Not So Vanilla
โก Your sweet, devoted boyfriend was always obedient, you just never tested how far heโd go for you.
( umar x reader )
ึด เฃช๐ค.แ SMUT 18+ MDNI
okay anon thank you for this request because my brain RAN with it. I chose Umar because I havenโt written for Ikram yet and I fear that man is still a mystery to me and honestly I need him to reveal a personality trait first lmao. BUT after hearing โ18+โ the Umar girlies and I collectively decided that sub Umar was the only route to take, I swear heโs always given me secret dark horse energy so he may eventually lose control, did this escalate slightly? yes. do I regret it? not at all. enjoy!! feedback appreciated & requests are open โโด๏ธห๏ฝกโ
ยท ยท โ ยทโถยท โ ยท ยท
Umar loves you in a way that makes people jealous without even realising it.
Itโs in the little things. The way he automatically reaches for your hand when you cross the street. The way he remembers exactly how you take your tea without asking. The way he looks at you like you hung every star in the sky yourself.
Being loved by him feels safe. Warm. Certain.
You never have to question where you stand with Umar. He tells you he loves you at random moments, kisses your forehead every morning before training, and acts like spending time with you is the highlight of his entire week.
He worships you openly, shamelessly. If you mention wanting something once, he remembers it. If you have a bad day, heโs already ordering your favorite food and pulling you into his chest before you even explain what happened.
And sex with him?
Itโs good. Really good.
Heโs attentive, patient and careful with you, like youโre something precious. He kisses every inch of you like heโs grateful for it. Makes sure you finish first almost every time. Whispers how beautiful you are against your skin until youโre melting beneath him.
But latelyโฆ
Youโve started wanting more.
Not because heโs lacking - God, heโs perfect - but because sometimes it feels too careful. Too soft. Predictable. You know exactly how the night will go before it even starts: slow kisses, gentle hands, sweet praise, lazy aftercare while he strokes your hair.
Comfortable.
Vanilla.
And tonight, with Umar stretched beside you on the couch, one arm around your waist while some random movie plays in the background, the thought wonโt leave your head.
You glance up at him.
He notices immediately, because of course he does.
โWhat?โ he asks softly, thumb brushing over your hip.
โNothing.โ
His eyes narrow a little with amusement. โYouโre thinking too loud again.โ
You laugh quietly, but your stomach twists with nerves.
Umar pauses the movie instantly. Full attention on you now.
Thatโs another thing about him. You never have to compete for his attention.
โWhatโs wrong, malyshka?โ
โNothingโs wrong,โ you say quickly. โI justโฆ wanted to talk to you about something.โ
The concern on his face melts into something gentler. โOkay. Talk to me.โ
You sit up slightly, tucking your legs beneath you. Suddenly the room feels too warm.
โItโs awkward.โ
He smiles a little. โYou know you can tell me anything.โ
โI know.โ
And you do know. Thatโs what makes this harder somehow.
You hesitate before finally blurting, โDo you ever feel like we always do the same things?โ
Umar blinks. โLikeโฆ in general?โ
โIn bed.โ
The silence after that isnโt uncomfortable - just surprised.
His eyebrows lift slightly, and then heโs sitting up too, giving you his full attention like this conversation matters more than anything else.
โOh.โ
You rush to explain before he can misunderstand.
โNot because itโs bad,โ you say quickly. โItโs not bad at all. Youโre literally amazing, Umar. I justโฆโ You chew your lip. โI think I want to try new things. Maybe be a little lessโฆ normal?โ
He watches you carefully, expression unreadable for a second before his hand slides over yours.
โYouโre bored?โ
The question sounds more worried than offended.
Immediately you shake your head. โNo. Not bored with you.โ
His shoulders relax a little.
โI just think maybe I want us to be more adventurous,โ you admit quietly. โAnd I didnโt know how to tell you without sounding ungrateful.โ
Umar stares at you for a long moment before exhaling softly through his nose.
โmalyshka,โ he murmurs, almost laughing. โYou could never sound ungrateful.โ
You feel some of the tension leave your body.
โI just didnโt want you thinking you werenโt enough.โ
His expression changes instantly at that - soft and almost offended on your behalf.
โNot enough?โ he repeats. โYou think Iโd hear my girlfriend say she wants to explore more with me and somehow take that badly?โ
โWellโฆโ
He reaches up, cupping your jaw gently.
โI worship you,โ he says simply. โIf thereโs something you want, I want to hear it.โ
The sincerity in his voice makes heat creep into your face.
โAnd honestly?โ he adds, thumb brushing your cheek. โIโve thought about it too.โ
Your eyes widen. โYou have?โ
A small grin pulls at his mouth.
โYeah.โ His gaze drops briefly to your lips. โI just didnโt know if youโd be comfortable with it.โ
Something electric settles between you then.
A shift.
You can feel it in the way his eyes darken slightly. In the way his hand tightens on your thigh just a little more possessively than usual.
โStand up,โ you say.
Umar blinks. A half-smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, the one that usually precedes some gentle, teasing remark about you being bossy. But the smile doesnโt quite land. Something in your voice has stripped the humor from the room.
โStand up,โ you repeat, and this time you rise with the words, closing the small distance between you.
He stands, posture perfect from years of training, and yet thereโs a flicker of uncertainty in his expression that youโve never seen before. Not fear. Something closer to anticipation mixed with the vertigo of unfamiliar ground.
Your hands find the hem of your own shirt first. You pull it over your head in one fluid motion, and his gaze drops, instinct, pure reflex, to the black lace cupping your breasts. His lips part slightly. A breath escapes him thatโs louder than the documentary ever was.
โTonight,โ you say, reaching behind your back to unclasp the bra, โIโm in charge.โ
The straps slide down your shoulders. The lace falls away. Umarโs throat works visibly as he swallows.
โWhat does that mean?โ His accent curls around the English words, softening their edges.
โIt means you donโt touch unless I tell you to. It means you donโt speak unless I ask you something.โ You step closer, close enough that the heat from his chest radiates against your bare skin. โIt means youโre going to get on your knees.โ
The words hang in the air between you. Umarโs jaw tightens. For a long, suspended moment, you wonder if youโve pushed too far too quickly - if the proud fighter in him will balk at being told to kneel in his own living room.
Then his knees bend.
The carpet muffles the sound of him sinking down, but you feel it in the floorboards, a small seismic shift in the balance of power. He looks up at you from this new angle, and something has already changed in his face. The confident set of his mouth has softened. His eyes are wider, darker, full of a question he wonโt voice because you havenโt given him permission.
โGood,โ you murmur, and the word lands on him visibly - his shoulders drop a fraction, tension bleeding away. โNow your shirt.โ
He pulls it off without hesitation. The fighterโs body emerges: shoulders carved from hours of grappling, a torso laced with lean muscle, the faint trail of dark hair disappearing below his waistband. You circle behind him slowly, letting your fingertips trail across the back of his neck, down the ridge of his spine. A shiver chases your touch.
From this angle, you can see the slight flush creeping up the back of his ears.
You retrieve your discarded bra from the floor. The fabric is still warm from your skin as you gather it in your hands, then drape it over his wrists, which hang at the small of his back. Realisation dawns in the stiffening of his posture.
โPut your hands behind your back.โ
He does. The submission of it - Umar Nurmagomedov, who bends other men into pretzels for a living, offering his wrists to be bound by lingerie, sends a pulse of heat straight through your core. You wrap the bra straps around his wrists, once, twice, knotting the elastic gently but firmly. It wonโt hold against real resistance. Thatโs not the point.
The point is that he wonโt because your in control.
You come around to face him again. His bound hands force his shoulders back, thrusting his chest forward. The posture is almost ceremonial - a man presented for judgment. His breathing has gone shallow, each inhale sharp and quick.
You hook your thumbs into the waistband of your jeans and push them down slowly, watching his face the whole time. The denim pools at your ankles. You step out, leaving only the black lace of your panties between you and the cool air of the apartment.
Umar makes a sound. Itโs small, entirely involuntary - a whimper caught somewhere in the back of his throat. His lips press together immediately, as if he could call the noise back.
โDid you just whimper?โ You tilt your head, feigning curiosity.
The flush that crawls up his neck is answer enough.
You hook a finger under the elastic of your panties, pulling the fabric down inch by excruciating inch. The dampness that clings to the lace as it peels away tells its own story. Umar watches, transfixed, as you step free and gather the delicate fabric in your palm.
โOpen your mouth.โ
His eyes snap up to yours. For one heartbeat, two, the old Umar flickers there - the one who leads, who decides, who dictates the pace. Then it gutters and goes out.
His jaw drops.
You fold the panties into a neat square of black lace and press it past his lips. The fabric fills his mouth, and you can see the exact moment the taste registers, the slight widening of his eyes, the flare of his nostrils as your scent hits him. A muffled groan vibrates through the gag.
โQuiet now,โ you say, stepping back to admire your work.
Heโs a vision. Hands bound behind his back, mouth stuffed with your panties, kneeling on the living room carpet with his arousal straining obscenely against his sweatpants. The great fighter reduced to a pleading, whimpering supplicant.
You settle onto the couch in front of him, spreading your legs wide. The leather is cool against your bare skin. Umarโs gaze drops immediately to the exposed wetness between your thighs, and another sound escapes him - higher this time, needier, a whine that the gag canโt fully contain.
โYou want to taste?โ
A frantic nod. His bound hands flex uselessly behind him.
โYou want to make me cum?โ
Another nod, more desperate. His hips shift forward unconsciously, seeking friction that isnโt there.
You lean back against the cushions, letting your thighs fall open another inch. โThen show me.โ
He shuffles forward on his knees, awkward with his hands tied, still magnificent in his desperation. The first touch of his mouth is the heat of his breath ghosting across your inner thigh.
You slide the soaked lace panties from his mouth just long enough for Umar to drag his tongue through your folds.
When his tongue finally finds your sweet spot, flat and broad and achingly warm, lapping at your clit with desperate strokes. - your head falls back against the couch.
His groans vibrate against you, but you don't let him linger. You stuff the panties back between his lips, muffling him completely, and order him up. "Couch. Now."
He obeys, chest heaving as you guide him onto the sofa.
โGood boy,โ you breathe, and the sound Umar makes in response is something between a sob and a prayer.
Still restrained, he sits back, thick cock standing rigid and leaking in his joggers. Slowly you make your way down his body, kissing his neck, abs, and V line before hooking your finger into the waistband and setting him free.
You straddle him without hesitation, sinking down onto his hard length in one fluid motion. Your pussy stretches around him, walls clenching tight as you start to ride - hard, relentless rolls of your hips that grind your clit against his base with every movement.
Biting into the side of his neck, you leave marks while your hand wraps lightly around his throat, squeezing just enough to make his eyes flutter. โSuch a good boyfriend for me.โ you murmur, bouncing faster, pussy creaming down his shaft. The intensity builds quick; your orgasm hits sharp and sudden, body shuddering as you pulse and gush around his cock, riding through the waves without slowing.
It's too much. Umar bucks wildly, the bra restraint snapping under his strength. His hands break free, one cracking across your ass in a sharp smack that echoes.
In a blur he flips you onto your back on the cushions, pinning your wrists this time as he drives back inside with brutal force.
He fucks you like he's lost control, hips snapping deep and fast, cock pounding your soaked pussy.
One hand closes around your throat, squeezing firmer while the other pinches and twists your nipples, rolling the sensitive peaks until you cry out. "Fuck" he growls around the panties still in his mouth, voice muffled but filthy.
He spits them out, unable to contain himself. "Gripping me so tight, creaming all over my cock. You love using me donโt you"
Your legs lock around his waist as he rails harder, choking you just right, the mix of pain and pleasure sending sparks through your core. He releases one nipple to rub your clit in rough circles, dirty praise spilling out nonstop. The pressure snaps - you come again, pussy spasming and squirting around him. Umar follows with a guttural moan, burying deep as his cock throbs, flooding you with hot cum that leaks out around his sloppy thrusts.
He collapses over you, both of you panting, the air heavy with sweat and sex.
Neither of you speak for a long moment.
Then he lets out a breathless laugh against your neck.
โWhat on earth just happened to us?โ
You smile weakly into his skin, too exhausted to answer properly.
Because whatever tonight was, it changed something.
The carefulness between you is gone now, replaced with something hotter, deeper - a new kind of trust. And judging by the way Umar keeps pulling you closer like he physically canโt stand having space between you, he feels it too.
His lips press softly to your forehead.
โmalyshka,โ he murmurs, voice rough and completely wrecked, โyou have no idea what you started tonight.โ
You canโt wait to do it again.
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