#boxer!vi

when you first glanced at her you did not take her for the type to be so affectionate - dyed black hair, smudged eyeshadow, not to mention the abundance of leather she was wearing as she celebrated knocking her opponent out cold. that mixed with her playboy reputation with some of her more desperate fans? let’s say you weren’t expecting nightly shoulder rubs and playful smushing of cheeks when you got home.

but when you finally gave her a chance to worm her way into your heart you were gladly surprised to see just how much of a sweetheart the boxer could really be. she texted you every day and constantly made sure you were taking care of your physical and mental well-being.

and of course, once you gave her the go-ahead she was so physically affectionate. she always had a hand on your hip when walking in public, gently moving you to avoid a small obstacle or to show you a small place she wanted to treat you to. at your shared apartments she would follow you around almost akin to a puppy, a big dopey smile on her face as she stood behind you while you were grabbing some chips from the kitchen.

“uhh…do you need something?”

“nope.”

“…are you sure?”

“yup.”

and every time you couldn’t help but roll your eyes and smile at her before putting a kiss on her cheek.

and while you noticed it beforehand, after you slept together for the first time you saw just how…depraved her affection could get.

from your experience, the first few days after the first time with a partner could be strange, with neither partner knowing when it would be right to initiate the next time without seeming too distant or too desperate. but gods were you glad you and vi were on the same wavelength. it was only the morning after that you were ready to go at her again, nearly embarrassingly desperate to feel the ache she left between your legs again.

but you were feeling just the slightest bit of self-conscious over how eager you were with her last night, so you decided to do something nice to show your appreciation by making her and you a nice breakfast. even though your legs felt the slightest bit wobbly as you made your way to the kitchen.

in the middle of you poking at the eggs to check their progress when you feel a pair of strong arms encircle your waist and a towering body press into your back. you try to keep focusing on the cooking but it becomes impossible when vi starts to playfully bite and kiss at the skin of your neck, forcing you to giggle as the feeling of it combined with her hair getting in your face.

your giggle turns into an airy gasp when her palms grasp your hips and she brashly thrusts her crotch into your backside, moving your body over to the side so you can grip the counter. a deep groan escapes from her throat when your hand travels up to grip her hair. another moan leaves your throat when she lets one of her hands travel down beneath her your sleepshirt.

so you were both equally desperate. and it was amazing.

now her quick kisses before boxing matches had a fair chance of turning into heated make-out sessions and quickies, her scarred lips smiling as she whispered how she needed to complete her ‘winning ritual’ before she goes out to fight, which usually consists of her getting on her knees and eating you out until you’re dizzy. she also loved downright groping you whenever she got the chance when you slept over at her apartment. you could be mopping the floors and she wouldn’t hesitate to reach down and squeeze or slap your ass before walking off like nothing happened.

and though you initially didn't suspect it, you find out she can be incredibly possessive. and again, it was amazing.

once you started to become more official vi made sure you had a front-row ticket to her matches so she could turn her head and spot you whenever she was in the ring. she was scheduled to fight some up-and-coming boxer who was known for her big mouth, and after shit-talking vi one too many times in the press your girlfriend was more than eager to step into the ring. you just didn't expect the woman to have an apparent death wish as she openly flirted with you before the match started, blowing you a kiss and a wink before coming face to face with an uncommonly calm violet.

it was one of the faster knockouts she'd gotten in her career.

as soon as the press and her team were done talking to her she gave you a look. a look that said “get your ass in the car because you are so getting messed up when we get home,,”

and so, you get your ass in the car. and not even an hour later, she makes good on her silent words.

“fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“thats it, take it baby. just fucking take it.”

when you had called vi depraved you truly meant it, as there was no other way to describe the provocative posiiton she had you in - your body pliant and settled on top of hers as her arms wrapped under your kneed and locked behind your head.

all of it was just so deliciously disorienting. the way her feet planted on to the mattress so that she could use her core to thrust her hot pink strap inside of your cunt, the frequent growls and grunts she let fly right next to your ear, how her clasped hands kept forcing your head from rolling back to looking down-

you let out a pitifully desperate whine when your eyesight locks onto the sight of your body from the mirror she dragged over to the front of the bed. youd felt a zap go through your body as she was doing so, and it was only increased ten fold as you saw the creamy mess between your thighs, strings of your slick expanding and contracting each time she pounded herself into you.

“god, i can feel you clenching around me. you like looking at how fucking messy i make you?” violet sneers before delivering a random harsh thrust inside you, laughing nearly cruelly when an odd squeaking comes from your throat.

“aw don't worry baby, i love it too. sounds so fucking good, should've set up a god damn camera-”

it is definitely not embarrassing how loudly you moan at that. you aren't allowed to be bashful when violet giggles into your shoulder. she brings one of her hands to wrap around your throat while the other travels downwards. she brushes over your breasts and stomach, reveling in the ripple it causes when you take a shaky inhale at the feeling.

you’re so caught up in the contradictory softness of her touch and the roughness of her hips movements that you’re more than shocked when she raises her hand and brings it down in a hard slap against your thigh. your hips involuntarily move up into her palm while down towards the strap, conflicted on which pleasure you want to overwhelm you.

“come on, don't run from it. we know you can take it.” she groaned, bringing her hand down in another rough slap against your thigh. she was never the most jealous person. she was never in a relationship long enough to be jealous. but seeing you fall apart for her so desperately after that bitch had the nerve to hit on you in front of her put a sick feeling of satisfaction in the pit of her chest.

your whines start to take on a higher pitch that reveals to her you’re closer than ever to your orgasm. high off of the win and the euphoria of fucking you and feeling the base of her dick bumping into her clit with each thrust, she decides to take a gamble and do something that she knows will make you make a mess for her.

there are no words to describe the full-body feeling you have at her rough palm smacking down on your clit, or the way your orgasm rips out of you like a bullet train. it’s so powerful it nearly hurts, and no matter how much you try to arch away from her she uses her grip to hold you down and follows you up with her hips.

“nuh uh, don't fucking run from me, baby. just feel it, god take it, bet you look so fucking pretty.”

the pleasure feels like it lasts for hours, and its only halfway through that you realize you’re leaking all over both of you and the sheets. you also realize that the experience has brought violet to a fiery orgasm herself, her body pushing through the pleasure as she uses shaky thrusts to help the both of you ride through your orgasms.

with how much she loves being affectionate, it's no surprise that vi is a god at aftercare. once it's clear your high has passed and you’re teasing the edge of sleep she immediately gets to work by slowly slipping the strap out of you and pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek when you whimper at the object leaving your warmth. ever so gently she handles your body to slip off of hers and rest on the bed and on shaky legs walks to get a rag from the bathroom.

after cleaning both of you off she tosses the strap to the floor to be cleaned later and flops in bed next to you. as she lays on her stomach she rests her arm over your body, pulling you in ever closer to her.

“y’know i think that reaction gives me permission to start calling you jealous.” your voice is quiet but hoarse and gives her just the littlest bit of pride.

“’m not jealous. maybe i just can’t get enough of you.”

god, you hope you get flirted with more often.

You know you are better than this. Better than the other girls—the ones who stare, gawking at her—you actually had standards. Or, so you think. 

But here you are, sitting on the bleachers in the second auxiliary gym located on the campus of your school. The main indoor gym was reserved for the court-based sports: basketball, pickleball, tennis, badminton, etc. Much to your dismay, the primary aux gym is under maintenance until further notice, so you have no choice but to practice here. You don’t mind the change of scenery much, but you don’t appreciate the fact that you have to share the space with the boxing team. You sit with the rest of your team as you wait for your turn to use the shared space. As the captain of the wrestling team, your players look up to you; they feed off of your energy and mood. You get up from your seat and stand there, arms folded over your chest, sucking your teeth in frustration. 

The wrestling mat is laid out onto the waxed floor, already taped down and set for your practice. But, unfortunately, the boxing gear is also out. The punching bags are lowered down, hanging from a mechanized machine bolted to the ceiling. One is set in the center of the wrestling mat’s inner ring. You sigh as you watch it swing with every forceful punch it absorbs. Your gaze narrows at the quick shuffling of the feet belonging to the person landing the blows. You look up, taking in their form. Their black shoes are laced tightly around their ankles, stabilizing their movements. You let out a scoff as you watch the rubber soles leave scuffs along the blue mat. Boxing shoes aren’t made for wrestling mats; that’s for sure. The person has to make an effort to keep from slipping out of their stance as they shuffle around the bag. You continue to watch them, taking note of the way their calf muscles flex as they move. The hems of their shorts land around the middle of their thigh, where toned muscles threaten to bust the seams. A thin tank top covers their upper half, a Nike sports bra peeking from underneath. You eye a single drop of sweat that drips from their jaw and down their neck, following the trail upward to where another is beginning to form at the tips of their pink hair.

“Vi! Wrap it up!” a voice calls out from near the door. You glance over, the raspiness of the voice pulls you from the trance the pink-haired girl has put you under. Vi lands a few more punches, her stance beginning to relax. Heavy footsteps close in on her.

“I said wrap it up. Let’s go.” This time the words come out more as a snarl than anything else. You watch the interaction from afar. The voice belongs to a tan-skinned woman, her hair cut in a choppy, dark bob. She narrows her gaze down on Vi, her height allowing her to tower over her by a few inches, adding the menace of her persona. 

She stands with her arms crossed. From this angle, you can see the bulging muscles of her biceps glistening under the fluorescent lights, highlighting the intricate sleeve tattooed onto the skin of her left arm. Drawings of wires, circuits, and gears are etched into her skin, giving the illusion of a bionic arm. Damn, that had to have taken forever, you think as you note where the tattoo fades into the smooth skin of her wrist and disappears under the cropped sleeve of her muscle tee. Vi finally backs away from the bag. She spreads her fingers, stretching out the cramps, then runs a hand through her damp hair. She shakes her head, shaking off the sweat. Even in the blur of the action, you see small inked lines on her cheek. Is that her name tattooed on her cheek…? You roll your eyes and let out an annoyed huff before turning back to face your team. Mel stands up and walks to your side, noticing the shift in your demeanor. 

“I know the circumstances aren't ideal, but at least we still have  a space to practice.” She smiles softly, offering some reassurance. She turns away and begins to walk the length of the bleachers, heading toward the utility closet to grab the disinfectant spray and sweeper. You stare at her back, focusing on the gold thread embroidered into the fabric of her jacket that reads ‘PU Women’s Wrestling Manager’. Her locs are twisted up on the top of her head, golden clips scattered sporadically throughout the updo. Your shoulders fall as you try to calm yourself before looking back at the group of girls in front of you. 

“Alright. Mel is grabbing the supplies to clean off the mats, so while we wait, let’s start laps.” You send out the order with a clap of your hands, attempting to bring back a more motivating energy. The girls finish lacing and taping down their shoes before getting up from their seats. Soon, the sound of rhythmic feet hitting the floor fills the gym. You get ready to join the group, but as you step your foot out to launch yourself into a jog, you feel something off. You glance down and see you have completely forgotten to change into your own wrestling shoes. You drag your feet over to the bottom row of the bleachers and plop yourself down. You reach over to grab your bag, digging through the contents to pull out your shoes. 

“Oh, shit.” Vi mutters. You glance up and watch as she tries to push through the stampede of the girls running around the mat. A smirk forms on her lips as one of the girls from your team slows down to create an escape route for Vi to step through. “Thanks, doll.” She flashes the girl a grin, getting ready to take the open path before the taller woman behind her shoves her shoulder, causing her to stumble past. 

“The fuck, Sevika!” Vi snaps, looking over her shoulder. 

While the exchange unfolds, you finally yank your wrestling shoes onto your feet, threading the laces with practiced, aggressive tugs. You double-knot them quickly before wrapping the tape securing around the thread, eyes never leaving the confrontation. The girl from your team—flushed, though not from running—glances between the two before finding her pace and jogging away. Other girls from the wrestling team send glares their way.

“Would you two knock it off for once,” a lower voice calls out. You follow the voice and side-eye the man sitting a few feet away. He stands up and walks over to the pair. You’ve seen him around, usually hanging out with Mel or the boy from sports med, Viktor. Your brows furrow as you try to place a name to his face. 

Vi rolls her eyes and Sevika lets out a barely audible scoff. 

“Back off, Jayce,” Vi mutters under her breath as she walks toward the bleachers across the gym, opposite you. 

Jayce’s shoulders fall in defeat as he turns on his heel. You look to your left and are greeted by Mel, who is holding the supplies she just retrieved. You move to stand next to her. Jayce’s eyes almost glimmer at the sight of her. He strides over, grabbing the sweeper from her hands. He looks over at you, offering a sympathetic smile. 

“You’re Y/N, right?” he asks. You nod hesitantly, not having been formally introduced. He adjusts his one-handed grip on the handle of the sweeper and extends the open one towards you. You look down at his hand before taking it into your own, shaking it politely. 

“I’m Jayce. The manager of the boxing team,” he introduces himself. “Sorry about having to share the space. Hopefully, we can all make the most of it!” 

You smile softly, feeling Mel’s eyes on you. You look over at her, meeting her gaze. She has so much love for her friends and enjoys seeing them get along. She reaches out, squeezing your arm affectionately just as you pull your hand away from Jayce.

“I also apologize that our coach, Vander, couldn’t be here either,” Jayce adds on. “It’s a weekend practice, so it’s out of his paid hours, and he still works outside of his job here.”

You nod in understanding. “Yeah, same here. Coach Ambessa refuses to work on weekends.” Mel grimaces slightly.

“She tolerates her job as our coach but finds her other hobbies more entertaining.” She sighs softly, eyes fluttering shut as if she’s blinking away the hurt. “Though, I think being a mother is on the bottom of her priorities list.” 

You place your hand on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. You glance down at your watch. Shit. We’re running out of time. You pat her back gently before stepping away from the duo, striding over to the mats where your team is still running laps. You clap your hands, redirecting their attention to you. You stand before the edge of the mat, looking at the punching bag that still hangs low above the mat and mutter a curse under your breath. Looking over your shoulder, you catch Jayce’s attention.

“Could you take care of that, please? I need to get my practice going and it’s in the way.” Your asking interrupts what seems to be a silent but intimate moment between Mel and him. He looks at you and nods. He pulls Mel into a quick embrace before heading toward the control panel on the far side of the wall. 

Mel walks toward the mats and swiftly disinfects and sweeps them clean for the team, having to avoid the bag in the process. Meanwhile, Jayce opens the metal door, the hinges squeaking as it moves. He presses the button that controls the mechanism, but no luck; the bag stays still in front of you. This catches the attention of Vi. She walks toward Jayce, stopping at the halfway point between you and him. 

Jayce turns over his shoulder. “Vi, call your sister. It’s jammed again.” He sighs, looking over at you with yet another apologetic smile. You let out a frustrated groan, running your hands over your face. Fuck. “Okay... uhh—” You recollect your thoughts and try to come up with a backup plan. Your team looks at you in anticipation. You finally meet their eyes. 

“Okay, here’s what we’ll do.” You step onto the mat. You stop in front of the bag and nudge it slightly, the gentle force only causing a mild sway. You can feel Vi’s eyes burning into you—actually, you can feel everyone staring at you. Great. You turn back, focusing only on your team.

“We’re just gonna have to work around this big-ass bag until it gets fixed.” 

You move to the edge of the mat, keeping one foot on the blue vinyl and the other on the waxed floor—effectively bridging the gap between your team and the remainder of the boxing team; the others had left after Sevika and Vi’s outburst. With your arms folded over your chest, balling up the fabric of your warm-ups, you stand firm as the two groups merge into an awkward semi-circle. Vi joins the huddle, giving you a look you can’t quite decipher. Sevika and Mel take their perches next to their familiar peers, creating a wall of bodies around you.

“So, who are we calling to fix the machine?” you mutter, directed at the group but with your eyes scanning the girls currently running laps. You don’t wait for an answer before cupping your hands around your mouth. “Keep the pace, ladies! High knees!”

Suddenly, the gym doors fly open and in comes a bouncy, blue-haired girl.

“What did you break this time, sis?” the shorter girl accuses, sending a sharp glare toward Vi. 

“It wasn’t my fault, Powder.” 

“For once.” The girl confidently strides over to the group, pushing past Jayce to reach the panel. She looks it over and rolls her eyes. “Which one of you dumbos jammed the button?” She glares at the people around her, narrowing her gaze on Jayce. “Ah, yes. The man. Figures.” 

You can’t help but giggle. Your action earns some looks your way, and the sound seems to have reminded Vi of your presence. She steps closer to you. 

“Just get it fixed for Your Highness over here,” Vi says, side-eyeing you with a smirk. Your blood runs cold. Your Highness…? The comment leaves an unfamiliar feeling creeping along your skin. 

Powder lands an aggressive slam to the side of the panel, knocking the button back into place. “There we go. All fixed!” She swiftly turns on her heels, her bubble-braided hair swinging behind her as she comes to a halt on your other side, mirroring Vi. You can’t help but feel cornered—even in such an open space. Powder leans over, almost crossing the line of your personal space. You feel small under her gaze. You, a wrestler—a good one at that—feel intimidated by a petite woman. How ironic.

“Who are you?” She pokes. 

“Y/N. The wrestling captain,” you say, forcing your voice to stay steady. You glance over your shoulder at your team, who are slowing down to listen in on the conversation. “Laps aren’t over! Don’t make me add time to practice!”

The team scrambles back into motion. Powder finally leans back, the energy easing. “Oh,” she hums, fidgeting with her fingers as she puts two-and-two together. 

“You’re Powder?” You force the words from your throat. She only nods in response. 

“Yeah, she’s my younger sister,” Vi chimes in. “She built the contraption that controls the ‘big-ass bag.’” Contempt is laced in her words as she quotes your earlier statement, emphasizing it with air-quotes. This time, your blood runs hot. Your blunt fingernails dig into the skin of your palms as you clench your fists. 

Just as you were about to bite back, Mel speaks up. “Yes. We appreciate your hard work and skill, Powder.” She places a friendly hand on Powder’s shoulder. The girl glances at it before shrugging it off. 

“No biggie.” She grumbles. “Your boyfriend keeps fucking it up, though.”

Mel flushes, looking at Jayce with embarrassment. “Oh, he isn’t—” Everyone in the group, even Sevika, shoots her a glare that silently calls “bullshit” on her words.

“Well, you must be Vi,” you turn your body toward her, extending your hand. She looks down at it, questioning the gesture. She takes your hand in a style that feels more like a grab than a grasp. “It’s nice to meet—unh—you.” Your sentence breaks as she shakes your hand with a rough motion, pulling you toward her slightly. 

“Yeah. You too, princess.” You yank your hand back. A devilish smirk pulls at her lips, spotlighting the scar that pairs with the one chiseled into her eyebrow. “Your girls are looking a little lost over there.” She gestures toward the mat where the bag has finally begun to retract with a mechanical hum. 

You scoff, glaring at her in annoyance. “Go home. Your practice is over.” You push past her, shoulder-checking her as you fully commit to the mat.

“Alright, ladies!” you yell, your voice echoing off the walls. “The bag is up! Let’s go— circle the mat. Stretches, then tumbling. Get ready to practice blast-doubles into a takedown!”

You circle the girls on the mat, helping pairs when needed. You stand in front of a duo who look to be moving like fish out of water. You watch as one of the girls lowers herself to her knee and moves through the steps of the skill. She rotates her shoulder awkwardly as it makes contact with her partner’s hip bone. She pushes through into a takedown. You move to grab her before she and her partner hit the mat.

“That’s how you dislocate your shoulder,” you state. “Jesus,” you mutter under your breath. You take her place and demonstrate the movements, gracefully taking her partner down and moving into a pinning position. The girl nods in understanding as you stand up to let her try again. 

You look over your shoulder and make eye contact with Vi. She looks at you, impressed, and you smirk at her. The tension is severed as Vi comes back to her senses, rolling her eyes at your prideful expression. 

You look down at your watch; only an hour left of practice. You sigh softly. Mel walks over to you, not stepping onto the mat due to her wearing her sneakers. 

“Hey. We’re all going to go to the food hall to grab something to eat. Is that okay?” 

You only nod, not bothering to face her fully. Your focus stays on the moving bodies in front of you. You see a girl lose her footing and yell out a correction to her form. 

“Can I get you anything?”

You finally turn to acknowledge her properly, walking off the mat to meet her. Your shoulders fall, your structured demeanor finally faltering. You ponder for a moment but ultimately shake your head. 

“No, I need to get my shit together. We’re running out of time and I’m still in my warm-ups,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. You pull your hoodie over your head and slide your sweatpants down your legs, kicking them off. You leave the set in a heap by the mat. “You can go ahead. I have to get drills going.”

Mel nods before retreating to the group. You glance over, seeing how Vi seems to be taking in your newly exposed figure. You stand there in your compression shirt and matching leggings, the fabric form-fitting. You tug at the long-sleeves, adjusting them to line up the seams. She watches your every move, and you let her. Her eyes linger on your chest until you snap, grabbing her attention. You make a gesture for her to focus on your eyes. Vi flushes as you wink playfully, slightly in disbelief of her shameless behavior. 

Powder stands next to her, her gaze narrowing with a disgusted look on her face. She grimaces, mimicking a vomiting motion. Sevika walks behind Vi, patting her shoulder and signalling her to join the group as they leave. You watch as they file out of the gym. Mel looks back to give you one last warm smile before the door shuts behind her. 

You sigh deeply and turn to your team. You yell out directions before stepping onto the mat, spending the rest of practice assisting with moves and drills, helping your teammates perfect their skills.

Practice finishes, and your team has already left, eager to spend the rest of their Saturday night however they please. You look down at your phone: 5:37 PM. You wipe a bead of sweat from your brow, your chest heaving as you sit on the bleachers. You set your phone down before reaching down to tear the tape from your laces. You pause for a moment and look up at the mat a few feet away. The space is wide and empty, the punching bag tucked safely against the ceiling. You glance at the time again. Some extra practice couldn’t hurt… could it? 

You push yourself from your seat and walk over to the mat. Standing in the inner ring, you stretch your arms and shake out your legs before taking the bottom position. You run through the motions of snapping up to your right knee, planting your left foot, and swinging around to stand before dropping into a wrestling stance. You repeat the sequence until you exhaustedly collapse onto the mat, sitting on your heels. You press your hand to your chest as you catch your breath. Your hearing is fuzzy, the muffled hum of the lights bouncing around in your head. You are so engrossed in the pounding of your heart that you fail to see or hear the gym doors creak open. 

“Exhausted from wrestling all the ghosts?” A soft chuckle reverberates through your entire being. You look up through half-closed eyes.

“And yet you’re the only haunting presence here, Vi,” you mumble with a frown. This earns another chuckle from deep within her chest. She leans down and unlaces her boots and slides them off before stepping onto the mat, walking toward you. She sits in front of you, lounging casually.

“What do you want, Vi?” You plant the hand that was on your chest onto the mat, trying to ground yourself as you shift your weight to sit with your legs stretched out. Vi shrugs. 

“Teach me.”

“Teach you what?” Your brow quirks and you tilt your head at her. She kicks her own legs out, nudging your shoe with her socked foot. 

“Teach me how to wrestle, and I’ll teach you how to box,” she states simply, offering a small smirk to go with the cool stare she’s leveled at you. 

You roll your eyes and scoff. “Not a chance in hell.” You push yourself off the mat and walk toward the bleachers to grab your water. Vi scrambles to her feet, following close behind you like an eager puppy. 

“Oh, come on. It would be fun!” she argues, plopping herself down onto the bleachers in front of you. You stand there, sipping on your water. 

“Still no. Even if I did, I would never do it sober.” 

“Okay… then let me buy you a drink,” she says, placing her hands on her knees, leaning toward you, looking up with hooded eyes. You practically choke on your water, pulling the bottle from your mouth as you cough. 

“You—” You continue to cough, eyes watering in the process. You grasp your chest as you swallow thickly, processing her words. “—are fucking hilarious,” you deadpan, your expression a harsh contrast to your words. Her eyes widen at your response, thick brows furrowing. 

“You are not buying me a drink, Violet. Not a fucking chance.”

She stands up now, invading your space. She grabs the bottle that you’re still holding. “Okay, and what if I take this from you? You’ll need a drink, won’t you? I can provide that for you.” She sets the bottle down behind her. She looks at you intently, a small grin on her lips.

“God, you are insufferable.” You roll your eyes. You shift your gaze from her to the floor, blinking as you think for a moment. You finally cave in, but not without a fight.

“Give me your hands.” You look at her, your face not giving away any telling expression. She cocks her head, confused by the shift in tone. You grab her wrists and fold her fingers inward, you feel for the length of her fingernails. Too sharp. You look at her; she’s watching you with curiosity. A pink flush decorates her freckled face. You let go of her hands and step around her to reach into your bag. You dig out your keychain, which has nail clippers hanging from it. You unclip the tool and toss the rest of the keychain back into your bag before handing the tool to her. 

Her demeanor shifts; she stands with her arms crossed and a hip popped out. She takes the tool from you with a wide grin painted on her lips. “You are such a little freak for having those on hand.”

You stare at her blankly. "Excuse me?” you mutter, utterly confused by her statement. “A what?”

Vi shrugs as she begins to trim her nails. “You know,” she says as she clips each nail, feeling them over to check for rigid edges. “You’re always prepared.”

You laugh loudly, clutching your core as you hunch over. “Dude!” You gasp for air, laughter still flowing from you. “I’m a wrestler. It’s a regulation to have short nails.” You finally catch your breath, wiping your eyes. “Get your head out of the gutter.”

She rolls her eyes. “Well, you play a sport where you get on top—” she pauses, clipping her last nail, “—or under,” she mutters incoherently as she looks over her hands one last time. “But you basically pin girls down to a mat for fun.” 

You shrug, trying to conceal the blush that’s forming on the apples of your cheeks by wiping sweat from your hairline.

“So what?” You quirk a brow as she hands you back the clippers, your fingers touching in the process. You shudder at the contact. 

She pulls her hand back, gesturing to your reaction with a smirk. “My point exactly— it’s very likely you are a freak.”

You roll your eyes, tucking the clippers back into your bag. You glance down at the socks on her feet; she notices. 

She picks up on the thoughts swimming through your head. “I can wear my boxing shoes—” 

You instantly hold up your hand, stopping her. “No!” You sigh. “You’ve scuffed up the mat enough already.” 

She rolls her eyes as you turn to dig through your bag, pulling out an extra pair of wrestling shoes. “Here. These should work for now.” You hand the shoes to her.

“Thank you,” she mutters, grabbing the pair and sitting down next to you. You watch as her slim fingers loosen the laces before she leans down to shove her foot into the shoe. She finishes lacing the shoes and you then hand her the roll of tape. You gesture to your own taped laces and she nods. She copies the taped wrapping from your laces onto her own. You wait for her to finish up before you direct her next moves. 

“Get on the mat.” You stand up and walk toward the mat; she’s already there. She jumps up and down, shaking out her nerves with a wide grin. 

“I’m excited.” She’s practically beaming as you stretch out your muscles. She does the same, mimicking your actions. 

You chuckle softly, and her cheeks flush at the sound. “Top or bottom?” you ask with a serious expression, readying yourself for either position.

Her grin falters. “W-what?” She stares at you blankly, not sure if you’re serious. Her face flushes, a blush the color of her hair dusting her cheeks as explicit images likely develop in her mind. A smirk slowly forms on her lips. “Top.” she dares. The connotation of her word is clearly different from yours—she is pushing your buttons, and she knows it.

“Ew! Violet, get your mind out of the gutter.” You groan loudly as you pick up on the thoughts crossing her mind. “They’re wrestling positions,” you insist. “So, seriously: top or bottom?” You reiterate yourself with a sterner tone. 

She looks at you and shrugs. “You tell me.”

You let out a frustrated huff. “Okay—” You step closer, simplifying it. “Do you want to pin me, or do you want me to pin you?”

Her eyes dart toward the space between you, she thinks for a moment before glancing back up. “I want you to pin me.” 

“So, bottom position. Okay,” you restate, the mentality of being captain taking over. You fall to your knees and sit back on your heels. You place your hands in front of you, hunching over as you demonstrate the position for her to move into. “This is the bottom position.” You wait for her to recreate your movements before you stand on your knees. 

She looks back at you over her shoulder. “So, basically pretend to wrestle the ghosts like you were earlier?” she teases with a smile. You roll your eyes and nod briefly. 

“Yep. This time, I’m the ghost,” you remark as you move in front of her, giving her some distance. “You remember the snap movements I was doing? How I snapped up to my right knee, planted my left foot, and swung around to stand before dropping into a wrestling stance?” You emphasize each move by acting it out as you speak. She nods and clumsily moves through the motions. “Okay. Let’s see how this goes,” you sigh tiredly, moving behind her. 

“I’m gonna have to touch you—is that okay?” you mutter from behind her, wanting to make sure you have her verbal consent before taking your position on top.

“Do your worst, princess.” 

“Okay—” A light pink dusts your cheeks; you’re grateful she can’t see how her words affect you. You place your hand on her shoulder and you swear she shivers at the contact. You bite your lip and swallow the lump climbing up your throat. Get yourself together, Y/N. You coach girls all day. Vi isn’t any different. Rationality claws at your brain, leaving a burning sensation in between your brows. 

“So, being in the top position, I am going to stand on my left knee and plant my right foot behind you. Then I’m going to place my left hand on your left wrist—” You move forward, your chest pressing against her back as you take a loose hold on her wrist. “I’ll put my right hand in a fist and put it on your stomach, resting it under your ribs,” you explain, acting through it. Your cheek rests against her back, just below the base of her neck. “Then I’ll put my weight onto you.” You move your right foot enough to stabilize yourself as you lay about sixty percent of your weight onto her.

“Oh, come on. Don’t go easy on me. I can handle it, princess,” she chuckles from under you. You let out a scoff and lay the rest of your weight onto her out of spite. She jolts forward and lets out a quick breath. She squirms to settle back into position, and you give her the room to do so.

“Better?” you sass, smirking at how she collected herself after the change in pressure. She mumbles something incoherent, and your smirk widens. She readjusts one last time.

“What next?” she asks, readying to move forward.

“The snap movements from before, but now you have to take into account my weight,” you explain. “I’m only putting pressure for now; I’m not going to try to pin you yet.” 

A few seconds pass as she plays the scenario through her head. She lifts her head, and you sense the determination settling in her demeanor. 

“Ready?” you ask.

She nods in response and lets out a quick breath before moving into the practiced sequence of movements. She snaps up to her right knee and plants her left foot as she was told, but her movements are clumsy. You press your weight into her and follow her lead, pushing off your knee as you both move upward. As she attempts to swing around and into the wrestling stance, she loses her footing and begins to fall backward. 

You act fast, cupping your hand on the back of her head before it can slam into the dense material of the mat. Her back hits the floor, knocking the wind out of her. Her eyes squeeze shut as your fingers soften the blow. You catch yourself with your other hand, bracing it next to her head. This was semi-normal to you—new recruits always start somewhere—and you move with rehearsed caution, but your body is pressed flush against hers. Your brows tie together in panic. Her eyes fly open, and you look at them closely, taking in the dusty blue irises that frame her normally dilated pupils. You sigh in relief, letting out a shaky breath.

“Geez, princess,” Vi mutters from underneath you. “I’m fine. I can handle a little tumble.” Her voice drops off as her gaze drifts to your lips. Your breath hitches, fingers tightening in her pink hair. Her hands move to hold your hips, her movements slow and hesitant. You instinctively move closer; your breaths mingle into one. Her lashes flutter as her eyelids droop, and she leans up until your noses practically touch. 

Suddenly, it all becomes too real. You gasp, yanking your hand from her hair and pushing yourself off her, scrambling to your feet. You back up, tripping over your own feet as heat crawls across your skin. Your hair sticks to your forehead, and you swallow dryly. You can’t form a single word. No witty banter, no quip back—nothing. 

Vi pushes herself up, sitting back on her elbows. “What the hell was that?” she puzzles. Her expression shows just as much shock as yours. She has a point—what the hell was that? 

You run a clammy hand through your hair, placing your palms on the back of your neck and interlocking your fingers. Your lips part as heavy, shallow breaths escape past your teeth. You blink at her. She stays on the mat in front of you, her chest heaving. Her skin is slick with sweat and colored with a hue similar to that of her hair. Speaking of—pink strands fall in front of her face, and she brushes them back, catching your eyes as she does. 

This sight of her so disheveled, so caught off guard—you can’t look away. But you have to. You can’t let these images of her blur into the fantasies blooming in the back of your mind. You can’t let the thought of her coming apart beneath you fester into a malignant being meant to gnaw at your conscience.

You turn on your heel, practically speed-walking off the mat and towards the bleachers where your stuff sits. You rush to rip the tape and unlace your shoes, yanking them off your feet roughly. Your senses shut down—all you know in this moment is Vi, Vi, Vi. You hear the scuffling of shoes and hurried footsteps.

“What are you doing?” Vi is standing in front of you now. Her words come out in sharp syllables. She knows you’re running. 

“I’m leaving—” You grunt as you throw your shoes into your bag haphazardly, the mangled tape still dangling from the laces. “This little teaching session, or whatever, is over. Go home.” You can’t bear to look at her, knowing all you’ll see are the lips you wish had kissed you. This was wrong, all wrong. Your bones itch with a need for her. It is unfamiliar—this unsettling desire. It sits deep in your stomach, bubbling and boiling in anticipation. Your whole body feels hot, and all you want to do is either drench yourself in ice water or peel your skin off. There’s no in-between. 

“Are you kidding me?” Vi snorts, her tone harsh. “You’re really just gonna leave and ignore what just happened?”

You spin around to face her, your expression cold. You point a finger at her. “What almost just happened,” you correct. She scoffs and crosses her arms over her chest, building back up that wall you somehow managed to crack previously. 

Your blood bubbles under your skin; heat radiates from your body as she dares to step closer. You step back, your calves hitting the bleachers. You stumble slightly, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. You sidestep her, not even bothering to put on your regular shoes. You just want out. You need to be away from her—away from the temptations that swarm her like a heavy storm cloud. She stares at you in disbelief. 

You storm out of the gym. The loud slam of your hand on the old wood drowns out the call of your name. You turn the corner of the corridor that leads down the sports hall, find a bench, and toss your bag onto it before reaching in to grab your tennis shoes. You plop down on the seat and begin to slide the shoes onto your feet. You lace them up and lean back against the wall. Your throat feels dry and your eyes sting, the discomfort a companion to the rhythmic thumping of your head. 

Your phone buzzes from the bottom of your bag. You groan and move to retrieve the device. Mel’s name is displayed on the screen, a photo of the two of you peering back as you stare at the incoming call. You sigh and accept it, putting the phone to your ear.

“What’s up?” you mumble. The microphone easily picks up on the discomfort in your voice. 

“Why are you still at the gym?” Mel asks, concern decorates her delicate voice.

“How—” You’re confused at first, but then you remember that the two of you share your locations. “Don’t stalk me, weirdo.”

Mel lets out a huff, the gust of air crackling in the receiver. “I’m worried about you,” she admits.

“I’m fine—” you begin, but she cuts you off before you can repeat yourself more convincingly.

“No. I don’t like the way things were between you and Vi during practice. I fear you two won’t get along.”

You want to tell her that she’s partially right—tell her about the events that have happened in the past hour or so. 

“She left the food hall before any of us. Not even Powder knew where she went,” Mel explains, recounting the details. She always makes sure to collect every relevant fact. 

“She came to the gym.” You sigh and Mel goes silent. You wait a beat, curious if she’ll butt in. She doesn’t. “She somehow convinced me to teach her some wrestling moves.” 

Shuffling can be heard coming from her end of the call. You hear muffled protests from Mel as the phone is handed off to someone you recognize as Jayce. His deeper voice rings out, causing you to turn the volume down on your phone. “She left us to be with you?” he questions. You can practically picture the bewilderment on his face by the tone of his voice.

You shrug your shoulders as you mutter, “I guess so.” 

Jayce starts to pour questions onto you before Mel snatches her phone back. You smile softly as you listen to the quick bickering the two share. Mel focuses back on you.

“What are your plans for the night?” she inquires. You pull the phone from your ear to glance at the small clock in the corner of the screen: 7:56 PM. 

You put the phone back to your ear. “Uh— I don’t think I’m doing anything, really. I need to shower, though.” 

“Okay, how about we meet up at The Last Drop around 9:30?”

You open your mouth to give some lame excuse, but she beats you to it.

“Please?” Her voice is soft and convincing. A second passes and you give in. You mumble something close to a confirmation before the two of you share your goodbyes.

You place your phone down next to you, letting out a long exhale. You try to regain your composure, but it’s cut short as you hear the echo of the gym door closing. This is your sign to get going in hopes of avoiding a run-in with Vi. You’re quick on your feet, guiding yourself down the rest of the hall to the exit doors. You weave through the parked cars in the lot, pull your keys from the side pocket of your bag, and unlock your car. You toss your bag onto the leather of the back seat before sliding into the driver’s side. You pull out of the spot and head toward your apartment—a newer building on the nicer side of Piltover, just a few miles from the University. 

You are considered well off financially; your parents are a big part of that. Your mother was a commissioner for the Council, specifically working with Councilwoman Kirraman. Your father is a merchant who made his living in the dark alleys of the Undercity. The two of them met when your mother was stationed in Zaun for research to help improve conditions of those less fortunate. Your father found her wandering the streets, blissfully unaware of the danger lurking in the shadows. Your mother was kind-hearted, always seeing the good in those around her. Your father means well, but he has his faults.

You recall the stories shared about their fairytale-esque love story, but the details have become foggy as you’ve grown older. After having you, your parents settled in the comfort of Piltover, your mother setting up a steady job at an antiques and gadgets shop for your father. He still works there now—having taken ownership of the company a few years ago. He travels often, venturing to foreign countries to sell valuable items, the money fueling you and your passions alongside his. He’s all you have left.

Your mother passed during your adolescence. Shortly after, Councilwoman Kirraman announced her departure from the Council and was named Dean of Piltover University. You remember your mother expressing her dreams of you attending the school; it leaves a hole in your heart that she isn’t here to see you make that dream a reality.

You arrive at your building, parking and getting out of your car to head toward the stairs leading up to your unit. You lock the door behind you and place your bag onto the table flush with the entry hallway’s wall. 

You walk past the kitchenette and the living room, heading down the hall to your room. You pull your shoes off and kick them carelessly into your closet; a problem for later. You leave your room and push the bathroom door open, flicking on the lights as you walk in. The tile is cold, soothing the acute burning of your sore feet. 

You stare at your reflection in the mirror. You’ve looked better. Your hair is messy, strands pulled out of the style it was held in for practice. You note how flushed your skin is and the faint dark tracks running down your cheeks from leftover mascara. A soft sigh leaves your lips as you move to turn on the shower, letting the water warm as you undress. 

Your shower is short-lived but you got done what needs to be done. The feeling of the mat is free from your skin, and you let out a content hum as you wrap yourself in a plush towel. You run your fingers through your damp hair, looking at it through the mirror as you ponder how to style it. You tap the screen of your phone that’s sitting on the counter. The time reads: 8:48 PM. You decide that you have time for a blowout. 

About twenty minutes later, you exit the bathroom with freshly styled hair and walk over to your closet. You thumb through the clothes on the hangers, searching for something appealing. Your gaze lands on a simple dress—sleek black fabric that hangs off one shoulder and tailors to the curve of your waist. It’s nothing special, but it’s clean and cute. You pull it from the hanger, tossing it behind you onto the bed. You kneel down to sort through the shoes organized in the cubby shelves. You hook your fingers on the strap of your black, studded sling-back flats. Again—nothing special, but comfortable and cute. 

You stand back up and bring the shoes over the edge of your bed, setting them on the floor. You step over toward your dresser and pick out the appropriate underwear for your outfit. You slip into your bra and panties before shimmying into the dress. You sit on your bed to put on your shoes, standing back up to make sure they fit comfortably before walking into your bathroom. 

You fluff up your hair and tug at your dress so the silhouette fits properly. You brush on a few strokes of mascara and apply tinted chapstick. You deem yourself presentable and turn on your heel; you’re heading out the door, keys in hand, ready for the night.

You pull into a spot in the lot outside of the bar, killing the engine before stepping out. The early March breeze blows around you, decorating your skin with goosebumps. You sling your bag over your shoulder as you lock your car. You approach the entrance, the thumping bass of the music leaving an odd hum on the door handle as you push it open, being fully consumed by the lively atmosphere as you step through the threshold. Bodies are pushed up against one another—some intentional and some not so much. You squeeze through, navigating the labyrinth of intoxicated individuals, craning your neck as you look around in hopes of seeing a familiar face.

“Y/N! Over here!” You can hardly make out the call of our name, but the sound directs your gaze toward a booth near a more secluded corner of the venue. 

Mel is perched on the worn seat; Jayce has an arm slung over her shoulders while he is sitting snug beside whom you assume to be Viktor. You stumble toward the group, grabbing a hold of the round tabletop that centers the semi-circular seating. You pull your hand back, grimacing at the sticky residue of some mysterious substance that is now on your palm. You toss your bag onto the seat before sliding into the booth across from Mel. You let out an exasperated sigh, tossing your head back. 

“You okay?” Jayce’s brows furrow as he takes in your uneasy presence. You lift your head and glare at him. “Guess not,” he mutters, and it earns a jab to the side from Mel. He winces and holds his hand up in mock surrender. He mumbles an apology, and Mel turns back to you.

“Would a drink help?” She smiles softly, trying to do what she can to show her support without being too overbearing. 

“More like a whole bottle,” you grumble dramatically, running a hand through your hair. You feel around for a clean spot on the table before placing your elbow upon the wood, resting your chin in your palm. You glance over at Viktor, who looks to be as unamused as you. 

“Good to see you, Viktor.” You offer him a small but nonetheless forced smile. 

He nods in acknowledgment. “You as well, Y/N. Safe to assume you’re well?” There was depth to his question, far beyond the surface of your evident despair. During freshman year the shift into the new environment and training schedule stress had caused the concern of a minor tear in the labrum of your hip, and as a sports medicine intern, he was there for all of your physical therapy and rehabilitation. You nod sharply, not wanting to dwell on the thought.

The four of you sit in a dense cloud of unrhythmic small talk—the majority of conversation being initiated by Mel. You tap your fingers on the table absentmindedly, thinking of your next move. I am way too sober to survive this, you think to yourself as you watch the numerous stares shared by the trio in front of you, each glance proving a different consequence of every emotion that hovers in the air around them. You grunt as you slide off the booth, the leather catching the bare flesh of your thighs. You stand up straight and tuck your card into your bra, not wanting to lug your entire bag up to the bar top. 

You inform the group of your intention to get a drink and are only met with a swift nod from Mel. You maneuver through the crowd and find your way to the bar top. You brace yourself on the edge of the counter, leaning forward as you look for the bartender. You see them on the opposite end, attending to a customer. You rock back on your heels, your eyes darting around, taking in the scenery of the lively environment as you wait patiently. You glance at the shelves built into the interior of the bartop. Your eyes narrow as your gaze catches something familiar. A pair of shoes are tucked into the corner of one of the shelves. Are those…my shoes? You wonder. It’s hard to tell for sure, the dark lighting not allowing much detail to be seen. You continue to stare at the shoes, different scenarios playing through your head. You fail to notice that the bartender has moved toward you, ready for your order. 

“What can I get you, miss?” The voice was deep, raspy, matured with age. You look at him, still trying to regain your thoughts. He looks at you; a gentle patience paints his wrinkled features. His hair was messy but not dirty, his beard sprinkled with grey patches. Just as you were about to respond, a voice chips in. You glance over and frown immediately. 

“I’ve got this one, Vander.” Vi steps toward the man, placing a hand on his bulky arm, urging him to back away.

“You have got to be kidding me!” You roll your eyes hard enough to give yourself a headache. You let out an annoyed grunt. “You work here?” Vander gives her a look, shaking his head as Vi nods smugly.

“Something like that,” she shrugs and twirls a dirty glass in her hand before placing it in the sink next to her. 

“Can I just get a shot, please? Vodka.” You sigh, doing all you can to avoid her gaze. She stays persistent, eyeing you closely. She can only see your upper half due to the height of the bartop, but it still doesn’t stop her imagination from filling in the rest. 

“Surprised you didn’t run from the sight of me,” she lets out a humorless laugh, grabbing two shot glasses from a shelf behind her and setting the glasses down on the counter. Your brows cinch at the presence of the second glass, but you ignore; there’s better things to worry about.

“Yeah, believe me, I wanted to,” you mutter with an unamused tone. “But you still have my shoes.” You blink at her with a glint in your eyes that makes her skin crawl. You were on the precipice of walking out of the damn bar and stomping home. But, she’s determined to keep you teetering. 

“Just wanted an excuse to see you again, princess.” She sends you a wink, grinning as your face scrunches in contempt. She finishes pouring your shot, along with filling the extra glass, and places both in front of you. 

You frown. “I only wanted one, Violet,” you repeat from earlier. She nods, moving swiftly around the bar to stand by your side. You watch her closely. She looks different in this light. Like she’s in her element, thriving and glowing. You suck in a breath, trying to swallow down the attraction you feel for the way her clothes cling to her body. She’s dressed in a black tank top; no bra. Blue jeans hang low on her hips, the waistband of her boxers sit higher than her jeans. 

“I’m not deaf.” She rolls her eyes, finding an open space next to you. She leans back on the bartop, holding her body up with her elbows. “The other is for me.” She looks at you, smirking slightly. 

“Drinking on the job?” You tease, quirking a brow as a small smile pulls at your lips. She shrugs and laughs softly.

“Did I say I worked here? Hm, don’t recall.” She mutters before turning to grab one of the shot glasses. She swings the liquid back and swallows it in one motion. She grimaces at the taste as it burns down her throat. She speaks, the alcohol leaving a raspy tone in her voice. You gawk at her, watching the way her throat bobbed as she swallowed. Oh, how you wish you could feel that movement with your fingertips, how you wish you could just wrap your hand around—

“Hey, princess,” She snaps in your face, pulling you out of your thoughts. She’s closer now. You can feel the heat from her body, it feels all too familiar. Reminiscent of the tension you faced on the mat. “You good?” She laughs, nearly mocking you. You grunt, regaining your composure before reaching for your own glass. You toss your head back as the liquid flows past your lips and leaves a tingling sensation in its wake. This earns another, more confident, laugh from Vi.

“So, why are you here?” She moves to rest her side on the bar. She cocks her head, eyeing you once more. You feel hot under her gaze, shifting your weight between each foot as you stand there silently. You swallow thickly, averting your gaze from the subtle impressions of barbells that are noticeable through her top. Her brows furrow, “You a lightweight or something? Why are you so quiet? You always have some random shit to say—this whole silence thing is kinda creepy.” 

You roll your eyes and groan, “Oh just fuck off.” This earns a grin from the woman in front of you. She reaches out, shoving your shoulder playfully. Your gaze falls onto her hand as its presence lingers on your forearm. “There she is.” She muses, tracing shapes onto the skin of your wrist with the tip of her finger. You pull back, standing your ground. 

“Nope.” You mutter, holding your hands up in defense before wrapping them around yourself, as if to stop yourself from reaching out to her. You back up, stumbling over a barstool in an attempt to create the much needed distance. “Not doing this. I came here to have fun—” you begin to rant, your volume rises above the music thumping through the speakers. “—came here to forget about you, don’t make this any harder for me, Vi.” 

You watch as Vi’s expression grows cold. She shifts her weight to stand up properly, straightening her back. Tension falls into her shoulders, holding them in place as she glares at you. “Fine. Be that way.” She scoffs, the lingering vodka on her tongue letting the words fall out with little hesitation. “But trust me, Y/N—” She steps closer to you, “I will make everything harder for you.” 

Your eyes widen at her words. On the surface it’s a cold, frozen statement but deep down you know that there’s more to it. You reach out to grip the back of the nearest empty barstool, you lean on it casually, popping your hip out in a way that pulls her eyes toward your torso.

“Is that a threat, Violet—” You narrow a gaze on her, confidence growing as you feel her eyes dragging up toward your face. “Or a promise?” 

She finally meets your eyes, a challenging spark gleaming in the low light of the bar. “Definitely a promise, princess.”

You let out a huff and push off the stool before straightening your posture. You turn on your heel, looking over your shoulder as you mutter, “Then don’t let me down.” 

You give her one last look before making your way back toward your group. 

Vi slams a hand onto the bartop and throws her head back in frustration. “God! What is her fucking deal?” She groans as she moves to face the bar fully, gripping the counter tightly. Vander looks over at her, a cocktail shaker moving violently in his hands as he mixes up a drink. 

“Haven’t seen you this worked up in awhile.” Vi looks up at Vander, lips curling into a frown. “Who is she?” 

Vi pulls an empty barstool out and slides onto the cushioned leather, sitting across from the man. “Y/N Y/L/N. Wrestling captain and properly the bane of my existence.” she grumbles, glancing over at where you’re seating and chatting with your friends. 

Vander nods, straining and pouring the freshly mixed concoction into a tall glass. “So, she’s one of Ambessa’s girls?” Vi nods, her gaze still lingering on you. “Makes sense—” Vi looks at Vander. “She seems to be a spit fire.”

She rolls her eyes and mumbles a string of curses under her breath. She sits up and leans over the counter to grab the bottle of vodka from earlier and pours herself another shot. She downs it swiftly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “She’s gonna teach me how to wrestle—” 

Vander quirks a brow, glancing at her questionably. “Really think that’s a good idea, kid?” Vi shrugs and pours herself another shot before Vander reaches over and grabs the bottle from her hand. He sets it next to him on the counter, away from her. Vi shoots him an annoyed glare but he shrugs it off. “Hey, I may be your coach and what not, but a dad still has to dad.” 

Vi groans dramatically and slumps into the stool. She runs her hands over her face, pressing her fingers into her temples.

You sit comfortably at the booth, engaging in conversation as drinks are passed around. You settled on sipping a drink Mel had rejected—she had complained that it was too sour for her taste. The glass is cold in your hand, condensation dripping onto your fingers as you hold it tightly. 

“Vi’s here.” You mutter around the straw that’s settled between your lips. All eyes are on you now.

“Oh? I mean, it makes sense. This is Vander’s place.” Jayce explains as he twirls a cork coaster with his fingers. Mel nods in agreement while Viktor just looks between the two. 

“Hmm, it’s just annoying. I didn’t want to see her.” You hum, taking another sip from your drink before setting it down. 

Jayce’s brow furrow as a thought comes to mind, “What’s going on between you two?” 

Mel glances at him and then to you. Her head tilts as she awaits your answer. You just shrug and let out a superficial sigh.

“Who knows—” you feel the weight of the alcohol on your shoulders, pressing further onto your exhausted body. You want to put up a fight, you want to defend yourself and say there’s nothing going on but it takes energy to lie. Energy you don’t have.

“She just took a liking to me I guess.” You mutter as you rub your tired eyes, careful enough to not smudge your mascara. You plant your elbow on the table and rest your chin on your palm. “That’s all there is to it.”

“So, you’re friends?” Jayce inquires, raising a brow skeptically. 

“Something like that.” You mumble before sipping the rest of your drink through its straw. You push your empty glass to the edge of the table as you slide off the booth. You rest the strap of your bag on your shoulder, gripping the back of the booth to stabilize yourself.

“I kinda just want to go home.” You slur, the numerous drinks have left a soft blur in the edge of your peripheral. Mel watches as you stumble, frowning at your obvious intoxication. 

“Let me drive you—” She begins, already grabbing her purse and reaching for your keys. Jayce places a hand on her shoulder as he gets up, following after her. 

He nods, looking over at Viktor who is following suit. “Yeah, it’s getting late. I can follow you and take Mel back home.” 

Mel has moved to your side, holding her arm around your shoulders to make sure you stay up right as the four of you weave through the crowd towards the door. 

Jayce steps back from the group, falling behind to go pay the tab. As the rest of you file out into the file toward your designated vehicles, he stands at the bar. Vander greets him kindly, accepting the card Jayce had pulled from the wallet in his hand.

“Do you have her number?” A voice asks from beside him. Jayce looks over, met with the flushed face of a familiar pinkette. 

“What?” 

“You heard me—” Vi’s words fell off, an obvious indication that the glass in front of her was not her first. “What’s her number?”

Jayce sighs, briefly thanking Vander as he hands back his card. He looks back at Vi, his shoulders fall as he reaches for his phone from his back pocket. He scrolls through his messages with Mel to where she had shared your number with him. He copies the number and sends it to Vi before slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“Not a word about this, Lanes.” He mutters, stepping away from the bar and heading for the exit, patting Vi on the shoulder as he passes her. She nods swiftly, muttering an incoherent thank you.

The glass feels cold on your skin as you rest your forehead on the window. Your hands are wrapped around yourself in an attempt to aid in the warming of your skin, most of the alcohol in your system already doing the bulk of the work. Mel’s eyes are pulled to the road in front of her, hands steady on the wheel.

“I feel like an idiot for drinking that much,” you groan, knitting your brows together as you wrap your arms tighter. Mel glances over, frowning slightly.

“It’s alright. That’s why I stopped at two. I wanted to make sure you had fun and could still get a safe ride home.” She smiles softly, reaching a hand over to lay a palm on your knee, squeezing assuringly. You lift your head just enough to look at her from the side, giving her a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. 

The drive is short, traffic being light due to the late hour. Mel has an arm slung over your shoulder, helping you up the stairs as you grip the railing next to you. She gets you to your door, pulling your keys from her pocket and unlocking the door. She leads you inside, closing the door behind her before guiding you to your room. You push off of her once you get through the door of your bedroom. You stumble as you move towards the bed, flopping down onto the comforter with a huff. You roll onto your stomach, groaning into the feathery blanket.

“I’ll go grab you some water,” Mel says before she leaves to go to the kitchen. You sit up, kicking your shoes off and crawling further onto the bed. Exhaustion fills your limbs, leaving them a heavy weight that presses into the bed, keeping you from wanting to get up and get undressed. You stare up at the ceiling, eyelids heavy and dropping. Mel comes back shortly, setting the water glass down onto your nightstand. You let a content sigh, a sign of your appreciation. 

Mel’s phone vibrates and she glances at the screen. “Alright, Jayce is here. I’m gonna head out. Love you, Y/N. Take care of yourself.” 

You give her a floppy wave, mumbling a goodbye. You hear her footsteps retreating before the door shutting behind her. You roll onto your side groaning as the simmering ache in your head comes to a boil. You close your eyes, squeezing them shut in an attempt to dull the ache. Suddenly, a ringing moves throughout the room. You don’t bother opening your eyes, just moving your arm around haphazardly, trying to feel for your phone. Once you feel the device in your hand you grab it, finally opening your eyes. Unknown Caller…huh? You stare at the screen, wondering who could be calling.

“Hello, who is this—” You manage to say before being cut off by the voice on the other end.

“Hey, princess.” 

Your eyes widen as the nickname registers in your head. You immediately sit up, holding yourself up with your elbow. “Oh, fuck no.” 

“Oh, fuck yeah.” Vi parrots through the microphone. She chuckles darkly as you let out a loud groan into your phone, making sure the volume of it leaves a small ringing in Vi's ears. “Miss me?”

“I hate you.” 

You can only imagine the fake pout curled onto the pinkette’s lips, “Aw, so mean to me. And yet, you don’t even know me—”

“Yeah, I have no intention of it either.”

“Oh. keep telling yourself that, cupcake.” She laughs, her confidence pushing past its normal capacity as the drinks still remain in her system. 

A short silence falls between you two. You stare up at your ceiling, phone still held against your ear.

“I hope you know that our little training sessions aren’t over.” 

Your cheeks flush as her voice cuts through the speaker, breaking up the silence. The thought of her under you on the mat fills your brain. Vi is smiling on the other end, practically ear to ear. 

“Please spare me the hindrance and just don’t show up.” You grumble before swiping your thumb over the end-call button. Your room falls silent, lacking the volume of Vi’s voice. You stare at the phone screen, a small smile forming as a notification pops up.

Unknown Contact: Really? How mature of you to hang up mid conversation.

You roll your eyes, fingerings moving clumsily as you type a response.

You: Not much of a conversation when it’s only you talking.

Vi continues to sit at the bar, nipping at the blunt tip of her fingernail as she watches the chat bubble move in anticipation of your reply. 

You: Goodnight, Violet.

Vi hearts the message before she types out her goodbye—but you’re already gone and fast asleep.

Vi: Goodnight, Princess.

A grin stays plastered on Vi’s face as she sets her phone down. Powder comes from the door leading into the employee’s only hallway. 

“Ew. Why do you look like that?” The blue-haired girl says as she moves to dry off the glasses stacked in front of her. Vi shrugs.

“Just happy I guess.”

– You were 20th in line. There was no way she could see you from there. As your friend said: "Everyone thinks their favorite is looking at them. It's all a delusion."

– You tried to drill that statement into your head but as you gained proximity, there was a voice in your head telling you that what your friend said wasn't true.

– You two did make eye contact. That smile on the corner of her lips was real and you were the cause.

– When your turn came, your delusions were confirmed. She did look at you. She said it herself.

– "Hey! You've been in line for a while. Thanks for waiting so patiently."

– Uhm, hellooooo. She was totally taking glances at you. How else would she have known that you've been waiting for a long time? Totally not because she can gauge the line's length and the amount of time it's taking her to get through everyone. Totally not.

– Anyway, as you two encountered, (your friend stayed back to give you your moment), your eyes couldn't help but sparkle when you met Vi's. Her gorgeous gray eyes, her pink hair that was way more vivid in person. Even her height. God, her height.

– You were obsessed with it.

– You knew she had to be on the taller side, but even the tallest person in the world looks 2 inches on a TV screen. ___

"Hey, you okay?" Vi smiled at you. Her eyes scanned yours, aware of your starstruckness but also looking for any signs that said you were indeed not okay. She had her hand on the small of your back and you almost felt like palpating. Well, that was until your friend, Hannah, snapped you out of your daze.

"Dude," her voice barked. "You're drooling and other people are waiting." Her tone was light and sweet.

You and Vi shared a chuckle, although yours sounded more embarrassed than hers. "Consider yourself a fan?" Vi gave you a mix of a smirk and a smile. Her hand still remained on the small of your back.

Giving her an eased smile, you moved closer so you two were side-by-side and in frame for the picture Hannah was taking. "You could say that."

---

– After that interaction, you could not stop talking about it on the way to your seats.

– You and Hannah gathered some goodies along the way. And even in line for frozen drinks, you couldn't stop mentioning how her wrapped hand felt on your back and how her voice was smooth as honey.

– Hannah could only sympathize so many times before she grew tired of your yapping, but she let you continue nonetheless.

– In your seat and deep into the match, you two raved and cheered for the respected sides. One of Hannah's favorites was competing before Vi's match so it was like a 2-for-1 special.

– When Vi's match did come around, you couldn't help but relish in her confidence and bask in her charisma. How she owned the ring during her intro and how her body bounced against the ring's ropes.

– She was stunning. (Even though you knew that already).

– As she stood on the ropes, smiling and waving to her fans, her eyes found yours. For Vi, it was like time stopped. The cheers of the audience drowned out and all she cared about was making you smile and seeing that sparkle in your eye again.

– She gave you her signature wink with the tilt of your head. To that, you squealed, jumped on the balls of your feet, and waved ecstatically towards her.

– Satisfied, Vi hummed to herself and went on to start her match.

– Now Vi wasn't going to let some cute human distract her from winning this fight. She's met many cute people before and she refused to let them get into her head and make her lose the match.

– Even if those cute people seem to melt and stare at her in admiration at the smallest things.

– Your meeting was only the beginning of a long-lasting relationship.

– Even after months of being together, you still freaked out time to time.

– These freakouts were different than before. They weren't "fangirl" freakouts and instead were smitten, "omg-i-can't-believe-how-awesome-my-girlfriend-is-and-i'm-in-love-with-her" freakouts.

– Like when Vi would rest her arm someplace on your body to lean on you, you would internally freak out because she was leaning on you and she's so attractive when she does that.

– Or another time when she gives you puppy eyes for wanting something you said no to. She'd even stick out her bottom lip and deepen the pout before you groan, cup her face, and express over and over how cute she is before giving in.

– When she calls you "babe", you freak out a little, and even when she cups your face, a tiny squeal comes from you.

– Vi never grew tired of your freakouts or moments of flusteredness. She thought it was cute.

– She had her moments of freakouts too but hid them better than you.

– (I had wayyy more ideas for this originally but they all went out the window as soon as I started writing so abrupt ending! Sorry!)

obviously it was to be expected, over six months in and this had been both of your longest relationship yet. you both made the time and effort to make sure it continued to be so, constantly spending quality time together and making sure boundaries were respected and desires were met.

it seemed that as everyday passed your shared devotion just increased tenfold.

as well as your… equal amounts of passion.

it was almost silly to look back and remember how you were so nervous that intimacy would change something in how she saw you. you don’t regret waiting and setting that boundary for yourself, but after the first few times together you really wish you had started sleeping with her earlier.

obviously sex wasn’t the only reason you loved violet. she was an amazing lover in every sense of the word, always ever so affectionate and caring to your physical and emotional well-being. you constantly told her you’re sure her clear superiority at being an older sister made her such a sweetheart, always protecting and looking out for you even when it wasn’t needed.

but it was only a matter of time before vi’s skills and charisma in the ring caught up to her, and before both of you knew it she had greatly increased in popularity to the point she was booking matches in other cities, occasionally leaving you along for weekends when she had to stay overnights to train and perform.

and you over it for the first couple of times. it wasn’t the end of the world when the two do you had to be separated, and when you got lonely there were always other ways you could be there for each other.

“how much longer until your back?”

“aww, don’t tell me my baby’s missing me already?” vi’s mocking voice rings through the receiver, groggy and low after falling asleep an hour prior before you called.

“can you blame me? normally i have you all over me every saturday night like clockwork, now i’m all alone in this bed. in my underwear. alone.”

she chuckled at your brazenness and audibly shifted herself over the phone. “oh yeah? maybe i could help you with that. wouldn’t mind staying up to help you…”

you hum playfully. “then maybe i could give you a visual guide?”

as soon as she hears the incoming face-time call vi’s eyes briefly close in bliss. god, does she adore you.

and of course having vi guide you through masturbating from miles away for the first time is a thrilling experience, but it still leaves a slight ache in your cunt heart to not have her by your side as often as you once did.

but when you saw the radiant look on her face on television after she won a fight, heard the joy in her voice when she called you as soon as she walked off of the platform, you didn’t have it in you to bring up your silly complaints about not having her by your side twenty four seven. she was finally living her dream, and you wouldn’t cause her any worries about balancing it with you.

so you’d shut up, use her flexing mirror pics to get off, and be patient. it shouldn’t be hard, you’re an independent woman and completely secure in your relationship.

well. maybe just independent.

a big company wanted vi as a sponsor and set up a schedule for her to fly out to film promotional material for nearly five weeks. your girlfriend was intuitive, asking you if you were okay with her being gone for so long. you looked at her like she was crazy, telling her she’d have to be insane not to take this chance even if it meant you’d be alone for longer than usual. she seemed unsure, but was still excited about the opportunity and bid you goodbye at the airport with a big kiss and a promise to see you soon.

it was fine, the same daily texting and calls as had happened before. but after a few days she tells you her conversation might be slipping because of some of the extra trainings they’re making her do for the promo. that’s all fine and dandy to you.

until you see it on social media. it starts as a clip of vi hanging out with some of her fellow boxer friends at a club, nothing out of the norm. but going though the comments makes you skip way to around the end of the video, and you feel your eyes burn into your phone when a woman, an admittedly gorgeous woman comes up to the table and sidles up right next to vi in the booth.

honestly, this was nothing new. you’d known since your introduction that woman drew to vi like a magnet. your own friend was starstruck when she talked to the both of you and gave you a very funny passive aggressive message when she found out the two of you were dating. you’d had to deal with desperate fans at her games, begging for a chance to talk to her, touch her, beg her to autograph their chests at one point?

so who you find out to be a fairly famous influencer show up at the same hot spots as your girlfriend who’s over a hundred miles away isn’t surprising. what is surprising is the fact they keep popping up in the same places. you would never for a second think vi would cheat on you. it still doesn’t help quell the little green devil that lives in your chest, though.

its am early friday afternoon in your apartment and you’re scrolling through delivery apps for a quick meal when you see vi’s contact come up at the top of your screen, answering it as soon as you process who’s calling.

“someone’s eager to talk to me.”

“it’s nice to talk to you too, vi. how was your day?”

“it was alright, we just did those pictures and photoshoots today so i got to just stand around and show off my good looks.”

“it is one of your strong suits.” you dryly chuckle and keep scrolling through the food options, battling between pizza or pasta.

“feels better when i have you looking at me, though. you doing anything tonight?”

“nothing much, dining in and watching a movie i guess.”

she hums and is about to say something else but the green ugly devil decided to reach its hand through your body and puppet your mouth for no reason whatsoever.

“you going back to the club tonight?”

“uhhh no, all my friends are busy and i have an early morning tomorrow. why, you feeling left out pretty?”

“what if i was?”its silent once again.

“then what if i did something about it?”

so you’re here, flying through the dark of night thousands of feet in the air and slowly descending to an airport where violet is waiting for you, standing at the pickup area is a very inconspicuous black tracksuit with a black beanie to cover up most of her hair and large black shades. there aren’t words to describe the euphoria you feel being back in her warm embrace, sinking into her arms as she rests her chin on your head.

“i cant believe you really did this. and i cant believe they let you through the airport wearing that.”

“i know, had to give security some autographs. cmon, we’ll go back to the hotel.”

you sit a little too close for safety standards next to vi in the back of the dark suv the company had been lending her for her stay in the city, her arm wrapped around your shoulders as the other sat innocently on your thigh. well, as innocently as it could be with vi. she wouldnt do anything too crazy with someone driving, but her thick finger did inch towards the gap between your legs a few times.

there’s an unspoken tension as you arrive at vi’s hotel and she takes your bags to lead you up to her room, keeping close to you until you make it through the door and she sets your stuff by the spacious closet.

she had sent you some pictures as soon as she had checked in, but it was still surreal seeing the thing in person. it was big, but it made sense since she was an extended stay on a ‘business’ trip of sorts. you smile seeing the left open chip bag on the desk and one of her favorite movies playing on the television.

you’re brought out of your stupor by a familiar large hand grabbing yours and tugging you over to the plush couch that sits against the end of the bed.

“so, what ‘cha think?”

”you roll your eyes and relax into the chair some more. “i think that you should take these brand deals more often. just make sure to keep brining me along.”

“oh i definitely would, wouldn’t want you feeling jealous again, would we?”

your mouth gapes open as your body sits upright, looking at her defensively as she struggles to hold in her laughter. there’s no denying it with her so you decide to do the mature thing and cross your arms with a pout.

“how do you figure that?”

“because i know people are talking about the influencers that keep showing up to our booths. and i know your best friend told me about your sour mood and threatened to kick my ass over it.”

you sigh and turn your body to hers, resting your leg over her thighs when she makes the motion to pull it over herself. “’m sorry, vi. you know i’d never believe you’d do that. it’s just…”

“it’s just what?” her thumb and forefinger come up to pink your chin and bring your downcast eyes to her attention, “you know you can tell me anything, right?”

“of course i do. i didn’t wanna complain because everything is going so greatly for you, and i didnt want to make it seem like im unsupportive. i couldnt be prouder of you, vi. it’s just hard not being around you so much. i love our calls and the pictures and everything but its not..its not you.”

her eyes turn soft and she shakes her head before pulling your entire body to rest on her lap, both of her hands coming up to your cheeks to bring you in for a sweet but hard kiss.

she pulls back and peppers some more kisses over your face until you start to laugh, the sound of your laughter always brighting up her day. “i understand, baby. you don’t sound unsupportive, i promise. it’s been hard for me too. i’ve missed you so much when i’ve been gone, you have no idea.”

you gently nod and give a dreamy sigh before sinking into her arms once again, hand coming up to palm at her hair as hers travel to your waist and gently massage up and down your back. you’re content to enjoy the moment until her hands start to skirt lower and lower and suddenly you remember that you’re back in the arms of you’re girlfriend who you haven’t been able to sleep with in literal weeks.

you let out a sharp squeak when her palms travel down to your ass and squeeze you over the fabric of your leggings, head coming do so scarred lips can whisper in your ear.

“how about i show you how much i missed you?”

you’re very glad that its been established you’re both desperate for each other, because otherwise you’d be nothing but embarrassed to be in this position.

you’re starting to feel a slight kink in your neck from staring down at the woman currently eating you out like she’s starving, but when she takes your clit into her mouth and sucks so intensely you throw your head back you briefly think any small amount of pain is worth the pleasure she’s giving to you now.

your arms hold you up on the back part of the couch, one knee resting on the armrest and the other on vi’s thigh so your pussy is right in front of her face for her to get easy access, her hands scooping and pulling you in by your ass and making it impossible for you to back up and avoid the pleasure when it becomes too much.

“vi, nngh, vi,” the only words you can get out are slurred mumbles of her name and curses as her tongue dips down to thrust into you. her nose bridge more than enough to give you stimulation on your clit as she somehow buries her head even further into your cunt and groans into you, the vibrations only driving you crazier.

you whine when she pulls her face away to stare up at you, eyes hungry and sweet like you’re a deity that’s letting her drink freely from the fountain of youth.

“you still jealous, muffin?”

“vi cmon, please keep going, please-”

your mouth gapes wider when she quickly leans down and licks a long strip up and over your clit, pulling away with more of you smeared over her lips than before.

‘fuck, violet,” your head tips back in bliss, concentration slipping as you feel her hot breath ghost across your clit and her eyes trained on your chest as you arch your back.

her fingers clench again and pull your cheeks apart, a little grin gracing her face at your high-pitched gasp at feeling the cool air of the hotel room hitting both of your holes.

“y’know, i seem to recall a certain someone making fun of me for being jealous just a few months ago..”

you groan as she speaks, pushing your hips in a futile attempt to get her to keep eating you out.

“not so fun when its you, huh angel?” her hand travels further up from your behind so her fingers can prod at your entrance, teasing your hole to bring more of those desperate sounds that she loves to pull from deep in your chest. “it’s ok, i know it was hard for you. could see how desperate you were over the phone.”

“i wasn't- oh, shit, i wasn't that needy.”

only about an inch of her ring and middle fingers are shallowly thrusting into you but its enough to drive you wild. its a bit humbling to realize she has you in the palm of her hand already, but you cant find it in you to care.

“tell that to my favorite pillow. swear i thought you were gonna give yourself rug burn last week.”

you drop your head to look at her again and she cant help but laugh at your best attempt at a scowl, eyes droopy and mouth scrunched in the cutest little pout she’s ever seen.

she bites her lip and suddenly pushes her fingers all the way to the hilt inside of you, silently reveling in how she has to hold your body up when your knee beside her starts to wobble.

she thought about teasing you more, holding her fingers in place and not moving until you admitted you were desperate for her, that you needed her. but she was just as desperate for you as you were for her, and when she feels your walls clenching around her combined with you starting to drip down her hand and wrist her brain goes on autopilot and she starts to fuck you at the pace she knows you love best.

in only an instant you're moaning and writhing above her, hips jerking back and forth for friction and your nails digging into the fabric of the sofa. a brief voice in your head tries to remind you that you’re in a hotel and other people can likely hear you, but like she can read your mind vi gives a stern whisper to ‘put it down.’ as soon as you raise your arm to bite into it.

vi lets out a mix between a laugh and a groan at your immediate obedience to her command and she briefly becomes aware of the arousal that's building between her own legs. she subconsciously starts rubbing her thighs together as she continues to stare up at your body. when your body jolts when she hits that spot deep inside of you she’s afraid she might actually cum in her pants and decides to distract herself by stuffing her face back between your legs.

it often scared you, how amazing vi was at eating pussy. you try not to think about how most of it was probably due to extensive practice, but when she sucks at your clit in that way that leaves a rather obvious noise you can't find it in you to care. she’s all yours now anyway, and the thought only brings you closer and closer to the edge.

she can tell you’re about to cum by the tremors in your legs and your hand coming to the back of her head to push her farther into your cunt. she likes doesn't care about the pain of your nails in her scalp. doesn't care that it’s becoming just a bit hard to breathe. there are two places in the world where vi truly feels at peace, in the ring during a fight and in between your thighs as she brings you to an orgasm. she tries to mumble gentle encouragements as you cum around her fingers but they only come out incoherent, the vibrations from her voice only driving you further up the wall as you release.

even as you come down your body still has little tremors brought on by vi continuing to lick and suck at you after your orgasm ends, only your hand digging into her hair and pulling her away able to stop her from going at you. her face is flushed, covered in cum, and her mouth agape as she takes deep breaths in and out. you’re sure you look no better but she makes no mention of what a mess you must be, only flopping her head to the side to rest on your thigh so she can stare up at you.

“i…i might have been a little jealous.”

she breathes out an airy chuckle at your confession and gently shakes her head. “i think we share that in common.”

your eyes start to droop closed in the bliss of the moment, your body in a dreamy state while vi kisses over your thighs and stomach before giggling when vi places a short chaste kiss right on your cunt,

“not a problem as long as we can keep reassuring each other, huh?”

you never saw yourself as the type to have to hide your face in a pillow when your girlfriend got delivered a noise complaint by a flustered hotel attendant at eight in the morning, but you’ve been learning a lot about yourself lately.