hey guys! right now i'm working on a pretty long story for this book, but i've been taking a hiatus from it lately. anyway i was driving home the other day and this idea sort of popped into my head. it's honestly not that creative but i hope you enjoy anyway!
warnings: nsfw, dom bill, and obviously swearing
Bill had never played this poorly before.
Coach threatened to bench him if he ever played like that again. Unfortunately, he did. There was only one time where Bill didn't strike out that game, and he didn't even make it to second base. It was so pitiful that his encouraging girlfriend didn't even say "Well, at least you tried!" She just wrapped her arms around him, her head resting on his chest.
That week before their next game, Bill practiced like never before. He worked his ass off at practice so much that he almost fell asleep at the wheel on the way home. And he also stayed at the field after practice, trying so hard to smack the shit out of the baseballs. But nothing was working; nothing could get him out of this awful slump. Bill feels almost cursed.
The night before the next game, during one of his solo practice sessions, he hears a car door slam shut, but pays no mind to it. It's probably some horny middle schoolers, grabbing a ride from an older sibling, that want to makeout in the dugout, which is nothing new. Whenever they see him practicing, they get the picture and leave.
But out of the corner of his eye, he sees someone leaning against the chain link fence, watching him. Bill turns to see Y/n, the warm breeze gently blowing the skirt of her white dress.
He sighs, pushing back the sweaty strands of auburn hair from his forehead. This really isn't the damn time. "Hey."
"Hey, Bill. Are you up for a water break?"
He isn't, but Bill supposes he can spare a minute or two for his girl. "Sure."
Kicking at the dirt, he turns off the pitching machine and goes back to the dugout, where his water bottle is. Y/n goes around the fence, following him, and sitting on a dusty bench. She pats the spot next to her, where Bill reluctantly places himself. With a hand on his neck, she gives him a sweet kiss. When they break apart, he starts the conversation.
"W-what's up?"
Y/n shrugs. "I was just wondering how practice was going. We haven't seen each other much this week, other than school."
"I know, I-I-I-'m sorry. I've j-just been oh-oh-overwhelmed with p-p-practicing and stuff."
"It's okay! This is really important to you. I just miss you."
"I m-m-miss you too."
She traces a circle in the dirt with the toe of her shoe as silence looms over them. It's a little awkward, so she breaks it.
"How's the practicing going?"
"F-f-fucking horrible," Bill admits.
"It's probably better than you think."
"It's not, Y/n. I h-h-hit m-maybe t-t-ten balls tonight, and only two of-of-of them were any good. It's r-r-really n-not."
Bill finds his calloused hands wrapped in her soft, cool ones.
"Maybe you're just overthinking it? And that's why you're doing so badly? Don't think, just... play."
Bill's heart stops. In fact, his whole body freezes, and his blood runs cold.
"O-o-overthinking it?"
"Yeah, maybe," Y/n's voice is so soft and timid. "I do that a lot."
"I'm not o-o-overthinking sh-shit," he says, pulling his hand away. "I'm just in th-th-this awful p-p-place or slump or whatever the h-h-hell you c-call it. "I have to g-get back to p-p-practicing."
