I have a few prompts for Alex Pereira( he’s so hot omg)
1. He loses at fight and we comfort him, remind him he’s more than just a fighter.
2. We know how draining training camps can be and we help him unwind😏 ( has smutty potential if you are comfortable)
3. We spar together and of course he pins us, but he decides to be a tease ( has smutty potential as well)
Whichever one you like best
🩵🩵
I See You (Alex Pereira x Reader, Drabble!)
“And now, your winner by unanimous decision… And NEW UFC HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION OF THE WORLD, MAGOMED ANKALAEV!”
Fighting the impending nausea, which had become a lot more common in recent weeks, you casted your eyes down towards your feet, a sad attempt to prevent your tears from falling. Standing there, a few feet away, caged away in the octagon, a matching expression found its way on Alex’s face. Your heart broke for him as you watched his eyes fill with tears, although he refused to let them fall.
After congratulating Ank and giving a short, yet somber speech to the fans, he made his exit from the cage and approached his entourage. After comforting his boys, he turned toward you, gently cradling your face in his large hands. He took in your appearance, your reddening nose and bloodshot eyes.
Exhaling through his nose, he slowly bent down and pressed a firm kiss to the center of your forehead, “I’m alright baby, don’t cry.” He whispered in Portuguese, taking your hand and leading you all back to the locker rooms.
Between the flashes of cameras, the waving hands, and screaming fans, you’d almost completely disassociated on the way back to the Airbnb.
After a brief medical checkup, the doctor had confirmed that Alex was alright to return home. No broken bones or concussion, just a few lacerations and an aching spirit.
You lay in silence, back propped up against the headboard, the only lighting coming from the bedside lamp and from the bottom crack of the bathroom door.
You listened as the shower turned off and as hands grabbed a towel, shaking it out harshly. Loud footsteps made their way to the door, and seconds later, the knob turned.
You faced him as he stood in the doorway, hot steam pouring out around his frame as his made his way towards the bed and sat. The white towel sat firmly around his waist, barely changing position as he bent his head towards his chest in disappointment.
You knew this would be the hard part. Once the flashes of the cameras are gone, and there’s no screaming fans, no media obligations, and it’s just him in the silent, dark room, it would only be then that it truly hit him.
Silently, you stood from your comfortable lying position. Crawling on your hands and knees, you didn’t stop until you settled next to him on his side of the bed.
Carefully, you grabbed one of his tense hands, unballimg the first that it seemed to be stuck in. Bringing it over to your lap, you held it with both of yours, gently caressing the hardened skin and callouses with your thumbs.
“We don’t have to talk, we can just sit here if you want.” You whisper to him in heavily accented Portuguese. Despite what opinions he may have had of himself at the moment, you could only look at him with admiration and pride. There had never been anybody in the UFC who had accomplished what he had, in the time that he had, in the way that he’d done it.
After a brief silence, he exhaled deeply and rubbed his face with his free hand, “I fucked up,” he mumbled, mainly to himself, “Damn it, I fucked up, I fucked up.” He kept repeating.
A blow to the heart is what you felt as he said that. You leaned over and grasped his face in your hands, mimicking the way he’d done yours only hours before.
“No, no, no honey, you didn’t. It just wasn’t your day today, yeah?” You gently caressed his prominent cheekbones with your manicured thumbs, “I’m so proud of you. You’ve been working so hard.” She brushed away a few stray tears that managed to escape his eyes.
“I wish you could see yourself the way that I see you.” She whispered to him, slowly pressing her lips against his. A low hum emerged from his throat and he brought his free hand up to angle her chin in his direction.
Pulling away, she smiled sadly at him, hoping to convert her pure affections with just a look. He gazed back at her in awe before sliding down and wrapping his arms around her waist, and resting his head on her stomach. Her heart fluttered at the action. Soon, not now, she thought whimsily.
Gently caressing his freshly shaved head, she hummed to herself, fighting the urge to tell him that despite losing his belt tonight, he gained something else recently.
He’ll figure it out once I start to show. She thought to herself as he nestled closer to her belly.
She knew that tomorrow, there’d be a cesspool of bullshit awaiting them online, from fans and peers alike. She felt a rush of anxiety strike through her, another bout of nausea that she had to suck down.
Tomorrow’s worries are tomorrow’s worries, she self-soothed, peering down at the top of Alex’s head.
In this moment, she had to try to be everything he needed.
A/N:
Hey… hey… how y’all doin? This was supposed to be a Drabble right? Anywho~ I know, I know, I’m the worst public serviceman ever. How dare I keep you all yearning for fics this long? But hear me out, it’s so hard to write and edit fics on your phone, which is why I’m only putting out drabbles out the moment until I can afford a new laptop. But on a lighter note, the UFC writers have been cooking! Myself not included of course lol. I’ll try to have another Khamzat Drabble out soon, and I’m really thinking about writing for Nassourdine Imavov.
♡ A chance kiss turns fiery when she discovers the stranger is staying at her best friend’s house.
(khamzat x reader)
yay, she’s back with more Khamzat content! still riding high from Islam’s win (my poor heart can’t even), so yes, I desperately need to write for him asap… but for now, let’s indulge in some Khamzat chaos. hope you enjoy, anons welcome!
Darren Till had been your best friend since before either of you knew what a jab was. You’d gone to school together, shared more bad takeaways than you could count, and had that complicated “friends with history” thing that you never really defined.
When he’d heard you were visiting, he’d offered you a place to stay - “a proper week of catching up,” he’d promised.
But first, you visited your girlfriends, a night out on the town for a reunion was very much needed.
The music was too loud, the lights too low, and the cocktails far too strong. But that was the point. It had been months since you’d taken a proper night off, and your best friends weren’t letting you leave without laughing, dancing, and drinking your heart out.
You were halfway through your fifth drink at a small bar when you felt it - that prickle at the back of your neck.
Someone watching.
“Careful,” your friend murmured, following your glance toward the bar. “Guy in the leather jacket’s been staring since you came in.”
You smiled politely at him once, the universal please take the hint smile. He didn’t. Instead, he took it as an invitation.
Minutes later, he was at your side, close enough that you caught the scent of his cologne. “You here alone?”
You turned slightly away. “Nope. Girls’ night.”
“That so? I can make it better.”
Your friend rolled her eyes. “Original.”
You tried to step aside, but he shifted to block you again, hand brushing your arm. “Come on, just one drink-”
And that’s when you saw him.
Tall, broad shoulders, dark hair. He’d just stepped out of the gym opposite, phone in hand, head tilted like he was checking directions.
You didn’t know him, hadn’t even seen him before. but desperation made decisions for you.
You turned back to the stranger and, with a quick, reckless smile, said, “My boyfriend’s here.”
He snorted. “Yeah? Where?”
You didn’t think. You acted.
You walked straight over to the man outside - the tall one, the one who looked like trouble and safety all at once, and rose on your toes.
“I’m so sorry about this,” you whispered, and before you could lose your nerve, you kissed him.
It wasn’t long. Just a brush of lips, warm and unexpected.
But it wasn’t what you’d thought it be either.
He didn’t flinch or pull away. He went perfectly still, then leaned in just slightly, like he was curious.
When you stepped back, your pulse was hammering.
The other man was already gone, muttering something and disappearing into the crowd back at the bar opposite.
You exhaled in relief. “That was- thank you. I didn’t know what else to do.”
The stranger blinked, then smiled, slow, amused, a little dangerous. “You kiss strangers often?”
“Only the ones who save me from creeps,” you said.
He chuckled, low and warm, then glanced past you and at your group of friends who couldn’t hide their amusement. “You are safe now, yes?”
You nodded quickly. “Yes. Sorry. Again.”
He gave a small nod, still smiling, and walked off down the street. You watched him go, trying to ignore the strange flutter still trapped in your chest.
You forgot about it - mostly.
The memory flashed up again in the cab ride to Darren’s the next morning, and you groaned into your hands.
The taxi stopped outside Darren’s place, the same brick house where you’d spent half your weekends before you moved away.
You were looking forward to a quiet few weeks with him - a chance to catch up, relax and laugh.
You pulled up to his door and knocked, smiling when you heard his voice yell, “Door’s open!”
You stepped inside, dragging your suitcase behind you. The place looked the same - half gym stuff, half homely.
That’s when you noticed him.
The man from last night.
The one you’d kissed to make the other guy back off
He was stood in the kitchen, casually pouring himself a cup of tea.
Shirtless, broad-shouldered, every movement deliberate. Calm, collected, and painfully aware of your eyes on him.
Khamzat looked up from his mug, eyes narrowing slightly before recognition flickered across his face. The faintest grin appeared.
You found your voice first. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Darren appeared behind him. “Ah, good, you’re here!”
Your mouth opened, then closed, then opened again as if unsure what to say.
“Hey, Darren,” you finally managed, leaning in to hug him, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.
Khamzat turned toward you, that same amused glint in his eyes. “Hey,” he said simply, like the universe was playing a private joke.
Darren grinned. “This is Khamzat. He’s staying for fight camp. And yes, he’s officially part of the gang now!”
You opened your mouth to speak but nothing came out. Khamzat leaned casually on the kitchen worktop, smirking.
“Don’t worry, he won’t bite… unless you want him to, apparently.” He laughed at his own joke
Darren, blissfully unaware, clapped his hands. “Right! Khamzat, meet our visitor! She’s staying for a few weeks! We’re gonna have so much fun.”
You swallowed, stunned. He had no idea you’d ever met.
Khamzat smirked slightly. “Looking forward to it.”
Darren, oblivious to the tension simmering in the room, grinned. “Alright, I have to tell you this. Last night, some girl kissed Khamzat out of nowhere when he was leaving the gym. Crazy, right? He came home looking completely flustered, and I’ve been teasing him nonstop about his mysterious admirer.”
Khamzat blinked, a small smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
You tried not to choke on your own thoughts, glancing at him.
“Uh… yeah… crazy.”
Neither of you said a word - your shared secret hung between you, unspoken, electric.
Darren clapped his hands. “I’m so glad you’re here! It’s going to be chaos but fun. I can feel it already.”
When he left the kitchen, the silence filled again. You turned to the counter, pretending to focus on your phone, but Khamzat’s voice came softly from behind you.
“You kiss every stranger who walks past,” he asked softly, “or was that a special occasion?”
You swallowed, trying to keep your composure. “It was an emergency. You were convenient.”
He smiled, slow and edged. “Convenient, hmm? That is not what it felt like.”
Your cheeks warmed, and you looked away, pretending to busy yourself with your suitcase.
“Let’s forget it happened,” you said quickly.
He took a step closer, the air shifting. “Can you?”
Your breath caught. You wanted to say yes, to match his casual calm, but something in his eyes said he already knew the answer.
From the hallway Darren shouted, “You two good in there?”
Khamzat smiled again, eyes never leaving yours. “Perfect.”
The week at Darren’s house quickly settled into a rhythm: training sessions in the morning, errands and chores in the afternoon, and evenings spent cooking, joking, and relaxing. But beneath the easy pace, the air between you and Khamzat crackled.
He had this way of leaning casually against counters, brushing his shoulder against yours just often enough to make your pulse spike.
When he spoke, there was a teasing undercurrent in his voice, as if every comment had a double meaning.
One evening, you all sat around Darren’s kitchen table, plates of chicken and veg in front of you. Darren, ever the chatty host, laughed as he recounted some minor mishap from his morning run. Khamzat, sipping water, tilted his head, eyes glinting with curiosity.
“So…” he said casually, “how do you know each other, you haven’t said?”
Darren laughed and waved a hand. “Oh, we go way back. Since we were kids, actually. Same street, same schools, same trouble.” He grinned at you. “We were practically inseparable in uni too… let’s just say, back then, she and I were friends with benefits.”
You nearly choked on your food. “Darren!” you hissed, glaring at him.
Khamzat’s eyes flicked to you, smirk growing slowly. “Friends with benefits?” he repeated, tone deliberately teasing. “Tell me … was she a good kisser?”
Your cheeks flushed crimson. “Khamzat!” you squeaked, looking away, he leaned slightly forward, clearly enjoying your reaction.
Darren laughed, oblivious to the tension. “Yeah, yeah, history. We kept it simple, nothing serious. But the past is the past, She’s my best friend”
Khamzat’s smirk widened, teasing, flirtatious, and impossible to ignore.
The rest of dinner was filled with sly comments from him, subtle touches - hand brushing against yours while reaching for the salt, a lingering gaze when you laughed at one of Darren’s jokes. Every interaction left you on edge, your pulse quickening, yet neither of you spoke about that night outside the bar.
Over the next few days, Khamzat made it clear he enjoyed pushing buttons. In the mornings, he’d catch you in the kitchen and tease, “You’re way too cheerful today. Trying to distract me?” When you rolled your eyes, he’d grin. “I see that blush. Cute.”
Darren noticed, of course. One evening, he nudged you as you passed in the hallway. “Uh… you two are definitely simmering something,” he said with a knowing smile. “I feel that tension. It’s practically radioactive.”
“Let it go Darren nothings going on” You’d reply back, voice not so convincing
He laughed, shaking his head. “No chance. You always did have a type.”
You rolled your eyes. “What type?”
Darren smirked. “The kind who looks at you like that and makes you forget your own name.”
You turned back toward the door, watching the faint outline of Khamzat heading down the path toward the gym. And despite yourself, you smiled.
Something told you the week was going to be a lot more complicated than you’d planned
Casual moments were charged. A brush of hands while passing in the living room. A lingering look when one of you cracked a joke.
Whispered comments in the kitchen. Subtle, playful, flirty.
The following weekend was quiet, the air inside the apartment thick with that lazy calm that settles in after long days. Darren was pulling on his trainers by the door, announcing a late-night run with the usual grin.
“Try not to burn the place down,” he said, pointing at you before glancing at Khamzat. “And you - make sure she behaves.”
“I always behave,” you said quickly, feigning innocence.
Khamzat’s smirk was instant, sharp. “We’ll see about that.”
When the door shut behind Darren, silence followed - a silence that didn’t feel empty.
You were aware of Khamzat even before you turned around, the soft hum of his breathing filling the space as you moved toward the kitchen.
You started on dinner to keep your hands busy. The sizzle of garlic in the pan and the rhythmic chop of vegetables filled the air, grounding you … almost.
“You really like to supervise everything, huh?” you teased, brushing past him as you carried a bowl to the stove.
“Only when it involves you,” he murmured, stepping closer, eyes tracking your movements with a precision that made your pulse skip.
His hand brushed against yours as he reached for a utensil, fingers lingering long enough to send a spark straight through you. You laughed, trying to keep the moment light, but the warmth of him pressed against your side made it impossible to stay casual.
“Just… focus on the pasta,” you whispered, though your voice betrayed a flutter of excitement.
“You’ve got focus,” he countered, voice low, teasing, brushing the edge of his thumb along your wrist. “But I can see you’re a little distracted.”
You tried to look unimpressed, stirring the sauce with deliberate calm, but every subtle touch, every shift in his stance, sent electricity through you.
He leaned in, letting his chest brush against your back as he reached over your shoulder to grab a glass from the cupboard.
“Relax,” he murmured, voice low enough that it felt private. “I’m just getting water.”
“Then get it,” you said, not trusting yourself to move.
He chuckled, the sound a rumble against your spine. “You always this jumpy around me?”
You forced a steady smile. “You wish.”
Dinner passed in a blur of conversation - light at first, then threaded with undertones neither of you bothered hiding. He teased you about your cooking; you accused him of eating like he hadn’t seen food in days.
After you both cleared up, it was almost automatic to drift into the living room. The TV played quietly, a random movie neither of you were really watching. You sat at opposite ends of the sofa at first, the gap between you charged and obvious.
But he didn’t stay distant for long.
Halfway through the film, he stretched, his arm landing casually along the back of the couch - close enough that his fingers brushed the ends of your hair. The movement looked natural, but you could feel his eyes on you.
“You’re too quiet,” he said, voice low.
“I’m watching the movie,” you replied, staring ahead.
He leaned closer. “No, you’re pretending to.”
You turned, ready to give him a look, but froze when you saw the hint of a grin playing at his lips, confident, knowing.
“You keep looking at me like that,” he murmured, “and I’ll start to think you want me to do something about it.”
His hand shifted, grazing your shoulder, sliding down to the inside of your arm. His touch was slow, deliberate, tracing goosebumps in its wake.
“What are you doing?” you asked softly, though it came out less like a challenge and more like a breath.
He tilted his head. “Testing something.”
“Testing what?”
His fingers brushed up your arm, and towards the line of your jaw. “If you’ll stop me.”
You didn’t.
The kiss that followed wasn’t hesitant. It was firm, claiming, a release of all the tension that had been simmering since you first met.
His hand found your waist, drawing you closer, positioning you on his lap and you felt his breath catch against your lips - half a laugh, half a growl.
Your hands shifted around his neck, as he pulled you closer again, his thumb skimming the curve of your throat, a silent reminder of the control he held even when he wasn’t demanding it.
The movie flickered on, forgotten, light washing over you both. The kiss deepened, the air thick with it - the warmth, the pull, the kind of hunger that made the room spin.
And then … the jingle of keys in the front door.
Khamzat’s breath hitched; he paused, eyes still locked on yours, lips barely a breath away.
Then came that slow, dangerous smirk.
He whispered, “Saved by the bell.”
You sat back quickly, trying to fix your hair, your heart racing so hard it hurt. Darren’s voice echoed from the hallway a moment later, casual and unsuspecting.
Khamzat leaned back on the sofa, one arm stretched lazily along the top again, his tone low but teasing as he murmured near your ear, “Next time, you won’t get off that easy.”
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