zoesshortstories

[zoesshortstories]

I'm moving to a new blog! @zozowrites

I can't follow anyone back from this one since its a sideblog on my main account from when I was 13 :(

I won't be re-posting the work I've already put up but the rest of each series and anything else I publish will be on @zozowrites

[zoesshortstories]

All's Fair (part one)

Natasha Romanoff x Avenger!fem!reader

Words: 2.0k, probably going to have two more parts! Would write more if requested!

TW: slight discussion of reader's body and a body positive/neutral mindset

Seeing Earth through the window of your ship always took your breath away. Since you weren’t in open space while Earth was still in sight when you left four months ago, you couldn’t see it. But you made sure you couldn’t miss it this time. It only took an hour to make it to the United States, and half an hour from there to make it to the Avengers compound. 

Bruce called Steve from the comms console of the ship. He cleared you for landing and you found an empty dock. 

Seeing most of the Avengers standing at the waiting area was a shock to you and then you reminded yourself they were probably here from Bruce. You hadn’t known them that long before you went on your first mission, which was supposed to be only two weeks. It ended up being four months. 

Of course you already knew Steve; he was the one who had picked you for your promotion to Avenger. That and your water bending powers pretty much sealed the deal. And you knew Scott too. You had babysat his daughter through high school and a little bit in college when you were home. He was the one who wrote your recommendation for your application to SHIELDs Academy. Special forces, even. 

You had started regular training and “team bonding” with the Avengers in the week you were there before you left, but the team bonding felt more like team integration. 

Tony had reached out while you were on your mission, and in the long stretches between planets in search of the device, you had gotten to know each other. He was impressed by your academic resume but your comms thread turned into space memes not even a month into it. Nat you hadn’t even met at all. She was on an undercover recon mission for a month when you joined the team and neither of you had reached out to the other. All you knew was her reputation. 

Last but not least, you knew Bruce. You knew him pretty well, as he did you. There were typically at least three days in between planets where you could coast on autopilot after setting the route. You liked to read books you brought on your Kindle and he liked drawing up scientific theories. That’s not true, but he wished it was. He did draw up quite a few, but most of the time when he wasn’t actively working he was meditating or journaling. Or talking to you. After four long months on that mission you had talked about everything as mundane as favorite colors and first memories to deep questions like what happens after death and your respective nightmares. It wasn’t uncommon to wake up from a good sleep because the other was murmuring (or screaming) in their bunk. It was nice to wake him up and offer him some hot chocolate or coffee, as he often did for you. 

The door opened down and you stepped out with your duffle to walk down the path to the compound. The mid-December air was crisp and sharp against your face and bare arms. You had forgotten about local weather because it didn’t really matter when you were coming home. So unfortunately you were just wearing an athletic navy tank top and reflective but dark utility pants. You folded your arms over your stomach and shook in your place, shaking out each of your legs. In doing so you unknowingly pressed your boobs up against themselves and you were showing a considerable amount more cleavage than you had planned on. 

You ran back on to the ship to grab one of the bright green fur coats from planet Oregazze 4 and put it on. You followed the team, who had started walking without you, down the path. It wasn’t bad walking alone. It gave you the time to look around and really take it all in. The way Steve relaxed more when walking next to Natasha or Bucky, how Tony spoke with his hands and his watch flashed around. Natasha slowed down to walk in step with you. 

“Hi I’m Y/N Y/L/N” you said and stuck our your hand. She shook it. 

She said “I know who you are” with a friendly smile at the same time as you said: “I don’t think we’ve met yet” 

You exhaled through your nose, amused. 

“Well I’m Natasha” She said. 

“ I know who you are” you said in the same way, smiling a little. 

“So” she continued, clearing her throat. From what you could tell, something in her wanted to continue talking to you but she didn’t know what to say. “That coat is…” 

She trailed off and you jumped in. “Really something, right? We each got one on Oregazze 4 because that planet was way colder than we anticipated.” 

From there the conversation turned more natural and flowing when she shared a story about buying a really ugly coat on a mission just to keep eyes on her mark. You both let it drift whichever way it wanted after that and before and you were halfway back to the compound and in the middle of discussing your favorite breakfast foods (your was a bagel with peanut butter and hers was a granola bar with fruit) when the Sky clapped loud with thunder followed shortly by a strike of lightening. You both mutually took a step closer to each other as you watched the wind whip the leaves of the trees. Then came the downpour of rain. It was hard and sharp and pounding all around you. She started to jog towards the compound and you followed suit. 

Inside with everyone else you remember you had water powers. Well, after Bruce mentioned them. 

“Y/N, care to help us out here?” He asked and you nodded. You took in a breath and then with a slight flick of your hand you pulled the water off of everyone and into a huge blob in the middle. Another flick and you directed it towards the door, and just for fun you had an arm shape out of it and freeze so that it could open the door itself. You let it splat onto the already soaked concrete and the door closed on its own. 

The team was shocked silent. You already knew Steve had read your file and resume, he was the one who made the final decision on who could be promoted to this level. You smiled weakly as everyone stared at you. This was just plain uncomfortable. 

“Uh thanks” He said and the group started to disperse. 

“Welcome,” you told him and headed towards Bruce. You took your mission log journals out of your bags and followed him through the long, sterile hallways to the business side of the compound. In the middle it was a busy headquarters. And from the headquarters each department had its own section. There was a wing for desk duty and retired agents, a corporate and government wing, there was the department for new cadets and recruits, there was the average agents quarters, and then the Avengers portion. Of course there were also doors where you didn’t know what was behind them. But as you opened the glass ones from the Avengers hallway and into the lobby of headquarters, you felt at peace when it closed and you heard the lock click behind you. 

The meeting took hours. You pulled your knees into yourself in a spinning chair next to Bruce and talked through everything that happened, all the intel you gained, and put the device in the box. Then you had to digitalize every journal into electronic files (which was stupid because if told, you would’ve just made them like that in the first place). It was eleven o’clock when you made it back to the Avengers general living room. 

You headed down another hallway but it was less sterile than the last. Tony had made sure it was wooden floors with crown molding around the doorways and on the ceiling. The plaster walls were painted a warm, homey egg shell color. Everyone had their own room at the compound, but most people had their own apartment or house for when they wanted to spend time there. You had your own apartment but you didn’t want to drive all the way there now. 

In your room you found your duffle bag already sitting on your bed. There was a vase of fresh flowers on the nightstand and a welcome note from Natasha that quite literally just said “welcome. -Nat”. Before you closed your door behind you, you waved goodnight to Bruce. You couldn’t fall asleep. You tossed and turned and gave up all together. Next you tried to read but none of your books could hold your attention. 

“Screw this” you though and pulled the covers off of yourself. You pressed your bare feet into the cold wooden floor and left your room altogether. In the kitchen you took out ingredient after ingredient, making sure you had enough. Just as you started to mix together the batter, a silhouette appeared in the hallway. You looked at them and they took a few steps more into the light. Natasha smiled back when you smiled at her and took a few strides to close the gap between herself and the other side of the kitchen island. 

“Watcha making?” She asked. 

“Muffins. Do you know if we have muffin wrappers? I don’t necessarily need them but they would be nice.” You said and Natasha fished them out of a drawer for you. She placed them in your upturned palm but let her hand linger before pulling it back. You finished putting the muffins in their tins silently. You worked like a well oiled machine but you had really only known her for a day. For every tin she oiled you put the batter in and you sprinkled them with sugar before you put them in the oven. 

You sat back and hopped up on the counter, unafraid that your thighs spread out where you sat but the part off the counter didn’t. Natasha, who leaned against the counter with her forearms, looked at you. She stared at you. You pretended not to notice even though you felt like you were burning everywhere she looked. Despite your best efforts, you were softly blushing. 

Her eyes started at your torso and worked themselves up to your hair. You looked away when you thought she was staring at your chest and tried not to be self conscious about how low cut your tank top was. Or how it hung tight at the arms but crinkled in on itself at your waist, giving the impression of a curve you had gone years fine without. You, thinking you were going to sleep, had taken all of your minimal makeup off before you climbed into bed. 

Your lips fell open slightly as you kept your eyes trained to the wall clock when Natasha looked at your face. It wasn’t long, probably around three seconds, which you should’ve known from looking at the clock, before you looked at her too. You looked straight to her eyes because she was looking at yours. The twitch of upward motion in the corners of her lips was enough to keep your vision and focus trained on her. Neither of you said anything out loud and you didn’t need to. The silence wasn’t quiet, really, because of how loud your thoughts were. Because of how loud your heart was beating in your chest. 

Minutes later the clicking timer dinged and Natasha pushed herself forward off of the counter. She continued walking towards the the hallway where she came from (not the same hallway as your room) and you watched her walk away. The content swing of her hips led her to the doorway, where she turned to say goodnight and instead saw you checking out her ass. 

“Only fair.” She said with a shrug over her shoulder and a wink. “Goodnight, Y/N” 

It was most definitely a good night.

[zoesshortstories]

The Party (Fancy Pants chapter one)

Words: 2.3k

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x actress!fem!oc Ava Radmall

Thanks to Cam, Paige and Ava meet and have an instant connection. Slow burn and rising tension, mutual pining but idiots who won't admit feelings.

TW: discussion of religion (Christianity)

Paige

I answer the knock at the door since Cam is busy with other hostess duties. It’s 8:15 pm and her house and yard is already bustling with people. Her holiday parties are always a hit. 

On the other side is a woman with big beautiful brown eyes and long swooping brown hair partially held back in a clip. Her face is practically glowing in the light, but I’m sure she’d look angelic in the dark too. 

“Hi, I’m Ava” she says and reveals almost perfectly straight and white teeth with a smile. She reaches her right hand out to shake mine. It makes my fingertips buzz. 

“I’m Paige.” I muster and return her smile, coming to my senses. I step to the side so she can come in and try not to stare as she slips off her big black scarf shawl to reveal that her long red longsleeve dress she’s wearing has an open back. I can’t help that my eyes linger on the curve of her spine that practically points down to the way the fabric gracefully gathers at her hips before flowing to her ankles. 

She must notice me staring because she says, “It’s from Reformation.” 

“Uh, what?” I say, feeling caught in the act.

“My dress, silly.” She says with a smile and then Cam comes up to hug her from behind. Cam is still a good height taller than her despite Ava’s sleek black heels. 

“Ugh it’s so good to see you!” Cam squeals when she releases Ava from her grasp. 

“Oh my gosh I know! I’m so glad I made it back from Montana in time. It was snowing so bad that when they delayed my flight I thought they were gonna cancel it and I was so worried!” 

She goes to hug Cam again and they sway back and forth. 

Eventually Cam seems to remember I’m here too and introduces us, despite remarking it looks like we’ve already met. 

“We were roommates at Stanford,” Cam mentions. That helps me bridge the gap as to why the Ava Radmall was here. An on the rise star currently in the middle of her huge rise to fame. I don’t know how she has enough hours in a day or days in a year to be the love interest in the next Marvel movie and the funniest character in the latest season of Wednesday. Not that I was paying too much attention to what she was doing, it’s just hard not to hear her name thrown around. 

“You already know Paige’s a rookie on the team, but come and I’ll introduce you to the rest of them out back!” Cam exclaims and they walk through the party arm in arm. I decide to walk behind them. 

We reach her backyard with the pool and the high top standing tables. Ava gracefully shakes everyone’s hand and then Cam points her to the open bar. 

“I’ll have a dirty Shirley, please.” She asks the bartender as I stand next to her. 

“Ooh make that two please.” I add. “Another dirty Shirley fan, that’s kind of rare.” 

“Yeah well I had a 24-48 rule and Cam’s season didn’t align with mine so I figured why not just add alcohol to my go-to?” 

“Oh what sport did you play?” I ask. This makes her even more interesting. An athlete? 

“Soccer. Midfield.” She answers as our drinks are placed. We thank the bartender and head back to the team, continuing our small talk. 

Ava

When I step into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water (and maybe to check out the snacks Cam didn’t put out for the party), I can feel Paige following behind me.

It brought me this warm feeling. I’m excited to talk to her again, especially outside of the group setting. There’s something about her that I can’t put my finger on but that’s so compelling to me. 

“I like your necklace,” she nods towards the pearly white cross outlined in shiny gold that has hung from my neck everyday since my mom gave me the it when I was sixteen. Some days I wore it more for her than for its meaning. 

Then I get to watch unabashedly as her slender fingers dip into her crisp white dress shirt. She pulls out a plain silver cross of her own to show me, like it’s our little secret. 

“How long have you been a Christian?” She asks, looking like she’s burning this memory into her brain. 

“I was raised Presbyterian but had a bit of a hard time in high school before coming back to it.” I responded. The alcohol flowing through my veins seemed to have made me extra talkative since I normally wouldn’t even say that much to someone I just met. It took me two years to tell Cam that and we were roommates practically glued to the hip. 

Paige doesn’t say anything but her face looks like she understands. Before my mind convinces me not to, I open my mouth to speak again. 

“Can you keep a secret?” I ask and she says yes both quietly and with her full chest. We both lean slightly closer and I drop my voice. “Well it’s not really a secret, most real people in my life know, but I’m not like out out. But I’m not really in either. So just like please don’t go running right to the media about it.” 

Her blue eyes bore into mine and she crosses her heart, zips her lips, and throws the key behind her back. The gesture of it all makes me giggle.

For some reason it makes me suddenly shy about telling her my “secret.” I take a sip of my drink. She quirks her eyebrow asking if I’m going to just finally tell her. 

“I’m gay or something,” I say and wave my hands around.

“Or something?” 

“Not really or something, I’m just gay got nervous.”

She laughs. The sound does something to me that’s more intoxicating than any drink a bartender could make.

“Well can I tell you a secret that’s also not really a secret?” 

I nod.

“I’m gay too.” 

For some reason when she says this it makes me smile. She’s trying to ease my nerves and relate. Although she hasn’t spoken on it publicly, it definitely did not seem like a secret. Especially considering how hot she looked in her dress shirt and navy pants, it would be a shame if she wasn’t at least a little bit gay. 

For another (maybe related) reason it makes my whole body feel warmer than it normally does when I drink. It’s like my Asian flush acting double.

“And what about your faith?” I ask. Now it’s her turn to take a sip of her own drink, but she finds it empty and I don’t stop her when she reaches for mine. I’m either way past my limit or there’s something about Paige that’s knocking all my walls down. I don’t want to tell her my classic charming stories, I want to tell her the truth.

“Also raised in the church.” She nods her head down but brings her eyes back up to you. “Never had a problem with my faith and sexuality though. I pretty much knew I liked women since I knew what a woman was.” 

“How?” I ask. 

“How did I know I was gay?” She asks, although it’s clear she knows what I’m asking about. I purse my lips and she leans back from the counter to hold her hands up in fake surrender. “Aight I’m just playing. My parents probably knew before I did but definitely before I told them, and I think because of that they were always very strong on teaching me my faith is between me and God and that He made me in His image as His child just the way I am.” 

“That’s beautiful, Paige.” I say and my eyes start to feel a little more teary than when our conversation started. 

“You alright, Ma?” She asks and places a warm hand on my shoulder, her pinky finger falling off the fabric of my dress and making contact with my skin. Her hand is warm and yet it still sends a shiver through my body that I try my best to resist.

“Oh yeah sorry that’s embarrassing,” I gush. “I think it’s just a sign I’m reaching the end of my night.” 

I place my glass in the sink and make my way towards the hidden stairwell in the side of the kitchen. 

“Where are you going, Ava?” Paige asks and I turn on the second step to look at her. 

“I always crash in Cam’s guest room after these parties.” I notice the crinkle in Paige’s brow this seems to cause so I keep going. “don’t worry I always do this so she knows, we like to debrief in the morning. What’s a night out without a roomie debrief?” 

“No it’s not that, it’s just I thought I was staying in her guest room.” 

I pause for a second before turning back to the stairs. “Don’t worry, I’m not a cuddler.” I tell her and continue unbothered on my way. 

Paige

When Cam knocks on the door the next morning I feel like she’s hitting me directly in the head. I roll back over and ignore it, glad we’re in the off season.

But when the door opens I hear the covers shift next to me as someone sits up. 

Ava. 

I fully lean into this whole fake sleeping thing as I eavesdrop on their conversation. But some nagging questions are coming back to me. Did I sleep with Ava Radmall? In Cameron’s guest room? At her holiday party? No. I must have more class than that, right? And I sure hope I would remember if that ever did happen.

“So are you gonna let me in bed so we can debrief?” Cam asks. 

“Just a second let me sit up.” Ava says and I hear her yawn. “Wait a second. If you’re wearing your Sparks sweatshirt, then whose am I wearing?” 

So that’s where my sweatshirt went. I had come back a few hours later than Ava had and patted down the armchair I thought I tossed it on but couldn’t find it. I was drunk enough to leave it to the morning, I guess. 

Cam gasps and I can only imagine her eyes going wide with it. 

“Paige!” 

“Huh?” I mumble and turn over to face them. 

Somehow this sends Cam into a fit of laughter and she’s leaning her hands against her knees with tears in her eyes before she speaks again. 

“I totally forgot that I said you could stay in my guest room and that Ava was coming! I’m so sorry guys,” she says. 

Ava pokes me in the arm. “Scoot over so Cam can cuddle up for the debrief.” She commands and so I listen. 

She props her pillow against the headboard and sits up, lifting up the comforter so Cam can get in too. I scoot to the edge and turn on my stomach to face them, remaining horizontal. 

I let the two of them chit chat away about Cam’s last few weeks of off season and her wedding planning, followed by Ava’s two weeks shooting in Montana and her plans for flying her mom out here for Christmas. Then they get around to debriefing what happened at the party. At multiple points in Cam’s story about one of her fiancé’s friends jumping fully clothed into the pool, Ava’s jaw drops. At the punchline she throws her head back and lets out a deep belly laugh that gets Cam laughing too. 

I smile at the sight of Ava and her laugh instead of laughing at Cam’s story that I wasn’t listening to in the first place. In the morning LA light her hair looks more golden bronze than the brown it was last night. It’s barely messed up from sleeping because she didn’t move once. Her bare skin was bright without her makeup, and I could see the tiny marks on her face that only made it more interesting. I want to memorize them. Then she tucks her hair behind her ears, exposing her neck, and against my better judgement I allow myself to imagine the sweet taste of her skin and what it would be like if she let me leave a mark. 

Ava leans into Cam’s shoulder and sighs. 

“I missed you. We need to hang out more.” 

“I so agree.” Cam says. “It’s both terrible and great we tend to be busy at the same time.”

“I’m pretty free in January. Not even press outside of LA.” Ava says and Cam seems to squeal again. 

“I better get back,” She says and peels out from under the covers. Cam starts talking to me as I try not to look at Ava’s pretty long legs as she looks for her dress on the ground. Her black seamless underwear has lacy sides that hug her hips just right. It looks so effortless, because of course Ava Radmall would look so fucking fantastic in her underwear, but I have this sneaking suspicion she worked to find the fit because it’s almost too good. 

She finds the dress and pulls it over her hips and then up under the sweatshirt, which she tosses off and onto me. 

Then the three of us make our way downstairs, hug Cam goodbye, and make our ways to our cars parked next to each other somehow on the curb. 

“Hey, thanks for letting me borrow your sweatshirt. And sorry for borrowing your sweatshirt.” Ava says as she opens the door, standing in the crease. I unlock my own car and turn to her.

“Hey anytime. See ya around, Ava.” 

“Goodbye, Paige.” 

[zoesshortstories]

The Best Game, Chapter 2: May Camp *

Words: 4.1K

Things between Emma and Olivia heat up as they attend the next camp and attempt to call a truce. Warning: contains smut, 18+

Olivia

My mind is all over the place. That’s nothing new but typically new camps and stuff get easier as you keep going back. Maybe not for elite, I suppose to myself. 

The car clicks as I put it in park. I can see Emma already on the pitch, stretching on the side of the field with her foam roller. Sonnett sits down next to her and immediately laughs at whatever Emma says.

That’s almost the hardest part of this game we happen to be playing: pretending Emma isn’t funny. Or maybe the hardest part is pretending she isn’t drop dead gorgeous, even huffy and puffy and sweaty. Or maybe pretending I don’t miss her and wouldn’t trade my opportunity here for her to look at me like she used to. But I guess I ruined all of that. 

I force myself out of my car and Lindsey waves at me as she walks out of hers. She sidles up to me and looks like she has something she both does and doesn’t want to say. 

“Just spit it out, Linds.” I tell her. She’s the only person I’ve managed to actually become close to in this process, probably since I was drafted to the same team she’s on. She’s a good captain. 

She sighs. “I want you to make the Olympics. I don’t know what Hayes thinks, but from a teammates and vets point of view at least, you need get it together. Playing well isn’t gonna take you the whole way at this level, you need to make connections. I don’t know what in the world is going on with you two, but you and Emma need to call a truce. And I think you should initiate it.” 

I let this mull over in my brain. She would probably say yes to a truce. I was the one to be a jerk first this time, so she’s really just dishing it back to me. And she’s basically sunshine in human form. It took her basically two practices last camp to make inside jokes with every single person there. She’s the first and loudest to cheer anyone on and almost always has her hand extended for a fist bump or high five. She’s even started doing these ridiculous “bruh” chest bumps with Kristie, whether they’re on the same team during scrimmages or not. I hate that I love it. 

“Yeah, you’re right.” I nod. 

“Wow that was easy,” is Lindsay’s response. She pats herself on the back. “Go me I guess?!” 

I roll my eyes. 

I spend the rest of practice focused on the game and practice at hand. I fend off all thoughts of Emma’s beautiful swishy ponytail, her deep brown hair seemingly glowing under the harsh afternoon sun. And I definitely don’t imagine running my finger over the graceful bump on the ridge of her nose, tracing it down her cupids bow, over her lips, and up from her chin along her jaw and back. 

The rest of the day I for real don’t make any jabs, and my change in attitude has only solicited a single “fuck off” accompanied by an “accidental” cleat to my foot when I was guarding her admittedly pretty close during a possession drill. 

Later that night I knock on her hotel room door. How I got her room number or even up to the sixth floor, who the hell knows. 

She opens the door clad in her pajamas, an oversized Stanford wsoc sweatshirt that ends just slightly before the bottom hem of her black waffle shorts. I give in to the urge follow the rest of her lean legs down to the floor. She wore green dinosaur fuzzy socks proudly on her feet. 

“What do you want.” She spoke first, raising her hand to her mouth to poorly stifle a yawn. I was too busy checking out her legs that I didn’t notice the slight ruffle to her stick straight hair. Was she sleeping before I knocked on her door? 

I open my mouth and suddenly my whole short planned spiel on making the roster and doing what we know best (playing soccer) flies out of my head. My God, I need to get it together before camp ends if I want to come back. 

“If you came to fight you’ll have to go first.” 

“Always a reactionary player,” I end up jabbing. Shit. 

“What the fuck do you want, Olivia?” She repeats, this time tacking my first name onto the end of her question along with a tinge of frustration. She probably was asleep before this, since she hasn’t called me by my first name since the last time we were in bed together. Yes, yes, I know, lame of me to keep track but the way Emma says my name is worth remembering. She has only called me Oley during practice and addressed me as “Hey you” once in the parking lot during Jan camp. She told me I parked crooked and that I should be embarrassed. 

“Right. I came here to see if you would be interested in a truce. Two options I had in mind: truce so that we make the roster, then we can drop it orrrr, we find a more ~natural~ truce by banging it out of our systems, just this on-“

The door slams in my face before I even finish the word. The fuck? Doesn’t she want to make the roster? Do we need a mediator or some shit? Maybe we were way farther into the shitter than I thought we were. 

Take a deep breath, I remind myself. Then I knock on her door and try again. I hear the latch of a deadbolt click. She must think she’s so funny. 

I rap on the door again anyways, deciding this time I’ll just talk through her door. Who cares what any of these hotel patrons think. 

“Please Emma, can I try that again? It wasn’t what I meant to say.” I take another breath. There’s no music blasting music emerging from her room so maybe she can still hear me. “We play great together, and we can do that fighting or not. No ones gonna select both of us for the roster if we’re always at each others throats.” I pause.  “And I guess that means I’m not gonna make it since you get along with everyone. All I do is fight with the one person everybody loves and score goals. But honestly I’m not even mad about it. Of course you deserve to make the roster over me.” I take a breath. I’m kind of floundering around here. It’s taken an embarrassing turn towards my inner monologue. I look down at my feet even though no one can see me and then turn to leave, saying “Well, I guess I’m just gonna go then. I’ll be nice tomorrow, I’m sor-“

The door opens. A warm hand clasps my wrist and pulls me back to where I was. Neither of us speak as she drags her eyes all across my face, searching for something. I just stare back into her eyes. She has beautiful brown eyes that light up with warm golden specs when she’s in the sun or in a good mood. Even in the dim hotel hallway I could get lost in her eyes. 

Her grip tightens on my wrist. She finally looks me back in the eyes and they’re a little glazier than before. 

“Do you still wanna fuck?” She asks and wets the inside of her bottom lip with her tongue. 

“Yuh” is all I can muster out. Of course I want to fuck. That hasn’t changed since we were seventeen. 

She’s pulling on my wrist so I lean down closer and closer to her face. 

“Then kiss me,” she says and stops pulling so my lips aren’t even an inch from hers. 

There is no world in which I could say no to this. I close the gap between us, going slow to enjoy the soft brush of her lips over mine. I place my hand she’s practically holding onto her hip and use my other to sweep through her hair, which pulls her head back ever so slightly so we can deepen the kiss. 

I walk her backwards into her room and the door clicks shut behind us. Then we hit something and she curses. 

“What ma, are you alright?” I ask her and she nods. I use this as an excuse to touch her ass, my hand rubbing the place it hit the corner of the table. Then I slip both of them to the undersides of her thighs and she sighs. I pull her up onto the table and move to kiss her neck, dragging my hands over her shorts to grip her waist, using my thumbs to massage the soft part of the sides of her. 

She seems to collect herself a little bit, and pushes my head away from her neck. 

“No hickies,” she says and I nod and move to dive into the other side of her neck. She stops me with both hands firmly on each side of my head and pulls me back so I have to look her in the eyes. “I said no hickies, you understand?” 

“Yes, ma.” 

“Good.” She says and hops off whatever I had put her on. She bends down to peel her socks off by the heel. Then she reaches for the hem of her sweatshirt but stops to look at me. If I didn’t know her any better I would’ve said she looked annoyed. But really she’s probably just impatient. 

“What are you waiting for?” She says, her version of asking me to get undressed. She starts to pull her sweatshirt up but I grab her hands. 

“Wait. Can I?” She nods and I keep my hands over hers as I guide the sweatshirt up and over her head, pulling dramatically at the end so it slings off of her arms. I toss it towards her suitcase laying open on the floor before I look at her, so when I turn back a soft gasp escapes my mouth before I can help it. 

The realization she wasn’t wearing anything under her sweatshirt comes over me as I get to sweep my eyes up her torso to her bare, perky breasts. She’d filled out a little since we were kids just messing around. As nice as her tits are, I kept my eyes moving through her collar bone and her racerback tan lines. 

I take another step towards her but she braces a hand against my low stomach, almost pushing me away. She raises her eyebrow expectantly. I do as I know she wants, and tug my own sweatshirt over my head. I feel her eyes practically burning into my skin as they travel down from my gray sports bra to the low hanging waist of my sweatpants. 

She reaches out to loop two fingers in them and pulls me back to her. We fall (or I push) her back onto her bed and I linger over her before kissing down to her shorts, leaving the occasional bite mark that I hope for her sake (and mine) won’t bruise in the morning.

“Can I?” I give them a slight tug. It’s returned  by a breathy “Please” that I could listen to for the rest of my life. 

I shimmy them off of her and she lifts her hips. I hold them down with my hands as I touch my lips softly to her clit. She lets out another soft moan as I open my mouth slowly, starting to suck at her swollen bundle of nerves. 

I wait for her to ask, and then slip one and then two fingers into her wet core, pumping slowly. 

“Livie,” she moans and sinks her fingers into my messy hair. I revel in hearing the nickname for the first time in what felt like forever. 

I move faster when she instructs me to, and soon enough my nickname is spilling from her mouth on repeat. Her grip on my hair gets tighter as she pulls on it. 

I take my mouth off of her to talk a little bit. 

“You’re close, aren’t you Ma?” I ask and she just whimpers. “You can do it for me. Yes you can, just like that.” I coax her as her thighs start to squeeze around my head. Her own drives back into her pillow, arching her back off the bed. I feel her clench and release around my fingers, still babbling “Livie” as she comes. 

Her body relaxes back down and I slow my own movement on her to a stop. She sighs softly and twirls a strand of my hair between her fingers. It sends a buzz to my own (probably dripping) core. 

I look up at her to find she’s already looking down at me, an expression on her face that looks oddly close to longing for someone who was moaning my name moments ago. For all intents and purposes, she has everything she wants from me. 

She smiles a blissful smile and scoots back to sit up. She tugs on the knee of my sweats and I slip them off. She moves to straddle me but keeps her slick center up from touching my legs. I grab her waist and pull her towards me. She flips her hair over one shoulder and starts kissing up and down my jaw, holding my head at the angle she wants it. She leans away, seemingly giggling to herself. 

“Where did you learn those new tricks? With your tongue?” She asks me and I blush. Obviously from other people. “Actually, never mind.” She realizes and tries to laugh it off again. 

She pulls back the waistband of my underwear and releases, letting the elastic snap back to my body. 

“Why didn’t you take these off too?” She asks, a putting on a faux puppy dog expression. She sighs and then moves them to the side, circling my clit with her thumb before almost immediately pushing one and then two fingers into me. I gasp and she smirks. 

“You like that, huh?” She asks me and I nod, speechless at the perfect spot she’s already hitting. She starts to curl her fingers towards me and I gasp.

“Fuck,” I can feel myself start to twitch around her fingers that have probably only gotten five or six strokes in so far. I am embarrassingly close already but somehow I’m not that embarrassed. My hips involuntarily jerk up towards her thumb, my clit searching for contact or friction. 

She seems to take this as a sign she should take her fingers out, and the look on her face tells me she wants to tease me instead.     Her glazed over eyes look too good in the light of the hotel lamp light. 

I feel her fingers start to go and my body gets the best of me.

“Wait, ma, imma- Oh” I try to stop her but somehow the drag of the tips of her fingers leaving my core tips me over the edge I had been fighting so hard not to fall off of, and I bow my head to her shoulder, biting her slightly salty skin gently. As she realizes what’s happening she just laughs softly as she slowly rubs my clit and holds me to her with her other arm and I shiver. 

“That good, huh?” She asks slyly, taking her hand away and bringing her fingers to her mouth. 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I huff. 

“Hmm because the way I see it, you barely lasted a minute. I totally won.” 

“Won?” I say, astonished. “You can’t win sex!”

“Ummm, yes you can. And I very clearly just did.”

“No, if it was a competition, which it’s not, to be clear, you can’t just declare yourself the winner!”

“Wow, somebody sounds like a sore loser.” She says and rolls her eyes.

“Oh just shut up.” I say and push on her shoulder. She falls back onto her bed. 

“Make me.” Is her response and she bites her lower lip. 

I take the cheesy bait and follow her back, bringing our lips together again lazily. 

She breaks the kiss to yawn eventually and moves to get under the covers. 

"You want another, Livie? I feel like it was too short, I'm sorry," Emma asks. Always too considerate and especially in her sleepiness.

"No, no, Ma. I couldn't take another."

"Are you sure? I feel bad." She responds and I'm glad I can't see her face or I'm sure it would sway me to another round I know I legitimately couldn't take.

I decide to be nice and admit more than I normally would. "Does it make you feel better if that was definitely in my top five orgasms of all time, and all five out of five of my top have come from you?"

I can feel her smile press into my arm.

"So what you're saying is I win at sex?" I sigh. I should've seen this coming. She giggles to herself but then calms down. I can feel her gearing up to ask a more serious question. "Wait so which time is number one?"

"Hm. I'd go with two days before the Japan game when we were eighteen." I reply. It hadn't been our longest session but it was definitely my best orgasm. And the tension had been so high that week. "What's yours, Ma?"

"u17 World Cup win." She knows immediately. I remember that night; we were drunk off the win and tipsy off some champagne we stole. Let's just say I performed great that whole day.

“Take your underwear off if you’re gonna get under the covers, yeah?” She asks and lets out another yawn. "You know I don’t like the feeling of the wet cloth against my skin. One last thing: I’m probably going to fall asleep soon if we just lay here. If I’m going to wake up alone, I would prefer to fall asleep alone. Make your choice soon.” 

She put her head down on my arm and basically snuggled in to my neck when we repositioned. Fuck. I don’t deserve her, don’t deserve to be here in her bed, the recipient of her touch and attention. All I ever do is screw up.

She lets out a soft sigh and I already know I’m going to stay. I can stay. I’ve dreamt of another opportunity to stay for the last three years. We called a truce, that’s all this is, right? Her warm breath brushes my chest at a rate that tells me she’s already asleep by the time I convince myself to stay. 

I wake up in the night to the sound of her snores right in my ear. Somehow we had shifted so she was lying on her back and I was half draped over her, my lips almost brushing the side of her head. 

I resist the urge to panic as the reality of what we’ve done sinks in. I got to touch her for the first time in three years and as soon as the roles reversed I melted like clay in her perfect warm hands. 

And in the middle of camp, too. For fuck’s sake. What in the world have I done. I feel the wrong type of heat spread through my body. I need to get out of here. 

As carefully as I can I get off of her and tuck the blankets back up to her shoulders, just like she likes them. The lamp is still on and her peaceful sleeping face glows in the light. It kills me she looks this beautiful and I have to go. I have to go. I have to go. 

I pull on my sweatpants and sweatshirt as fast as I can and slip out of the room, whispering an “I’m so sorry, Ma” before closing the door with the quietest possible click. 

I’m pulling my practice shirt over my sports bra next to Lindsey as a loud thud sounds between us. I look down at the plastic hotel laundry bag and then the hand that just dropped it. Emma. 

Shit.

“Fuck you.” She says and the F has a bad bite to it. I look at her and she’s glaring at me, her ponytail not perfectly centered on her head as it always is. 

“Emma-" I start, not even sure what to say but she interrupts me anyways. 

“Don’t call me that,” she says, pointing her finger in my face before turning to walk out of the room. 

Lindsey looks over at me. 

“What the hell kind of truce did you call? You can’t even call her her first name?”

I drag my hands over my face. I stuff the bag that I assume contains the underwear I forgot in her hotel room into my bag before looking back at Lindsay. 

“I fucked up.” 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” 

“I think she’d actually kill me right now if I was spreading her business like that.”

“Hmm I see. Well if you ever change your mind I’m here for you.” She says and then we go out in the pitch. 

Practice goes terribly for Emma and it’s hard to watch. She misses half her receptions during a passing pattern and when she does manage to get the ball down, angles her pass wrong half the time. She doesn’t win a single 1v1, and not because of her lack of effort. She makes silly mistakes, like running too far ahead and getting beat fast. 

This doesn’t change the type of person she is though. She does it all with a smile. She still cheers for everyone for everything good and is still always reaching out for high fives and fist bumps. She and Kristie get out on the same team and after their “bruh” chest bump, Kristie smooths her hands over the sides of Emma’s arms and tell her something. Emma takes a deep breath and then smiles at Kristie. I pretend I’m not jealous of her. 

I feel as if I’m the only one who can notice some smaller details in her play, like how she stopped jogging between drills or lines and instead runs or almost legit sprints there. Her hands keep flying to her head to tighten her ponytail after a larger or more frustrating mistake. 

Her normally perfect smile doesn’t make a single appearance, and is instead replaced by an imposter one. It’s hard for me not to notice that she can’t stop the left corner of her lips from quirking downwards, or that her smile doesn’t reach even remotely close to her eyes. It’s starting to throw me off since her eyes are normally the first part of her to smile. It makes me sad she’s sad, and I wish I could just take it away. I wish I could bring the bad day over me, and so that she could have a happy one. I wish I hadn’t left her room in the middle of the night. I wish I had it in me to stay.

I wish we played each other’s positions, so that I could set her up in front of the goal over and over, like she usually does for me. But we don’t so instead I run to every slightly off ball of hers and try to make them look as purposeful as possible. It’s not easy, and I get tired faster today than I normally do, but I hope it helps. 

Practice ends and Trinity Rodman props up her phone to make a TikTok. She snags a good handful of people for it, including myself. We’re learning the moves to one of the popular TikTok dances as Emma walks by, waving goodbye to the group. She smiles but it looks even worse than during our actual practice. Trinity calls out to her, inviting her to join us. 

“Maybe if there’s a next time,” She says back and hikes her bag a little higher on her shoulder. The group moves on but somehow I’m still stuck in that moment. “Maybe if there’s a next time” plays over and over in my head. She doesn’t think she’ll be invited back. She only had one bad day, but I guess there’s not really that much space for mistakes here. 

We finish the TikTok and go inside. I grab my stuff and then stop in the lobby, pretending to look through my bag for my car keys so I have an excuse to overhear Coach Hayes talking to Emma. 

“You’re a solid player. I love the effort, I love your attitude. We all have bad days. Just show me that you can turn it around tomorrow.” 

“Yes Coach, thank you.” 

The next day is a lot better. Emma plays like Hayes lit a fire under her butt. And it seems to pay off because she is crushing it. I can’t seem to shed a smile. When I let myself look at her, hers smile still doesn’t reach her eyes. 

We go toe to toe on each other during a possession game and she ends up knocking me down. I roll a little bit and when I open my eyes the first thing I see is her looking down at me, arm extended. 

Her ponytail splits itself evenly as it falls around her neck, and she tucked the front of her practice jersey up into her bra, which had been driving me insane. 

She doesn’t smile but she does talk. 

“Truce, right?” She asks, gesturing to her hand she held out to help me up. 

I take it. 

“Thank you, Murray.” I say and mean it. I hope she can hear the apology in my voice, although I know it’s not enough. Nothing I can do or think of would ever be enough for me to make it up to her, at least in my book. 

Once I’m on my feet she wipes the sweat from my hand off of her own on her shorts, and it stings. But life goes on, I guess. 

[zoesshortstories]

Masterlist:

Welcome!! I'm Zoe, 19, and I love to write! I've recently gotten into Paige Bueckers and wbb, but I've also written fics for Marvel, Criminal Minds, and Brooklyn 99. I also have quite a few stories that aren't fanfics but that I love to write and want to share. My pronouns are she/her and I'm also a taurus and full-time college student!

Requests: Open :)

Let's be friends and mutuals! My vibes:

Smut: * (18+ only!)

Paige Bueckers

Fancy Pants series (Paige Bueckers x actress!fem!oc Ava Radmall)

Chapter 1: the party

(Coming soon)

Chapter 2: the holidays

Chapter 3: the game

Chapter 4: the beach

Marvel

All's fair (part one) -- Natasha Romanoff x water bender!fem!reader, 2.0k words

Fiction series

The Best Game (fem!oc x fem!oc) two soccer stars have always butted heads, and typically something else too. What happens as they reunite for the USWNT and Paris 2024 Olympics?

Chapter 1: Jan Camp

Chapter 2: May Camp *

Standalone stories:

Special Ghost, a first Halloween; 1.5k

Safety First, a sad familial love story; 1.0k

[zoesshortstories]

The Best Game, Chapter 1: January Camp

Words: 3.2k

About soccer, the Olympics, and a wlw love story involving enemies to lovers and a second chance (ish) romance! This first chapter is the beginning of Emma and Olivia's path to the USWNT.

*Disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and does not accurately represent any real people mentioned and this story is not based on true events

Emma

December 1, 2023

Hey

I heard you’re going to jan camp, congrats!

Guess I’ll see you there?

I had opened my Instagram to look at my idol’s pages before starting my journaling after class. Instead I had found three DM’s from Olivia Oley’s public account that she had sent an hour ago. It only slightly piqued my interest that she actually runs her account with two and a half million followers. She had played that NIL game well and hard and it payed off. It also probably helped that she broke the NCAA all-time record for goals scored by her third game during sophomore year. She made people care about more than just the uswnt or nwsl again and pay real attention to the college game.

The Jan camp invitation had just been sent out two days ago. This was the first one I’d been invited to at the elite level. I had played in the u17 and u20 tournaments for almost all of my eligible years, until I tore my ACL my sophomore season in college. God, I was nervous.

And Olivia had some nerve, trying to message me on Instagram like that. I am not an angry person, but it made my stomach boil. And instagram had some nerve letting her know I read it and was active on the app. I see three dots bouncing from her side of the chat. I throw my phone across my room and it hits the wall with a thud. 

“Watch it!” My roommate and best friend, Riley, yells back. I let my head drop into my pillow and scream. When I turn around Riley is standing in my doorway. “Are you okay?” 

“Just look at my phone.” Is the only response I can give her. She picks it up gently and the screen lights up her face in my dark room. The corners of her mouth tug into a frown as she reads the texts. 

“And on Instagram?” She scoffs, handing it back to me. “That bitch.” 

I roll over into my pillow and scream again. 

I smoothed my hands over my old USA quarter zip from the u20 tournament and kept my eyes trained to the ground. “I can do this” I repeated in my head, over and over again, hoping that some part of me would believe it’s true. 

I had talked to a few vets in the lobby as we all arrived for the first meeting before the real training starts. Maybe if I focused on the fact that Crystal Dunn hugged me in greeting and then kept talking to me in welcome, I could forget about the fact Olivia chose the seat right behind me. I can feel her eyes raking over me without having to turn around. My skin burns wherever they land. I hate that she still makes me feel like this but I also never want it to stop.

Coach Hayes walks to the front of the room and greets us, talking about new faces and old faces, potential, and clean starts for everyone. She has us all get up and introduce ourselves in the front of the room one by one. 

I wave my hand and smile awkwardly when it's my turn. Typically I’m a pretty outgoing person but something about Jan camp and the way Olivia is looking at me is making me feel shy.

“Hi, I’m Emma Murray, I’ll graduate from Stanford this year, this is my first camp, and my favorite ice cream flavor is rocky road.” 

I let my eyes look back at Olivia, who had been intently staring at me, because I just couldn’t take it anymore. Her expression looks softer than I thought it would, her piercing blue eyes relaxed and perfect blond waves practically glowing in the surprisingly low lighting. I offer her a wimpy small smile and she darts her eyes away. Typical. Whatever. 

I sit back down in my seat and brush my ponytail off my shoulders, knowing it will fall and swish a little on the other side of my chair, right in front of her. It used to make her crazy; I could sometimes watch her eyes trace it back and forth at practices, and she would make me keep it up when we got back to our room so she could pull it. 

I have to pull myself back to the moment and watch Alyssa Naeher introduce herself as we all laugh, because who doesn’t know Alyssa Naeher? I remind myself that Olivia doesn’t have anything on me anymore, and I shouldn’t be waving my ponytail in her face. Yet I can’t stop hoping it's driving her crazy. 

The next morning I wake up in my godmother Alex Morgan’s guest bedroom to Charli jumping on my bed. She throws a tiny soccer ball into my face. I check my phone and its half an hour before my alarm. I sigh and get up, grabbing her by her feet and carrying her upside down into the kitchen, her tiny body squealing with giggles the whole way. 

I place her on the counter and open the fridge and start making us some breakfast. Before I know it, Alex comes down the stairs. 

“So how was your first day of camp?” She asks, settling into a bar stool chair with a cup of coffee. 

Awesome. Terrible. Frustrating. Are the first words that jump to my brain. I settle on “Alright, I think. Well, I hope.” 

“I’m sure you did great, kid.” She says and Charli claps in agreement. She hesitates for a moment “I heard Olivia was there.” 

I tense and refocus on the eggs I’m plating. “Yeah.” 

“And?” 

“And I tried to avoid her, I don’t know. I just want to play. I just want to make it to another day and to another camp and not think about her anymore.” 

“You know she’s gonna make it too, right?” She takes a sip and you nod, sliding the plate across the counter. “I think you should capitalize off of this. You two never play better than when you’re playing either against or with each other. Trust me on this one.” 

I don’t respond and take a bite of my eggs instead. The conversation moves on to whatever’s on Charli’s mind. She hands me the keys to her car to take to practice when I’m done putting the plates in the sink. 

“Go get ‘em, tiger” She says with a wink and Charli roars from her arms. 

Since I woke up earlier, I decided to just go to practice even earlier than I had originally planned. Typically I stick to a nice round hour, 15 minutes into the locker room and 45 minutes on the field, slowly warming up my body and the feel of the turf under my shoes and the ball on my toes. 

I’m not even halfway down the block before I get an incoming call from Olivia. What the fuck? So now she remembers she has my phone number. I think to myself and roll my eyes. I let it ring a few times, contemplating if it’s a butt dial or if she meant to call me. This couldn’t be a butt dial, could it? Maybe she’s doing it just to throw me off. Asshole. 

I answer on the car console but don’t speak. 

“Hello?” She says, fuzzy through the speakers so I turn the sound up. “Emma?” 

Even through the phone the way she said my name sends shivers down my spine. Fuck. “Why did you call me?” I won’t give her the same satisfaction. 

“How close are you to practice? My car won’t start and Triple A and the rental company won’t be here in time for me to be as early as I need to.” She asks. 

“I just left Alex’s house.” I say sharply, entering into this game of almost chicken. I’m not going to offer to give her a ride unless she explicitly asks. Maybe I’ll make her beg, too. 

“Do you think you could pick me up?” She asks. I don’t say anything for a second and she adds “Just this once?” 

I scoff. That’s what she said the first time we were in the u17 world cup and we had just won the gold. We got back to our room, drunk off of the win and our celebration and we had gotten into it a little. We paused in the entryway where we had been getting closer and closer with each witty remark. She grabbed the neck of my shirt and pulled my face not even an inch from hers. “Just this once?” She asked with a quirk of her stupidly perfect eyebrow, smirking through her stupidly perfect teeth with her stupidly perfect lips. 

And to her credit, there was some truth in what she had said. That was the one and only time we had just made out without going any further. 

“Emma, are you still there?” She asked, and I realized I had gotten lost in my thoughts again. “Do you think you can pick me up? Please?” 

“Fine. Send me your address.” 

Ten minutes later I pulled up to her Airbnb, where she was sitting on the front step with her backpack on, tapping away at her phone screen. I honk twice in a row and she jumps. 

“Just so you know, I am doing this to be a good teammate, not because I want to.” I inform her as soon as she opens the passenger side door. 

“Understood.” She says, tucking her phone away and pursing her tips. God how I miss her lips. I reach to turn up the volume on the SZA I had on, loud enough it won’t invite any conversation, or worse, any insults I’ll feel compelled to return. Ironically, the song ends and the next one is “I hate you.” 

Following my Google maps, I take a scary crossover to a second freeway with no shoulder as we get close to the practice facility. Some jerk driving a tiny, white, and beat up pickup decides to merge no warning right in front of me so the bed of the truck starts to drive us towards the tall cement wall on our right. 

Instinctively I slam hard on the breaks, my right arm extending to hold Olivia back as I’m thrown towards the steering wheel shrieking every expletive in my vocabulary. Somehow Olivia reaches her own hand over to my side of the car at the same time, managing to lay her hand down heavy on the horn, then releasing just so she can press it quickly in succession. 

I throw her hand back towards her. 

After an awkward beat of silence, we speak at the same time. 

“You alright?” 

“Sorry if I touched your-“

“Shut up.”

When we get to the field we do our own thing until she grabs a ball from the net she was shooting on and looks over at me. 

I pretend not to see her as she saunters over to where I’m juggling, dribbling the ball in front of her lazily. 

“Emma,” She says my name, and the ball I was using drops to the ground and I get to look up at her. She put up her hair in a ponytail of her own, her blonde, fluffy brushed out curls bouncing lightly against the back of her head instead of swaying like mine does. She pushed back a few front pieces that didn’t make it in with a strip of her signature navy blue prewrap. It’s hot out and I could see a faint sheen of sweat starting on her forehead. It looks good. 

“Want to lose a few one v ones?” She interrupts me again. 

“Talking to yourself again?” I respond and start walking towards her and onto the main part of the pitch. 

Once we’re set up, she passes me the ball and I check it back to her. She starts on an angle, towards my slightly weaker side. I creep closer to her, waiting for a moment where she’ll slip up and give me easy access to the ball. Her back foot gets caught on a thicker patch of grass and I seize my opportunity, spinning the ball back behind me and running back to where we started. 

We go again, and this time as I get closer she sticks her hand out, stiff arming my shoulder. 

“Bitch” I mutter under my breath, and I don’t feel bad in the slightest that I know she can hear me. Two can play at this little game, and I tug on the arm of her practice jersey. 

I have the same strategy, waiting for her to mess up like last time, except she never does. She pulls a slick fake dodge and loses me, smacking the ball into the back of the net with her left foot. 

I set back up on the line and she jogs back with the ball, checking it to me. 

“Tie breaker?” I ask as we start running together down the other side. I hear a faint “Yuh” in response. 

This time I don’t wait for her to slip up but instead change the length of my strides, knowing that she’ll change hers to match. The only thing: she can’t dribble as closely at this distance. I capitalize on the extra separation and snag the ball right after she kicked it ahead. Someone wolf whistles and yells “Okay, Murray!” 

I slow to a walk with the ball and start towards the rest of our potential future teammates who have started gathering at the benches. Someone has music playing and the next song is Dancing Queen, one of my absolute favorites. Rose Lavelle is wearing the speaker on her shoulder like a boombox and I join her to dance. 

I let the music take my worries away. No more camp pressure, no more soccer thoughts. It even manages to push Olivia out of my mind for a moment. Rose grabs my hands and we swing around each other, dancing it out and doubling over in fits of laughter when Sonnett pretends to mock us. 

Soon enough real practice starts. We go through a box drill, a passing pattern, and some 50/50 ball 1v1s. I play hard and like myself the whole time. Whenever Olivia and I are in line to go against each other we always battle it out. Unfortunately it leads to an even split of who wins. Not like I was keeping score or anything. 

After the last one she starts a spat with me that I’m more than happy to return. 

“You’re still weak on your left foot, you know.”

“What, you’ve been scouting my film?” I ask her back, taking a step towards her. I wasn’t weak on my left foot in the last drill. She’s just trying to get into my head. The rest of the group have gone towards their waters but were probably within earshot. 

“Pfft, you wish, Murray” 

We’re lined up toe to toe, shoulder to shoulder. She’s only two inches taller than me and it kills me that she’s the one who gets to look down in this stand off. I glare into her eyes and she glares right back. There’s no weird tone to it like when she asked for a ride or wanted to do 1v1s. Just pure anger behind those sweet baby blues. And in this moment I am so certain that I don’t have any feelings for her anymore. My blood practically boils from how bad I just want to beat her. 

“Eat shit, Oley.” I say forcefully but low enough that only she can hear. I turn on my heel and walk away, satisfied by the accidental swish of my ponytail. 

Group practice ends in a half court scrimmage where Hayes puts me and Olivia on the same team and same side.  

No matter how hard I tried over the past few years, I couldn’t forget how to read her. Every time I made it past Kristie Mewis I crossed the ball in toward the messy space and Olivia was always there, ready to head or kick in whatever I gave her. And to her credit, she is an amazing goal scorer. 

The last ball I pass her before the time runs out is a bit of a lagger, or she’s a step further ahead than I expected. Either way she doesn’t get it and it gets turned back over. Not a great look for me. 

Hayes collects us in the middle to break it down. I take the place behind Olivia, letting my heavy breath reach her sweaty neck, and I have to fight embarrassingly hard not to peel a shiny platinum blonde hair off of her shoulder. 

We all turn to collect our stuff and I hear Olivia’s voice call out to me again. 

“Hey Emma, ever heard of a leading pass?”

“What did you just say to me?” I ask her with little intonation. I don’t turn around yet. 

“A leading pass, like slightly in front of where I’m running, not behind me.” She says, eyes glinting with something different than the anger earlier. She wants a rise out of me. And unfortunately I can’t stop myself from giving it to her. 

“Oh yeah, sorry about that last one, I didn’t think you could run that fast.” I try to play it off nonchalantly. Obviously I would’ve rather passed it better. 

“Race me.”

“What?”

“Are you having hearing issues? I said race me.” She puffs out her chest and reaches out for my elbow, dragging me to the endline. Her grip is a little too strong and her fingers are bearing uncomfortably into the bony part of my joint. I shrug and flop down onto my stomach, arms ready to push me up. 

Olivia looks blankly at me. 

“Get down dumbass, if we’re gonna race we’re gonna do it right.”

She does as I say. 

I don’t even notice that most of the other camp goers have stopped to watch us as she counts us down from three. 

My first five or so strides have so much power I create a sizable gap between us. Around the 80 mark she starts to pick up speed, but I still cross the other endline a good step and a half ahead of her. 

I don’t let myself hunch over even though I’m tired. I will win triumphantly. 

This time she gets down first. “Again.” 

I scoff but follow suit. She counts us off again and I force myself to run an even harder first ten steps. Nothing matters besides the sound the whip of my ponytail makes and the feeling of soft grass under my cleats. Again I lose her and she comes back around the 80 yard mark. She doesn’t beat me over the line, even though she grabs at the back of my shirt to try and stop me. 

“Hey you two!” Lindsay Horan shouts from the door back into the rest of the facility, the last one to go in besides us. “I admire the hustle but save it for tomorrow!” 

I look to Olivia and she sticks out her hand. I shake it gracefully. It sends shivers down my spine. 

“Better luck next time, Oley.” 

[zoesshortstories]

Special Ghost

Words: 1534

Genre: Fiction

Jack's footsteps pounded down the wooden stairs as he ran. 

“Woah, slow down there buddy” His dad said from the kitchen, where all he knew was the noise. But, if he had seen the white sheet and box of colored markers in his son's hands, he would have understood; anyone with a heart as big as his would. 

Jack came to a stop on the ornamental carpet of the living room, sliding into the position his mom told him not to sit in, seeing as it's bad for his knees, but he does so anyway. Putting the markers to the side, he smoothed out the old sheet onto the carpet, and thought about what to draw. Obviously, there needed to be eye holes so he could see, and a mouth hole so he could eat, but those problems were for later in his costume making plan. 

He tried to think even harder about what to draw, mimicking his mother's frequent thinking posture with his arms. Often, he would sit next to her in the breakfast nook, coloring in his books or doing some sort of busy work while she typed on her computer. His most fond memory was when she unrolled a big map of the world and thought about different people with him. She would point to a place for them to think about, and they discussed how those people probably addressed their challenges, ranging from hunger and healthcare issues to how they made paper airplanes. 

Jack uncapped one of the red markers and made a plain dot on the sheet. Where to go from here? Jack didn’t know. But, he did know he would draw something with that dot. 

A few days before halloween, Jack finished the sheet. It was covered in all things his mother did with him. Mainly thinking, because she had a knack for that, but there were also pumpkins with knives for pumpkin carvings, beds and dreams in the shapes of candies, for none other than sweet dreams; and apples, because that's how she taught him how to add fractions. 

When Jack was ready to cut the holes in the sheet, he called his dad into the room. And like any father who felt guilty about his parenting abilities, he came in with scissors to do the job. 

“Look! It's the ghost of mom!” Jack told him, rightfully proud of his handiwork. 

“That's beautiful, honey” His dad said and proceeded to cut the holes in the designated spaces. Looking at all of the drawings that Samantha could give Jack and he couldn’t, he felt the constant twinge of pain inside his stomach grow into a monster, cutting through his insides. Almost as if the sheet was the one cutting holes in him. He knew he shouldn’t feel this mad at his dead wife, but they promised to do this, to do life, together. When they found eachother in rehab, he did it for her. And now, he did it for Jack, the only real thing he had left of her. The guilt ate him up for that thought, because Jack is rightfully his own person, but he was also Samantha’s person. Jack was their person, together, their son. There is only so long he could do the job before there's nothing left but shreds to cut eye holes in, so when they were cut to an average size, they went out into the street together. 

They walked along in the brisk autumn atmosphere together, breathing in the air that almost stung your nose, but only if you let it. It had the distinct smell of difference, the one that was indescribable and only recognizable through experience, the one that brings back memories of airplanes on your way to honeymoons, french toast in the morning, and post pillowfight fever dreams. Together, they slightly altered their route around the block, swaying left and right for maximum dead-leaf-crunch. Occasionally, they passed another family or two, and it hurt Toms heart. Every time he would grip Jack's hand a little tighter, until at one step, milliseconds before the door opened, Jack complained about it. 

“Dad” He said, looking up at his father. “Its too tight” 

Tom let Jack pull his sweaty hand out of his apparent death grip. “Sorry buddy” 

And then the door opened, and a woman with frizzy medium brown hair and sunken but lively eyes opened the door. She was holding a wide-lipped silver bowl of candy that made swishing sounds when children stuck their grubby little hands into the bowl. She was also the type of woman to pull the bowl away as they reached, asking them what they were before they could take their pick. The same action was something that Samantha had done every year, but she was a little more energized than this woman seemed to be. 

“And what are you?” She asked with a smile when she turned to Jack. 

“A ghost!” Jack shouted excitedly, and tilted the bowl down so he could see what was in the bowl. He also just so happened to pull the bowl down enough to move the fabric of the trying womens flannel to reveal faint, precise scars of cuts one or two centimeters long, going up her arm until they were covered. Tom's breath took a sharp, involuntary  inhale when he saw them; the looks of her arms hit too close to home. 

“Ghosts don’t have drawings on them, loser.” Some astronaut with their face completely hidden said offhandedly before walking away. Tom could tell through the sheet that Jack's proud smile had been instantly wiped off of his face. And if it was the same Jack that he had always been, his chin was quivering uncontrollably and fast, and in a few seconds, silent tears would come rolling down his sweet, sweet cheeks. 

Tom would do anything to make that pain Jack felt go away. If he had to punch that punk astronaut, then so be it, he thought. But that was low. Surprisingly low for Tom, like turning back to the bottle of scotch in his sock drawer Samatha wanted him to get rid of, but he had insisted, saying he wanted to use it to celebrate when they were sober enough to drink again. 

“That day will never come, Tom” She would say as she turned her nightstand lamp off. “Put Jack first.” 

So that was what Tom would do now. He would not punch a small child, and instead he would hug him hard and they would move on. He put his first, rough hand on Jack's small, slightly shaking shoulder, and they walked away. 

“Samantha, come back!” A woman with a small child on her hip said as the first set the candy bowl down and walked to Tom and Jack, who had just turned around at the mention of her name. 

She made it to them because they stopped walking, and they weren’t walking that fast to begin with. Their pace was strong enough to leave quickly, but not so fast they didn’t enjoy their night. “Hey Mr. Ghost” Samantha said. 

Jack turned around to face her and she knelt down to be eye level with him. 

“Can I tell you something?” She asked and waited for both Jack and Tom's consent. Her knowing eyes looked up to him after the nod yes of Jack's head. He gave a single up and down motion. “Is this a ghost of a person?” 

“My mom.” He said meekly. If he talked too loud his voice would crack, because it was all pinched up from the tears. That only happened when he was trying his hardest not to cry, which was embarrassing because even if he succeeded in not letting the tears roll down, he still felt them on the inside. But he knew they would never go away. The biggest part of him didn’t want them to. 

Samantha smiled warmly at him. “That's so sweet. I know she loves it, up there. I also know that that kid knows nothing about you and your mom. And that you are not a loser. If your ghost has drawings on it, then ghosts have drawings on them.” 

She patted his arm and stood up. She smiled sadly at Tom, her eyes wishing him to have the final word. 

“Well, thank you. I hope you and your wife have a good night” He said and started to turn away again. But the woman laughed, and it sounded strikingly like Samantha's laugh: warm and loud and the auditory incarnation of a cinnamon roll. 

“Sister” She said and her abrupt words hit Tom like a train. 

“Oh, well have a good night regardless,” Tom said and walked away with Jack. His ability to love or care for someone other than his wife or son died when Samantha did. So, the two walked away. Tom didn’t want another friend or a new wife, nonetheless another named Samantha with cuts as delicate as her on her wrists. And he figured that that was alright. He still has a lot of love to give, but now he will give it all to Jack. And he’ll throw away that bottle of scotch. 

[zoesshortstories]

Safety First

Words: 1076

Genre: fiction

She locked her baby into her car seat and she went to buckle herself in to the front. “Safety first!” She heard her mom say, although she knew her mother wasn’t there. Josephine missed her mama, who was always a stickler for safety. She smiled at the many memories of hopping into the back seat of her mom’s old honda on the cold winter days, happy because her mom had agreed to drive her after an excessive amount of begging and pleading. Jo could almost hear the sound her hand crafted backpack charms made when they would clack against the car door. Any time they rode together, her mother would tell her “Safety first!” as if that would make everything alright. 

“Safety first!” Josephine told her daughter, who wasn’t old enough to respond, but Jo hoped she could understand. Her sad smile left her face; she needed everything to be alright. 

She pulled out of the driveway on her middle class street, looking in the rearview mirrors so she wouldn’t hit a kid on their bike. She was looking forward to the day her daughter would ride her bike with the neighborhood kids, if they still did that by the time she was old enough. As if they would include her daughter. 

She looked in her mirrors again, just to double check, and her hair caught her attention. The braids spilled over her shoulders, leaving their pink and purple add-ins as faint memories when they moved again only slightly after. She hadn’t rebraided her hair in a long time, too long to remember the last. Most nights she would go straight to bed as soon as her daughter had stopped crying about this or that or nothing at all. Her mother, on the other hand, had redone her hair monthly. Jo’s grandma had been around until she wasn’t, so the three women had always made a night out of it. They had ice cream and played loud music and laughed and danced around her mother's bedroom. 

Josephine wished she could give that to her daughter. She wished so many good things for her. Too bad her mama wasn’t here to braid her hair. She missed her chilly fingers tugging and pulling at her hair, and she wanted those memories for her own daughter, the ones of a warm grandmother that Josephine failed to provide for her. 

At the red light, she reached over for something in her bag, but forgot it when she found one of the backpack charms. She pulled it out and traced the string, seven beads thick, through her fingers. The pink and purple beads were the same ones she had in her hair when she learned how to ride her bike. Her mother was so proud, clapping and running after her. Josephine remembered how ecstatic she felt to finally be able to ride her bike with the rest of the neighborhood kids, but the feeling didn’t last long. The next day she was filled with disappointment as she fled the street and back to her room when the kids had decided right when Jo had shown up that they no longer rode their bikes. Josephine turned the corner and no longer felt as disheartened as she did when she had dumped her new, sparkly pink and purple bike with the white streamers and matching basket on the lawn and stormed inside. She actually laughed to herself when she remembered how she had locked herself in her room but how it only took a few moments of back-and-forth for her mom to come in with hot chocolate and an enveloping hug.  

Oh, how stubborn she had been! To not let her own mother into the room? Now, Jo would do anything for an extra hug or kiss. Even a knowing wink would be enough. All of her feelings of chagrin that this memory brought back were covered by a thick layer of responsibility. It was her turn to be the mom now. She had been ready to be a mom for a while, well before the surprise of her daughter, but knowing she will have the honour of being the shoulder her daughter will cry on when the neighborhood kids are being racist brought her closer to her mom. They will have this shared experience that will be a new shared secret between them. Even if Josephine can’t solve all the problems for her daughter, she will always be there for her. 

The feelings of resentment melted away from her attitude as she found a parking spot. The kids might always be racist, but she will always be there like her mom was for her. The next day, when she saw the other kids riding their bikes again through the window, her mom took her to this very path, and her mom pretended to not know how to ride a bike so Jo could teach her. She tried to laugh like her mother did, wild and loud and without a care in the world for anyone but Jo, while she went down the hill to the pond. The image of her mother riding a bike in a helmet, knee guards, and elbow guards,

She stepped out of the car with her baby, putting her feet into the misty morning grass, allowing her toes in her sandals to become wet with dew. She carried her baby without the carrier to the spot because she needed to envelope her daughter in her own two arms. Josephine sat on the bench next to the headstone and ran her hand along the top. It was cold and wet but it was also perfect. 

While she reminisced about everything her mama had done for her, she had an idea. With her hand cold from the stone, she carefully removed the pink and purple beaded hair ties from her baby's hair. She played the loud music her mama loved, not giving any care to the people giving her the side eye. They danced around and braided their hair together: the baby, the mother, and the grandma. 

Josephine set her baby down on the grass for a second and leaned into the headstone. She planted a gentle kiss on it. “Happy birthday, mama” She whispered. Josephine left knowing she was the mother now, and that she will always look out for her daughter the way her mom looked out for her. She looked over her shoulder and said, “Safety first.”