT BE STAYING. Always mumbles it against your neck, as she tugs your shirt up, heart still pumping from whatever argument pushed her back into your arms tonight.

“They’re waiting for me,” she says, hoodie half-off but her hands are already on your thighs, already wanting to lift you like she didn’t ghost you for a week. Like she wasn’t just post up at some party, grinning next to Mariah —who happened to actively hate you.

You don’t say shit. You’ve stopped saying shit. What’s the point when she’s never listening ?

You’ve stopped asking her where she’s been. Stopped hoping the knock meant anything more than what it always did : she needed something she wouldn’t name, and for whatever reason, you were the only one who could give it to her.

Juju always showed up late—smelling like somebody else’s perfume, the taste of liquor on her lips and her hoodie pulled low like guilt can hide her—and you always let her in. Every time. No questions. No judgment. No begging her to stay. Just quiet. Just space. Just you.

Her hands were already on your waist. Already tugging at your shorts like they were in her way. Like she was starving and you were the only thing that’s ever fed her right.

“I missed you,” she said between kisses. “Missed this.”

You laughed bitterly. “Yeah ? You always say that.” You murmured, breath catching as her lips kissed behind your ears.

“I always mean it,” she whispered.

Before you could answer, she was already dropping you onto your bed with that same lazy confidence that’s been driving you insane since freshman year. You hated how easy it was for her. How good she looked in your low lighting. Sweats hanging off her hips. Bra strap peeking from under her tank top. Jaw clenched like she was mad at the world but still needed to melt into you to survive the night.

“To how many girls have you said that tonight ?” You saw her eyes flicker. But she didn’t stop.

Just slid her hand down your stomach, kissed you deeper like she was trying to shut you up with her mouth.

“You know it ain’t like that with them.” She climbed on top without hesitation. One knee between your thighs, one hand at the base of your throat. Just enough pressure to remind you who’s in control. Just enough softness to keep you wanting more.

That’s what she always did. And maybe you were having it.

You looked up at her and said what you always say when you’re trying not to cry before she’s even touched you properly : “You seeing her again?”

Her jaw ticks. “Mariah doesn’t matter.”

“She matters enough to show up on your story.”

Juju leans in, nose brushing yours. Her voice drops low. “You still checking that shit?”

You weren’t dumb. She knows you weren’t. She knew you had seen the likes. The tags. The flashes of her with somebody new, arm slung around some soft-eyed girl who probably thinks she’s different. Who probably hasn’t tasted the part of Juju that comes out when she’s desperate and ruined and whispering “please” against your mouth like you’re the last fucking prayer she has left.

Her hips grind into your pussy slow—too fucking slow for someone who said they were just “stopping by.” She kissed down your chest like she’s worshiping something she was too ashamed to claim in the daylight. Her voice is low and rasped and so familiar when she says your name.

And still, it’s you. Always you.

The one she comes back to.

The one who knows where she likes to be touched without needing to ask.

The one who holds her afterward, even when you swear you won’t.

“I hate you so much for this, ju.” you breathe, tugging at the hairs on the back of her head when she slipped her tongue over your pussy, sucking it slowly.

She groans against your thighs. “Yeah ? but you always let me in though, baby.”

And that’s the thing. You always do. Because no one else makes you fall apart like this.

No one else makes you whisper that soft, dangerous, nasty talk in the dark, when your walls drop and your voice breaks and she holds you like maybe this time, she’ll actually stay.

She moans when she tastes you. Deep and low and possessive.

“Shit,” she breathes, dragging her tongue up your slit like it’s the first time again. “I missed this pussy.”

You arch, grip her curls. “You don’t even deserve it.”

“Don’t gotta,” she mutters, fingers sinking into your cunt slowly. “You still give it to me.”

And maybe that’s the worst part. Maybe it’s that you want to. That no one else gets you like this. That even when she hurts you, her hands are home. Her mouth is poetry. Her body is the only place you ever feel known.

She fucks you slow.

Not gentle—never that. But deep. Deep like she tryna climb inside and live there. Like she knows exactly how to take you apart and put you back together just enough to make you let her stay the night.

You come once. Then twice. Legs shaking, voice gone, heart thudding too loud in your ears.

And still she’s not done.

Still she’s kissing your ribs, your stomach, your neck—like you’re the only thing keeping her tethered to this earth.

“I fucking hate you,” you breathe, tears hot in your eyes.

She lifts her head, eyes blown, lips slick and swollen.

“Yeah ?” she whispers, kissing the corner of your mouth. “But you still love me.”

You choke on a laugh. Or a sob. You don’t even know anymore.

Juju then pulls you on top of her like she needs to feel your weight to believe you’re real. Your knees on either side of her hips. Her hands gripping your thighs. Her eyes not leaving yours.

She guides you down onto her pussy like it’s nothing—like you were always made to sit there.

“Take it, baby,” she murmurs, voice husky. “Let me have you.”

You do. Because you always do.

Because no one makes you feel like like she does. No one looks at you like they need you to survive the night.

Her hands slide up your ass as you move. Slow. Steady. Raw.

Your bodies sticky with sweat and something unspoken.

She leans up to kiss you. This time softer.

And that’s when you feel it—that shift. That tenderness she tries to hide under ego and bravado and too many mistakes.

She kisses you like she knows she fucked up. Like she don’t know how to fix it but she wants to. Like she’s scared to ask you to stay because she knows she doesn’t deserve it.

Her fingers lace with yours.

She lets you ride her pussy slow. Lets you set the pace. Her body trembling under yours. Her voice cracking when she whispers, “No one else feels like you.”

You freeze.

And for a second—just a second—you let yourself believe she means it.

“Say it again,” you whisper.

Juju cups your cheek. “No one else feels like you. Nobody else is you.”

Tears burn your throat again. But you don’t stop.

You keep rocking your hips. Keep holding her close. Keep letting her say shit she never says in the daylight.

“I try to forget you,” she confesses, head tilted back. “I try. I swear I do.”

“Then why are you here juju ?”

“Because I can’t.” Her voice is broken. Honest. “I can’t stay away. I don’t want to want you like this. But I do.”

You kiss her before she can say more. Swallow her words. Pour yourself into her like maybe if you give enough, she’ll stay.

You come again. Louder this time. Shaking in her arms. She follows. Low moans against your skin, arms wrapped around your waist, face buried in your neck like she’s trying to disappear inside you.

And after ? Like always : it’s quiet.

Just heavy breathing and tangled limbs. Sweat-damp sheets and flickering shadows from the streetlight outside your window.

You don’t ask her to leave.

She doesn’t say she will.

She just holds you. Soft now. Bare now. Her forehead pressed to your shoulder, her fingers drawing circles on your back.

“I wish I knew how to love you right,” she whispers.

And you don’t answer. You just close your eyes.

Because this—this is the only version of her you ever get.

The 2am version. The “I hate myself for needing you” version. The “maybe tomorrow” kind of girl.

And maybe that’s all she’ll ever be.

But tonight? Tonight she’s yours. And you’ll take it.

Even if it breaks you later.

© written by melobballin | inspo is free, but copying is lazy. keep it cute y’all

[melobballin]

hiii :)! can you do an azzi fudd x reader fic? where the reader is a cheerleader and supports azzi even when she’s upset? like angst but then really fluffy <3! hope you have a great day

courtside love. azzi fudd

✶ warnings ✶ 1k ish words count. black!fem reader. reader is being a dork. cheerleader!reader. supportive reader. flirty!reader. agnst!azzi. wlw. fluffy fluffy stuff.

first request ! I hope you’ll like it baby 🤍

"LET’S GO AZZI !" That game was ass. And saying that was still an understatement. From where you were in the cheer section with your girls, the damage didn’t look that bad. The score wasn’t a blowout. Nobody got hurt. But somehow, the energy in the gym was off the whole match. Thick and slow. The kind that settled in your chest and made everything feel heavier than it should.

You couldn’t shake it.

They were loosing.

Every time azzi touched the ball, your stomach knotted. Not because you didn’t believe in her—hell no. You’d ride for that girl even if she was the dirtiest of players. It was something else. Something in the way she moved. Off beat. Not slow, but disconnected. Like her body was playing and her mind was somewhere else entirely.

She missed three jumpers in the first quarter. Airballed a free throw in the second.

By halftime, your throat was raw from cheering too hard and your hands were red from clapping, just trying to make her see you. Just trying to send some kind of energy across the court to ground her.

But azzi never once looked up. Not toward the bench. Not toward the stands. Not toward you.

And that? That was what had you feeling sick.

Because your girl, whether she knew it yet or not—always looked for you. Even if it was quick. Even if it was mid-game, mid-timeout, mid-huddle. You knew her game face. You knew her fire. And this? This wasn’t it.

By the time the buzzer hit and the final score flashed on the board, you already knew what was coming. She dipped out the second the teams shook hands, head down, hoodie up before she even made it past the tunnel. Didn’t speak to the press. Didn’t wave at the crowd. Didn’t even dap up her own teammates.

Just gone.

Just like that.

YOU DON’T GO HOME WITH THE SQUAD LIKE USUAL. Don’t slide out for late-night fries or sit around rating crowd signs or trade “I told you she was gon’ eat” jokes with the girls. You just slip out of the gym, ignore the cool night air brushing against your skin, and post up by the back entrance of the arena. Right outside the player exit. Hoodie on, duffle at your feet, phone in hand but untouched.

You knew she’d come out eventually.

And she did.

Thirty minutes later, shoulders tense and hood up again, hands stuffed in her pockets like she tryna disappear into herself.

She spotted you, and for a second you think she might keep walking.

But then her steps slow.

Her head tilts down just a little. And she stops right in front of you. You don’t speak yet. Just open your arms.

And azzi folds straight into you like she been holding her breath all night.

No words. No tears. Just a long, trembling exhale into your shoulder and a quiet, “Can I come to yours?”

You nod, your hands already holding her tighter.

“Yeah, baby. C’mon.”

THE WALK BACK TO YOUR DORM WAS QUIET. She doesn’t let go of your hand the entire way.

You open the door to your room and let her walk in first. She drops her bag by the foot of your bed, kicks her sneakers off, then sits at the edge of your mattress like her whole body’s heavy. Like the game’s still clinging to her skin.

You slowly pull off your cheer jacket, toss it on your desk chair, and kneel down in front of her.

“z,” you say softly, your hands on her knees, “Talk to me.”

Her jaw’s locked tight. Eyes red. Not from crying—you know the look. She ain’t even let herself do that yet. That’s the athlete in her. That ’hold it down until you crack alone in the dark’ kind of pride.

“I fucking sucked,” she spits, bitter and sudden. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I couldn’t hit shit. I was slow. I let them cook me on defense like I wasn’t even—”

“Hey,” you interrupt gently, thumbs rubbing soft circles into her thighs. “Stop that.”

She blinks down at you, frustrated. “What?”

“You’re not gonna sit here and talk about my girlfriend like that. Not on my watch.”

“I cost us the game.”

“You didn’t. One player don’t decide a whole game, and even if you missed every single shot—which you didn’t—you still showed up, azzi. You stayed in it. You didn’t quit. That means something.”

She swallows hard, jaw twitching. Her hands are gripping the edge of your blanket now like it’s keeping her upright.

“You always say the right thing,” she mutters.

“’Because I mean it. ‘Because I see you. Even when you think you disappeared tonight—I saw you.”

And that’s it.

The floodgates open.

Her breath shakes, and she tries to turn her head but you’re already there, pulling her close, wrapping your arms around her waist while she curls in tight. Her body trembles against yours, and her hands fist the back of your tank like she scared she gon’ fall through the floor.

You don’t tell her to stop. Don’t tell her to calm down. You just hold her.

You rock her back and forth gently, whispering against her ear, “I always got you.”

She cries like she’d waited for permission.

And when it passes, she looks up at you like you’re the only thing holding her together.

You cup her face. Thumb brushing under her eye. Lips brushing her forehead.

And then, so soft you almost don’t catch it, she whispers, “You saved me tonight.”

You kiss her before you can think.

And when she kisses you back, it’s not rushed. Not lustful. It’s slow.

Tender. Like a thank you.

LATER—when she’s showered, changed into one of your old high school tees, and curled up in your bed under three blankets, she pulls you in again.

You’re straddling her waist now, both of you still whispering in the hush of candlelight. The room smells like shea butter and the vanilla conditioner she keeps in your shower.

Her hands move up your back, deliberate, reverent. Her lips kiss the inside of your wrist like it’s holy.

“Im so grateful for you,” she breathes, eyes locked on yours. "I love you."

"I love you too, baby." You smile softly at her. “Even when you’re grumpy and shit." You laughed softly, brushing your fingers through her hair.

"Okay, first off all-"

© written by melobballin | writing is free, copying is lazy 🤍 hope you’ll like it !

[melobballin]

masterlist. azzi fudd

headcanons :

still in progress!

fic / blurb :

courtside love

© written by melobballin | inspo is free, but copying is lazy. keep it cute y’all

now playing!

[melobballin]

no pain no game. juju watkins

✶ warnings ✶ 2.8k words count. black!fem reader. juju is being difficult and got a smart mouth. reader being worse. pt!reader. injured!juju. flirty!juju. agnst!juju. wlw. fluffy fluffy stuff.

"WE WANT YOU ON JUJU." Excuse you ? That's all your supervisor said to you before turning her heels and walking out of the classroom. No context. No time for you to blink or ask questions, let alone process what the fuck just happened.

Perfect timing. It was mid semester, you were already knee-deep in the trenches, buried under textbooks, assignments, and finals prep, trying really hard to keep your GPA from tanking.

But yeah, sure, babysitting juju sounded good, real good. Love that for you.

you’d handled injured athletes before—campus regulars, nothing wild. You could do this. No sweat.

But watkins ? That was a whole other story. juju meant headlines, pressure.

You were actually there when it happened. Your best friend, Nia, had basically dragged you to the court that night, guilt-tripping you with the "we never go out anymore !". And you remember it very vividly — her on the court, clutching her knee like it just stabbed her in the back mid-drive. Ever since, the whole department’s been walking on eggshells like somebody died or something.

You weren’t alarmed though. at all.

Yeah, it hurt to see her in pain like that, acl is no joke. But you somehow had no doubt that she was going to get through it in no time.

Still, as sure as you were, you had now a job to do. And baby, you damn good at your job. Top-of-the-class, resident miracle worker type good. Torn ACL ? Please. Move aside. You’ve handled worse.

Star player or not, bones heal the same.

“So… you said yes?” Nia called from the kitchen, halfway through some late-night snack that smelled like burnt remnants.

You rolled your eyes, sinking deeper into the couch cushions. “I didn’t even get the chance to say no. She hit me with the ‘you’re doing it’ and dipped.”

Nia strolled over, plate in hand, and dropped down next to you, pretending to be an emotional support. “And you mad ‘cause… what? You scared you’re actually gonna do a good job and fix her knee and end up in her bed or sum ?"

You side-eyed her. "Be serious please."

“I am,” she mumbled through a bite. “That girl is fine and you got godly hands. It’s like destiny.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t deny it. Juju was fine as hell. And intense. And slightly terrifying.

“I don’t care how good her crossover is,” you said, scrolling on your phone. “If she comes in with a bad attitude and try to run me over, I swear—”

“Girl,” Nia cut you off, grinning. “quit playing. You love a little spice. And you do be killin’ it out here. Stop worrying so much.”

You sighed, flipping onto your back. She smirked. “Anyway, make this entertaining for me. I’m bored or whatever.”

You grabbed a pillow and threw it at her. “I should jump you.”

Safe to say you kept scrolling through your phone that night, looking for her ig.

JUJU WAS LATE. Not the 2 minutes kinda late, the kinda late that made you be on ten. The rehab gym was hot and humid which was disgusting. your baby hairs were already fluffing out. Great start.

When Juju finally strolled in—hoodie pulled tight over her head, brace strapped on like armor, headphones jammed deep in her ears, and a blank face, you were already in position — file in hand, game face locked.

She didn't even glance your way. Just walked right past like you were invisible.

Okay. Cute.

You tapped her AirPods case on the table, trying to stay cool and calm. Click. Click. "You can take those out, missy." you said, finally putting her AirPods case on the table softly. "You won’t need them to hoop."

Nothing. Just a pair of eyes blinking at you like you were crazy.

She sat down, barely even breathed. Instead she stared at you, trying to figure out what the fuck you were talking about.

"You must be an intern or something," she finally said. "Ain’t no way you just asked me to hoop when i still got screws in my knee."

"I’m not. I’m the reason your ass gon’ be back on court. Now take the ball."

She stared. You stared back. If she wanted to waste her time staring into your soul, you weren’t going to waste yours.

“Just take the damn ball,” you said again, softer now. “I wanna see how you move. That’s it.”

Her eyes flicker around the room like she’s trying to will herself into confidence before snatching the ball from your hands. She barely bounces the ball before halting, the brace making her movement stiff and unfamiliar.

“Take your time.” you say, voice gentle but steady. “There’s no rush.”

She didn’t answer, just took another stiff step, the brace groaning under pressure. Her jaw clenched, her shoulders stiff. Then—

“Fuck,” she hissed, almost too quiet. You stepped closer. “That your leg talking or your pride?”

She side-eyed you. “Don’t start with me.”

“Already did. You showed up to my session late, full of attitude, and acting like I begged you to be here but can’t handle a little hooping.”

That got her attention. She turned to face you fully now. “Nobody begged. You lucky they trust you with me.”

You raised a brow. “No. You’re lucky. I’m the best.”

She let out a short laugh. “cocky on the first day ? Crazy.”

You smiled sweetly. “I’m not cocky. I’m confident. Unlike you right now. I don’t crumble when the pressure’s on.”

She licked her lips, slowly. “Yeah, we’ll see how long you keep talkin’ that shit when I’m back on the court… or in your face.”

You swallowed hard. One thing about you—if somebody came at you with flames, you were matching it with a wildfire. And Juju wouldn’t be no exception.

You stepped back, shaking your head. “Alright, hoop barbie. Let’s get to work.”

But she didn’t move. Just looked you over once—slow—and smirked.

“Bet.”

to : judea (watkins)

ur gonna get through this.

imma make sure you do.

YOU DON’T KNOW WHEN IT HAPPENED EXACTLY. Maybe it was after the fourth session when she finally showed up on time, hair slicked into a ponytail this time, knee brace strapped tighter and eyes just a little less dead. Or maybe it was the seventh, when she made that sarcastic comment about your outfit and you caught her smirking behind her water bottle.

Either way, it was clear that something in the air had shifted.

The routine was… comfortable. Begrudgingly so. She’d come in with that same grimace, all hoodie and bad attitude, and you’d hit her with your most professional voice, clipboard in hand, instructions clear. She’d push back every time—“Why we doing this again?” or “You tryna kill me today ?”but her body never lied. She followed through. She moved. She tried.

You’d both pretend it wasn’t a big deal.

Even when she made little comments like, “You always wear those leggings?” with a cocked brow and a glance that lasted too long.

"You’re always up in peoples business?” You didn’t entertain her. Much. Just smiled to yourself, flipped the page on your clipboard, and gave her an extra set just for being smart and annoying.

Tonight, though, it was different.

The gym was quiet, just you two again. Everyone else had cleared out early, and she was doing balance drills on the BOSU ball, arms stretched out like wings, focused as hell.

“Don’t lock your knee,” you warned, hovering nearby. “You’ll regret it in the morning.”

“I regret a lot of things already,” she muttered, wobbling slightly but catching herself. “One more won’t kill me.”

You gave her a look. She met it, sharp and tired.

“Alright,” you sighed, grabbing her towel. “That’s enough for today.”

“No,” she said quickly. “I can do one more set.”

“You’ve done five, juju. I’m not playing with you.”

She stepped down, chest rising and falling like she’d just run laps instead of standing still. Her eyes were darting around again, like she couldn’t sit still in her own skin. You saw it coming before she even opened her mouth.

“I don’t know who I am without ball.”

You blinked.

She wasn’t looking at you. Just standing there, towel hanging from her fingers, lips parted like she didn’t mean to say it out loud.

“Like…” she exhaled, sharp. “Everybody keeps acting like I’m gonna bounce right back, like it’s just a matter of time. Rehab. Surgery. Boom, I’m back on the court. But what if I don’t bounce back ? What if I’m… not that juju anymore?”

Her voice cracked on “juju.”

Your chest tightened. You stepped closer, gentle but sure. “Ju.”

She flinched a little at the sound of that nickname.

“You are still her. You’re just injured. Not erased.”

She laughed bitterly, wiping her face with her hoodie sleeve. “Yeah, easy for you to say. You ain’t the one waking up every day wondering if people only see you for how fast you run a play.”

You crossed your arms, firm. “No. But I see people fall apart in here every week. And guess what ? I’ve watched ‘em get back up. You’re not special.”

That made her look at you.

“I mean—no offense,” you added quickly, biting back a smirk. “You’re talented. Ridiculous, even. But you’re not the only person who’s ever had to fight for their comeback. And you sure as hell won’t be the last.”

Her eyes were glossy now, and her jaw flexed like she was trying to bite down her emotions.

“I hate this shit,” she muttered. “I hate needing help.”

“I know,” you said, softer now. “But you don’t have to like it. You just gotta let it work.”

She stared at you a little too long.

And then, like instinct, she leaned into you—shoulder brushing yours as she sank onto the bench nearby. She wasn’t crying. Not exactly. But her silence said more than enough.

You sat beside her, gently passing her the water bottle she’d ignored earlier. For the first time, she took it without a snide remark. “…Thanks,” she murmured.

You nodded, tapping your nails against your clipboard. “So, next session, we start resistance band training.”

She groaned, head tilting back dramatically. “Do you actually hate me ? You love torturing me.”

You smirked. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’d torture anyone for their own good.” Juju glanced sideways at you, smile faint but real. “You really believe I’ll make it back?”

“I told you I was gonna make sure you do. I don’t play about my job. Plus, I wouldn’t be wasting my time if I didn’t.”

Her gaze lingered. And for once, she didn’t say anything back.

Didn’t need to. The look on her face said everything : thank you, even if I don’t want to say it out loud.

YOU SWEAR JUJU HAS BEEN ON SOMETHING DIFFERENT LATELY. Not much had changed in the routine itself. Rehab drills. Knee work. Progress checks. But the energy though ? Completely different. She shows up with snacks now—sometimes two, casually tossing you one with a lazy, “figured you’d forget to eat.”

She still had that same tough, deadpan delivery, but it didn’t hit the same no more. Not when she lingers a second too long near your desk. Not when she catches your eye in the mirror while she’s stretching and smirks like she knew exactly what she was doing.

One afternoon, she flopped down on the mat, arms stretched over her head, all sweaty and grinning. You raised a brow. “You okay or just being dramatic?”

“Both,” she wheezed. “But if I die, I want you to know… I was right. That playlist does suck.”

You chucked your pen at her. “I should let your knee lock up for that.”

“Oh ? So violence is your love language?”

You froze for a beat.

She then laughed—really laughed—before sitting up slowly, stretching out her arms again. “You should see your face,” she teased, biting down a grin.

“Okay now you’re pissing me off,” you said, clearing your throat, flipping a page on your clipboard for no reason other than to stop yourself from blushing. “Go back to work.”

She was still grinning, smug and pleased with herself.

But then there were softer moments, too.

Like the time her brace pinched her skin mid-session and you immediately knelt to adjust it, fingers brushing against her calf. She sucked in a breath—not from pain, but from the way your hands moved.

You glanced up. “Too tight?” You softly asked.

Her eyes were already on you. “Nah. Just not used to people touchin’ me like that.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you didn’t say anything. Just fixed the strap gently and stood back up.

Or the time she stayed after a session, claiming she needed to ice longer. You both ended up sitting on the floor by the wall, sharing a bottle of Gatorade and talking about nothing—her love-hate relationship with her coach, your childhood memories.

She bumped your knee with hers. “You real easy to talk to, you know that?”

“Keep gassing me up and I’m gonna start charging you per session.”

“Oh, so that’s what this is. Trappin’ me with kindness so you can run up my insurance bill.”

You snorted. “Exactly. Imma finesse your ass.”

You both laughed. And it lingered. Longer than it should’ve.

Then came the night it rained. Hard. She was the last person of your schedule again, and you were packing up when she peeked around the door, hoodie soaked, sneakers squeaking on the floor.

You raised a brow. “You walked in this?”

“Had no umbrella,” she shrugged. “Didn’t know if I’d make it on time. Didn’t wanna miss you.”

Your breath caught. Real subtle.

“Come here,” you said, grabbing a towel and tossing it at her. “You look like a wet cat.”

She took it and laughed, wiping her face. “You like cats?”

“No, but I’m starting to tolerate you, so maybe.”

“Oh wow,” she grinned. “I’m honored.”

She stayed longer that night. Sat with you while you finished your notes. She told you about her siblings. About her mom. How people all expected her to “tough it out,” and get back better even when she was hurting.

You just listened, letting her talk.

And at one point, she leaned against your shoulder—barely there, just enough to feel her warmth.

Neither of you said anything.

But she whispered, after a minute, “You kinda make it feel okay to be weak for a second.”

You turned your head toward her, heart thudding. “You’re not weak, Juju.”

She met your eyes. “Yeah… but you make it feel valid, ★. Even when it’s not true, ” That was the first time she called you by your name, too. Soft. Like it meant something.

And you swore, right then and there, something had shifted for good.

From : ju 🤍

u coming tonight right ?

I’m so ready !!!

To : ju 🤍

staff needs me at the center sorry

ik you’ll be killing it. proud of u <3

YOU DIDN’T GO TO THE GAME. You sat in your room, lights low, music on but not loud, your phone flipped upside down on the bed beside you. Every so often, you glanced at it. Waiting. Not for the score—you already knew she’d kill it—but maybe some word from her. A sign. Something small and stupid, like a “we won” or a selfie from the locker room.

Nothing came.

And you hated how disappointed you felt. Because it was your choice, right ? You’d made the call. You pulled back. Slowed the texts, the lingering touches. Didn’t show up to her last rehab session. Pretended like you were just busy.

It wasn’t a punishment.

You just… didn’t know how to let yourself want her. Not without getting burned.

The thing was—when she was hurt, she needed you. But now ? She was Juju again. Star of the team. Walking headline. Game day was hers. The roar of the crowd, the bright lights, the whole she’s back narrative. And you? You were just someone who helped her get there.

So you kept your distance. Told yourself it was safer that way.

Until your phone buzzed at 11:42 p.m.

From : juju 🤍

open the door.

I’m outside.

You stared at the message. Didn’t move at first. Then—three knocks.

You opened the door slowly, and there she was.

Still in sweats, hair tied up, slides on, backpack slung over one shoulder. Her eyes met yours, and for a second, neither of you said anything.

“I waited for you,” she said, voice low.

You blinked. “I know.”

She stepped inside without asking. Dropped her bag by the wall. Didn’t sit. Just turned to face you.

“You really weren’t gonna come?”

You crossed your arms. “Didn’t think it would matter.”

She laughed, short and sharp. “Right. ’Cause I just spent all these months blowing up your phone for fun.”

You stayed quiet.

“I looked for you,” she said, voice tighter now. “I kept checking the stands like an fucking idiot.”

You let out a breath. “Juju, what do you want from me?”

She stared at you. “I want to know why the hell you started acting like none of it meant anything.”

You swallowed. Looked down. “Because I didn’t want to make it harder when it ended.”

“When what ended?”

“This,” you said, motioning vaguely. “You. Me. Whatever… this was. It was never gonna last, and I’d rather stop now than wait for you to ghost me when everything goes back to normal.”

She flinched. “You think I’m just gonna dip on you because I got back on my feet ?”

“I think you don’t know what you want,” you said, softer. “And I think when you do figure it out, it won’t be me.”

Silence stretched out between you. Her jaw clenched. Her eyes dropped to the floor.

“You really think I’m that shallow?” she asked, voice lower now, almost hurt.

“I think you’re used to people wanting you for what you do. Not who you are. And I think that makes it easy to walk away when shit gets real.”

She didn’t say anything for a long second. Then she finally moved—slow, like she was figuring it out in real time. Walked closer until there was barely a foot between you.

“I’m not good at this,” she said, honest and quiet. “Not with feelings. I don’t talk. I just… I play. I move. I keep it moving. But this?” She gestured between you. “I wasn’t trying to just pass time. I needed you. And not just for the knee.”

You looked at her. Really looked at her. She looked tired. Still sweaty around the hairline. Eyes puffy like she might’ve cried on the way here. And you softened, just a little.

“I was scared,” she admitted. “I still am. You saw me at my lowest. And instead of clowning me, you stayed. That shit… messed me up a little. Made me wanna be soft, even when I didn’t know how.”

Your chest tightened. You didn’t trust it. But damn, it felt true.

“I like you,” she said, no frills. “And I don’t wanna go back to my life like none of this happened. Not without you in it.”

You didn’t respond right away. You were still processing the fact that she was standing in your room, post-win, looking at you like you were the prize.

Then you stepped forward. Just enough to close the space.

“So… what now?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

She shrugged, hand grazing yours. “We figure it out. Slowly. If you want.”

You hesitated, then laced your fingers with hers. Felt her thumb move softly over the back of your hand.

“I want,” you said. “But I need you to mean it.”

“I do,” she murmured.

And then you kissed her.

Not rushed. Not needy. Just real. Gentle, warm, slow like exhale after a long-ass day. Her hands found your waist, yours found her hoodie. She leaned into you like she’d been holding that tension for too long. And you let yourself fall for a second. Let it feel good.

She tightened her arm around your waist. “You know I’m not going anywhere, right?”

You didn’t answer. Just held her a little tighter.

Because you were starting to believe it.

And for once, that was enough.

© written by melobballin | please be gentle with me that’s my first writing for ju 🤍 hope you’ll like it !

[melobballin]

masterlist. juju watkins

headcanons :

still in progress!

fic / blurbs :

no pain no game.

residue

heat check

through her lens

© written by melobballin | inspo is free, but copying is lazy. keep it cute y’all

now playing!

[melobballin]

MASTERLIST !

main masterlist :

• juju watkins!masterlist

• azzi fudd!masterlist

• kk arnold!masterlist

• aubrey griffin!masterlist (still in progress)

rules :

i won't write about: extreme dom/sub dynamics, rape, anything gore, unconsensual intercourses, age gaps (big ones), underage sex, anything regarding self hurting, suicide

If you want to request something to me: please be nice, keep in mind that i have a life outside of tumblr and be patient!

keep in mind that my characters are black! Love y'all 🤍

@ melobballin 2025 🌀