his and hers | 18+

11 | predacious best-friends

•°•* ⁀➷
pierce

we all watch as the ball circles the ring of the hoop, before plummeting to the side and disappointing all of us.

"hernandez. bench." i snap my fingers, pointing to the bench without looking. "what?" he gasps, approaching me. "coach, it was one mistake."

"yeah, so you can be benched for one session." my tone is condescending as i cock my head in the direction of the bench, daring him to say otherwise. he sighs, shaking his head as he walks over to where my finger is pointed at.

"jesus," i rub my eyes with the arch of my palm, sick of these goddamn players. nearly three weeks of practice, and they're still playing like they just learned how to walk.

i pick up my whistle, blowing into it. the game starts, and i spend the first five minutes just watching them fail over, and over. i watched the missed opportunities to grab the ball, the shit bouncing and throwing. god-fucking-damn it.

i watch donovan run with the ball, bouncing it well enough that he doesnt make any mistakes, but not protecting himself from potential tackles.

i swoop in, running behind him and catching up in an instant. i swipe the ball out of his hold with ease and he groans, chasing after me. but it's useless, i reach the opposed teams hoop and launch it in.

when it falls into the hole, i turn to face the team, glaring at every single one of them. lucas shifts his weight from one foot onto the other. ever since he took that photo of me yelling, i confiscate his phone during practice.

"you all want less practice days, right?" i ask, taking a step forward with my hands interlaced behind my back. they all nod, clapping each-others backs at the ideas. they look back at me expectantly with smiles on their faces.

"so play the fucking game right!" i bellow, beyond furious. their faces drop, shoulder slumping forwards. i grin as i watch the light leave their eyes, their stupid fucking eyes.

i run my hand down my face, silently begging god for some patience. i'm this close to clawing their eyes out of their sockets, and displaying them in my goddamn bedroom like an award.

"if you want to quit, quit. i don't need fuckers who aren't into the game playing. i don't need useless people on my court."

"so," i continue, lowering my voice, "whoever steps out of this gymnasium right now gets to quit" i shrug, "that easy."

i watch them all intently, searching their faces for any hesitation, or sparks. looking to see who likes the idea but is too scared to follow through.

the light smirk playing on bill rey's face grabs my attention, and i raise my left eyebrow. "bill, you have something you want to say?" i'm taunting him, testing his limits.

his smirk falls, and he shakes his head vigorously. "great, get the fuck out."

"excuse me?" his head rears back, offended. "you're excused, literally." i point at the doors with my thumb, ushering him out.

"you can't just kick people out for no reason," my neck snaps to confront whoever just said that, facing a wide-eyed ben peters "—coach." he adds, luckily for him.

"jesus, you're all a bunch of pussies. bill, you clearly want to leave. or am i wrong, do you want to stay?" i look back to the red-headed fucker, who sighs as he pats his buddies back and leaves without another word.

"is it clear that i'm not fucking around?" they all nod, and i walk my way back to the benches, taking a seat. the only people who are putting any effort into playing are maddox, smith, onfroy, and rowe. i know this because i analyse everyone on the team and their limits.