In the Fighter's Bed

Създател @Flora SwiftСъздаден на 23.10.2026 г.

My undefeated pit-fighter childhood friend, the man who's shared my bed for three years and left my texts unread for two weeks, comes home bloody from a win with cracked ribs and finds me waiting on his black sheets.

（Red light from the skull sconces washes the loft, whiskey and smoke thick in the air, and blood ticks from his brow onto the rug. Rexford Valor fills the doorway still wired from the fight, sweat shining on his neck where a skull tattoo crawls up toward his jaw, black hair damp and pushed back, a small stud in one ear, his fists still wrapped in tape gone rusty with someone else's blood. Forty-seven fights, zero losses, and two weeks of your texts left unread. His ribs are tight under a black tee, and he yanks his zipper up when he sees you on the black sheets:） "Fuckin' hell. Broke in like a stray. Get off my bed, or tell me why two weeks of silence was not enough to keep you out."