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@xx-hydrangeangel2
I am gonna go insane 😆😆
──────── clemency. ☆
( ➜ khamzat chimaev x fem!reader. . !
chika's mouthpiece: wrote this during ramadan i am not kidding i blame my period that got me during the second week of fasting (this was kind of? inspired by something a homegirl said in the ufc girl gc a long time ago and it made me lol)
summary: khamzat being a munch me thinks
warnings: unedited, fuck dialogue atp
wc: 5k
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Khamzat has been working on his cardio recently.
STALKER!KHAMZAT X READER
Warning: don’t read if you don’t like this type of thing. If you do, that’s on you. English is not my first language and it’s been years since I’ve written anything so please have mercy on me lol
Note: I read a story about stalker umar by @tagirsluvrgirl and loved it so much I had to write my own <3 just a teeny tiny bit darker :)
Khamzat Chimaev being a toxic ex-boyfriend, but then getting back together with him, please ☝🏻😔
This poor man needs a break from our request
I don't care if you post this late.👁️🫦👁️
forever
𓈒⟡₊⋆∘ toxic!khamzat chimaaev x reader
𓈒⟡₊⋆∘ warnings: mentions of sex, slight harassment, love-bombing, stalking, khamzat being toxic, toxic situations/behavior, MDNI, f!receiving oral, creampie, mentions of baby-trapping
𓈒⟡₊⋆∘ summary: khamzat ensures you'll never leave him again
"unknown caller ID" you stare at your phone unsure of who it could be a small uneasy feeling in your stomach at who you think it is you answer raising the phone to your ear "hello?" you're almost breathless when you hear his voice "hey why you block me" you're frozen standing still so quiet he asks again "hey I said why you block me?" his tone more annoyed not as nice
"u-um who is this?" you already knew and regretted even asking "you know who" he responds his tone angry at the idea another person could be calling and asking the same question as him your breath is caught in your throat "khamzat?" you ask quietly almost not wanting to know If it really is him but you recognize his voice you know its him.
youre actually unsure as to why he wants you back so badly- the relationship was so toxic at least it was to you, khamzat was explosive and argumentative. would always get mad bat small things and hated if you had any male friends or any other male interaction if it wasn't with him "yes" his tone is almost playful like he's enjoying this "why do you keep calling me?" you ask slightly shaky. don't get it twisted despite his toxicity and bad behavior you just couldn't get enough of him
the way he towered over you, the way his beard tickled your face when hed kiss you, his big strong arms he'd hold you in, his big cock- "I want you back" he responds so monotone as if he doesn't really care if he gets you back so nonchalant it almost bothers you. so nonchalant for a man who keeps calling, texting, and sending gifts to your house.
"khamzat I wont get back with you" you respond you were trying to stand your ground, this happened a lot while you were with him being on and off. it was unhealthy and it was bad always taking a toll on you after hearing how he was dm-ing other girls while you were on a break made you snap and finally break it off for good- yes he was technically single but you hadn't even been apart for a full week. you couldn't excuse that not when that week before you decided to take him back he spent that time begging for you-
its this weird cycle of he begs and pleads for you, sends you gifts, and when his sweetness and begging doesn't work he becomes nonchalant, finding another way to insert himself in a situation that makes him look good. the last situation was a guy harassing you after your last breakup wanting sex from you- khamzat came to your rescue and beat him up, took you home like a gentleman after you were rattled and proceeded to fuck you all over your apartment till you couldn't handle to cum anymore.
yes a big factor of staying and dealing with khamzat was the sex. It was good he was good. he knew exactly how to push your buttons to ensure you cum so hard you can barely calm down till your next orgasm.
"why not? you don't miss me?" he asks his tone full of fake sadness you gulp "no.. I don't please stop calling me" you say and hang up before he can respond you sigh now feeling drained and exhausted but before you can decide to just wallow in bed your door is being knocked on.
you open it to see your friend holding a large bouquet of flowers "dunno who's this from but they're for you" she holds it out and you take it seeing a note tucked away in the bouquet feeling that pit in your stomach again as you set it down on your counter "we're going out tonight! you need it" your friend says before you can protest shes rifling through your closet.
finding the sluttiest smallest dress she can- shes successful you almost forgot this dress existed it hugged your figure nicely and had a low back lots of cleavage as your friend giggled excitedly at the sight of you in a small, tight, slutty dress. "perfect!" she says with a pleased hum.
the club is loud- crowded as well the amount of men who've been trying to flirt with you already has you annoyed- you're drinking with your friend as the bartender taps you "miss someone got you a drink" he points at a man- he's attractive tall, dark hair and brown eyes he's smiling- he's not as good looking as khamzat but he isn't bad either.
youre flirting with the man his hand on your thigh sliding up and down gently you enjoy the touch "so- you wanna get back to mine?" he asks and before you can respond you gasp khamzat yanking him by his collar. khamzat in a black zip up hoodie and black joggers. "k-khamzat!" you gasp "shes fine- get lost" he growls at the man who's holding his hands up and scrambles away quickly.
before you can get mad khamzats large hand is grabbing your wrist you yelp at the pressure. he's yanking you through the crowd shoving people out of the way if he needs to as you follow behind as quick as you can hoping he wont yank you so fast you'll fall.
the cold air hits your skin you shiver as khamzat lets go of your wrist, he's taking off his jacket a black tank underneath it- he puts it onto you no words his jacket so large it covers you perfect he walks away you follow him- you're not sure why you are but you are your heels clicking as you try to keep up.
he hears you and slows his pace he's opening his passenger side door not a single word as you sit inside and buckle up he closes your door gently as he gets in, the car ride extremely silent as you stare out his window looking at all the city lights in the night the music low but just enough for you to hear and enjoy.
khamzats got you thrown over his shoulder- you protested, not even tipsy from the drinks you had but he didn't listen walking you up to your floor his hand on your ass "watch your hands" you mumble which causes him to slap your ass gaining a gasp from you "don't act like you don't like" he teases which earns a huff from you
khamzats on top of you kissing you "you were gonna let him be me..?" he says he's jealous upset "I watched you- watched the way you look at him- you look at him differently" you groan his cock stretching you out his hands rough on your skin he's mad "n-no I wasn't- ah" you moan as he thrusts into you.
"he couldn't do this to you.." his voice low and his thrusts violent so rough and he's so big you swear he's in your stomach. "n-no he couldn't" you moan out your hand gripping his bicep as he pounds into you- your bed hanging on for dear life.
youre cumming on his cock as he whispers "you're gonna be mine forever hm?" you nod your head furiously "y-yes forever" you moan out seeing stars "gonna have my kids?" he asks his thrusts sloppier "yes" you cry out overwhelmed and overstimulated "you're gonna be stuck with me forever" he mumbles into your neck as you feel him fill you up with cum.
and just like that khamzats rubbing your stomach soft hum as you lay on him small kisses to your forehead " I love you malysh" he hums as you sleep on him.
[authors note: HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOYYYYY!! thank you anon for your request <333]
You Feel It Now?┃ᝰ.ᐟ
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: khamzat x female reader ˎˊ˗
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : ♡ After a painfully mediocre situationship, you’re convinced sex is just overrated. Khamzat is convinced he’s identified the problem. The argument should have ended there. Instead you give him the perfect opportunity to prove his point.
ִ𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: best friends to lovers, bickering, mutual attraction, man-hater!reader, sexual tension, male ego, bad decisions, dominating!khamzat, explicit sexual content, oral sex (f!receiving), rough sex 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝑺𝑴𝑼𝑻 18+ 𝑴𝑫𝑵𝑰 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.2k
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐞: anon I need you to know this request had me staring at my screen for a solid minute like “oh…” and i had to take multiple breaks when writing to let my brain come back to reality. i can’t lie im going to be thinking about this for a long time. thank you so much for the idea!! and a big thankyou to @brittletalismanvigilante for proof reading my dirty thoughts, enjoy <𝟑 .ᐟ
𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: masterlist┃requests open! ♡⸝⸝
Khabib Nurmagomedov x reader
TW: Fluff, some smut?, implied younger but legal reader, dad’sbestfriend! Khabib, lowkey high key a size kink
Authors note: this is literally the first time I’ve ever really wrote fanfic/blurb if you want me to do more just like and send prompts 🙏🙏
Dbf!Khabib Nurmagomedov
Dbf!Khabib Nurmagomedov who stays with you when your dad leaves the state for work
Dbf!Khabib Nurmagomedov who wakes you up at 8am every morning with breakfast, making sure you don’t sleep in too late
Dbf!Khabib Nurmagomedov who makes sure you eat at least two meals a day, knowing you forget sometimes
Dbf!Khabib Nurmagomedov who knows his feelings for his best friends younger daughter are wrong but he can’t help himself
Dbf!Khabib Nurmagomedov who puts his arm around you when you guys are watching a movie in the living room together
Dbf!Khabib Nurmagomedov who always notices the size difference between you two when you need his help reaching for something
Dbf!Khabib Nurmagomedov who sometimes lays in your bed with you rubbing your leg subconsciously
Dbf!Khabib Nurmagomedov who sees you walking around the house in tight clothes and has to hide his hard on with a pillow
"holy shit they finally confessed, what comes next--"
Mountains Do Chase (Sometimes)
NOTES: Big Ank smut, 18+, MDNI
This is a continuation of the prior fic I did for Big Ank, but can be read as a standalone too :)
Three days after the wedding
Magomed Ankalaev was a patient man.
He'd waited longer than enough for Leyla to agree to marry him. He'd been certain from the first moment he saw her that she was his, and he'd simply waited for her to come to the same conclusion.
Mountains didn't chase. Mountains stood firm, and the world adjusted around them.
That philosophy had served him well his entire life.
Until now.
He stared at the ceiling of their bedroom, acutely aware of Leyla reading beside him, her small body curled up against the headboard, completely absorbed in some mathematics journal.
Three nights.
Three nights of being politely, sweetly, devastatingly turned away.
The wedding night: "Magomed, I'm so exhausted from the wedding. All those people, all that dancing. Can we just sleep tonight?"
The second night: "I have such a headache. I think I am coming dow with something. Tomorrow, okay?"
Tonight: "I really want to finish this article. It's fascinating, and I'll lose my train of thought if I stop now. You don't mind, do you?"
Each time delivered with a sweet kiss to his cheek, a gentle pat to his chest, and those dark eyes that wouldn't quite meet his.
He'd been good. Patient. Understanding.
Because that's what mountains did. They waited.
But something was wrong. He could feel it in the tension of her body when he pulled her close. The way she found excuses to stay up late, reading or studying until he fell asleep first. The nervous flutter in her voice when he suggested they go to bed early.
"Leyla," he rumbled.
"Mmm?" She didn't look up from her journal.
"Is late."
"I know. This is fascinating though. Did you know there's a proof for—"
"Don't care about proof." He rolled onto his side, propping his head on his massive arm to look at her. "Care about my wife."
"I'm right here." Still not looking at him.
"Are you?"
That got her attention. She looked over the top of her journal, her eyes wide. "What do you mean?"
"Mean you've been reading for two hours. Mean this is third night you find reason to not..." He gestured between them. "To not be with me."
"I'm not finding reasons, I just genuinely—"
"Leyla." His voice was gentle but firm. "Look at me. Really look at me."
She did, slowly lowering the journal.
"Are you..." He searched for the words. "Are you having second thoughts? About us? About marriage?"
"What? No! Magomed, no, I love you!"
"Then what is wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong! I'm just tired, and busy, and—"
"And lying to me." He sat up, careful not to crowd her. "You forget. I watch you for long time. I know when you're nervous. When you're scared. When you're hiding something."
She bit her lip, looking away. "I'm not—"
"You are." He touched her chin gently, turning her face back to his. "Whatever it is, you can tell me. We're married now. Partners. You can tell me anything."
For a moment, he thought she would. Her mouth opened, her eyes shimmered with something that looked like relief.
Then she blinked, looked away, and the moment passed.
"I'm just really tired, Magomed. That's all. The wedding took a lot out of me." She set down her journal, turned off her light. "Let's sleep. Tomorrow will be better."
She curled up on her side, facing away from him.
Magomed stared at her small form, feeling something unfamiliar twist in his chest.
Helplessness.
He didn't know what to do. How to fix this. For the first time in his life, being a mountain—being patient and certain and immovable—wasn't working.
He turned off his light, pulled her against his chest despite her slight resistance, and lay awake for hours trying to figure out what he was doing wrong.
Four days after the wedding
The next day, Magomed went to the gym earlier than usual.
He needed to hit something.
Abubakar found him destroying a heavy bag with more force than technique.
"Whoa, whoa!" Abubakar grabbed the bag, steadying it. "What did this bag do to you?"
"Eh."
"That's not an answer." Abubakar crossed his arms. "What's wrong? Trouble in paradise?"
Magomed hit the bag again, hard enough to make Abubakar stumble.
"Okay, yes, definitely trouble." Abubakar moved around to face him. "Talk to me. What happened?"
"Nothing happened. That's the problem."
"Nothing... oh." Understanding dawned on Abubakar's face. "Oh. Nothing happened."
"Eh."
"How many days now?"
"Four. Almost five."
Abubakar whistled low. "And she's giving you reasons?"
"Every night. Different reason. Tired. Headache. Studying. Always something." Magomed stopped hitting the bag, breathing hard. "And she won't tell me what's really wrong."
"Did you ask?"
"Of course I asked! She says nothing is wrong. That she's just tired."
"But you don't believe her."
"I know her. Something is wrong. She's scared of something. But won't tell me what."
Abubakar was quiet for a moment, thinking. "You know what your problem is?"
"What?"
"You're being a mountain."
Magomed frowned. "Mountains don't—"
"I know, I know. Mountains don't chase. But Magomed, my friend, sometimes mountains need to become avalanches."
"What does that even mean?"
"Means you can't just wait for her to come to you this time. She's not going to. She's scared, she's hiding, and she's hoping... I don't know, that the problem will solve itself?" Abubakar shrugged. "You need to pursue this. Actively. Figure out what's wrong and fix it."
"How?"
"I don't know! You're the one who's been obsessed with her for ages. Use that big brain of yours." Abubakar clapped him on the shoulder. "But whatever you do, don't just wait. Waiting isn't working."
Magomed stared at the heavy bag, Abubakar's words sinking in.
He'd been waiting. Being patient. Expecting Leyla to come to him when she was ready.
But she wasn't coming to him. She was pulling further away.
Maybe, just this once, the mountain needed to chase.
Five days after the wedding
That night, Magomed tried a different approach.
He came home early from training, showered, and started making dinner. Leyla's favorite—his mother's recipe for lamb stew.
When Leyla came home from the university, she stopped in the doorway, surprised.
"You're home early."
"Eh. Wanted to make you dinner."
"Oh." She set down her bag, looking uncertain. "That's... that's really sweet, Magomed."
"Sit. Is almost ready."
He plated the food, poured her juice, even lit a candle on the table. Leyla smiled at the setup, but he could see the nervousness in her eyes.
They ate in comfortable silence at first, Leyla making happy sounds at the stew that normally would have pleased him. But tonight, he was watching her too carefully. Seeing the way she barely met his eyes. The way her hand trembled slightly when she reached for her glass.
"Leyla," he said finally.
"Hmm?"
"I love you."
She blinked, surprised. "I love you too."
"Then why are you scared of me?"
"I'm not—"
"You are. Ever since wedding night, you've been scared. And you won't tell me why." He set down his fork. "Did I do something wrong? Say something wrong?"
"No! Magomed, no, you're perfect."
"Then what is it?"
She looked down at her plate. "Nothing. I'm just adjusting to married life, that's all."
"Leyla—"
"I'm fine. Really." She stood abruptly. "I should clean up."
"I'll clean. You go rest."
"No, I'll do it. You cooked, I clean. That's fair."
She gathered the plates quickly, escaping to the kitchen.
Magomed sat at the table, frustration building in his chest.
She was shutting him out. Every time he tried to get close, she found a way to pull back.
He followed her to the kitchen, found her washing dishes with more force than necessary.
"Leyla."
"Almost done."
He moved behind her, his hands on her waist, pulling her back against his chest.
She stiffened.
"Please," he said quietly. "Please talk to me. Tell me what's wrong."
"Nothing's wrong," she repeated, but her voice shook.
His hands tightened on her waist. Not hard, just... there. Grounding.
"I'm your husband. You're supposed to tell me things. Trust me with things."
"I do trust you."
"Then why won't you let me touch you?"
She went very still. "You touch me all the time."
"Not like that. Not the way husband should touch wife." He turned her around gently, tipped her chin up so she had to look at him. "Is it me? Do you not want me?"
"That's not it!"
"Then what?"
For a moment—just a moment—he saw it. Real fear in her eyes. Her mouth opened like she wanted to tell him.
Then she shook her head, pulled away. "I'm just tired, Magomed. That's all. Tomorrow. We can... tomorrow."
She fled to the bedroom before he could respond.
Magomed stood in the kitchen, staring after her, and realized Abubakar was right.
Waiting wasn't working.
The mountain needed to chase.
Seven days after the wedding
That night, Magomed came home determined.
No more waiting. No more accepting her excuses.
He found Leyla in the living room, curled up on the couch with—of course—a book.
"Leyla. Put down the book."
She looked up, startled by his tone. "What?"
"Put it down. Now."
She set the book aside slowly, nervously. "Is something wrong?"
"Yes. Something is wrong." He sat down beside her, close enough that his thigh pressed against hers. "And you're going to tell me what it is."
"Magomed, I already told you—"
"You've been lying to me for a week. And I've been letting you because I thought you needed time. Space. But I was wrong." He turned to face her fully. "You don't need space. You need me to push. To not let you hide."
"I'm not hiding—"
"You are. Every night, new excuse. Every time I try to touch you, you run. And I'm done accepting it." His hand found her waist, pulled her closer despite her resistance. "So you're going to tell me the truth. Right now."
"There's nothing to tell!"
"Leyla." His voice dropped, became softer but somehow more intense. "I love you. I waited long for you. But I won't let you pull away from me without at least knowing why."
Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "You wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
"It's embarrassing."
"Don't care."
"Magomed—"
"Tell me." He pulled her into his lap, held her there despite her half-hearted attempt to escape.
"I can't," she whispered.
"You can. You will." His forehead touched hers.
"You're being impossible."
"Eh."
She took a shuddering breath, and he could feel her gathering her courage.
"Okay," she said. "You want the truth? I'll tell you."
She took a deep breath.
"I'm scared," she said finally.
"Of what?"
"Of... of you. Of us. Of..." She gestured helplessly. "Of sex."
He blinked. Of all the things he'd imagined—regrets about marriage, second thoughts about him, a hundred terrible scenarios—this wasn't one of them.
"You're scared of sex?" he repeated, trying to understand.
"Yes! Okay? I'm terrified!" The words came out in a rush now, like a dam breaking. "Because Magomed, have you looked at yourself? You're enormous! You're nearly two meters tall, you weigh over 100 kilos of pure muscle, your hands are the size of dinner plates, and I'm—" She gestured at herself. "I'm tiny! I barely come up to your chest! And if you're proportional everywhere, which, I saw aflicker of you in the shower once and you definitely are, then—"
She broke off, her face flaming red.
Magomed just stared at her.
"That's it?" he said finally. "That's what you've been scared of?"
"Don't say it like that! It's a legitimate concern!"
"You think I'll hurt you."
"I think you're huge and I'm small and biology only goes so far!"
He leaned back, processing this. "So for eight days, you've been avoiding me because you're worried about... size?"
"Don't make it sound stupid—"
"Is not stupid." He stood, moved to sit beside her. "Is real concern. I'm big. You're small. Makes sense you'd worry."
She looked at him warily. "You're not upset?"
"Upset? No. Relieved? Yes." He pulled her closer onto his lap, ignored her squeak of protest. "This we can fix."
"How can you possibly—"
"Because bodies are amazing things. Designed for this. And yes, I'm big. But you know what else is big?"
"What?"
"My patience. Again, like mountain." He kissed her forehead. "We go slow."
"But you want—"
"Of course I want. Want you so badly I can barely sleep."
She looked up at him, hope and fear warring in her eyes. "Really?"
"Really." He tucked a curl behind her ear. "Now. Tell me exactly what you're scared of. Everything. Don't hide anymore."
And finally—finally—she did.
She told him about seeing him in the shower. About how intimidated she'd been. About lying awake at night trying to do math in her head (of course she did math) to figure out if it was even physically possible. About reading medical articles about vaginal capacity and stretching and tearing.
By the time she was done, Magomed was trying very hard not to laugh.
"What?" she demanded. "Why are you smiling?"
"Because you did research. Of course you did research. Is very you."
"This isn't funny!"
"Little bit funny. My genius wife, trying to calculate if we're sexually compatible using mathematics."
"Magomed!"
"Okay, okay. Is not funny. Is cute though." He kissed her nose. "And I appreciate you trying to solve problem scientifically. But Leyla, this is not math problem. Is trust problem."
"What do you mean?"
"You don't trust me not to hurt you."
She started to protest, then stopped. "Maybe," she admitted quietly. "Not because I think you'd do it on purpose. But because you're so big and strong, and what if you lose control?"
"I would never forget." He took her hand, placed it on his chest where his heart was pounding. "Feel that? That's how much I want you. How much I've wanted you every night for eight days. And every night, I've stopped when you asked. Didn't push. Didn't force. Didn't lose control."
"That's different—"
"Is exactly the same. Wanting you doesn't make me lose control. Makes me more aware. More determined to do it right." He lifted her hand to his lips, kissed her palm.
"You make it sound so simple."
"Is simple. You trust me in everything else. Trust me in this too."
She bit her lip, considering. "What if it doesn't work? What if we try and it's too much?"
"Then we stop. Try again later. Or we do other things. Many ways to make love, Leyla. Many ways to be together." His hand cupped her face. "But we don't know what will work until we try. And we can't try until you trust me."
She looked at him for a long moment, searching his face.
"Okay," she said finally.
"Okay?"
"I trust you." She took a deep breath. "And I'm tired of being scared. So... show me. Show me how we make this work."
"Now?"
"Now." She smiled nervously. "Before I lose my courage."
Magomed stood, lifting her with him. "Then let's do this properly."
"What do you mean?"
"Mean you've been scared for eight days. We're not rushing this. We're taking all the time you need." He carried her toward the bedroom. "Going to show you exactly how patient I can be. How careful. How good I can make you feel."
(...)
Magomed laid her on their bed with infinite gentleness.
"First rule," he said, kneeling beside the bed. "You tell me if anything hurts. You tell me stop, I stop. Immediately. Understand?"
"Yes."
"Second rule. You relax. Let me take care of you." His hands found the hem of her shirt. "Can I?"
She nodded.
He pulled it off slowly, revealing her breasts. Small, perfect, nipples already peaked.
"Beautiful," he murmured, and bent to kiss one.
Leyla gasped, her back arching.
He took his time with her breasts. Kissing, licking, sucking until she was squirming beneath him, little sounds escaping her throat.
Only then did his hand trail down her stomach to the waistband of her pants.
"Okay?"
"Yes," she breathed.
He removed her pants and underwear in one smooth motion, leaving her completely bare. For a moment, he just looked at her. His tiny wife, spread out on their bed, flushed and breathing hard.
"Perfect," he said. "All of you. Perfect."
His hand traced up her inner thigh, watching her reactions. When he reached her center, she was already wet.
"See?" He circled her clit lightly. "Your body knows. Wants this. Wants me."
He worked her clit with his thumb while his other hand explored, learning every sound she made, every movement that made her gasp.
When she was panting, trembling, he slipped one finger inside.
She tensed immediately.
"Relax," he murmured. "Breathe. Just one finger. Nice and slow."
He didn't move it at first. Just let her get used to the feeling while his thumb continued its work on her clit.
Gradually, she relaxed around him.
"Good," he praised. "So good, Leyla. See? Not so bad."
He started moving the finger, slowly, carefully, watching her face.
The discomfort faded, replaced by pleasure.
"More?" he asked.
"I don't know if—"
"Try. Just try. Tell me if it's too much."
He added a second finger, moving very slowly.
She whimpered, and he froze.
"Too much?"
"No. Just... tight. Really tight."
"I know. You're doing so well." He scissored his fingers gently, stretching her. "Breathe. Relax into it."
It took time. Patience. But eventually, she was moving against his hand, chasing the pleasure.
"That's it," he encouraged. "Take what you need."
When she came, pulsing around his two fingers, he thought he might die from wanting her.
But he didn't push. Didn't ask for more. Just held her while she came down, whispering praise in her ear.
"See?" he said softly. "Already better. Tomorrow, we practice more. Every day, little more. Until you're ready."
"How will I know when I'm ready?"
He smiled against her hair. "You'll tell me."
Ten days after the wedding
Every night, Magomed worked her open a little more.
Two fingers became three, though it took two more nights of patient, careful stretching.
He learned exactly how to touch her, how to make her forget her fear in the pleasure.
On the tenth night, with three fingers inside her and his mouth on her clit, Leyla came so hard she saw stars.
"Magomed," she gasped when she could breathe again. "Please... I think I'm ready."
He looked up at her, his eyes dark with want. "You sure?"
"I'm sure. I want you. All of you. Please."
He didn't need to be told twice.
Magomed stripped off his clothes, and Leyla's eyes went wide.
He was, as she'd feared, massive. Thick and long and impossibly hard, jutting from a nest of dark hair.
"Still want to try?" he asked gently, seeing her expression.
She swallowed hard. "Yes. But... go slow?"
"As slow as you need." He settled between her thighs, his weight braced on his forearms. He reached for the lubricant, warming it in his hands before slicking himself generously. "This will help. And remember—you say stop, I stop."
She nodded, trying to calm her racing heart.
He positioned himself at her entrance, the broad head pressing against her opening.
"Deep breath," he instructed.
She breathed in.
He pushed forward, just the tip breaching her.
Leyla gasped, her hands flying to his shoulders. "Wait. Wait, wait, wait."
He froze immediately. "Too much?"
"Just... give me a second. You're so—it's so—" She breathed through it, willing her body to relax. "Okay. Little more."
He pushed in another centimeter, his jaw clenched with the effort of going so slowly.
She whimpered.
"Breathe, Leyla. You're doing so well. So well for me."
Another tiny thrust. Then another.
"It's so much," she panted, her nails digging into his shoulders. "You're so big, I don't think—"
"You can. You are. Look at you, taking me so well already." He kissed her softly. "We're about a third of the way there."
"A THIRD?!"
"Shh, shh. Don't think about it. Just feel. Focus on my voice. On breathing." He rocked gently, working himself deeper fraction by fraction. "You're so tight, Leyla. So perfect. Made for me. Your body knows how to do this."
It burned. It stretched. It felt utterly impossible.
But slowly, impossibly, her body opened for him.
His hand found her clit, circled it gently, and the pleasure helped offset the overwhelming stretch.
"That's it," he groaned. "Relax into it. Let me in. Almost halfway now."
"Halfway," she whimpered. "Oh God, there's still so much—"
"And you're taking it all so beautifully. So brave. So perfect." He pushed in another inch, felt her tense. "Breathe. Just breathe. I've got you."
Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes—not from pain exactly, but from the overwhelming sensation of being so impossibly full.
"Too much?" he asked, concerned.
"No. Yes. I don't know." She laughed shakily. "It's just so intense. I feel like I'm being split in half."
"You're not. Your body is stretching. Accommodating. You're doing perfect." He wiped away her tears with his thumb. "Want to stop?"
"No." She grabbed his face, made him look at her. "Don't stop. I want all of you. I want to do this."
"Okay. Okay, we keep going." He kissed her deeply, distracting her as he pushed in further.
Inch by agonizing inch, he worked himself deeper.
"Three quarters," he groaned against her mouth. "So close, Leyla. Almost there."
"I can't take any more—"
"Yes you can. Just a little more. You're being so good for me. Taking me so well."
His fingers worked her clit faster, building her pleasure, making her body relax further.
One more push.
And finally—finally—he bottomed out, fully seated inside her.
They both froze, breathing hard.
"Oh God," Leyla whimpered. "So full. So full, Magomed, I can't—I can feel you everywhere—"
"I know. I know, I've got you." He was shaking with the effort of holding still. "Look. Look at us."
He angled her head down so she could see where they were joined—his thick length disappearing completely into her small body, their hips flush together.
"See?" His voice was strained. "All of me. Every inch. Inside you. You took all of me, Leyla."
She stared at the impossible sight, couldn't quite believe what she was seeing. "How?"
"Because you're made for me. All of you made for me." He kissed her deeply. "Can I move? Please? Need to move."
"Slowly."
He withdrew an inch, pushed back in carefully.
She tensed, whimpered.
"Relax. Let me in. Let me make you feel good." He did it again, a little smoother this time. "There. See? Your body is learning. Learning to take me."
The burn began to fade, replaced by something else. A fullness that was still overwhelming but no longer painful. A stretch that made every nerve ending sing.
"There," Magomed said, seeing the change in her eyes. "There it is."
He established a slow, deep rhythm. Each thrust measured, careful, giving her time to adjust.
His hand found her clit again, circled it in time with his movements.
"Oh." Leyla's head fell back. "Oh, that's—when you do that while you're—oh God—"
"Good?"
"So good. Don't stop. Please don't stop."
He increased his pace slightly, still careful but more urgent now. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, mixed with her gasps and his groans.
"Taking me so well," he praised between thrusts. "So tight. So perfect. Look at you, taking every inch like you were made for it. Because you were. Made for me. Made to take me."
"Oh, oh God —" She could feel it building, that coiling tension.
"Come for me. Want to feel you. Want to feel this tight little pussy squeeze me while you come."
His words, his thrusts, his fingers on her clit—it was too much. She came, crying out his name, her body clamping down on him like a vice.
The feeling of her coming around him—so tight and hot and perfect, pulsing around his length—destroyed the last of his control.
"Leyla. Leyla." He managed three more deep thrusts before he buried himself to the hilt and came with a roar, spilling deep inside her.
They lay tangled together afterward, both breathing hard, covered in sweat.
"You okay?" he asked carefully, slowly withdrawing from her.
She winced slightly. "Sore. Really sore. But okay. Better than okay."
"Hurt?"
"A little. But in a good way?" She touched his face wonderingly. "We did it. We actually did it."
"You did it. You were so brave. So perfect." He kissed her softly. "Was so scared of hurting you."
"I know. I could feel how hard you were trying to be gentle." She kissed him back. "Thank you. For being so patient. For taking so much time to prepare me. For not pushing when I was scared."
"Always." He pulled her close, careful of her soreness. "Always take care of you. Always make sure you're ready. Is my job."
"I love you. I love you so much."
"Love you more." He kissed her forehead. "And Leyla? Tomorrow night, we practice again."
"Again?!"
"Eh. Many more times. Until your body is completely used to me. Until it doesn't hurt at all. Until you can take me easily." His eyes darkened with promise. "Going to make love to you so many times you forget you were ever scared."
She laughed softly, exhausted and satisfied and happier than she'd ever been. "Promises, promises."
"Not promises. Facts." He pulled the blanket over them both. "Now sleep. You need rest. Tomorrow is going to be very busy."
"Why tomorrow?"
"Because tomorrow, I teach you that it gets even better than this."
And despite her exhaustion, despite her soreness, Leyla found herself looking forward to it.
Her mountain had chased her after all.
Had pursued her through every excuse and deflection until he got the truth.
And then he'd proven, with infinite patience and care, that she had nothing to fear.
"Magomed?" she whispered as she drifted off to sleep.
"Eh?"
"The mountain didn't just wait this time."
She felt him smile against her hair. "No. Mountain learned to chase. For you. Only for you."
"Good," she murmured. "Because I'm never running again."
"Good. Because I'm never letting you."
The Only Thing He's Ever Asked For
NOTES: BIG ANK SIZE KINK SMUT
...ALONG WITH EVERYTHING ELSE BEING FICTIONAL, THE DATING THAT TAKES PLACE IS PROBABLY UNREALISTICS AF AS WELL BUT LET'S JUST IGNORE THAT HEHHEHE
18+, MDNI!!
The first time Magomed saw her, she was twenty-two years old and laughing with her friends at a café.
He was twenty-three, and he'd stopped caring about his coffee the moment he'd spotted her across the room. She was tiny—couldn't have been more than 160cm—with an easy smile and animated hands as she talked.
He wanted her immediately. Viscerally. In a way that made no logical sense.
"You're staring," his teammate Abubakar said, following his gaze. "At the small one?"
"Yes."
"She looks like a strong wind would blow her over, and you want to—" Abubakar laughed. "Brother, you'll break her."
Magomed didn't respond. He was already calculating how to approach her without scaring her off.
It took him three days of "coincidentally" being at the same café before he finally worked up the nerve to talk to her and catching her alone. And when he did, standing at her table and blocking out the sun with his frame, he watched her eyes go wide as she looked up... and up... and up at him.
"Hello," he said, keeping his voice soft. Non-threatening.
"Um. Hi?" She looked uncertain.
He realized, with a sinking feeling, that she was nervous. Not interested-nervous. Scared-nervous.
Of course she was. He was 191 cm of solid muscle, had fists that had knocked people unconscious, and probably looked like he could snap her in half without trying.
"I'm Magomed," he said, staying where he was, not moving closer. "I've seen you here before. I wanted to introduce myself."
"Oh." She relaxed slightly. "I'm... hi. Yes. Hello."
"Can I buy you a coffee?" he asked.
She hesitated, and he could see her weighing it. See her taking in his size, his build, probably wondering if this was a good idea.
"Just coffee," he added quickly. "Here. With..people, present. I just want to talk."
Something in his voice must have reassured her, because she nodded slowly. "Okay. Sure. Coffee."
It took weeks.
Weeks of careful conversation, of keeping his distance, of proving he wasn't a threat. Of showing her that despite his size, despite what he did for a living, he could be gentle. Could be patient.
"You fight people," she said one evening, about two weeks in, when they'd graduated to actual dates. "Like, professionally hit people until they can't get up."
"Yes."
"And you're..." She gestured vaguely at all of him. "...very large."
"Yes."
"So you have to understand why I was nervous at first."
He did understand. "I would never hurt you, if that's what you mean."
"I know that now," she said softly. "You've been nothing but sweet to me. It's just... it took me a minute to see past the..." Another gesture. "...everything."
"I'm glad you did."
She smiled then, that same smile that had caught his attention in the café. "Me too."
By the third week, she'd started to relax around him completely. Started to joke about the height difference instead of being intimidated by it.
"I feel like I would need a step stool to kiss you," she blurted out one evening when he picked her up. His brows did a funny little upwards dance. They haven't kissed, yet. And then, Magomed just did something...
"I can fix that." Without thinking, he picked her up by the waist, lifting her easily until they were eye-level.
She squeaked in surprise, then laughed, her hands settling on his shoulders.
"See? Problem solved." He said, and just leaned it for a kiss.
(...)
Two months in, she gave him a nickname that made him laugh so hard he nearly choked on his water.
"What did you just call me?" he asked, sure he'd misheard.
"Myshonok," she repeated, grinning up at him. Little mouse.
"You're calling me little mouse?"
"Yes. And I very determined that is what I call you from now on."
He stared at her, this tiny woman who barely came up to his chest, who weighed probably 50kg soaking wet, calling him—a professional fighter who cut weight to make 93kg—a little mouse.
"You're insane," he told her.
"You like it."
He did. God help him, he absolutely did.
From then on, she used it regularly, and every single time, it made him smile. His teammates found out eventually and thought it was hilarious. His coaches were baffled.
Magomed knew he was going to marry her.
Knew it with the same certainty he knew how to fight, how to grapple, how to survive in the cage. She was his. Had been his from the moment he'd seen her in that café.
The size difference that had initially frightened her had become something else entirely. He'd catch her staring at him sometimes—at his hands, his arms, the way he dwarfed her when they stood next to each other. And the look in her eyes wasn't fear anymore.
It was want.
She'd started initiating contact more. Would grab his hand and compare their palms, marveling at how his fingers extended past hers by inches. Would ask him to reach things for her even when she could probably get them herself. Would press herself against him when they kissed, like she was testing how well she fit against his larger frame.
And Magomed, for his part, was losing his mind.
Every time she looked up at him with those wide eyes, every time she had to stand on her toes to reach him, every time his hands spanned her waist completely—it made him want things. Want her. In ways that went far beyond the sweet, patient courtship he'd been maintaining.
But he kept himself in check. Kept things slow. Because she was young, and this was important, and he wasn't going to rush her just because he was half-feral with wanting her.
(...)
Magomed's father had seen his son ask for very little in his twenty-three years of life.
Magomed never complained about training schedules. Never demanded expensive things. Never caused problems. He fought when told to fight, trained when told to train, and built his career with the quiet, relentless determination that had become his trademark in the octagon.
So when Magomed came to him with a request—a demand, really—his father didn't quite know what to make of it.
"This girl," his father said carefully, studying his son's face across the kitchen table in their home. "You're certain?"
"Yes." Magomed's voice was flat, absolute. No room for negotiation.
"You've known her four months."
"Yes."
"And you want to marry her."
"Yes."
His father leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming on the worn wood. His son's face was impassive as always—that maddeningly calm expression that made him so dangerous in the cage, that was earning him a reputation in the UFC. But there was something in his eyes. Something his father had never seen before.
Hunger.
"What is so special about this one?" his father asked. "You've never... you've never asked for anything like this before."
Magomed was quiet for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, rough. "She's mine. That's all."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have." Magomed met his father's eyes. "I need this. I need her."
His father had raised this boy. Knew when he was hiding something, knew when he was being evasive. This wasn't either of those things. This was... something else entirely.
"She's so small," his father said, remembering the single time he'd met her. Tiny thing, barely came up to Magomed's chest. Delicate-looking next to his son's broad, powerful frame. "Are you sure—"
"Yes." The word came out sharp. Final.
His father sighed. "She calls you 'little mouse,' your mother tells me."
Magomed's expression softened slightly. Almost smiled. "Yes."
"And you allow this?"
"I like it."
His father stared at his son—this fighter, this man who'd made grown opponents tap out from fear—and tried to reconcile it with someone who liked being called a little mouse by a woman who weighed 50kg.
"You're sure about this?" he asked one more time.
"I've never been more sure of anything in my life."
His father nodded slowly. "Then we'll make the arrangements."
The relief that flickered across Magomed's face was brief, but unmistakable.
(...)
Two years later, she stood in their apartment kitchen, barefoot, stretching up on her toes to try to reach the cabinet where Magomed had—deliberately—placed the coffee mugs.
He watched from the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, a rare smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
She was wearing one of his t-shirts, the fabric hanging to her mid-thigh, the sleeves past her elbows. On him, it was fitted. On her, it looked like a dress.
"Magomed," she huffed, still reaching. "I know you can see me. And you can hear me."
"I can see you and I can hear you," he confirmed, not moving.
"The mugs. They used to be in the lower cabinet."
"I reorganized."
She turned to glare at him over her shoulder, hands on her hips. Even annoyed, she looked adorable. The top of her head would barely reach his shoulder if she was standing next to him. With the black heels he liked so much, she'd made it to his collarbone.
"You reorganized to mess with me," she accused.
"Maybe." He pushed off the doorframe, crossing to her in three long strides. He reached over her head—barely had to extend his arm—and pulled down a mug, setting it on the counter beside her.
She had to tilt her head back to look up at him. He loved that. Loved how small she was next to him, how he could cage her in completely, how his hands could span her waist with room to spare.
"You do this on purpose," she muttered.
"Yes." He didn't deny it. He cupped her face with one hand, his palm covering her cheek, jaw, part of her neck. His fingers threaded into her hair easily. "I like reminding you."
"Reminding me what?"
"How small you are. How easily I can..." He lifted her by the waist, setting her on the counter in one smooth motion. Now they were almost eye-level. Almost. "...move you wherever I want you."
Her breath hitched. Her thighs parted automatically, letting him step between them.
"That's not fair, myshonok," she whispered.
There it was. That nickname that still made him smile every single time, even after two years of marriage.
"What's not fair?"
"You know what it does to me when you—" She broke off, biting her lip.
He did know. He knew exactly what it did to her when he demonstrated the size difference, when he manhandled her like she weighed nothing, when he reminded her just how big he was compared to her.
It did things to him too. Had been doing things to him since the moment he'd first seen her, since those early days when she'd been nervous about his size and he'd had to prove he could be gentle.
He wasn't feeling particularly gentle right now.
"When I what?" he prompted, his voice dropping lower. His hands settled on her thighs, and he could feel the heat of her even through his shirt she wore.
"You know."
"Say it."
"Magomed..." His name came out breathy, wanting.
"Tell me." His thumbs stroked the soft inside of her thighs. "What does it do to you when I show you how small you are? When I pick you up like you're nothing? When I—"
"It makes me wet," she interrupted, her cheeks flushing. "You know it does. You like it."
"I fucking love it," he corrected, and kissed her hard.
She melted into him immediately, her small hands fisting in his shirt, trying to pull him closer. He obliged, pressing his body against hers, letting her feel the solid wall of muscle that made up his frame.
"Remember when you were scared of me?" he murmured against her mouth.
"I wasn't scared of you," she protested. "I was... cautious."
"You thought I'd break you."
"You're very large and you hit people for a living. It was a reasonable concern."
He pulled back to look at her, one eyebrow raised. "And now?"
She grinned up at him, that same mischievous smile he'd fallen in love with. "Now I know you only break people in the octagon. And that you're very, very careful with me."
"Most of the time," he corrected.
Her eyes darkened. "Most of the time."
(...)
He'd been thinking about this all day.
Through training, through the meetings with his management team, through dinner with his teammates. He'd been thinking about getting her home, getting her naked, seeing that perfect size difference that drove him insane.
Now she was in their bed, already stripped down to nothing, watching him undress with dark, hungry eyes.
"Come here," he ordered, and she crawled across the bed to him.
On her knees on the mattress, she was shorter than him standing beside the bed. He tangled his fingers in her hair, tilting her head back to kiss her deeply, possessively. His other hand roamed down her body—her neck, her collarbone, cupping her breast. His hand covered it completely, and something primal and satisfied rumbled in his chest.
So fucking small. So perfectly small.
"On your back," he said against her mouth.
She obeyed immediately, settling into the pillows and looking up at him with that mix of anticipation and need that made his cock ache.
He stood there for a moment, just looking at her. Taking in the sight of her spread out on their bed, tiny and bare and wanting. When he finally climbed over her, covering her body with his, she let out a small, desperate sound.
"Shh," he murmured, settling his weight on her carefully. He was more than twice her size—had to be careful not to crush her, even though some dark part of him wanted to just press her into the mattress and keep her there.
His body covered hers completely. His shoulders were broader than her entire torso. When he braced himself on his forearms on either side of her head, she disappeared beneath him entirely.
"Magomed," she whimpered, her small hands running up his arms, over his shoulders. "Please."
"Please what?" He rocked his hips against her, his cock—hard and heavy—pressing against her pussy. Even that felt obscene, the size difference. How thick he was compared to her, how much he was going to stretch her.
"Please fuck me," she gasped. "I need—I need you."
"I know what you need." He reached down between them, running his fingers through her folds. She was soaked already, slick and hot and ready for him. "So wet for me. Always so wet."
"Because you—" She broke off on a moan as he pushed one finger inside her. Just one, and she was already clenching around it, her back arching. "Oh god."
"Because I what?" He added a second finger, stretching her slowly, watching her face as he worked her open. "Because I'm big? Because you like knowing how much bigger I am than you?"
"Yes," she admitted, shameless now, rocking her hips against his hand. "Yes, I love it. I love how big you are. How strong. How you can just—"
He withdrew his fingers and gripped her hips, flipping her over onto her stomach in one smooth motion.
"—do that," she finished breathlessly, face pressed into the pillow.
He pulled her hips up and back, positioning her on her hands and knees. From behind, the size difference was even more obscene. His hands completely covered her ass, his body looming over her smaller frame.
"Stay still," he commanded, and lined himself up.
The first push was always intense. Always that moment where her body had to adjust, had to accommodate him. He was thick—too thick, really, for someone her size—and he watched with dark satisfaction as her pussy stretched around his cock, taking him inch by inch.
"Fuck," he groaned, gripping her hips hard enough to leave marks. "So tight."
She was whimpering into the pillow, her small hands fisting the sheets as he sank deeper. Halfway in, and he could already see her struggling with it, her body trembling.
"You can take it," he told her, pulling back slightly and pushing in again, working himself deeper. "You always take it. Take all of me."
"It's—it's so much," she gasped.
He bottomed out finally, his hips flush against her ass, and they both groaned. He gave her a moment to adjust, running his hands up her back, feeling how small she was beneath him, how completely he filled her.
Then he started to move.
He wasn't gentle. Couldn't be, not when she felt this good, not when the sight of his cock disappearing into her tight little pussy made him feel feral. He fucked her hard, deep, pulling her hips back to meet each thrust.
"Look at you," he growled, one hand sliding up her spine to fist in her hair. "Taking my cock so well. Such a good girl, letting me fuck you like this."
She was crying out with each thrust now, the sounds muffled by the pillow. He could feel her getting wetter, feel her pussy clenching around him, and he knew she was close.
"Touch yourself," he ordered. "Make yourself come on my cock."
Her hand slipped between her legs immediately, and he felt the change in her body as she found her clit. Felt her get even tighter, even wetter.
"That's it," he encouraged, fucking her harder. "Come for me. Want to feel you come."
It only took a few more thrusts before she was there, crying out his name as she came, her pussy spasming around him. The feeling of her coming undone on his cock almost made him lose control, but he gritted his teeth and held on.
He pulled out, ignoring her confused whimper, and flipped her onto her back again. He needed to see her face. Needed to watch her while he made her take him again.
"Magomed," she breathed, reaching for him.
He pushed back inside in one hard thrust, and her eyes went wide, her mouth falling open on a silent scream. From this angle, he could see everything—could see where they were joined, could see how obscenely stretched she was around him, could see her small body taking every inch.
"Look," he commanded, grabbing her chin and forcing her gaze down between their bodies. "Look at how you take me. Look at how small you are."
She looked, and he felt her clench around him, saw the flush spread across her chest.
"You like seeing it too," he said, not a question. He started moving again, slower this time but just as deep. "How much you have to stretch to take my cock."
"Yes," she moaned, her hands scrambling for purchase on his shoulders, his back.
He leaned down, covering her body with his again, and captured her mouth in a kiss. His hips snapped forward harder, faster, driving deep into her with each thrust. She felt impossibly tight, impossibly perfect, and he knew he wasn't going to last much longer.
"Where?" he growled against her mouth.
"Inside," she gasped immediately. "Inside, please, Magomed, I want—"
He kissed her again, swallowing her words, and fucked her harder. His hand slipped between them, finding her clit, and she shattered around him almost immediately, her whole body convulsing as she came.
The feeling of her pussy clenching around him, milking his cock, was too much. He buried himself as deep as he could go and came hard, groaning her name into her neck as he filled her.
For a long moment, they just lay there, breathing hard, his body still covering hers completely.
"Too heavy?" he murmured eventually.
"No." Her arms tightened around him. "Stay."
He stayed, keeping his weight braced on his forearms but letting her feel the size of him, the solid mass of muscle and strength that covered her so completely.
"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" she whispered, her fingers tracing patterns on his back. "When you saw me that first time. This is what you thought about."
He lifted his head to look at her. "Yes."
"Just this?"
"No." He shifted slightly, still buried inside her, and she gasped. "I thought about everything. Waking up next to you. Coming home to you. Having you in my corner at my fights. But yes... this too. How perfect you'd feel underneath me. How well you'd take me despite..." He rolled his hips slightly, making her whimper. "...this."
"Your father thought you were crazy," she said, smiling up at him. "Asking for me so quickly."
"I was crazy," he admitted. "Crazy about you. Still am."
"Even though I call you myshonok?"
"Especially because you call me myshonok." He nipped at her lower lip. "Little mouse. Like you're not the tiny one here."
She laughed, the sound bright and happy. "That's what makes it funny."
"You're ridiculous."
"You love it."
"I do," he admitted, kissing her softly. "I love you."
"I love you too." She ran her fingers through his hair, her touch gentle. "My big, scary fighter who lets me call him a little mouse."
"I'm not scary."
"You were. A little. At first." She smiled at the memory. "This giant man at my table, blocking out the sun. I thought you were going to ask me for protection money or something."
He groaned. "I was trying to be charming."
"You were! Eventually. Once I realized you were actually very sweet under all the..." She gestured vaguely at his body. "...muscles and fighting."
"Good thing you gave me a chance."
"Best decision I ever made." She pulled him down for another kiss. "Now, are you going to stay inside me all night, or...?"
He was already getting hard again. "Would you like me to?"
Her eyes darkened with renewed want. "Show me again, myshonok. Show me how big you are."
He growled at the nickname, at the challenge in her voice, and began to move.
He'd show her, all right.
He'd spend the rest of his life showing her.
END
Good night, I hope you're okay.
I really need Khamzat, and he gives me the vibes of being a jealous and explosive person. 🥴
Could you do a story with that idea? And I was also wondering if you could include some caresses on his beard and biceps. I don't know. 🙈🤭. I know you have a lot of requests so I'll understand if you can't upload it quickly ❤️
you're mine
jealous!khamzat chimaev x reader
warnings: jealous/toxic/explosive behavior towards reader, rough behavior with reader, kissing, makeup sex MDNI
summary: khamzat hates when you're nice to others.
youre just being nice, but that doesnt matter to khamzat who's watching you be too friendly with his friend. he trusts you at least he swears he does, but he's not sure about his friend with the lingering eye who flirts with women when his wife isn't around.
khamzat isn't even engaged in the conversation his friend is trying to talk to him about his eyes glued on you and his friend his patience wearing thin his hand gripping his glass a little too tight- his eyes full of anger and hatred. you're smiling the beautiful smile he loves about you as his friend makes you laugh that's enough for khamzat slamming the glass down on the table in front of him startling his other friends and their wives.
he stands up making his way toward you "hi honey-" he cuts you off by grabbing your arm roughly you gasp as he yanks you out of the house holding your guys coats in his free arm he's seething, his jaw clenched as he opens your door letting your arm go- you instantly touch the place he roughly held soothing the skin as you buckle up quietly.
khamzat gets in the car and throws your coats in the back his breathing rough he's upset you can tell you look out the window your eyes brimming with tears unsure of why he was upset. the car starts on you're on the way home the ride uncomfortably silent as he drives you don't bother looking over at him knowing he'll probably ignore you anyways.
but you cant stop yourself from gently caressing his bicep knowing he loves when you do that "honey" you say softly khamzats eyes look softer "hm?" he hums back at least he's not giving you the silent treatment you think to yourself "why were you upset earlier?" you ask gently worried he'd get upset again as you gently drag your hand up and down his bicep he sighs his hands gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles are white "that idiot man" he says with a scowl "oh" you respond back knowing he was angry about his friend who was talking to you as you helped cook
khamzats phone started ringing his jaw clenching when he sees the name of his friend who was in the kitchen with you he motions for you to pick It up which you fumble with but pickup your hands shaking as you hold the phone up on speaker
"hey man- don't call me again" his tone angry his friend stutters on the other end "w-why??" he sounds confused poor guy you sit there as khamzat yells at his friend more angry than you would've expected but you shouldve known honestly.
you quietly follow behind khamzat hes fuming, youre following him to your guys bedroom as you grab your pajamas to change into when you come back into the room khamzats shirtless- in his sweats his eyes instantly on you full of hunger you gulp nervously, scared to move while his eyes are on you like this.
"come here" his voice dark you nod and slowly make your way to khamzat his hands on your waist he lays his head on you stomach "im sorry.." his voice quiet as his hands make their way to grip your ass and slowly p ull your gown up your breath hitches as you hold his head "its okay.." you respond back khamzat sits you on his lap your nightgown hitched up "no panties.. this your way to say sorry?" his voice deep as he gently tugs his sweats and boxers down you feel his cock spring out "yes.." youre breathless as his tip touches your wetness lubing himself up
you moan as he sits you down on his cock you feel him stretch you out- he always does but the feeling never gets old. youre a mess as you start slowly going up and down on his cock his hands on your hips whispering sweet things "such a good wife...' his words make you whimper you look down at him your hands going to caress his beard his eyes close enjoying the feeling of you riding him and touching his beard gently hes groaning as he feels your hips roll
"just like that dont stop" he groans out youre tightening around him as you moan "khamzat.. im gonna cum" you whine into his neck your pussy making squelching noises around him he groans as your hands grip his shoulders tighter and your cunt squeezes him
"im gonna give you a baby" he says as his hips thrust upward "wanna have my kids?" he asks his voice hot on your skin you nod furiously overwhelmed by being fucked through your orgasm "yes-wanna have your baby" you whimper you feel him smile on your neck "good" he says as he fills you up his warm cum invading you
khamzat holds you close his cock still inside of you "gonna stay, wanna make sure the babys there" he hums out you nod laying your head on his chest tired "im sorry- didnt mean to get upset with you" hes stroking your arm soft touch his voice filled with regret for how he acted "its kay" you mumble kissing his chest before closing your eyes.
[authors note!: thank you anon for this request!! i hope this is good !! enjoy <3]
Delicate
༘⋆ Magomed ankalaev x reader!
༘⋆ warnings: size-kink, sex MDNI, m!receiving oral
༘⋆summary: ankalaev loves how delicate you are.
Hes so lucky- ankalaev thinks this everday. Everytime you do a small task hes always admiring you his eyes glimmering and soft when hes around you. You never see that side of him when hes training- that rough hash side of him . You never feel intimidated by him the way his opponents do, you never feel nervous because of his size.
You and ankalaev have been together for a few months now, moving kind of quick, his things residing in your apartment because he likes staying there when hes not in fight camp. He has things of yours at his house too- all your girly little frilly things that you like. Small plushies and trinkets you bought him because they reminded him of you, he loved that about you. Just how innocent and sweet you were.
The sweet treats youd bake him after his fights- the celebratory cakes that he loved. The way you had to tip toe to kiss him- you couldn’t even reach him he has to bend down you kiss his cheek so gentle as his hand is on your lower back- you love your boyfriend. Hes so big and strong. Hes really the best hes so gentle with you.
The way he always holds you close his body engulfing you hes so sweet as he kisses the top of your head his big hand resting on your stomach as he rubs a circle on your stomach his eyes fixed on whatever you guys wear watching your hands making its way to hold his hand he smiles as you compare your hand sizes . Hes finds it so cute how small you are compared to him- so delicate.
Like youre a porcelain doll, beautiful and delicate. Magomed shifts slightly youre not sure why- he knows why. He can feel himself getting hard with you on top of him.
“you okay?” you ask gently you’re straddling him now- magomed’s mind filled with dirty thoughts with you on top of him like this. his face is flushed he nods you shrug. wondering why he’s so shy suddenly- when you feel it you both know you felt it- his hard on in his sweats you feel it pressed against your clothed core. you both freeze.
“s-sorry milyaya” he mumbles he’s taking you off of his lap his face bright red. your core aching- now you realize it you guys have never been intimate. you think magomeds scared to hurt you- the times you tried to start something he gently moves your attention away from him- but not this time.
you’re on your knees in front of him his face getting redder “w-what are you doing?” his voice shy and soft “let me make you feel good ank” you purr your hand touching his hard on through his sweats he bites his lip “are you sure?” he asks his eyes full of lust but he’s so worried about you it’s so sweet.
you nod excited to see what you’ve been missing out on a small gasp leaving your lips when his cock springs out of his sweats he’s big- easily 8 inches maybe more you’re not sure. but he’s thick as well your eyes full of excitement as he watches your movements. shy and almost unsure your hand wrapping around his cock- well trying to. he’s too big in your hand his mind swirling with thoughts ‘if it’s too small in her hands imagine it in her-‘ he cuts off his thoughts as you kiss his tip- licking the pre-cum off of it he moans.
so pretty his moans deep and whiney. you’re trying to take him in your mouth he’s so big your jaw hurts trying to take him, his hands holding your hair to keep it out of your face “ хорошая девочка, пытаешься выдержать все это, да? мне так хорошо (good girl, trying to take it all huh? so good to me)” your core getting wetter with his praise.
you’re trying to bob your head on his length one of your hands finding its way into your shorts your hand playing with your clit you’re moaning around his cock listening to his grunts and moans. “no more” he hums taking you off he notices you touching yourself his eyes full of lust.
“so excited hm?” he purrs pulling you up onto his lap your shorts discarded as he takes off your top a soft exhale leaving his lips as he admires your body. you become shy trying to cover yourself his hands take your arms away kissing your arms soft praises leaving his lips “такая красивая - все для меня (so pretty- all for me)” he’s more than pleased his cock twitching as he kisses your body gently your soft moans making it hard to control himself.
your teasing your slit with the tip of his cock soft moans leaving you as he sucks and kisses on your breasts his tip teasing your hole a soft whine leaving your lips. his hands finding its way to hold your hips- firm but gentle not enough to hurt you “ready?” he asks his face in your neck kissing and sucking you nod furiously. he gently pushes you down on his cock your back arching as he pushes you down further. the stretch burning but so good.
you’re babbling his name trying to take his length “o-oh so much- too much” you whimper as you can’t fit his full length in you. you’re so tight it’s so overwhelming for him, he could fill you up right now but that wouldn’t be fair. he wants to see you cum on his cock he wants to please you- try to repay you somehow for your kindness.
his hands gently guiding you up and down his cock each time you’re so full. you swear he’s in your stomach as he fucks you gently praising you as your pussy greedily sucks him in- milking him dry. what a slutty pussy is all he can think. pussy drunk on how you feel- how you feel made just for him.
”так мило- мне всегда так хорошо со мной, черт возьми, я не заслуживаю тебя (so sweet- so good to me always so good to me fuck i don't deserve you)” you’re moaning your face in the crook of his neck as he fucks you so gently but each thrust practically knocks the wind out of you because he’s that big. your clamping around him babbling “so-so good-! i’m- nhggh- i’m gonna cum” you whine you’re creaming on his cock as he fucks you through your orgasm grunting as you coat his cock in cream. his hips sputtering as he cums in you- filling you up. you moan out his name as he fills you he’s kissing your cheek sweet words as he hums.
“ты в порядке, дорогая? (you okay honey?)” you nod as he chuckles your body leaning on him.
[authors note!: i understand the hype now 😝😝 enjoy!!!!!!]
girls, we’re all looking at the same thing right??!??!
abdulmanap:
Miku at the store…what will she buy? ʕʘ‿ʘʔ