[short] same mma gym!au
⇾ teammate rivalry taken too far, rindo is a little ooc here bc i did not originally write for him :D
⇾ fem! reader and not edited!
⇾ warnings: implied noncon, noncon touching, reader is harrassed, assault
“Fight back then,” He laughed, eyes swimming with want and malice as he further wrestled you into a more compromising position. You should’ve taken up jiujitsu earlier when offered, now you were completely hopeless off your feet, a mere plaything for the man above you. Rindo’s lips quirked up in amusement, your helplessness and the despair etched onto your pretty face when you realised there was no getting out of the submission made his blood rush south.
You frowned, writhing to free your locked limbs, turning back to glare back at his mocking gaze. One that never failed to make you feel small and incapable, like you were four again, in a large playground full of unfamiliar kids. You felt so small.
“You lost to me every time back then, what made you think you’re gonna win me now?” Rindo manoeuvred your struggling form, needing to see your face clearly. He craved your eyes on him, your anger, your frustration when you know there is no way out, no way you were ever going to beat him. He wanted it all to be directed at him; the control and power you have over yourself, he wanted to have it, to break down a woman like you, a fighter in all sense.
There was just so much gratification out of it.
His calloused hand circled your frail neck, and the fear on your features intensified, making the adrenaline through his veins skyrocket. Feeling his pants shrink a few sizes smaller, Rindo panted in desperation as he sniffed your hair, ignoring your strong shoves at his torso.
“Rindo, please,” Your voice teetered on the edge of frenzy, he could hear each and every crack in your tone, the tremors through your body were more than enough of a sign.
This was what he was trained for, reading body language and playing mind games with his opponents. Rindo was going to get through each and every one of your defences, each feint and fake, each offence.
You always surprise him, since the first day he met you at the gym. During drills, during fight camps, and during bouts, you always upped his expectations of you. But when it truly mattered, it didn’t shock him when you tried to land a sharp upward elbow at his jaw. It fell short and obnoxious laughter rang in deafening echoes in the small space of his truck.
“You were always terrible at distance management,” He tucked your hair behind your ears. “Didn’t have time to work on it?”
“Fuck off, Rindo.”
Wet kisses trailed down your neck, to your shoulder. Deft fingers pulled the strap of your dress down, your exposed skin was more than he had bargained for. Soft, yet littered with bruises and unexplained scars, there were going to be more left on the expanse after he was done with you.
“More like ‘fuck me, Rindo.” He jeered, pulling lewd expressions, dissolving into fits of giggles at your appalled look.
“Please,” You pushed his hands away as they felt you up, putting them at a range so you could conjure up an attack whenever ready. “Rindo, you’re mad. Stop this. Stop right now.”
Opting for a classic jab didn’t work, instead, your failed shot repaid you with a sharp slap to your cheek. A pained gasp escaped your lips, unable to hold back the stinging in your eyes when a tear dripped down your temple.
Countless opponents you had, countless injuries from broken noses to busted lips—nothing hurt more than his slap.
It wasn’t just the brute strength behind his hit, it was the fact this is not a fighting championship, that there was no referee, no coach, no rules. There was no saviour if you couldn’t save yourself, there was no redeeming yourself if you lost this fight.
You knew he could do more harm if he really wanted to.
Dazed, you barely noticed when he slipped the flimsy dress off. Your cardigan was long-lost in the back of the truck, with the rest of your garments to keep it company while he kept you warm.
Cold pads of his fingers rubbed experimentally against your ribs “Not the ring, sweetheart,” It shifted lower and lower, dangerously close to where you pray he wouldn’t touch. “No one’s gonna save you now.”
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