#ufcblr

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Ever since he could remember, Islam has always wanted a big family. He'd even admitted in a now viral interview that he wanted seven kids with you. Fast forward half a decade into your marriage, and you'd popped out three beautiful children who would carry on the Makhachev family name: Two boys and a girl.

Sounds like paradise right? That's what Islam thought too. And even though everyone (including Khabib) had warned him about how exhausting having three kids all under the age of five would be, Islam could not be happier.

But there was just one little issue that was proving to be more troublesome than expected… And that was spending time with you.

“Milayshka I’m home!” Islam called out as he dumped his gym bag by the front door, adrenaline still pumping in his veins after that quick sparring session with the team. He shuffled into the open kitchen and found you there cutting up some vegetables for what he assumed would be lunch.

“Hi darling,” you greeted without looking up, eyes still focused on the chopping board as you diced up some carrots.

Suddenly, you felt a pair of strong arms snake their way around your waist, hugging you tightly. Islam pressed a big wet kiss to your cheek before snuggling his face into the crook of your neck, sighing deeply as if he hadn't held you in years.

“I miss you baby,” he cooed, swaying his hips slightly as he pressed you against the countertop. You chuckled in response.

“We literally got up together this morning. I watched you pee like three hours ago.”

“So what? I cannot miss my wife when I go gym?” He whispered from behind you as he kissed you again on the side of your neck. You hummed happily as Islam started pressing his lips all over — your jaw, your earlobes, your shoulder… His calloused hands had conveniently found their way under the waistband of your shorts, caressing the skin at your hips.

“Careful now, the kids are awake,” you chastised quietly, silently not wanting him to stop. It'd been a hot minute since you and Islam had gotten any. Between raising two toddler boys and a newborn girl, you guys simply had no time alone for sex.

“It’s okay, they're upstairs no?” Islam said as he pushed your legs further apart with his feet. He pressed his hips against you and you could feel his hardness poking into your ass. You gasped as his hand worked his way down your pelvis, his fingers resting gingerly atop your entrance, separated only by the thin fabric of your shorts.

“I need you,” he growled primitively as he felt the warmth and desire of your cunt radiating through those cotton shorts. He let out a low moan as his other hand moved up your torso to fondle your breasts.

“PAPA!” The unmistakeable sound of bare feet pattering down the staircase jolted the two of you out of a trance. Islam recoiled back in the blink of an eye, clearing his throat like he had just been caught doing the unimaginable.

“Papa! Sayyid stole my firetruck!” 

“Liar!” Your youngest son retorted, crossing his arms defiantly. You and Islam exchanged tired but amused looks. If the past 5 years have taught you anything about parenting and family planning, it was that raising 2 toddler boys took the patience of a saint. They fought almost every day over who got to play with what, but it was just a shame it had to happen when you two were finally getting back into the rhythm of things… 

And as if the universe needed to send yet another interruption, your newborn daughter suddenly began to wail from her bassinet as she woke up from her midday nap. No words needed to be said between you and Islam. He placed a quick kiss on your cheek before springing into action as he pulled apart your sons from their tussle — seamlessly switching from husband-mode to dad-mode. You smiled to yourself before going to comfort your daughter. 

After a long time wrestling with the boys to put aside their petty beef, you and Islam finally got the whole family to sit down for lunch. Distracted with feeding your newborn her softfoods, as well as making sure your sons ate their vegetables, you had totally forgotten about your brief interaction with Islam earlier. But it was slowly becoming more and more apparent to you that it was still very much on his mind; a subtle grin from across the table, leaning over you as he served soup around, a quick tug at your ponytail as he got up to put the dishes in the sink… It was clear that Islam had some unfinished business with you.

Lunch was concluded in an impressively short time, and as you cleared the table, Islam had whisked the children away into the playroom to entertain themselves. You were about to go upstairs when Islam almost ran into you on the way down. 

“Where are you going?” He asked, almost aghast that you’d be doing anything other than waiting for him back in the dining room. 

You chuckled and placed a cheeky kiss on his lips. “I wanted to take a shower while the kids aren’t bothering us.” 

As you took a step up the stairs, Islam moved to cage you against the stairwell wall. He pressed your back against the wall, arms on either side of you, his face so close to yours that you could feel his breath against your cheek. His torso was firmly glued against yours, and you could feel his groin pushing against the fabric of his gym shorts. 

“But…” he whispered, tracing his fingers delicately up your arm. 

“But what Islam?” You teased, batting your eyelids innocently at him. You swung your arms over his shoulder and kissed his cheek gently. You felt him let out a shaky breath as you massaged his ears. “What does my lovely husband want hmm?”

His grip on your waist only tightened and before you could get another word out, Islam picked you up effortlessly and threw you over his shoulder. You burst out laughing as Islam raced up the stairs with you swinging away on him. He made a beeline straight to your bedroom, making sure to lock the door behind him before slamming you down on the bed. 

“But I want to take a shower!” You giggled as you scrambled away from the edge of the bed towards the headboard. Your half-hearted protests fell on deft ears and Islam climbed onto the bed. Like an animal on all four limbs, he stalked his way towards you, his eyes full of desire and need. He gripped your ankles and yanked you down until you were lying flat on your back and he was directly on top of you. 

“Shower later,” he growled, lowering himself to kiss you, “let me have you first”.

He lavished the taste of your soft lips and hummed delightedly. He gently brought your hands together above your head and grasped both your wrists firmly in place against the mattress. You squirmed in anticipation, aching for his touch, as Islam’s other hand snaked its way down to the waistband of your shorts. 

“Islam I need —” 

Suddenly, there was a loud pounding on the bedroom door that could only be recognised as a child’s insistent banging. “Mama! Are you in there?” 

You and Islam froze in place. You stifled a laugh as Islam closed his eyes and let out a frustrated sigh. You could see the gears in his head turning furiously to figure out a way to keep you here in his arms. 

“Mama’s busy!” Islam yelled back at the door. “Go play!” 

There was a beat of silence and Islam took that as a sign to resume his kisses. But as his lips had barely grazed your jaw, there was more banging on the door. The doorknob jiggled incessantly from the other side. 

“Mama! Sayyid and I wanna go to the park! Please!" 

Defeated, Islam let go of your wrists and collapsed on top of you, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You couldn’t help but chuckle as your husband let out a most helpless groan. Islam wasn't used to losing, but this was a battle he truly seemed to have no power over.

“I’m gonna send them away,” he mumbled lowly, pouting as he pressed his face to the mattress. You cooed sympathetically and ran your fingers through his short buzzed hair. You pressed a quick kiss to his temple, hoping that it would be some form of consolation, before squeezing your way out from under him. Islam barely moved an inch, just lying there on the bed face down into the mattress like a lifeless mannequin.