#khabib

, warnings : nsfw, oral, begging, enemies to lovers sort of?

khabib pov !

my knees ached digging into the plush carpet, but i didn't dare move. i wouldn't. i was frozen there, a supplicant before a goddess, a demon, whatever she decided to be tonight. my hands were clasped loosely behind my back, a show of submission and surrender that felt foreign.

in the octagon, i was a predator hunting its prey. men who made their living hurting others, they looked at me and saw the end. they saw their own defeat reflected in my eyes. my heart had always been a steady, cold drum, a machine built for dominance. but here, with y/n, that machine sputtered and died. it was replaced by this frantic, pathetic thing that beat against my ribs uncontrollably.

it left me here, in a room, trapped by my own suffocating desperation and ragged breathing.

she stood before me, a vision in dark silk that clung to her curves. the low light of the hotel room caught the sharp, smug tilt of her lips. her fingers were wrapped around my black tie, like a leash she directed. she gave it a soft tug, pulling me just an inch closer, and my entire body tensed with a need so profound it was painful.

"please," i heard myself say. the word was raw and broken in my throat. i, khabib nurmagomedov, the eagle, was a begging mess. "please, y/n, let me touch you,"

her smile widened, a slow and cruel grin. "touch me? where, khabib?" her voice was a purr, a velvet scrape against my nerves. "tell me where you want to put your hands."

"everywhere." i breathed, my gaze fixed on the hem of her dress, where it ended high on her thigh. "your waist, your hips, your face. i want to feel you... please."

she hummed, a low, considering sound. she loosened her grip on the tie and used her free hand to tilt my chin up. her eyes held mine captive. "you want it so badly, don't you? the big, bad champion. on his knees. for me." she leaned in, her face inching closer to mine. "it's a good look on you."

a shudder ran through me. my cock, already hard and straining against my trousers, ached in response. she was right. it was humiliating, and it was the most intoxicating thing i had ever felt. she had managed to strip away every layer of my identity. whether it was the fighter, the son, the brother, the devout man, she had taken it from me and replaced it with a raw, wanting creature.

"stick your tongue out." she commanded, her voice dropping to a whisper.

i obeyed without hesitation. it was an instinct, a primal need to do whatever she asked. i let my tongue rest on my lower lip, my eyes locked on hers, pleading. i was completely exposed, utterly at her mercy.

she watched me for a long moment, her expression one of cool, detached amusement. i was a plaything to her. then, slowly, she leaned forward. i held my breath, my entire focus being on the space between us. i expected her to kiss me, to finally give me the release i craved. instead, she brought her own lips forward and pressed the softest, most delicate kiss, directly onto my tongue.

it was barely a touch. a fleeting, feather-light contact. it was nothing, and it was everything.

i couldn't help but make a sound. it wasn't a sound of pleasure, but of pure, unadulterated frustration. my hips jerked forward involuntarily, seeking friction that wasn't there. my hands, still behind my back, clenched into fists so tight i swear i drew blood. that small, innocent touch had ignited a fire in me, a roaring inferno that threatened to consume me whole.

she pulled back. she looked so proud of herself, so pleased with the power she held. "you're so needy, khabib. so desperate."

"devil," i rasped, the word torn from the depths of my soul. it was an accusation, a prayer, a confession, all at once. "you're the devil,"

she raised an eyebrow. "the devil? and why is that?"

"because," i said, my voice shaking with the force of my need. "you make me feel unholy things. you make me want to forget everything else, my honour, my pride, forget everything, just for a taste of you. you make me want to sin." i admitted.

a genuine smile broke through her cruel facade. it was more devastating than her teasing. "good," she said. "maybe now you're ready to earn it."

she let go of my tie and took a step back. with agonising slowness, she reached down and hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her lace panties. she slid them down her legs, stepping out of them and letting them fall to the floor. i thought i was going to explode on the spot.

she sat on the edge of the bed, spreading her legs slightly. she didn't have to say another word. i crawled forward, my movements clumsy with longing. i settled between her thighs, my hands finally free to rest on her soft skin. i looked up at her one last time, my eyes begging for permission.

she gave a single nod.

and then i lost myself.

i worshipped her with my mouth. there was no other word for it. i licked and sucked and explored, driven by a singular, all-consuming need to please her, to taste her, to finally have a piece of what she was denying me. i poured all my frustration, all my wanting and hunger for praise into every moment. she guided me, her soft moans and sharp gasps the only direction i needed.

when she finally came, her body shuddering and her cries filling the room, a wave of triumphant satisfaction washed over me. i had done it. i had pleased her.

i stayed there for a moment, my cheek resting against her thigh, my own body still humming with unspent energy. i was rock-hard, aching for anything she was willing to give me, and i was certain, so certain, that my reward was coming. i had been good. i had done what she asked. now it was my turn.

i started to push myself up, to move over her, to claim what was mine.

but she was already moving. she gently pushed my head away and swung her legs off the bed. i watched, stunned and confused, as she calmly walked over to where her panties had fallen. she picked them up, and with her back to me, slid them back on. she smoothed down her dress, not a hair out of place.

she turned to look at me, still kneelng on the floor like a fool. her expression was cool and distant once more. "get some rest, khabib," she said, her voice casual. "you have training in the morning."

and then she walked out of the room.

the click of the door closing was the loudest sound i had ever heard.

i stayed there, on my knees, in the middle of the floor. the silence felt like a physical weight, pressing down on me. my body screamed with frustration, my cock a painful and angry reminder of what i hadn't received. i had been so sure, so confident that this time would be different. this time, i had earned it.

but i hadn't. i had just been played. again.

i slowly got to my feet, my muscles stiff. i looked at the closed door, then down at my own body, hard and unsatisfied. a bitter, hollow laugh escaped my lips. the devil, indeed. and i was her most willing, most pathetic, most frustrating devoted sinner. and i knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that i would be on my knees for her again tomorrow.

top 1 most unexpected moments in 2026: alana writes again