His Biggest Win┃ᝰ.ᐟ
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: islam x female reader ˎˊ˗
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : ♡ His biggest triumph isn’t the belts, it’s you
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: slow-burn, private intimacy, protective!Islam, domestic & romantic, gentle dominance, celebratory reunion 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: implied explicit intimacy, possessive undertones 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.3k
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐞: okay, finally a new Isu story! it took me forever to get back into the writing flow, but I promise more chaos is coming. and yes, I’m still not over Islam’s win, so here’s a little something for the double champ. I still can’t believe it. hope you all enjoy, and as always, my inbox is wide open!
𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: masterlist┃requests open! ♡⸝⸝
You’ve never felt a night this heavy with tension.
Not the bad kind, but the kind that makes your heartbeat sync with the pounding drums of the arena.
Your seat is tucked in a private corner, hidden behind a small barrier.
Because no one knows about you.
Not yet.
He says he’s protecting you, protecting this, until the world becomes a safe place for the both of you.
You agreed… but tonight, it stings.
You watch him enter the ring with fire in his eyes. His second belt. His moment. The one he’s bled for, prayed for, dreamed for.
But he keeps glancing toward the section where you sit.
Searching. Checking. Needing to see you.
You dip your head little lower, but your heart aches at the look on his face, a flicker of relief every time his gaze locks on your shadowed form.
When he wins, the arena explodes.
He drops to his knees, whispering “Alhamdulillah” over and over, fists pressed to the canvas.
And then he stands, belts hoisted above his head.
But he’s not looking at the cameras.
He’s not looking at the crowd.
His eyes sweep the stands so fast, so desperately, like he’s terrified you disappeared.
You stand just a little so he can see you.
The moment he does, everything in him softens. That hard, victorious champion melts into the man who whispers prayers over you, who holds your hand like it steadies his entire world. His chest rises with a breath you can feel from a distance.
He mouths one word to you:
“Mine.”
Your knees nearly give out.
But then he’s swallowed by reporters, media, lights, obligations. You know the drill. You know you can’t go to him. You know you have to slip out unnoticed, go back to the hotel, hide just a little longer.
The hotel room feels too big without him.
You pace.
You sit.
You lie down.
You get up again.
Every minute feels like an hour.
The adrenaline from the fight hasn’t left your body, your heart keeps fluttering, replaying the moment his eyes found you.
The way his chest heaved, the way his expression shifted like seeing you mattered more than the belt he’d just earned.
You sit on the edge of the bed and whisper, “Where are you…?”
Your phone buzzes.
It’s him.
On my way.
Don’t sleep.
Can’t wait to see you.
You feel a rush of warmth flood your entire body.
Minutes pass.
Then more.
Then too many.
You begin to fidget with the sleeve of your hoodie, restless, nervous, burning with anticipation you can’t label out loud.
The door finally unlocks.
You stand so fast the world tilts.
The door barely clicks shut before he drops his gym bag and the belt onto the table like they weigh nothing. His whole body is thrumming with adrenaline, that after-fight, after-victory electricity that makes his chest rise and fall like he’s still in the ring.
But the moment his eyes land on you…
Something changes.
“Come here,” he breathes - not a command, but a plea wrapped in triumph.
You step toward him, and he meets you halfway, sweeping you into his arms with a strength fueled by pride, relief, exhaustion, and something much deeper. He lifts you slightly off the ground in the tightest hug, firm, grounding, overflowing with emotion.
You gasp, laughing breathlessly. “You did it!”
He buries his face in your neck, inhaling like you’re the one thing that can bring him down from the high. “No,” he murmurs against your skin, voice shaking with joy, “we did it.”
He sets you down but keeps you close, hands sliding from your waist to your face as he looks at you like you’re the real trophy of the night.
“I’m a double champion,” he whispers, almost in disbelief, eyes shining. “Do you hear me? A double champ. Alhamdulillah.”
He presses his forehead to yours, breath warm. “I never thought I’d feel this… alive.”
“And you should,” you say, smiling up at him. “You earned every second of this.”
He laughs, not the small, soft laugh he gives the world, but the deep, unrestrained one he saves only for you. He grabs you by the waist and spins you once, the room blurring for a moment as your laughter mixes with his.
“I wish you could’ve been right there beside me,” he says, pulling you back into his chest. “I wish I could’ve lifted both belts and then lifted your hand too.”
Your heart clenches. “One day.”
“One day soon,” he promises, voice low but sure.
His fingers lace with yours as he guides you to the table where the belt rests. He picks it up, the gold catching the soft hotel light.
Then he places it into your hands.
You blink. “What are you doing?”
“This,” he murmurs, stepping behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist, chin settling on your shoulder. “This belongs to you as much as it does to me.”
Your breath hitches as he holds you tightly, his arms warm and strong around your middle.
“You prayed for me.”
His lips brush the shell of your ear, sending a soft shiver down your spine.
“You believed in me.”
His hands slide to your hips, steady and sure.
“You kept me going when I needed it most.”
You turn your head slightly, feeling his breath against your cheek.
“You are my biggest win,” he whispers, voice filled with a kind of love that steals the strength from your knees. “The belt is nothing without you.”
Your fingers tighten around the heavy gold. “You deserve it Isu”
He gently turns you to face him, lifting your chin with one finger.
“You deserve everything.”
His eyes travel over your face with a heat that’s intense, reverent, full.
A lover’s gaze.
A champion’s gratitude.
A man undone by the woman who steadies him.
He touches his forehead to yours again, breaths mingling, chest pressed fully to yours.
“Celebrate with me,” he whispers. “Not with cameras, not with interviews… Just us. Here. Now.”
The belt glints on the table, forgotten because the moment he pulls you onto his lap on the edge of the bed, nothing else in the world matters.
His arms wrap around your waist from behind, strong and warm, holding you like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to reality after the high of victory. You can feel his breath on your neck, still uneven from the fight, still charged with adrenaline.
“Habibti…” he murmurs, voice so low it sends a shiver straight down your spine. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to get back to you?”
You turn your head slightly, and he brushes his nose along your jaw, slow, reverent, almost worshipful.
“You saw me searching for you,” he whispers against your skin. “I was losing my mind not being able to get to you.”
Your breath trembles as his hands slide up your sides, not rushed, not rough - just yearning.
“I thought you forgot about me,” you tease softly.
He lets out a sound, half laugh, half groan and tightens his arms around you, pulling you even closer against his chest.
“Forget you?” His lips hover by your ear.
“You were the only thing in my head the entire fight. Every second… I was picturing you. Your face. Your voice. Your hands.”
Your pulse stumbles.
He presses his forehead to the back of your shoulder, breathing you in deeply.
“Ya Allah… you drive me insane,” he murmurs. “In the best way.”
You turn around in his lap, straddling his thighs without thinking and the look he gives you… it steals the breath from your lungs.
Pure affection, desire, devotion.
He runs his hands slowly up your thighs, then your waist, fingers spreading as if he’s memorizing every inch without crossing lines. “I worked for a lifetime for this second belt,” he says quietly, “but coming back to you feels bigger.”
Your hands slide around his neck, and he closes his eyes with a soft exhale, leaning into your touch like he’s been starving for it.
“Say it again,” you whisper. “Tell me I’m your win.”
His eyes open - dark, warm, burning and he cups your jaw gently, pulling you closer until your lips nearly touch.
“You’re my biggest victory,” he whispers. “My peace. My weakness. My strength. My everything.”
Your breath catches.
He lifts you a little higher in his lap as his lips meet yours, hands secure, movements slow but full of intention.
“I don’t want to celebrate with anyone else,” he murmurs inbetween kisses. “Just you. Only you.”
You can feel the heat in him, the hunger, the emotion all of it simmering without spilling over.
“I want to hold you,” he breathes. “The whole night. I want to feel you close until all this adrenaline fades.”
You slide your arms tighter around his neck, your bodies pressed fully together.
“And if it doesn’t fade?” you whisper.
His smile is slow… dangerous… loving.
“Then I’ll hold you longer.”
He leans in, brushing his lips against your neck, the softest, most intimate touch - lingering there, breathing you in with a low, shaky sigh.
You tighten your hold around him, burying your face in his shoulder as the room fills with warmth and shared breath and the silent promise of everything he feels for you.
His hands slip under the hem of your hoodie, resting on the warm skin of your lower back, gentle and slow - sending a wave of heat through your entire body.
“Habibti…” he whispers, voice deep and tender, “Let me celebrate this win with the woman who gave me the strength to earn it.”
And when he gently lowers you onto the bed, sliding over you with slow, deliberate intention - every movement filled with heat, devotion, and the kind of closeness that steals the strength from your breath; his hands and his voice become the only things you can feel.
What follows is a rush of warmth and wanting, his body pressed to yours, his breath at your ear, his murmured praise trailing over your skin like a blessing… until the world beyond the door fades completely, closing you both into a night meant only for him and you.
𐙚⋆.˚
