𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊꩜
warnings: language prolly 💀, very cute and fluffy tbh! jewell is so adorable!! luv her zownnn. slow burn lol part one
summary!: It’s the summer of 2024, and you and your former teammate Jewell have been selected for the olympics. You were ecstatic not only to have the opportunity but to finally play alongside your good friend once again. Yet, everyone can’t help but notice the tension between you two….
There was a knock at your door. You shuffled off your small twin bed, the setup all too reminiscent of your college days. “Who is it?” you called out. The people in the Olympic Village were so kind—almost too kind. Everyone was hyper-fixated on camaraderie, but all you cared about was winning. A bit harsh? Sure. But you didn’t care. You were the only player handpicked to join the team, and it meant everything to you. Things with the Sky were questionable at best. You loved your new teammates—some more than others—but you hated being traded, especially being traded away from her. Nobody had on-court chemistry like you and Jewell.
When the trade talks came through after the championship, it tore the whole team apart. Worst of all, it ripped you away from your best friend. You both kept in touch, of course, but distance and busy schedules had strained the relationship. The late-night store runs, the prank calls to other teammates, the brunch dates? All of it was over. You hated it. Which is exactly why you worked your ass off to make the Olympic team. You knew there was no way A'ja or Diana wouldn’t make the cut, so you banked on Sue’s empty spot being left for you. Luckily, you were right.
You opened the door to find Jewell standing there with a few of the practice players in their warmups. You furrowed a brow, confusion written all over your face. “So, hey, what’s going on?” you asked, stepping outside in your pajamas.
“I was just wondering if you wanted to practice with me,” Jewell said, an almost devious smirk playing on her lips. “I feel like we need to get back into our groove.”
You glanced around, scratching the back of your neck. “You know, I was really looking forward to exploring France. Or maybe resting. But—”
“Please, come on, Y/N!” she begged, her big, beady eyes practically piercing your soul.
You sighed dramatically. “Yo begging ass kills me!” you said, rolling your eyes. “I don’t even know where my clothes are. You wrong for catching me off guard like this.”
Jewell snickered, playfully hitting your arm, obviously tickled by your inconvenience. “What y’all be saying?” she teased. “No shade, but you need to practice.”
You could feel your face flush as an embarrassed smile crept across it. “This cannot be real,” you said, bursting into laughter.
“What?” Jewell asked, feigning innocence. “I’m not trying to be mean, but we’ve got real competition out here. This isn’t like playing against the sk—”
You cut her off with a playful shove, laughing as you opened the door wider. “You ain’t shit, I hope you know that. And for the record, we beat y’all that one time,”
Jewell’s eyes instantly rolled to the back of her head. “You know we were having an off day! Don’t think it’ll happen again. Now hurry your ass up, bro.”
You shook your head, still laughing as you shuffled back into your room to find something to wear.
As you dug through your suitcase, a twinge of nostalgia washed over you. It wasn’t just about practice or the competition; it was about getting back into the rhythm with her. It was about being around her in general. You knew she wasn't happy, and she knew you weren’t either. You two had known each other since college and ended up getting drafted just a few years apart. You instantly clicked—both on and off the court—which led to multiple championships.
You couldn’t deny, though, you did need practice. You were on a streak of off-games, with the wins only thanks to the grace of God. If you flaked in France, you wouldn't hear the end of it. The countless "Get ready to learn Chinese" tweets had already killed your ego enough, who knows what they'd say if you fucked up a gold medal.
You met Jewell at the team's designated practice court, squeezing in a quick one-on-one while the practice players changed. The ball was in her hands, and you were locked in, defending with everything you had. You towered over her, but Jewell was lightning fast. You’d watched her get double, even triple-teamed, and still sink a shot without breaking a sweat.
"C’mon, Ms. Loyd, take the shot," you teased, pressing up against her, hands high, every bump and nudge intentional.
Jewell stepped back, a move you’d seen countless times, and danced around you like you weren’t even there. She took the shot, the ball flying through the air with deadly precision. Without thinking, you leaped, reaching as high as you could, arms straining, desperate to block it. You were partially successful—the ball didn’t make it—but the sharp sting in your finger was a painful reminder that you weren’t quite as fast as she was.
You silently cursed to yourself, shaking your hand in a futile attempt to make the pain go away. "Good block, but you’re still too slow. You almost didn’t block it," Jewell said, her words honest to a fault—which was so like her. "And your movement is kind of sloppy. It's giving 'big' for no reason. You think you can go toe to toe with those tall ass German girls at this rate?"
You sat in silence, her words stinging more than you cared to admit. She wasn’t the type to sugarcoat anything, and she wasn’t lying. Ever since you’d gotten the news that you made the team, a constant feeling of imposter syndrome had weighed on you. You didn’t even know how you made it onto the roster, and it seemed like Jewell was wondering the same thing.
"Whatever..." you muttered, picking up the ball and dribbling it back and forth, trying to hide the shame creeping up your neck. The practice players soon filtered in, starting their drills and plays. You knew you weren’t leaving until Jewell was satisfied, no matter how much you wanted to.
