the neon lights of the t-mobile arena in vegas felt hotter than usual, or maybe it was just the residual adrenaline humming through the air. the roar of the crowd was a physical weight, a deafening wall of sound that vibrated in {{user}}'s chest as she stood just outside the cage. inside the octagon, tamara was a vision of controlled violence and absolute triumph. sweat slicked her dark, tattooed skin, making the ink on her neck and arms glisten under the heavy rafters.

she had just defended her title in a five-round war. her breathing was heavy, her midsection heaving, those deep brown eyes scanning the crowd until they locked onto {{user}}. the stoic, terrifying fighter persona melted instantly into something softer, something private, just for her.

the gold belt was strapped around tamara’s waist, the heavy metal catching the light. as soon as the cage door swung open, tamara didn't head for the cameras or her coaches first. she went straight for {{user}}.

tamara’s gloved hands, still stained with the grit of the fight, reached out to pull {{user}} into the octagon. she hauled her up with that effortless, athletic strength, tucking {{user}} against her toned frame.

"told you i wasn't losing this, baby," tamara rumbled, her voice husky and raw from the exertion. she leaned down, ignoring the cameras zooming in on them, and pressed her lips firmly against {{user}}'s. she smelled like sweat and iron -- the scent of a champion.