synopsis:
↳ in which, you decide to visit juju in Miami while she's at training camp with Unrivaled Sports, when juju and kiki get a little close on the yacht ride you get jealous and start acting like a total brat
genre:
↳ wlw, 18+, brat tamer x brat, smut
featuring:
↳ juju watkins x cheerleader!reader
↳ kiki rice (ucla)
warnings / notes:
↳ request
↳ MEN AND MINORS. dom!juju, sub!reader, fingering, oral, rough sex, cunnlingus, thigh riding, slight public sex, brat tamer!juju, brat!reader
↳ 1k words
↳ please do not copy, translate or repost any of my works anywhere.
The music was blasting, the water glittering, and you were three champagne glasses deep into your worst mood of the summer. Every laugh from Juju at something Kiki whispered was a nail in your coffin. You sat back, legs crossed, sunglasses hiding the daggers you were throwing.
So when Juju finally made her way over, you didn’t even look at her.
“Having fun?” she teased, crouching down beside you.
“Plenty,” you lied, twisting your lips. “Didn’t want to interrupt you and Kiki.”
Juju’s smile faltered for a beat, then curved, sharper, sly. She leaned close so only you could hear her, “You really wanna do this here?”
You smirked, bratty and bitter. “Do what? I’m just sitting.”
Her hand landed heavy on your thigh, thumb rubbing lazy circles just under the hem of your bikini cover-up. “Keep testing me, baby.”
You rolled your eyes, lifting your glass. “Or what?”
That was all she needed. Juju stood, towering, and with one strong hand tugged you up from your seat. “C’mon.”
“Juju—”
She didn’t give you a chance to argue, with a quick glance around everyone else was too distracted dancing or messing with the aux—she pulled you down the narrow hall of the yacht’s cabin, the bass thumping faintly through the walls.
The second the door shut behind you, Juju shoved you against it, caging you in with her body.
“You really think I don’t notice you acting like a brat?” she growled, nose brushing yours.
You bit your lip, feigning innocence. “Me? A brat? You’re imagining things.”
Her hand slid up your thigh, fingers hooking under your bikini bottoms tugging them aside just enough to expose your slick heat. “Then why are you already wet?”
Your breath hitched. “I—shut up.”
“Oh, I’m gonna shut you up.”
Two fingers pushed inside you with no warning, knuckles deep. Your back arched, a gasp slipping before you could stop it. Juju’s other hand clamped over your mouth instantly.
“Be quiet,” she hissed. “Or do you want everyone hearing how needy you are?”
You moaned against her palm anyway, eyes fluttering as she pumped her fingers into you hard and fast, curling them just right to make your knees buckle. Her thigh slid between yours, forcing you to grind down against it.
“Fuck, you’re dripping.” she muttered in your ear, biting your earlobe. “All this attitude just ‘cause I talked to Kiki? Pathetic.”
You tried to spit back something smart, but she pressed harder, fingers slamming into you until your words dissolved into muffled cries.
Her thumb found your clit, rubbing rough circles. “Cum for me, brat. Right here. Right now.”
And when she growled in your ear, you couldn’t resist. The orgasm ripped through you, thighs shaking, nails clawing her shoulders. She held you up, fingers fucking you through it until you were whimpering against her hand.
When she finally pulled out, she dragged her slick fingers up and shoved them between your lips. “Suck.”
You obeyed without thinking, tasting yourself, cheeks burning.
“That’s a good girl,” she smirked, pulling her hand back. She straightened, adjusting her top like nothing happened. “Now, clean yourself up. We’ll finish this later.”
And just like that, she left you trembling in the cabin, arousal still buzzing, while outside the party raged on like nothing happened.
By the time the yacht docked and everyone scattered, you thought that maybe she’d let it slide but the way Juju’s hand stayed firm on your lower back the entire walk to the hotel said otherwise.
The second your door clicked shut and the two of you were further into the room, she shoved you onto the bed.
“Thought I was done with you?” she asked, stripping her shirt off, muscles flexing under the soft lamplight.
You smirked, still trying to push. “Maybe I thought you didn’t have the stamina.”
Wrong move.
In two strides she was over you, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand. Her knee pressed between your thighs, grinding up against your soaked panties.
“Stamina?” she mocked. “Baby, I could break you in half.”
Her free hand ripped your top down, exposing your breasts. She latched onto one nipple, sucking hard until you gasped. Then her mouth trailed lower, down your stomach, biting at your skin just to leave her marks.
When she reached your panties, she tore them off with one swift tug.
“You’re mine.” she growled, spreading your legs wide.
Before you could respond, her mouth was on you, tongue circling your clit with relentless pressure. She alternated between sucking and flicking, two fingers sliding into you again, curling deep.
“Juju…fuck!” you tugged against her grip, but she held your wrists tight, pace only getting rougher.
“Louder.” she demanded, voice muffled against your pussy. “Let me hear how jealous you really are.”
Your back arched, thighs closing around her head, but she pried them apart and pushed deeper, tongue fucking you until you were screaming her name.
When you came, it was messy, wet, your body convulsing against her hold. She licked you clean like she’d never get enough.
But she wasn’t done.
Juju climbed back up, lips glistening, and sat back against the headboard. She yanked you up, throwing you over her thigh.
“Ride it,” she ordered.
Your eyes widened. “What?”
“You heard me. Grind that pretty pussy on my thigh ‘til you can’t move.”
You hesitated, just for show, but she slapped your ass hard and that got you moving.
You straddled her leg, grinding down, your clit catching on the muscle of her quad with every roll. The friction was unbearable, your slick dripping down her skin. Juju held your hips, forcing you to go faster.
“Look at you,” she teased, eyes dark. “So cocky earlier, and now you’re just my desperate little slut.”
“Fuck,” you whimpered, grinding harder against her thigh, chasing the edge.
“Say it.” she snapped. “Say you’re mine.”
You shook your head, bratting even as you trembled. “N-no.”
Her grip tightened, dragging you across her thigh harder, faster. “Say it, Y/n.”
Your orgasam crashed into you, tearing the word of your throat. “I’m yours! Juju, I’m yours!”
She smirked, pulling you into a bruising kiss as you came undone again.
When you collapsed against her chest, spent and whimpering, she stroked your hair.
“Remember this next time you get jealous,” she murmured. “You’re the only one that I want, baby.”
i see that your requests are opennnn but still ofc take your time 🫰 i would like to request something (EXCEPT angst 🥹) for juju idk just something cute and fluffy (or smutty if you’re feeling fancy) but anything will suffice we are in a juju drought 😔
something like a rivalry
pairing: usc!juju!rivals!lovers x stanford!usc!reader!rivals!lovers
wc: 3.4k
summary: she’s your rival, she’s in your city now, and she’s been watching your tape for months—the question was never if, only when.
the thing about juju watkins is that she plays like she already knows she's going to win you knew that before you'd ever shared a court with her you'd watched tape, logged the way she moved through screens like they weren't there, the way she pulled up from mid-range with her weight barely shifted and the ball already gone before the defense had finished making the decision to close out.
you knew her game the way you knew any opponent's game clinically strategically with the kind of detachment that made you good at what you did then you played her for the first time and everything you thought you knew became useless.
she came off a ball screen in the second quarter and you picked her up at half-court, dropping into your stance, and she looked at you and really looked at you and smiled.
not a trash-talk smile, not cocky just like she'd finally found something worth her attention your chest did something you didn't have language for.
you told yourself it was adrenaline you stayed disciplined you stayed in your stance she scored anyway it didn't feel like it was about the points.
by the fourth quarter the galen center was loud in the way that only hostile venues get loud — not the organized cheering of your home crowd but something rawer, a sound that wanted something from you.
usc was up six you had the ball at the top of the key and juju was on you, close enough that you could hear her breathing, and she said quiet, not for anyone else you keep going left.
you went left she was there you threw it out before she could strip it and you heard her exhale, something almost like a laugh, and you set your jaw and ran back on defense because that was all you could do.
stanford lost by four you'd cut it to two with forty seconds left and then a turnover happened that wasn't your fault but lived in your body like it was.
you were still in the tunnel, the locker room not yet reached, when you heard footsteps behind you and turned and juju was there, still in her warmups, her team thirty feet back at the court entrance as she looked at you for a second then she said “good game.”
not patronizing, not smug and you knew she meant it the way you only mean something when you've earned the right to say it.
you said “yeah” and walked away and spent forty-five minutes in the shower that night trying to figure out why it felt like losing even when you'd been the one she'd said it to.
she got your number from maya, who you would be having a very serious conversation with as soon as you figured out what to say the text came three days after the game you were in the stanford film room, watching your own footage with the lights off, and your phone lit up with a number you didn't have saved and a message that said
UNKNOWN: you had 22 and 7 assists. that turnover wasn't on you
UNKNOWN: this is juju by the way
you stared at your phone for an embarrassingly long time. the film paused on your own face, mid-possession, eyes reading the defense.
you looked tired in the freeze frame, you looked like someone who had not stopped thinking about the game even once in three days. you typed and deleted four things but you settled on.
YOU: how did you get this number
JUJU: i have my ways
JUJU: also you're not going to say thank you?
YOU: thank you
YOU: why are you texting me?
JUJU: because i wanted to
JUJU: you play like you have something to prove. i like that
you saved her contact whereas you told yourself it was so you'd know not to block her you texted back at eleven-thirty that night and neither of you mentioned what team you played for.
it became a thing without either of you deciding it would be late nights mostly after practice, after film, after the particular exhaustion of being a division one athlete whose body was always slightly more depleted than she was willing to admit.
she'd text something a clip she was studying, a question about read-and-react sets, something funny that happened at practice and you'd text back, and then somehow two hours had passed and you were lying in the dark in your stanford dorm room talking to juju watkins about whether zone defense was intellectually cowardly and you were laughing, actually laughing, at something she said.
you didn't talk about this to anyone not even maya, who had started giving you a very specific look whenever your phone went off after ten pm you ran into her at a tournament in february neutral site, a showcase event, and your teams weren't matched up but you were warming up on adjacent courts and you looked over and there she was, three lanes down, and she saw you at the same moment.
she grinned when you looked away but first you made six three-pointers in warmups, which was two more than usual, and tried very hard to feel normal about that.
she texted you that night: six threes in warmups show-off.
you wrote back: you were watching.
she took four minutes to respond: obviously.
the thing you were refusing to name got louder after that the transfer decision had been building for a while you'd been honest with yourself about it before you were honest with anyone else stanford was extraordinary and you were grateful and it also wasn't quite right, the system, the fit, something you couldn't articulate clearly but felt every day in practice.
you started making calls in march you told your parents first you told your coach with the kind of conversation that was professional and respectful and hurt anyway you told juju before you told most of your teammates.
you didn't plan to, she'd texted you something about your upcoming schedule and you'd typed i'm transferring and then stared at it and then sent it before you could make a better decision.
YOU: i'm transferring
JUJU: what
JUJU: where
YOU: ucla
JUJU: ...
JUJU: you're going to be in my conference
YOU: yeah
JUJU: okay
JUJU: i mean you're still going to lose
YOU: keep telling yourself that
JUJU: ...i'm glad you're staying in la
you read that last message six times you put your phone face down you picked it up and read it
again you didn't respond for twenty minutes and then you said; me too and that was the closest either of you came to saying it for a very long time.
ucla was good, it was the right call you knew it the first week of practice, the system clicking into something that felt like it was built around the way you saw the game, and your teammates were sharp and funny and welcoming in the way only a team that already knows what it wants can be los angeles was also the same city as usc, which you had known intellectually and which now lived in your body as a constant low-frequency awareness you couldn't fully explain to yourself.
you saw juju at a preseason event in october — a women's basketball media day at the staples center that both programs attended, separate tables, separate interview schedules, the whole thing very officially organized and entirely insufficient at keeping you on opposite sides of the room.
she found you by the water station during a break between sessions she was in usc gear, hair back, exactly as composed as she always was, and she said you cut your hair and you said i did and she said it looks good and you said thank you and neither of you said anything for just a half-second too long.
she said: “how's the system?”
you said: “really good actually.”
she said: “good and she looked like she meant it and that was somehow worse than anything she could have said to be difficult.”
you texted each other after you kept texting each other after every time you were in the same room, like proximity recharged something that distance had been slowly depleting you had a conversation at two in the morning in late october about zone rotations that somehow became a conversation about what you wanted after college, what the league looked like from where you were standing, what you were afraid of, what you wouldn't say to anyone on your own team because it would cost something to say it.
she told you things you got the sense she didn't tell many people. you told her things you'd barely told yourself you stopped pretending you didn't know what it was you just didn't do anything about it, because she was juju watkins and she was usc and you were ucla and the season was starting and the thing you had whatever it was felt too careful to risk on the wrong moment.
the film room incident happened on a tuesday it was a shared facility, one of the auxiliary buildings used by multiple programs, small, always slightly cold, the kind of room that felt designed to disappear you from the world for a few hours. you had a key card. you'd been using it late at night since october, after the main film sessions, just to sit alone with footage and think without anyone watching you think.
you came in at ten-thirty on a tuesday in november and juju was already there she was sitting in the second row, laptop open, headphones around her neck, footage paused on a half-court possession she looked up when the door opened and her expression did something complicated surprise, and then something else that settled into careful neutrality before you could read it fully.
you said: “i didn't know you used this room.”
she said: “i didn't know you did either.”
you stood in the doorway for a second and she didn't tell you to leave and you didn't leave. you walked to the third row and sat down and pulled up your own footage and you sat in the dark together for a while in a silence that wasn't uncomfortable, which maybe should have told you something after a while she said, not looking away from her screen: your pull-up has gotten cleaner.
you looked at her as she was watching your footage she'd pulled it up on her own laptop sometime in the last hour without saying anything, and she was watching you play with her chin in her hand and her expression was the same one she got when she was genuinely studying something.
you said: “you're watching my tape.”
she said: “i watch everyone's tape.”
you said: “juju.”
she finally looked at you in the dark of the film room, with the blue light of the screen catching the side of her face, she looked — not careful, for once she looked like something she'd been holding was getting heavy.
she said: “yeah i'm watching your tape.”
neither of you said anything else. you turned back to your screen you stayed until almost midnight and when you left you both walked out at the same time and stood in the parking lot in the november air and she said same time thursday? like it was the most natural thing in the world.
you said yeah.
you came back thursday and the thursday after that. and the one after that.
the game was in december and usc won by three and you had a good game twenty-four points, six assists, played forty minutes and felt every one of them and it didn't matter because you lost and losing to juju's team was its own particular category of awful.
you were in the tunnel when she found you, you'd seen her scanning the court after the final whistle and you'd left before she could cross it because you did not have the capacity right now for whatever carefully composed thing she would say to you.
you needed to be somewhere without her face in it for approximately forty-five minutes and then you would be fine but she was fast and you'd stopped moving and now she was in the tunnel with you and she said your name and you turned around.
she looked like she'd been trying to get to you for several minutes and the relief of having done it was doing something to her composure whereas she was still in her uniform there was a fold of court chalk on her knee.
she said hey. you okay? and something about the gentleness of it cracked something open that you'd been managing very carefully and
you said: “don't do that.”
she said: “do what?”
you said: “be nice to me right now i just lost to you i don't need you to be.” and you stopped because you didn't know how to finish the sentence without it becoming something else, something shifted in juju's expression.
not frustration — something rawer than that, something that had been living under the composure for a long time and was done being contained she said: “i'm not being nice to you because i feel sorry for you.”
you said: “then why—”
“because i like you,” she said, and her voice came out louder than she intended, sharp in the empty tunnel, and she looked almost startled by herself for a half second before her jaw set and she kept going.
“because i have liked you since that first game and you know that, you have to know that, and you just — you keep acting like you don't feel it too and i don't understand it. i don't understand how you can be in that film room with me every week and text me at two in the morning and look at me the way you look at me and not”— she stopped.
her hands came up and she pressed her knuckles to her mouth for a moment like she was physically holding the rest of it in the tunnel was completely silent then she said, quieter “i'm not doing the nice thing because i beat you. i'm doing it because i care about you and i'm tired of pretending i don't and i just need to know if you”— she exhaled, sharp, and looked at the ceiling for one second “just tell me you don't feel the same and i'll leave you alone i mean it. i'll walk away and it'll be fine i just—”
“juju.”
she looked at you.
“i've been making you crazy on purpose,” you said a beat something moved through her face — confusion, then understanding, then something that wasn't quite fury but was adjacent to it you said “the going-left thing. first game i knew you were going to be there i wanted to see what you'd do. and the film room, and the texts — i know exactly what it is and yet i’ve known for a long time.”
she stared at you the sharpness in her face was still there but it was changing shape, becoming something else. so you do feel it.
you said “yeah” and she said “i cannot believe you,” and then she crossed the two feet between you and kissed you.
it wasn't soft it was the kiss of someone who had been holding something a long time and had finally decided the holding was no longer worth it her hand coming up to your jaw, her mouth certain, and you made a small helpless sound and kissed her back and the forty-five minutes you'd needed dissolved into nothing.
she pulled back just far enough to breathe her forehead dropped against yours. her hand was still on your face and her thumb traced the line of your cheekbone and you felt the careful thing you'd been protecting come loose entirely.
she said, very quietly “you are so annoying.” but you said “you like it.” she kissed you again instead of answering, which was an answer when she pulled away she looked at you for a moment and then said “come on.” but you said “where.” she said "film room” and when you raised an eyebrow she said “obviously not to watch film,” like you were being incredibly slow, and took your hand and you laughed and let her pull you forward into the rest of the night.
the film room was cold and dark and she sat down in the wide chair at the back row and pulled you into her lap before you'd finished closing the door behind you you settled against her and she looked up at you for a moment with her hands resting on your hips, like she was letting herself actually see you now that there was nothing in the way then she reached up and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and said “hi.” and you said “hi.”
she kissed you soft the first time — nothing like the tunnel, which had been all release and urgency. this was slower. intentional her hands moved to your face and she kissed your mouth and then the corner of it, the line of your jaw, the curve just below your ear, and you felt something loosen in your chest that you hadn't known was still held tight.
she said, against your cheek “i've been thinking about this since october.” and you said “just october?”
she said “okay fine, february,” and you laughed and she kissed the laugh off of you then she shifted and drew back and looked at you with something settled and certain in her expression, and she said “can i—” and you said yes before she'd finished asking, because you already knew and the answer had been yes for a long time.
she was methodical about it in the way she was methodical about everything that mattered she found the hem of your warmup jacket and pulled it off your shoulders and set it aside and then she pressed her lips to your collarbone, the base of your throat, the soft skin just below your shoulder — unhurried, like she had a plan and intended to execute every part of it.
you had your hands in her hair and your head tipped back and she kissed every inch of you she could reach with the patience of someone who had been waiting and was no longer in any rush now that the waiting was over your shoulder the inside of your wrist when she lifted your arm the space behind your ear that made your breath catch she catalogued your reactions the way she catalogued everything, filed them away, came back to them.
she said, low, against your skin “you okay?” you said “yeah yes don't stop” she didn't stop later you were tangled together in the dark, her chin resting on your head, her fingers tracing absent patterns on your shoulder, and she said “you're still going to lose in february.” and you said “i'm already prepared.” she lifted her head to look at you “that's my line.” you said “i know. i've been studying you for a year.”
she looked at you for a moment and then she smiled the real one, the one she didn't deploy on the court, the one that made her look entirely like herself you thought about the first time you'd seen it, in that tunnel after the galen center game, and how far you'd traveled to arrive at this version of it: her arms around you in the dark, los angeles cold outside, nowhere else either of you needed to be.
she kissed your temple. you settled back against her “i like you,” she said simply like it was easy now that she'd said it once you said “i know i like you too.”
she made a sound that was almost a laugh “you're still annoying.” you still like it, you said, and outside the film room the december night was cold and the city was loud and none of it reached you in there, which felt, more than anything else, like exactly the right place to be.
☆Description: juju lost a game and it was all your fault, you finally decided you wanted to make a point but what if it was at the wrong time, now she’s making you endure every last bit of pain she wants you to feel
——————————————————————————
Juju was pissed, that’s not something that’s new but what is new is the way she handled it.
You and juju Watkins had been off and on for years, not that’s something that you want but that’s just how it is.
Of course she loses games from time to time that comes with the sport, but not with the way she lost this game, not with the way she fucked up and missed the easy lay up’s or the steals that she left open from poor lack of guarding the ball it was from who wasn’t on the court side bench watching her.
You.
Juju and you both got into arguments all the time but you always new to come to her games the next day no matter what but something changed that night,
The night you decided to give her hell.
“Who do you think you are to tell me who I can and can’t hang out with?” Is all you hear as you turn your back to look at juju, all you can feel is the reminders of how much you too are not together and haven’t been in years
“Oh so we’re doing that now uh?” You say as you lean against the back of the couch now having your arms crossed
“What? I haven’t been yours in what 2 years” she says stepping closing now feeling more confident as your stuck between her and the back of the couch.
“And last I checked you haven’t been mine either so what’s the issue” you hear her say with that smug tone she uses when she’s know’s she’s right in the worst situations for you.
“then I should start acting like it again” is the last thing you say before pushing your way past her arm and leaving out of her apartment.
Now understanding where she’s thinking you know exactly what you need to do.
And for her next game you didn’t show, not a text, no pregame kisses nothing. everything that was a ritual for a good game to happen didn’t happen because you didn’t show and she sure as hell noticed.
As the game was coming to an end and she knew she was going to lose she still looked at your chair see if the last minutes could still count but they didn’t.
As she opens her door to her apartment she notices you.
On the couch sitting there like it’s belongs to you, not to your ex girlfriend who you still hook up with two years later.
“What the hell are you doing here” she says as she drops her bag on the counter not moving a muscle
“Oh I was just waiting to see you after you game so we could hookup” you say as you turn you head looking back at her as you still sit on her couch not making yourself feel bad at all
“So your just not gonna come to my game and fuck it up and then except me to sleep with you?” She says letting out a chuckle of sarcasm not expecting this from you, not the girl who would tolerate anything Watkins gave her.
“ I thought that’s what hook up’s did? Only girlfriends would be there to support you at a game why would I be there Judea” you say, saying her real name
“That’s funny how you wanna act like that but call me my first name knowing I don’t let hookups do that”
That, that right there is when she realized you weren’t serious, just wanting to fuck her head up for the game and that made her more pissed.
“I-”
“Shut the hell up” is all you hear her say in her cold tone no longer trying to understand anything you say anymore.
As she crosses the room In front of the couch now towering over you, you start to realize she doesn’t want to argue anymore, she wants you endure the same amount of feelings she had waiting for you to give her that satisfaction.
“If I hear one word from you I’m not stopping until I’m tired” is all you hear juju say as she throws you over her shoulder not giving you time to even think about walking on your own.
“Your just mad” you say already knowing where this is going she’s mad and is gonna fuck you for a little and tell you to get out the next morning
“Oh so you thinking I’m joking” as she continues walking to the bedroom she throws you onto the bed now talking off her shirt, no foreplay or teasing
She remember ever ball that was missed because you weren’t in that courtside chair watching her now no way in hell was she gonna make you think you could pull something like that again
all she had under was her back sport bar, she began taking off her sweatpants now standing in front of you as you watch and only watch
“Take off your shorts” she says as she gets on the bed now by the end of the bed as your facing her, as you start to do as she said you start to feel how much more aggressive she’s speaking
She doesn’t say a word as she moves your body making you face the headboard pushing your body down 
“This isn’t somet-”
“You really don’t know when to shut the hell up”
Juju says as she lays her back down in between your legs her face, facing your pussy as it gets hotter by the second she lays there without doing anything
“ if I feel you sit on my face your not cuming so you better hold onto something”
Is the last thing you hear her say before you feel her tongue go into your core as her lips wrap around your clit not giving you time to warm up to anything. She lets go of your clit and pushes her tongue all the way in with no warning making you clingy around her within only the first 5 minutes.
“You know damn well your different from the rest” she say as she let’s go a little from you to speak against you sending the vibrations all the way down your legs
As you start the need to hold onto the headboard she moves her mouth up to your clit and starts sucking like it’s the sweetest flavor she’s ever had but while your distract by that she moves her middle finger closer to your core and starts to circle right in your intestines going back and forth as she doesn’t move from either sport
“Fuck ju-” is all you can say as your breath catches in your throat
“tell me what you what you want mama” she says now switching her entire tone knowing that right now you would rather her be mad at you then her playing into your delusion
But before you can say anything she sticks her middle finger all the way in curling it as she goes painfully slow as she continues sucking on your clit.
“Mhm just like that keep making those noises for me” is the only thing you hear not realizing you were moaning like crazy arching your back into her face daring not to sit but continuing to hold onto the headboard.
As you get close to your orgasm she doesn’t stop, if anything she goes the fastest she ever gone before making you a wreak of just moans and shakes.
“Ju I’m close, fuck I’m so close” as she hears that she puts another finger in now making it impossible to balance staying up
“Then cum” is the last thing you hear as you let out a mixture of different sounds of pleasure
But for some reason you start to fell overstimulated and that’s because juju never stopped, she is still going while you chase your high and is still going after you finished but she hasn’t yet.
It’s 12:17 a.m. when my phone rings; buzzing violently on my dorm desk like it has a personal vendetta against sleep.
Normally, I’d ignore it.
But the name flashing across the screen… JUJU 💛⭐️….makes something in my chest sit up and stretch like a cat.
I swipe before the second ring even finishes.
“Hello?” I mumble into the speaker, voice thick with sleep.
There’s a beat of silence, then that familiar low laugh washes through the phone and immediately dissolves the tension in my shoulders.
“I wake you?” Juju asks, smug and gentle at the same time; her specialty.
“No,” I lie. Badly.
“Uh-huh,” she says. “You sound like you got tranquilized mid-dream.”
“Can’t you go and bother someone else?”
“I could,” she says, then pauses. “But you’re my favorite person to annoy, so… not really.”
My face warms under the blanket even though she can’t see it.
“Juju,” I groan. “Some of us have morning lifts at 8.”
“Some of us have ACL rehab at 7:30,” she fires back.
“Which is why you should be asleep!”
“And yet,” she says, “here we are.”
Which means:
She couldn’t sleep again.
She’s been having a lot of those nights since the injury.
She says it’s not nightmares… just an itch under her skin that won’t let her rest. A buzzing. Restlessness that turns her ceiling into a battlefield.
So she calls.
And I answer.
Every time.
“Wanna hear something stupid?” she asks suddenly.
“That you called me instead of, I don’t know, literally anyone else with working brain cells?”
“That,” she says, “but also…. Team USA was today? Light workouts? They let me do some workouts but I mostly observed.’”
“That’s great, Juju!”
“No,” she says with a long exhale. “It freaked me out.”
My eyebrows knit.
“I don’t get it.”
“It’s like… if I’m healing, then I’m closer to getting back on the court. And if I’m closer to getting back on the court, then I’m closer to messing up again.”
My chest tightens.
There she goes, her voice dipping into that soft place she hides from the world but hands to me like something fragile.
“You’re not messing up again,” I say quietly. “You’re too stubborn.”
She laughs under her breath. “Stubborn doesn’t protect ligaments.”
“No,” I agree. “But it protects dreams.”
Silence. A warm kind.
“I wish you could see my face right now,” she murmurs.
“Why?”
“’Cause I’m smiling like an idiot.”
I swallow, heartbeat skipping.
Dangerously.
“Well good,” I say quickly. “Because clearly embarrassing you is the only thing I’m good at.”
“Not true,” she argues. “You’re good at volleyball. And pep talks. And being awake at midnight.”
“I wasn’t awake,” I remind her.
“Yeah,” she says softly. “But you stayed.”
I don’t have a response for that — at least, not one I’m brave enough to speak.
Which is probably why my eyelids start drooping mid-silence, and next thing I know, her voice sounds far away, like she’s talking down a long hallway.
“Hey,” she says. “Hey, don’t fall asleep on me.”
“M’not,” I murmur.
(This is, in fact, a lie.)
“You definitely are.”
“No,” I protest, drifting.
“Y/N.”
“Hm?”
“If you’re gonna fall asleep, at least tell me goodnight—”
Her voice fades out as everything softens.
I think I mumble something about pancakes.
Or maybe forks.
Definitely something stupid.
And then I’m gone.
I wake up to a vibration.
Then another.
Then—**
My phone rings again.
Same caller ID.
Same contact emoji.
Same sudden, intense jolt of alertness.
I scramble upright, hair everywhere.
“Hello?” I blurt out, much too loudly.
Finally, I’m greeted by a breathy laugh.
“You really knocked out on me,” Juju teases, voice warm, lighter than earlier. “I hung up ‘cause someone was done talking. But guess who wasn’t?”
I rub my eyes. “You called back?”
“Well,” she says, “I wasn’t done talkin’, yet.”
My entire face heats.
“You can’t say things like that,” I whisper.
“Why not?”
“Because,” I mumble, “I’m—awake now.”
“Perfect,” she says. “Keep me company.”
Decision-making? Gone.
Impulse control? Who is she? Never met her.
Suddenly, I’m starving.
I pad into the tiny USC apartment kitchen and start grabbing bread, peanut butter, Nutella, a banana — sleep be damned.
“What are you doing?” she asks, hearing the rustling.
“Making a sandwich,” I say. “A toasted Nutella, peanut butter, and banana masterpiece.”
A beat.
Then Juju groans dramatically.
“Oh my god. I want one.”
“Well…” I say, smirking even though she can’t see me, “that sounds like a personal problem.”
“Nope. It sounds like your problem,” she counters. “Because I’m coming over.”
“Juju—”
“The door better be unlocked,” she says. “I’ll be there in ten.”
I blink at my phone.
“You’re not serious.”
“So serious I’m putting on sweatpants.”
There’s shuffling. Keys. A determined huff.
“You think after teasing me with a toasted Nutella-PB-banana sandwich you can just hang up?”
“I didn’t tease you, I—”
“Baby,” she interrupts.
I freeze.
Baby.
She said it so casually, like she’s been calling me that for years.
Then I let out a soft yet nervous “hm, ju?”
“You left the door unlocked, right?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I manage. “Whatever. It’s open.”
“Good,” she says, voice low, playful. “Stay on the phone with me til I get there.”
About ten minutes later…
My kitchen smells like toasted bread and warm sugar. I cut the sandwich diagonally and set half on a plate, taking a tiny bite of the other half.
Ans then, the front door clicks open.
“Y/N?” her voice calls out, closer than the phone now.
“In the kitchen!”
She rounds the corner, hoodie half-zipped, curls in a messy bun, keys hooked on her finger. Her phone is still pressed to her ear even though she sees me.
Then her eyes drop to the plate.
“You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“Is that—”
“Yes.”
“Half?”
“Yes.”
“You saved me half?”
I shrug. “Wanted you to taste it while it’s warm.”
Her smile hits me right in the stomach.
She walks over, plucks the sandwich half off the plate, and takes a bite without permission.
A big bite.
“Juju!”
She chews slowly on purpose, eyes never leaving mine.
“Mmm,” she hums, “tastes like you love me.”
My heart stutters.
“You’re so annoying,” I mutter.
“You love it,” she fires back, nudging my shoulder with hers as she leans against the counter, chewing contentedly.
We share the sandwich, literally passing the last pieces back and forth like it’s a movie cliché we’re too sleepy to avoid.
When it’s gone, Juju licks a smear of peanut butter off her thumb and says, softer:
“Can I tell you something?”
My pulse jumps. “Always.”
She meets my eyes, and her voice loses all teasing.
“When I got hurt… everything felt like it stopped. Like the whole world kept moving but I couldn’t.”
She inhales.
“And you—you were the only thing that kept feeling steady.”
My throat tightens.
“Juju…”
“I’m serious, Y/N,” she says. “Every phone call. Every stupid joke. Every time you told me it wasn’t my fault even when I didn’t believe you…”
She steps closer.
“I think I started falling for you somewhere in all that.”
The room spins; slow, warm, dizzying.
I swallow.
Hard.
“You’re not just saying that ‘cause it’s 1 a.m. and you’re emotional, right?”
“No,” she whispers. “I’m saying it because it’s 1 a.m. and I’m finally brave enough.”
I feel every hair on my body stand on end.
I take a breath.
Another.
And then…
“I started falling for you freshman year,” I admit, voice shaking. “But then you became… you. Juju Watkins. Superstar. National name. And I didn’t wanna be distracting or clingy or—”
She presses her forehead to mine.
Close enough I can feel her breath.
“You’ve never been a distraction,” she murmurs. “You’re the only thing that makes me feel normal.”
My lips part, heartbeat in my throat.
“And also,” she adds softly, “you make really good sandwiches.”
I laugh.
Like the breathless and shaky kind of laugh, and she smiles like she’s memorizing it.
“So…” she says, thumb brushing the back of my hand, “what do we do now?”
I lift her hand, threading our fingers together.
“We eat,” I say.
“We talk.”
“And then maybe…”
I look up into her eyes.
“…you kiss me?”
Her cheeks flush.
“Oh,” she whispers. “I can definitely do that.”
And then she does.
Gentle.
Warm.
Slow, like she has all night.
Like she’s waited three years.
When she pulls back, she presses her forehead to mine again.
“This okay?” she breathes.
“This is perfect.”
She exhales, relieved, and nudges me back toward the counter.
“Good,” she whispers. “’Cause I’m staying. At least until the sun comes up.”
“Fine by me,” I say.
“Good.”
“Good,” I echo.
“Good,” she repeats, grinning.
We’re both smiling like idiots.
And somewhere between shared sandwiches, stupid jokes, late-night confessions, and a healing knee that doesn’t define her anymore
ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ ★ — the chain by fleetwood mac ( 2004 remaster ) .
You rolled your eyes.
And that’s when everything shifted. The room went quiet. JuJu's jaw clenched. Her gaze darkened like a storm pulling in fast and violent. "You wanna try that again?" she said slowly.
You scoffed from the bed, tossing the remote aside. “I said, maybe if you passed the ball instead of showin’ off every game, y’all wouldn’t be losing.” You were joking. Kinda. But JuJu? JuJu wasn’t laughing.
She stalked over to you in two long strides, grabbed your ankle, and yanked you down the bed until your back hit the sheets with a thud. "You think that mouth’s cute when it’s talkin’ back?" "Maybe I do."
Wrong answer.
Her hand slid around your throat, just tight enough to make you gasp, her body pressing down into yours. "Yeah?” she hissed, face inches from yours. “Then let’s see if it’s still cute when you’re moaning my name.”
You opened your mouth to sass her again, but her fingers were already inside you.
Two. Deep. Fast. No teasing. No build-up. Just punishment. Your hips jerked up off the bed. “F-Fuck—JuJu—”
She didn’t let up. Her other hand gripped your thigh, pinning you down like a warning. Her eyes stayed locked on yours, watching every twitch of your lips, every whimper you tried to hide.
"Talk back again," she growled, curling her fingers right against that spot that made your vision go white. “Say one moresmart thing.”
You whimpered, breath shaking. “I— I didn’t mean it—” She pulled her fingers out. Slap. Her palm smacked your pussy, making you yelp.
“Don’t lie,” she said. “You love pushin’ me.”
You nodded, tears springing in your eyes, mouth open like you couldn’t form a full sentence anymore.
“Yeah,” JuJu whispered, bringing her fingers back in, slow now, curling perfectly. “That’s what I thought. All that attitude… just beggin’ for me to fuck it outta you.” And she did.
Harder. Rougher. Until your moans weren’t even words anymore — just breath and broken little cries. Her name, again and again, caught on your tongue like it was the only thing keeping you alive.
When you came, your whole body arched. You grabbed her arm, thighs trembling, and she didn’t stop until she felt it — that deep, full-body kind of orgasm that left you twitching and babbling her name like a prayer. After, she kissed your forehead. Gently. Her voice soft.
“Still got somethin’ to say?” You blinked up at her, flushed and ruined. “...Thank you.” She smirked.
“That’s what I thought.”
an. first ever juju smut fic !! im actually rlly proud of myself
tags. tysm @courtsidewithlani . i reposted your juju fic , it’s actually soooo good . your like the best 🤗
You both agreed early on—your love was yours first. Not the world’s. Not for clout. Not for hashtags.
There were subtle things: the way she made sure you always had floor seats but never got caught on camera. The way her captions were vague, but the songs she chose on her stories said more than words ever could. The way her lock screen was you, but turned face-down when she was in the locker room.
You understood it. The world was watching.
And some parts of it? Ugly.
But she still showed you love loud and clear—just in spaces you two could breathe in.
The texts. The playlists. The handwritten notes slipped in your carry-on every road trip.
“Private,” Juju had whispered once while you sat on her lap, her arms wrapped around your waist, “doesn’t mean unloved.”
And she meant it.
But the world was about to see you anyway.
And neither of you were fully ready.
⸻
THE PHOTO
It happened after a win in Phoenix.
You’d flown in, surprised her in the tunnel—matching hoodie, sneakers, her old college chain around your neck—and hugged her so tight her knees buckled. She buried her face in your shoulder and exhaled like she hadn’t breathed in a week.
You didn’t know a fan caught it.
You didn’t know that moment—a hug, her hand lingering at your waist, your soft smile back at her—would go viral 36 hours later.
@WNBAUpdates:
Juju Watkins seen embracing mystery girl after Mercury game.
“She doesn’t do this with anyone. 👀”
🔥 or 🥶?
The comments spiraled.
“That better be her girlfriend or I’m gonna scream.”
“She looks so happy though??”
“OMG is this THE girl from her IG stories???”
“Please let this be real. I love this for her.”
“Y’all see the matching sneakers?? Yeah, that’s her girl.”
“Just say it already, Juju.”
Some were sweet.
Others… weren’t.
⸻
THE NOISE
Your phone blew up first.
Friends. Fans. That cousin who always said she “don’t really follow sports but saw your name on Twitter.”
Then came the DMs. Most were kind. Supportive. Curious.
But a few stung.
“She could do better.”
“Why do studs always pick girls that look like—”
“Not who I pictured for Juju.”
You didn’t cry. You wouldn’t give them that.
But it burned all the same.
Later that night, Juju called you. Her voice was tight.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” you lied.
“Don’t do that.”
Silence.
You heard her sigh.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For not… saying it out loud. For letting you be the secret in other people’s eyes. For letting the world talk before I did.”
Your throat tightened.
“I wasn’t ashamed,” she added. “I was scared.”
You waited. Let her find her words.
“Scared that if I gave them this piece of us, they’d try to ruin it. But now I see… they never had it to begin with. We do.”
⸻
THE STATEMENT
Game day. National coverage. Juju walked into the arena in a crisp tan trench coat, black boots, and your name printed on her chain.
The cameras noticed.
But what really shook the world?
Her post-game interview.
After another 30-point performance, the reporter tried to slide it in smooth.
“You’ve been trending lately, off the court this time.
Any comment on the mystery girl from the tunnel?”
Juju smiled.
Calm. Confident. No hesitation.
“Yeah. That’s my girl.
She’s been my peace, my best friend, my biggest fan.
And I didn’t need the world to know to love her loud.
But now that they do?
Just know: she’s not going anywhere.”
The arena crowd—loud.
Twitter—exploded.
Your phone—unusable.
But none of it mattered more than seeing her step off that court, walk straight to you, and kiss you on the cheek in front of everybody.
“Hi,” she murmured, forehead pressed to yours.
“Hi, superstar.”
“You still mine?”
You smiled. “Always.”
⸻
“WE BEEN KNEW”
That night, Juju posted one photo on Instagram:
A blurry pic of you two holding hands at a food truck, laughing. No makeup. No angles. Just joy.
Caption:
been hers.
& she been mine.
love been loud—y’all just catching up. 💫
The comments were flooded:
“I KNEW IT. THE TUNNEL PIC WAS NOT A FLUKE.”
“This the soft launch and the full album drop.”
“They BEEN together huh?? 😭💖”
“I’m not jealous. I’m not. I’m happy for y’all. (lowkey jealous).”
“This is what peace looks like.”
⸻
HOME
Back at her apartment, wrapped in blankets and surrounded by takeout, you looked over at Juju.
“You good?”
She kissed your hand.
“I’m better now. You?”
You nodded. “Still private.”
“But not a secret.”
She smiled. “Never again.”
And when she pulled you into her arms and whispered “I love you” like it was the only thing worth saying, you knew—
The world could say what it wanted.
You and Juju? Solid.
Always had been.
Now everyone just… knew.
hey guys thank you for all the likes on my last one, hope you guys enjoyed this one!💙
In which, Azzi Fudd's little sister is a hot head, and for some reason, Juju Watkins likes it a little more than she should...
JUJU WATKINS X FUDD!READER
wc: 1k ish
authors note: self indulgent icl, Juju is a freshman at USC, let's just pretend paige and azzi "adopted" her ok? ok!
Addison was pissed, to put it simply. Having played for OT Select, Overtime coming to her school ball game was less than surprising; the part she didn’t expect was them wanting her mic’ed up…
“Look, I’m not doing it. I’ll continue warming up now, if that’s okay with y'all?” Addison said with a sour smile
Coach Morgan rolled his eyes at his favorite player’s attitude that he had gotten used to a long, long time ago. Just as she turned to walk away, he grabbed her by the back of her jersey, firm, but not rough. “But you are. Look, Addi, they’re not going to put anything bad that you say in; besides, we all know how you get during games anyway.”
And with that, the argument was dead; Addison had no choice but to sit and let them put the wires on.
If she wasn’t already irritated, noticing her big sister, Azzi Fudd, laughing at her, even going as far as to tap her girlfriend, Paige, and her friend Juju, guiding them to watch as she sat sulking, she was definitely irritated after that.
Her eyes left the stands and instead found the scoreboard that showed there was only one minute until game time.
Addison regrouped with her teammates, going over small things like which offense would be run first, etc.
For the first couple of minutes, Addison had no problems with being silent, up until her teammate shot a three and missed. “ That was a good shot, Liv,” Addison affirmed as they hustled onto defense.
“A good shot for her maybe,” Number 5, Addison's assignment, muttered.
Addison maintained her low, confident posture on defense, eyes moving just barely so she could look Number 5 in the eyes as she questioned her, “What do you mean by that? You think I can’t make a three?”
“I know you can’t.” Number five responded, just as she attempted to back cut on Addison, which failed miserably as Addison stole the pass, bringing the ball up.
The student section roared as the ball touched Addison's hands, just as it has for the last 3 years that they’ve had the blessing that Addison Fudd is on their team.
Addison quickly passed to Liv, her point guard, cutting to the corner. Then, just as the opposing team had studied, Olivia drove through the paint, kicking out to Addison quickly.
What the film didn’t account for, though, is that Addison is a petty, petty girl if nothing else. Instead of taking advantage of her being left open, she chose to dribble up to the top of the key, going way off script and also giving number 5 the chance to get back on defense.
As soon as she made it there, she took one dribble back and shot the three, watching as it went in smoothly.
“Go get it out the net, bitch!” Addison screamed in number 5’s face as she backpeddled to get on defense.
The whistle blew with a quickness. “Tech, unsportsmanlike conduct, 25,” The ref yelled with the same passion Addison’s voice held just seconds earlier. Addison smiled and shrugged, doubting her was her biggest pet peeve, and hey, a tech never hurt no one, at least not in her book.
In the stands, Juju stared at Addison; she couldn’t care less about the game anymore. Usually, a player with a temper got on Juju’s nerves, heavily, but for some reason, when Addison did it, it drew her in rather than icking her out.
Juju leaned over Paige so that Azzi could hear her question over the gym's loud atmosphere: “Addison’s a senior, right?” Hearing that, Azzi and Paige immediately began laughing, leaving Juju more than confused.
“She isn’t?” The girls' laughter slowed, then picked back up that quickly. Finally, Paige decided to put her out of her misery, “Yes, yes, Addison is a senior.” Juju hummed quickly at the newfound information, nodding her head as she thought about it.
“Go for it; she loves her a good hooper,” Azzi said, not missing the way Juju’s cheeks turned pink, despite the way she turned her head back to the game.
After the game, Addison was distracted talking to her coach, not noticing the way her big sister crept up behind her. Azzi pounced as if she were an animal hunting her prey, grabbing Addison's shoulders and shaking them.
Addison jumped at the contact initially, before immediately rolling her eyes, realizing it was surely either Paige or Azzi. “Real mature, real mature.” She muttered as she turned around slowly.
For some strange reason, Addison's eyes shot to Juju’s right away, then slowly, but surely, she looked her up and down, fully taking in her appearance as if she was making sure she wasn’t missing anything.
Paige and Azzi shared a knowing look. “Good game, that temper though...” Juju said jokingly as she extended her hand.
“Y’don’t like it? I can change it for you, I mean,” Addison said, dragging the n in mean out as she grabbed Juju’s hand, shaking it slowly. “Your hands are so soft, my god.” Juju’s only response was a giggle, before she pulled herself together and shook her head at the younger girl's antics.
“You should maybe.. Let me put my number in your phone? So we could discuss my temper and your skincare routine, y’know?” Addison knew she was taking an extremely long shot, but she also knew that Judea Watkins was certainly worth trying for.
Juju handed the phone over wordlessly, peaking over Addison's shoulder watching as she made her contact name “Addi 😊😏😍😇💋”
Addison handed the phone back before turning around and giving Azzi a hug, then Paige, and finally Juju.
Addison held onto Juju tight like she’d disappear, before thinking about all the teasing she’d have to endure from Azzi and Paige later, leading to her letting go with a satisfied smile left on her face. “Yo I stink.. I’m gonna go get myself together I’ll catch yall in a bit” Addison muttered as she picked up her warmup shirt from the bench.
Juju’s eyes didn’t leave Addison’s fading figure once; she was glad that she was staring like a creep, though, when Addison turned around and yelled, “You better text me, Watkins.”
You’re feeling bold. Got your camera set up, low angle from the sidewalk, facing JuJu’s parked car. She’s inside, window halfway down, scrolling her phone and minding her business.
You smooth your hair, adjust your tank so your arm muscles pop a little more, and walk up slow with that fake “random girl” confidence.
Attempt 1
You tap the window with two fingers and she glances up.
“Hey,” you start in a sweet voice. “Are you single?”
She raises a brow, recognizes your voice immediately but plays along. “Yes,” she says too fast. “Yup. I am. No girlfriend. I’m so single. What’s up?”
You blink. “Oh, word?”
“Yeah, tryna be my girl or what?” She grins, hand already reaching to unlock the door like she don’t live with you.
You step closer, slow, and grip her hoodie through the window with one hand—bicep flexing just enough. Her smirk fades a little.
“Don’t play with me, JuJu.”
She sucks her teeth, laughing. “Aight, damn, let go of my hoodie, strong-ass.”
“Roll the window up.”
“I was tryna,” she mutters, hitting the button. “Here you go actin’ like a linebacker in public again.”
Attempt 2
You spin the block. Hoodie on this time. Lip gloss poppin’. Whole different vibe. You sneak back up and tap again.
She glances, confused, and rolls the window down slow.
You hit her with a smooth, “You’re so pretty… do you have a girlfriend?”
This time she squints like she wants to flirt but knows better. “Yes. Matter fact—watch this.”
She grabs her phone, dials you, and holds it up with a smug smirk.
Your phone starts ringing in your pocket. You try not to laugh. On speaker:
“Yeahhhh that’s my baby right there. Gimme a kiss.”
She lean in smiling.“No, th-this ain’t y/n.”
“What?” I says, still on the phone, still looking at her. “You lying.”
“This a random girl. You kissing strangers, Ju? Gimme a kiss girl.”
She sucks her teeth and leans out the window, pulls you down by the collar and kisses you, all soft and slow.
You pull back with a fake gasp. “Wow. Y’all see this? She just kissed me and I’m not even her girl.”
From inside the car: “Hang up my damn phone and get in before I embarrass you for real.”
You open the door, climb in, like you didn’t just do a whole improv scene on the sidewalk.
She deadpans to the camera. “Next time you try this trend, I’m rollin’ the window up on your fine ass.”
