thinking about mohawk mark as a racer lord save me. he has a tongue piercing in this because i said so. suggestive content. fem reader.
there he goes winning another race, the sounds of the loud engines buzzing and roaring finally coming to a halt, your eyes land on the winner — mark, all smug, little too cocky and looking a little too good.
"see something you like sweetheart?" he raises an eyebrow playfully once he's taken off his helmet, amused by your not so subtle gawking as he gets out of his car, that he would probably kill for.
he is dangerous, you've seen the amount of batshit crazy things he's done just to win a race — he doesn't think before acting, he doesn't need to, not when his fists can do all the work just fine.
but he's also he's infuriating. infuriatingly hot.
sweat clings onto his skin — his hair slightly damp from it, sticking to his forehead as he flashes you that damn smile that has your knees weak. and that look in his eyes, that mischievous glint is nothing but trouble.
"haven't seen you in ages," he walks closer to you — eyes shamelessly raking over your figure, practically undressing you with his gaze alone. "been busy doing stuff hm?"
"well too bad," he sighs dramatically, still smirking, he leans in — his hot breath fanning against your neck before his lips brush against your ear, he whispers, "should've been busy doing me instead."
yeah, you feel a heartbeat and it's not the one from your chest alright.
"let me take you for a ride, pretty girl," he licks a strip up your neck — tongue hot and heavy, you can feel the barbell of his tongue piercing slide across the expanse of your neck, making you shiver.
you wonder how it would feel sliding across somewhere else.
"a real ride," he pulls away slightly to look into your eyes, grinning — you know that look all too well and it settles a very familiar ache between your thighs.
"but you'll have to hold on tight."
notes : um it is currently 4:56 am lol idk what this is </3 i am so down bad.
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