Last one of the day I promise.
young Nolan x viltrumite male reader.
top male reader, bratty/bottom Nolan, homophobia(would viltrumites be homophobic? It’s hard to tell), choking, and blood play. honestly, it’s just gotta be some sort of fight that turns into them fucking.
-🕊️
( couldn’t find a young Nolan gif )
The first splatter of Nolan's blood hit the cracked concrete like a misplaced brushstroke, too vivid, too alive against the gray wreckage of the training arena. He'd dodged too slow this time, your fist clipping his jaw with just enough force to split skin, not bone. Not yet.
His tongue darted out to catch the crimson dripping from his lip, eyes flashing something reckless beneath the sweat-slicked strands of his hair. "You're holding back," he taunted, spitting red onto your boots. "Or are you just weak when you’re distracted?"
You saw the flicker in his expression, the way his throat bobbed when your fingers flexed, the way his breath hitched just before you moved. He wanted this. Not the fight. The other thing. The thing neither of you named when you trained this late, alone.
Your next strike wasn't a feint. It was a hand around his throat, slamming him into the nearest pillar hard enough to crack the steel supports. Nolan gasped, but his legs were already wrapping around your waist, heels digging into the small of your back like an invitation.
"You talk too much," you growled, tightening your grip until his pulse hammered against your palm. His laugh came out ragged, choked, delighted. "Prove it," he dared, bucking up against you with all the grace of a feral thing caught in a trap it never wanted to escape. The heat of him was obscene through the torn fabric of his uniform. You could feel every hitch of his ribs, every stuttered exhale, proof that for all his bravado, he was just as ruined by this as you were.
With a snarl, you wrenched free of his legs and stepped back just long enough to tear your pants open, the fabric splitting like wet paper under Viltrumite strength. Nolan's eyes dropped instantly, dark with something that wasn't surrender. "On your knees," you ordered.
He hesitated, just to piss you off, just to make you work for it, before sinking down slow, dragging his nails down your thighs on the way. The scrape of his teeth against your hipbone was barely a warning before he bit down, hard enough to draw blood.
You yanked his head back by the hair, forcing him to meet your gaze. His mouth was smeared red again, but this time it wasn't from the fight. "That how you want to play?" you hissed. His grin was all sharp edges and hunger. "You tell me," he taunted, licking his lips clean. "Or are you scared I'll ruin you first?"
The punch landed before he could finish the sentence, snapping his head to the side with a wet crack. He reeled, caught himself on one hand, and laughed through the fresh blood dripping from his nose. "Finally," he gasped, spreading his thighs wider. "Now fuck me before I change my mind."
You didn't give him the satisfaction of an answer. Just dragged him up by the hair and shoved him face-first into the pillar, the impact shuddering through his frame. His breath hitched when you kicked his legs apart, the rough grind of your cock against his ass drawing a ragged sound from his throat.
"You wanted this," you reminded him, spitting into your palm before slicking yourself up in one rough stroke. His answering groan was half pain, half something desperate as you shoved in without preamble, the tight clench of him almost enough to make you lose it right there.
Nolan's fingers scrabbled against the cracked concrete, his knuckles white with the effort of holding himself up as you set a brutal pace. Every snap of your hips drew another choked sound from him, the wet slap of skin on skin drowning out whatever taunt he might've mustered. You leaned over him, biting down on the juncture of his neck and shoulder hard enough to taste copper. "Still talking shit?" you growled against his skin.
He tried to laugh, but it came out as a broken moan instead. "Fuck you," he managed, pushing back against you like he couldn't help himself. The way his body yielded to yours, the way he arched into every thrust like he was starving for it, you'd never seen anything more pathetic. Or more perfect.
Your hands found his hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise as you dragged him back onto your cock, deeper, rougher. The sharp gasp he let out was music, better than any praise, any surrender. You leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear. "You're fucking shaking," you murmured, voice thick with something between disgust and awe.
His thighs trembled against yours, sweat and blood slick between your bodies. When you reached around to wrap a hand around his throat again, his pulse jumped wildly beneath your palm. You tightened your grip just enough to hear his breath stutter, just enough to feel the way his cock twitched against his stomach, leaking untouched.
"You're sick," you breathed, and Nolan's laugh was wet, ruined. "Yeah," he panted, rocking back onto you with a filthy grind. "And you're still inside me."
You dragged your free hand down his spine, feeling the muscles clench beneath your fingers as you dug nails into the ridges of his vertebrae. The sharp hiss he let out dissolved into a groan when you thumbed over the bite mark you'd left earlier, smearing blood across his skin like war paint.
His throat worked under your palm when you squeezed, just enough to make his vision blur, just enough to make his cock jerk against his stomach in a helpless spurt of precome. The choked noise he made wasn't a word, wasn't a protest, just raw, animal need.
You fucked him through it, relentless, until his legs gave out and his forehead hit the pillar with a dull thud. Nolan's fingers scrambled for purchase, blunt nails catching on cracks in the concrete like he was afraid you'd let him fall. You wouldn't. Not yet.
His blood smeared across your knuckles when you dragged your hand from his throat to his hair, twisting tight enough to make him whimper. "Look at you," you muttered, watching his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. "Fucking wrecked."
He bared his teeth in something that wasn't a smile, panting like a wounded thing. "Still—" he gasped, hips jerking weakly against yours, "— still standing."
You bit back a groan when he clenched around you, tight as a vice, his body wringing you dry with every ragged thrust. The sound he made when you came was almost reverent, like he'd been waiting for it, like he'd won something. You slammed him into the pillar one last time just to hear him choke on it.