indecisiveasshoe

digital diary meets edits ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ she/her

[mp3chai]

MASTER LIST

Khabib Nurmagomedov x Reader

|| Punishment - Pt.1 (Fluff)

|| Punishment - Pt. 2 (Smut)

|| The Photographer Pt.1 (Smut)

|| The Photographer Pt.2 (Smut)

Khamzat Chimaev x Reader

That Time of the Month (Smut)

Usman Nurmagomedov x Reader

Toys (Smut)

[mp3chai]

Zabit my dead wife I mourn you every single day. He has such a calm and relaxing vibe + he was so fun to watch, the potential muse for my next fic cause I’ve lowkey just been binging all his fights and old content. I miss him but I’m glad he seems to have found a nice peaceful life

Side note all my fics are back up cause like, I don’t rlly cur anymore. I missed being on here and writing haha

[mp3chai]

I think I came like 4 times making this edit 😊

Guys I’m so scared for Islam’s fight like I’m actually shitting my pants I don’t even want to watch it. On another note though, Chanko is finally debuting!! He’s so cute I can’t wait to see him fight, his style is so interesting, plus that little side-lore with his opponent training with Ilia’s team lmao. Also, something that I’ve been very happy about is the sudden rise of Chanko edits it’s very welcomed he’s so fine

[mp3chai]

Toys Smut

Usman Nurmagomedov x Reader

PFL Champion Usman Nurmagomedov has remained steadfast being raised in traditional Dagestani values, meaning that he has decided to live in a large residence with his entire extended family. To the public, it sounds like the words of a kind son. To his wife, it’s all too constricting. So, when Usman must handle his responsibilities as a son over your needs, the sexual frustration prompts you to use a little toy, but what happens when he finds out?

5.6k Words - Sexual Frustration, Female Masturbation, Jealousy/Territorial Behaviour, Orgasm Edging/Delay, Sensory Overload, Sex Toys, Penetration.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

"Usman...hold on...I-I can't..." you whimpered into his shoulder. Your husband clenched his own jaw tighter as you wrapped your warmth around the length of his cock, pulling him deeper desperately.

"You can do it, shh, malyshka..." he managed to get out. His thrusts were unyielding in pace, spending months away from home—and without you—would do such things to his body. 

Your nails dug into his back in an attempt to brace yourself from letting go of the moan building in your lungs.

Every single thrust inward was like the pressure of a flood hitting a dam, each one forced a tiny, short moan to escape. The bed was shaking, the headboard muffled by the towels Usman had shoved behind it. 

The sensation of your wet kisses against his muscles made him grunt. He rolled his hips deeper, slamming his mons pubis at the base of his cock directly on your sensitive clit. "Oh my god..." you moaned, biting down on him. You wanted your husband so much closer, so you wrapped your legs around his lower body, making sure he couldn't pull out. 

The door suddenly exploded in a flurry of hard knocks. Without a second to waste, you pushed him off so hard that he almost fell off the bed.

"Usman, I've been calling for you boy! Come help your grandmother carry her bed into the hallway. Now!" The familiar voice of your mother-in-law called from outside the door. "I-I'm coming!" He yelled back, jumping to his feet.

The absence of pleasure between your legs made you groan and lie down angrily. Usman looked over at his wife's naked body. His cock, deprived of release and still soaked in your wetness, only ached and twitched even more.

If he didn't adhere to her words right now, his mother would return quite soon and simply open the door next time. "I'll finish this quickly, then I can get back to you, habibti," he assured, leaning over the bed to kiss your forehead. 

You let out a sigh and shifted away to put your own clothes on. A small flash of panic passed through the disciplined fighter upon seeing your displeased face. The abrupt end of your time with Usman filled you with a sexual frustration that could only ever be solved with the sweet release of an orgasm.

Similar to the way it felt chewing your favorite food without ever swallowing it, you simply couldn't walk this feeling off.

Usman watched you rise to your feet and reach for the long lounge dress you were previously sporting. It had been thrown messily to the floor in your haste to get into bed with your husband, but it now found its way back onto your unsatisfied body. 

"Wait? Hey, are you mad at me?" Usman questioned worriedly while slipping on a pair of pants. You sat down on the vanity chair and began brushing through your tousled hair. A re-centering sigh escaped your throat, and you turned around after glancing at the reflection of him, staring like a lost puppy. 

"I'm not mad at you, Usman, I'm mad that we don't have privacy. It feels like we're teenagers running around the village…"

Your voice trailed off, the frustration was thick in the air, but your husband could only stand there with his hands resting on his hips as his mother’s impatient footsteps echoed down the hallway outside. He looked torn. Usman’s mind was tumultuously split between the primal urge to throw you back onto the mattress and the deeply ingrained duty to his household.

"I know, malyshka. I know," he muttered instead, his throat tight. He walked behind you and leaned down. You looked down at your chest to see his large arms fit securely around your body. The sensation was akin to hunger, though there was no satiation arriving anytime soon to quell it.

Your husband pulled away with a low groan. "I will handle this fast. I promise."

When the door clicked shut, the silence of the bedroom only seemed to increase the heavy presence of your mutual arousal. 

Sticky friction of pre-cum was still drying on your inner thighs, tightening your skin as well as serving as a mock to your bodily needs of how close you’d been to a shattering release. 

You threw the hairbrush down onto the vanity.

Two months. He had been away in camp for two months, and this was what you received? A half-finished encounter muffled by towels and cut short by stupid bed logistics.

That first interruption was just the beginning of it all, the days that followed became a torturous game of sensory deprivation.

Three nights later, the large, bustling household had finally succumbed to a deep slumber around 1:00 AM. You lay awake in the dark, eagerly waiting for Usman to join you. The moment you felt his familiar body slip into the space beside yours, your pulse excitedly picked up speed. A heavy hand slid underneath the hem of your nightgown.

He didn't say a single word, rather, he roughly dragged you against his chest, his thick, rigid length pressing hard against your lower back. "Stay quiet." He whispered.

Usman flipped you over, one hand searched in the dark to pin your wrists above your head while the other worked urgently between your thighs. You were already slick with passionate desire and sexual repression, your body preparing itself the second his heat enveloped you. 

He was inclined to muffle a groan into your neck. Both of you guided his swollen head against your soaking-wet lips. 

A moment of short-lived euphoria was struck. He pushed an inch inside with a slow friction that made you arch your back and squeeze around him in a tight grip.

Creak.

Just as he was about to reel out and begin thrusting, the floorboards suddenly squeaked just outside the door. Then came the soft, rhythmic patter of bare feet. It was his little nephew, crying softly about a nightmare, heading straight toward the master bedroom down the hall where Usman's mother slept.

Usman froze, you froze. His chest heaved against your raggedly breathing breasts, while his cock buried barely one excruciating inch into your soaking heat. Neither of you dared to move an inch. 

For ten agonizingly long minutes, you lay paralyzed in the dark, craning to listen closely to the whispers of his mother comforting the child right outside your wall. 

All that tension caused Usman’s erection to throb violently inside you, with each pulse hitting your walls in a horribly torturous rhythm. But still, not one move. 

By the time the hallway went quiet again, the anxiety of such a close call had completely killed the mood and left you both aching and utterly miserable.

The final straw occurred on the following afternoon. 

His extended family had supposedly gone to the market, leaving the sprawling house temporarily vacant.

The emptiness was like an open invitation, there were no words needed to be exchanged. A simple look sufficed the moment you waved goodbye to your unsuspecting mother-in-law.

Usman couldn’t even make it to the bed. With a push against the heavy wooden wardrobe in the corner of the room, his hands tore at your clothes with a rare display of unadulterated hunger and pure lack of control. 

He hiked your skirt up around your waist, his fingers digging deep into the flesh of your thighs as he lifted you. You gladly responded in kind to your husband’s eagerness with a similar threshold, your legs wrapped around his hips to keep him firmly planted and guiding his thick shaft directly against your dripping slit.

The fighter drove inside you with one deep thrust that bottomed out instantly, making your eyes roll back. 

That raw, visceral sensation of him finally filling you after days of buildup forced a loud, choked gasp from your throat. 

To your euphoria, he began to move—fast and punishing, slamming his pelvis against yours as your juices lubricated his cock to create a melodic wet, slapping sound that echoed in the empty room. You were seconds away, vision blurring, inner walls convulsing violently around him, milking him toward his own release.

And suddenly, the front door downstairs slammed shut.

"Usman! The car is making that noise again, the ignition won’t turn on! Come help me out!" Umar’s voice boomed through the lower level.

What followed from you in response was a low, ragged, crying sound of pure defeat as Usman stopped mid-stroke. He rested his forehead against yours, helplessly inclined to what was to come. 

His cock was twitching inside you so desperately needing to finish, but the footsteps were already fading up the stairs. He had to pull out. 

At the wet, suctioned sound, you were left barren and burning with a throbbing ache.

When he left the room to handle his family’s mechanical troubles, the sexual frustration turned into an actual, physical fever. Your lower abdomen quite literally felt heavy and painful, it was bloated with unreleased blood and arousal. You just couldn't walk this off. It was impossible. 

After the last two days of torment, your body was practically screaming for a release that Usman clearly couldn't guarantee you in this house.

So, driven by sheer impulsiveness, you marched over to your bedside table. 

Hidden deep within the folds of old clothes and other various trinkets lay a small, sleek box you had discreetly brought home months ago. You had never informed Usman of this purchase, it was something your girlfriends had gifted you during a trip to the capital city.

God knows you’d never find something like this here in Dagestan. 

Prompted by a brief conversation on how much you would miss him during his long travels, they presented you with a high-end, silent vibrating wand—plus various other couple's items you weren’t as interested in. 

The locked bedroom door only offered a couple of minutes of refuge. And so you stripped out of your rumpled clothes and lay on the edge of the bed. 

However, a sudden bout of shyness instantly overcame you at such a position. This thing had only been used in the dead of the night, honestly. But at the sight of your thighs trembling from the residual heat of your interrupted session, your resolve hardened. 

You took a deep breath and clicked the device on. It let out nothing more than a faint, low hum. Perfect.

The moment the rounded silicone tip made contact with your clit, your entire pelvis involuntarily lurched at the influx of pleasure. Your free hand shot up to your mouth and covered it just in time to suppress a groan. 

Another click to up the pulse, this fascinating setting made it so that the toy buzzed in delicious intervals. You bit down on your finger, sliding the wand up and down the length of your wet cunt.

You could audibly hear the vibrations disturbing all that built-up lubrication, your inner walls clenched, releasing a new wave all over. A sign of utter bliss escaped you, and your mind began to drift to the perfect figure of your husband.

Your first mistake was letting yourself become so relaxed that you felt compelled to close your eyes and envision him. Your hips rolled against the tip, and you moaned once more.

Your husband, who had the cardio to go for a five-round match, could translate that easily into the marital bed. You reminisced about your wedding night, having been able to experience such a thing.

You let out another hushed moan, it erupted like a cry of pain. The privacy you two were able to have then on your honeymoon. Every single day you’d be awakened with his cock already inside you, abstaining from any sexual intercourse for one’s entire life would do that.

It didn't matter when or where, no matter what was happening, whether you were in the kitchen, the shower, or doing laundry. Usman would be drawn to you like a moth to a flame, and without any words, bend you over and stroke your opening with the tip of his cock.

You cried out and lurched. Throwing your head back deeper into the bedding while rolling the silicone into your clit. His curved manhood made it so that his length was able to hit immeasurable depths, each plunging thrust was like seeing heavenly white.

You remembered the way your hands gripped the bed-sheets, you crinkled them completely, trying to brace yourself while Usman steadily backed you. He gathered up all your hair, bending your neck back and forcing you to watch his face as he came inside you.

"Oh fuck" you gasped, a small tear squeezing out of your eyes. You were so close, God, you were so close.

You held the handle tighter, your body was drenched in sweat and fluid, your bedsheets were a mess, and you were quite certain most of it had leaked onto the bed, but you scarcely found it in you to care. An orgasm was what conquered all else in your mind right now, it was so close.

"(F/n)…?" 

Your heart dropped, but you didn’t stop, you couldn’t. Not now. Usman stood completely still, his broad shoulders almost entirely covering the doorway while his gaze was entirely fixed on your crotch.

His eyes tracked each tremble of your inner thighs, how they shook, slick with a glistening sheen of your own sweat and arousal, all of it, shamelessly exposed to him.

The initial shock on his face hardened into something far more primitive.

An angry, almost possessive turn of his eyebrows alluded to the anger he was feeling. He wasn’t quite sure why catching you in such a state made the veins in his neck thicken and his jaw clench. Usman just felt a jab to his pride, so he did the only logical thing possible to regain it.

He closed the door behind him, the lock engaging with a heavy click that sounded like a prison cell. 

"Turn it off," he simply said. His voice was low, gone was the distinguished Russian language he was taught to speak, it was replaced by the dialect of his home region.

You swallowed hard, your knuckles tightening around the handle. The vibration was sending electric currents straight to your brain, your clit so swollen and engorged that even the slightest shift of the silicone felt like fire. "Usman... please," you whimpered, your hips lifting a fraction of an inch from the mattress. "You left. You keep leaving. I can’t…I can’t do it anymore… it aches."

Usman’s swallowed hard, his eyes flitted from your genitals to the pure look of pleasure painting those beautiful details on your face. His pride took yet another hit, a machine was making his wife submissively give herself up? That machine was making you sweat and pant. 

He couldn’t allow it, he wouldn’t. 

It didn’t matter that he kept leaving, he should be the only thing to ever make you cum. 

Without replying to your agitatingly defiant plea, the fighter crossed the room with slow, heavy strides, his eyes never leaving your wet, parted slit. 

You gulped and squinted your eyes shut. Anytime now, this sensation would be gone, he’d rip your saving grace away and leave you once more with nothing but this incomprehensible fire in your abdomen.

You awaited it, waited for the numbness. Then, ten seconds went by, the buzzing remained, the pulsing of your clit went undisturbed as the dopamine of stimulation pumped through your body.

After another second, you finally opened your blurry vision to see your husband standing over your vulnerable form. Usman didn’t shove the toy from your fingers—as much as he wanted to. Here you were quivering like a common whore for something that wasn’t him. If you wanted this thing so badly, he’d give it to you. 

His hand wrapped entirely over yours. Usman’s skin was so familiarly rough and indurated, it grazed against you and forced the vibrating tip harder into your hyper-sensitive clit.

Your eyes shot open at the entirely overwhelming influx of pleasure.

Your shocked body forced a high-pitched, broken sob to tear from your throat. Your toes curled, your spine arching completely off the bed as the intense, concentrated vibration smashed into your overloaded nerve endings.

"You like this?" Usman murmured, his face leaning down close to your thigh. His hot breath fanned across your damp skin, mingling with the heavy, musky scent of your arousal. "Does this little thing do  it better than your husband?"

"No-no, Usman, stop, it's too much—" you panted, your head thrashing against the pillows. Your internal walls were convulsing in frantic spasms, weeping a fresh, thick stream of lubrication that coated his fingers and leaked down the base of the wand.

"Look at me," he commanded, his thumb shifting to stroke the smooth skin of your inner thigh, his touch itself was so much different than normal, it felt furious. "Open your eyes and look at me, malyshka." You forced your heavy, hooded eyelids open. His light eyes were dilated by his pupils, they looked black, like an animal entirely consumed by a fiercely territorial hunger.

He slowly angled the wand, dragging the vibrating head up and down the length of your swollen lips, smearing your own slick juices across your skin before centering it right back onto your clit with one firm, punishing pressure. "You think this piece of plastic can make you feel the way I make you feel?"

"No," you cried out, your hands leaving the toy to grip his thick wrists. You couldn’t take it, you tried to pull him off, to no avail. "Please, I want you. Put it down, Usman, please. I want you inside me."

A satisfied smile pulled at the corner of his lips, no way he was ready to give you relief just yet. He wanted you completely ruined. "Not yet. You wanted to play with this, so we can play, habibti."

He kept the wand pressed firmly in place with one hand, while the other slid up your bare torso. Usman’s rough palm grasped the soft tissue of your breast, and he squeezed the flesh until your nipple hardened into a tight peak. 

Your husband leaned down to your chest and pecked it softly. You gulped before looking down at him as you writhed underneath. "Listen to how loud you are," he teased, his deep voice vibrating against your skin. "If my mother hears you screaming for this toy, what will she think? Shh... keep it inside."

The combination of the intense vibration and the heavy weight of his hand crushing your sensitive breasts pushed you right to the absolute precipice. Your pelvic muscles locked, your breath catching in a ragged, suffocating gasp.

But right as your body braced for the explosion, Usman abruptly clicked the power button.

Silence and loss. The sudden quiet of the vibration ebbing away was mind-shattering. It effectively left your hyper-sensitive center throbbing and burning with a localized, desperate ache. You let out a whining grunt of pure betrayal, and Usman watched as your hips twitched upward to chase the ghost of the friction.

"Usman, no! Why did you stop?" you cried out, trying to prop yourself up slightly and get your breathing under control. He continued to keep your legs parted defenselessly. Your husband was utterly fascinated by what deprivation had done to you. You were shining with sweat, not a care that there could be anyone in the house, while you cried for stimulation.

It only made him all the more livid.

"Because you belong to me, not a machine," he shot. He tossed the wand across the room, where it hit the carpet with a dull thud.

Before you could even process the loss, Usman replaced the stimulation with his bare hands. He slid two thick fingers directly into your soaking entrance. “Fuck!” You cursed out gutturally, external arousal was put on pause while you were being filled up. 

You were so wet, so incredibly primed that his fingers slid all the way home with a loud, squelching sound. The stretch of his wide knuckles entering your tight channel made you gasp, and your inner walls immediately clamped around him, as if trying to take him in deeper. 

"Look how wet you are for me." His voice was low as he began to pump his fingers inside you, fast and deep, his thumb simultaneously rubbing hard against your clit to mimic the rhythm of the toy but with the unreplicable sensation of human pressure. "Every drop of this is mine. Tell me. Whose is it?"

"Yours... it's yours," you choked out, your vision blurring as he ran you ragged with his hands, hitting your G-spot with a pounding that had you feeling primitive.  "Good girl, malyshka," he complimented, watching your face contort in pure ecstasy. He shifted his weight, stripping his pants off in a fluid motion. 

Usman’s cock sprang free. Fully engorged, thick, purple-veined, and throbbing violently, the broad head already dripping with a heavy bead of pre-cum.

He didn't give you a second to breathe or take it in. He simply pushed your knees farther apart, as if he were trying to test your flexibility at that moment. Your husband guided the hot, swollen head of his shaft directly against your dripping opening. He paused there for one agonizing second.

You were losing your mind just watching it linger there. It seemed that you were not alone in this, although he was desperately trying to hide it, Usman’s sanity was breaking apart, piece by piece. Not being able to cum for weeks took a huge toll on his testosterone-riddled body. If it weren’t for the circumstantial contexts, he would slam himself to the hilt while thrusting his hips like a sex-starved animal.

Instead, he let you feel the sheer, massive size of him stretching your entrance before he fully committed. He watched the way your swollen lips parted for him, wrapping around his length and pulsing with eagerness.

"Now," Usman whispered, his dark eyes locking onto yours with absolute authority. "Forget the toy."

With a sudden drive of his pelvis, he buried his entire length inside you in one single push. The pubic bone-to-pubic bone contact created a deliciously loud slap that echoed throughout the room. 

Your eyes rolled back into your head. A moan that could only be described as the vocal manifestation of teetering on the edge for weeks tore from your lungs as he filled you to the brim, stretching your tight, pulsing walls until you thought you might break.

The room spun while Usman held himself deep inside you. His massive chest was crushing down against your breasts, and you loved it.

Your body responded to it with the frantic convulsing of your internal muscles. They squeezed around his rigid shaft in involuntary spasms. Usman couldn’t verbalize a single word he was thinking. You felt so good, so tight and so wet.

The sheer velocity of that one bottoming-out thrust had shocked both your systems, leaving each one breathless and hungry.

Usman quickly seemed to regress into almost an animalistic attitude. The young man was only able to let out a gravelly grunt from the back of his throat as the intense heat of your soaking walls hugged him completely. 

The veins along his neck and forearms stood out sharply.

"You are so tight, malyshka," he rasped. He shifted his grip, sliding his hands under your thighs, lifting your knees higher and pressing them toward your chest to open you up even further. "Look how you take all of me. Look."

You weakly pushed your gaze down. Through your tear-blurred eyes, there it was. The visceral sight of his hips pinned flush against your thighs. Where your bodies met, a milky glaze of your combined arousal was already bubbling, smearing against his lower abdomen with every micro-movement.

"Usman... please," you sobbed at the wonderfully erotic image. Usman basked in the sensation of your nails clawing at the muscles in his back. They dug deep into his skin, each dent telling him just how much you needed this, not that toy, him. "Move. I need you to move."

"Tell me what you need," he demanded, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. He pulled back slowly and withdrew till only the swollen head of his cock remained hooked inside your entrance. Usman sickeningly let you feel the horrible emptiness before he slammed back in with another heavy lurch of his hips. The bed shook.

Slap.

"I need you! Harder, Usman, please, please, I just need you!"

That was everything the champion needed. Hearing that unbridled and raw cry of pleading made his legs shake with anticipation. Not even a four-hour training session could make him lose his equilibrium quite the way your tight cunt could. 

The discipline he maintained downstairs with his family, it all disintegrated as he began to ride into you with a relentless rhythm. 

His thrusts were unyielding, the base of his cock crashed against your hyper-sensitive clit with every single downward plunge.

The wet friction of his thick cock sliding through your drenched corridor created a rhythm that filled the bedroom. 

Usman watched with pleasure at your orgasmic expression—mouth opened with a melody of moans exiting with each thrust, your head tossing violently from side to side against the pillows. Every time he bottomed out, his thick head stretched the absolute depths of your womb that made your stomach muscles quiver.

"Do you hear it?" Usman muttered, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he kept up the bruising pace, another deafeningly sloppy thrust followed as if to support his statement. "No machine makes this sound. Only your husband. Only my cock inside you."

"Yes—ah!—yes, Usman!" you shrieked, completely past the point of caring about who might hear. 

Your pelvic walls were milking him desperately and tightening around his length with every stroke.

You were on the edge again, so so close, it felt so good. 

Your vision began to blur into static. Sensing your imminent collapse, Usman gripped your hips with bruising force, pinning your lower body to the mattress.

There was no stopping now, he was hungry to watch you come undone. Your awaiting orgasm, lying dormant for all these torturous days, was his only motivation. Usman just wanted to see you cum, he wanted to see his sweet, modest wife lose her mind.

Your entire lower abdomen had felt so engorged and throbbing with this indescribable ache from every single time his family had cut your intimacy short. 

That first wave struck your sensitive apex with the blunt force of a physical blow, so sharp and acute that your breath hitched into a dry, high sob, it drowned out all worldly distractions. Every nerve ending on your skin was hyper-sensitized to the point of pain. The muscles in your thighs locked up instinctively with an uncontrollable vibration as the muscles in your hips seized and refused to relax.

You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t moan. Months, yearning for your husband’s touch, weeks spent missing him, days left wavering on the edge of climax. It was all for this very moment. Now, as his cock bucked and convulsed inside you, that ache dissolved into a blinding heat. The sensation of his thick, hot semen firing deep into your womb was like water finally bursting through a cracked concrete dam.

Usman’s large hands snapped to yours. They were clenched so tightly before he forced his fingers to interlock. The fighter pressed them together deeper into the mattress.

Every jet of his release was scalding against your raw interior, it worked almost instantaneously to soothe the torturous frustration that had built up.

Your thighs could barely hold their position over his shoulders, as the muscles twitching with the residual waves of your orgasm continued to ripple through your pelvis.

He further buried himself to the absolute hilt. The suffocation of your spasming walls milking his shaft was too much for even his world-class endurance to fight. That swollen entrance wrapping around the base of his cock seemed to drag the release out from the very end of his spine. 

The sheer rush of blood to his groin left him wildly dizzy, Usman could barely hold on as his vision tunneled into a dark haze of pure satisfaction. His pounding heartbeat and your whimpering alone were the only things that could keep him grounded

Even someone of his stature couldn’t keep his arms strong enough to hover any longer. He collapsed forward, letting his sweat-soaked face fall into the crook of your neck. 

The delicious scent of sex, mixed with the slick lubrication drying on your inner thighs, hung thick in the small room.

He didn't move away yet. Instead, he slowly propped himself up on one elbow to your side while hovering over your flushed, trembling body. His hand slid lazily down your stomach, it was sensorial overload to feel a rough palm contrasting sharply with your slick, hypersensitive skin. 

Usman let his fingers trail lower, passing over the damp hair of your mound until his blunt index finger rested right against your swollen, dripping clit. You flinched, a sharp gasp catching in your throat as your hips jerked upward instinctively. "Usman... stop… it's too soon," you pleaded, your voice a breathless whisper.

You should have known better than to expect an ounce of obedience at your weak protest. Instead of listening, Usman began to drag the pad of his finger across the engorged nub in a slow circle. He used the abundance of your own natural lubrication and his cooling seed to do so, making the sensation incredibly overwhelming. Each round sent a sweet shiver straight up your spine, it hurt beautifully, especially after what just occurred there. 

"Too sensitive?" Usman teased. He applied just a fraction more pressure, tapping the hyper-sensitive region over and over again, it had your toes curling into the sheets. "You were very brave a few minutes ago with that loud machine. Why are you crying now?"

"Because you're doing it on purpose," you whimpered, your hands reaching down to grasp his thick wrist, trying to pull him away but lacking any real strength to move the fighter’s arm.

Usman leaned down lower, his face inches from yours, his dark eyes locking onto your hooded stare. He was deliberately keeping you wound tight, refusing to let your body fully come down from the high.

"Tell me," he murmured, his voice dropping to a possessive-like cadence against your lips. "Look at me and tell me, malyshka."

"Tell you what?" you gasped out, your hips twitching against his hand as another wave of heat pooled in your lower abdomen.

"What felt better?" he asked. Your hips automatically lurched upward with Usman’s finger gently tapping against your swollen cunt. His touch was teasing, and that made your breath hitch completely. "That little rose-gold thing... or your husband?"

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the embarrassing moan building in your chest. "Usman..."

"Say it," he commanded softly, his thumb sliding down to stretch your soaking entrance open, while his finger continued to torment your clit. "Whose touch makes you look like this? Huh? The toy, or me?"

"You," you choked out, your head pushing against the pillow as a delicious, localized ache flared up all over again. "You, Usman. It’s always you. Please..."

Upon the sound of your whining words, the overwhelming sensation of stimulation ceased. Suddenly, Usman wrapped his massive arms around you. 

He pulled your slick, liquefied body against his hard torso, completely unbothered by the sticky mess coating your skin. He began to shower your face with a barrage of heavy, wet, enthusiastic kisses, pressing them into your forehead, your flushed cheeks, the tip of your nose, and finally your parted lips, making a loud, exaggerated smacking sound with each one.

"Usman, stop, it's messy," you complained weakly, though a breathy, genuine laugh escaped your throat as you buried your face in his neck to escape his onslaught.

"I don't care," he murmured playfully, his large, calloused hands sliding down your back to cup your rear, squeezing the soft flesh tightly to hoist you even closer into his personal space. 

"Are you sure you're all done, malyshka?" he whispered. "Because your husband has really good cardio. Five rounds, no problem. You want some more? I can go grab your little friend to help us start again."

"If you touch that thing, I'm throwing it out the window," you whined, hiding your burning face in his chest.

"Okay, okay," he laughed, finally ceasing his relentless teasing and pulling his hand back up to wrap securely around your waist. You felt a press of a peck to your head reverently. "No more toys. Let’s just relax now, tomorrow we can pack. The day after, we’ll go to the cottage near Elbrus, just you and me, no family or anything. How does that sound?"

[mp3chai]

I saw this video of Khabib for UFC 165 and it was sooo surreal to see how the city used to look back then. Also just 2010s Toronto boy Khabib, like yes fucking pleaseeeeeeee

So, because I’ve received quite a few anonymous asks about when I’ll post again, the answer is probably not for a bit. I’ve already seen a lot of people being harassed which is insane. I know that there’s also a tumblr account that was made specifically to look at this sort of content and I’m really just not messing with it at all. I wish tumblr had some sort of privacy thing where only my followers could see my stuff but here we are now :( I’m not abandoning this account, I’ll still post edits but if you are following me for the writing I’m so sorry that you most likely won’t be seeing anything for quite a while which sucks because I had so much fun stuff lined up. If any writer has any alternate solutions or some other way, I’m so open to it, but for now, posting on tumblr isn’t rlly an option

[mp3chai]

Little different editing style, and a little different region haha, I wanted to add more fighters but phone was heating up 💔🤕

Side note, I was watching that new podcast episode with Khabib, and as someone who abandoned a business major (lmao), I actually found it extremely interesting. Khabib can talk a lot of bullshit sometimes, but I think he was absolutely right about the UFC needing to invest in emerging markets if it wants the sport to continue growing globally. I rlly liked how he used countries such as India, France, and England as examples and tied each region to the lack of high-profile UFC fighters. His point makes sense because people do naturally gravitate toward representation. I honestly think that’s one of the reasons so many Muslims are drawn to Khabib. He was one of the first modern MMA stars to represent his faith so openly on the biggest stage. You can actively see Muslims from countless different ethnic backgrounds supporting him because, while they don’t necessarily share the same ethnicity, they share a religion, and that’s enough to create a strong sense of connection. Because Khabib has been in that position himself, I think he understands better than most how representation influences fan engagement. Imagine how much stronger that support could become if countries had elite fighters of their own to rally behind. That’s why I think the UFC should seriously consider his suggestion of creating smaller regional branches that invest in local talent. Fighters could build a following within their own countries before reaching the global stage, and by the time they make it to the UFC, they’d already have an established fanbase that would only continue to grow. Get Khabib on their fucking PR team asap 😭

Side side note, I was scrolling through my YouTube and I seen the AnikiMMA video, n my heart deadass sunk to my feet….it wasn’t crazy bad though, I thought it was going to be way worse but it was pretty tame, especially the tumblr portion? Like I really thought he had found some of the most insanely explicit one-shots.

[mp3chai]

I’m so weak 😭😭😭😭😭 all jokes aside wth was that lame ass fight, I rushed home from work for that? At least the Royval and Bautista fight were good, paddy’s win was insane too so maybe it wasn’t all that bad, idk what Conor was thinking starting the fight like that tho

[mp3chai]

plz put it back up or atleast the usman new one😭

I WILL SOON I PROMISE ML 😭 writing on here makes me so happy. It’s such a nice little escape from work and life in general, privatizing them was really difficult but sadly, I wanted to take precautions since I’ve been doxxed and harassed in some instances within different fandoms. I wanted to be sure nothing like that happened on here!! But tbh it already feels like it’s going away so that’s great, get ur panties ready for this Usman one coming soon 🤭🤭🤞

[mp3chai]

Can the Big Makh pls go on Cooking with Volk it would feed generations 😭🙏🙏

[mp3chai]

Ggs guys fahhhhhhh, I thought ao3 was gonna take the brunt of it but never minddddd 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[mp3chai]

I just made the majority of my stuff private sadly :( it’ll be back once I feel comfortable enough. Edits will still be coming though, take a totally normal non-thirsty one that completely flopped about their dead rivalry as compensation. Today is a sad day on ufcblr but it was kinda romantic how we’re all active at the exact same time LOL

Does anyone know how to make the quality of tumblr videos look less like dog shit, or is it just something I have to live with when I post edits here

[mp3chai]

Guys idk whats happening on twitter but im considering make my one-shots private for a while till it blows over, cuz wdym all our smut fanfics might be revealed. This was like my safe space to write the most freakiest, degenerate things possible 😭😭😭😭

[mp3chai]

Okay guys listen, I swear I was about to post the Usman one but I read it again and ended up being repulsed by it so I’m rewriting it pls don’t hate me 😭😭😭😭😭 work is actually killing me tho, 9 hour shift n all I wanna do is read smut abt some Russians

[mp3chai]

That Time of the Month Smut

Khamzat Chimaev x Reader

UFC Champion Khamzat Chimaev helps his wife through ovulation pains for the first time. What neither of you realizes is the effects of it on your body, and the way that it made you crave him all the more. As you struggle to maintain your composure, your desperate, hormonal need for his touch cracks your defenses. With one look, he realizes exactly what your body is begging for, and eventually, finds his hands between your legs as a result.

3.4k Words - Established Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Caretaking, Ovulation, Explicit Sexual Content, Orgasm, Finger Penetration. Dirty Talk, Slight Breeding Implied

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

"Oh my god, it hurts so bad," you whined and collapsed on the bed as you clutched your stomach. 

The dull, heavy ache of whatever the hell was going on in your uterus made every movement feel like a stab. Its effects didn’t just burn you with pain inside, it persisted on the outside of your body as well, in a way you couldn’t comprehend. 

Ovulation had never felt like this before.

Your clothes, even brushing against your hyper-sensitive skin, were agonizingly torturous. It made you want to strip everything. With a graze against the fabric of your underwear, another small shiver flew through you, and as much as you tried to hold back a groan, it escaped your throat. 

You hoped it sounded more like pain than pleasure. 

Khamzat Chimaev, the notoriously terrifying fighter, known for dominating every single one of his opponents, could only furrow his brows at your fetal position while sitting down beside you. 

"What's wrong?" He asked, placing his innocently heavy hand atop his wife’s waist. His thumb rubbed a short circle before moving toward your head. Playing with your hair had to be a sure way of getting you to calm down. 

Unbeknownst to him, that small touch from your husband only made your thighs clench together tighter. You tried to erase the grimace from your expression and mustered up the energy to answer, “My…my period is coming, and I'm ovulating.” 

The champion quickly fell into an area a little out of his expertise. He suddenly recalled his friends advising him on how to treat a woman when she's on her period. It was so long ago, though, even before he had gotten married, all he could recollect was just to never make them angry or else. 

But what the hell was ovulation? Was that still the blood stuff? 

He digressed, focusing back on your pitiful form. "Is there anything I can do?" He offered hopefully. You sighed, propped yourself up, and tried to sweep your messy hair out of your view to no avail. 

Khamzat was quick to act and gently tucked it behind your ear before smoothing the rest of it down. You gulped, mumbling a small ‘thank you’ while desperately attempting to fight back the urge to grab him by his shirt and use his thigh to grind off.

Oh god, why did he look so handsome? Did he cut his beard differently? Were those new glasses? He smelled different, that's for sure. The slight squint of his eyes quickly made you realize you were staring at him. 

But how could you not? He was so tall and strong…he could handle you like you weighed next to nothing. Even more so, he wasn’t scared of a little rough play either, a spank here and a soft slap to the face there were tantalizing to fantasize about, but you couldn’t just ask him out of the blue now—that would be odd, right? 

"Could I have another blanket and a hot water bottle?" you managed to rasp out instead.

In the back of his mind, as he finally met your gaze unimpeded by your hair, he paused. You were always beautiful, but today, you looked absolutely radiant despite what was going on.

Your skin seemed to glow against the shadows of the room, and your scent was unnervingly enticing, stirring something deep within him. 

"Yeah, I ’ve got it, koshechka. Stay put." He cupped your face. You savoured the sensation of his rough thumb tracing your jawline before he dropped a soft kiss to your forehead and hurried to find what you needed.

It took him a few minutes of trial and error to get the hot water bottle ready, but he managed it. Khamzat walked back up the creaking stairs to find you in the exact same position he had left you in. 

The room was completely darkened, the only thing he could make out was the lump on the bed. A soft chuckle escaped him while he carefully draped the fresh blanket over you. From underneath the three layers of fabric, he heard you giggle as you cocooned yourself in it. Even for a moment, your laughter eased some of the tension he was holding in his shoulders.

Khamzat’s memory recalled something else his friends had told him. A piece of advice echoed in his mind: when women are on their cycle, they get needy. Extra touchy.

He paused. "Can you move over a little? Let me lie down with you, koshechka," Khamzat said. You gasped in excitement and quickly made some space for your husband, who was taking off his shirt. 

He hated sleeping with tops on, especially when he was in bed with you. Even though you were wearing a shirt, he appreciated that at least his skin could touch you unimpeded. 

Khamzat got comfortable and held the hot water bottle to your stomach tightly, your back was pressed against his torso, and your hips was fit snugly on in front of his crotch. He secretly loved the way his huge frame just engulfed you, you laid so perfectly in the space of his chest and legs.

"So tell me what's going on?" He began curiously, you held his arm that looped underneath your body and around your chest securely.

"Well, do you know what ovulation is—" the end of your sentence was suddenly hindered by a sharp groan of pain

Khamzat frowned. Without saying a word, he pushed the water bottle that seemed to be lacking in its effectiveness with the presence of his hand gently massaging your soft stomach. "Does this feel good?" He mumbled.

You let out a soft, involuntary moan of relief. In your pleasure-stricken mind, you didn't think before you took his hand and guided it lower to just above where your uterus lay beneath the skin.

His fingers ended close to the elastic hem of your panties, which was the only piece of bottom clothing you were wearing. Khamzat swallowed hard, he couldn't think about such things while his wife was in pain.

"Right here... exactly there. Don't stop," you breathed, pressing yourself further into the cradle of his lap. When you turned your head for a moment, your lips brushed his sensitive Adam’s apple, his entire body went rigid. 

His friend's words came into his mind once again. You were never this needy normally. The wife Khamat was used to, was a woman who could maintain a powerful composure in her own right.

You were his personal advisor for matters none could answer, not much shook you, and in his chaotic, fight-addled life, it was a heavily grounding thing to have. 

But right now, seeing the way you were writhing in his arms, trying to burrow deeper into him, was so amusing. It made his stomach lurch. “I got it, habibti, don't worry," he whispered. 

There was a pause for a bit before you continued to try and explain the phenomenon, "Ovulation is basically my uterus releasing an egg, it's like my body's way of telling me I'm fertile," you explained.

His hand stalled on your stomach for a fraction of a second. To him, the air in the room felt heavy, thick with the scent of your skin and the weight of that statement. "So," he murmured, his thumb subtly hooking into the waistband of your panties and dragging the fabric just an inch lower. “If we have sex…and I didn’t wear anything, you’d get pregnant for sure?”

You paused to think about it. "Not for sure, but it would be a way higher chance," was your answer as you shifted your body slightly to get more comfortable. 

Khamzat’s mind exploded in about a dozen questions. The biology of it, the timing, the reality of what this meant, but he stifled them. His focus narrowed down to the way you were practically melting into his touch. "So that’s why you’re glowing like this," his voice dropping into that familiar possessive register that always made your heart stutter. "It’s like your body is literally begging for me to put a baby inside you."

You blushed and covered half your face with the blanket in embarrassment, "Stop saying it so casually," you chided, though your tone lacked any real bite.

He began to trail slow kisses along the column of your neck. Your husband’s beard grazed your sensitive skin. You closed your eyes, growing more sexually frustrated with the intimate pecks until a sudden shift in his movements startled you.

"Khamzat, what are you doing?" You questioned. Before you could pull back or even say any more, he had pushed your t-shirt up, exposing you to the cool, darkened air of the room. Your breath hitched as his hand, large and calloused, cupped your swollen chest. Your eyes widened, "Khamzat!" 

“They can hurt, right? I'm just massaging them for you,” he explained. You gulped as he started kneading them. Your breasts were so unbelievably sensitized by your cycle that the sensation was almost overwhelming, it was a sharp ache that just teetered on the edge of pain and pure, unadulterated pleasure.

"I'll be gentle, don’t worry,” he promised, tightening the space between his fingers where your taut, stiff nipples were. 

The heat radiating from his palm made your skin feel like it was on fire. He found it interesting that you didn’t even pretend you didn’t want it to preserve a little modesty. That's when it finally dawned on him, the entirety of those words his friends told him. When women are like this, they get turned on really easily, it's always the best time to have sex. 

You wanted this more than anything, to surrender and break away from that composed front you always wore for something more submissive. So your fingers dug into his arms as you exhaled a shaky, broken moan. "Khamzat...please..more" you whispered. No one had to tell him twice.

He obliged gratefully and maintained the intoxicating pressure, switching between each side to create a pleasure that slowly began to outweigh the deep-seated pain. "You'd look so beautiful pregnant, do you know that?" He said, you replied with a soft breathy laugh, "No, I wouldn't…I'd be big.”

“So what? You'd be carrying the baby I put inside you.”

“But we wouldn't be able to have sex."

"Says who?" he countered, his thumb and index finger teasing against your nipple, just slightly increased in pressure. "I read somewhere that sex while pregnant is good for the baby. Good for the mother, too."

He seemed so unnervingly eager for this, so confident in his vision of the future. You let out another shaky, stifled giggle, the sensation on your skin becoming almost too much to handle. "What kind of things are you reading?" Khamzat bit down a laugh, “The important stuff, habibti.”

Your amused eye roll was interrupted by a sudden desire for your husband to tend to another problem you were having. “Mmh...move a little lower,” you whispered, referring to his hand massaging your stomach. He felt your hips shift, your body angling to accommodate his touch.

He smiled, "What's hurting, koshechka? Talk to me and tell me exactly where you want me to put it," he whispered. You tilted your head upwards and bit down on your lip as the pleasure he was inflicting on your chest became overwhelming. 

“It’s aching, Khamzat… between my legs," you sighed exasperatingly, your voice was thick with building need. With a surge of desperation, you grabbed his wrist and guided his hand downward enough to push his fingers atop the pulsing heat of you. 

It was slick enough that he was able to simply slide his hand through your drenched folds without any friction. “This, habibti?” You whimpered an incoherent reply softly, his fingers gently slapped your cunt, the viscous evidence of your desperate arousal stretched between him and your heat.

The thin fabric of your underwear was utterly soaked through. 

He gave you another slow, deliberate tap. Underneath his palm, he could feel you convulse. He only needed three fingers to cover you completely, and he used that to his advantage. “(F/n), I said talk to me. Is it right here?” The fighter teased on. He took to massaging it sloppily, knowing he wasn’t hitting that particular sweet spot filled him with amusement. You were rolling your hips, trying to get him to meet you in the middle, but he refused.

“Khamzat…please,” you cried. Your husband leaned over your body to peck your neck, covered in a wonderful sheen of sweat. You were being overwhelmed from all different angles.

The Chechen's body, acclimatized to handle frigid temperatures, acted as a natural radiator that was pressed against your back. The blankets that you were now regretting covering yourself with were heavy, and the just-barely satisfying touch between your legs was driving you to the brink of insanity. 

“Please? Please, what?” He questioned innocently and kissed the corner of your mouth.

"Touch me there… please," you pleaded, a lone tear of pure sexual frustration tracking down the bridge of your nose. "It hurts so bad, Khamzat. I need you. I can’t… I can't do this anymore." 

With your statement, it seemed he finally felt satisfied enough to give his sweet wife what she wanted. Watching his opponents be systematically defeated with his wrestling was one sort of satisfaction, but to see such a proud, collected woman as yourself act like total putty was a whole new high. 

Khamzat instantly got to work on you, from three to two precise fingers, they began with tending to your engorged outer lips for a moment before slipping inside. The sound of him pulsing in and out of your swollen depths was sloppy in the quiet room.

A rhythmic slap-slap-slap punctuated every one of your ragged sobs.  You gasped and moaned, the fire of your sexual desires finally overriding the pain.

Your hand lay on top of your husband's as it continued to stroke the heat between your thighs. Your moans rose higher, and you pressed your back into Khamzat's chest, calling out his name. "Just like that..please..keep going," you mumbled, arching your back and ever so slightly tearing up. 

Khamzat pecked your ear, "I know, koshechka, I know," he replied, completely pushing your underwear down to your knees. You made no objections and aided in kicking them off to the bottom of the bed. The blanket had been tugged off, and Khamzat jumped at the opportunity to hook his arm under your thigh to completely open up your legs. "Fuck, this is so much better," he grinned in ecstasy.

Free from the clutches of the blanket and constricting panties, Khamzat could finally see the effect he was having on your body, your thighs trembled in his harsh grasp, shiny with the fluids of your wetness. It coated everything.

The swollen peaks of your nipples reached up desperately, deprived of the sensory stimulation your husband was now directing onto your clit.

You gasped from the cold air hitting your soaking wet genitals. Khamzat attacked the fiery nerves of your clitoris like an animal. 

"You’re so fucking wet," he hissed, his own breathing heavy and ragged behind you. He ground his palm against your labia, flattening you against the mattress, his thumb rubbing your clit into a raw, throbbing nub. "I can't... I can't take it, it's too much," you gasped, your voice cracking as you bucked against him.

"You can," he commanded, his voice dropping into a dark, possessive rumble. "You’re going to take every bit of this. I want to feel you twitching around me."

Over, and over, and over again, a perfect hit with each penetrating thrust. Fingers hit that eye-watering sweet spot deep within your canal, while the bottom of his hand slammed a wonderful pressure with every push. You were a mess of wetness, and he thrived on it, so utterly swollen and desperate, you could no longer care about how embarrassing this position was. 

"Cum all over my fingers, koshechka, come on, come on, you can do it, be a good girl," he cooed in your ear, persuading you to continue using his hands like a sex toy as you desperately rubbed yourself against them to reach your peak. “Yes, yes, there you go, sweet girl, use it.” He was hammering against your G-spot, each thrust driving you further toward the edge, your legs trembling violently as the pleasure began to coil tight in your stomach.

"Oh fuck, Khamzat, please," you sobbed, your body arching back against his chest, seeking more.

"Tell me," he growled, his hand moving with a masterful, possessive speed. "Tell me how much you need this." He shoved his fingers in deep, hooking them against your inner walls while his thumb swirled over your clit in a tight, unrelenting circle. 

You cried out and obliged with no hesitation, the only thing you could imagine right now was reaching that gratifying orgasm your bodily functions were looking for. “Yes! Fuck! Yes, please, I need you, Khamzat!” You sobbed.

He plunged his fingers to the absolute hilt. Every so often, he'd play with your clit and alternate between the two parts, "oh my god Khamzat I'm going to cum, I'm going to cum fuck!" Khamzat grabbed your head and shoved his lips upon yours. Your mewling moans vibrated in his mouth like music. He took in the taste of his wife, savouring your saliva like nectar. 

Khamzat desperately pushed himself even closer towards you. He wanted to feel it on your body. His cock was aching horribly beneath his boxers, it strained so hard he was positive you could feel it digging into your thigh, but he couldn’t even focus on that. You, just you, he needed to make you cum, right now, he needed to his wife explode in the pleasure he had induced upon her. 

The sensation surged past pleasure and into a sensory overload. You bucked into his hand, while your hips slammed against his palm in desperation to bridge the distance between his touch and your need.

"I can’t—I can’t—Khamzat!" you shrieked.

He ignored your plea for mercy and escalated his pace. His hand was a blur, his thumb working in a frantic rhythm that felt like heaven against your clit while his fingers hammered deep into your wetness. As relentless as he was in the cage, he remained so in bed, utterly intent on driving you toward the cliff’s edge with delicious violence.

The first violent spasm hit your deep tissues. Your muscles clamped down on his hand, squeezing him with a sharp pressure. 

"That’s it, that it," he growled encouragingly, his own control fracturing. He watched your face twist in ecstasy, his jaw tight as he tracked every tremor. 

The world dissolved. Your climax was a wave of electricity that ripped through your central nervous system. Your body arched backwards into his chest as you convulsed, layer after layer of orgasmic release washing through you. 

You were sobbing, twitching, your mind completely shattered by the intensity of the sensation while he held you pinned, denying you the ability to escape the feeling of his hand buried deep inside you.

Khamzat refused to pull out. He held you firm, feeling every single pulse of your release, his thumb still working you until the last, residual shiver finally died out.

Only then did he stop, his hand heavy and slick inside you, his chest heaving against your back as he rested his forehead against your shoulder, both of you gasping for air in the aftermath. 

Your movement paused, and moans went silent, a bout of exhaustion instantly took its toll. Your legs trembled in ecstasy. Khamzat turned your body around, your chest was rising and falling against his. Both of his large hands came up to push the hair stuck to your forehead away. The fighter held his wife’s flushed face. 

The dampness of his fingers against your cheek made you smile. You reached up and took his hand in front of your mouth. Khamzat watched as you softly kissed the two that had penetrated you seconds before, “(F/n)…?” He called out, entranced by the motion entirely. You leaned into his neck. “Mh?” You hummed back.

The sound of a zipper below you became was your answer.

[mp3chai]

when is smt for usman or amru coming🥹

Hiii my love! For Usman I swear it’s coming soon, you are now the third person who’s requested him, glad to know he’s so loved because I adore writing for him. I’m a terribly slow author though, but I promise it’s just because I want to make sure it’s perfect!! Thank you for putting up with me😭 Amru, I actually have never written for, but he’s sooo cute so I definitely can and will. I should have this Usman one-shot done in week or so, then I’m working on an Umar and an Islam one at the same time which will hopefully be posted by the week after-ish (praying)

[mp3chai]

I think this is my favourite edit to date, absolutely destroyed my phone but it’s Khabib soooo😝😝😝 it genuinely bothers me that I can never crack him, him and just all the Dagestani fighters are insane levels of fine.

I’m almost done my Arman oneshot, next up will hopefully be an Usman one followed by an Islam one!! I’m really excited to share these, I’ve been working on them a lot and I don’t want to rush so you guys can get the maximum experience (if ykwim)

[mp3chai]

Don’t worry guys I’ll still make edits too, this will be my last before I go back to w*rk💔 I’m going to miss doing nothing 😭 hopefully this won’t mess with posting one shots…

Currently working on an Usman and Arman oneshot, I think they might just be one part instead of the usual two I did (don’t believe anything I say, heads up)