A (After-care) - Rehman for a man being dwelled in extreme wrath and oftentimes gruesome violence, his take on aftercare publicly seems almost impossible. Yet contradicting his reputation he treats you like a droplet of gentle dew on a fallen leaf. Shower, bath, massage, you name it he does it. The plethora of kisses are no surprise. He worships you for trusting his bloodied will with your precious and almost porcelain (According to him) like body. You are his religion and he is a hopeless devotee.
B (Body Language) – Expression of emotions are almost void when it comes to Rehman. His regular stoic self does not falter often, expect for when you exist even in his slightest proximity. He is a sick man for anything that is you. He buys you flowers for you to put on your curly flow of hair. In bed whenever your intoxicating self nears him, he ends up sitting with a painful erection. You smile, he’s hard, you touch him to wave him off to work, welp! He’s hard. Though not very vocal when bothered yet his slight groans against your warm skin and the blow of equally warm “I know exactly what you are trying to do” is enough to make your knees buckle and fall on the same to please him.
C (Cum) – Rehman is a mad man when it comes to finishing in you. He likes to call you his “Sweet Little Dump”. He would fold you in half pressing your soft thighs against your milky breast pressing them further making spill as his veiny hand round your throat, his girth would split you in an unrecognizable mess as he pumped you full of his seeds. He made sure to keep it stuffed in you with followed languid thrusts. Oftentimes a small bulge would protrude on your lower tummy entirely owing to the amount of time he had pumped deep in you. What amused him was when you’d fall limp under with the bulge threatening to seep out of you, his hand would travel down your navel pressing on it softy making you squirt out his release. “fakr hona chahiye tumhe sher-e-baloch ne apnaya hai tumhe” he would growl out as a sense of marking you from inside out.
D (Desperation) – Rehman stroked his ego more than anything. His pride was very expensive to him and you knew exactly how to use it in your favour. He loved to watch you squirm in desperation for his slightest touch. His eyes would follow the rise and fall of your soft breathing chest as the cleavage of yours (which you OFC did not intentionally put on display) glistened with a layer of your sweat owing to your desperate attempts of making him touch you. Your soft mumble against his ear as he worked on trading lives “Jaan, I need you” crumbled his composure like none. In a blink he would be leaning against the doorframe making you question who is truly the desperate one.
E (Eating Out) – Rehamn never considered himself much of munch until he found his skull being cushioned between your soft thighs as his tongue laid flat on your weeping pussy soaking in everything you had to offer. His lips circled around your swollen nub as you would try to find an escape from his animalistic devour by clutching and tugging at his soft curls. After a tiring day your pussy on his face would often be his elixir. He also loves to eat you out sitting you on the kitchen counter saying “Might as well eat the chef”.
F (Fingers) – With no surprise Rehman’s hands has got their own significant appeal. The veins on his hand and forearm flew and intertwined like streams which held nothing but lust and love for you. You would almost cum right there watching his hand drip with blood. And that man knows your weaknesses like the back of his hand. He would trace your face gently gliding them between your legs. No one and no setting can stop him from stuffing his digits in you and expertly curling them in as you clenched tight around him like a vice. As you would fall apar his hooded eyes and the depression of hiss dimple on his cheek would flash as he’d lick his hand and fingers clean maintaining a painful eye contact.
G (Gun Play) – The man traded lives on the palm of his right hand and traded the aid against life with the left. Guns and how he handled them was something he pioneered in and that had always fascinated you. On your birthday he had gifted you a gold-plated revolver with your initials engraved on it with diamond chips. You adored the same and jumped around in glee, till he said “Yaha lao..zara azma ke dekh lu”. Your mind went to him firing a bullet, rather to your surprise he found yourself sprawled on his toned thighs buck naked as the muzzle of the gun thrusted in and out of you. The coldness of the metal in you contradicted the warm clutch of his on your ass as he fucked you with the gun. You shamelessly came around the metal, birthing a brand-new kink on your birthday. Rehman makes it a regular occurrence to thrill you about your life being at his mercy.
H (Hair) – Rehman was never known for his patience but he was known for his intrigue to explore. Everything about you maddened him and what he never imagined was to fall in love with your bush. He would refuse to have it otherwise. According to him “Begum jaan ap ek aurat ko, bacchi nahi, aur apse beinteha mohabbat hai” everytime you complained about it. He also absolutely adored your head full of hair, some might say that fueled his love at first sight. He wraps your locks around his knuckles using it as a grip to yank your head back as he’d rutt in you like a beast in heat.
I (Inked) – Rehman was not a fan of body modification and refrained everyone in his control to do so. But you, his little vixen refused to listen as an itch in you told you that he would love it. You got a slithering snake wrapped around a rose vine inked flowing from the side of your waist up till your mid-thigh. When Rehman returned home that night you greeted him by laying on your side displaying both the art of yourself and the ink. To nobody’s surprise he ate the idea of you inked right up. He almost pounced on you that night and the day your stretched out pussy hurt more than that of the fresh tattoo. He loved to trace it as he fucks and also cum all over it saying “She needed her venom”. Then he would scoop it right up making you lick his finger clean. He is a FREAK.
J (Jacking off) – Rehman was not keen of masturbation as he knew firmly believed that if he wanted a release, you would more than welcome in. Yet on his trips resulted from his dubious business or to balochistan would often leave him parched. He would sneakily carry a pair of panties to sniff on as he would jerk himself off. He would keep you on call the whole time making you whimpering at his groans and chants of his name. He did not need to ask if you were pleasuring yourself, the low heaves and the soft “Rehman…bohot yaad aa rahe ho ap” was enough to answer his question. You made a rule for your husband that if he were to release in your absence, he needed to record it for you. He obliged every time and if you could you would imprint the view on you.
K (Kink) – Breeding kink and ultimate submission is something Rehman basked in. He loved to watch you swell up with his “cubs” as he liked to call it. With each thrust deep in your gummy velvety walls he would growl out “Can’t wait to watch you waddle around marked by me”. He rarely used protection and you submitted to him like an unwritten of co-existing with Rehman in bed. You would let him use you however he’d desire. He loved to watch you mewl as he took control over you. Fucking you dumb and switching off your brain was his favourite hobby.
L (Lactation Kink) – Rehman was responsible for your shamelessly quick and short gapped pregnancies. After you gave birth to your oldest Rehman realized that his love for your breast had increased but the heft of your breast as well. As they swelled up with nectar like milk for your baby to feast on, they happened to become irresistible for Rehman. Your oldest though chonky, did not drank half as much as you anticipated and you’d be left feeling full and heavy. Your husband was more than happy to help. Rehman would wrap his lips around your perked nipples drinking you up like a starved man and rink till his satisfied and you are relieved. His other hand would fondle the free breats wetting his hand and he’d later lick it off. (He also did spurt in his pants just at the taste of your nectar).
M (Moans) – Your voice was like a smooth flow of honey for him. His little touch resulting into shrieks and gasps made him insane. “Yeh awaazein tumhari mera katal karke manega” He’d mumble against your throat with his equally rasped up voice as he would settle deep in you. He encouraged you to scream for him not batting an ear to anyone listening but your mess of a sate and honey of a voice. Your whimpers weakened him more than he would like to admit. When it came to him, he would groan and growl more often than words and even whimper out looking at your mouth stuffed with his girth and your eyes rolled back as drool dripped down your chin. (He has the sight as his homescreen’s wallpaper)
N (Nyctophilia) – To no one’s surprise Rehman loved you the best when you were at your absolute most vulnerable. He watched you sleep almost everynight, especially after a night of heavy action. He followed your breathing pattern and touched your soft exposed skin watching you squirm in your sleep. He would slide his semi hard cock between the folds of your used cunt and hump slow and greedy making sure you don’t wake up. His tip would nudge your clit earning a few sleepy gasps. He would not slip in you rather cum all over your exposed core, making you often wake up to feeling sticky and warm.
O (Orgasm) – He loved to edge your orgasm till you would be in your tears begging him to help you out. Upon disobedience he would tie your legs and tease you till you are practically shaking, every time he’d feel you approach he’d refrain and slap your swollen aching cunt. Then when he would be satisfied he’d make sure that he made orgasm crash over you so many times that you’d beg again, but this time for him to stop. He’d add “Tch..begum jaan apko toh yahi chahiye tha na?”.
P (Pregnancy Sex) – Ever since you had gotten pregnant, Rehman had been feverish about him watching you ride with your swollen bump. He felt a sense of pride more than watching you bounce mindless on his cock as his hand rested on his creation within you as your tits bounced heavy and full. His sly smirk would never his lips. A menace he was and he pledged to keep you pregnant for the same reason.
Q (Quicky) – Rehman despised the idea of a quickie, he needed to have you with an elaborate time spread. He needed to have you through and through, with his tongue and fingers all over you, you were his favourite meal and he needed time to devour with love and greed.
R (Repel) – You would sometimes find yourself provoking Rehman into an angry fuck which resulted you into being absolutely repelling to his touch. You would groan and pull away surprising Rehman as you deviated from yourt usual desperate self. Once he’s ticked off enough, you’d be choked down with your face stuffed in the pillow as him ramming in you at an animalistic pace and barking out “Whore just needed to be fucked dumb, stupid mutt” and you would squirt shamelessly getting exactly what you desired.
S (Smoke) – You loved watching Rehman smoke as he would fuck you in missionary with your legs on his shoulder and your anklet clinking with each thrust. He would let the smoke out on your with a care. You would bite your lips taking it all in. And if he is in mood, he would lean down capturing your lips and exhaling right in your mouth.
T (Toys) – He was not keen on using toys and refrained you from having any. His ego was too thick for him to admit that anything but him would bring your pleasure. At most he would tie you up with your silk robe’s tie restricting your mobility so that he could obliterate you beyond your expectation.
U (Under Influence) – Rehman was never heavy on drugs but he did enjoy weed here and there. Whenever he is smoking a joint he makes sure to keep you next to him making you high on passive smoking. Once high Rehman is more content and calm, whereas you are a feral animal. You would drain him dry, demanding to be fucked all night and for the first time Rehman would tire down and say “Bass meri jaan…” rasping as you’d whine more for his thick cock.
V - none
W (Wax Play) – Rehman had gotten a hold of your erotic literatures sooner than you anticipated. He found out specific kinks and something that caught his attention was wax play and he surprised you with the same over your anniversary candle lit dinner arrangement. He made dripped the warm wax your navel as you winced out in an unimaginable pleasure. “A-Apko kaise pata chala” You asked him with utmost surprise and what he replied left you appalled “Kitaabe khuli nhi rakhte jaan”. Your cunt was swollen the next day with residue of wax and his cum. You had made a mental note to keep the pages of your specific kinks open intentionally so that he could come across it and take you by surprise.
X – None
Y - None
Z (Zzzz) – Sleep was something that often engulfed the two of you in both comfort and exhaustion, after either a long session of love making or simply if he returned from his work exhausted. He loved to slip in your warm wet engulfing pussy as he forced himself to detach from his gruesome world and you welcomed with all your pleasure. He would be stuffed in you with his head deep in your breasts as he’d slip off to warm blanket of slumber. The comfort of it surpassed any kind of lust rather it showed how much the king himself needed his queen to function properly. Love dwelled the best with intimacy for you and your you addicted husband, Sher Rehman Abdul Baloch.
A/N - Hope y'all like this. Lot's of love. Comments are appreciated
Note: this long, self-indulgent, ridiculous fic was borne out of me watching many, many, many edits of AK in the accidental prime minister (need that). This is not proofread or beta read or whatever so sorry about any typos etc. Apologies to the actual Sanjaya Baru if he ever comes across this- I can assure you that this is not about you xxxx
Prequel 1: need you, babe (like i've never needed anyone)
Prequel 2: when i’m down on my knees, you’re how i pray
Content warnings: emotional and physical cheating, explicit sexual content, rough sex, age gap
title from 'heroin' by lana del rey
The first time you learned to read a room, it was because of Sanjaya Baru.
He didn’t teach you directly. He didn’t need to.
You were twenty-five, freshly minted, sharper than most people twice your age, and determined, painfully, stubbornly determined, not to be swallowed whole by Delhi. You had arrived in his office with your spine straight, your chin lifted, and your ambition wrapped tightly around you like armour.
He noticed you immediately.
He had a way of looking at people that made them feel like they were being evaluated and undressed at the same time. You hated that you noticed it, but what you hated even more was that when his attention turned to you, something in your body responded against your will.
“Good brief,” he said the first week, glancing over your draft. His tone was casual, but his eyes lingered. “You think fast.”
You inclined your head. “I try to.”
He paused, an amused look on his face. “I think you do more than try.”
That was how it started. Not with touch, or with anything overt, he was too careful for anything like that. It started with attention, with proximity, with the slow, deliberate way he began to orbit you.
You knew his reputation. Delhi made certain that men like him existed not just as individuals, but as narratives, as carefully curated myths that blurred the line between admiration and warning. Sanjaya Baru existed at the centre of one of the most persistent of those myths. A man whose intellect commanded respect, whose presence shaped rooms, and whose personal life, particularly his many, many relationships with women, was discussed in tones that were equal parts envy and caution.
You had no intention of becoming part of that narrative.
And yet, somehow, despite every instinct screaming otherwise, you kept finding yourself pulled into his gravitational field.
He’d stand too close when reviewing documents. His hand would brush yours when passing papers. His voice would drop when speaking only to you in crowded rooms. Always controlled, always deniable, but always intentional.
You tried your best to stay clear of him, considering yourself above this, above base pleasures.
You lasted three months.
Three months of sidestepping him.
Three months of pretending you didn’t feel the heat of his gaze on the back of your neck.
Three months of telling yourself that you were smarter than this, you were better than this.
The night it happened had not announced itself as significant. In retrospect, this made it inevitable, because nothing about it felt like a departure from what had already been building. Instead, it felt like a continuation, a natural progression of something that had already, quietly but irrevocably, crossed into territory neither of you had explicitly acknowledged.
The office had been nearly empty, the hour late enough that exhaustion blurred the edges of restraint, and when he spoke, saying “you’re still here,” it had sounded less like observation and more like invitation.
“So are you,” you replied.
“This brief is nearly done,” said Baru, looking over your shoulder at your laptop. You could feel the heat emanating off him. “You could have left.”
“So could you.”
“But I didn’t.” The way he said it was quiet, so quiet you could have almost imagined it. Something in your chest tightened in response to his words, the quiet certainty beneath them, the absence of pretense. “No,” you said, softer than you intended. “You didn’t.”
What followed was not a decision so much as a surrender to something that had been building long before that moment, something that had made itself known in every glance, every almost-touch, every conversation that had carried more beneath it than either of you had been willing to name.
“You’re very good at pretending,” he said.
“Pretending what?”
“That this,” he motioned between you and him, “doesn’t affect you.”
“And you’re very good at assuming,” you countered, though your voice had lost some of its steadiness.
“Am I wrong?” He quirked an eyebrow.
You should have said yes. But you didn’t, and that had been enough.
You didn’t remember who moved first.
Only that suddenly he was close, too close, and your breath had hitched, and his hand was at your jaw, tilting your face up.
It was never gentle, what you had. It was urgent, hungry, as if both of you knew it wouldn’t last, and were trying to take as much as possible before it disappeared.
You’d arrive at the office together, your shirt hastily buttoned, his hair still carrying the evidence of your fingers raking through it that morning when he’d pinned you to his bed, taking what he wanted and what you needed, making you gasp and moan.
You’d argue in meetings, sharp and brilliant, only to dissolve into something entirely different behind closed doors, unable to keep your hands off each other the second you were alone.
It didn’t take long for people to notice. The inevitable collision between something intensely personal and the very public world in which both of you operated.
At first, it was whispers, then it became something louder. Questions, judgments, raised eyebrows.
The age gap.
The power imbalance.
Baru’s reputation.
Your ambition.
Everything that made the connection intoxicating also made it impossible.
“You’re not thinking clearly,” one of your colleagues told you once.
“I’m thinking perfectly clearly,” you replied, indignant.
But neither of you were, too wrapped up in each other to care, until you were finally confronted with the inevitability of your situation. The end, when it came, was slow and fractured. It crept in gradually, arguments that cut deeper than they should have, silences that stretched too long. In the creeping realisation that wanting each other wasn’t enough. Sure, you needed each other, too. But you needed your ambition more.
“You’re going to ruin yourself for this,” Baru said one night, his voice sharper than you’d ever heard it.
You laughed, brittle. “Funny. I thought that was your job.”
Something broke in his expression. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what? Tell the truth?”
“The truth,” he said quietly, “is that you’re too good for this. Too good for me.”
You stared at him. “And yet,” you said, “here I am.”
When it ended, it did so publicly, messily, the details dissected and discussed with a lack of discretion or propriety. The papers had a field day. In the aftermath, the imbalance became painfully clear. His position remained intact, his reputation dented but far from destroyed, while yours required ‘adjustment’, as higher-ups put it. He was apologetic, but it was too late. The damage was done. It was all about optics, after all. You both knew that
London was presented as an opportunity, as progression, as a logical next step. Not exile, no, never that. Perish the thought. The message was clear: you were too valuable to lose, but too inconvenient to keep.
You took it because you had no real choice, telling yourself it was enough, and for a while, it was. London was cold, impersonal, but you learned to love it. You built something there, carefully, deliberately, a life defined by stability and structure, one in which the volatility of your past felt distant, almost unreal, and when you met Karan, he fit into that life with a kind of ease that was both comforting and, at times, quietly disorienting.
He was kind in a way that did not demand anything from you beyond consistency, steady in a way that did not challenge your equilibrium, and you learned, over time, to meet him in that space, to construct something that was not defined by intensity, but by reliability.
You told yourself that this was what mattered.
You told yourself that this was what you wanted.
And for the most part, you believed it. Sanjaya Baru became a distant memory, a name in the papers. You only thought about him occasionally, when Karan fucked you like he always did, in the missionary position, good, respectable, safe sex that did the job, but didn’t feel like fighting a lion while falling off the edge of a cliff. Baru’s voice would echo in your ears as you orgasmed, and you would bite your lip to keep from saying the wrong name.
So five years later, when you heard through the grapevine that Baru would be out of town for the 75th Independence Day celebration, you said yes to attending. Unaware that your reckoning was finally here, and that everything you had carefully constructed was about to be forced into confrontation with everything you had deliberately left unresolved.
The ballroom was exactly what it was meant to be. Impressive, controlled, filled with the kind of curated elegance that signaled both power and prestige, and you moved through it with the same composure you had spent years perfecting- your presence measured, your interactions seamless, your expression revealing nothing beyond what was necessary.
Karan’s hand rested lightly at your back, a steady, grounding presence, and you leaned into that steadiness, into the familiarity of it, allowing it to anchor you as you navigated conversations, smiled at the right moments, performed the role expected of you with practiced ease.
And then, suddenly, you felt it.
That same familiar awareness, immediate and unmistakable, rising before your mind had time to process it, before you could rationalise it away. A shiver down your spine, a sense that you were being watched.
You turned, and there he was.
Five long years collapsed into a single, disorienting moment in which time seemed less linear than irrelevant, in which every carefully maintained distance was rendered suddenly fragile, insufficient. A footnote in the story.
He had changed, of course. Time had marked him in ways that were subtle but undeniable, more salt than pepper threading through his hair, more lines marking his stupidly gorgeous face, but the core of him, the presence, the intensity, the way he occupied space, remained exactly as you remembered.
Ever the refined, suave gentleman.
And his gaze was already on you, unwavering, sharp, undeterred by you spotting him.
Your chest felt tight. Oh, god. Flashbacks ran through your mind, your late-night work sessions that would always turn into something more, his hands all over your body, memorising your shape, his teeth in your neck, your fingers tugging at his tie as he pulled you into his lap. You batted the thoughts away, desperate to think about something, anything else.
You turned away first, because what else could you do? You couldn’t possibly say hello, not to him, not to the man you still thought about when Karan was late at work again and you pulled out your vibrator, sighing.
Avoidance became instinct: a necessity rather than a strategy. You positioned yourself carefully, used Karan’s presence as a barrier, as a shield, maintaining a distance that felt both essential and increasingly impossible.
Because awareness did not require proximity.
Still, you avoided Baru like the plague, refusing to even look in his direction, ignoring the insistent rhythm your heart was beating in your chest. But his presence was magnetic, and you knew everyone in the room was holding their breath to see if your cool facade would shatter.
You surreptitiously placed a hand to your chest, as if that would do anything. “I’ll just be back in a bit,” you told Karan, smile firmly in place. “I need some air.”
“Alright, baby, would you like me to come with you?” It almost broke your heart how sweet he was. You shook your head. “No, don’t worry, honestly! I’ll be fine.”
You were not fine.
You were in desperate need of a cigarette, despite not having smoked in years. You motioned to an old, reliable colleague who seamlessly produced one and slipped it into your palm, along with a lighter.
You walked as fast as you could in the ridiculous dress you were wearing, finding a quiet balcony to calm your racing heart. Alone, you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to get the memory of what Baru’s hands felt like on your skin out of your mind, his cigar-roughened voice whispering dirty things in your ear, ‘yeah, just like that, I want to see you come for me’, and ‘oh, fuck, you’re such a good girl, aren’t you?’. Words that Karan’s plummy accent had never, will never, form.
You scoffed at yourself. This was so fucking tragic. It did not bear well that you were barely out of your twenties and this sexually frustrated.
All you had was regret.
Well, that and the cigarette you were holding. You lit it, inhaling the tobacco, and almost moaned at the instant relief it gave you. You had kicked the habit just before you moved to London, going cold turkey on both carcinogens and Baru.
As if on cue, you heard him behind you. “Don’t tell me you’ve started smoking again.”
The sound of his voice was not a surprise. Not really. It felt, instead, like inevitability catching up with you.
You did not turn immediately, holding onto the fragile thread of composure you still possessed. Bracing your hands on the railing, you stared straight ahead. “I know, it’s a terrible habit,” you said, your tone light, almost dismissive. You were determined to show him that you were unaffected by him, even though you were about to vibrate out of your skin.
He moved closer. You felt it before you heard it, that same shift in proximity that had once been so familiar it was almost second nature, and now felt like something far more dangerous.
“How have you been?” He asked, his voice measured, controlled in a way that only emphasised the tension beneath it.
“Good, thank you.” Your voice was too stiff. You needed to relax if you wanted him to believe that you were handling this well.
He hmmed. “You look well.” There was something in the way he said it, not quite approval, not quite assessment, but something that lingered between the two.
“And you?” You asked, finally turning to look at him, ignoring the sheer intensity of the downwards swoosh in your belly when your eyes met his. “Still terrifying half of Delhi?”
A quiet huff of amusement. “Only half?”
You chuckled, despite yourself. He had always been easy to talk to.
So that was what you did- you talked. You enquired about his health, the job. He asked about London. You danced around the subject of the broken pieces of your relationship.
Then, a glint appeared in his eyes. “I saw you earlier,” he said. “With him. Karan, right?” He forms the name in his mouth with just the slightest hint of contempt.
You stiffened, then sighed. “Yes, that is his name.”
“He seems…” a pause, deliberate, “…nice.” Had he moved closer?
You desperately puffed on your cigarette, but it was no use. Baru had got his claws in you.
“He is very nice,” you managed somehow.
Another step closer. You could feel the heat of him now, it was unbearable.
“Yeah? Does he treat you well?” His voice was dangerously low. You took a step back, then another, your back hitting the wall behind you. “Baru,” you began, sighing, but the words died on your lips when you saw how dark his eyes had gone.
This was very bad.
He braced a hand on the wall, next to your head. “Tell me. Does he treat you well?” He knew he’d found a weak spot.
“Of course he does,” you said, trying your best to sound dismissive. Then, emboldened, you decided to be cruel. “Why would I stay with someone who didn’t treat me well?”
His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “Touché, my darling. You always knew how to cut deep.”
You stuck your chin out at him in defiance. “If you are so intent on torturing both me and yourself, you should expect some level of pushback,” you said, a confidence you did not entirely feel enveloping your tone. “I’m not your wide-eyed intern anymore.”
“From what I recall, you were never wide-eyed,” he countered, moving even closer. You refused to break eye contact with him, despite trembling at the proximity. He noticed, and smirked.
“I saw how he looks at you,” he said after a moment, and something in the phrasing, casual on the surface, deliberate underneath, made your pulse stutter despite yourself. “Like he’s very aware of what he has.”
You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to not react, to not take the bait. “That’s usually how it works,” you said.
“Is it?” He murmured, and now there was something sharper beneath the softness, something that edged closer to intent. “Or is that what you’ve convinced yourself is enough?”
“Stop it,” you said, more quietly than before, but no less firm.
For a moment, it seemed as though he might. And then-
“No,” he said, just as quietly.
The word landed with a finality that sent a flicker of something, anger, perhaps, or something dangerously close to it, through you.
“You don’t get to walk away from this like it never happened,” he continued, his voice still low, still controlled, but now unmistakably edged with something harder, something that carried the weight of everything that had been left unresolved between you. “Not when you’re standing here like this.”
“Like what?” You asked, though you already knew you shouldn’t.
His gaze dropped, briefly, to your mouth, to the cigarette held between your fingers, before lifting again, locking onto yours with a precision that made your breath falter.
“Like you’re unaffected,” he said. “Like you don’t remember.”
Something in your chest tightened, sharp and immediate.
“I remember exactly what I need to,” you replied.
Another small smile, this one colder.
“Do you?”
He stepped closer, enough that the space between you became almost theoretical, something that could disappear with the slightest shift.
“Then tell me,” he said, and now there was no mistaking the cruelty in it, the deliberate nature of the question as it formed, as it settled between you like something meant to provoke rather than understand. “Is it… comparable?”
For a second, you didn’t understand, a frown creasing your forehead as you tried to make sense of his words.
And then you did.
Your breath caught, your fingers going still around the cigarette. He noticed.
“Does he know what to do with you,” Baru continued, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful in a way that made it worse, as though he were dissecting something rather than provoking it. “Or is it all very careful?”
Your pulse was racing now, the composure you had been holding onto beginning to fracture under the weight of it.
“That’s none of your business,” you said, though even to your own ears the words sounded thinner than they should have.
“Isn’t it?” He asked softly.
The question lingered, heavy, deliberate.
And then, before you could respond, before you could gather enough control to shut it down completely-
“Does he make you forget yourself,” he went on, each word measured, precise, chosen for impact rather than volume, “or do you spend the entire time remembering that he isn’t me? Wishing that he was me?”
And then, he leaned in to whisper in your ear. “Does he know,” he murmured, his lips against your skin, making you tremble, “how you like to be fucked? How needy you get, how insatiable you can be?”
The air seemed to thin around you. He was reading you like a book. For a moment, all you could hear was your own heartbeat, loud and uneven, betraying you in ways you refused to acknowledge.
“It is none of your business,” you said again, your voice strained.
Because he had found the fault line, and he was pressing on it deliberately.
He watched you for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, though there was something in his dark, sharp in his eyes that made it clear he had seen exactly what he was looking for.
“You can’t even answer,” he said finally, and the quietness of it made it cut deeper than if he had raised his voice. “That tells me everything I need to know.”
Something in you snapped then. “You don’t get to ask me that,” you said, your voice low. “You don’t get to corner me like this and-”
“And what?” He interrupted, just as softly. His hand shifted slightly against the wall, closer now, close enough that you could feel the heat of him in a way that made your thoughts blur at the edges.
“Remind you?” He asked, his tone knowing.
Your breath hitched despite yourself.
“Because that’s what this is, isn’t it,” he continued, and now there was something almost ruthless in the clarity of it, in the way he refused to soften what he was saying. “You’ve built something neat, reasonable, safe, and you keep telling yourself it’s enough.”
You swallowed, your back pressing more firmly against the wall as though distance could still be created where none existed.
“It is enough,” you said.
He held your gaze for a long moment.
And then, quietly-
“No,” Baru said, with a certainty that felt less like opinion and more like accusation. “It isn’t.
The tension between you was electrifying, and the look on his face told you that he could feel it too. You could hear your own breathing, loud and quick. His hand ghosted over your cheek. The barely-there touch made you shudder. You gazed up at him, your head a mess, confusion and lust swirling-
“Not here,” he murmured. “Wait.”
He turned and you followed, walking briskly, looking around surreptitiously for anyone who may see you. Not that it mattered if they did. The decision had been made in your head- you were going to make a mistake tonight.
It was already too late.
Baru led you down a marble staircase and into a large bathroom, locking the door behind you. It was ostentatious, done up in gold and cream, so shiny that light bounced off the furnishings.
He finally turned to look at you, desire mingling with something that looked suspiciously like triumph on his face. His hands flew to your waist, holding you as if he was worried you may slip away from him. He pressed you against a wall, hard. It would have hurt if it didn’t feel so good.
And then his lips met yours.
You moaned into his mouth as his tongue ran across your bottom lip. You wanted, no, needed to touch all of him at once, after having been denied this for so long, your hands moving from his chest to his neck, his back, until they finally settled in his hair, tugging gently. You earned a grunt of approval from him as he moved his hands to your ass, lifting you up and setting you on the counter next to the sink, lips never leaving yours for a second. You wrapped your legs around him, bringing your cores into alignment. He pulled you impossibly closer, rolling his hips into you, making sure you can feel how hard he is for you, desperate for more friction.
He kissed you as if he was ravenous, starving, his tongue in your mouth. He ran a hand through your hair and pulled your head back to nip and bite at your neck, yielding gasps from you. He placed kisses lower, onto your chest until he reached your tits and here he groaned, as if in pain. “I think about you embarrassingly often.”
Desire flooded through you at how breathless he sounded. You felt the skin on your arms prickle with goosebumps. “Me too,” you whispered, pulling him back up, your mouths meeting again. This time, the energy between you both was somehow even more charged, his hands moving to your thighs, travelling upwards to where you needed him the most. You tried to get even closer to him, greedily, your body responding to every single touch of his.
“Please,” you begged him between kisses. “Please, please, I need you to touch me.”
Baru pulled back from you, his eyes stormy. “Touch you where?” He asked you, licking his lips. “Use your words. I need to hear you say it.”
God, this man. He looked incredible- lips swollen, hair mussed, looking at you like he wanted to devour you whole.
“You know where,” you said, helplessly, as a wicked smile grew on his face. He unwrapped your legs from around him, turning you to face your reflection in the mirror. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling you flush against him. “Look at yourself,” he growled in your ear, “and tell me where you want me to touch you.”
You looked at your ruined reflection- lipstick smudged, pupils blown, mouth hanging open. You swallowed. “I want- I need you to touch my pussy.”
He groaned into your neck, then turned you back around, hiking your legs up onto his shoulders, his fingers finally, finally between your legs, pulling your thong to one side, where-
“You’re soaked,” he murmured against your lips. “Already. You always were such a dirty little slut for me.”
You tried to clench your thighs together, helplessly panting into his mouth, tongue against his. “Please, please,” you begged, mindless, needing more, more touching, more friction, more of him. “I need you so much, you don’t understand-“
“I don’t understand?” he hissed through his teeth, his fingers pinching your clit. Your eyes rolled back in your head. “Do you have any idea how difficult it was for me,” he continued, rubbing your most sensitive spot over and over again, “being away from you for so long? Wanting you near me, not being able to touch you? I’ve been driven to madness,” and here, he slid a finger into you. You both gasped, and your fingers tangled in his tie, pulling him closer. “God, you’re so fucking tight,” he growls at you. “Just like I remember, my darling. You’re going to feel so good on my cock.” He pulled out suddenly, leaving you feeling empty.
He put his fingers in your mouth. “Spit on them,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. Your mind was completely blank. All you could do was follow his instructions.
He returned his attention to your clit, pushing two fingers inside you. Your head lolled back and you moaned, so loudly that you were sure anyone walking past would be able to hear.
“I wanna- please- wanna touch you,” you managed to choke out, reaching for his belt and unbuckling it, despite your shaking hands.
He licked into your mouth. “Yeah? You wanna feel how hard you’ve made me?” With one swift move, he took his cock out, and you stared down at it as it pressed into the inside of your thigh. You had forgotten how big he was. The length was impressive, sure, but what really gave you pause was the girth. “I don’t know if it’ll fit anymore.”
“It’ll fit, baby, we’ll make it fit, yeah? I’ll go slow with you, I promise. Make you take it.” He took your hand and put it around his cock. Your fingers barely reached all the way around, your hand looking comically small against his size, but you tried your best, just like you used to. As you pumped your hand up and down, you heard him sigh. “Oh, fuck. I’ve thought about this so many times. Look up at me while you’re touching me.”
You slowly raised your head to meet his eyes, and you felt your cheeks flush. He noticed. “Don’t go all shy on me now, my darling,” he murmured into your ear. “So pretty when you blush for me. Of course I’ve thought about you in all these years. What you used to look like when I touched you. What you used to look like when I made you come for me.” He pushed a third finger into you, cooing at you when you clutch at his shoulders. It was too much, you felt so full, you wanted to tell him. But you knew he needed to do this to make sure you could take his cock properly.
“Mmmm,” was the only sound you could make in reply. You could already feel your orgasm approaching, the familiar heat building in your abdomen. All you could do was moan and beg him for more. “Please, please,” you sounded like you were in pain. “I need it, need you, I can’t- I’m gonna-“
“I can feel you getting closer.” He curled his fingers inside you, hitting a spot that made you see stars. “Fuck, I need to see you come. Do it for me, baby, come on. Be a good girl and come for me.”
You came apart in his arms with nothing short of a scream, but he never stopped moving his fingers. You felt yourself clench around him, fingernails clutching at him so hard you must be leaving marks. You finally had to beg him to stop, to tell him it’s too much, and you felt his fingers reluctantly pull away. He kissed you deeply, holding your face between his thumb and forefinger. His hands were so big, you thought, helplessly, as if in a daze.
His kisses turned hungry again, as he picked you up off the counter and turned you around to face the mirror. He pulled your thong down so that it was tight around your thighs, stopping you from opening your legs wider. He hummed in approval, then bent you over. He placed his thumb on your clit, rubbing it in circles, earning a weak groan from you. “I’m not done with you,” he said in your ear, his voice low, dangerous. You hissed as he replaced his thumb with the tip of his cock, which was instantly soaked by the wetness from your orgasm. You were lost for words, desperate to feel him inside you, a dull ache beginning to form in the pit of your abdomen.
“I have a condom,” he said, making eye contact with you in the mirror, answering a question that had been hovering in the back of your mind since he first kissed you. “But I have a feeling you don’t want me to use it.” He pushed the head of his cock at the entrance of your pussy, making you clutch at the countertop. “Am I wrong?”
You keened at his words. “Mmm?” He already felt so much bigger than what you were used to, and he wasn’t even inside you yet.
He bared his teeth at you in the mirror, placing a hand on your throat and squeezing. “I asked you a fucking question.” His words send a thrill down your spine.
Your mind was blank, but you managed to find an answer. “No,” you moaned out, as he let go of your throat, moving his hand to your ass to palm at the flesh there. “No, I don’t want you to use it.”
He wrapped your hair around his fist, holding you steady. “And why is that?”
You closed your eyes. It was almost too much.
“Because I need to feel you inside me.”
“Good girl. What else?”
“I-“ your voice was barely louder than a whisper. How did he know exactly what you wanted? “I want to- I need to feel you come inside me.”
“I know you do, my darling.” His tone turned almost dangerously sweet. “I’m going to make you feel so good, so full. Your pussy was so fucking tight on my fingers,” and oh, he started to push the head of his cock into you. Your mouth fell open almost comically wide as you watched him throw his head back in the mirror. “Fuck, I’m not even inside you yet and you’re squeezing me so hard. I’m gonna go slow, yeah? Gonna make you be a good girl for me, hmm?” He tugged at your hair to tilt your head up and kissed you messily, tongue lapping against yours. You groaned as he slowly started pushing in deeper, rubbing your clit with his fingers. It was the most delicious ache, stretching you further than you thought was possible. But what made it even better was watching his reaction in the mirror. The eye contact between you both was searing. You watched him lick his lips as he pushed further and further in, sheathing himself inside you, whispering filth into your ear. “Yeah, that’s it. You like that, hmm? If only you knew how many times I’ve thought about this just tonight, about having you exactly like this. I knew you’d be so good for me. Tightest little pussy I’ve ever fucked.” Your eyes closed at that, another moan escaping you. If only he knew how much you thought about him, too.
He went slack-jawed as the widest part of him entered you. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he choked out.
It hurt but it felt so unbelievably good. All you could do was beg him for more. “Please, please,” you whined at him, your knuckles turning white as you clutched at the counter.
“You’re taking me so well,” he marvelled, finally breaking eye contact to look down at where the two of you were joined. “So perfect for me. Just a couple more inches, yeah? I’ll take such good care of you, I promise. Tell me you want it. I want to hear you say it.”
Your brain short circuited at his words. You felt yourself get impossibly wetter, and you can tell he felt it too, because he moaned and pushed the rest of his cock into you in one smooth thrust. You were so full that you could feel it in your stomach. “Please, please,” you gasped out. “I want it so much, you’re so big, you feel so good inside me. Please, I need you to fuck me, I need-“
He pulled out, then thrust back in beginning a steady rhythm, in and out, one hand on your clit and the other gripping your waist hard enough to leave bruises. Your pussy was so wet you could hear it, the noise echoing off the marble walls. “Dirty girl,” he panted, sounding absolutely wrecked as he rocked into you, back and forth. “You’re absolutely soaked for me, aren’t you? You’re taking my cock so well, it makes me so hard to see you being so filthy for me.” You moaned in acknowledgement, arching your back to make yourself look good for him. He hissed. “Yeah, just like that. So pretty for me, fuck.” He cupped your chin, twisting you around to look at him. “Open your mouth for me.” You obliged, and he spat in your mouth. “Swallow it,” he murmured in your ear, and he didn’t need to tell you twice, you’d do anything he told you to at this point.
You’re already close, but that little move nearly tipped you over the edge. “Baru, I’m close,” you breathed, your voice wavering from the sheer force of his thrusts. “Yeah?” He bent down over you, pressing himself to your body. “You want me to let you come?” His tone was almost cruel.
“Please,” you begged, pathetic, whiny. He smirked at you in the mirror, then moved his hand from your clit to your hair, grabbing it roughly, pulling you back so he could whisper in your ear. “Who do you belong to?”
You squeezed your eyes shut. Of course. You were kidding yourself if you thought that he was going to let you get what you wanted without surrendering to him completely. It was the power-hungry despot in him. You pressed your lips together, then shook your head.
“If you don’t say, it my darling,” he said, through gritted teeth, nipping at your earlobe. “I will leave you here like this, desperate for my cock. You will return to the party, debauched, having to face everyone, and you will not even have got what you need.” His pace was punishing, making tears leak out of the corners of your screwed-shut eyes. “So I’m going to ask you one more time. Who,” he delivered a particularly hard thrust, making you cry out, making your eyes fly open, “do you belong to?”
“You,” you choked out, giving up, needing him like you needed air. “You, I belong to you, now fucking let me come, you asshole-” and at that, he let go of your hair, looking very pleased with himself. “There we go,” he said, pleasure and strain mixing in his tone. “That wasn’t so hard, now, was it?” You narrowed your eyes at him in the mirror despite the fact that you could feel your wetness leaking down your thighs. He was such a condescending prick.
And then you felt yourself coming again, clenching around his cock, eyes rolling back in your head, all hatred for him forgotten as he showered you with praise. “Good girl, yeah, just like that, come on my cock, fuck, I’m so proud of you, you came again so quickly, huh?” He was intent on making your second orgasm last even longer, thrusting faster and harder. You could tell he was not far from his own release, his hips stuttering a bit more, his rhythm less steady.
You grabbed his hand and pushed his fingers into your mouth, moaning around them. You watched his eyes widen in the mirror, relishing the sounds he made. Even though he held the control, it’s not like you didn’t have a few tricks up your sleeve. You released his fingers with a loud pop. “Want you to come in me,” you murmured, holding his gaze. “Wanna feel you filling me up. I want you to leave me sore, I wanna feel it leaking out of my pussy, please, please, give it to me-“
He groaned, fucking deep into you, once, twice, three times. “Take it, my darling, so good for me, so tight-"
And then he spilled inside you, warm, wet, pushing his cock in as deep as it would go, pulling you up to kiss you, murmuring praise at you and peppering your face with kisses. You both gasped, your breath still stuttering, evening out slowly. “Mmm.” He pulled out, eliciting moans from both of you.
You hissed as you finally straightened. Your entire body was sore, and you could feel his come dripping out of you. “Ow,” you winced, pulling your thong up. You didn’t miss him getting one last look at you before you pulled your dress back down.
You sat back down on the edge of the counter.
The counter that he had just fucked you on.
The fog in your brain cleared, guilt rushing in to take its place. Your internal conflict must have been visible on your face, because Baru took a step closer, tilting your chin up to meet his eyes. You saw that he was not unaffected: his face, too, reflected a complex mix of emotions.
But not regret.
“This doesn’t have to be anything you don’t want it to be,” he murmured, eyes never leaving yours. “I will do whatever you need me to. I failed you once. I will not fail you again.” His words were filled with honesty.
You clutched at the lapels of his jacket, feeling unsteady despite sitting down. “I don’t know what to do,” you confessed, softly exhaling.
He took you in his arms. “Are you happy with him?”
You bit your lip. How does one respond to that question, especially when the person asking already knows the truth? “I’m- I’m not unhappy,” you admitted, shrugging your shoulders once. “But it’s not- I’m not-”
“But he’s not me.” His words were like a salve to a wound, like a bandage to your soul. Baru had always known how to make you feel better.
You sighed. “No.” You shook your head. “He’s not you. He’s stable. What we have is good. But what we had,” and here, you motioned between Baru and yourself, “was electric. I had never felt like that before.” You looked up at him, willing him to see the total honesty you were speaking with. “And I have never felt like that again.”
Baru stroked your cheek. “Nor have I, my darling.” His voice was lower than you had ever heard it. You breathed in his essence, expensive cologne, cigar ash, the whiskey he had been drinking. Macallan, you reminded yourself. It was always a glass of Macallan, straight. A sharp contrast to your martinis. He would make you one every night, ice-cold with too many olives, and survey you over the rim of his own glass as you popped them into your mouth.
Even all these years later, he felt like home.
The confession hung between you both, delicate, fragile, as if about to collapse. A tear beaded at the corner of your eye, and he wiped it away. “I want you,” he said, simply, his eyes reflecting exactly what you felt back at you. “I made a mistake, all those years ago, by letting you go. I have regretted it every single day.”
Your heart leapt, despite the churning knot in your stomach. You rested your forehead against his chest, and felt one hand come up to stroke your hair. “And what do we do about everything else?”
“We will sort it out,” you heard him say, his voice coming out as a rumble. “I will sort it out.”
A small smile curved at the corners of your mouth. Once again, you had been caught up in his inescapable orbit, his magnetic aura, his inimitable gravitas. The fall out was going to be immense- the papers would have their fill of gossip fodder.
tom riddle presses his lips against your inner thigh, kissing the plush skin softly. he knows exactly what he’s doing to you and can feel the way you tremble beneath his mouth. he looks up at you with that knowing little smile.
"poor thing," he murmurs, "you're trembling already. it's alright, sweetheart. i know this is a lot for you."
you reach down and thread your fingers through his hair, tugging him closer. tom chuckles lowly, the vibration of it teasing your skin. "eager, aren't we? how sweet."
he slides your panties down as you lift your hips to help him. once they're off, he looks at your wet pussy and hums. "look at you, all nice and ready for me. you're doing so well already."
you spread your legs wider and pull his head down. tom lets you guide him, pressing his mouth against you. his tongue slides slowly over your slit, licking up your wetness.
"there we go," he breathes between long, deliberate licks. "such a good girl, letting me take care of you." he finds your clit and circles it with the tip of his tongue before drawing it between his lips, sucking gently.
a soft whimper slips from you as you roll your hips against his face, fingers tightening in his hair. tom squeezes your other hand, still laced with yours. "easy now, darling. i know it feels intense. you're being so brave for me."
he licks faster, sucking on your clit while you grind against his tongue. "that's it," voice warm against your soaked flesh. "look at you moving so nicely. my clever girl is learning so quickly."
your breaths come faster. you keep pushing against his mouth, chasing the feeling. tom holds your thigh open with his free hand and works you steadily.
“you’re right there, aren’t you?” he grumbles against you, "it's okay. you can let go. you've been so good for me."
you moan louder, hips moving quicker on his face. he sucks on your clit a little harder, tongue flicking just right until your thighs start to shake.
"come on, sweet girl," he coos. "let me feel it. you're doing perfectly."
you come hard, moaning his name, body trembling as you ride his face through it. tom keeps licking you gently until you start to calm down.
only then does he pull back, lips and chin glistening, and smiles up at you. "there we are. you were exquisite, darling." he moves up and pulls you into his chest, kissing your forehead. "i'm very proud of you."
note . for anyone who needs tom to be soft and mean at the same time. | m.list
thank you for reading! feel free to reblog and leave feedback
Khanna sahab needs to stop (don't stop) with his streak of highly intellectual, hard to gauge characters because they require intense study to write but also make for the best plots.
WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH HIM AHHHHH HE IS SO ZESTY 😞🔥🔥
CONTENT WARNING. MDNI, fem! reader, law student! reader, lawyer higuruma, 6.9k words, age gap (24&36), fluff & smut, slow burn? game of thrones references, porn with plot, unprotected sex, office sex, rough? sex, sloppy makeouts, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, higuruma is an EATER, spit, praise, choking, pussy spanking, dirty talk, belly bulge, big dick higuruma, he loves eye contact, dacryphilia? he’s mean & cocky if you squint. enjoy!
your pen sits between your teeth as your eyes switch from the thick textbook splayed open on your kitchen island and your laptop screen.
the cursor blinks for the millionth time in your setup word document. countless words plastered in that irritating format of times new roman size twelve that you’ve done a thousand times over.
words mutter under your breath as you multitask in reading, taking notes, and applying the newfound information to your assignment.
“hey, is your prof still asking you guys to take internships?”
your roommate comes from hibernating out of her room, eyes glued to her phone as she saunters over to the kitchen.
you barely catch the words that fly out her mouth, brows furrowing as you look up from your work for the first time in hours. the swivel stool you sat on creaks as you sit up straighter, cringing from how long you held that crouching position.
“uh…. no.” you shake your head, confused as to why she brought it up. she was never the type to dwell on your life as a law student unless overhearing about a case study that seemed ‘too juicy’ to skip out on. “deadline’s like, next week so they’re just talking about the paper due the week after to describe our experience so far.”
“oh.” she says, sounding surprised. “well, did you find anything?”
you hum. “i’ve got an interview tomorrow. it’s multi-hire so i’ve got a good chance. why?”
“nothing really.” she shrugs, taking a breath as she scavenges the freezer, grabbing the first pint of ice cream she sees. “a friend of my cousin works at this law firm and i think she said they’re looking for a temp since she’s going out of the country for a while.”
you nod, chewing on the end of your pen. “send me their info. i’ll check it out.”
so that’s exactly what you do. your roommate helps you exchange information with this friend who you’ve learned to be is a young woman named shimizu. she worked as a assistant for an independent defense attorney, higuruma hiromi.
you’ve heard his name a few times from news outlets, primarily known to take on difficult cases but nonetheless highly skilled and quite honestly a prime example of what you hoped to become as far as talent.
shimizu was going overseas for a little over half a year. that’s entirely way more than what your assignment calls for but you would be paid well plus it could serve as the perfect job to strengthen your experience in law.
it didn’t take much for shimizu to hire you, her eagerness to hurry up and leave was clear. she sent you an email describing her normal routine, things to keep an eye on that higuruma normally forgets and a warning to just be patient for any cases he picks up.
naturally, you were nervous. palms sweating as you clutched your purse and tucked the folder shimizu provided tightly between your arm.
your heels clack with each step you make up into the building then finally, in bold letters, ‘higuruma law office’. you knock, looking around as you wait for a response.
“come in.”
the voice is so deep it sends chills down your spine. anxiety pools your chest as you twist the handle, making slow hesitant steps into the office.
it’s small but not cramping and fairly neat. you continue forward, making your presence known. who you assume to be higuruma sits at a chair, pen scribbling against a paper at an incredible speed.
he doesn’t look up at first, deeply sighing and too focused on the work in front of him. that is until he takes notice of your silence following your entry. his eyes immediately lift, dragging over your attire for a momentary second. “i’m sorry.” he clears his throat, standing then approaching you with his hand out. “how can i help you?”
“i… uhm… i’m y/n.” you meet his hand with a nervous smile. “i’m filling in for shimizu?” it’s embarrassing how unsure you sound as if you hadn’t met shimizu yourself telling you detail for detail about the duties of the job.
his brows furrow slightly as he slowly slips his hand from your weak grip. he checks his watch then runs his fingers through his hair. “right, right. i forgot about that…” he sighs, moreso to himself and then nods, pointing to the empty cubicle beside his. “take a seat, did shimizu already inform you on what we’re currently working on?”
you nod, carefully setting your belongings down and making yourself comfortable on the chair.
“could i see? if you don’t mind.” he stands over you, watching as you turn the monitor on with quickness and log in to your email account, surfing through the important ones you had starred before finally landing on shimizu’s.
higuruma leans over, his presence immediately makes you feel small and you can slightly feel the weight of his chest as he gently grabs the mouse from your hand.
you keep your eyes on the screen, fiddling with your fingers while he looks at the lengthy details relayed. suddenly, he takes a breath then clicks forward and slides the keyboard over.
“looks good.” he finally stands, eyes dropping down to you. “we’ll just be working on that for today. if anything changes i’ll let you know.”
for the first three weeks of working for higuruma goes the same way. coming into the office, saying hello, and him sharing any updates on the current case. some days call for extremely long hours, others are your typical. then there were days like today where you’d be traveling together and have to stay overnight at hotels.
one room, separate beds.you and higuruma hadn’t crossed that bridge of being comfortable with one another just yet. it was still awkward smiles and brief exchanges of conversation only in relation to work.
with the work day being over, you showered and decided to walk around the hotel for a bit, maybe grab a bite to eat. you also brought your textbooks and laptop so you could use the time to study for the baby bar you have coming up.
you sat at a table, eating as you focus on your studies. no more than half an hour passes when a figure approaches your table.
“mind if i sit?”
your eyes lift at the deep voice, widening for a short second as you realize it to be higuruma’s. he stands there in a plain black t-shirt and same colored plaid pajama pants with a plate of food in his hand.
it was different to see him in a more cosy state rather than being suited up. when you focus on the fact he’s still there, tilting his head as he waits on your response you sit up and nod a bit frantically.
“yes—yes, of course. please sit.” you gesture to the seat ahead of you which he takes.
it’s silent for a moment as you’re more frigid now, eyes glued to your book without reading a damn thing. higuruma pops a fry into his mouth, looking around the semi-packed dining area before returning his attention to you. “you’re still in school?”
you nod, “in my first year.”
he raises a subtle brow at that which you don’t even notice considering you’ve found it difficult to always make eye contact with him.
“first year?” he hums, chewing down on another fry. “you’re young.”
“i guess…” you laugh shyly. “it’s not like you’re old.”
he smiles at that, leaning in with his elbows on the table as he continues to take singular bites of his food. “you don’t think so? how old do you think i am?”
you shrug, finally lifting your eyes to scan the features of his face.
he was obviously older than you but you only deduced that from the way he talks and conducts himself yet he didn’t share any facial features that gave away his age.
“thirty?” you squint, not wanting to guess too high and he gets offended.
he chuckles, shaking his head. “no, but i’m honored you thought that low. i’m thirty six.”
“still young.” you smile, dropping your eyes back down.
“so what’re you learning?” he sighs, leaning back again, spreading his long legs to be more comfortable and points at your books.
“nothing really.” you mumble. “just studying for the baby bar.”
“wow…” he nods partially in shock, suddenly thinking of the age gap between you. it’s been so long since his days of staying up all day and all night long when preparing for that exam. “you think you’ve got it? i could help you out.”
you definitely don’t got it. there were still at least another two months before you’d have to take the exam. all the current information you were learning was still processing and quite honestly you had a habit of doubting your skills and weren’t sure if you’d be able to get the score you’re aiming to achieve.
you shake your head at higuruma’s offer. “no, it’s okay. you already have so much going on. i rather not add to that.”
“i’m offering.” he smiles warmly, wanting to assure that it wasn’t a big deal as he crosses his arms lazily across his chest.
it’s only for second that you ogle the surprising size of his bicep when it’s contracted. you shake your head again. “i’ll be fine. thank you though. i appreciate it.”
higuruma hums not pushing any further on the subject. “do you drink?” he asks after swallowing down a bite of his burger.
“sometimes.” you shrug, clicking through your documents of notes that you were hardly paying attention to with higuruma making small conversation.
“would you like to drink now?”
the second time you look at him you see the teasing look in his own as if he’s urging you to loosen up for the night. he’s clearly in the mood to get to know you. perhaps one night of a few drinks wouldn’t be so bad.
“i suppose…” you sport a bashful smile, clicking out of your tabs and shutting down your laptop. you set it aside with your textbooks as higuruma orders your first round of drinks.
it starts off timid as if he’s testing the waters with some cocktails then began to try a little of everything. tropical drinks, shots, beer, and wine. of course you limited yourself to one of each— aside from the shots due to the fact you had a busy day tomorrow but it was surely enough to get you a bit passed tipsy.
higuruma proved to be holding his liquor better than you, smiling fondly as you babble on about the targaryen family line. at first he was curious about a video you were laughing at from tiktok and had to explain it was from game of thrones. you then learned he never watched the show and thought he’d find major interest in it.
you would yap about the politics, power, family, loyalty, and corruption. though once you got to the targaryens, higuruma had to pause at the mention of inbreeding.
“so what’s the difference between velaryons’s and targaryen’s?”
“velaryon and targaryen are house names.” you giggle, toying with your straw. “family lines. being valyrian is like, their racial background.”
“interesting…” he nods, sipping on his rum & coke. “and what’s the relationship between uh… daenerys? and jon?”
“i really shouldn’t be telling you this.” you laugh. “don’t you want to watch it now?”
“…i guess you’re right.” he grins, followed by a sigh as he stretches his arms over his head. “should we watch it tonight?”
you check the time on your phone, it was late. nearing midnight. it was tempting to indulge in a late night watch of one of your favorite shows but you’d probably regret it by the morning.
you bite down on your bottom lip, hiding the smile that wants to show. “it’s late…” you sigh out. “we probably shouldn’t.”
“then let’s start now.” he urges, opening his wallet and dropping a few dollars to cover the tab and allow the server to end their night with a more than generous tip. “c’mon.” he gestures his head, holding his hand out to you.
even with being a little drunk, you still felt shy coming in such close contact with higuruma. as you lifted your hand to connect with his, he guided you through the hotel and it grew quieter upon reaching the elevators.
he’s still holding your hand, waiting for them to open. you attempt to ignore the way his thumb gently brushes against your skin rhythmically and how this must look to bystanders. the thought is cut short when the doors finally split open and higuruma lets go of your hand to palm your lower back.
higuruma follows you in, pressing the floor number. you stand side by side, him humming a soft tune whilst you stare down at your feet to avoid meeting his stare that you could feel burning into you.
it was like a breath of fresh air upon reaching your floor and seeing the doors open. higuruma places his hand to your back again, guiding you down the quiet hall before reaching your room.
he presses the keycard to the sensor, following you in. you take slow steps inside, dropping your laptop and textbook onto your bed.
“what’s it on?” he huffs, turning on the tv.
you make yourself comfortable under the sheets, sighing in relief from the cold. “hbo.”
he surfs for a few seconds before shaking his head. “i don’t think this tv has that.”
“oh…” you frown then look at your laptop. “i mean, we could watch it on my laptop?”
he turns, thinking on what that means.
you both knew that meant laying down on the same bed, next to each other. he rubs his chin in thought. “only if you’re okay with it.”
your body grows hot but you nod slowly, scooting over to make space for him. he eyes the empty space for a few seconds, making hesitant steps forward. “are you sure? we could always watch it another time.”
“…it’s okay.” you spoke softly. “i want to watch it with you.”
he smiles at that, proceeding to lift up the covers and tuck himself under the covers beside you. the immediate warmth of his skin brushes yours and the two of you look at each other the moment he’s settled.
his eye contact is so intense and… unsettling almost that it has chills run down your spine. you want to look away but higuruma speaks up before you can.
“you’re really shy for a future lawyer.”
your brows furrow at his statement. “m’not.”
“you are.” he chuckles, eyes low as he can feel the crash from all the drinks overtake him.
“i think it’s just you.” you boldly argue.
he raises a brow. “yeah? what about me makes you so shy?”
you open your mouth but nothing can follow through especially with him so close you can feel your stomach churn when you catch yourself looking at his lips. “just… shut up.” you huff, grabbing for your laptop.
higuruma laughs, watching you log into hbo, searching for game of thrones. he steps out of the bed momentarily to turn off the lights before you can press start.
you settle the laptop atop both your legs, sighing as you press play on the first episode.
within the first thirty minutes, you fall asleep, your head rested against higuruma’s shoulder. he stayed up through three episodes, thoroughly enjoying the cause of events but forced himself to go to sleep or else he’d be having a rough day.
by the time the morning comes and your alarm goes off, you groan softly, eyes struggling to flutter open. you aimlessly search for your phone, shutting off the annoying sound before laying back down but then you feel a touch of skin.
you fully open your eyes, face twisting in fear at the sight of higuruma in your bed sound asleep. you weren’t that drunk where you didn’t remember wanting to watch game of thrones together but you weren’t sure why he stayed on your bed through the rest of the night.
you poked him, the action immediately waking him up. he breathes heavily, eyes fluttering open. he turns his head to face you. “good morning.”
“…morning.” you mumble, all the slight confidence you gained last night completely gone. though you did feel a certain comfortability now around him.
“sleep okay?” he husks out, lifting himself from the bed.
you nod, nervously twisting the sheets.
he checks the time. it was still early and you wouldn’t be meeting with your client until the afternoon. “do you want breakfast?”
“sure.”
“anything in particular?” he grabs his keys from the nightstand, swinging them around his pointer finger.
“your choice.” you shrug.
he hums. “go shower. get dressed. i’ll be back.”
you do as he says, showering, getting dressed, then eat breakfast with him once he gets back.
the day follows on as planned, you meet with the client, discuss the case, write down details, aim to search for more evidence and layout options.
for the next few weeks, you spent long hours traveling with higuruma to collect more evidence in support of your case. for a time you were able to juggle all the work but the stress of your bar exam coming up was starting to take a toll.
you wanted more time to study but you also had to sacrifice a lot of time to help higuruma. so you start to force yourself to stay up most nights, hardly getting any sleep, caffeine intake drastically rising.
it not only began to present itself through your physical presence but with the way you interacted with higuruma. at first he could understand having been in your position of working between school, studying, and work but as the weeks passed he noticed your decline was starting to affect your work performance.
he’d allow for a few things to slide but not at the risk of a client's future behind bars. so when he asks you a question and you remain too zoned out to answer, he’ll sigh.
“y/n.”
“hm?” you’ll hum, pen twisting between your teeth, completely focused on the textbook laid out.
“look at me.” he commands, tone still gentle as he waits for your eyes to meet his. higuruma was completely aware of your inability to do so but he couldn’t care at the moment. so when you only lift them for a second as if to show you were listening then drop them back to your computer screen he shakes his head with a sigh.
you don’t even notice him stand then come around to palm your chair until he shuts your laptop closed and snatches the pen from your hand. he ignores your surprised reaction. “is this becoming too much for you?”
you frown, opening your mouth to say something but you can’t follow through. instead you shake your head.
he spins you in your seat, forcing you to face him. “can you look at me when i’m speaking to you, please?”
“higuruma, i’m sorry—” you start with a small pout, not listening to what he asked.
“you don’t need to apologize. just look at me.”
it’s silent for a few seconds and you finally flicker your eyes up to look at him. a hand rests on the chair, the other on your desk completely caging you in. you can smell the strong but warm scent of his cologne that radiates off his skin and clothes.
“is this too much for you?” he asks again. “i can give you a break.”
“n-no.” you deny his inquisition. “the work is fine. it’s just… the studying. i’ve got my exam coming up really soon, i’m sorry.”
“it’s fine.” he assures, “look, on the weekends and on our breaks, i’ll help you study. it’s not nice seeing you like this, okay?”
you nod and he stands at his full height, comfortably squeezing your shoulder then patting your head. “take a nap. you look like you need it.”
there was about one more month left until you’d have to take the exam and higuruma keeps through on his promise and dedicates any moment of extra time he has to help you study.
his methods actually allowed you to gain more sleep, balance work more appropriately, and retain the information easier. you genuinely felt like you were learning. you even complimented higuruma on his skills of teaching, claiming that he’d make a great professor.
this continues throughout the month until it was time for the actual day. he helped you study in the morning for a bit, not too much as he didn’t want to override your brain. he got you breakfast and decided to drop you off at the testing site.
“i’ll be right here, okay?”
you nod, looking at him with a solemn smile. you hesitate at first but overwhelmed by your emotions you reach over the console to give him a hug. “thank you…”
he lets out a breath that sounds close to a laugh, hands coming around to circle your body. his palm rubs up and down your back in a comforting motion. “you’ve got this.” he whispers. “good luck.”
you head into the building, gone for a total of three and a half hours. he fell asleep in the car for about an hour until he hears three rampant knocks to the passenger window.
he sees your figure standing there with other individuals following out the building. immediately, he unlocks the door, watching you hop into the car without a word.
“how do you think you did?” he sighs, turning the ignition of the car.
you can only shrug, anxiety riddled through your body. passing was the only option for you. you opted out in taking it the first month the exam is taken so you’d have more time to study. this was your last chance or else you wouldn’t be able to advance in your studies.
higuruma takes in your worrisome expression, reaching his hand out to gently squeeze your shoulder. “should we go out for some drinks?”
you let out a small laugh, looking at him and nodding.
the two of you settle for some small bar, doing the same as before. indulging in every kind of drink but still keeping limitations. eventually, higuruma suggested to watching game of thrones and you in your slightly drunk state of mind couldn’t deny.
you end up at his home because you were too scared of what your roommate might say if you brought higuruma home. you step into the threshold, eyes wide as you stare around in awe.
“why is it so empty?” you giggle, noticing the lack of… anything.
it was as if he simply bought the house and disregarded buying any furniture, dishes, and utensils. does he even live here? was your initial thought as you scavenged through his pantry, cabinets, and refrigerator only to find nothing that could saturate your hunger.
“i spend most of my time at the office.” he huffs, tugging off his suit jacket and tossing it on his sofa. “i mainly come back here to shower and change clothes.”
you hum, clutching your purse as you continue to look around, dragging your fingers along surfaces.
that’s sort of become your lifestyle too now. you’ve no doubt seen higuruma more than your own roommate— which supported why you definitely couldn’t bring him over without warning.
he steps towards you, pointing to your purse and jacket. “would you like to shower?”
“that’d be nice…” you nod, handing him your belongings to toss with his jacket.
he grabs an extra towel he luckily had and his pajamas for you to wear since you didn’t have any clothes of your own. “i plan to order some food, do you want anything in particular?”
“dealer’s choice.” you smile at him. he nods, leaving you to shower as he picks on what to eat. you shower for about half an hour as you spent half of that time snooping around his restroom for any indication of a woman being here.
it was surely none of your business but you couldn’t help but find yourself intrigued by higuruma. naturally, amongst the things you wondered about was if he shared a life with someone. though it should’ve been obvious with the way he never spends his time at home and the simple fact of you being here.
you dried yourself off, putting on his clothes and unsure of where to put the used towel, you walk into his bedroom searching for a hamper. though you find yourself eager to just look around. there wasn’t much to find except for the basics.
you open his closet and find a wide range of suits all in black and white along with his pajamas that were the same color. he also had a distinct collection of watches and cologne.
you end up spraying the different fragrances into the air, adoring the mixture of them being woody, earthy, and citrusy. you take one, spraying it onto yourself.
“having fun?”
you turn fast on your feet, startled by his voice. he sports a teasing smile and you can’t help but feel your body grow hot in embarrassment. “um… sorry…” you laugh nervously, placing the cap back on to the cologne and settling it back in its original spot.
he shakes his head, fond of how you looked, “it’s alright. i ordered chinese.” he then hands you the remote to the tv and his phone for you to track the food. “log in to hbo. i’ll go take a quick shower.”
you nod, heading back out and taking a seat on his sofa. you log into hbo and as you waited, you ended up using his phone to scroll through tiktok. you definitely could’ve used your own but it felt more fun to use his considering the fact he didn’t even have the app in the first place.
the food arrived and within ten minutes after higuruma was done with his shower, fully dressed. he was wearing the same thing as you with the exception of his clothes looking larger on your frame.
he takes a seat beside you, spreading out the arrangement of food he bought on the mini table he had. you press play on the show and hour after hour you felt happier, completely forgetting that you even had an exam today. forgetting that you spent months worrying about this very day all thanks to higuruma.
you always grew a certain amount of courage after drinking so it went without a thought for you to sigh after feeling full then lean sideways to rest your head on his shoulder.
“thank you for today.” you mumble, eyes glued to the screen.
higuruma’s sprawled back, legs spread until you lean against him.
he doesn’t want to think too hard about the current proximity, simply enjoying the moment as he throws an arm around you so you’d feel more comfortable snuggling up to him.
“you deserved it.” he squeezes you gently and you don’t say anything in response, just cozying up to him some more.
from that day, you and higuruma grew closer than ever and you began to notice that you often thought about him, smiled at him more, opened up, and gained the courage to look at him longer.
with every compliment, touch, and night that you spent at his house watching game of thrones whilst eating food, there was no denying that you shared particular feelings for him.
and as the weeks past, you began to wonder what you should do with these feelings until the time came where the scores for the bar exam were out. the two of you were sat in the office per usual, and you received an email notification describing that the scores for the exam were out and where to check them.
you swallowed thickly, logging in to your admissions portal.
“did you ever get a copy of the prosecution's discovery?” higuruma asks, mindlessly flipping through a file.
his question is followed by silence and he’ll lift his head. “y/n?”
upon the continuous silence, higuruma rolls on his chair, peeking his head over to your cubicle to see you hiding your face and your shoulders shaking. concerned at the sight, he stands, and approaches you to palm your shoulder and that’s when he begins to understand that you’re crying when a fragile sob falls past your lips.
his heart burns at the broken sound. “what’s wrong?” his eyes lift to your monitor and see the familiar page of the exam results. he scrolls through the letter to see you’ve passed.
a laugh of relief spills from his throat, glad that your reaction isn’t due to any devastating news. his hand circles around your wrist and tugs at it. “come here.”
you slowly stand, allowing your emotions to flow upon feeling his arms encircle you tightly. you’ll cry into his chest, managing to thank him through your tears. he’ll shush you, rubbing at your back and cradling the back of your head.
“you did such a good job.” he murmurs into your hair.
he continues to mumble praises into your hair and ear, holding and consoling you until your crying has calmed down. once he hears you letting out small breaths to control your breathing, he pulls back, wiping at your tear stained cheeks. “i’m so proud of you.”
your body grows hot at the compliment paired with his stare as he gently cups your cheek, thumb swiping across the skin.
you let out a shaky breath, not sure if it was from your crying or that feeling pooling between your legs. your eyes drop down to his lips then back up to his eyes. higuruma does the same and you can’t help but curl your fingers around his dress shirt.
both of your breathing picks up and neither of you are sure of what to do in this moment. you can feel his free hand drop from your back then down to your waist as you each exchange flickering looks between your lips and eyes.
“higuruma…” you breathe out and he shakes his head, closing his eyes then pressing his forehead to yours.
“hiromi.” he corrects, switching his hand that cups your cheeks to palm the back of your neck. “my name… say it. that’s all i need.”
you fight the whine that bubbles in your throat, gripping tightly onto him as you open your mouth. “hiromi…”
he gives in at the immediate desperation his name holds, roughly pressing you against him so your lips could meet.
the two of you have your hands moving everywhere along your bodies and a gasp rushes from your lungs as he frantically lifts you onto the desk.
items clatter everywhere as he knocks them away whilst dipping his tongue into your mouth. it’s frantic and eager the way your mouths clash together. soft groans and moans spilling into the air as papers crumble beneath your figure.
you kick off your heels as hiromi hikes your skirt around your hips, pressing your back against the surface and knocking your legs open with his knees, revealing the lace panties hidden underneath them.
he presses himself against you with a rough groan, one hand hoisting your leg at his waist, whilst the other taps your cheek then grips your face to press into them. “open.”
your jaw widens, and hiromi hums before spitting in your mouth then leaning in to connect your lips again.
he’s hard and big.
it’s all you can think of as your tongues mesh together in perfect harmony.
weeks of built up feelings that you both tried so hard to fight all falling at the seams. you reach up to tug at his black roots as he unconsciously ruts himself against your clothed core.
you take advantage when he finally pulls away, a string of saliva following with him. his lips are swollen and covered in spit as he leans down to kiss along your jaw, then suck at the skin of your neck. you pant feverishly against his ear, gripping tighter onto him each time his bulge connects with your clit just right.
deep shaky breaths fly through his nose as rolls his hips, eyes squeezing tightly from the tightness building in his pants. it felt so fucking good to hear those soft whimpers and moans escape your lips. “feels so good.” he groans, pressing his forehead against yours. you two practically rubbing against each other like bunnies in heat without even starting the main course.
you whimper feeling yourself clench around nothing. your hands grasp for higuruma and he hums, kissing just below your ear. “gonna cum?”
you nod, mouth slacked open as he breathes harshly against your neck. “that’s okay, sweetheart.” he huffs, using his free hand to travel down between your bodies. fuck, he thinks the moment his fingers feel how drenched your panties are. your eyes blow wide as he pinches your clothed clit then rubs in tight circles. “you can cum, it’s okay.”
“oh my god.” you tremble and writhe against his lengthy figure, clawing at his back and arms as you feel lost on what to hold on with your orgasm building every second.
he stops the movement of his hips, grasping your neck so you’d be staring straight at him as he picks up the pace of his fingers. “come on.” he licks his lips, maintaining the eye contact he forces you to hold. “i wanna see you. you’re almost there.”
“hiromi—” you choke on the air, threatening to close your eyes but he shakes your head, warning you to keep them open as your body trembles from the euphoria that overcomes you.
“good job.” he wipes at your forehead and cheeks, standing to his full height. you use his tie to lift yourself up, meeting your lips again and immediately sloshing your tongue with his. while he fumbles to unbutton your shirt you do the same then aggressively toss off his tie. his large hands grope at your breast before unclipping your bra to flick and twist at your nipple. you moan into his mouth, fingertips caressing the light muscles of his abs.
he finds it quite amusing how you flinch with each twist and tug but nonetheless you let him continue his worship of your body. he leaves your skirt cinched around your waist, squeezing your hips then slowly tugs your panties down your legs.
you can’t imagine what he plans to do next until he drops both his hands behind your thighs, pressing them down as far as he can before bending down to dip his head between your legs.
his tongue flattens against your leaking hole, sucking up all slick your pussy produced. you reach straight for his hair, choking on a moan. “w-wait, i can’t.” you tell him, quivering at the sudden sensation. it certainly didn’t help with how big his nose is, he had the advantage to nudge it against your clit each lick and suck.
“i just want to taste you.” his voice vibrates against you, eliciting a strangled moan out of you. “is that okay, love?” he pulls back momentarily, mouth and nose coated in your juices as he presses a kiss to either side of your thighs.
what gets you is the fact he genuinely waits on your response. you nod feebly and he presses a kiss to your clit. “thank you.” is all he says before continuing his actions. your eyes immediately squeeze shut and you’re not sure if you’re trying to push his head or pull him closer. regardless, your back arches off the desk, pulling at his hair as he holds you down to prevent any more of your squirming.
a sound of absolute satisfaction rumbles in his chest and higuruma loses himself in your taste. he’s quite filthy really. you would’ve never expected him to be the type of man that relentlessly switches between licking, spitting, and sucking the way he does. a small pool of liquid has likely formed under you by now.
“r-romi, m’ gonna cum.” he hears, feeling the way you buck up against his mouth and quite literally has to force himself off you at the announcement. he seethes in a breath, huffing and puffing, licking around his mouth.
higuruma stands straight again, unbuckling his belt, letting out a soft breath as he no longer feels constricted. your eyes fall when he drops his pants and briefs. shit. i mean, you figured he was big but not that fucking big.
you yelp as he pulls you to the edge of the table, slapping his thick cock against your drooling hole that pulses around nothing.
“can i?” he collects your mess between his fingers, spreading your folds and gliding his shaft between them.
you nod but higuruma shakes his head then grips your neck to pull you up. “tell me, sweetheart. can i?”
“p-please.” you look up at him, all doe eyed and desperate. his hand squeezes your neck and keeps you looking at him as he uses his other hand to pull you closer, prodding in just the tip then slowly pushes himself into your warm, gushing cunt. your mouth slacks open at the stretch, gasping for air as higuruma squeezes tighter from the way you sporadically clench around his length.
he’s only halfway in and it’s taking all his energy to not cum. your pussy is torturously sucking him in, so much so a quivering grunt echoes from his chest. he pats your thigh in response. “ease up, it’s just me, darling.” he tells you, and you want to laugh at how serious he’s being. ease up? not fucking possible when at least eight inches length and formidable girth was pushing itself into you.
once he’s finally filled to the hilt. your legs cross around his hips, grasping his wrist, preventing him from squeezing too tight on your throat. “you’re always such a good girl… so smart and beautiful.” he praises, leaning in to peck your lips then follows with butterflies kisses along your jaw and neck then comes back up to meet your lips again. your mouths twist slower, fiery and brimmed with passion to distract you from the roll of his hips.
“so warm.” he moans against your lips, biting down and sucking on your bottom one. he finally lets go of your neck, pushing you on your back again then clasping both thighs as leverage to pummel himself deep into your pussy. he groans along to your whimpers and moans, dark eyes focused on the imprint that shows itself on your stomach with every thrust.
his light abs glisten with sweat, his brows furrowed as he zones into the way he disappears in and out of your pussy that sucks him in and coats his base white.
papers crumble beneath your fist as your moans are pulled closer together, the indication that your orgasm was fast approaching. the effect likely to be huge since you already had your first and was denied your second. hiromi grunts, fixing you into a mean semi-mating press, legs over his shoulders as his balls mercilessly slap against your skin to echo around the office space.
“gonna cum.” you quiver but higuruma smacks your clit as if that’s supposed to help.
“hold it.”
“i-i can’t.” you look at him, pouting.
his eyes snap up to meet yours and he smacks you again. “hold it.”
he somehow moves faster and harder, harshly breathing with sweat beading down his temple. after a minute, you’re completely spent, eyes watering as you shake your head. “romi, please. i can’t hold it.”
“shhh.” he huffs, pressing his palm over your mouth, viciously chasing the high of his orgasm. he rolls his eyes shut, sticking two fingers into your mouth. “go. hurry up and cum.”
it’s only a few seconds after his command that your waves come crashing down, body yearning to close upon itself due to the overstimulation but higuruma keeps you spread open, still thrusting for what feels like over a minute.
he pulls out, a hand immediately coming to pump at his length, the other angling your body just right so when he forces your mouth open, hot spurts of his cum land on your breasts, chin, and tongue.
hiromi takes a breath that sounds like he’s inhaling fresh air, squeezing at his tip to extract every ounce of his fill. he takes a good and long look at your weak body, collecting his remains that landed on you to push back into your mouth.
“so beautiful…” he cups your cheek, holding you upright since you clearly can’t. “you alright? did i hurt you?”
“no… i’m okay.” you mumble, staring up at him as if he held up the moon and stars. “was i?… okay?”
“absolutely, love.” his brows furrow, gently caressing your skin as he looks at you. “more than okay. perfect.”
you smile shyly at that and he has a similar question on his mind as he helps in cleaning you up. “are we okay?”
“am i okay for you?”
hiromi has begun to understand your naturally shy and timid nature but it also crossed his mind that your sense of overthinking would come into play with your age gap.
it wasn’t drastic of course but he would never want to put you in a position that made you seemingly uncomfortable.
you nod with a small smile, gripping his bicep and pulling him in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “more than okay… perfect.”
♤Is very protective of you, he never wants to lose sight of you, and always makes sure he has your location when you're out alone late,on his phone
♤biggest phuchka paglu☝️ downs phuchka r jol like its amrito(elixir)
♤takes you out to parar mela where there are beautiful colorful stalls, lined with pretty artsy jewellery, made of conch shells. He buys you your fav conch shell earrings. As your eyes glimmer on boho knick-knacks, he understands and keeps on tagging along,no matter if you decide on the very first one of the several thirty items you had selected.
♤has a thing for adventure, think hiking, or paddleboating, or even archery. Has a gun license, just for shits and giggles.(It's not for shits n giggles)
♤is into voyeurism, loves to bend you over when no one's looking as he thrusts into you, pulling out before coming, with his hair a pretty mess, while the beads of sweat paint his forehead.
♤loves wearing itr, as you once complimented his scent, musky and woody, yet so compelling, that he makes sure he has secured many bottles of it. He rubs it on his nape before fucking you, so that even Uzair knows as he reluctantly hands the gift Hamza had bought you,for his scent mingled with your jasmine and citrus one.
♤buys you alta, loves seeing your pretty red hands while you pump him in and out, as he groans back, with his hand into your scalp, yanking you.
♤prefers missionary, beacuse he wants to see your face as he fucks into you raw, whilst Kishore Kumar's Bheegi Bheegi Raaton Mein plays in the background.
♤Has a thing for belts on you, and buys you shona(gold) kamarbandhs, from P.C gold n Diamonds
♤"aaj raat e ektu haengla hote dao, shona" (tonight, let me be a bit greedy, my love) is what he tells you whenever you wear a saree, his hand never leaving the back of your blouse, his fingertips twitching to pull you closer to him, undoing said blouse r dori(strings of the blouse)
♤as you both chase climax, the nupur that he gifted you, reverberates loudly. You ask him to take it off the next day, when he says "keno, tomaye je ador korchi, sheta shunte pele ki paap hobe, pori?" (Why, if I make love to you, and people can hear if, is it really such a crime, my pretty fairy?)
♤very into politics, knows pretty much everything
♤Loves when you sink down on him slowly, taking every inch until your ass meets his thighs. The wet, filthy squelch of his cock sliding through the mess of four previous loads is fucking obscene. He loves to hold you by the gold of your kamarbandh, guiding you, as you straddle him, lazily. The bed creaks, the room reverberates with the risqué sounds of your lovemaking, and that precisely, gives Uzair time to check out the brand new noise cancelling headphones.
♤is not politically neutral, but prefers to stay so to avoid messing w Rehman borda
♤has an insane breeding kink, and therefore refuses to pull out, for he needs you to be painted in strings of his white cum, as you shudder from your own climax.
♤has several nicknames for you, but mostly uses "pori", which means fairy.
Please Siddharth aka Sid Jaisingh aka our husband ke liye likho kuch ☹️🫵🥺 like he's so hawt I want his cock- WHO SAID THAT?!!! WHO????! 🤨🤨
no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while I gasp for air, scream and see the light
Humare??? Don’t remember sharing MY OG FIND with you, bbg 👀 but okay, since you are my jaan, I will fulfil your request…
Also, the smuttiest smut I have ever written?
A Nice Present
Siddharth Jaisingh x Reader
A court attracted many things—wronged pleading for justice, guilty men preaching innocence and apparently, two opposites reeking of each other when they shouldn’t…
A prosecutor, a defence lawyer she absolutely hates and a moment they both pretend didn’t happen. What could truly go wrong?
Warnings: Smut. Dirty talking. Flashback smut. Semi-public sex. PiV. Unsafe sex. Fingering. Oral sex (m!receiving). Wife kink? Enemies to…enemies with benefits? Choking kink. Degradation. Breeding kink (kinda?). Hair tugging. Heavy tensions. Dark!Sid. Dominant!Sid. Submissive!Reader. Power imbalance. Nicknames. Dub-con (reader is drunk). Manhandling. I kinda went over the board with this?
The Lucknow High Court was a careful blend of order mingling with soul-draining chaos, a harmony of overlapping conversations and the loud announcements of clerks cutting through the corridors—sending the small gatherings into motion as men and women alike nearly tackle each other to the floor while trying to step inside the courtroom first, as if the seat closer to the front would bring them more insight than the ones sitting in the back.
And among them was the already frustrated prosecutor, elbows out and profanities on the lips as she pushed her way into the room, huffing in annoyance while her fingers brushed the dark coat on her shoulders straight.
“Hadd hai yaar!” (This is too much, bro!) She hissed, glancing to her side to see her junior—a young man with thick glasses on his nose and a book tucked underneath his arm at all times—fixing his suddenly ruffled hair with an anxious eye towards the bench where the judge would take his seat.
“Prosecutor ko hi andar nahi aane denge? Khud ladne ka mood hai kya inka?” (Won’t let the prosecutor step in? Are they in mood to fight the case themselves?) She continued, heels clicking against the floor as she approached the table, depositing the sole file she was holding on to before she slumped down in the wooden chair, groaning as the muscles of her thighs protest against movement—last night taking a toll, especially when she had received no true respite.
The gala had been boring as always, an annual lawyers meet, where snakes dressed up to their best and smiled behind champagne flutes, exchanging compliments and greeting kisses when all they wished for was eliminating competition from the saturated profession.
But she had found a man—half-drunk on the whiskey they had served already. And the rest? Well, the man—whosoever he had been—was rather the silver tongue, stringing together words of praises that intoxicated her to the point of desperation until she had nearly pounced on his offer to move the conversation somewhere private.
Her laboured breath had fogged the mirrors, head tipping back against the window while the deep voice had whispered filth into her neck, pressing open-mouth kisses on the bare skin while two of his fingers pressed against the entrance of her weeping core, slipping in without much resistance and pounding into her.
“Such a perfect girl, aren’t you? So docile—nothing like that venomous viper in the courtroom.”
The words still brought a flush to her cheeks while the memory had her shifting in the chair, eyes closed as her fingers thrummed against the top of the table in a familiar rhythm—a song that had been playing in the background while she had been speaking with the stranger at the bar.
Who even was the man?
Surely she wasn’t drunk enough to not remember the face or the name—if he had given her one—of the stranger that had dragged her to orgasm and then dropped her at her place in his much expensive car. A Mercedes, she could recall slightly, with leather seats that had creaked when he had shifted just enough to drop his perfectly-ironed pants.
Her memory had never failed her like this, but then again, she had never truly indulged in something so thrillingly sinful.
Her entire life had revolved around books—a nerd in high school, a serious relationship during law school that went nowhere, a summer fling too late that wasn’t as fun as the movies had displayed it. Hence, her love life, to conclude in short, was as boring as a bare act discussing about a centuries-old law that was no longer applicable, but still important for Bar examination.
But last night?
“Where did the venom go, hm? Leaking from your tight cunt, is it? Who would have thought Ms. Prim and Proper was simply a whore begging to be fucked right? You could have just asked me, sweet little viper—why fuck up my—”
“Oh my god!”
She jumped, nearly falling off her chair as she was brought out of the rapidly moving train of her thoughts by the quiet exclamation of her junior—who was busy staring at the defence’s table.
“Kya hai?” (What is it?) She gritted through her teeth.
“Siddharth Jaisingh.”
A scoff escaped her lips, eyes narrowing in a glare as she glanced at the defence lawyer—the tall man unaware, or simply ignoring, her as he unbuttoned his court and sat down in the chair with the arrogance of a spoiled brat with a silver spoon of privilege in his mouth.
She had fought her first case as a prosecutor against him, and many more—emerging victorious in most of them simply because she relished the sight of his glare and pursued lips. And the ones she couldn’t win? She made sure that he didn’t either, the verdict remaining neutral with no one side losing and the other wining.
“Of course, yeh panauti hi milna tha aaj,” (of course, I had to meet this misfortune today) she mumbled to herself, still not relenting from the glare.
But then, something caught her eye.
The watch around his wrist nearly shone under the sunlight filtering in through the windows of the room—silver chain gleaming while the black dial nearly disappeared under the sleeve of his court until he stretched his arm a little over the table while reaching for a file. An expensive watch—something like Rolex—that seemed far more familiar than she would like it to be.
The memory, a particular one, came crashing down on her like a thunder.
“You look so pretty with my hand wrapped around you, princess,” he had whispered while his fingers had pressed insistently against her racing pulse, teeth nibbling at her earlobe as he had seethed his length into her. Not even for a second had he spared her the chance to adjust to him, instantly beginning to thrust up into her welcoming heat while his free hand moved—tracing her side before his fingers laced into her ruined hair, tugging at them hard enough for pain to shudder through her body.
“So very different than the courtroom version of yourself. So very likeable and pretty—the perfect wife. Letting me use you without any protests, being so welcoming for me.”
A car’s headlight had reflected in the mirrors, the watch around his wrist—the one around her slender neck—catching the light and brightening up before the hand moved, snaking around her back and pulling her flush against him to pound faster into her until her eyes had disappeared behind her lashes.
Of course, it had to be him.
Her face whipped away from him, body shifting until she was nearly facing away from him and towards the judge. A muscle feathered in a jaw from tension while another ached somewhere in her head—perhaps, a side effect of the alcohol she had consumed a night before, or of the man sitting only a few steps away from her.
The session run long—not really, but for the prosecutor who tried her best not to squirm in her chair under the weight of the past night’s unholy memories.
“—no more questions, your honour,” she ended with a slight bow, approaching her chair while gesturing with a hand to the defence to take the floor. But she had forgotten just how much Siddharth Jaisingh liked his petty intimidation tricks.
And true to his narcissistic self, he stood up right when she was about to pass his table to settle into hers, towering tall over her small figure in his tailored suit, dark eyes watching—no, studying her as if she was the very verdict of the case, or perhaps, undressing her in his mind—while his fingers slowly closed the singular button on his coat.
The low cadence of his deep voice, the arrogance rippling from it—everything catapulted her to the gala, or rather, the aftermath of it.
His large hand had covered the small of her back easily, free hand holding her heels while she breezed through the corridor of the five-star hotel that had hosted the gala, swaying in his hands as the elevator had dinged closed and his lips had began closing in on her exposed skin—nipping and kissing and whispering while his beard scratched the delicate spot behind her ear.
“Didn’t think you would be so willing, Ms. Prim and Proper. Is this truly what it takes—a few drinks and whispered filth—to get the chance to fuck that tight cunt? It must be, no? Tight and warm and welcoming, the perfect gift for a man like me.”
A tsk had followed, a dark chuckle too, one that had a shiver running down her spine while her fingers had curled into his for support, nails tapping against the glass of his wrist by mistake as gasps and wanton moans escaped the curve of her parted lips.
It was only the call of her name that had pulled her away from the trance of the memory, an embarrassed flush on her cheeks as she mumbled an apology to the furious judge and threw a glare over her shoulder at the sound of the smug chuckle from the attorney sitting relaxed in the chair.
The grin on his face made her blood boil, the man acting as if he knew exactly what had kept her mind preoccupied—which, he actually did. Because, honest to god, the same memories plagued his mind too, the only difference being that his years of practice had trained him well-enough to hide his thoughts. All while she was still learning, a ripe fruit that he had bitten into last night—evidence of which was hidden underneath the collar of her shirt.
A fruit far more juicier than the forbidden apple—and the one made solely to take his cock perfectly.
The sight of her lips moving—stating facts and serving it to the judge with emotional words about justice for the wronged that the second-generation lawyer barely cared for—catapulted him right to the night before, his body reclining in the back seat of his car while legs parted just enough to cage her kneeling figure.
She had been rather wonderful, despite being much of a novice—kissing and licking his tip and swallowing much of his length while her hands stimulated the remaining, hollowing her cheeks and sucking him off after the initial gagging that had him chuckling and petting her hair.
“Who else have you sucked, baby? How many else have you opened your mouth for?”
His fingers twitched against his thigh, remembering the feel of her luscious locks in around his skin—the same one that were twisted into a tight knot that looked far too stiff to be comfortable, baring a sliver of the nape of her neck before the dark collar hid away her skin. The memory of the small whine muffled by his cock in her mouth still vibrated through his body, the blood rushing south in a moment when it should be racing towards his brain.
Damn, Ms. Prim and Proper, he thought to himself as he stood up, fingers pressed to the wooden table as he objected to her interrogation of the witness—not because she was misleading or anything. But because he wanted those eyes on him, just like they had been the night before—doe eyes peering up at him through the shelter of her lashes while he fed her more and more of his length.
“Objection overruled,” the judge grumbled, unbeknownst of the palpable tension between the two lawyers, or simply, he had no interest in anything other than the lunch break that was close enough for the man in his fifties to taste the Aloo Paratha on the tip of his tongue.
The nod that the prosecutor gave was nearly dazed, eyes still firm upon Siddharth—who, with a feline grace, settled back into the chair with a smirk—before she peeled her gaze away, trying to focus on the witness sitting in the stand. But her mind? Still attached to the image of his long fingers splayed on the table, veins bulging under tanned skin while the dark inked tattoo peeked from underneath his sleeve.
The same fingers that had been inside her, thrusting into her tight core, tips brushing against that one spot she had believed to be nonexistent while his thumb had rubbed her small bundle of nerves. His pace had driven her to the verge of madness, crazed tears rolling down her cheeks while her fingers had curled into the collar of his shirt—incoherent pleads escaping her lips: “please…ah—p-p-please, I want to…”
“Please what?” The devil had crooned with an evil smile.
“I-I-I want to co—”
“No more questions, your honour,” she whispered, stiff limbs dragging over to her chair, sitting down with her eyes trained upon her own interlaced fingers.
She had more questions—they both knew that. But neither had the energy to go through what they had prepared for beforehand, mind drifting away from the session in hand to the memories neither of them should be paying attention to, especially now when a matter of justice and innocent lives dangle in their hands.
“Cross examination?”
The judge turned his critical eye towards Siddharth, who let out a controlled breath and stood up, fingers interlaced together in front of him. Dark gaze mapped the witness sitting in the stand to the stiff woman that had occupied his every single waking thought since the second she walked into the gala wearing that silk dress that seemed like champagne sparkling under the dim lights of the banquet hall.
“Your honour, mujhe thode time ki zarurat hai—to go through everything that was said today,” (your honour, I would require some time—to go through everything that was said today) he announced, shocking almost everyone in attendance—because Siddharth Jaisingh never delayed his cases like this.
The next minutes were a blur—the judge announcing a date before adjourning the session, everyone rising as the judge retreated to his chamber, the crowd slowly filling out of the courtroom to get on with their respective businesses.
All while the prosecutor worked mechanically.
“Tu chal files leke, I will join you in a moment,” (you go with the files, I will join you in a moment) she whispered to her junior, patting encouragingly on his shoulder before she all but jogged to the washroom in the opposite wing of the court—an isolated location given most people crowded the cafeteria for a quick lunch. Just perfect for her to gather bits and pieces of her composure and get through the day.
The water that touched her face wasn’t cold, something she would have appreciated at the moment, but the lukewarm water was only a reminder of how little she actually expected anything good in her life—for the particular day, at the very least.
Knuckles turned white as the grip on the edge of the sink tightened, eyes forced close—but even that offers her no respite from the plaguing thoughts, or rather, the intrusive images and the ghost of whispers that had her insides twist.
His fingers had pressed against her lower belly, his length splitting her open while she convulsed on top of him, head rolling back until the back grazed the leather covers of the passenger seat, nails digging into his shoulder to anchor herself to the reality. All while he had increased his pace, thrusting deeper into her while his free hand had moved north to play with her pebbled nipples through the confines of her dress.
“You want to be filled up, don’t you? My good little slut, wanting me to fill you up to the brim until you leak of me—even in the courtroom tomorrow, huh? My dirty whore.”
“Y-yes,” she had hiccuped through tears, completely unaware of everything but the intoxicating pleasure rushing through her body.
“You are so good to me, baby, so fucking nice that I might just keep yo—”
“Thinking about me, baby girl?”
Large hands snaked around her waist, turning her around until the curve of her ass was pressed against the counter behind, lips pulled in a cruel smirk brushing hers even before she could distinguish between memory and reality, teeth nipping at her lower lip teasingly while the familiar scent of his spiced aftershave dazed her senses—pulling her back into that dark space of complete submission.
“Bold of you to assume I think of you,” she hissed back, her hands pressed against his chest to push him back—but her strength waned in front of him, broad shoulders clouding the world and caging her right there, surrounded by him and him alone. The tremble in her words had been little, barely noticeable, but both of them were lawyers—good ones at that—and far too observant for their own good.
One of his hand shifted, slipping underneath the safe cover of her black coat to trace her side, lingering fingertips sending a shudder down her spine and pulling a gasp free—one of the many sounds he had enjoyed tugging from her parted lips until she had sang freely for him.
His lips hovered close to hers, darkened eyes glinting with a cruel glint while raw desire danced in the depths like a hungry predator latching on to a prey, one of his favourite one.
“And yet, you kept staring at me like you still felt me between those delicious thighs of yours,” he hummed with a grin—one that spoke volumes about his intentions—before he moved her again, not giving her a chance to sass him back. Her back was turned to him quickly, pushing her over until she was bent over the counter with the curve of her ass budging against his tightening trousers, a hand slipping into her hair to loosen the bun, tugging her back until her eyes were focused on the reflection of them in the mirror.
His chest pressed against her back, other hand gripping her waist while his hips buck against her—grinding his straining length against her ass while growling low into her ears.
“I bet you are wet for me right now,” he began, teeth grazing the sensitive skin of her ear before he nipped at her earlobe, tongue flicking over the small earring—silver wire forming a little butterfly—teasingly. “Should I check, little one? Shove my hands down your little panties and see whether your cunt weeps for me or not?” He continued, letting go of her ear to press an open-mouth kiss on the bared skin of the nape of her neck.
Her eyes fluttered close, resistance leaving as her body became putty in his hands—ready to do whatever he wanted her to do. Her hips dug into the edge of the counter, eliciting a little whine while her mind registered his heavy cock brushing against her ass—separated by the maddening restraints of their clothes. Without a spare thought, her heel-clad legs parted a little, as if begging for something—and he knew exactly what.
“You want to be fucked here? In the women’s washroom of a high court? Where anyone can catch us?” He voiced, a depreciating chuckle punctuating his questions while his nose rubbed against the skin behind her ear, fingers playing with the hem of her coat as if contemplating the risk of actually doing it.
He tsked—just like he had a night before.
“You are a dirty, dirty slut—but you know that already.”
His fingers wrapped around her arms, straightening her over and turning her around again until her dazed eyes meet his lustful ones, one hand shifting to cup her jaw, thumb grazing the curve of her lower lip before he leaned down to press a brushing kiss—a brand that burned into her skin.
“Aaj raat, mere ghar. Saree pehn kar aana,” (tonight, my house. Come wearing a saree) he whispered, thumb stilling against her skin as he leaned down to press another feather-light kiss on the skin behind her ear—whispering his final words before departing the washroom like he had never stood there.
┈୨୧┈ Give them reasons they CAN'T be together that aren't just manufactured drama. Not miscommunication. Not love triangles. Not arbitrary "I push people away" trauma with no real exploration. Give them REAL obstacles: they're on opposite sides of a conflict, timing is wrong, there are actual consequences to being together, they have incompatible life goals, there's a power imbalance they need to resolve first. The obstacles should be meaningful and require actual character growth to overcome, not just a conversation.
┈୨୧┈ Make the friendship foundation SO STRONG that readers ship them before the romance even starts. They should genuinely LIKE each other. They should have inside jokes. They should seek each other out just to hang out. They should trust each other. They should have fun together. When the romantic feelings start developing, it should feel like "oh no, I don't want to ruin this friendship" because the friendship is genuinely valuable. Readers should be able to believe they'd still choose to be in each other's lives even if romance never happened.
┈୨୧┈ Let the tension BUILD in layers over time. First they notice each other. Then they start seeking excuses to be near each other. Then they start getting jealous. Then they start having Moments. Then they start thinking about each other constantly. Then comes the almost-kisses. Then the accidental intimacy. Then the barely-hidden feelings. Each phase should have time to breathe before moving to the next level. Slow burn means SLOW - readers should be desperate for them to get together LONG before they actually do.
┈୨୧┈ Show how they change each other gradually. He starts smiling more because of her. She becomes braver because he believes in her. They adopt each other's habits and phrases. They start to see the world differently because of the other person's influence. Slow burn is about showing two people gradually becoming essential to each other's lives. They should be woven into each other's character development, not separate from it.
┈୨୧┈ Make the payoff WORTH the wait. After chapters or books of tension, the moment they finally get together should be EARNED and SATISFYING. A CONVERSATION where they're finally honest. A moment where they choose each other despite the obstacles. A confession that feels like a dam breaking. The first kiss should feel like the conclusion of a long journey and the beginning of something new. Readers have been waiting for this, so make it count. Make it feel like YES, THIS WAS WORTH IT.
WARNING - This might be very very shitty because it's my first try writing headcanons + I don't write angst generally. Read at your own risk.
Young Jaskirat who always looked up to his papa for validation. His papa wasn't a man of many words, but he had a specific way of putting a heavy, warm hand on Jaskirat’s shoulder after any achievment. Jaskirat lived for that quiet gesture.
Young Jaskirat who sometimes helped his papa in making tea because his mother was angry and now Papa singh Rangi wants to cajole Mumma Singh Rangi.
Young Jaskirat who secretly promised himself to be the anchor and shield of his parents when they will be old.
Young Jaskirat who secretly adored the old vintage watch that his father gifted him when he was selected for army training, even though he grumbled childishly in front of his mother that papa gifted him an old watch.
Young Jaskirat who laughed out loud with his siblings everytime his papa tried to steal a piece of rasgulla only to get smacked on hand my his mother's spatula.
Young Jaskirat who loved his hair getting caressed by his mother while keeping his head on her lap. Perks of being the iklauta raja beta.
Young Jaskirat who always prepared surprises for his mother's birthday. From the moment he started understanding the meaning of birthday, his mother's almirah was never empty after midnight on her birthday.
Young Jaskirat who always hid his face behind his mother's dupatta whenever he faced any difficulty. Even for few minutes. He did.
Young Jaskirat who always saw Harleen as his second mother and always ate from her hands every single day. Only exceptions were the days when Harleen used to be sick, on those days, he used to feed her from his hands.
Young Jaskirat who always strolled around Harleen holding her dupatta in his hands pleading her to do his school homeworks because he found it *useless*.
Young Jaskirat who hated anyone giving him fashion advice or touching his hair, always used to stand in front of Harleen happily for his hairstyles and OOTD because according to him only Harleen was a genuine fashionista in the whole pind.
Young Jaskirat who always used to get angry or sometimes cry whenever his papa or mummy brought up the topic of Harleen's marriage because according to him no man was good enough for her but secretly he was terrified of living alone without her.
Young Jaskirat who always saw Jasleen as some kaanch ki gudiya because she was almost his first daughter considering how much he cared about her since he saw her as a newborn.
Young Jaskirat who always choke-slammed Jasleen whenever he got chance, despite seeing her as a fragile peace because according to him he was just making her strong for future.
Young Jaskirat who hated studies, always pushed Jasleen to study well and fought with anyone who said that girls should learn household works instead of studying.
Young Jaskirat who always grumbled about Jasleen's mission of completely draining his pocket money on Rakhi, but ended up giving her his share of sweets too because she loved it.
Hamza who now carries the phantom weight of the hand of his papa whenever he achieve something in his mission, be it transmitting any information or killing any terrorist or helping someone needy.
Hamza who remembers the memories of his papa making tea now whenever he sits with Aalam to have a cup of his *noon chai* though he never finished the cup ever before Aalam's death.
Hamza who always gets reminded of how he couldn't be on time when his family was getting tormented despite promising himself to be their shield.
Hamza who keeps that old vintage watch in his almirah safely and plans it to gift it to Zayan as the blessings of his grandfather who was never aware of them.
Hamza who couldn't eat any sweet now because his father loved sweets. Eating sweets now always makes his nauseous because of trauma.
Hamza who now can't get any head caresses from his mother despite growing out the hair so long. Though his mother would have scolded him for keeping his hair this long. He misses the scolding. Imaginary scolding.
Hamza who always goes to masjid on his mother's birthday now. He badly wishes to atleast visit a gurudwara and pray for his mother's well being and happiness, but... Life is cruel sometimes.
Hamza who just keeps his face hidden in pillows expecting some warmth in difficult situations. Even for few minutes. He does.
Hamza who now eats anything without tantrum because nobody will tolerate his antics other than his didi.
Hamza who now did every *useless* works without complaining anything because the one who used to listen to his complaints is not with him anymore.
Hamza who now wears only black because that was the only color which doesn't need styling and looked good on him always, as his didi told him.
Hamza who now just cries at the thought of his didi being away from him. He feels only guilt and remorse for not being able to come in time when his didi needed him.
Hamza wanted his firstborn to be a girl so that he could atleast see a glimpse of his Jasleen in the baby.
Hamza who now regrets not making Jasleen actually able to fight in those future moments. If only he could spend more time with her...
Hamza who constantly keeps worrying whether Jasleen completed her studies or not? Or she also indulged in household chores after his departure?
Hamza who now craves for Jasleen's mission of draining his pocket. What is the use of being Sher-e-Baloch when his sister is staying there without gifts in Rakhi?
one of the reasons i love ranveer as hamza is because he’s such a fun person so seeing him dance and be silly is basically seeing hamza dance and be silly. i lvoe seeing hamza as silly. uh. ANYWAYS PROPS TO RANVEER SINGH
Author's note: This is an AUTOMATED POST. By popular request, here's a Rehman × Reader Suhagrat one-shot. Enjoy, and don't forget to check the content warnings first. Based on the request by @maroonphase - girl i tried writing dom!reader and sub!rehman. (this is my weak pursuit - I like my men dominant but i wanted to try this - so here it goes)
Idk if this does justice to your ideas - I tried to incorporate as much as I could but here are few things:
- I wrote a loving sex scene instead of wild thinking this is their first time and also wedding night so thought let's go easy.
- We all know rehman can never be sub (well for long but I tried to make him obey his wife's order for as long as possible before his inner persona takes over).
HOPE YOU LIKE IT!!
Pairing: Rehman Dakait × Newly! Married Reader
Content Warnings: Adult Romance • Sexual Themes • Alcohol Use • Marital Intimacy • Power Dynamics • Possessive Behavior • High Sexual Tension • Rough Sex • Liquid Play
Synopsis: Your wedding night is ruined when your new husband, Rehman, arrives drunk after the celebrations. Furious, you decides to make him pay—not with anger, but with temptation. What begins as a battle of wills soon transforms into a night of intense chemistry, playful revenge, and undeniable attraction as two newlyweds discover just how dangerous desire can be.
Word Count ~ 4500
(This is how i imagine drunk Rehman going to his bedroom where his new wife is waiting)
RECOMMEND LISTNEING TO THIS SEXY SONG WHILE READING TO THIS
The shabnam—the evening dew—had seeped into the crimson silk of your bridal blouse, the damp fabric clinging to your skin as you worked frantically to unclasp the heavy jewellery from your body. Bangles clinked against each other as you slid them off your wrists, the gold necklaces pooled on the vanity, earrings tugged at your lobes until they were free. Your eyes burned—not with tears, but with white-hot fury. He had done it. Rehman, your lover turned brand-new husband, had actually gotten drunk on your wedding night. The audacity. The sheer audacity.
You huffed, yanking the last of the bridal finery away, letting your breath hiss through clenched teeth. The heavy lehenga lay discarded in a heap of crimson and gold embroidery, as you changed in just a white blouse that hugged your curves and a soft, lighter lehenga—the pallu draped loosely, barely covering the swell of your breasts. The room around you was a haven of romance wasted: candles flickered on every surface, rose petals scattered across the bed and floor like a blood-red carpet, jasmine flowers strung along the window frame, their scent thick and intoxicating. The balcony door was wide open, a gentle night breeze stirring the petals, carrying the fragrance into the warm amber glow of a dozen diyas arranged on the sill. The brass paan daan on the bedside tabla sat untouched, a silent witness to the night's ruin.
From the corridor, you could hear Rehman's off-key voice echoing through the haveli.
"Mehndi laga ke rakhna, doli saja ke rakhna..."
A loud thump followed, as if he'd stumbled into a wall.
His voice cracked spectacularly on the last note before he dissolved into helpless giggles at his own singing.
Rehman pushed the bedroom door open with unnecessary confidence. He was smiling—no, giggling—a drunk, lopsided grin plastered across his face. He stumbled in, his wedding sherwani already half-undone, the silk hanging open to reveal the sweat-sheened skin of his chest. His eyes raked over the room in a slow, appreciative sweep, then found you.
And stopped.
His gaze sharpened. The drunken haze in his pupils turned into something else—a raw, primal hunger that made his usual reserve evaporate. He had transformed. The playful boy was gone; in his place stood a man whose eyes traced every curve of your body with an insolent, possessive heat.
"Meri Begum" he roared, excited, and lunged forward before you could react.
His arms wrapped around you from behind, pulling you into a clumsy embrace, the stench of whiskey thick on his breath, his body warm and unsteady against yours.
You shoved him hard with your elbow, causing him to stumble back. Well, it wasn't that you shove him that hard - your shauhar was clearly so drunk he couldn't even balance his weight own properly. Rehman nearly tripping over the edge of the bed, his grin faltering for a moment as he caught himself on the bedpost.
"Haath mat lagao!" you snapped, turning to face him fully, your voice sharp as a blade.
He straightened, his eyes still roaming over you—over the thin white blouse, the soft curve of your waist, the way the pallu had slipped to reveal the shadow of your cleavage.
"Arey, hamari suhagrat hai, begum," he said, his voice a slurred, teasing drawl.
"Nahi, nahi—suhagrat kaha hai?" you shot back, your hands on your hips. "Tum toh piyo jaake sarabiyo ki taraf. Mera kya kaam?"
"Arey begum, vo toh un logo ne pilla di shaadi ki khushi me. Aisa kuch nahi hai," he tried to explain, stepping closer, clearly swaying.
You slapped his hand away. "Nahi… aap hume nahi chuh sakte hai."
His eyes darkened. The playful drunk was gone, replaced by something coiled and hungry. He stepped closer, crowding you, his body heat radiating against your skin. "Aise kaise… humara haq hai." His hand slid slowly, deliberately, across your waist, his fingers digging into the soft fabric, pulling you just a fraction closer.
"Haath nahi," you said again, your voice low, a command.
He stopped. Obeyed. Tilting his head, he took a step back, but his eyes never left your body—a slow, burning inventory from your face down to your breasts, to your hips, to the bare toes peeking from beneath your lehenga.
"Par suhagrat toh hum banaegi hi," he murmured, a promise wrapped in a threat.
Your eyes lock on Rehman as he sways closer, his gaze heavy and glazed with drink, pupils blown wide with raw hunger that makes your pulse jump even while fury burns in her chest. Sweat glistens along the open V of his sherwani, dark curls of chest hair spilling out thick and coarse, the sight sending an unwanted throb between your thighs. His veiny hands flex at his sides, the silver kada catching the candlelight, fingers twitching like they already know the shape of your body. Every slow, predatory step makes those lust-drunk eyes drag over your body, stripping you bare without a single word, and the heat that coils low in your belly clashes hard against the anger still flaring hot behind your ribs.
Before you could respond, he pressed you against the bedpost, the carved wood cool against your back through the thin blouse. He dipped his head, nose dragging up the side of your throat, breathing you in like he wanted to devour every inch. The sharp bite of whiskey mixed with the thick, masculine musk of his skin. His lips parted against your pulse. Then his teeth caught the edge of your pallu. He tugged. Slow. Deliberate. The silk rasped over your shoulder, the fabric stretching, then ripping with a soft, final tear. The torn pallu slid down your arm, exposing the swell of your breast barely contained by the low-cut blouse.
You gasped. "Rehman…"
He ignored the scold, his hands clasping behind his back like a disciplined soldier even as his lips found your neck—hot, open-mouthed kisses that trailed down the curve of your shoulder, tasting the salt of your skin. His tongue traced the line of your collarbone, and you felt a shiver race down your spine, your anger melting into something warm and treacherous.
You were melting, of course. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing.
But you weren't done with him yet.
With a surge of strength, you pushed him back—hard—and he fell onto the bed, his legs tangling in the rose petals, his eyes wide with surprise. The tables had turned. An idea sparked in your mind like one of the diyas flickering on the sill.
"Aap hume puri raat haath nahi laga skte. Varna hum abhi yaha se chale jaege"
You moved to the center of the room, with a mischievous look on your face as you pressed the button. The song began. The old ghettoblaster in the corner crackled to life, the seductive beats filling the room. The candle flames swayed as if dancing to the melody.
Ang laga de re..
Mohe rang laga de re..
With unhurried movements, you loosened the first few hooks of your blouse and turned to face him. Your hair fell over one shoulder, leaving the graceful expanse of your back bare. Rehman's gaze lingered on your heaving breasts before traveling back to your face. He wasn't even being subtle about it.
Main to teri joganiya
Tu jog laga de re
You began to move to the rhythm—slow, undulating. You didn't look at him. Instead, you began to sway your hips slowly, deliberately, your hands tracing the curves of your own body. The lehenga rustled, the dupatta trailing behind you like a river of silk. You circled the room, staying just out of his reach.
Jog laga de re
Prem ka rog laga de re
Rehman's breathing grew heavier. His hands gripped the bedsheet, knuckles white. You could see the strain in his salwar—a growing bulge that pressed against the cloth. He was hard already, just from watching you.
You stopped in front of him, your knees almost brushing his. The song swelled—"Main to teri joganiya, Tu jog laga de re"
Slowly, you leaned down, your face level with his chest. The two open buttons exposed his sternum, the hollow of his throat. You could smell the whiskey on his breath, mixed with his natural musk. Without breaking eye contact, you dragged your tongue from the base of his throat down to the middle of his chest, tasting salt and a hint of smoke.
He gasped, his head falling back. His hand came up instinctively, palm landing on your head, fingers threading through your hair. He petted you, slow and tender, a smile spreading across his face. He looked blissful, completely surrendered.
You pulled back immediately.
"Hands," you said firmly.
He froze. The smile vanished, replaced by a desperate, pleading look. "Bas ek baar..."
"No touching, remember?" You straightened up, your breasts brushing against his cheek. "You'll watch. That's all."
He swallowed hard, but he didn't argue. He let his hand fall back to his side.
Kaale khanjar si hai
Tere seene ki lau
He nods, eyes wide, his chest heaving. You climb onto the bed, straddling his waist, the rough silk of his sherwani scratching your thighs. You can feel the heat of his body through the fabric, smell the whiskey and sandalwood mixing with the jasmine from the window. His hands twitch at his sides, but he obeys—doesn't touch you.
Mere andar bhi hai
You lean down, your mouth hovering over his ear.
"Aapne aaj meri shaadi ki raat kharab kar di. Ab aap iski saza bhugtenge."
His breath hitches. "Koi saza bhi de do, begum. Bas… haath mat rokna."
Tu hawaa de ise
To meraa tan jale
You smirk, your fingers trailing down his chest, unbuttoning the remaining buttons of his sherwani. You push the heavy fabric aside, revealing his bare torso—the dark hair on his chest, the thin line of sweat glistening in the candlelight. You lean in and drag your tongue across his collarbone, tasting salt and whiskey. He groans, his hips bucking up involuntarily.
"Chup rahie," you hiss, pressing a hand flat on his stomach.
He freezes, but his cock is painfully hard now, pressing against your cunt through the thin fabric of your lehenga. You can feel the throb of it, the damp heat pooling between your own thighs. You roll your hips slowly, grinding against him, watching his face contort with need.
"Begum… please…"
You ignore him.
Jalaa de re sang jalaa de re
Mohe ang laga de re
His mouth opens, but no words come. You lean forward, letting your breasts brush his chest, your nipples grazing the coarse hair. You stay there, just that contact, and then you slide lower, your mouth tracing a path down his stomach, your tongue dipping into his navel, then lower still.
You pull off with a wet pop. "Tumhe yeh chahiye?"
"Haan… haan, begum… bas…"
You reached down and placed one hand on his thigh, just above his knee. Slowly, you ran it upward, over his salwar, until your fingers brushed over the hard, prominent bulge. He whimpered. His hips bucked slightly, seeking more pressure.
Main to teri joganiya
Tu jog laga de re..
You didn't touch it. Instead, you moved your hands on his thighs, just above his knees, and began to grind your body against his leg—slow, teasing, your hips rolling to the beat. You pressed your lehenga-clad ass against his shin, then against his thigh, using him like a pole, a prop for your dance.
You didn't answer him. You kept moving, your hands sliding up and down his thighs, stopping just short of his crotch - teasing him. Then you leaned forward, your face inches from the bulge, and blew a warm breath over the damp fabric.
Raas hai raat mein..
Teri har baat mein..
He groaned, his head falling back. His neck was exposed, the Adam's apple bobbing. You shifted your position in his lap again. Rubbing yourself against sweat-slicked chest, you dragged your nipples across his skin through the silk blouse, leaving a trail of dampness.
Bolo main kya karoon
Aise haalaat mein
He bucked again, his hardness pressing against your hip. You ground back. But only for a moment. Then you pulled away and turned, using his bound body as a pole. You swayed your hips, grinding your ass against his trapped, aching cock. The friction through the layers of cloth—his salwar, your lehenga—was cruel and exquisite. He moaned, a broken sound.
"Please..." he roared.
Hoon main teri malang
Tu hi mera nasha
You didn't stop the dance. The song was your soundtrack, his submission your stage. The breeze billowed the curtains, blew out one of the candles, leaving you both in deeper shadows. The fragrance of jasmine and sweat filled the air.
Your hand reached back, over your shoulder, and found his hair. You tugged gently. He leaned forward, his lips brushing your neck. You allowed it, but only that.
Chadha de re bhang chadha de re
Prem ki bhang chadha de re
"Tadap rahe ho, Rehman?"
He nodded, his eyes glistening. "Tum... tum chahiyo... bas tum... maaf krdo.. mujhe chune do jaan... aur bardash nahi hota.. he pleaded.
You were absolutely enjoying this—dangling temptation just out of reach and watching Rehman struggle to keep his composure.
You reached for the glass of whiskey on the bedside table—the one he had abandoned, still half-full. You took a mouthful, the liquid burning on your tongue, and stepped back, letting your eyes lock with his. Slowly, deliberately, you opened your lips and let the whiskey spill out, cascading down your chin and onto your white blouse. The amber liquid soaked into the cotton, turning it translucent, clinging to every curve, every hollow. His eyes followed the trail as you tipped the rest of the glass over your cleavage, the whiskey pooling in the valley between your breasts, dripping down your stomach.
Main to teri joganiya
Tu jog laga de re
Every curve, every dip of your body became starkly visible under the dim diya light—your dark nipples, hard and erect against the wet fabric, the shadowy cleft between your breasts where the whiskey trailed down in slow, sticky rivulets. The sweet, sharp smell of alcohol and jasmine filled the space between you.
He stared up at you from the bed, his drunk grin fading, replaced by something rawer—a hungry, desperate want. His cock strained against the loose folds of his shalwar, a visible, rigid outline that he made no effort to hide.
Jog laga de re...
Prem ka rog laga de re
Rehman’s hand trembled mid-air, fingers splayed, reaching for you but hesitating, his face a war of desperation and awe. His shalwar was tented, the outline of his cock straining against the loose cloth, a dark stain of precum already spreading at the tip. His drunkenness had sharpened into a hunger that burned behind his hazy eyes.
"Begum…" His voice broke into a roar, the word a plea. "Please… humein choone de. Bas ek baar."
"Nahi," you said, but your voice had lost its edge—it came out low, breathy, almost a caress.
"Tum… tum kya kar rahi ho, begum?" His voice cracked. The arrogance was gone, replaced by a trembling anticipation, his hands fisting the bedsheet as if to anchor himself.
You didn't answer. You just stood there, letting him watch the way the whiskey-soaked fabric clung to your breasts, the way your nipples peaked through the wet cotton, the way your chest rose and fell with each breath. You could see his throat bob as he swallowed hard.
Main to teri joganiya
Tu jog laga de re
"Humein dekhne de…" he whispered, his hand reaching out, trembling, fingers opening and closing in the air as if he could already feel you. "Please, begum…"
You stepped furher, one slow, deliberate step at a time, until you were standing at the edge of the balcony, looking down at him—your husband, drunk and desperate, his cock hard and aching, his eyes locked on the wet stain spreading across your blouse. The candlelight flickered, casting dancing shadows across his face.
He swallowed, his throat bobbing. His hand dropped to his crotch, fingers gripping his own hardness so tightly his knuckles went white. His chest rose and fell in uneven heaves, the dark hair on his chest covered with sheen of sweat.
Rehman's hands left his straining bulge and reached for you. You had tested him, pushed him past the edge of restraint, and now the line was crossed.
Ang laga de re
Mohe rang laga de re
In one sudden motion he surged to his feet, seized your body, and drove you backward onto the balcony. Your blouse tore open under his fingers, buttons scattering across the floor like lost pearls. He arched you against the wide marble railing, one hand tugging at your jaw—firm enough to command your gaze, not enough to bruise, but enough to make you stay in this moment, in his emotion. His eyes bore into you, dark and drunk.
“Bhot ho gaya begum… bahot tadapa liya.”
His gaze dropped to your bare breasts, whiskey droplets gleaming under moonlight, nipples tight and dark from the night air. Rehman arched you harder against the stone, then lowered his head. His tongue dragged slowly along the cool, glistening trail on your skin, savoring every drop before his mouth closed over one nipple. He sucked firmly, teeth grazing the sensitive peak until a sharp gasp tore from your throat.
“Rehman… koi dekh lega.”
“Dekhne do toh,” he smiled against your breast, his breath hot and wet.
His palm slid lower, pressing hard between your thighs through the thin white lehenga, fingers curling possessively as he ground against you. The night air kissed your exposed skin while his tongue continued its slow, wet exploration of your chest, tasting whiskey and salt and the heat rising from your body.
Rehman’s arms slid beneath you without warning. He lifted your body clean off the railing, carrying you through the open doors and into the bedroom. The mattress dipped as he lowered you onto the crisp white sheets. Moonlight poured across the bed while candle flames flickered against the walls.
His fingers found the drawstring of your lehenga. He tugged it loose with deliberate slowness, letting the fabric slide down your hips and pool at the foot of the bed. Another rough pull stripped away the last scrap of lacy black panties until you lay bare beneath him, skin glowing in the dim light.
Rehman reached for the glass on the railing. He dipped two fingers deep into the cool whiskey, then brought them between your thighs. The first touch made you gasp—the chill against your heat sent a sharp jolt through your core. He pushed inside, one finger at a time, stretching you with unhurried pressure. Your walls clenched around the intrusion, the burn of alcohol mixing with the slick warmth already gathering there. A third finger joined the others, working deeper, scissoring gently as he prepared you.
While his hand moved inside you, his mouth stayed latched to your nipple. He sucked hard, teeth grazing the stiff peak, tongue flicking in rhythm with each slow thrust of his fingers. Your hips rolled up to meet him, chasing the friction.
Rehman pulled his hand free and reached for the bottle. He tilted it over your chest, letting a thin stream of whiskey spill across your breasts. The liquid ran between them, over your stomach, and pooled in your navel. He set the bottle aside and lowered his head again, licking every drop from your skin in long, unhurried strokes. His tongue traced the path down your torso until he reached the soft curve of your belly.
He gripped your thighs and spread them wide, folding your legs back until your knees nearly touched your shoulders. The new angle left you completely open. Rehman took the bottle once more and poured a slow stream directly onto your exposed cunt. The whiskey cascaded over your folds, dripping down to the sheets beneath you. He watched the glistening trail for a moment, then lowered his mouth.
His tongue dragged through your soaked pussy in one long, deliberate lick. He tasted the sharp whiskey mixed with your own arousal, sucking your swollen clit between his lips before plunging his tongue inside. Each movement was measured, thorough. He licked and sucked until your thighs trembled against his shoulders and soft, broken sounds escaped your throat.
Only when your hips began to buck uncontrollably did he rise. Rehman stripped off his remaining clothes, his thick cock springing free, heavy and flushed in the moonlight. He knelt between your spread thighs, the blunt head of his shaft nudging against your slick entrance.
“Aaj aapne humen bahot satay hai begum jaan… saja toh milni chahiye,” he murmured, voice low and rough. He held there, pressing just enough to part your folds without entering, letting the anticipation stretch between you.
The whiskey hung heavy on his breath, a warm cloud that mingled with your own gasps as he loomed over you. His hands—calloused, trembling slightly from the drink—gripped your hips, not with the frantic urgency of a man possessed, but with the deliberate, almost reverent weight of someone savoring every inch of skin beneath his palms.
He didn't push inside you all at once. Instead, he pressed the head of his cock against your entrance, letting it rest there, teasing the wet heat of you. His forehead dropped to yours, eyes half-lidded, dark and glazed with amber. A low, guttural sound rumbled from his chest, half- moan, half-whisper: "Begum…"
Then, slowly—so slowly you felt every ridge, every pulse of his shaft—he began to sink into you. Inch by inch. The stretch was deliberate, a sweet burn that made your thighs tremble. He paused when he was halfway in, letting you adjust, his thumb stroking the curve of your hip in a lazy, soothing circle. His breath hitched, ragged, as if he was holding himself back, drinking in the sensation of your walls clenching around him.
"Dekho mujhe," he murmured, his voice a slurred command softened by affection. His free hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting your face towards his. The dim lamplight caught the sheen of sweat on his brow, the slight tremor in his lips.
You obeyed. Your eyes met his—those whiskey-glazed eyes, dark and searching. He held your gaze as he pushed deeper, the final inch a slow, molten glide that made you gasp, a broken whimper escaping your throat. He filled you completely, and then he stopped. Just rested inside you, his cock buried to the hilt, his weight pressing you into the mattress.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. The only sounds were the rasp of his breath, the thud of your heartbeat, the distant hum of the night. He leaned down, pressing a soft, wet kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Meri begum jaan," he breathed against your skin.
Then he began to move.
But not with the brutal pace you'd expected. No—his thrusts were languid, deep, each one a slow, rolling wave that started at his hips and traveled through his entire body. He pulled out almost all the way, leaving only the head of his cock inside you, then pushed back in with a measured, deliberate rhythm. His hand slid from your jaw down your neck, over your collarbone, to cup your breast. His thumb brushed your nipple in a lazy circle, matching the pace of his hips.
Your back arched involuntarily, a soft moan spilling from your lips. He smiled against your throat—a drunken, boyish smile—and bit down gently on the curve where your neck met your shoulder. Not hard. Just enough to feel the edge of his teeth, the scrape of his stubble.
"Aur chaho," he whispered, his voice thick with want. "Aur…"
He picked up the pace infinitesimally—not faster, but deeper. Each thrust seemed to reach a new place inside you, a hidden spot that made your toes curl. His hand slid from your breast down to your hip, hooking under your knee and lifting your leg higher, opening you wider. The change in angle made him sink in even deeper, and you cried out, a long, trembling sound.
He didn't shush you. He just watched your face, his expression a mixture of raw hunger and tenderness. His other hand found yours, fingers lacing together on the pillow beside your head.
The rhythm shifted. It started in the way his breath changed—shorter, sharper, no longer a measured exhale but a ragged growl against your skin. His hips, which had been rolling in slow, deliberate waves, began to stutter. The languor melted into something rawer, something that had been simmering beneath the surface of his drunken tenderness.
He pulled out almost completely, then slammed back in.
Not fast at first. Just hard. A single, brutal thrust that knocked a choked cry from your throat. His hand tightened around yours, knuckles white. His forehead pressed against yours, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted. "Begum…" he rasped, the word half a plea, half a snarl.
Then he did it again. And again.
Each thrust grew faster, more desperate. The slow, reverent pace shattered into a primal, rhythmic pounding. He hooked both hands under your knees, pushing them up toward your chest, folding you open. The bed started creaking beneath you, the headboard knocking against the wall in a steady, frantic beat.
His composure was gone. The drunk, affectionate lover had given way to something more animal—a man driven by pure, unthinking need. His hips slapped against yours, wet and loud in the quiet room. Sweat dripped from his brow onto your chest. His grunts were low, guttural, mingling with your helpless moans.
He released your knees and grabbed your ankles instead, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave bruises. He folded your body into half, your legs whispering against your ears. He fucked you with a raw, relentless urgency, no longer holding back, no longer savoring. Just taking. Claiming. His breath came in harsh, erratic gasps against your ear. "Aur… aur…" he growled, the word breaking as he drove into you again.
Your body responded instinctively—head rolled back, nails raking down the bedsheets, your whimpered now turned into soft cries from the movement. The coil in your belly tightened into a blazing knot. Every nerve was on fire. The room spun, the world reduced to the feel of him inside you, the sound of skin slapping skin, the whiskey-tinged heat of his mouth on your neck.
He was close. You could feel it in the way his thrusts turned jagged, uneven, his muscles trembling. He lifted his head, dark eyes locking onto yours, pupils blown wide, a feral hunger in his gaze. "Saath mein," he snarled, the words barely human.
And then he drove into you one last time—deep, hard, savage—and held himself there, grinding his hips against yours as he spilled inside you in hot, pulsing waves. The sensation triggered your own release, a violent, shuddering climax that tore through you, your walls clenching around him, milking every drop. You cried out his name-
"Rehhhmaannnnn.......aaaahhhhh"
-a broken, guttural sound, as your body arched and trembled beneath him.
He collapsed on top of you, his weight a heavy, comforting press. His breath was ragged, his heart hammering against your ribs. For a long while, there was only the sound of harsh breathing, the slick warmth between your legs, the faint tremor of his body against yours.
Slowly, his grip on legs hips loosened. His hand slid up to cradle your face, thumb brushing away a stray tear you hadn't realized had fallen. He pressed his lips to your forehead, then your closed eyelids, then the corner of your mouth. His voice, when it came, was a hoarse, drunk whisper, thick with emotion.
"Begum jaan… tum meri ho."
He nestled his head against your chest, his arm draping across your waist, pulling you close. Outside, the night was still and silent. Inside, the scent of sweat and whiskey and sex clung to the air like a prayer for the newly wed.
Tags: Drinking, smut, nonconsensual drug use, slight dubcon, manipulation (obvsly I do not condone this behaviour irl)
a/n: after 100 yrs, i've fulfilled my promise...it’s pretty long. also, i have zero experience being in college or being a TA, so please go easy on me if the details aren’t accurate. professor akshaye is 100% inspired by baru. if dark fics aren't your cup of tea, i'm sowwy :(
You were supposed to be drinking cheap alcohol and partying it up with your friends in some flashy bar back home.
Not grading papers for sleep deprived freshmen.
Finals week was supposed to be free game for you, considering you’d already completed your half your masters' thesis and covered more than necessary shifts for your professor. You’d like to think that the entire class knew more about you than their designated professor at this point.
The pile of papers just sat there, almost menacingly, on your desk as you leaned back in your chair to rub your eyes.
40 more to go.
Groaning, you kept your eyes shut, giving them the much needed rest they deserved. Why couldn’t he grade some of his own papers? It was winter time and all you wanted was to go back home.
In all of this, the worst part was that you could’ve said no.
Yeah, you could’ve straight up declined and you didn’t think he would have have minded a single bit.
This was your fault.
And then, out of sheer curiosity, one may ask: ‘Why would you do that to yourself?’
And the answer they’d get is as follows:
The man was hot.
Like, full on, HOT.
With his salt and pepper hair, strong nose, and a cheeky smile, he had somehow managed to make you blush like a schoolgirl throughout the entirety of your first year at the university. Then, cue the near fainting spell you had when you got a mail announcing the professor you’d be doing your TA duties under.
Professor Khanna wasn't always out making witty remarks about people, you had realized once you started your journey as his teaching assistant. With staff and students, the man displayed his trademark charm to the boot. But, the minute he was alone, he shifted towards a more quiet persona.
Not that he would instantly adopt a somber and grim face akin to that of a serial killer’s. No, no, this man’s subtle shift lied in the softening of his crescent eyes, the relaxing of his brows, and the shedding of his patterned coats.
He liked to wear soft coloured sweaters highlighting his toned biceps whenever he lounged in his office, immersed in his academic books. He liked to drink fruit teas with an occasional herbal blend thrown in the mix. He liked poetry—his collection mostly consisting of old, soulful poems. You hadn’t quite figured out what type of food he liked, since he barely had lunch in his office.
You also knew that he'd probably have you kicked out if he ever found out about your borderline insane obsession. You were lucky he hadn't yet caught you openly staring at him all the time.
Therefore, it was quite impossible for you to deny him when he asked with that sweet baritone voice of his to help him out with the grading. You entirely blamed your primitive brain for focusing on the curve of his mouth and the breadth of his shoulders instead of actually thinking about the consequences of your agreement.
You sighed, slumping onto the desk on your elbows, with your hands covering your face.
‘This is hell.’
Completely immersed in your brooding, you didn’t notice the door opening behind you. Nor the soft clicks of the dress shoes nearing you.
“You doing okay there?”
You practically startled out of your skin due to the unexpected voice of your professor booming from behind. And in that moment, you straightened your back so quick that the chair teetered on the edge of wobbling.
Which then led to him holding the back of your chair to steady you from the sudden disbalance. Your breath caught for a second as your head slightly leaned back to catch a glimpse of his face upside down. Subsequently, you felt your face catching on fire as he slowly tilted your chair back to safety.
He chuckled softly, seeing your near scandalized expression.
“Tough bunch aren’t they? Maybe I should make my questions a little easier next time.”
You turned to look back at the amount of circling you had done with your red pen on the current answer document and huffed with a smile in response. The blush on your face still lingered as you put the paper in the second pile.
“Maybe you should be present in class more often then.”
You didn’t know where the sudden confidence came from, but Professor Khanna flicked the side of your head playfully and remarked, “Was that a dig at my inadequate performance? I’ll tell you those seminars don’t lecture themselves on their own.”
You brushed your hand where his touch still lingered, as your ears began to turn red.
“…And the librarian’s hobby is to kick you out for no reason.”
He raised a brow, amused at how forward you were being at calling him out today. He was just a simple man who needed his books at maybe past the library’s closing time.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have held you up just for grading…everyone has plans for their break after all.”
He patted your shoulder with a gentle hand as the apologetic words drifted from his mouth. Meanwhile, you were busy internally freaking out about his hand on your shoulder like a depraved woman, failing to utter a response in the moment.
Mistaking your silence for you being upset, he began to pick up the ungraded pile from your desk, making you jump back to reality to protest.
“Oh! No, no, I can finish them, sir—”
“It’s okay, I have the answers memorized anyway, so it’ll be faster.”
“But—"
“I insist, please.” He gave you one of his little smiles which never failed to pierce your heart with cupid’s arrow, almost like a comedic scene.
You nodded dumbly in response as he collected the stack of papers from your desk to neatly put them back in his file folder. As he worked, you couldn’t help but notice his sculpted biceps almost bulging out of the fabric and his shapely glutes of which you were sure that half the girls around here were jealous of. You were sure you were almost going to start drooling if you had been facing his back for a minute longer.
When Professor Khanna turned to leave, he waved goodbye with that sweet smile of his and you turned into a puddle while reciprocating it.
Worth it, bitch.
—————————————————————————
So not worth it.
Apparently, your car had decided to fry its engine today, in your campus parking lot of all places. Which was very, very bad, since you had to go to a nearby lodge tonight. Because your lease had ended yesterday. And you had a train to board this weekend.
"You're sooo funny..." You muttered like a madman, staring at the inside of the open hood of the car.
The chilly night breeze picked up its speed which made a shiver trickle down your back.
My fucking luck.
Then, as your luck would have it again, you felt a hand upon your shoulder out of nowhere, making you almost jump like a mangy cat up in the air.
"Woah!"
You turned around to the voice of none other than your professor whose hand was lifted up in the air, almost like a surrender, with eyes wide from your sudden jolt.
For a moment, none of you said anything, your shock still palpable in the air. Then, you felt a sudden tug at your heart, the same one every-time you saw him. He, on the other hand, shifted his head towards the visible machinery of your car.
“Sorry about startling you…” Gesturing behind you, he added, “Engine trouble?”
“Uh, yeah,” You murmured, almost embarrassed. “It’s gonna need a new one, I’m pretty sure.”
“That’s awful,” He made a sympathetic expression, where his brow furrowed cutely and chin tightened minutely. “I can drive you home, if you want. Getting a cab at this time wouldn’t be safe.”
To say you were caught off guard would be an understatement considering your brain took to long to process what he just said.
A drive in his car? You?
“Um, I can understand if you’d prefer a cab, but it’s pretty late at night. I can just drop you off without the hassle of waiting in the cold.”
He had begun speaking, again mistaking your silence for a no, which led you to break out of your brief stupor and stumble around your next words about how you totally appreciated his offer.
“The thing is…I’m can’t really go to my apartment anymore, so I was planning on a lodge nearby. If you could drop me there instead then…I’d be much obliged.” You muttered sheepishly with a hand rubbing the back of your neck.
To your surprise, he barely questioned you about your situation, and immediately assured that he had no problem with doing that either. This was one of the things you loved about him—he was never too nosy about the other person's business. Only exception being the spicy gossip in the teacher's lounge.
Initially, when you got into his car after keeping your luggage in the back, you were sure you would probably fumble your words due to being in such close proximity outside of your regular working space. But as soon as he turned on his radio, the stream of conversation had rapidly stirred from you barely being able to hold your laugh in at his choice in music.
Your playful remarks and his sarcastic responses erased any prospect of awkwardness. It didn't seem like he reduced you to just being his teaching assistant in his life, rather someone who could also talk to him outside of work without any professional courtesies. For that, you were quite grateful.
As you neared the hotel, you couldn't help but feel your heart sink a little. You liked spending time with him—your professor—your crush.
You fidgeted with your purse strap as you prepared to open the car door, "Um, thank you for the ride, Professor Kh—"
"Akshaye."
"Eh?"
"C'mon, we were chatting it up like old buddies until now, you can leave the 'Professor' stuff. Besides, we're not on campus anyway." He said, giving you a cheeky smile which highlighted his facial features in the best way possible.
You could only dumbly watch with a blush sitting on your cheeks as he smiled like a million dollars. Smiling shyly, you repeated your words again, your voice almost cracking,
"Thank you, Akshaye....sir."
The man blinked, as if caught off guard, then turned to face you with his eyes slightly widened and unreadable.
Your blush only deepened as you opened your mouth to defend yourself, "What? It feels weird to call you just by your first name...Don't look at me like that!"
"Like what?" He teased, his face retreating back into an unfazed expression again.
Averting your eyes, you turned to open the door instead. Your face had turned red enough for the night.
You could feel his eyes on you throughout, as you collected your luggage from the trunk and gathered your laptop bag from the backseat. You gave him one last wave before entering the lobby with your luggage in tow.
I wish we could have spent just a little more time together...
—————————————————————————
.....
You didn't know if you wanted to jump out of the nearest window or break out into an impromptu celebration.
Because here you were, sitting on your professor's couch, while he was busy adjusting your luggage in the guest room closet you'd seen moments ago.
Why?
Because, your fried car engine had caused you to be an hour later than the designated time to the lodge, and thus, the staff had given your room away to another party who was present earlier and willing to pay extra.
The wonders of capitalism.
Now, you were forced to take the only option left at late in the night—Professor Khanna’s house.
Your wish had come true in the most unconventional way possible.
As you placed your purse on the side table near the couch, your eyes wandered around, drinking in the sight of his abode.
Dim, soothing lights on the ceiling, decorative flora in white vases, wooden cabinets which accompanying marble-top counters in the kitchen, and a glass cabinet on the side of the television, which served as a memorabilia for his awards.
There was a rare sort of stillness and tranquility that enveloped the space.
“So,” you jerked, your thoughts interrupted by his sudden arrival from the hallway, “any dinner preferences? Also, how do you make carrying your 1-ton luggage look so easy?”
You chuckled slightly at his dramatics, “I eat anything, really, I'm not a picky eater. And, my strength comes from my pent up female rage, sir.”
He gave an amused huff, before strutting towards the kitchen, and slowly rolling up his sleeves up—
You gulped, ardently staring at his strong forearms now exposed with his shirt bunched up neatly at his elbow, as he opened a cabinet to get the needed utensils.
As he moved towards the fridge, you snapped out of your perverted stupor and suddenly reminded yourself that you should’ve offered to help with something—it was the least you could do after occupying a room.
“Do you want me to help with anything? I mean, I’d feel bad if I just sit there while you do all the work…”
“It’s alright,” he replied with a grateful look, “I’m used to working alone in the kitchen, so I have no problem.”
His words made you feel a little melancholic pang in your chest.
Alone.
You didn’t deny that he enjoyed his solitude, but always making your own meal all alone with no one to share it with, would have made you feel so utterly lonely. Maybe he didn’t have an issue with it, but you would’ve felt lonesome to the highest degree.
“If you’re sure…But I could really help if you needed,” you paused, “Besides, wouldn’t it be easier to converse if I was also nearby?”
He turned towards you, facing away from the onions on the chopping board and eyes shining with a sort of softness which made your heart almost skip a beat, and ushered you to come forward with a tilt of his head.
Like a naive puppy trying to please its master, you trotted towards the kitchen island, ready for any of his directions.
“Can you make a salad? Your choice, of course.”
Internally preening, you agreed as soon as the words left his mouth.
In the next hour, the house was filled with the scents of delicious Thai herbs and freshly cooked jasmine rice. He had made the most appetizing Thai green curry you had ever laid eyes on. A man who could cook like this could win any girl's heart.
You could barely stop your stomach from letting out quiet little grumbles as you went to lay down the plates on the table, alongside your bowl of fruit salad.
“Do you want to pair a wine along with dinner?”
You put down the plates in your hand, surprised by his sudden offer.
“Sure, but, I don't drink red wine...it's…too coarse for my taste.”
“Oh, so you prefer the sweet ones...that's no problem, I have rosé as well.”
Now that you could do with.
You watched as he went into the inner hallway, probably to get to the wine cellar. With him out of sight, you quickly hurried to the nearby bathroom to check if your makeup had still held up at this point of the day. You didn’t want any rough or lopsided edges to fall in his line of sight, especially under the dining table lights.
As you were running your fingers through your hair strands for an impromptu fix, your professor’s voice made your jerk up as you heard calls from the direction of the dining room.
Better head back now.
•••
You weren't sure when exactly you had started feeling a little too tipsy.
Surely, you didn't have more than a glass and a half? Or had your tolerance completely rolled down the hill? It wasn't enough to get your vision too blurry, but you were sure that you were about to start slurring out unnecessary things any second now.
Deciding not to risk it, you placed down your glass on the table beside your plate, as you were getting ready to get up from your seat.
Unbeknownst to you, your professor's gaze was upon you like a hawk watching its prey scurry underneath its talons.
“I...I think, I had too much to drink....I'll head back to—"
Your knees suddenly gave out before you could finish your sentence and your hand missed the edge of the table, but you were caught mid-fall by a pair of strong, protective arms steadying your torso.
"Easy, I've got you."
With your head resting on his broad, well-built chest—you could smell the smoky, wood-like scent emanating from him, which only made your head spin worse.
You didn't know whether it was the wine, but you felt like he had clutched you even closer as seconds went by. Tilting your head upwards, the sight of him made a jolt of adrenaline and desire shoot down the length of your spine.
His eyes were practically engulfed by the darkness of his blown out pupils and his breathing extremely still.
At that moment, you couldn't help your eyes from straying down to his lips—consequences be damned and all.
You didn't know which one of you moved first, but your mouths collided in a heat of unspoken, fiery passion—him being the more aggressive one.
Halfway into the make-out, you let out a needy whine which seemed to make him more animalistic, as he practically began eating the soul out of your body.
Gasping, you pushed on his shoulder twice, before he begrudgingly retreated from the heated kiss—his face set resolutely on completely dominating you from the inside out (not that you could tell in your current state of mind).
Which is how you ended up on his king-sized bed, clad in your bra, as he kissed your navel and teased the zipper of your jeans, slowly opening it. He unbuttoned your pants with the grace of a lethal predator who was about to enjoy his first good meal in days.
The fuzzy haze suddenly cleared out a little, as you slightly lurched forward to grab his hand in a hue of embarrassment.
"I...haven't s-shaved—!"
The suddenness of your statement made him pause and blink, before he looked at you with such an endearing look that eased you before he even spoke.
“Darling, don’t worry about such nonsensical things, especially with me.”
He went on to continue stripping you down while you watched with parted lips, still in disbelief at his statement.
You shivered as he pulled down your lace panties to expose your wet, glistening folds which were crowned with tufts of pubic curls on the top. Your ears were burning red like never before, as Akshaye sir now faced the most intimate part of your being.
Without any preamble, his long fingers caressed the opening once, before plunging into your core with a desperation that made your vision tilt and hot desire shoot through your veins like a forbidden drug.
“Shh…” He cooed as he patted your head with his other hand, “You’re taking them like a champ, baby.”
Akshaye continued fingering you until you were a writhing mess under him, begging for your release. As soon as you thought the coil of pleasure in your lower stomach was about to snap, he stopped and removed his fingers from your core, which were almost pruning from the slick pooling underneath you.
“Ahh, p-please—!”
“Patience my dear, you’re going to cum on my cock, or not at all.”
The look in his eyes as he said the words evoked a primal instinct in you which rang alarm bells at his dark tone, but your throbbing, heated cunt said otherwise.
He shifted you in his arms, making you latch onto him by gripping his large biceps. You watched as he pulled his hard cock out of his trousers, which was already stained on the top with pre-cum.
You couldn’t help but nervously swallow once at the sight of his length and thickness—which frankly looked like it was too much.
“Nervous? Don’t be, I’ve prepped you so thoroughly, darling…” He grunted as he rubbed the pre-cum lidded head on your folds, brushing your swollen clit, making you moan with your head down.
You gasped and clutched him even tighter as he eased his cock in your velvet heat, making you clamp around him as he clenched his jaw in response.
“That’s my girl…”
You barely had the time to process the praise through the white-hot pleasure running through your body, as he thrusted in with a force which nearly knocked your breath out.
You keened embarrassingly—like some cheap whore—and he began to roll his hips at a steady pace, groaning with his gravelly voice straight in your ear.
His continuous thrusts began to push you closer to the peak of your pleasure, the grip on his biceps now becoming near painful, leaving red moon-like indents. Your thighs began to quiver and your breaths became more ragged, and you finally leaned your forehead on his muscular neck.
You opened your eyes as you felt one of his hands enveloping your head, pressing you firmly against him, to keep you tucked in your position.
“Are—ngh!—you close, my darling?” He asked as he let out heavy breaths which you could feel on the top of your head.
“Aah! Mn—I-I’m—!”
Your walls gushed around his length as your voice broke off into a high pitched moan which probably even reached the neighbors. Your moans reduced to small whimpers as your professor still pounded you through your heavy orgasm.
He didn’t last long within you, especially after hearing your overstimulated voice whimper in his ear, and painted your walls white hot ropes of cum.
You both sank into the plush mattress of the bed in the aftermath of such an intense union, your face still buried close to his chest and breathing evening out.
He held you close, his hand clutching the back of your head with a dark and heavy possession—something which still remained unknown to you.
Messing with your car had been easy…and so was getting your hotel booking transferred under his name.
‘Finally…you’re mine now, darling.’
a/n:
Soooo that took me ages to write, and I sincerely apologize for that 🙏🙏
