L.A.W. - League of Anime Wrestling

Jun's mood soured as her opponent wannabe had the gall to swat her phone out of her hands. Not to mention the grabbing and pinning that Ellie was doing, but the phone might have been a more grievous sin.

"Fuckin' chill, Anger Issues. You knew what you were getting into when you signed on, don't blame me if you're feelings were hurt."

Jun did mean that. Heck, if her opponents just wanted to chill by the pool and casually put each other in submission holds to boost engagement numbers, she'd absolutely be fine with that. Though many, like Ellie, came in all talk and smug so they deserve the put down in the end. It wasn't Jun's fault that Ellie-Mae didn't get the picture.

"How about you chill before you blow a gasket, Ellie-Mae. I didn't even do much aside from a little squeezing and bending. Get real."

Jun lectured, feeling more annoyed than anything. She gave her hips a sudden buck to try and throw her opponent off.

Ellie’s jaw clenched as Jun kept running that damn mouth.

Even now. Even after all the photos, the backbreaking, the drink-dumping, the social media mockery. Jun was still talking down to her like she was nothing more than a brat having a tantrum.

The worst part?

She wasn’t even wrong.
That made it infuriating.

So when Jun bucked her hips beneath her, trying to throw her off, Ellie growled through gritted teeth and shifted higher, planting her knees tighter against the lounger’s cushions to hold her balance.

“Oh, shut up already.”

And with that?

She dropped her breasts right down over Jun’s face.

There wasn’t finesse, there wasn’t technique, just pure, sweaty, wet-haired rage in the form of a full-body smother, her arms wrapping around the back of Jun’s head and shoving her face in deep.

A cheap move? Absolutely.

Effective? Even more so.

She leaned into it, her hands buried in Jun’s damp hair, her weight grinding down just enough to hold her there.

“Not so chatty now, huh?” Ellie hissed under her breath, eyes locked in a scowl, her voice trembling as pride began stitching itself back together with every second that passed.

The brat was doing what she did best:

Making a scene.
And refusing to lose until the bitter end.