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likelysobbing · 5 days ago

Note

walk with me now, juju and her gf arguing because juju hasn’t been around lately and reader gets tired of it, and they’ve been ignoring each since so to get her mind off of things her bsf takes her out to a party or smth, juju finds out and is mad because reader didn’t tell her where she was going, and a other stuff but idk what

𖥻 COLD COUCH. juju watkins x reader

reblogs + comments are more appreciated than likes.

synopsis: juju’s absence leaves nothing but a cold couch you wake up to and a hole in your heart that you try to fill—lucky for you, your girlfriend has common sense.

notes: hi lovely! i’m so sorry i got to this request so late, i thank you for your patience. juju and the reader don’t necessarily ignore eachother for long, but they definitely don’t speak for long enough to be concerned!!! this all happens in the span of one day because me thinks juju would never leave you with a heavy heart for too long… unless it’s toxic juju. but this isn’t toxic juju nonono … but anyways !!! i did my best to make your vision come true and i hope you enjoy it <3

cw: arguing, juju is a tiny bit conceited but guys she’s a celebrity, partying, reader drinks alcohol but not to the point it’s detrimental, kind of fast paced because i’m using dividers, reader and juju are both down bad in their own ways

juju has shit to do.

it can’t be helped, and you know that. she’s juju watkins— the face of women’s collegiate basketball, with multiple awards to show for it. but juju, in all ten months and fourteen days of being your girlfriend, has never once missed a date. she made sure to make time for you, always showing up and going an extra mile: flowers, ironed outfits, an extra clean car even though it’s already clean, and most of all—the biggest smile on her face. you loved that part the most; the telling sign she was happy to see you, to spend time with you, to relax.

you haven’t seen that smile in a while. that’s usually what occurs when you date a D1 athlete with like 20 NIL deals.

you haven’t seen that smile in a long time.

you thought you would be able to. you had texted juju two weeks ahead of time telling her to keep herself free today, tonight, and you had tore the internet apart finding the best recipes—subsequently ending up with a splitting headache from looking at the directions too much to make sure you followed them perfectly. perfect; that’s what you wanted this night to be. you’d greet juju with a kiss to her cheek and a tight hug, then you’d eat dinner, then you’d watch a movie, you’d cuddle— juju would fall asleep first, hopefully, and then you’d steal her hoodie because she always took off her hoodies whenever she wanted to cuddle with you. she’d pretend she didn’t know you stole it, and she’d leave the next morning feeling lighter in more ways than one. the first because she didn't have her hoodie on, and the second because you soothed her enough to, for once, just stay in the present.

you hoped you’d be able to bring her the peace you knew she deserved. you set up the table, and even had the blankets and pillows all ready. infact? netflix’s searchbar was already waiting—and as you plated juju’s portion of the dinner you hoped you cooked right, the only thing you were waiting for was juju.

juju, who should’ve been here by now.

did she get caught up in traffic? she should’ve texted about that. she hasn’t texted you at all today.

she hasn’t texted you a lot in general these past few weeks.

you sit on the edge of your kitchen counter despite the chair you already pulled out being right infront of you, because a part of you— your heart—does not want to sit alone. you scroll through your phone absentmindedly, until a notification snaps you out of your zone. it’s juju.

juju posted something on her story—another common mainstream logo in your face directly confirming it’s some sort of brand deal— and... wait, why would she be posting about brand deals? isn’t she supposed to be on her way to you right now? she said she’d be able to make it.

you search for answers.

you find out it wasn’t just a brand deal, but a brand trip. juju’s not even in the same area code as you right now. juju’s away.

you call her the moment that it clicks.

the phone rings for way too long, and you count the seventh ring before she picks up with an exasperated, “what? what is it?”

you don’t speak.

she repeats your name, impossibly more exasperated: “what is it? i’m on a cruise right now—“

“your food is cold.” you say, simply. there is silence on the other line and you don’t know if it is from realization and subsequent guilt, or complete and utter apathy. you don’t want it to be the latter. you don’t speak any more.

judea’s voice comes out on the other end of the line. it’s slow, low, and barely apologetic. “i had a last minute offer.”

“and you didn’t think to tell them you weren’t free today? tonight? because you would be— or you were meant to be having dinner with your girlfriend?” you reply, snappy, your sweaty hand gripping your already-heating-up phone too tight. you’re exasperated, obviously. you saw juju mark this date on her calendar app— she had it labelled ‘date with my baby’ with three exclamation marks. god forbid you believe she’s genuinely eager to see you.

you hear her click her tongue on the other line. “i warned you about shit like this,” she responds, her tone more angry than exasperated—more uncaring than the (barely) apologetic tone you previously heard.

“i scheduled this with you two weeks in advance, ju,” you countered, “don’t give me that excuse. don’t- don’t even give me excuses.” you choke on your words, simultaneously choking on your own pride. you wait. she speaks again, and it’s another excuse.

you go back and forth.

“i just haven’t seen you in a while, and i missed you,” you say,

“i’ve been busy, you know how it is,” she replies,

“but you promised you’d be able to make it.”

“see now, i didn’t promise—“

“you said you’d be able to make it, juju.” you interrupt.

“yeah, and i just got … sidetracked.”

sidetracked?

“what do you mean?” you ask.

“you know what i mean, ma,” she murmured,

“no. i don’t. you said you could come last week— but now you’re not even here because of a last minute offer. am i being put to the side now?” your response is curt, and by now, things get noticeably more tense.

“god, can you stop doing that?” juju says on the other end.

“doing what? i’m just saying the truth—“ you tried to reason, because— side tracked? did she mean she put you on the sidelines? what did she mean? more importantly, what else could she possibly mean?

“it’s not always about you.” juju says, finally.

she’s right, and you say so.

“you’re right,” you say, voice breaking. “it’s not always about me. that’s why i haven’t been texting that much, or asking to hang out,” you begin, “or asking for too much,” there’s a lump in your throat, and a crack in your heart, but you press on. “because i know you’ve been busy. but juju, you said you’d be—“

“and now i can’t.” her voice cuts, her tone cutting. juju isn’t yelling, but her voice is low and outright cruel when she says your name— she says it as if it disgusts her to say, and when you hear her on the other end, your ears start to ring.

“i’m a fucking celebrity,” she continues, “i can’t be at your beck and call immediately when you say,”

“that’s why i scheduled you two weeks in—“ you tried to interrupt,

“yeah, and this brand's been eyeing me for way longer—come on, i couldn’t flake out on a deal like this. they asked for whenever i was available, and tonight was really the only night because it was just you—“

you end the call.

it’s just you, she says. it’s just you. juju obviously doesn’t want your company, doesn’t she?

it can be just her now.

you eat your plate alone. it’s still warm, but that doesn’t mean it’s good; the call with juju left a bad taste in your mouth. now juju’s plate is in the fridge labelled as leftovers you’ll probably never eat. you remove the extra pillow from your couch and use both blankets for yourself, playing another episode of your favorite show, tuning out the entire night despite hoping with all of your heart that you’ll have missed calls and texts from juju when you next check your phone.

you feel the lump in your throat still. you swallow it.

you wake up in the morning on the same couch, and you shiver at how cold it is. juju usually brought you the warmth.

you check your phone and you can’t swallow the lump anymore.

there are no notifications. your friend, bree, texted you about some party and how all her ‘fyne shyts’ were coming, but you could barely read the rest of the text because of how blurry your eyes were.

there were no calls. there were no texts.

not from her.

there was only silence, and it sent you into a spiral.

bree opens the door with the extra house key you gave her and a single knock to see you slumped across your couch completely and utterly miserable. you look at her, and she looks at you—bree, psychology major, miss know it all, looks at you and instantly knows.

“trouble in paradise?”

you burst into tears. bree’s kitten heels clack on your floor as she sits next to you and places your head in her lap, urging you to vent it out. “it’s good to get stuff like this out, hun,” she murmurs, “i’m saying this as a future therapist.”

you, three minutes into your wailing, will yourself to calm down for a moment— usually, when bree says that, it means she has something else to say, but “as my friend?”

your hunch is correct. bree tilts her head and looks down at your very miserable form curled up into a fetal position. “i say we get wasted tonight.”

“okay.”

that’s how you’re here now.

the bass is booming in your ears, and usually you’d leave solely because it’d make your head hurt—but right now, your heart hurts more. you could care less about the head ache you know you’ll get. you’re free right now. your phone’s charged, your arm is entwined with bree’s, and with every click of your heels you grow livelier. eyes flutter towards you by instinct, and they stay on you—you’re not wearing anything given to you by juju. this is your dress, these are your heels, and this is your jewelry— everyone seems to get the message.

tonight, you speak for yourself.

you’re bound to judea, but she isn’t pulling her leash, so you’ll stray. you’ll stray far, until she either lets go or you choke yourself.

bree looks at you with a soft smile, and tells you to drink safe knowing you’ll get absolutely knackered whether or not you drink. she pinky promises not to separate from you.

the gods may not have blessed you with a good week, but they’ve blessed you with a good friend.

she keeps the promise.

three hours in, and your heels are already off and in your hands, and you’re three drinks in, and you’re dancing, and bree has her arm around you and is singing the lyrics to the hollywood undead song playing. you are on top of the world but the ache has not subsided.

you’re sober enough to know you can’t drink the ache away.

so you choose to dance longer.

until your feet ache even more than your head, and your head aches more than your heart— until your legs are numb and your right hand is tired from holding your heels. but somehow, the ache, as small as it should be, is still the one you feel the most.

you don’t stop dancing.

the police crash through the back door.

you run straight for the front, with bree hot on your heel, and an unfinished cup of coca-cola and… something mixed into it, and your heels. the ice in the glass cup is melted so you throw it into the patch of grass near you. bree ends up more wasted than you are, and she, giggly, says that you watered the plants. you have no idea how she saw water in your cup when it was legit an abyss of dark brown... you know, the coca cola color? but maybe that’s why she’s more drunk than you.

the campus is not far from this party. you don’t mind walking barefoot. bree can crash at your place tonight, you owe her this much.

you are so focused on looking forward, as if there is any hope left for you, and keeping bree steady, that you don’t really pay attention to the fact that there’s a car coming up right behind you, who probably went over the speed limit just to. you also don’t notice when the car lowers it’s passenger seat window.

but you do notice when juju yells your name from the drivers seat.

your head whips around so fast you nearly drop bree, who’s taken to being slung across your shoulder. “what the fuc— juju? juju, it’s—“

“yeah, yeah i do know what time it is, genius. get in the goddamn car.” she snaps, unlocking the door as you open the backseat to gently place bree in. you get into the passengers seat next to juju.

she looks worried sick.

it’s three minutes into the car ride when the lyft that juju apparently called, and paid, for bree whisks her away from the two of you—and it’s four minutes in that you stay in complete silence out of your own shock.

in the empty car, as you drive to what you recognize is not the way to your dormitory but to juju’s apartment— you muster up the courage to break it.

“how are you here?” your voice is soft.

juju doesn’t answer for a good while, but when she does, her voice is impossibly softer.

“i have your location.”

“that's not what i meant. i thought you still had the brand trip.”

“i left early.”

“what?” you say, incredulously. juju doesn’t say anything. she parks, and then she gets out of the car—and before you can even open your door, she’s already helping you out. as you walk? you pry for answers.

“juju, i don’t think you can do that—“

“i’m a celebrity, i can do .. basically? anything.”

“juju.” you scoff. “you’re not serious. it’s just me—“

“it’s not.” juju interrupts this time, so firm it makes you lose your track of mind— her hand, once wrapped around your wrist, lowers itself and softens its grip. it intertwines with your fingers. “it’s not just you.” she repeats, visibly regretting her choices of words last night. “it’s you. you get it?”

“truthfully, no.”

“bro—I,” juju stutters, chokes even, on her own words, fumbling like she’s fumbling with the keys to her apartment right now—“i mean that…” she restarts, “i mean that i’m sorry, okay?”

you stand still in your pretty dress and high heels. you stand frozen until she pulls you in. she closes the door and she takes your face into her hands, and her palms are warm, and she is warm.

warmth. that’s what you were missing.

the ache disappears.

and then you start crying.

“you’re such a fucking asshole sometimes.”

“oh, baby,” juju immediately coos. “i know,” she says, pulling you into her chest, her right hand stroking your head while her left hand pulls you in close by the waist. “i’m sorry.” she whispers. “i’m so sorry, baby. i wasn’t thinking. i’m sorry. i got my common sense back, yeah? i’m here now. i’m here, baby—please don’t cry.” she whispers. “i’m sorry. i’m sorry.” she repeats, sinking down to the floor with you—“i got you gifts, ma?” she offers. “got you so many gifts.”

“i just wanted you.” you say through a rather pathetic voice crack.

it only makes juju even more apologetic.

“i’m so fucking sorry baby. i’ll make it up to you, okay? i’ll make it up to you. come onn, prettiest girl—“ she whispers, kissing your temple, smoothing down your hair and getting it out of your face. you finally look up, still mad but not able to resist her—and you breath a shaky sigh.

“there she is,” juju says anyway, because the fact you’re looking at her is progress. “my girl.” she continues, “my girl who set up a whole dinner for me, set it all up for me, my girl who worked so hard— my girl who missed me s’much—shhh, baby, i’m here, i’m here,”

you find yourself squeezing tighter. she’s here now. that’s all you've really wanted.

she ends up cleaning you up, putting you in what she knows is your favorite hoodie (hers), carrying you, bridal style, to her couch—wraps you up in a little blanket burrito and places you on her chest where she can kiss your forehead easy. this time, she has netflix opened and ready—and she knows exactly what to have you guys watch: your favorite show that you’ve watched over seventy times, but can’t seem to get tired of.

your eyes are blown wide, focused entirely on snuggling into her hoodie and at the show you’re watching, and you’re too lost in your own post-party, post-argument, post-bad week bliss that you don’t notice juju spends every second looking at you.

you just know that it’s warm.

her hands are wrapped around you, and she’s so warm. and she’s saying sorry. and her voice is soft and it makes you sleepy.

so you close your eyes, and you start to fall harder for her, and simultaneously start to fall asleep.

there is no ache anymore. and you know it is not okay yet, but it will be.

but for now, the awareness that you will not wake up to a cold, empty couch—that's enough.

@likelysobbing.

#juju x reader #juju watkins x reader #juju watkins #judea skies watkins #usc x reader #usc trojans #usc wbb #usc wcbb #usc women’s basketball #wbb x reader #wcbb x reader #promo tag…….#paige bueckers

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likelysobbing · 5 days ago

Note

relationship w juju hcs!! plss we’re in drought:(( specially reader doesn’t play any sports lmaoo we unathletic out here

𖥻 LOOK AT ME. juju watkins x unathletic!fan!reader

reblogs + comments appreciated more than likes.

synopsis: juju dating headcanons … but the twist is that you? play absolutely no sports. you’re clueless, even… until she comes to your rescue.

notes: IF ANYONE COMES AT ME FOR HOW THE READER HERE IS CLUELESS ABOUT SPORTS + UNATHLETIC… DON’T. I GENUINELY DID NOT KNOW HOW TO PUT THE REST OF MY THOUGHTS ON THE SCREEN UNTIL I MADE READER CLUELESS ABOUT SPORTS. i just be putting readers into situations fr… i hope you guys like this situation though!! also hi nonnieee, i feel like everyones saying theres a juju drought lately 😭 i hope this satiates your cravings! i’ve always adored juju’s eyes, so i hope y’all understand why i center the fact juju wants you to look at her so much lol i would kill to look into that womans eyes

cw: reader is clueless about sports and only meets juju out of luck, jealous!juju, this goes from first meeting -> how you guys got close -> when you realized you were inlove with eachother -> the confession and how it happened -> ACTUAL dating headcanons, and there’s a bunch of scenarios sprinkled inbetween these headcanons i would say so just a little treat for my juju girls, juju is lowkey possessive

you were never really into sports. like sure, there was MAJOR eye candy, but other than that you found no other reason to be interested in the art of athletics. you respected it enough to commend it, but not to attend it. atleast that’s what you initially thought.

then, your friend told you she had extra courtside tickets to a homegame, and you— already dreaming of seeing juju watkins up close—seized the opportunity immediately. truth be told you did not know shit about basketball, all you knew was that juju was good at it and also you’d be too scared to approach her in any other situation! so why not take this chance to admire her from afar, but even closer (and still without her knowing you exist!)?

when you arrived to the game, you sat courtside with your friend, she bullied you for only agreeing to come because juju was hot and you—emboldened by the fact that juju wasn’t near to hear you say it, outright said: “okay, so i’m only here for juju—whatever! i don’t need to know how the game works to know that she’s gonna look pretty doing… whatever she does.” you trail off.

and then you looked to your right, and saw juju looking straight at you, having heard all you fucking said while you sat there like an idiot who just said it. she raised an eyebrow teasingly, while your friend just looked at you in shock, because no way you just said that infront of juju watkins? juju, meanwhile, was just minding her business.

that entire game you were cheering for juju. like to the point it was embarrassing. especially because she knew you did not know what the fuck she was doing, only that she was winning. like, obviously she appreciated you cheering, but she didn’t appreciate you being clueless—so after the win, when you came up to her, peer pressured by your friend despite knowing you were going to be quietly publicly humiliated, she had things to say.

you come to her when the crowd quiets down, and there’s only a few notable faces left.

“hi,” you say, simple yet none the less absolutely humbling. you looked up at her as she looked down at you, face unreadable as you continued—or tried to—speak. “…may i please get a photo?”

realistically speaking, juju won’t say no to you— you’re a fan. you’re right about that hunch because she smiles and poses for a photo, her pretty smile on display. what you don’t predict?

“you real bold. talking all that. coming to a basketball game just cause you think i’m pretty… doin’ whatever i do? did you know i was there?” she asked, barely holding in a laugh (one you didn’t know was well-meaning, or mean spirited), uncapping her sharpie as she took your phonecase you shyly handed over to sign. you froze. you got put on the spot and you froze. judea skies watkins… put you on the spot… and you froze.

you needed to speak right now. she is staring at you like you are a freak (not in that way, which is even worse). you need to speak, like actually, right now.

“yes, maybe you would offer to teach me.” whattheFUCKwhathefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuckNONONONONOwhattheFUCKwhatthefuck—juju’s eyes widen for a split second, before she laughs it off and bids you farewell with a ‘we’ll see!’ when you know for a fact that you will NOT see because you are NEVER going to put yourself into the same room as her ever again.

#1 loser award goes to…

JKJKJK ILY GUYS. but after that i don’t think you’d be keen on seeing juju again.

so you try to move on with your life! over these next few days, you try. you really do. you even contemplate unfollowing juju.

you open her profile on your phone, your eyes land on the following button and you’re about to click— until you get a notif.

@jujubballin has requested to follow you!

you nearly fell out of your chair i’m telling you girl but you ACCEPT ANYWAY, right? okay, so you’re mutuals with the judea skies watkins… and what do you do?

absolutely fucking nothing.

you don’t text her at all. you don’t try to ask why she followed you. you just sit with the fact that she did and that at most all it would be would be something to brag about. you did not want to take more than you could—didn’t want to expect something randomly blossoming, didn’t want to expect anything.

so you did nothing.

but she? she did something.

OH NAHH WHAT IS THATTTT

juju dmed you first, and outright flirted with you. that’s how you two began. like it was literally that simple. she genuinely offered to meet up with you and teach you about basketball, and you genuinely took that invitation. you hosted her back at your dorm, and while she explained basic basketball rules to you, you did your best to listen intently without freaking out over the fact there was a famous person in your bed teaching you about what they were fucking famous for.

the first few meetings were solely basketball, until...

“yeah, that would be a foul, but most refs miss it because it’s usually so subtle and if i’m being honest… no ref ever really cares that much about their job.” juju murmured, her legs dangling on the floor of your dorm as she pointed out little details in past games of hers— you were seated, criss-cross, right next to her. thigh-to-thigh. she poked the inside of her cheek with her tongue as she scanned throughout the footage, scouring for more to point out.

you were just staring at her.

“your glasses are falling.” you pointed something out this time, a sly smile on your face as you successfully snapped her out of her trance.

“shit, they are? oh, yeah—”

“are they prescribed? or blue light?” you ask, tilting your head. juju answers, and then you bounce back and forth. continously. unintentionally.

and suddenly, juju’s laptop is closed, and you're face to face.

that’s when it fucking starts im telling you its always LIKE THAT CHAT you say something that steers the both of you away from what you said you’d both do and suddenly you find that you have more in common than you initially realized and outside of the bounds of fan and celebrity, you click. you click as friends.

she starts telling you about basketball instead of just teaching you, and you somehow learn easier that way—when she’s teaching you over brunch instead of over the bright screen of a laptop, and you both have the freedom to smile because it’s not really instructional anymore. it’s just… normal friend things.

normal friend things.

you’re learning.

you’re learning quicker than ever, over just her passionate little rambles rather than the professional type of curriculum she originally put you through trying to act like a professional coach knowing she didn’t have a future in coaching. you’re learning, and you’re using actual basketball words (as you said yourself), and you’re using them correctly. you’re aware. you can watch basketball games and know what’s going on. you cheer when she cheers without having to look at her face.

she wishes you’d look at her longer, though.

it’s a really odd feeling, whatever’s sprouting in her chest. she wants you to look at her, but she can’t look at you for long or she’ll get shy. like dead-ass, real shy.

she’s meant to be paying attention to the game you’re both watching right now, but she’s only really looking at you—“that’s a foul, isn’t it?”

her heart beats a bit faster. “what is?”

“this.” you murmur, leaning in to replay the footage. you point at two of the players, “that’s a moving screen right? you mentioned it back when we hung out that one time at... hold on, i forgot, wait–”

she looks at where you pointed, and lo-and-behold— you’re correct. that is a foul. you actually learned.

that was when she realized she liked you—when she realized you paid attention. to her, not to her accolades or her skill—just to her.

you realized you liked juju when you noticed how quiet you were about her. you didn’t gloat about how you randomly had juju follow you back, nor did you brag that you knew her at all. you admired juju quietly. you liked her so much you couldn’t speak without choking on your words.

and yet, for a good while, neither of you did anything. there were moments: brushes of your fingers against eachother, looks that lingered far too long, and hoodies she gave you because ‘you get cold too easily’. hoodies you never gave back.

you were both pining. severely. like so much that it hurt other people, RANDOM PEOPLE WHO JUST HAPPENED TO PAST BY YOU TWO ONCE, even seeing you two hovering over eachother.

yet you both didn’t do anything. you didn’t know how to bring it up without breaking what you had, and neither did juju, because you both knew the risks pursuing a relationship— juju had a fleshed out career, and you were an average college student who she, somehow, got entangled with.

so you both bottled it up— until that small little candle light turned into a raging fire. love.

until it was pure, unadulterated love.

and love? that’s not something you can bottle up for long.

she was just some girl, in like one of your classes, who just happened to be at the game. you swore. she saw you sitting alone and decided to take the spot to your left, before looking to her right—right at you. she said she knew you, struck up a conversation, and all that good stuff.

juju saw it. she even heard you guys, albeit a bit muffled—you were talking about homework—but what really bothered her was how close she was. thigh to thigh, like you two usually are. she pretends not to be alarmed.

and then you don’t even look at her before tip off, because apparently some girl is more important than her, which isn’t true, and she knows this, because she’s juju watkins. you should be looking at her, right? so why aren’t you looking at her?

you’re doing those sweet little gestures again. with her. using your hands to talk, laughing at something she said that probably wasn’t even that funny, and suddenly juju’s mind is foggy. that’s not good. especially not before a game. but it’s not foggy because of you and that stupid girl, right? obviously not. why would it be? you’re just friends. friends who look at eachother too long. friends who sit too close and don’t scooch away. just. friends.

friends.

juju looks to where you’re sat in the stands during halftime. you don’t look back. you’re too busy continuing whatever fuckass conversation you’re having with that girl.

juju should not fucking care right now.

she has so many eyes on her already, but they don’t see her like yours do.

you should be looking right at her.

but you don’t.

you come to her after the game— another win, as expected. you pat her shoulder and grin and she looks down at you. “who was she?” she asks, and you tilt your head. “that girl? oh, just some girl.”

“some girl?” she repeats. “she didn’t need your eyes all up on her then.”

she backs you up into a wall, and you blink. by now, juju’s sizzling—she’s tired, she’s mad, she’s frighteningly jealous—and you haven’t made any moves on eachother. so juju decides, fuck it, let this be the first one.

“i don’t like it,” she murmurs, “when you look at anyone else like that. like you look at me.”

and surprisingly, you laugh, less fearful than she anticipated, “juju.” you say her name so sweet, she can’t help but close her eyes and sigh in relief because that’s good— that’s great.

“juju,” you repeat, “i could look at you forever.”

the confession isn’t necessarily a confession. there is no official i love you. but there’s obviously a shift.

juju walks you to your now empty dorm (your roommate slept over at her boyfriend’s) that night. when you open the door, you turn to her. she’s staring straight at you. she doesn’t look away.

“you mine?” she asks, simple and sweet. and so, so soft.

“always been,” you respond, easily.

you don’t sleep alone that night.

OKAY THATS DONE LETS GET TO DATING HEADCANONS NOW

juju is like the cutest girlfriend ilovehersomuchshessocute

ok first things first thank the lord you bagged judea fucking watkins hello

at the start of the relationship, it’s the same old thing with just a touch more intimacy knowing that you guys are together—she touches you more, she’s more open, but she doesn’t outright go into spoiling you or treating you like a queen.

this sort of.. phase, lasts for a good few weeks as you accustom yourself to what you usually have to do when you date an renowned athlete with multiple NIL deals: which is, increase privacy.

juju would keep the relationship private out of respect for you and out of the need to preserve her career; she doesn’t want you to be upheld to the same standards she is, so she makes sure the public’s eyes don’t stray away from her.

once you get past that phase though? once you get used to that privacy?

lover girl. like im serious. this girl is DOWNNN and she does not want to get up. juju seems like the type of person to be shy but at the same time shameless in her love for you.

she’s more of an introvert, so most days are spent inside bonding over whatever and tangling your legs together. you don’t need any more entertainment other than her stories and both of yours’ laughter. half the time you lowkey die laughing, the other half you’re getting real with eachother with no judgement at all.

when i say she’s shy, she’s shy. you compliment her and suddenly she gets really soft, she gets really flustered and she even hides her face using her hoodie—burrows into the chair if your compliment gets her that much. she likes looking at you when you aren’t looking at her because the eye contact with you makes her nervous and she’s really not trying to be nervous. she wants to admire her lady in peace!

she’s not protective so to say, but she is cautious. she won’t put you on a leash but she’ll place a hand on your shoulder. she doesn’t restrict you but she does ensure that you know what you’re getting into ; she expects updates being sent to her whenever you’re gone. they don’t have to be that often, but if she texts you and you don’t respond within the day? she’s checking you.

she’s very physically affectionate. she likes having her hands on you—you’re just so, so soft! she loves laying on your stomach most of all. i feel that she’d also compare hand sizes with you. she eats the fact that you’re shorter than her UP.

“wait, wait—” juju grinned, raising her hand up. you blinked, before giving her a high five.

“no, genius! that’s not what i meant!” she laughed, taking your hand again and placing it flat against her own. by then, you realized what she was doing and you sighed.

“again, ju?”

“yes, again. look—look! i think you got smaller.”

“i did not.”

“you’ll always be shorter than me though.”

when it comes to who pays, juju doesn’t mind paying all the time but obviously you don’t let her do that. you treat her, especially when she has her off days, and she always feels a little lighter knowing you’re in her corner. juju doesn’t like saying it, but she likes to know that she has someone she can rely on.

she does spoil you though. like don’t get her wrong. it’s not designer shit, but what is designer worth if it’s not from the heart—juju’s gifts? thought over multiple times to make sure they’re perfect. she always gets you gifts she thinks hard about because she doesn’t want you just loving the gift because she gave it, she wants you loving the gift because you love it.

she’s also a complete baby—but she’s your baby so you can not be complaining. as i said, she’s very physically affectionate, and she’s a very cuddly person. whenever you have to get up she has such a visible frown on her face:( she’s like this ☹️

when it comes to endearments, juju definitely calls you “mama” or “ma” . like that is the most judea endearment i’ve ever heard. she also refers to you as ‘her woman’ to other people, but there’s also “baby,” and “babe”. when it comes to what she likes to be called, i feel like hearing her full name come from your lips always gets her— so you’d call her judea, or juju, but other than that she adores being called “love”. it makes her smile big!!

she doesn’t point at you when she scores but she does go to your side of the stands like “y’all see that? more importantly, did YOU see that?” because this girl does not want to deal with the embarrassment of pointing at you and MISSING

your relationship is private. it’s secret. literally only the fans who dig know about it—but to juju’s teammates? to anyone close to her? juju isn’t vocal about it, but they know how much you’ve softened her. juju doesn’t need to speak to show people she loves you, not when the fact she greets you with such a wild smile is already enough.

it’s you two. it’s always going to be you two, no matter what the world says. the fact that juju is confident in this, is confident in you— is already enough.

@likelysobbing.

#juju watkins #juju watkins x reader #judea skies watkins #judea watkins #usc wbb #usc x reader #usc wcbb #wcbb x reader #wbb x reader #wbb #wcbb #usc trojans #.. promo tags next:#paige bueckers x reader

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likelysobbing · 5 days ago

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new posts today:)) juju x readers

#2.8k and 2.9k i think #like for word count #juju watkins x reader #juju x reader #🤍 sol bears news!!

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likelysobbing · 7 days ago

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I LOVE GIRLS SOMUCH

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likelysobbing · 8 days ago

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upcoming works will be juju fics

#🤍 sol bears news!!

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likelysobbing · 9 days ago

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boo! happy personal account <3 you guys can interact with me here for quicker responses hehehe, i tend to not answer asks on my main until i get writing done so this’ll be easier for me to interact with people like i want to:)

we just love to dream, i fell asleep when you woke up …

@likelysobbing’s personal account !!

U CAN CALL ME LIS HERE!! DAY WN. my username is based off demi chelsy’s instagram bio. i have more of a personality on this blog because i am not bound by the confines of blog aesthetic. sixteen and slightly psychotic i fear!1!1! BIGGEST LESBIAN ALIVE. iiii like gold and i have this thingg where i walk through out my living room strutting n listening to tiktok audios … i call it exercise. i’m not good at interacitng with people first so i usually js compliment them as a way to try n befriend them. you’ll see that alot, btw. i have an instagram in progress for online friends, a tiktok in progress, and this is my personal account! i draw, i write, i sing, i d.i.y shit, i listen to music, and i have NO GAME 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️ LET’S BE FRIENDS!! :D

it’s not you, baby, it’s just me.

@urh0megirl says hello !!!!

#🤍 sol bears news!!

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likelysobbing · 9 days ago

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IVE BEEN WELL! IVE BEEN WORKING ON MY PERSONAL ACCOUNT HEHEHEH ITLL BE FINISHED SOON

hiiiii

LIGHT OF MY LFIE HELLO SPECIAL GIRL’!!! CONGRATULATIONS ON 1K I HOPE YOUVE BEEN WELL OMG

#🤍 kaaaamiii !!!!#🤍 parts of sol’s soul

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likelysobbing · 10 days ago

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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. 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, you 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.

#paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers #uconn paige bueckers #wnba x reader #paige bueckers uconn #dallas wings #wnba basketball #uconn huskies #uconn x reader #paige x reader

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likelysobbing · 10 days ago

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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.

#juju watkins x reader #usc x reader #usc wbb #juju watkins #juju x reader #judea skies watkins #judea watkins #usc trojans #usc women’s basketball #wcbb x reader #wbb #womens basketball #wbb x reader

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