NFL Imagines

|||Justin Jefferson|||

Title: Practice Makes Perfect
Warnings: None

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A large shadow fell over you, blocking the beaming sun from burning your skin any longer.

Your arm had been slung over your face to protect it from the sun and you swiftly moved it and squinted your eyes to see your fiancé standing over you.

"Babe, you gonna get stepped on." He told you, lightly tapping his cleat against your side and pursing his lips when you groaned and threw your arm back over your eyes. "I'm dying." You whined.

He rolled his eyes and crouched down next to you. "You ain't dying. Get up and try again." He encouraged, sliding an arm under you and attempting to sit you up.

"It's miserably hot and I've been trying to stop you for an hour. I am dying." You dramatically explained, allowing him to help you slowly sit up.

"You gotta be faster." He simply shrugged, but he was smirking a little. Your eyes darkened and you gave him a glare. "Says one of the fastest wide receivers in the NFL. And the routes you run? You lose me every time. I give up." You reached down to the waistband of your shorts and tore out the towel hanging from it. You held it up and lamely shook it. "This is me waving my white flag."

His face said it all. He was unimpressed by not only what you had said, but also your pitiful "flag" wave. He snatched the towel out of your hand and threw it to the side.

"I didn't get engaged to a quitter." He reminded you, standing to his full height and extending his hand out to you. "Practice makes perfect."

"Practice makes perfect my ass." You mumbled under your breath, taking his hand and letting him assist in pulling you up. He had heard your sassy mutter and fondly rolled his eyes. "I'll go easy on ya." He promised with a grin.

You stretched your sore body. "I don't want your pity." You breathed. You leaned down and grab your towel before tucking it back into the waistband of your shorts.

"I'm just tryna help." He explained. You snorted.
"You can't help the untalented." Your voice was dripping with sassiness.

Justin heavily sighed and placed his hands on his hips. He was trying to come up with an idea that would make you want to keep trying because he hated seeing you give up. Then he remembered that he didn't need an idea because he had a deal he could make.

You had told him you would come to practice with him and a few of his friends. You had also said that you would run some routes with him. This had led to a discussion about you trying to intercept the ball, which you had confidently claimed you could.

"Ill make a deal with you." He spoke up. He received a suspicious look from you and continued. "You get three chances to intercept the ball. If you still haven't made one after your third try, I won't make you play anymore."

You could've crumbled to your knees in relief. "Thank fuck. I'm so ready to go home. Everything hurts." You accepted the challenge because you had already tried to make an intercept on the ball multiple times today. You didn't succeed once. Your fiancé was taller, faster, and far more athletic than you. There was no damn way you were getting that ball before he was.