ilovekkarnolds

[ilovekkarnolds]

Requestsss

hey guys i need some requests i have no idea what to write, if you guys just could put it in the comments that would be really appreciated!! thank youuu

[ilovekkarnolds]

girlie literally anything juju.. i feel like it’s been so slow recently 😭

honestly just like lovesick ju, like i’m talkin sick to my stomach sweet. like she thinks she’s so nonchalant i swear but she’s really just in love

(reblogs appreciated more than likes.)

i understand you baby omg:( i apologize for how late i got to this ask, but i’m here now! the following requests i have are actually juju reqs so i’ll see how fast i can get those out hehe. lovesick ju… nonnie, i love those words together. let me give you my thoughts on that:

sol tots . . .

thinking about a juju so lovesick you lowkey can’t help but find it funny. i mean, not that she’d realize she’s lovesick. she loves you, don’t get her wrong, but in her own words: she’s just not with that sappy stuff. she’s nonchalant. completely and utterly NOT fucking with that ‘loudly inlove couple’ shit. “I just don’t get them, you know,” she’d rant to you, her head in your lap as she snuggled into her little blanket. “like, why you trying so hard to show people you’re inlove?? like… just drop that—” she’d continue, before scooching in closer so she can put her face in your tummy. “I don’t think couples try hard when they’re inlove, honey,” you murmur, looking down at her to find her already looking up at you with big eyes that say ‘imlisteningtoyoubutlikenottoanyofthewordsyousay’.

she’s in denial, and you understand that, but it’s funny that she thinks shes nonchalant, especially in moments like… now. you’re out and about, it’s a homegame, and juju’s the talk of the court. By out and about, you mean you’re currently in juju’s lap. by juju being the talk of the court, you mean that everyone’s talking about how she hasn’t stood up for a good hour despite you trying to get up. Her bun is done, her lashes are fabulous, she looks good and she’s prepared but she just… isn’t standing up. she isn’t even on her own phone. her chin is resting on your shoulder and she is watching you scroll through tiktoks. you’ve been trying, every once in a while, to get up. “there are too many eyes,” you try to tell her— “I thought you weren’t with that sappy stuff”. she blinks. then she pulls you in tighter. “this isn’t sappy. i’m literally just holding you. stop trying to escape.”

“juju, you have warmups in thirty minutes.”

“oh my goodness, you’re right.” She says, completely uninterested, still looking at your phone screen.

“you can’t be going out on the court with numb legs.” you try.

“oh my goodness. you’re right.” she says, again. actively not listening.

“juju—” you sigh, exasperated. at your tone, juju’s eyes widen slightly and she frowns—as if any sign of frustration from you is a sign of failure for her.

“are you mad at me? i’m sorry.” she’s quiet this time, snuggling deeper into your shoulder. “i’m sooorry…”

“juju, I’m not mad. you just need to prepare.”

“but you haven’t called me it yet. i need you to call me it for luck.” she murmurs. you raise an eyebrow because in no world do you recall ever calling juju anything that brings her luck. or, atleast not intentionally.

“call you what, juju?” At the repetition of her name, she recoils and that frown turns into a pout and she says, in a tone that is genuinely fearful, “oh my god, bro, are you mad at me?”

“what, no? ju, why would I be mad—“

her grip on you gets tighter.

“you ain’t call me baby yet!”

a pause.

“what?”

“baby.”

“no, I know what you just said but… what?”

“what?” she repeats.

“you think … i’m mad at you because I haven’t called you baby?” You clarified, and she nodded slowly with your words, her hands around your waist caging you impossibly tighter. she was so cute, so sweet, and so ridiculous you immediately softened up.

“baby…” you cooed, placing a hand on her cheek, to which she immediately melted into.

“mhmmm….” juju hummed, eyes fluttering closed as she leaned into you even more, her body instantly relaxing. she immediately slumped into you, and you couldn’t help but go ‘awww’ at her current state. thirty minutes before warmups, and you were in judea ‘juju’ watkins’ lap being used as a makeshift stuffy for an impromptu nap that unfortunately, you couldn’t let her have. “baby, you need to get ready for warm ups.” You whispered, leaning in close— resting the back of your head against her shoulder as she whined. “noooo….”

“yeeessss…”

“noooo…”

“yeeeessss….”

“noooo…”

“….noooo—“

“yesss…. wait—” upon falling for your trick, juju closed her mouth immediately—her pout coming back tenfold.

“exactly, baby. yes.” you grinned victoriously, watching as she looked up at you with the dreaded puppy eyes of defeat.

at that, juju just shook her head. “i don’t wanna.”

“why not, baby?”

“I haven’t gotten my kisses yet.” judea watkins, one of the most influential women of basketball, said. “It’s not worth it if I don’t get my kisses.” she explained, before puckering her lips up and leaning in. you laughed, your eyes crinkling at the sides as hers furrowed—you dodged her kiss!!!!

“you’re such a sappy little shit.” you giggled, shoulders shaking as she gasped, defending herself amidst your giggling, “i’m not! no, shut up— i am not! just give me my kiss, bro!”

so yeah, thinking about how juju is definitely lovesick.

and how it shows without her even realizing.

even without her begging for your kisses, her love for you showed in the way she looked to you for approval before every decision because there was no other opinion as valuable in the way yours was. her love for you shows in the way she looks for you first in every room, and how she always finds you so fast because you’re all she sees most of the time. her love for you is in the quiet, in the silence that comes when the two of you are together because you just need to look up at her to understand what she wants of you—and her love for you is in every time she swipes her card for something you so much as look at because, and i quote: ‘you are not walking ‘round without a reminder you’re spoken for’.

juju’s love sick, sitting in that illness with no complaints; infact, she’s drunk in it. drunk in you. she’s drowning in you.

she does not want to be pulled out.

@likelysobbing.

[ilovekkarnolds]

Can i request the hidden baby/ wife trope for paige? Like ppl only find out bc they catch page somewhere in Dallas with her family

𖥻 ALL SHE COULD, ALL SHE CAN. paige bueckers x wife!reader

synopsis: paige does all she can so god can do all she can’t.

notes: REBLOGS APPRECIATED MORE THAN LIKES. comments appreciated more than LIKES. hey… hey y’all… i’m back… hi nonnie, i hope you don’t mind i turned your request into a 2.4k word fic! this details how you got engaged to paige -> how the marriage was -> how she got you pregnant in the first place and the overall privacy around those events -> how that privacy was broken! guys ima be rwal i complerely projected. like i read this fic and i see my future slightly

cw: commitment for my queens with the commitment issues, pregnancy, nothing else i suppose— i was lowkey just projecting my indescribable urge to have a baby and be a wife to my future woman, i heard paige say that she did all she could so god could do all she couldn’t and i just ran w it, wife!reader, WIFE!READER IS DEVOTED TO PAIGE, uconn AND dallas wings paige. these bitches inLOVE

Paige did all she could, so God could do all she couldn’t.

Paige, having been dating you long enough to the point she knew you were here to stay, did not want you to lose what she already did: the luxury of privacy. So, when she came to you with a ring (because she would not have you be ‘just a girlfriend’ when she wanted you pregnant with her baby), she did it quiet.

It wasn’t even outside. It was inside, with your leg draped over hers, and your forearm over your eyes as you tried to take an impromptu screen break because paige decided to scare you saying that your orbital would fracture from too much staring at your screen. she couldn’t believe you actually got scared, but she remembers being thankful for how gullible you were. it gave her the perfect opportunity.

She pulled the velvet box out of her sweatpants, called your name once, then twice, then three times—“come onnn,” she drawled, “i was literally joking.”

“I’m still horrified.” you murmured, before slowly removing your arm, blinking a few times to readjust to the bright light. then, you sat up.

And Paige was there, with that velvet box wide open, and a ring with a rock so big you thought you saw god. most importantly, was that there was a huge smile on her face—pearly whites all on display, as if you didn’t jump out the couch you were both on, gasping so audibly your voice cracked.

Paige proposed to you in the middle of her apartment back at uconn, in the middle of a random tuesday that somehow became your favorite date—in sweatpants and a uconn sweater. you were both barefaced, there was no photographer, there was no other witness, there was no other person— there was only you two.

That was the most intimate thing about it.

The privacy of the engagement wasn’t planned in the way that Paige wanted this one moment to be private— no, she wanted everything under wraps. for all the right reasons, too.

To the world, she was Paige Bueckers— all rounder, all rounded, all around beloved superstar athlete—and to you, she was paige. Paigey, sometimes. Madison when she was being a little bitch, because you knew she always got a bit icked out due to how little that name was used. She was just P, and she was just yours.

She wanted to keep the her that you had away from the hands that already took every other piece she had of herself.

The last piece was her heart, bruised and beaten yet still beating, and still warm—because for aslong as you held it, as long as you kept it, it was safe.

The wedding was a private affair. Young as you two were, she couldn’t have anyone speaking out and questioning her decision to marry you, when your presence in her life was not something she, herself, questioned at all. she remembers it like it was yesterday—it was before the sun set; not too long before it to miss the opportunity for a great shot, but also not too soon — also for the sake of not missing a great shot. Paige remembers; it was one of the days in her life that went according to plan—and even better—went perfectly. you two kissed, and the sun set, and the sky was a mix of oranges, slight yellows and pinks and azzi pulled the officiant by her wrist to make sure she didn’t photobomb the moment the photographer snapped that perfect shot. it was perfect.

that day was perfect.

You were perfect. You are perfect, still, to paige. You will be perfect forever.

Paige did all she could, so God could do all she couldn’t.

She said that to herself when she paid for you to undergo IVF treatment three months She said that to herself when she started taking hormone injections, commiting to the ovarian stimulation for fourteen days so that she’d be able to have them transferred and combined with a sperm donor’s— so that once all that lab work was done, the embryo would be transferred into your uterus. Paige did all she could so God could do all she couldn’t.

She did all she could during the nine months of your pregnancy; she didn’t ‘deal’ with you, she cherished you. She cherished every little act of servitude she could bring you so as to ease the struggles of your pregnancy, even by a little bit, and when you cried—she soothed. She did all she could so God could do all she couldn’t.

She did all she could to make sure no one was sure of you. Your existence, technically. She hid you as best as she could because if the media found out she was engaged, in the process of getting her girl PREGNANT, and wanted to stay quiet about it? Fuck no, hello? She’d be finished—news outlets wouldn’t leave her alone at all; people would bash her for hiding so much from them (as if they had any right to know), and the most teeth-gritting truth? They’d ask about you. You and your—her— child. They wouldn’t even ask, they’d take.

Whenever Paige thinks of such dire consequences, she thinks of one tiktok sound—‘I would rather shit in my hands. and clap.’

Paige did all she could, so God could do all she couldn’t.

The days you were in labor scared her shitless, and with away games on her schedule at the same time you were set to be due, and an endorsement she had yet to film— she had to, regretfully, put you on a balance scale.

Or, she thought she had to.

Then you delivered the baby early. Paige was scared shitless, eyes wide and bulging out everytime you squeezed her hand—everytime you screamed, her ears rung, and despite how overwhelming it was she knew whatever she felt didn’t amount to the way you felt that entire pregnancy. so, inbetween your cries of pain and the bone-breaking squeezes of your hand, she thought to herself: My wife is giving me new life. My wife is giving me new life. My wife is giving me new life. My wife is giving me new life.

Paige had received many honors and accolades through her years, and yet the greatest achievement she’s ever had was to be worthy enough to keep you—

And when she held your child in her hands, and the child had her eyes and what she believed to be your smile—she thought, reverently,

‘My wife gave me new life’.

New life.

A child.

You have children now.

Children should be cherished. Loved. Protected.

Children should be protected, even if it takes hiding them from the world, loving them so quietly only they can hear it, because they are all that matter.

You knew who you married.

Before anything else, you knew paige would prioritize your privacy. you trusted her with this type of thing— coming from where you came from, doing what you did, the sense of normalcy that you still held—you understood how despite how mundane it was to you, to Paige it was something you couldn’t lose.

So, you dealt with all her security measures. the separate cars, exiting and entering the same place at different times, picking things up separately, doing things separate in general—you dealt with it all, because you knew you would never truly be separated. Not while you had such a hold on her heart, and not while you held her baby.

Moving to dallas was a tough decision as is, with the risk of fans seeing you together and the thought that they’d see you as an obstacle— because you knew. You knew how many women would lay their life down for a chance to date your wife—and if they were willing to lay down their own lives? Lord knows what they’d do with yours.

It happened in a Target parking lot. Paige was loading your groceries into the trunk, and you were doing your damndest to be as fast as possible trying to get your squirmy child into their carseat. This wasn’t a common thing— usually you’d be in the far corner of the parking lot, away from prying eyes because no one wanted to park that far—but today wasn’t your day. Too many people had decided that on this particular day they would go grocery shopping, and the moment you and paige saw an open parking spot you immediately went for it. The problem was that you had to get in and out as fast as possible.

Your baby’s seatbelt buckled the same time Paige closed the trunk…

And the same time Paige closed the trunk was the same time someone snapped a photo with a flash on.

“…What the fuck?” Paige cursed, as you froze dead in your tracks. It was so quick. Too quick. The person turned before you saw them despite your efforts to whip your head every possibly direction— all you saw was a whole lot of nothing, and also the end of your private life. Paige, on the other hand? Saw failure.

She was about to walk away from the car, about to hunt down whoever did it, but it was you who stopped her. You, and the extra pressure from your ring finger. You, her wife. “Paige,” you whispered, quietly, voice shaken but strong: “Paige, just get in the car.”

Paige did all she could, so God could do all she couldn’t.

They took a photo of you and the baby. Of her loading the groceries into the trunk with the ring gleaming proudly on her ring finger.

And God, it seems, did not interfere.

You raced home with the baby masked up and your face covered by a sun visor. Paige gripped the steering wheel so tight her knuckles were about to split open had you not placed your palm ontop of them. “This is bad.” Paige whispered, breaking the uncomfortable silence between the two of you. It was a red light, but she almost ran it— thats usually what can happen when your entire life is at risk. “My God, this is so, so bad—“ she continued, choking on her own spit.

“What do you suppose we do about it? It’s already been done. We don’t know if it’ll get leaked, honey. Some people have morals.” You tried to reason knowing it was to no avail, because all you aimed for was to lighten the load Paige had (which was already so heavy. too heavy, even). “They might’ve taken the picture to—“

“To what?” Paige interrupted through grit teeth, her tone still gentle in contrast to the rage you could tell was simmering off of her. Before anything else, you were her wife. She would not be caught dead raising her voice at you unless it was to call you over, because you were too far away. “To what?” She repeated, “There’s no other reason why. They’re going to — they’re going to leak it. Our baby, and you, and I— they’re going to leak us—you wouldn’t go a day without someone trying to ambush you, baby,” her tone was heated, her eyes wild, so wide they shook and for a moment you saw them flicker with what you mistook for a last shred of hope.

You tried to speak. You couldn’t.

“You and the baby need to move back to Connecticut.”

Your ears began ringing. Your heart’s sinking to your stomach, beating so fast you were sure you’d explode if you didn’t—

“…What?” You muttered, frozen.

… If you didn’t speak. Alas, that one word was all you could muster.

“You and the baby need to move back to Connecticut. I can’t risk anything, baby. i’m not risking you. I’ll visit every weekend, I’ll send you money, I’ll facetime—“

No.

No, no, no, that’s not how it goes, that’s not what you want.

It doesn’t matter what you might ‘need’, it doesn’t matter—

“Absolutely fucking not.”

You speak before you think. Your voice is so firm, so resolute, that Paige pauses.

Green light. The cars start moving, and you start speaking. Paige’s eyes are on the road now. Her mind is still on you.

“Paige.” you begin, “Paige, you gave me your last name. You gave me a ring. You gave me a house, a home, you give me extra space in the bed, you give me two extra house keys just incase I lose my main one— Paige, you gave me a baby.” You snap, but there is no yelling. There’s only you choking on your tears and the last shred of peace that is your baby sleeping behind the two of you in the backseat.

Car drives always were peaceful to your little miracle.

It’s a redlight, now. Paige doesn’t look at you. She looks straight ahead. Her forearms are resting on top of the wheel and she is staring straight ahead, and you both know shes not watching the road.

“Goddamn it, Paige,” You mutter. “You gave me your heart. I’m not letting go of something so precious.”

Your hand is on top of hers. Your rings press against eachother and you swear you see her shiver. You continue.

“I am your wife, Paige. I am not— I am never, going to leave you.”

Paige finally looks at you, and there are tears running down her face.

“Are you sure?” She asks, voice cracking.

“Yes.” You answer, and there is no hesitation.

Her hands are on your cheeks, her lips are on yours, and your foreheads press together— and the traffic light is green.

and honks be damned, Paige doesn’t go immediately.

A week later, the photo is leaked. Fortunately, don’t get the outcome you expected.

The poster is bashed for their audacity to interfere with a celebrity’s private life, and you both watch in a sort of cruel delight as they get what they are due: a dent in their digital footprint, and a frighteningly concerning amount of cyberbullies.

Nothing of your identity is leaked. Paige is able to resume her rookie year smoothly, with the same incompetent coach unfortunately. You continue your duties as per usual, and the baby— still so little—sleeps to both of your voices—Paige’s, sometimes through a phone call, but she’s always there.

People speak, but never ask.

Paige is content with this. She thanks her fans for their respect, although it’s meant to be expected, and she promises—as she always does— to do all she can, so that God can do what she can’t.

@likelysobbing.

[ilovekkarnolds]

“Just teammates, aight?”

It’s late. Y’all just got back from an away game and the team hotel room’s a mess — Chick-fil-A bags on the table, someone’s lashes on the nightstand, and ESPN still running highlights from the game y’all just played in.

You and Juju are posted up on the bed, sitting shoulder to shoulder. You’re in an oversized tee and lashes still holding on for dear life. Juju’s in her usual hoodie and slides, laid back like she don’t got practice at 6 a.m.

“Should we go live?” you ask, chewing on a nugget.

Juju raises an eyebrow. “Girl, you always wanna go live when your hair laid.”

“Exactly,” you smirk, already pulling your phone out. “Don’t hate.”

You prop the phone up on a water bottle and hit go live. The chat floods in fast — hearts, “W’s,” and people already screen recording.

“Oop y’all together AGAIN?”

“Y’all lowkey married.”

“This the duo fr.”

You laugh, brushing your hair out your face. “Don’t start.”

Juju just side-eyes the screen. “They messy already. Look.”

Someone comments:

“Y’all be sharing a bed huh.”

You look at Juju. She looks at you.

“Mind y’all business,” Juju says with that lazy smirk. “We roommates.”

You burst out laughing. “Not roommates—”

“Ain’t that what we are?” Juju teases, leaning into you a little too comfortably.

You swat at her, but don’t move away. “We teammates. Y’all be reaching.”

The chat starts flying:

“Y’all real close for teammates 😭”

“Tell Juju stop staring so hard we see it”

“Kiss if you not teammates then 🤭”

Juju tilts her head at you. “They bold tonight.”

You purse your lips, trying not to laugh. “They want a lil drama. Chill out.”

Juju grabs a fry, pops it in her mouth, and says through the chewing:

“I mean… if we was something, we wouldn’t tell y’all no way.”

Your eyes widen. “Don’t start.”

Juju shrugs, licking salt off her thumb. “I’m just saying.”

You lean in to read the screen, and the angle gets you way too close to her face. Her breath hits your cheek. The chat explodes:

“NAH YALL TOO CLOSE 😭”

“They got that tension idc”

“Look at Juju face she in love lmaoo”

Juju just grins slow. “Y’all funny. But I do love her game tho. That three she hit in the third?”

She shakes her head. “Different.”

You bite your lip, smirking. “Keep talking like that, I’ma get cocky.”

“Too late.”

You two go back and forth like that for a minute — throwing shade, flirting without saying it’s flirting, pretending like y’all ain’t sitting close enough to be cuddled up already.

Then someone drops:

“If y’all not dating, blink.”

You and Juju both stare dead into the camera.

Not a blink.

Not even a twitch.

Just silence.

Then Juju snorts. “Aight, we done. Y’all not finna get me caught up.”

She leans over and ends the Live with a dramatic “BYEEE.”

The room goes quiet.

You glance at her. “You bold.”

Juju grins. “So what?”

You smirk, grabbing your phone. “They gon’ make fan edits in the morning.”

Juju shrugs. “Let ’em.”

Then she leans in, real close, eyes low. “Long as they know who you really share a bed with.”

You: stunned. Speechless. Blushing.

But you ain’t denying it either.

hope you guys like this oneee!🩵

[ilovekkarnolds]

“We been knew”

juju watkins x female!reader

Juju wasn’t hiding you.

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!💙

[ilovekkarnolds]

juju watkins x female!reader 18+ MDNI

The locker room was chaos. Reporters outside, camera flashes popping every few seconds, music blaring from someone’s Bluetooth speaker.

Juju had just dropped 30 points. Again.

And the only thing she wanted now was you.

You were waiting near the players’ tunnel, hoodie pulled up, trying to stay out of the way. But the moment Juju spotted you from across the court, everything else faded.

Her eyes locked on you like you were the only person in the world.

You knew that look.

It meant: now.

Not later.

Not when we get home.

Now.

—

Fifteen minutes later, the hotel room door clicked shut behind you.

Juju was already on you before your bag hit the floor.

Her hands were on your waist, mouth hot against your neck, voice low and rough from post-game breathlessness.

“You know what it does to me when you wear my jersey,” she murmured between kisses. “Especially with nothing under it.”

You grinned, breath hitching. “Who said I wasn’t wearing anything under?”

Her hand slid lower.

“I’m saying it now.”

You let out a soft gasp as she pushed you gently against the wall, her body pressed firm against yours. The air between you was electric—charged with everything she hadn’t been able to say in front of her teammates or cameras.

“You’ve been testing me all day,” she muttered, dragging her lips along your jaw. “Smirking at me from the sideline. Winking. You know exactly what that does to me.”

“I was just being supportive,” you teased, eyes hooded.

“Liar.”

She kissed you hard, tongue sliding against yours with the kind of desperation that made your knees go weak. Her hands found your thighs and lifted you effortlessly, and your legs wrapped around her waist without a thought.

She carried you to the bed like she owned you—because right now, she did.

Juju laid you back slowly, taking her time now, her fingers trailing up the hem of the jersey.

“You wanna know my favorite part of the game?” she asked, voice a husky whisper.

You nodded, heart pounding.

“The part where I imagine winning… and then doing this.”

The jersey was gone in one smooth motion, leaving you exposed under her gaze.

She didn’t rush.

Her fingers dragged down your sides, her lips following. She kissed your stomach, your hips, the inside of your thighs—everywhere but where you needed her most.

“Juju,” you breathed, squirming. “Please.”

“Mmm,” she hummed, eyes locked on yours. “Say it again.”

“Please, baby,” you whimpered. “I need you.”

She smiled, slow and wicked.

“That’s better.”

And then she gave in—mouth and hands working in tandem, learning you all over again. She took her time, letting every sound you made fuel her. Her fingers curled inside you just right. Her lips never left your skin for long.

It was hot.

Slow.

Intense.

You came undone with her name on your lips and her body holding yours like you were sacred.

And when it was over, when your breath finally slowed, she lay beside you, chest rising and falling, her arms wrapped tight around your waist.

“You always take me to another level,” she whispered against your ear. “On and off the court.”

You turned your head and kissed her—deep, lazy, and full of that afterglow warmth.

“I like winning,” you said softly. “But this? This is my favorite part.”

hey guys this is my first imagine lmk if you guys like it !! and if anyone can plz tag the person who made the divider that would be amazing💙