Hamster!Arman who walks around your bed and squeaks until you pick him up
Hamster!Arman who starts rolling around everytime he sees sand for a ‘bath’
Hamster!Arman who won’t eat store brought hamster food and yearns for michelin star nut dishes
Hamster!Arman stuffing his cheeks full of food and casually takes one out to offer to Khamzat
Hamster!Arman that sits on wolf!Khamzat’s back and order to him to do what he wants
Wolf!Khamzat that put Hamster!Arman in his mouth when he’s tired of his little noises
Wolf!Khamzat that chews up the hamster wheel when hamster!Arman falls off from running to fast
Hamster!Arman that become jealous when wolf!Khamzat looks at other hamsters so he start to do little jump to get his attention back, when he doesn't hamster!Arman escapes to hide under the skirting boards when Khamzat ignores him so he’ll finally give him attention
Wolf!Khamzat that runs up to hamster!Arman and says "where have you been loca?", after Arman hid under the skirting boards for days, and Khamzat never noticed that he was missing
Wolf!Khamzat who scratches and whines at closed doors instead of opening them like a normal person
Hamster!Arman who leaves random pieces of nuts in Khamzats pockets so he won’t ‘starve’
Or Hamster!Arman that looks innocently at Wolf!Khamzat when he ask who eats all the nuts while is cheeks are full of nuts…
Embarrassed hamster!Arman having to deal with annoyed neighbours AGAIN after they complained of Khamzat howling at the balcony
Hamster!Arman who has a freight when khamzat howls and gives himself a heart attack
Hamster!Arman traumatised after wolf!Khamzat tried sniffing his butt
Wolf!Khamzat that allows hamster!Arman so snuggle into him when it gets cold
Hamster!Arman disgusted after wolf!Khamzat tried to groom him (like lick, like cats do)
Hamster!Arman traumatised after wolf!Khamzat tried sniffing his butt
Wolf!Khamzat that howl at every human that approach or look too much at hamster!Arman
Wolf!Khamzat starts showing his belly whenever Arman is upset at him
Hamster!Arman that just randomly dies one day 😭
Thank you @uflirtc @ufc-dollie23 and the girls for being out of line every time 🌝
Stalker/kindnapper Tagir but he's REALLY bad at it 😔
Dark!Taga who sprains his ankles trying to chase you down the street, you end to confused as to why is such sweet boy running towards so your help him and nurse him back to health.
Dark!Taga that is very happy you're there, yet mad that he couldn't catch you like a real kidnapper would
Dark!Taga that will achieve what he put his mind onto, so before going for you second time, he plans, sketches and prepares himself all with help of CHATGPT
Dark!Taga that lures you into his beatup golf, asking “You mind if I listen to some music?”. But it’s ’how to kidnap’ playing in his AirPods. His headphones are so bad, he doesn't notice the whole thing is not even connected. You think its a prank, but he's moving his head and smiling in your direction as he's really listening to some music.
Dark!Taga so desperately nervous for his first kidnapping that instead of tying you, he ties himself up...You end up tying yourself up because he feels REALLYY bad about failing such simple task, he thanks you with red cheeks and all
Dark!Taga who does his little goblin giggle as he spins around in a chair whilst petting his black murderous cat, but tolerants him since he buys her the most expensive food
Dark!Taga who can’t find a knife so he threatens u with a nail clipper
Dark!Taga accidentally using the chloroform soaked handkerchief meant for u to blow his nose and knocked himself out. You end up waking him up and he misses bathroom door, ending up locked in room meant for your kidnapping
You call police to get him out of there and he turns himself in, eyes red and mind mushy because he had tortured you enough with his terrible kidnapping tactics
Dark!Tags that cries and walks himself out of building to the police car with tied hands, and somehow on the way out rolls down the hill never to be seen again....only memory of him - your recording of his goblin laugh while "kidnapping" you in his car
Note: this was actually group work, mine is only like 1.5 of these, but we was flowing 🌝
hi! idk if your requests are open but i was wondering if you would be open to writing an islam makhachev fic ?
scenario: islam x reader, reader is a girl who grew up in dagestan and always had more of a passion for fighting unlike other girls (sounds kind of pick-me ish but dw she also likes hanging out with her girls), she grew up with islam as her training partner to spar with mostly and they were very inseparable until both of their careers started in the ufc. they still find time to train together and they both know they have kind of “friend crushes” on each other if that makes sense. like they are in love with each other but more platonically then romantically, but a bit of romance is still there
I did it! I wrote it! And I hope you will like it!
Islam Makhachev X childhood friend reader
I think it has space for expanding the story, it's very much like introduction to something
Note: Finished last night but fell asleep when thinking of the title...it's short and feels a little lazy, but I still hope you will like it
The devil could have fooled him, but he was sure of it! There stood a girl on his tiny screen, a very familiar girl, a girl who he had grown up with and adored. Islam heart thumped, a stupid smile played on his face, he couldn't possibly believe that you were there. In the middle of the beloved bloody octagon, surrounded by a couple of thousand people screaming your name as your punches landed with swift motion on your opponent.
The life-long dream of yours came alive and Islam was there to witness it, well... a couple of kilometers away from the very arena he himself debuted in, but he was there nonetheless.
Islam stood up, screamed and jumped in happiness. You won!! You won with a beautiful choke, he knew how it felt on the poor girl, he knew the exact fiber of your arms had pressed and stopped the air from circulating, he could have felt it on his own neck. He knew because he was the very one to let you practice it on him since you were children.
Neighbors from a young age, like many other children, you liked watching wrestling. As evry child you were also a fan of heroes, strong men and women in TV shows and movies across the world that saved people, whose smart fighting tactics resulted in life-long praise and fame!
You also wanted to be a hero, darling girl whom the world loved! The hero that her friends watched on the screen, a girl that helped them dream more than they could imagine. Same girls that used to stand up and imitate fight sequences from movies with you.
Yet that's not what girls do - you were said, by many coaches, teachers and elders.
But luck chooses its winners in this or the other world.
There was a boy, of course there was a boy! Little weird boy, with two funny crossed front teeth, but a cute-looking, small guy he was at first — at which age girls are usually taller and bigger than boys. And yet he was such a winner from a young age, since he started walking Islam only knew for winning.
You met him in the school's backyard, where usually girls and boys have separate company, only boys or only girls. Yet your curious approach to him wasn't because he was a cute boy that you wanted to leave a love letter. You were however very interested in gold hanging from his neck.
“Would you show me how to wrestle?”
Islam was a little odded out by those words as the little boy, but he liked you and your courage.
He showed you tactics that he learned. He dragged his even smaller friend, Tagir he was, to demonstrate the moves, and to spar with you. Islam lets you wear his gear, his only gloves, already worn out. And not only a training partner, but Islam remained a supportive friend. That friend that after he told you not to dream too big - since you were a girl in Dagestan, rushed to your house, climbed on the wall and left you a letter of support and your favorite chocolate.
He apologized again, promised you every sparring session he could give and by his words, that he wouldn't hold back too much just because you were a girl.
But years passed, friendship divided by destiny, was now reconnected on the screen. Islam could cry, and yet he couldn't believe it! He couldn't believe how much muscle you put on, how great you're boxing was and how far you have come. And to top it all, he was just a couple of kilometers away.
Islam didn't like to waste time. He knew tonight wasn't the night to approach you, but the first thing in the morning, he pulled every UFC connection Khabib and him had. He asked everyone for the girl, where she trained and her number. Someone at the end gave him coordinates of your training facility.
It took him exactly 30 minutes to find you. Islam's palms were sweaty by his sides as he stood and looked at you in all your glory, standing on bad new looking mats, and wrapping your own right hand, he looked at how your braided hair gave your pretty face a certain glow, layer of sweat coating your neck and arms. He didn't have much choice, so he stood watching you spar, not because they wouldn't let him approach you, but because his knees buckled as he moved, so he sat his nervous ass down until you noticed him.
It took you longer than he expected, so long, he could feel his body get tired from the pressure he felt. In the back of his mind, Khabib scolded him for missing his practice, getting so lost in that thought "he might as well kill me."
"Islam?"
There it was, that familiar voice, girl from his neighbor.
"How? Huh? Wh- what are you doing here? Haha how did you come?" Your questions were said in surprise, you giggled and giggled as you sat next to him, in complete disbelief. Islam stood motionless, still shocked.
"I- ah I watched you win!" The last word came out of his mouth slightly quieter than at the rest of the sentence. He let out a tiny laugh himself.
Silence ensued, something that happens after drifting apart with a person that knew you should better you.
"How did this happen? How didn't we see a girl from Dagestan win last night on the news? First one!"
"Well our media is like that, you know it yourself, pretty selective, but besides that I live in France now, far from home, I'm more French to them then a girl from Dagestan."
He noticed your distanced look, but didn't have time to address it. He wondered where you were most of all.
"I went to study in France, started boxing there too, competition was good, and won some money... After some time, my parents approved. Not long ago I got noticed by the UFC, and was actually surprised, but here we are, I won...."
Islam watched you talk, he wanted you to talk more, to talk endlessly, to explain every moment of your life since you two parted your ways, he wanted one more training session, one more sparring with you.
"My fight is next week, I need help for it"
"Huh! Good one Islam, you have a big great Khabib and would you need a girl like me?" You still smiled, smiled that has never not succeeded ripping a hole in Islam's stomach.
"I need luck. Khabib brings only fear" you both laughed, mocking Khabib's seriousness. Despite him being the most mischievous in the whole Makhachkala, Khabib had a tendency to act most righteous. Laughing at his hypocrisy made a bridge between you and Islam, moments where the world looked less intimidating.
"So if we spar and you win, that means I bring you luck?"
"You do" Islam's voice was just above whisper. His cheeks brightened red, but you stayed calm, years after you still broke him with little of your words.
"You come here then, I can't keep up with Khabib's annoying voice. OK?" Islam giggled once again.
"It's ok, I'll come here then?”
You simply nodded, giving him a sheepish smile, wondering if pushing yourself in his hug would be too much, but he spoke.
"I'm nervous, I saw you again....like that - you look real pretty and strong... and you won" Islam was looking at his nervous hands, talking in his chin, but you heard him well. He thought you looked pretty too. What a handsome fella, he thought you looked pretty, sweaty you were, and yet so pretty it made this 6 feet man shrug down, looking like a schoolboy he once was.
You yourself got out of your own mind looking at him with tame desire, laughing quietly yet enough for him to hear and raise his own head.
"You better be early here, I'll wait for you."
And like the wind you were gone again, but this time not forever. This time he won't lose you, not for some, not for any time. He will let Khabib know that two future champions are coming back home.
One of my favourite little details is when two -not in relationship characters, but there is romantic tension- act for a bit like a couple and call eachother sweet names "honey, love, sweetheart", or just act like a couple in the passing "me and my wife.." yesss bitch that's your future wife, feeling is mutual now fuck
I spend way too damn much of my time here and that's because I have deleted every other social media and I actually I'm forgetting that phone games exists
always such a struggle when you get to the sex scene part of the fic you're writing and you're not horny at all. i don't know. their things were touching. without ANY underwear. the end.
Dad!Khabib nervously carries your toddler down and up the hospital hallway when it's time to get her vaccinations. You have to force him to hand her over to the nurse, all the while looking at her like she's his worst enemy.
Dad!Khabib, foot-stomping, thumbs overlapping until his lip bleeds from nervousness - watching his baby girl like a hawk. You see a tear in the corner of his eye because his little girl is screaming so helplessly.
Dad!Khabib, who at the end snatched her from the nurse's arms and kissed her, blushed, crying cheeks.
Dad!Khabib, who refuses to let her walk alone, and carries her all the way to the car, promising her as many sweets and toys as she wants.
Dad!Khabib, who promises you that he won't overdo it with prizes for her, only to later go through the entire toy store, and Khabib himself gets surprised when his little girl chooses only one little white stuffed rabbit, quite ugly if you ask him.
Dad!Khabib who can't hide the shame he feels when you mention his tears later in the restaurant, laughing sweetly at his concern.
"It was so cute, my love, don't get embarrassed now." While you cling to his biceps and kiss his cheek.
Dad!Khabib laughs, but surely could cry again, as his daughter shows him how her precious bunny healed her bubu overnight.
CW: GAY, smut - If you don't like it, roll your eyes, make a face and scroll away
Khabib watched as the light from the thunder broke the blue evening sky into gray reflections. Tonight New Jersey looks foreign, not the city bathed in the warm rays of the sun that he watched that very afternoon. Now in the solitude of an old dilapidated apartment, he observes how the storm, which he has watched all his life, looked terrifying.
Loneliness is foreign to the young man who came to conquer the world, although his companion is his childhood friend. It is certainly not helpful of Isu, who is frightened by lightning strikes, and hides under a thin blanket.
His eyes peered above the covers like a wet, abandoned dog, begging Khabib to do something, to shut out the storm, or maybe just to close the blinds.
But Khabib, although he himself was scared, more than anything, he liked to observe and measure his courage against the real things he was afraid of. He thought that this was the only way he could become a winner. He enjoyed witnessing what scared him, and there were few such things.
"Islam, we used to play on the fields after the thunder would hit the nearby tree. Come on now, take that thing off."
His steps stretched across the room, grabbing the edge of the blanket with his two fingers, touching little of Islam's nose. Islam looked embarrassed, exposed and uncertain.
Of course, Khabib is not Islam, he notices everything, even a small twitch of such a big man, who is afraid of an unknown storm, life and a new city. Hee sensed that the best thing to do was to comfort his best friend, sit next to him and reassure him that everything would be ok.
Islam flinched just a little when Khabib sat down next to him, although he was no stranger, this is the man with whom he mixes his sweat every day, whose half-naked body sticks and warms on the cold mats. He felt the comfort of Khabibs familiar hand on the couch behind his back and he didn't need more than that. Maybe a sneer or a silly joke, but if they were to gather all their moments together, most of that would consist of stories about family, school, and life; the smallest part of it would be the jokes and pranks.
Islam felt called to Khabib's shoulder, he stretched his head, examining the terrain, just enough to touch his shoulder with the light weight of his head, almost unnoticed.
"We are here alone, nothing to be scared of."
Islam didn't know what Khabib meant by that, but he sank into his side a little more, and then a little more, and then more, until he completely fit into his side. This city had a special coldness in it, or they carried the cold Caucasian winters in their bones. All the same, the warmth between them helped keep the dark parts of their minds covered in fear and loneliness from sinking in.
As the night grew more congested, fatigue controlled Islam's eyelids, the apartment was lit only by Khabib's phone screen; It harmed Islam's sleep. So irritated, in protest, he turned his body towards him and, like some cute big panda, hugged Khabib's side, comfortably positioning himself for sleep.
Khabib stopped in front of his boldness, he didn't move his finger in front of the phone screen, but now he was looking at the top of Islam's head, his hand still on the couch thinking where to rest his numbness.
From that, uncertainly, but as if his fingers were doing something of their own, they rejected the only clear source of light, with thin touches they passed over Islam's back and up to his shoulder, thinly - with the tips of their fingers. Islam shifted his head, bringing it back from his chest to his shoulders, now in a better position to catch some emotion on Khabib's face.
Khabib swallowed the lump in his throat, observing the call of Islam, the call to something foreign and risky, something that tormented and intimidated him, but by his nature, Khabib will face it.
His left hand took Islam's, trembling, scared, but out of necessity, he had to... It would go a little way, just skipping over his skin, until it ended up on his hand, which was a bit thinner. Islam's fingers are longer and slimmer, he noted, then proceeded to place his pale hand on his crotch, clothed with thick material of jeans. Khabib felt the pressure of islams hand. He listened to his short, shuddering breaths and felt his heart pumping.
Khabibs dick growed underneath the younger man's palms. He felt terrified of touching it like that yes, he felt it before, brushed his body, he had seen him in a tent in his shorts as Khabib dominantly stood above Islam with knees on each side of his head. Those thoughts brush him over now. How many times has he been compelled to touch him? To feel Khabibs skin shudder in pleasure rather than pain?
Khabib didn't just mindlessly watch, he gripped islam a little firmer, pushing him more to his side, while his hand pressed and dragged Islam's teasing hand over his jeans some more. Khabib didn't have nasty memories of the past, he had a clear plan for the future. But he pulled a line there. Of all the things he could force in life, he let it go, he let islam choose for himself, to be a little gentler on himself or to give up?
But Khabibs eyes got spread as islam moved his head towards Khabibs crotch, as he pushed his nose around the print of his dick and moved his hand so he could try and push the balls in his hand while the other had played the game of opening belted jeans with one hand. Where Islam's boldness was caught lacking, Khabibs dominance jumped out. He got annoyed with constant bickering of his belt, of his nose only brushing the real thing.
So he grabbed Islams head, the back of it, firmly and gently at the same time it felt. He pushed Islam's forhead to his own, maybe signiling that It can only go so further.
Constant rattling stopped and Islam now had full view of veiny, thick dick of a friend standing erected and so close to the touch of his hand.
"You don't have to…"
But before he could finish the sentence, islam had already moved his thin fingers across his member, mesmerized by grith, by the veins that popped across his length. He moved it down slowly, focusing on khabibs breath, one he wished to swallow down, but he knew that would be too far ...
He continued, moving it, savoring the feel, he collected the precum on his tip and while Khabibs inhaled sharply, he scored it down the shift. Mesmerized, islam was mesmerized by the breath, the warmth, the wetness of his friend's dick, the length, the grith, the thought of the possibilities... His body ran hot with touch, thoughts that at this moment ate him alive. His mind toyed with the idea of going further, putting it in his mouth, tasting what was now coming out of khabibs dick - his semen spurted out as his hips stuttered, eyes shut while he grabbed onto the hard sofa, firm body of his childhood friend.
His seed ran across Islam's fingers, coating his own shirt in little white specks of sperm. They stood looking at it, his Adidas shirt, very expensive Adidas shirt ....
