27

"Bad to the bone, sick as a dog"

You swore not to end up in this situation again. Your friend told you many times that you've changed a lot, maybe in behavior, maybe is your looks? You don't really know and you don't really care. She tends to say this a lot anyway, she could never understand you, your situation, your way of thinking.

Drinking was something you did for fun, the feeling of the liquid burning your insides, quickly followed by the sourness of the lemon made you feel alive, made you feel like you have one more chance at whatever you thought you lost couple hours ago. Now it's more like an escape, because you don't have the luxury to go out that much anymore. Your every move it's being watched, and you can feel it.

So when you decided to go out without telling him, you knew you've signed your contract to Hell. That's how you ended up in the passenger seat of a Mercedes AMG GT S, lip trembling as you try to make up the words that are leaving his mouth. Your head is dizzy and you feel like you could show him everything you ate that day, in just two seconds.

But maybe is the fact that he's next to you, or maybe it's because you don't wanna embarrass yourself in front of the man you fuck every 2 days? Nonetheless, your body chose to cooperate with you and kept everything to yourself. And while you have the biggest fight with yourself, Khabib has a fight, also with you.

"You can not be that stupid, drink until you can't answer me properly"

And he's soo mean about it too. You don't even know how the hell you ended up in his car, but it's okay.. He hasn't said anything about how you dressed up yet.

"I knew it was wrong, I’m beyond it"

Smoking is a habit you started since young. It's something you can now hardly let go of.

You've always hated yourself for doing it, knowing it doesn't really help much with anything that's going on in your life, but it's something that brought a meaning to it.

Khabib.

Late Wednesday, 6 years ago.

Back then, your biggest problem was figuring out how to get cigarettes. But since you were still in high school, every shop around knew every student by face. And after your mother stormed into the store and warned the kind woman who always sold you cigarettes that "she'd call the police if she ever caught her selling them to her daughter again", you had no chance of buying anything there anymore.

While wandering back and forth with your classmate, you saw a man leaning against his luxurious car, talking on the phone, and a bright ass light bulb lit every corner of your head like a square sun.

"Excuse me, do you have a cigarette?"

He glances down at you, still on the phone, and offers a small smile before turning his attention back to his conversation. It leaves you oddly dissatisfied and frustrated. He could've at least said no, like, hello? But just as you were about to lose your last bit of hope and go find someone else, you instinctively take a step back as he pushes himself away from the car he'd been comfortably leaning against.

"Aren't you too young, kid?", he ends the call.

You gave him a proper once-over this time, openly appreciating the broad shoulders, the well-kept beard, and the sunglasses dangling from the collar of his shirt. The second he noticed what you were doing, a smug little smile crept onto his face.

"Can't you just say yes or no?"

A few moments later, the pack is yours. Bought just for you. The kind you haven't seen in weeks. Lately, you've been surviving on half-smoked cigarettes whenever you could get your hands on some, and on good days, you're lucky if you can scrounge that half. Your classmate stares at the pack as if it's the most precious thing in the world. You catch the subtle twitch of her hand, almost reaching for it. But you had other plans.

"You want one?", you say, leaning the pack towards the stranger who saved your life, and you swear you heard your classmate taking your mother for something really intimate.

"I do not smoke, kid"

"So no lighter?"

Gotcha, that was good, girl.

As the cigarette was resting in between your lips, he searched himself in his pockets, taking out a lighter and his finger made slightly contact with your lips. You look up at him, and you feel like the world is moving ten times slower, cuz you can sense how your blood is running through your poisoned veins and if you concentrate a little more, you could even hear it.

He lights your cigarette, then puts it back in his pocket. Right then, you came back to your senses and gave the pack of cigarettes to your classmate.

"Can I have your number?"

The corner of his mouth tilted upwards at your sentence, sign that he kind of liked what you just said, but he chose to ignore that feeling.

"Maybe when you grow up a little more"

Well, that's not a rejection, you don't really know how to take it. You were at the age where "doing something for the plot" was a daily task, and you can't quite take no for an answer, so you decide to push your luck just a little bit more.

"I'm y/n."

He smirks, and you can hear how a low breath escape his mouth, like he was trying to mock you. He is an arrogant man, definitely, but he is also handsome as fuck.

Just as your fried pulled your shirt, meaning it's most likely time to go back, he fully looks at you, still smiling.

"Khabib."

"You know that I like, like you a lot"

You kept your obsession for Khabib secret and you decided to keep him a secret too.

Late night drives, careful written messages, frustration that started to tensw your every msucle in your body, cuz you were soo done with this, you wanted him just like the way you've dreamt about.

Sometimes, when you are alone and lay in your comfy bed, and you're soo fucking done with him, waiting for his reply for hours just to get half of your question answered, your hand slides down the hem of your tee. Slow and steady, your hands rise slowly and your hot skin meets the night air that makes you close your eyes and fist the material in your hand. The other one toys and tease your nipple, but you were used to this.

No, not with his touch, you were depraved from that. You were used with the teasing.

The way his hand found you thigh, sometimes just resting, like a habit he came to have. He would grip the flesh, but it was a feeling you loved, and the only touch closer to what you actually wanted, but your rather have that than nothing.

Whenever you tried to make him touch you, he would always stop just before doing it, and it made you crave him even more. You kissed him once, you were soo disperate, you needed to get anything from him.

And for the first time, you realized he wanted it too. The moment he kissed you back, everything changed. One hand gripped your hair, tightly enough to sting, as if some part of him was desperately trying to pull away, trying to fight whatever had finally woke in him. But his other hand betrayed him entirely. It rested against your waist with an almost painful firmness, and the warmth of his touch and the strength in his grip was making you lose any sense of decency.

He needed to keep you near, but he stops, completely. He pushes you towards the wall and you lose balance, sliding down from it while he wipes his mouth, letting out a low, breathy "tsk", before leaving and gosthing you for a couple of weeks.

And you touch yourself to such memory, cuz that's all you have, it's the reason you crave his touch, his attention soo much. Cuz he gives soo little when you know how much he has to offer, but then again, you chose to be fine with just a little sugar at the tip of your tongue.

You come over thoughts like that, fingers coated in filthy stickiness that you wish one day it will be all over his, making a mess.

"A fire in his eyes, know, I saw it"

The day you confessed to Khabib was your 21th birthday.

Contradictory of your mother's objections, you chose to spend such an important day with him, cuz he was the most important person in your life.

You were soo afraid to tell him exactly how you feel, fear creeping at the corners at the thought of him taking the little attention he gave. So when you finally confessed to him, you didn't really know what to expect.

You had an argument, like an hour ago. It was the dress you chose to wear.

It was simple, black dress with a slit down your leg, nothing too fancy, but you wanted to feel special for your birthday. You took your sweet time to get ready, you chose to wear that Tom Ford, Tabacco Vanilla. It was his favorite scent on you. It was the parfume he always bought for you, along with the Lost Cherry and Black Orchid.

You wished for your night to be amazing, finally, after not seeing him for almost 2 months, you have the best excuse to spend all day in his presence. But it was not how you expected it to be.. at least not all of it.

It started with the compliments. A picture you posted on insta, and the loads of comments you've got, complimenting your looks and wishing you a happy birthday.Just from this small incident, Khabib's state of mind started to decline little by little.

The thing that followed was a waiter looking a little too much at you, even daring to tell you that you're looking amazing. You smiled politely, mentioning that tonight was your birthday and he noded slowly, leaving with your orders. Needless to say, Khabib was already pissed off, and that little encounter was the cherry on top. All the way to the car and during the drive, he told you many, many things. About your choice of dressing, how only sluts and easy whores would have their eyes sparkle at the littlest admiration they get.

Oh and how much you wanted to tell him all the things you felt, not one negative. You wanted to take a rock off your chest, to let him know how you feel about him, how much love is gathering in your heart, overflowing all 4 rooms except you couldn't, cuz the only thing overflowing now are your eyes, full of unshed tears.

And when you finally arrived outside your apartment buildings, you just shut the car door and walk towards the entrance.

Lucky you. Your hand is pulled and your whole body is now handled by what you came to your knowladge to be Khabib's strong arms. He then begs for your forgivness, leanind down to stand on his knees before you, hands gripping your waist, head resting on your stomach. He sweetly tells you how he was wrong, how his words earlier meant nothing and he was just angry that your youth and beauty give people whiplash.

He goes on with it, telling how it's all his fault, and that's how you end up leaning, and holding for dear life, onto the small dresser in the small corridor, right next to the door.

He was balls deep inside you, hitting your cervix just right and you feel those annoying tears coming back. This is not how you imagined your first time with him to be, you wished for more, you know he's capable of it.

Nonetheless, you're glad is finally happening. His hands are on you, rougher than you expected but in a better way, you love how they feel on you, and before he rearranged your insides, his fingers made contact with your warmth, playing with your clit, making it all puffy and red before he sucked onto it and letting out that shot sweetness he was waiting for.

He was starved in all way possible. He was touching you, expressing things in soo many ways than one, making you belive he was thinking about this, waiting for it, wanting this just as much as you did, maybe even more.

The dress is hanging from your waist, tits aggressively dangling, almost to a point where it hurts, but Khabib got it, and his hand came upwards to squeeze one of them. He then tangles his arm over them, making you rise back and lean on his chest, preventing your tits from moving too much.

Your consciousness was long gone, that you didn't even realize you've lost air, his hand blocking any little escape to oxygen. You manage to slightly tap his hand, before it gives out, as he took all the control and handled you.

It was soo good, his cologne hitting your nostrils, his strong arms all over you, the sharp and quick breaths.. You can call this Heaven.

"He tells me to Shut Up, I've got this."

Khabib took care of you in every way possible. He made sure you had everything you needed and beyond.

So when you told him you've got this job, he looked confused?

"But why? I not offer a lot?"

Of course he did. You just wanted something to feel like you again. It's not that you didn't like the life Khabib gives you, you just felt like something is missing from it, nothing felt like you anymore and at the same time, everything did.

You liked to work there. You were a cashier at a kids playground, sometimes needing to be their playmate, making up games and run around with them. Nothing could go wrong.

You loved children, even tho some yelled from to top of their little lungs, or cry until their legs gave out, they were soo straight forward and they felt everything times 100.

So when a little girl cries because she was missing her father(He'd left 5 minutes ago), you stayed to comfort her, making her smile again. When she regained her smile back, she told you about her father, and how much of a superhero he is.One time, she got soup all over the table, and it was very, very close to spill some over her clothes, but her daddy quickly raised her in his arms and saved the day. What a good daddy he is.

Just as you were about to hear the 5th story about this superhero, he appeard around the corner, looking at the playground, searching for his lovely daughter. When he saw her in your arms, he hurried towards you, panic written all over his face. After reassuring him, you found out his name was Ruman, and he was a single dad.

You liked his presence, he was a warm person and very well behaved, if you could say that. He had his words and sweet talk, but when he offered you a job as a nanny, you quickly declined. Not because of the salary, no, he paid good. But because Khabib would never accept that, and hearing he is a single father too, would make a simple situation turn into a bad argument.

Turns out that Ruman couldn't take no for an answer, so he gave you his information car, saying that if you ever change your mind, call him anytime.

You went home, not thinking much about it, leaving the cardboard piece somewhere in your bag, forgetting all about it.. until the next day. Ruman kept showing up to the playground, at least 3 times a week, clearly seeking conversation and most important, seeking you. He asked you out for coffee, which you also politely decline but the next day, he brought you a beautiful red rose.

You told him that you have a boyfriend, and that you can't accept the rose, and he should stop asking out, cuz it's starting to feel uncomfortable.

He apologized, but insisted on you keeping the flower, cuz his daughter chose it.

And to be fair, not the situation exactly was making you uncomfortable. He wasn't pushy or a dubious man, the actual thing that was making you uncomfortable was the thought of what Khabib would think..How he would react if he found out about it.

So when you were making out on the couch and he saw the rose, the next day you quit your job without complaining.

He was right, how could you even accept the rose after all he did for you? That man wanted to fuck you and you made him space to think he could get it. It was all your fault that, after what happend, Khabib ignored all your messages and missed calls.

He had every right to chose your clothes by now, cuz he knows better. This way, he has the upper hand, not letting a slut like you have too much attention, you don't know what to do with it anyway. Do you really want another man?

And yes, he talked with your friend, not threatening her like she said. She's just soo crazy. He wants to always know your whereabouts because he wanted to keep you safe, he wanted to make sure all your friends knew that.

He just told your close friend to keep her mouth shut and stop trying to dismiss the words he told you because, come on now, can't you see that she's jealous of you? All that looks, all the chances she took to told you to leave him, all the arguments you two have, were all because she's a bad friend to you.

He wants only good people around you, even if that means nobody, cuz nobody would met his standarts.