Ada 🫧⭐️🪷 | she/her | multifandom! | very slow writer + very enthusiastic rambler | mature blog not meant for minor audiences | love to yap and make friends! send me an ask! | reblogs are on @archivortica
⋆˚꩜｡ To the loveliest people who have left requests for fics, please be assured that I have read them all and I'm slowly trying to work through everything :') I'm a veryyy slow writer so pls give me some grace. I promise I'm not ignoring anyone's request! They will be published in due time! XOXO
🫧⭐️🪷 Masterlist...
Ultimate Fighting Championship...
Headcannons:
Islam Makhachev — NSFW Alphabet
Khabib Nurmagomedov — NSFW Alphabet
Islam Makhachev — FWB HCs
Khamzat Chiamev — FWB HCs
Various fighters — Babysitting HCs
Various fighters — Filming TikToks HCs
Oneshots:
Islam Makhachev — "Baby Fever"
Khabib Nurmagomedov — "His Little Wife"
Khamzat Chimaev — "Babying"
Various fighters — "Family Game Night"
Bonus blurbs:
The strange kavkaz boys across the hall...
Please only request prompts/fics for people mentioned in this post. I will not write for people I have not indicated above. I will also only write for a female reader self-insert. I'm always open to taking requests, but please bear in mind that I will take some time to finish writing each submission, and I may publish other content in between.
I don't write ufc yaoi. But if I did. Best believe the first fic to be published is Nick Diaz x GSP 7k words slow burn enemies to lovers forced proximity (and GSP tops) ... And then a cheeky Khabib x Islam forbidden love closeted gays in the mountains no prep (and Islam is a power bottom) ... But I would never ... 🫣
They're in the making 😛😛😛 I've got some YUMMY islam reqs from lovely anons and I'm working on them. In the meantime keep the reqs coming! Love to hear what everyone wants to read 🫣 esp if you have any creative or super niche blurbs
Kavkaz fighter x gf!Reader ... including Islam Makhachev, Khabib Nurmagomedov, Usman Nurmagomedov, Umar Nurmagomedov, Khamzat Chimaev 🫧⭐️🪷
Context: What kind of TikTok couples trend would you film with your boyfriend?
Masterlist link
⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
Islam Makhachev
The "I just found your friend on Hinge" trend
You two are on the couch at home having designated social media doomscrolling time. Your legs are lying lazily atop of his as he mindlessly rubs circles on your thigh with one hand, the other holding his phone. You sneakily line up your camera hit record on TikTok
"Oh my god. I just found Amru on Hinge!" You pretend to look shocked at your phone screen. Islam doesn't even budge, too engrossed with whatever wrestling reel he's watching. "Hinge? What's that?" "You know, the dating app. I can't believe he's on there!"
Islam now looks up from his phone. But it has yet to register in his brain as he stares off into the distance, thinking hard about Amru. "I mean... He is single... But why a dating app? He is handsome, no? Why does he not just.."
He finally snaps his head towards you, brows furrowed and lips downturned in a scowl. "Wait! Why are you on a dating app!"
You burst out laughing as Islam lunges over to grab your phone, only to realise that you had been filming him the entire time. He tuts disapprovingly and tosses your phone aside, giving you an exhausted but amused smirk.
"That is not funny," he says, feigning offence as he pouts. "I knew Amru would never go on a dating app..."
Khabib Nurmagomedov
The "This is my current boyfriend" trend
You and Khabib had just come home from a shopping spree — it was Khabib's treat after being away for training camp. After every shopping spree, it was mandatory that you did a haul for your private TikTok account (which Khabib had grown used to and actually actively participates in).
You two sit on the floor in between your living room couch and the coffee table so you could prop your phone up and film the two of you. Khabib gets comfortable, adjusting all the shopping bags in front of you for easy access before spreading his arm out casually across the couch cushions as you hit record.
"Hi guys! Welcome to another haul! So today, my current boyfriend and I went to the mall at —" Khabib immediately flinched and reels his body back from you in horror.
"What did you say?" You pause, trying to hold in your laughter. "What? I said we went to the mall today." "No, before that. What did you call me?"
You're practically biting down on your lip now trying to contain your giggles, and that just gives the whole prank away. The look of utter shock on Khabib's face starts morphing into a look of amusement.
In the blink of an eye, Khabib jumps at you and wraps his arms around your shoulders. He basically has you in a rear naked choke as he smothers one side of your face with slobbery kisses. "Stop!" You yell out, laughing so hard your ribs are starting to hurt. "I need to film my haul!" "Current boyfriend. Don't ever say this bullshit again."
Usman Nurmagomedov
The "Pretending he forgot about date night" trend
Usman had just gotten home from a midday training session, and as you hear the familiar sounds of his footsteps walking towards your bedroom, you quickly hit record on your phone.
"Hi baby — Oh! Are you going out?" You're sitting at your vanity in front of your phone with a beauty blender in hand, pausing your concealer application to look at Usman through the vanity mirror. Fully committing to the bit, you let your shoulders sag as a disappointed pout appears on your face. "You forgot?"
Immediately, Usman's face drops. You can see the gears in his head turning furiously trying to remember what it is that you're talking about. To no avail. So you double down. "Usman, I can't believe you forgot about this. I've been talking about date night for weeks now!"
You feel almost bad as Usman sputters helplessly trying to find the right words. "Baby! I — I promise you... It's not that I forgot! I just... Wait...." He whips out his phone and scrolls through his calendar app, only to find today blank with no reminders. Now Usman knows for a fact he always, without fail, marks down date nights in his calendar solely to avoid moments like this. And when he looks up from his phone, he spots your phone screen recording and his mouth hangs open.
"Are you pranking me?" You can't help but laugh as Usman throws his hands in the air, absolutely defeated. "You are horrible! I nearly died there!"
Umar Nurmagomedov
The "Asking if you can order fries at a restaurant" trend
You and Umar were out at a burger chain restaurant for date night. You two were sat across each other in the booths looking at the menu when Umar raises his hand to get the attention of the waiter. You smile subtly and set up your camera at the edge of the table.
"Hello. Can I get a beef double cheeseburger with Coke Zero?" The waiter, a young teenage girl, nods diligently as she jots down Umar's order on her notepad. Umar looks up at you expectantly, a genuine and loving smile on his face.
"Hi. I'll have the chicken burger with ranch sauce please, and..." You look up at Umar, faking a look of concern on your face. "Babe, am I allowed to have the fries today?"
Umar's jaw drops open in dismay. He looks frantically between you and the waiter. "What? Of course! I swear I've never — When have I..." He starts to gesture wildly at you, eyes wide and panicked. The waiter, who obviously knew about this trend, covers her mouth with her notepad and stifles a laugh before nodding and walking away to the kitchen.
"Babe!" Umar whisper-yells at you as you erupt in laughter. "You can't do that! I let you eat fries all the time!" You start tearing up with laughter, unable to even answer him. Umar simply rolls his eyes. He isn't angry more so than he is entertained by your antics.
"You know what?" Umar raised his hand and catches the waiter's attention again. "What're you doing?" "I'm ordering you two portions of fries since you wanna be funny now."
Khamzat Chimaev
The "Saying I want to go home" trend
You're over at Khamzat's apartment all tangled up in his bedsheets. Khamzat's sitting at his desk across the bedroom. He had just bought the new UFC video game and he was playing it on his PC for the past two hours while you doom scrolled on his bed. You angled your phone at him and pressed record before faking a big yawn.
"I think I'm gonna go home." Khamzat, who had his headphones covering only one ear, abruptly paused his game and turns to you. "What?"
"I said I think I'm gonna go home now." Khamzat immediately takes off his headphones and walks over to you, his eyes full of worry. "What. No no no, don't." He pleads softly as he climbs onto the bed to lie on top of you, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.
"I'm sorry. Did I take too long on the game? I stop now. We can go sleep now." He mumbles, hugging you tightly. You stifle a laugh as you turn the camera to film him — it's such a rarity to capture this soft side of your boyfriend. "Yeah? You wanna cuddle now? My little baby..." you ask with an exaggerated baby voice.
Sensing something was off, Khamzat lifts his head up and spots the camera. He lets out out a groan and snatches the phone away from you immediately before aggressively rolling over to the other side of the bed. "You are mean. I will not cuddle."
PLEASE we need a Khamzat smut to recover from what happened😓…
Girlllll. I see you 🙂↕️ and I hear you 🥲. Smutty Khamzat works are in the making as we speak! But I'm honestly still not over his loss against Sean like ... don't get me wrong I'm not one of those anti-Sean-pro-dagi meat riders but STILL what an unexpected loss!
fwb!Park who had been harbouring a keen interest in you for some time. It wasn't exactly a crush (or at least that’s what he tells himself), but more of a budding curiosity. You’d been an OR nurse in his orthopaedic department for almost a year and Park couldn't help but feel oddly drawn to your side — so he hovered. He watched the way you worked with a level of attention only meant for you and lingered longer than he should when you talked to patients post-op. It's all he could do without crossing workplace boundaries... At the time at least...
fwb!Park who wasn't as subtle with his little obsession than he thought he was. It was hard for you to even pretend to be oblivious of the pair of eyes burning into the back of your head as you briefed your patient about their procedure, or the way Park always stood so close to you during consults and prep time that your arms touched and it drove you nuts.
fwb!Park who offered you a ride home once from PTMC when it was pouring outside. You were a little quick to accept his offer, which only amused the Shark even more. And when you invited him up to your apartment that night, Park knew that he had struck gold. The elevator up to your flat was packed with people coming home from a long day’s work, and as more people squeezed into the tiny metal box, your back was basically pressed up against Park’s front. Your hand kept brushing against his inner thigh. Accidentally, of course. And when the elevator jerked slightly, Park instinctively reached out to grab your waist. His large calloused hands were firmly gripped around you, his thumb moving in small but noticeable circles, tracing your flesh. That was the moment you knew you were done for.
fwb!Park who, the moment you two stepped into your apartment, had slammed the door closed behind him and pushed you up against the empty wall. You instantly grabbed the back of his neck, yanking him down and kissed him hungrily. The man devoured you like he'd been starved of your touch for years. His hands were shoved up under your shirt and groping you all over. It was sensational — the way he touched you and muttered your name between each kiss, his erection pressing so hard against his pants and leaving a stain of pre-cum at his crotch.
fwb!Park who fucked you so good that first night. You guys did it against the wall, your legs wrapped around him as he supported your entire weight with one arm; You guys did it again against your dining table. He had you gripping the edges of the table, legs spread apart as he held your hips firmly and thrust into you from behind; And you guys did it again on your living room couch, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he stretched your cunt out for the third time that night. And that was just the beginning.
fwb!Park who would find any excuse to fuck you at work. He'd send you on pointless errands to the supply room just to get you alone in there and bend you over against the counter. He'd drop a text telling you to meet him in the handicap toilet, and when you locked the door behind you, he was on his knees, telling you to drop your pants and stand over him so he could eat you out right there. Everything about it was wrong and undignified and lustful. But it only made you want him more.
fwb!Park who, since the start of your little arrangement, started specifically requesting for your assistance during all his operations. This was a novel move by the Shark, who typically didn’t even like nurses getting in his way during an operation. Your charge nurse thinks he has it out for you, but little does she know that Park just uses this as an excuse to have you by his side at all times. It gets to the point where if you’re assisting another surgeon when Park needs you, he gets visibly agitated, and best believe everyone is walking on eggshells for the rest of the day.
fwb!Park who, after every operation you assist him in, will pull you aside and give you a rundown review of your performance. He doesn’t do this to any other nurse. Not even to his own interns or medical students. Just you. He'll pull you into a secluded hallway or an empty supply store and stand abnormally close to you, two fingers lifting up your chin so you can look into his eyes properly. "Don't ever talk back to me like that again in the OR, or do I have to teach that pretty little mouth of yours another lesson huh?"
fwb!Park who is absolutely a biter in bed. The idea of marking you as his all over your beautiful body just drives him mad. And he takes his time with it too. He traces your soft flesh with his steady, practiced fingers, deliberating which parts of your body have yet to be mapped by his mouth before sinking his teeth deep into your skin until tears pool in your eyes.
fwb!Park who also definitely has a size kink with you. Just the way your body is totally engulfed beneath him makes him feral. He relishes the way his massive hands can fit so easily around your throat, or the way you're practically doing the splits when you ride him. And when you pass by him casually in the OR and he has to tilt his head down just to look at you, he's immediately reminded of how easy it would be to just throw you over his shoulder like a ragdoll and demolish you in the room next door. But he can't. And now he's hard with no opportunity for release any time soon (here comes grumpy Park!).
fwb!Park who is an incredibly attentive partner. He prides himself in being attuned to your needs and is always striving to provide for you. Need an extra towel to clean up? He's already gone off to the linen closet to get one. Need a glass of water to hydrate? He already preempted this and has a standby cup waiting on the nightstand. "You know, I'm a bit hungry after all that." "Hmm? Oh yeah. I already ordered two pizzas before we started. Should be here soon."
fwb!Park who made you break the no-staying-over rule of your arrangement just three weeks in. After making you come twice, he pulls you onto his chest, twirling your hair between his fingers as you catch your breath. It's quiet in a way that feels comfortable and domestic. When you move to get up, Park just rolls over on top of you, totally crushing you under his weight. You squirm to free yourself, but you're no match for a man of his size. "I need to go," you say as your face is smushed between his bicep and the mattress. "You can try," he says, smirking as he buries his face into your hair. You didn't try.
fwb!Park who is usually a very dominant man, and he definitely can be, but those rare times that you're the one ordering him around like your personal plaything — demanding him to strip and beg for you on his knees, or telling him to shut up as you ride his cock to completion — let's just say Park has never come this close to experiencing religious divinity. He also loves it when you tell him how good you feel. The more vocal you are in bed, the more enthusiastic Park gets. "Is it good princess? Does my cock feel good in you? Huh? Tell me. Use your words."
fwb!Park who downloads a period tracker on his phone so he can track your cycles. At first you think it's because he wants to avoid fucking during your ovulation phases, but then a box of chocolate and a tub of ice cream get delivered to your apartment the day you enter your luteal phase, and then a bouquet of flowers on the first day of your bleeding. It melts your heart.
fwb!Park who is always the first to come to your defence at work. If a doctor is ever rude or snide to you, Park immediately steps in. He doesn't care if it comes across as improper — the OR surgeon berating his attending for telling a random nurse to 'leave the medicinal practice to the real doctors'. You text him privately later in the day, apologising for putting him in a bad position, and he only replies with: "No one talks to my princess like that."
Context: Fights with Sandor aren't pretty at all ... And it takes more than a couple grunts to make a marriage work.
a/n: My first non-smut Sandor work 🥹 #bekind
Masterlist link
⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
For better or for worse, Sandor Clegane was not a gentle person. His temper had propelled his career as a guard, no doubt, but there were times when he wished he hadn’t been born such a hothead. Since taking you as a wife, Sandor had been getting much better at handling and regulating his anger. With many hours poured into helping him open up, Sandor was slowly starting to learn how to communicate first and sulk later. But sometimes, when your fights got heated, his anger would slip through the cracks.
In the early days of your relationship, the topic of your fights were always about his line of work. As much as you tried to hide it from him, Sandor always knew that you despised his service to the boy-king. Because of this, Sandor often chose to lie to you about certain parts of his job, and that just infuriated you even more, fuelling your disdain for the kingsgaurd. When the pent up frustration and agitation came bubbling to the surface, you and Sandor never held back; profanities were exchanged, dishes were hurled across the room, doors were slammed… It always got messy.
Sandor would come home with blood stains on his armour and linens, and brush it off as if it were no worry. “It’s not my blood, if that’ll stop you from harping on,” he’d say gruffly as he shrugged off his soiled clothes. “Gods Sandor. How can you do this? And for the Lannisters of all people!” you’d reply, a harrowing sense of shame rising in your chest as the idea of your husband hurting another human being — deserved or not — crept into your mind. Sandor would bark back and the rest of the week would be spent in an endless back-and-forth war.
Although lately, your fights have slowly started to center around Sandor’s jealousy. You and Sandor had married young, and you were once hailed for your beauty as a bride. You possessed an astounding charm and elegance that men, including and especially Sandor, could not help but be captivated by. And he loved you for your beauty. But you would be a fool to say that your marriage had not been the talk of the town for a cruelly long time. Who could have imagined a girl so young and so enamouring as yourself would bed a man so horrifying and grotesque as The Hound?
At first, Sandor had barely paid those whispering rumours any mind. He was one of the most feared guards in the realm, why should he pay any attention to the gossip of lesser handmaidens and old housewives? Sandor was assured enough by the ferociousness of your love and devotion as a wife that no one could sway his opinion of your loyalty. But with age came change; the stumble in his gait, the softening of his jaw, the scars and flaking skin from his wounds. And while you seemed to stay as radiant as you were on the day of your wedding, Sandor had slowly become lost in his own insecurities. And so now, the whispers of doubt and creeping looks from other men felt like a living threat; a threat that Sandor could do little to fend off.
“You’re acting a fool, Sandor,” you said with gritted teeth, hands on your hips, too angry to sit beside your husband at the dining table. Sandor only scoffed and shoved another piece of chicken into his mouth.
“I’m only a fool because you’ve fucking made me one. To think my wife is going around town laughing with the butcher’s son like some common fucking wench while I work to put food on the table like a fucking cuck.”
You threw your hands up in disbelief, outraged that Sandor would ever throw these accusations at you. “Right. And my husband is such a fucking saint is he? Just doing the Lannisters bidding like a right fucking—”
“Like what?” Sandor growled, rising from his seat. A beat of silence passed between the two of you, only the sounds of your heavy breathing and the crack of the fireplace could be heard. Sandor towered over you, and for a split second, you were almost afraid that he would strike you. But he only grunted and brushed past you to the front door.
“Ungrateful whore,” he muttered, almost to himself, but loud enough for you to hear.
You snapped your head towards him. Your eyes burned with anger and betrayal. “Say that again and you will never hear from me again, Sandor Clegane,” you spat. Sandor looked at you then, just as furious as before, but he would not repeat his words. With a slam of the door behind him, he had left the house. You would go to bed alone that night, sobbing into your straw pillow until your lungs hurt and you felt like heaving.
Reconciling after a fight was almost always the hardest part. Sandor’s first instinct after every fight was to ignore the immeasurable tension and agony that passed between you two. Deny, deny, deny. You would wake up the next morning, eyes swollen, nose congested, and stumble into the common area only to find Sandor donning his guardsmen clothes ready for the day. When you fail to greet him with a lover’s embrace, Sandor would upturn his lips and shrug. “What’s with the mood huh?”
You only glance at him with eyes like daggers. “You called me an ungrateful whore last night, Sandor. Don’t be daft.”
Sandor shifted uncomfortably where he stood. “I would never say something like that. Not to you,” he said, almost like it was one big joke to him. But you didn't laugh, and your silence was somehow more piercing than if you had lashed out at him.
You could see the gears in Sandor’s head turning as he scrambled for the right words to say. “Seven Hells woman, you're killing me here. So what, you're just gonna ignore me the rest of our lives? Am I to live out my days as if I took the Black and never married?” His voice got louder with every word. Desperate. But not desperate enough to apologise. You knew his pride would never allow it. Was this the man I truly married?
“Is that what you want?” You asked in the softest voice.
Sandor was at a loss for words. You knew your question had crossed a line. Fight for me, you pleaded in your mind, tears welling up in your eyes once more. Fight for us. But Sandor’s pride would not allow him to apologise. At least not yet. Alas, the brave and valiant Hound could do no more than mumble something incoherent before disappearing out the front door, leaving you alone in a miserable silence. Your chest was heavy with exhaustion and it took every ounce of strength in you not to break down.
For the rest of the day, you busied yourself with menial tasks in an attempt to distract yourself. But you could not think of anything other than your husband. Oh, how you missed him. When things were good, Sandor could be the most devoted and loving husband in all the Seven Kingdoms. You often pitied the old housewives in the village who lamented about their burdensome husbands. Sandor had never demanded anything of you, never laid a hand on you, never took you for granted. So then how was it that it had come to this? That he had walked out of the house with no hesitation when you challenged the foundation of your marriage? Was his silence his twisted way of giving up? All these wretched thoughts raced through your mind from dawn till dusk.
You thought Sandor would not come home that evening. He did that sometimes — after a big fight he’d disappear for a day or two, Gods knew where he went — but tonight he returned to you. Your back was against the front door as you stirred a skinned chicken inside a pot of boiling broth for dinner. The familiar jingle of wind chimes outside your front door stirred your attention as Sandor entered. As he crouched slightly to fit through the door of your cottage, you spotted the bundle of wildflowers in his hand. They were crooked from too tight a grip on its stems, but they were beautiful nonetheless. Blue and yellow and white like the colours of a noble house’s banner.
Sandor didn't say a word as he crossed the room and placed the flowers on the dining table. There was a pause. You reached out to touch the flowers. They were as fresh as plucked flowers could be, still damp from the night’s drizzle.
“They’re beautiful,” you mumbled, breaking the silence and offering a tired smile to him.
Sandor inhaled deeply and clasped his two hands in front of him before he began to speak. “From the day I met you, the last thing I have ever wanted was to leave you. That is a thought that has simply never crossed my mind. I would call you ridiculous for ever suggesting so this morning, but perhaps… Perhaps I have ridiculed myself.” He took another deep breath before continuing. “You are my everything. My light, my life, I mean, fuck, you drive me insane, woman. I don’t even know why you married me; Sometimes I think the Gods have only allowed me one fortune in life and that’s you.” He began wringing his hands together, but his eyes had never left yours from the beginning. “So when some poor fucker comes whispering in my ear that you’ve warmed up to some other man, I think to myself; What if that’s it? What if she’s finally seeing her worth and realising that I’m just some sick fuck clinging onto her like dead meat? I just… I can’t… I can’t lose you…”
Your eyes stung with tears. But they were not tears of sorrow any longer.
“Sandor…” You rushed to throw your arms around him, embracing his warm body like you had a million times before. Sandor’s body immediately relaxed as he wrapped his big strong arms around your torso, lifting you off the ground with ease. The weight on his chest had disappeared as soon as he felt the warmth of your cheek to his.
With Sandor carrying you in his arms, you cupped his face with your hands, both thumbs soothing the rough skin on his cheeks. “Sandor Clegane, you stupid, stupid man. How could I ever love anyone else but you? I would die before I let you leave me, and you would have to pry the name Clegane from my cold, rotting corpse before I part from what is mine. I love you.”
The most genuine, endearing smile flashed across Sandor’s face and your heart that had been racing all day with anxiety was suddenly calm. And in that moment, with you in his arms, staring into each other’s eyes like they were the starry sky, you swore that you had never loved him more intensely than ever before.
I love LOVE ur fics!! Can u pleaseeee write for Islam? I need him YEARNINGGG for his wife pls 🥹
Baby Fever ⋆˚꩜｡
dad!Islam Makhachev x wife!Reader 🫧⭐️🪷
Context: Islam has always dreamed of having a big family. But now, with three kids running around the house, he's having a hard time sharing you with the mini-Makhachevs.
Warnings: Implications of smut
a/n: Thanks for the request anon! This is a little fic with lots of domestic fluff (and the tiniest bit of smut...) and lotssss of yearning 😙 FYI I gave "your" kids fake names in this fic, hopefully it isn't too districting. Hope you enjoy reading!
Masterlist link
⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
Ever since he could remember, Islam has always wanted a big family. He'd even admitted in a now viral interview that he wanted seven kids with you. Fast forward half a decade into your marriage, and you'd popped out three beautiful children who would carry on the Makhachev family name: Two boys and a girl.
Sounds like paradise right? That's what Islam thought too. And even though everyone (including Khabib) had warned him about how exhausting having three kids all under the age of five would be, Islam could not be happier.
But there was just one little issue that was proving to be more troublesome than expected… And that was spending time with you.
“Milayshka I’m home!” Islam called out as he dumped his gym bag by the front door, adrenaline still pumping in his veins after that quick sparring session with the team. He shuffled into the open kitchen and found you there cutting up some vegetables for what he assumed would be lunch.
“Hi darling,” you greeted without looking up, eyes still focused on the chopping board as you diced up some carrots.
Suddenly, you felt a pair of strong arms snake their way around your waist, hugging you tightly. Islam pressed a big wet kiss to your cheek before snuggling his face into the crook of your neck, sighing deeply as if he hadn't held you in years.
“I miss you baby,” he cooed, swaying his hips slightly as he pressed you against the countertop. You chuckled in response.
“We literally got up together this morning. I watched you pee like three hours ago.”
“So what? I cannot miss my wife when I go gym?” He whispered from behind you as he kissed you again on the side of your neck. You hummed happily as Islam started pressing his lips all over — your jaw, your earlobes, your shoulder… His calloused hands had conveniently found their way under the waistband of your shorts, caressing the skin at your hips.
“Careful now, the kids are awake,” you chastised quietly, silently not wanting him to stop. It'd been a hot minute since you and Islam had gotten any. Between raising two toddler boys and a newborn girl, you guys simply had no time alone for sex.
“It’s okay, they're upstairs no?” Islam said as he pushed your legs further apart with his feet. He pressed his hips against you and you could feel his hardness poking into your ass. You gasped as his hand worked his way down your pelvis, his fingers resting gingerly atop your entrance, separated only by the thin fabric of your shorts.
“I need you,” he growled primitively as he felt the warmth and desire of your cunt radiating through those cotton shorts. He let out a low moan as his other hand moved up your torso to fondle your breasts.
“PAPA!” The unmistakeable sound of bare feet pattering down the staircase jolted the two of you out of a trance. Islam recoiled back in the blink of an eye, clearing his throat like he had just been caught doing the unimaginable.
“Papa! Sayyid stole my firetruck!”
“Liar!” Your youngest son retorted, crossing his arms defiantly. You and Islam exchanged tired but amused looks. If the past 5 years have taught you anything about parenting and family planning, it was that raising 2 toddler boys took the patience of a saint. They fought almost every day over who got to play with what, but it was just a shame it had to happen when you two were finally getting back into the rhythm of things…
And as if the universe needed to send yet another interruption, your newborn daughter suddenly began to wail from her bassinet as she woke up from her midday nap. No words needed to be said between you and Islam. He placed a quick kiss on your cheek before springing into action as he pulled apart your sons from their tussle — seamlessly switching from husband-mode to dad-mode. You smiled to yourself before going to comfort your daughter.
After a long time wrestling with the boys to put aside their petty beef, you and Islam finally got the whole family to sit down for lunch. Distracted with feeding your newborn her softfoods, as well as making sure your sons ate their vegetables, you had totally forgotten about your brief interaction with Islam earlier. But it was slowly becoming more and more apparent to you that it was still very much on his mind; a subtle grin from across the table, leaning over you as he served soup around, a quick tug at your ponytail as he got up to put the dishes in the sink… It was clear that Islam had some unfinished business with you.
Lunch was concluded in an impressively short time, and as you cleared the table, Islam had whisked the children away into the playroom to entertain themselves. You were about to go upstairs when Islam almost ran into you on the way down.
“Where are you going?” He asked, almost aghast that you’d be doing anything other than waiting for him back in the dining room.
You chuckled and placed a cheeky kiss on his lips. “I wanted to take a shower while the kids aren’t bothering us.”
As you took a step up the stairs, Islam moved to cage you against the stairwell wall. He pressed your back against the wall, arms on either side of you, his face so close to yours that you could feel his breath against your cheek. His torso was firmly glued against yours, and you could feel his groin pushing against the fabric of his gym shorts.
“But…” he whispered, tracing his fingers delicately up your arm.
“But what Islam?” You teased, batting your eyelids innocently at him. You swung your arms over his shoulder and kissed his cheek gently. You felt him let out a shaky breath as you massaged his ears. “What does my lovely husband want hmm?”
His grip on your waist only tightened and before you could get another word out, Islam picked you up effortlessly and threw you over his shoulder. You burst out laughing as Islam raced up the stairs with you swinging away on him. He made a beeline straight to your bedroom, making sure to lock the door behind him before slamming you down on the bed.
“But I want to take a shower!” You giggled as you scrambled away from the edge of the bed towards the headboard. Your half-hearted protests fell on deft ears and Islam climbed onto the bed. Like an animal on all four limbs, he stalked his way towards you, his eyes full of desire and need. He gripped your ankles and yanked you down until you were lying flat on your back and he was directly on top of you.
“Shower later,” he growled, lowering himself to kiss you, “let me have you first”.
He lavished the taste of your soft lips and hummed delightedly. He gently brought your hands together above your head and grasped both your wrists firmly in place against the mattress. You squirmed in anticipation, aching for his touch, as Islam’s other hand snaked its way down to the waistband of your shorts.
“Islam I need —”
Suddenly, there was a loud pounding on the bedroom door that could only be recognised as a child’s insistent banging. “Mama! Are you in there?”
You and Islam froze in place. You stifled a laugh as Islam closed his eyes and let out a frustrated sigh. You could see the gears in his head turning furiously to figure out a way to keep you here in his arms.
“Mama’s busy!” Islam yelled back at the door. “Go play!”
There was a beat of silence and Islam took that as a sign to resume his kisses. But as his lips had barely grazed your jaw, there was more banging on the door. The doorknob jiggled incessantly from the other side.
“Mama! Sayyid and I wanna go to the park! Please!"
Defeated, Islam let go of your wrists and collapsed on top of you, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You couldn’t help but chuckle as your husband let out a most helpless groan. Islam wasn't used to losing, but this was a battle he truly seemed to have no power over.
“I’m gonna send them away,” he mumbled lowly, pouting as he pressed his face to the mattress. You cooed sympathetically and ran your fingers through his short buzzed hair. You pressed a quick kiss to his temple, hoping that it would be some form of consolation, before squeezing your way out from under him. Islam barely moved an inch, just lying there on the bed face down into the mattress like a lifeless mannequin.
“Maybe 2-3 years in Dagestan for our kids wouldn’t be a bad idea huh?” You quipped before unlocking your bedroom door to appease your children. You meant it as a joke really, but as he lay motionless on the bed waiting for his erection to die down, Islam was genuinely considering shipping your kids off just to have some alone time with you.
The boys who live opposite you in your apartment complex are a little ... strange
You don't actually know who owns the unit. It could be the one they call Isu who smiles sheepishly at you in the hallway and who once offered you a bowl of homemade borchst at 3am because he "couldn't sleep". Or it could be the one they call Khabib — the silent brooding type who you somehow always run into in the apartment elevator. He holds the door open for you and you swear that, as you both walk down the hall to your units, his eyes never leave your figure. Or it could be one of the many other tracksuit-wearing boys who routinely pop in and out of that unit like nobody's business. You don't ask questions. You don't really want to know. You get a strange delight by observing their antics through your door's peephole. Sometimes they wrestle each other in the hallways before stumbling into the apartment. Sometimes they share cigarettes in the hallway late at night just talking. One of them almost always has a black eye. You think they're delinquents or part of some kind of gang. But they never bother you, and you honestly like spying on them.
Maybe one day you'll find out that they've been spying on you this whole time as well.
