The air was thick with the buzz of anticipation, the kind that hung around when you knew this was more than just a game. It was the game.
The one that would decide everything. The stands were packed, a sea of students in their school colors, the lights from the stadium cutting through the cool evening air.
It was one of those nights where the sky was darkening, the stars hidden behind the floodlights, and the only thing anyone could focus on was the pitch — and the grudge that would be settled on it.
Kate Bishop’s cleats hit the turf like gunshots as she jogged onto the field.
It was just another game. Just another Saturday. Just another chance to knock someone on their ass and call it legal.
Her team was pumped, adrenaline coursing through every one of them. The air was electric, charged with rivalry and competition, every player knowing how much this match mattered. The team they were facing wasn’t familiar — new jerseys, unfamiliar faces. Whatever. She didn’t care. She was locked in. Until she walked onto the field.
Number 8.
The first thing Kate noticed was the braid — platinum blonde, thick and high, swaying like a challenge every time she moved. Then the way she carried herself: shoulders squared, chin up, like the whole stadium was lucky to have her there. Her jersey clung to a lean, compact frame — muscle and menace — and when she smirked, it wasn’t cute. It was a dare.
Kate squinted.
“Who the hell is that?”
“Belova,” her teammate muttered, adjusting her mouthguard. “Transfer from somewhere in Europe. Supposed to be intense.”
Yeah. Intense was one word for it.
The blonde was jogging across the field like she had nothing to prove and everything under control — the kind of player who didn’t need to talk shit to be terrifying. But when her eyes met Kate’s, they were sharp, gleaming with something electric. That smirk widened just a little. And Kate felt her spine stiffen.
The first scrum didn’t take long. Neither did the first hit. Kate dove for the ball, fingers brushing it—only for Belova to sweep in like a goddamn shadow and snatch it right out from under her.
“You’re a little slow, Bishop,” Yelena said, her voice low, laced with that thick Russian accent that somehow made the insult feel more personal.
Kate blinked. Then grinned.
“Oh, we’re doing nicknames now? I didn’t catch yours. Was it ‘Arrogant Pain in the Ass’?”
Yelena looked over her shoulder and winked. “You’ll remember it by the end of the match.”
___________
The game was in full swing now, the first half a blur of tackles, scrums, and flying passes. Kate's team was ahead by a narrow margin, but the score didn’t matter. Not with Yelena Belova on the opposite side of the field. The rivalry was so thick, you could feel it in every move.
They were locked in, both teams fighting for the win — but for Kate, it was personal.
This was more than just a game. This was about proving something.
Yelena was everywhere. Strong, fast, and relentless, she moved through the field like a predator, each step a threat. It had been a struggle from the start, and now, as they entered the second half, Kate could feel the pressure mounting.
It was when Kate broke free with the ball again that she saw Yelena out of the corner of her eye — poised, ready to make her move. It was almost too easy, but that’s what made it dangerous.
Kate squared her shoulders and launched forward, eyes fixed on the goal line. She was almost there. Almost.
Then, just as her foot hit the ground, Yelena swept in from the side, a blur of blonde hair and speed.
The ball was gone in an instant.
“You’re so predictable, Bishop,” Yelena’s voice sliced through the chaos of the game, her breath hot against Kate’s ear as she spun away with the ball.
Kate’s jaw clenched. “Not for long.”
She was after her in a heartbeat, but Yelena was already ten steps ahead. Again. Faster, more fluid than anyone else on the field, like she could read Kate’s every move before she even made it.
As Yelena darted through the defense, Kate saw her opening — this time she was going to get it. She charged, pushing her body to its limits. She had to stop her.
When they collided, the impact shook both women to their core. Yelena was thrown off balance for just a second, but she recovered quickly, her body rolling to her feet like a panther in the wild.
Kate was right there with her, locking eyes as they both struggled to regain control. The crowd around them went wild, the roar of the spectators drowned out by the sound of their ragged breaths.
Yelena’s lips twitched into a grin, her hands gripping the ball like it was the only thing that mattered. “You’re too slow, Kate,” she said, low and confident. “This is mine now.”
Kate’s teeth ground together. “Not for long,” she shot back, her voice thick with defiance as she dove forward once again, determined to take Yelena down — and this time, she wasn’t letting go.
___________________
The final whistle blew, and the field erupted in chaos.
Kate’s team had won, just barely. The score had been neck and neck the whole time, but in the last few minutes, Kate had managed to steal the ball away from Yelena during a brutal scrum, pushing through the final defensive line and securing the game-winning try. It wasn’t pretty, but it was enough.
She stood there, panting, sweat dripping down her face as her teammates cheered and celebrated. But through it all, her eyes found Yelena across the field — standing alone, arms crossed, a frustrated scowl on her face. Even in defeat, Yelena looked like a goddess.
Kate couldn’t help but smirk. “Next time, Belova,” she muttered under her breath.
_________________________
After the game, the locker room was loud. Everyone was buzzing with adrenaline, the excitement of victory, the high that came with proving yourself on the field. Kate’s team was still shouting and laughing, but her mind was elsewhere.
Yelena.
She’d been in her head all game, and now, she couldn’t shake the image of her. The smirk, the way she moved, the way she had teased and provoked. It felt like an obsession, the tension between them still crackling like static.
Kate headed to the showers, letting the hot water wash away the sweat and the bruises. The steam fogged up the mirrors, the noise from the rest of the team fading into the background. But as she stepped out, towel wrapped around her waist, she froze.
Yelena was leaning against the locker room door, arms crossed, that same smug grin on her face.
“Did you think you’d get away that easily?” Yelena’s voice was soft, but it cut through the air like a blade.
Kate smirked, taking her time to grab her clothes. “I didn’t think about you at all.”
“Oh, I think you did,” Yelena said, stepping closer, her eyes never leaving Kate’s. “You couldn’t stop looking at me.”
Kate raised an eyebrow, matching Yelena’s intensity. “I was looking at the ball. Not you.”
“Sure.” Yelena’s voice was dripping with sarcasm as she stepped even closer, invading Kate’s space. “And I bet that’s the only reason your heart was racing every time I got near.”
Kate’s breath hitched for a second, but she kept her cool, just barely. “You’re full of yourself,” she said, reaching for her shirt.
Yelena didn’t move, and for a moment, it was just the two of them in the locker room, the air heavy with unspoken tension. Neither of them made a move, but both could feel the magnetic pull between them, like the space between their bodies was too small to contain it.
“Next time,” Yelena murmured, her voice almost a whisper. “I’ll make sure you can’t get away.”
Kate met her gaze, a dangerous glint in her eyes. “I’m looking forward to it,” she replied, a teasing edge to her voice, but something deeper beneath it — something raw.
With that, Yelena turned to leave, her hips swaying in that way that made Kate’s heart race. But she paused just before she opened the door.
“You know,” Yelena said, glancing back over her shoulder. “If you ever want to really test yourself…” She let the words hang in the air before walking out, the door slamming shut behind her.
Kate stood frozen for a moment, the adrenaline still pumping through her veins. She wanted to call out, to challenge Yelena right then and there, but the words wouldn’t come.
Instead, she just smiled to herself, the heat between them simmering down to something that felt dangerously close to… something else.