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𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 — juju watkins x reader!uconn!player

ꨄ — summary: a game between usc and uconn brings juju right to the girl of her dreams—literally and then a moment between the two of you during the game goes viral

ꨄ — word count: 2.07k

ꨄ — warnings: none

ꨄ — authors note: this is shorter than i wanted but it's getting me out of my slump so take it, or leave it. or don't.

for the game bit, i didn't know if it was a shooting foul or a defensive foul, so excuse that.

still here // juju watkins

𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀: ex!juju x ex!reader

𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒: you and juju broke up months ago but her family still invites you around.

𝗌𝗈𝗅á𝗇𝖺’𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌: someone asked for a juju series so that’s what i’m going to do. part two coming sunday

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.

🏷️: @333dee, @marleymarleymarleymarley, @sammiejane22, @ladyluvbugs, @c-grace56, @authentic-girl03

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.

UConn x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

She Plays for Us

MASTERLIST | MORE

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

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

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

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: ~0.7k

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

You walk in like it’s a fashion show.

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

The crowd shifts.

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

“That’s her?” one of them whispers.

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

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

KK sees it first.

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

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

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

⸻

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

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

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

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

She shrugs. “Whichever gets me the win.”

You laugh. Loud. The UConn bench collectively malfunctions.

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

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

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

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

⸻

Tip-off.

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

“You wear 17?” she asks, voice low.

You nod.

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

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

“Both.”

From the sideline:

“SHE PLAYS FOR US!”

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

⸻

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

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

She bricks the shot.

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

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

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

⸻

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

“Nah. Get over here.”

She pulls you into a huddle mid-timeout.

“You done playing ambassador to USC?”

“I’m just having fun,” you grin.

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

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

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

“Possessive,” Azzi corrects.

“Loyal,” Inês whispers.

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

⸻

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

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

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

——————————————————————————————-

@draculara-vonvamp

Between Midnight and You

Pairing: juju Watkins x volleyball player!Y/n

Fandom: USC WBB

Summary: A fav person , an annoying person, and a confession with a sandwich

A/N: its a juju ficccc

🏷️: @aubreygriffin , @authentic-girl03 , @atimelessheaven , @azziswrld , @buecker5s , @bueckersbucket , @cowboybueckers , @courtsidewithlani , @elalfywhore, @evry1luvzzae , @fairyblossomsav , @gabischeeseballs , @graceeeeeesblog , @iowahawkeyes22 , @intoblonde6ftwbbplayers , @issilovesherself , @italyyy , @jadasogay , @jupitermoonbaby , @kaliblazin , @kamspeaks , @latenighttalkinqwp , @lessi-lover , @let-zizi-yap , @lightsgore , @marleymarleymarleymarley ,@melpthatsme , @nicebellee , @paxaz535 , @paigeluvvr , @paigeshirleytemple , @private-but-not-a-secret , @runfor-roses , @sayurireidotcom ,@sitawita , @starfulani , @tenaciousglitternerd , @thatonesuschix , @unknowgirlypop , @vamptizm , @wbbszn , @yailtsv

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

We finally, finally get it right.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!💚💙

-prettygirl-gabi✨️💗x)37 s

Too clingy

You weren’t supposed to hear it.

You were supposed to still be at media. Doing post-practice interviews. Smiling through the exhaustion and pretending that being Juju’s teammate didn’t twist something sharp in your stomach every time she brushed past you like you were nothing.

But the interview got cut short. And you came back early.

And now you were standing just outside the locker room door, listening to her voice.

Hers—and someone else's.

"She’s clingy," Juju was saying, casual, amused. "I told her I’m not looking for anything serious, but she still thinks we’re... I don’t know. A thing."

Kayla laughed. That same mocking, sharp little laugh you hated.

"Didn’t she spend the night last week?"

Juju snorted. "Yeah. That was just—whatever. You know how it is."

You stopped breathing.

You stood there, frozen, heart crawling up your throat and pounding against the back of your teeth. It was like your entire ribcage collapsed. Like someone reached into your chest and just started ripping.

She was talking about you.

You were the one who made her tea that night when she was sore. You were the one who brought her your favorite hoodie because she said hers smelled like sweat. You were the one who kissed her hair when she fell asleep on your chest.

And now she was laughing about it.

Like it meant nothing.

Like you meant nothing.

You didn’t wait to hear the rest. You turned around, vision blurry, steps fast and heavy, your bag slamming against your side as you stormed out of the building without saying a word.

Juju didn’t follow.

She didn’t text.

Didn’t call.

Didn’t care.

---

Four Days Later

You didn’t show up to the team dinner

You skipped film review. Told Coach you had a migraine.

You didn’t look at Juju once in practice. Not when she stole the ball. Not when she scored. Not when she tried to stand next to you during drills.

You were done.

She noticed. You could feel it in the way her voice faltered when she called your name during warmups.

The way she started chewing her nails again on the bench, the same way she did when she was nervous.

The way she didn’t know how to be loud anymore unless it was for show.

You sat three seats away from her in the locker room.

When she reached for your wrist before you left, you didn’t even look at her.

“Wait—Y/N—can we—”

You pulled your arm away like it burned “No.”

“But I—”

“No,” you said again, this time sharp, final. “Don’t talk to me.”

Her face crumpled. Just slightly. Like she wasn’t used to you having boundaries. Like she thought she could lie to you and you’d still stay.

You didn’t give her a chance to say another word. You turned, walked out, and let the door slam shut behind you.The first apology came through text.

> can we talk pls? i didn’t mean it like that.

You stared at your screen in bed, the blue light catching the tear tracks still drying on your cheeks.

Didn’t mean it like that?

There’s only so many ways “she’s clingy, it’s not serious” can be interpreted

You turned off your phone.

---

At practice, the tension was suffocating.

Coach was confused. So were your teammates. But no one said anything out loud.

Except Nia.

“hey,” she murmured under her breath during stretches, “what happened?”

You didn’t answer.

Across the gym, Juju was watching you like you were about to disappear. She was quieter than usual. Less cocky. Like someone took the soul out of her and left the shell.

Good.

Let her feel it.

---

The second apology came in person.

You were walking back from class when she caught up with you outside the dorms, breathless, hoodie pulled over her head like she could hide from what she’d done.

"Y/N—wait—"

You didn’t.

“Please,” she tried again, stepping in front of you. Her eyes were wide, frantic. “I didn’t mean to say that. I was just—I was trying to push Kayla off, it was dumb, it wasn’t even—”

“Shut up.”

Her mouth snapped closed.

You could see the hope die in her eyes, right there on the pavement.

“You lied to me,” you said, voice razor-thin, “and then you humiliated me. Behind my back.”

“I didn’t—”

“You did.”

She took a shaky breath. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“No,” you whispered, blinking hard, “you just didn’t care if you did.”

That hit.

Her face crumpled again—like she didn’t know how to handle you not forgiving her instantly. Like you weren’t allowed to be angry, truly angry. Like your pain was something she thought she could fix with a soft voice and sad eyes.

You stepped around her and kept walking.

She didn’t follow

---

That Night

She sent another message.

> i fucked up.

You didn’t reply.

She sent another.

> i miss you.

You muted her number.

A Week Later, Word had gotten around.

You didn’t tell anyone the full story. But teammates started to notice—how Juju played differently when you weren’t around. How she kept checking her phone during film. How she stopped showing off during scrimmages. How her spark was dim.

The team needed her to lead. But she couldn’t, because the person she used to lead with was gone.

You were the engine. She was the fire.

Now the engine had frozen.

And the fire was burning itself out.It happened fast.

You were scrimmaging, same court, same ache in your chest every time you felt her stare from across it. You’d spent the last ten days pretending Juju Watkins didn’t exist. And she was feeling it.

You hadn’t responded to her texts. You hadn’t cracked once. Not even when she limped behind you after meetings, muttering soft, broken “Y/N, please” under her breath.

You didn’t care.

Or at least… you acted like you didn’t.

Until your foot hit the paint wrong—slick with someone’s sweat—and your ankle turned the opposite way.

Pain tore through your leg like fire.

You collapsed with a scream before you even hit the floor.

Gasps. Sneakers screeched. A whistle blew. Coach shouted.

And Juju—Juju moved before anyone else.

“Y/N—!”

She was the first to you. Dropping to her knees so fast she slipped. Hands trembling, reaching toward you and then stopping mid-air like she didn’t know if she was allowed.

You were curled in on yourself, breathing fast, eyes glassy.

“Don’t touch me,” you gritted out, voice shaking.

“I—fuck, are you okay? Are you okay?” Her voice cracked. “Someone call the trainer!”

“Juju,” Coach said sharply, “back up, let them through—”

“I’m not leaving her—!”

But she had to.

The trainers took her spot. Nia helped you sit up. Kayla handed you a towel. You avoided Juju’s eyes like they were the sun.

Juju sat on the edge of the court, frozen, fists clenched in her lap, staring at you like you were a ghost.

She hadn’t cried when you ignored her.

She hadn’t cried when you told her you never wanted to hear from her again.

But now?

Now she looked like she was about to.

---

You were in your dorm, foot elevated, ankle throbbing. Iced and wrapped.

Alone.

Until there was a knock.

Not just a knock—an urgent, rapid-fire tapping like the person on the other side couldn’t stand the silence.

You didn’t answer.

The door opened anyway.

And there she was.

Juju Watkins. Hoodie on. Hair a mess. Red eyes. Guilt all over her face.

You stared at her like she was nothing.

She stared at you like you were everything.

“I’m sorry,” she said immediately, breath hitching. “I’m so, so sorry—”

“You don’t get to do this,” you snapped.

Her shoulders tensed. “I had to see you. You were on the ground, and I—fuck, I thought—”

“You thought what?” Your voice rose. “That I’d finally let you back in because I got hurt?”

“No, I just—God, I messed up, I know I did, I said those things to Kayla because I was scared and stupid and I didn’t want her to know how much I loved you—”

“Loved me?”

Silence.

Juju blinked, like she hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

And you—still throbbing, still aching inside and out—just stared.

“You don’t get to say that,” you whispered, voice trembling. “Not after the way you humiliated me.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“But you did it anyway.”

She stepped forward, slowly. Desperately.

“I never stopped loving you,” she said, voice cracked and low. “I just didn’t know how to let people see it. And now I’m scared I ruined the only thing that actually mattered.”

You turned your face away, jaw tight, eyes glassy.

She took another step.

“Please,” she begged, hands trembling, “don’t shut me out forever.”

You didn’t answer.

But you didn’t tell her to leave, either.

And that was the first time in ten days that her heart had even the smallest reason to hope.

You let her stay the night, but the space between you felt colder than the icy pack on your ankle. She curled up on the floor, tucked beneath your spare blanket, careful not to breathe too loud, as if she knew she didn’t deserve anything more.

Morning came and went without a word. You ignored her attempts at conversation, refusing to soften. Your silence was your armor, and you weren’t ready to lower your guard. She respected that, though it only made her ache harder.

Days passed, and Juju didn’t send texts. She didn’t try to corner you or demand forgiveness. Instead, she showed up. Quietly. At practice. In the locker room. On the sidelines. She was always there — not pressuring you, but present.

She carried your water bottle without a word. She passed you the ball first in drills, and she never assumed your forgiveness was earned.

You saw it all, but you stayed stubborn. “Actions,” you said coldly one afternoon, “they mean nothing if they don’t come from something real. I don’t want promises or excuses.”

Juju met your gaze, steady and solemn. “Then tell me what means something.”

You hesitated, knowing this was the moment she could either break or build what was left.

“Show me where you keep me when no one’s looking,” you said quietly.

Her eyes widened, but she nodded.

---

Later that night, Juju led you away from the noise of campus and into her dorm room.

It was unassuming — small, messy in that way only a basketball player’s room can be — but you noticed the subtle traces of you everywhere: a worn-out hoodie you’d forgotten there, a stack of photos with you tucked behind a basketball magazine.

Then she brought out a small box from her desk drawer.

She opened it slowly, reverently, like it was the most precious thing she’d ever held.

Inside, carefully preserved: a ticket stub from your first game together, a scrunched-up napkin with a silly note you’d written to her at 2 AM, a faded photo strip from the night you first kissed, a tiny heart-shaped charm you’d once found and given her.

She looked at you, voice raw. “I was scared. Scared to admit I loved you because loving you made me vulnerable, and I didn’t want to lose you.”

You swallowed hard.

“But I kept these,” she said, “because even when I said those cruel things, you were still my home. And this? It’s where I keep you — where I hold the truth I couldn’t say.”

The silence stretched, fragile and heavy.

You reached out, fingertips brushing the edge of the box.

“Why didn’t you say it before?”

“Because saying it makes it real,” she whispered. “And I didn’t think I was worthy of that reality until now.”

You swallowed, heart tight.

“I don’t forgive you yet,” you said softly, “but I still love you.”

She reached for your hand, holding it like it was everything she’d lost.

And when you leaned in, your foreheads touching, the world outside disappeared — the pain, the betrayal, the anger — replaced by something quieter, more honest, and healing.

The next morning, Juju woke with the weight of everything pressing down on her chest. Last night had been… something she never expected — a first step toward healing with you. But there was still so much left unsaid. Not just between the two of you, but with the whole team.

She knew she’d hurt more than just you. The whispers, the sideways glances — teammates sensed the tension, the fracture in what was supposed to be an unbreakable bond.

So before practice, she found herself standing outside the locker room, heart pounding, palms sweaty. She took a deep breath and stepped inside.

All eyes turned toward her.

Her voice shook at first, but grew steady as she spoke.

“I want to say something,” she started, glancing around at the team. “I messed up. Not just with you, but with all of them. I let my fear and pride get in the way of being honest — with you, with them, and with myself.”

She met your eyes across the room. You didn’t smile. You didn’t look away. Just watched.

“I want to apologize for the lies, for the silence, and for the way it affected our team,” Juju said. “You didn’t deserve that. None of them did. I’ve been selfish, and I’m sorry.”

Her teammates listened — some nodding, others with thoughtful looks — and then Nia spoke up.

“We all make mistakes, Juju. It takes courage to admit it.”

Juju’s shoulders relaxed for the first time in days.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “I’m going to do better. For you, for all of us. Because we’re a team — on and off the court.”

After practice, she found you again.

“Thanks for letting me say that,” she said, breathless.

You shrugged, eyes still guarded but softer.

“Keep doing the work,” you told her.

She smiled — small, real, hopeful.

Because this was just the beginning.

°•○●●○•°

This is lowkey cringe ebht bear w me yall

#wbb x reader #wnba x reader #juju watkins imagine #juju watkins x reader #usc x reader #trojans x reader

STRANGERS ⟢ juju watkins .ᐟ

request ౨ৎ pleaseeeee give us juju x ucla!reader, i miss what could've been 💔

content ⟢ angst, typical ucla vs usc beef, enemies with benefits, mentions of past sexual encounters, nothing too detailed tho!

serenity says ໒꒱ inspired by strangers by ethel cain. since i lost the first draft of this, i rewrote it with a different approach and tbh, i like this one more!

you officially met juju in 2023. you’d known of her long before that— back when the two of you were just getting started in high school, already grabbing people’s attention. in college, you were the new girls who weren’t supposed to dominate so early, yet still breaking records like it was nothing, each game being another chance to prove you weren’t just hype.

#୨୧ signedbyserenity .ᐟ #juju watkins x reader #juju x reader #juju watkins #juju watkins imagine #juju watkins fanfic #usc x reader #usc trojans #usc wbb #wbb x reader #wbb #wlw

JuJu w/ passenger princess!gf

moodboard

• you do have your license but your scared of driving in california as your from a SMALL town, so jujus just taken a role of being your driver

• your always tired from your sports practice plus overworking yourself in homework so she keeps a pillow and a few blankets in her trunk for you

• she has your schedule memorized and if something changes she puts it in her phone calendar, dorm calendar, and prints it off and puts it in her car

• if you have a late night practice she'll come to watch and then you guys will go get dinner afterwards

• she hates making you have to take a uber or lyft especially since she now knows your scared of them, so when her practice is running late or her practice is going at the same time you finish whatever you’re doing she’ll have one of her parents come get you instead

• if you can’t sleep or you’re craving something in the middle of the night she’ll always drive you, but she’ll act annoyed for the beginning of the trip and then you’ll accidentally say something that makes her break her act

• she does the “mom” arm break check move everytime!! even when your asleep, and if you’re in the backseat asleep she’ll reach her hand back to touch your lower back making sure you don’t fall off the seats

• does not let anyone else sit in the passenger seat if she knows you’re gonna be with them, including her parents

• she as soooo many pictures of you sleeping in her car!! either laying back in the passenger seat or laying curled up in the back seat, she has a million photos of each. and she uses some for your birthday posts

#juju watkins x y/n #juju watkins x fem reader #juju watkins x reader #usc wbb x reader #usc x reader #yailtsv moodboards—★

Between Midnight and You

Pairing: juju Watkins x volleyball player!Y/n

Fandom: USC WBB

Summary: A fav person , an annoying person, and a confession with a sandwich

A/N: its a juju ficccc

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

We finally, finally get it right.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!💚💙

-prettygirl-gabi✨️💗x)37 s

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