A/N: My first time writing smut! Feel free to reblog, comment and give feedback. Also, the pictures used are from the Beardo Godfather commercial, not mine!
This is an AU where Uzair is the Sher-e-Baloch & continues being so, not Hamza.
This is not about the actual person, but the portrayal of the character by Danish Pandor in Aditya Dhar's Dhurandhar & Dhurandhar 2. The actual people can go rot.
Summary: The day Uzair Baloch was declared the Sher-e-Baloch, he chose to celebrate it in the way he knew was important & satisfactory.
Word count: 1.5k (i hope i did this fic justice!)
cw: MDNI. filthy smut ;)
Sher-e-Baloch.
An honorific awarded to those who were indomitable, worn with a sense of pride and responsibility. His dear brother held it previously and now, he did. He did not want this, not in this way, having lost his brother. But Hamza had drawn him out of his grief, momentarily at least, to pull himself together in front of the others and brought him back to reality by pushing him on to the throne. He was Rehman Dakait’s brother, he was Uzair Baloch and he would continue to serve Lyari and his Baloch community with the same authority and compassion his brother had.
But today, he was allowed to revel in this title. On this throne, which previously was owned by leaders paramount to the very functioning of Karachi. And what better way than to have you, his Sherni, spread across it like his next meal and him, on his knees, allowing him a full view of his paradise.
“Uzair, please.. Ab aur intezaar mat karwao” you cried for him to finally give in to his and your desires.
“Nahi, aaj sirf meri chalegi aur tumhe jannat tak pohochaya nhi toh mai bhi ab Sher-e-Baloch ke laayak nhi” Uzair stated as he thrusted his fingers into your sobbing pussy once again.
Three orgasms. He had already brought you to cum thrice till now, twice in his mouth and once on his fingers. The soft leather was drenched where you sat, from your juices and the slight sheen sticking to both of your bodies. You were laid bare, as a celebratory feast, for your husband to devour and claim. Over and over, until the Sardaar was satisfied.
His squelching fingers filled the room louder than your pants and gasps or his tiny groans. “Faster, Uzair! Don’t fucking stop, please..”
“I would never, jaana, mera bas chale toh aise hi, issi tarah, har waqt tumhe dekhu aur tumhare yeh aahato ko apne kaano me basau. I wish to bring as much pleasure humanly possible to you.”
As he spoke, you were wound tighter than before with tears rolling down your cheeks, you knew this next one would be more, in many ways than one. “I know, baby, I know. Louder, let everyone in Lyari hear how well I claim this cunt. How it weeps everyday, every passing moment I am around it, how only I am capable of bringing you such pleasure.” He reached up to lick away your tears and pepper kisses down your face before continuing sucking marks around your neck and collarbones.
“Do not cover this up tomorrow, I want everyone to see what we did, I want them to know how well the Sherni is kept, how capable the Sher is and will continue to be until his last breath. For his wife, and for his people.”
You drew in a sharp breath as he nipped another hickey and licked your breasts, swirling his tongue around your nipples, devoting equal time to each one. His ministrations coupled with his filthy words spurred you closer to your fourth orgasm, and he knew it.
“Go on, cum for me, cum on this throne, my love. Let this pedestal be blessed by you, and your being. Let this sweet pussy coat my fingers in the sweetest nectar I have ever known.”
You came with a cry of his name, your back arching- giving him more area to dote on, your body shuddering and eyes shutting close. You thought you really did reach heaven as you saw black spots with how hard you came.
It took you a while to gain semblance of yourself, to understand where you were. As you opened your eyes, you saw your husband, standing in front of you, shedding his clothes, igniting newfound energy in you.
You knew you had more in you, to make this man- this stupid, obsessed, ravenous, powerful man- feel so good that he would forget all the twisted things that happened and those that lay ahead.
“Come here, shauhar sahab. Ab aapki baari. Lyari ke logo ko agar Sher ki kabiliyat dikhani hai, toh Sherni ki bhi dekhni hogi unhe. Unko jatana hoga ki Sardaar ki biwi bhi utni hi jaanleva hai, jitne voh hai”
You got up with quite a bit of a struggle, your legs having been reduced to jelly by Uzair. You stripped him entirely bare and pushed him down on the soft leather. As he sat, perched on his throne, you took his place on his lap and pulled him into a heated kiss while pulling the hair on his nape. The kiss was all tongue and teeth, he was devouring you with the same intensity you enveloped him in. You swallowed his moans the same way he did so with yours. You nipped his lips enough to draw slight blood and you pulled back with a thin string of saliva connecting your lips.
He truly looked ethereal. His blown eyes, hair falling over his forehead, and of course, his plump, shiny lips which were red with a drop of blood. Your tongue darted out to catch the droplet and he let out a low growl. “Stop teasing me, jaana.”
You reached down to devote your attention to his nipples, playing with them while your lips found their home in his neck while his eyes flew shut. You sucked harshly, aiming to leave marks darker than yours, for him to show off in official meetings, in rallies and perhaps, in pictures on the banners which had his name etched across.
You slightly got up to envelop his hard dick, now red and angry with precum collecting at its top, with your warm and weeping cunt.
As you sat down with a mewl, he let out a satisfied sigh at finally having you snugly fit around him.
But you did not move immediately and his eyes snapped open, his hands finding hearth around your hips. “Move, or I will take you so hard on this throne, you will not be able to walk next to me for all the events for the next few days, my dear wife.”
His threatening growl shifted into groans of pleasure and soft moans as you ignored his words and continued your previous attention to his scarred skin, you continued till you had mapped the expanse of his torso in marks that would stay for days.
As you did so, you kept shifting around slightly, leaving Uzair breathless. Finally, he got tired of your.. divided attention and hardened his grip around your hips.
“Bas ho gaya ab. Hold onto me like a good fucking girl and ride me. Go as hard as you can till I take over, jaan. And do. not. fucking. stop.”
His hands gripped on to your hips as you began roughly moving up and down on his dick. The downright filthy sounds found shelter in your ears alongside your moans and whimpers. His lips continue to ghost over your flesh, leaving goosebumps in its wake, while your hands held on to his shoulders for grip.
Uzair whispered dirty words right on to your skin as his grip tightened, almost guiding you. Your thighs burned with the way you rode him and you shifted to swiveling your hips around him in deliberate circles.
“Look at you, you look so beautiful like this. Your pussy clenching around me like it doesn’t want to let go. Keep going baby, harder. Take every inch.”
As your movements slow down, he takes over and picks up the pace. “Yeah, just like that? So perfect, meri jaan.” He hits the spot over and over, pulling you harder down on him. His eyes don’t leave you, the moment so dirty and intimate, it makes you even wetter, if that’s possible. He speeds up, his cock rutting into you, each vein being felt by your spongy walls, hips snapping into yours. “You like that? Gripping onto me like a vice, does it feel good, darling?”
He reaches down to rub your sensitive clit and oh god. The pleasure coils tight in your belly, both of you are almost there, you know it in the way his actions have grown almost desperate. “Fuuuck, you feel so good, cum all over my cock, milk me dry, baby. I’m going to fill you up, oh shit.. Listen to that, your pussy is sucking in me in. Go on, sweetheart.”
His words tip you over, your collective orgasms ripping through you like fire, walls convulsing around him and him thrusting into you. Your head falls against his chest as he kisses the top of your head. He remains sheathed in you for the next couple of minutes, neither of you able to move, basking in the afterglow.
His hands move up to comb through your hair as he whispers to you, low and content, “You did so well for me. Beintiha mohabbat karta hu tumse. Tumhari bohot zarurat padegi mujhe, jaaneman. Aage ka raasta kaafi kathin hai, magar hum saath hai, toh hum saath me hi aag lagayenge.”
Taglist: @mainyahaankyunhoon @maroonphase
DM / Comment to be added! Please specify if character/ fandom- specific.
the student part of life caught up w me, i was not fast enough😞💔
sorry gang for the lack of updates, i had gotten around to writing FINALLY and shit happened.
idk when i'll post but soon maybe? love seeing all the interaction w my fics abhi bhi, y'all so cool fr <3
okay so i was originally gonna write and post sushant bansal wala fic, but i didn't complete it. but somehow wrote and post the uzair one.
hopefully that next? idk, jab bhi hoga likhne ko, i will.
alsoooo, the original picture in mind was the one where hamza pushes uzair down on the throne and i did find it (ss from a p!rated site) and it came out like this:
shitty quality, and all that. but here you go.
toh i ended up using the beardo ad. took screenshots from it. THE HAND ONE???? ok bye goodnight gng.
i hope i'm not talking to the void lol.
OH ALSO, MY ANONS, I HAVE READ YOUR REQS, WILL POST THEM FICS ONCE I COOK IT UP & WILL ANSWER IT THEN ONLY :D
A/N: My first time writing smut! Feel free to reblog, comment and give feedback. Also, the pictures used are from the Beardo Godfather commercial, not mine!
This is an AU where Uzair is the Sher-e-Baloch & continues being so, not Hamza.
This is not about the actual person, but the portrayal of the character by Danish Pandor in Aditya Dhar's Dhurandhar & Dhurandhar 2. The actual people can go rot.
Summary: The day Uzair Baloch was declared the Sher-e-Baloch, he chose to celebrate it in the way he knew was important & satisfactory.
Word count: 1.5k (i hope i did this fic justice!)
cw: MDNI. filthy smut ;)
Sher-e-Baloch.
An honorific awarded to those who were indomitable, worn with a sense of pride and responsibility. His dear brother held it previously and now, he did. He did not want this, not in this way, having lost his brother. But Hamza had drawn him out of his grief, momentarily at least, to pull himself together in front of the others and brought him back to reality by pushing him on to the throne. He was Rehman Dakait’s brother, he was Uzair Baloch and he would continue to serve Lyari and his Baloch community with the same authority and compassion his brother had.
But today, he was allowed to revel in this title. On this throne, which previously was owned by leaders paramount to the very functioning of Karachi. And what better way than to have you, his Sherni, spread across it like his next meal and him, on his knees, allowing him a full view of his paradise.
“Uzair, please.. Ab aur intezaar mat karwao” you cried for him to finally give in to his and your desires.
“Nahi, aaj sirf meri chalegi aur tumhe jannat tak pohochaya nhi toh mai bhi ab Sher-e-Baloch ke laayak nhi” Uzair stated as he thrusted his fingers into your sobbing pussy once again.
Three orgasms. He had already brought you to cum thrice till now, twice in his mouth and once on his fingers. The soft leather was drenched where you sat, from your juices and the slight sheen sticking to both of your bodies. You were laid bare, as a celebratory feast, for your husband to devour and claim. Over and over, until the Sardaar was satisfied.
His squelching fingers filled the room louder than your pants and gasps or his tiny groans. “Faster, Uzair! Don’t fucking stop, please..”
“I would never, jaana, mera bas chale toh aise hi, issi tarah, har waqt tumhe dekhu aur tumhare yeh aahato ko apne kaano me basau. I wish to bring as much pleasure humanly possible to you.”
As he spoke, you were wound tighter than before with tears rolling down your cheeks, you knew this next one would be more, in many ways than one. “I know, baby, I know. Louder, let everyone in Lyari hear how well I claim this cunt. How it weeps everyday, every passing moment I am around it, how only I am capable of bringing you such pleasure.” He reached up to lick away your tears and pepper kisses down your face before continuing sucking marks around your neck and collarbones.
“Do not cover this up tomorrow, I want everyone to see what we did, I want them to know how well the Sherni is kept, how capable the Sher is and will continue to be until his last breath. For his wife, and for his people.”
You drew in a sharp breath as he nipped another hickey and licked your breasts, swirling his tongue around your nipples, devoting equal time to each one. His ministrations coupled with his filthy words spurred you closer to your fourth orgasm, and he knew it.
“Go on, cum for me, cum on this throne, my love. Let this pedestal be blessed by you, and your being. Let this sweet pussy coat my fingers in the sweetest nectar I have ever known.”
You came with a cry of his name, your back arching- giving him more area to dote on, your body shuddering and eyes shutting close. You thought you really did reach heaven as you saw black spots with how hard you came.
It took you a while to gain semblance of yourself, to understand where you were. As you opened your eyes, you saw your husband, standing in front of you, shedding his clothes, igniting newfound energy in you.
You knew you had more in you, to make this man- this stupid, obsessed, ravenous, powerful man- feel so good that he would forget all the twisted things that happened and those that lay ahead.
“Come here, shauhar sahab. Ab aapki baari. Lyari ke logo ko agar Sher ki kabiliyat dikhani hai, toh Sherni ki bhi dekhni hogi unhe. Unko jatana hoga ki Sardaar ki biwi bhi utni hi jaanleva hai, jitne voh hai”
You got up with quite a bit of a struggle, your legs having been reduced to jelly by Uzair. You stripped him entirely bare and pushed him down on the soft leather. As he sat, perched on his throne, you took his place on his lap and pulled him into a heated kiss while pulling the hair on his nape. The kiss was all tongue and teeth, he was devouring you with the same intensity you enveloped him in. You swallowed his moans the same way he did so with yours. You nipped his lips enough to draw slight blood and you pulled back with a thin string of saliva connecting your lips.
He truly looked ethereal. His blown eyes, hair falling over his forehead, and of course, his plump, shiny lips which were red with a drop of blood. Your tongue darted out to catch the droplet and he let out a low growl. “Stop teasing me, jaana.”
You reached down to devote your attention to his nipples, playing with them while your lips found their home in his neck while his eyes flew shut. You sucked harshly, aiming to leave marks darker than yours, for him to show off in official meetings, in rallies and perhaps, in pictures on the banners which had his name etched across.
You slightly got up to envelop his hard dick, now red and angry with precum collecting at its top, with your warm and weeping cunt.
As you sat down with a mewl, he let out a satisfied sigh at finally having you snugly fit around him.
But you did not move immediately and his eyes snapped open, his hands finding hearth around your hips. “Move, or I will take you so hard on this throne, you will not be able to walk next to me for all the events for the next few days, my dear wife.”
His threatening growl shifted into groans of pleasure and soft moans as you ignored his words and continued your previous attention to his scarred skin, you continued till you had mapped the expanse of his torso in marks that would stay for days.
As you did so, you kept shifting around slightly, leaving Uzair breathless. Finally, he got tired of your.. divided attention and hardened his grip around your hips.
“Bas ho gaya ab. Hold onto me like a good fucking girl and ride me. Go as hard as you can till I take over, jaan. And do. not. fucking. stop.”
His hands gripped on to your hips as you began roughly moving up and down on his dick. The downright filthy sounds found shelter in your ears alongside your moans and whimpers. His lips continue to ghost over your flesh, leaving goosebumps in its wake, while your hands held on to his shoulders for grip.
Uzair whispered dirty words right on to your skin as his grip tightened, almost guiding you. Your thighs burned with the way you rode him and you shifted to swiveling your hips around him in deliberate circles.
“Look at you, you look so beautiful like this. Your pussy clenching around me like it doesn’t want to let go. Keep going baby, harder. Take every inch.”
As your movements slow down, he takes over and picks up the pace. “Yeah, just like that? So perfect, meri jaan.” He hits the spot over and over, pulling you harder down on him. His eyes don’t leave you, the moment so dirty and intimate, it makes you even wetter, if that’s possible. He speeds up, his cock rutting into you, each vein being felt by your spongy walls, hips snapping into yours. “You like that? Gripping onto me like a vice, does it feel good, darling?”
He reaches down to rub your sensitive clit and oh god. The pleasure coils tight in your belly, both of you are almost there, you know it in the way his actions have grown almost desperate. “Fuuuck, you feel so good, cum all over my cock, milk me dry, baby. I’m going to fill you up, oh shit.. Listen to that, your pussy is sucking in me in. Go on, sweetheart.”
His words tip you over, your collective orgasms ripping through you like fire, walls convulsing around him and him thrusting into you. Your head falls against his chest as he kisses the top of your head. He remains sheathed in you for the next couple of minutes, neither of you able to move, basking in the afterglow.
His hands move up to comb through your hair as he whispers to you, low and content, “You did so well for me. Beintiha mohabbat karta hu tumse. Tumhari bohot zarurat padegi mujhe, jaaneman. Aage ka raasta kaafi kathin hai, magar hum saath hai, toh hum saath me hi aag lagayenge.”
Taglist: @mainyahaankyunhoon @maroonphase
DM / Comment to be added! Please specify if character/ fandom- specific.
i'm crying at all the angst that the wonderful authors of this fandom are barsao-ing. all the edits and fics and HCs. this has prompted me to start writing my WIPs and maybe asks (I PROMISE I SAW THEM, I'LL WRITE THEM, ANONS!)
Adding to my misery, my father just came into my room and asked to buy a LABUBU???!!!! (WHILE I WAS WRITING A FIC) bcs his suitcase ka chain or sumn broke.
WHO IS ALLOWING UNRESTRICTED INTERNET ACCESS TO THESE PARENTS? I'M BANNING THEM FROM INTERNET BRO THEY KEEP COMING UP AND SAYING SUCH SHIT I WILL CRY.
mind u i explained what ragebait was, to him, like 3 days ago.
anyways, i might be posting some fics soon.
A/N: My first fic! Feel free to reblog, comment and give feedback.
This was lowk supposed to be a little bit spicier, but ended up being fluffy i think? let me know :)
This is not about the actual person, but the portrayal of the character by Danish Pandor in Aditya Dhar's Dhurandhar & Dhurandhar 2. The actual people can go rot.
creds: pinterest, not mine!
Summary: An explicit picture of Uzair, taken by you, is revealed on a normal chai evening with the gang, chaos ensues.
Word Count: 1.1k
Warnings: suggestive, no actual smut, allusions to it, slight cursing.
The crisp Lyari air fluttered through my hair as I pulled out my clutcher from the side of my kurti, to pin it up. It was one of those rare evenings where the Baloch Haveli was allowed peace of its own, for everyone’s laughter to ring through its corridors and high ceilings.
The closest circle of Sardaar’s gang, sat huddled around the verandah of the Baloch Haveli each nursing a cup of chai and the famed chaand biscuits of Sikander Bakery.
The kids, along with Ulfat Baaji had gone on a much-awaited visit for a few days to her parents in Karachi. With a mostly empty haveli left to Uzair and I’s devices, it surely allowed us some time to indulge ourselves, undisturbed.
Rehman Bhai’s presence acted like a constant warning in the back of our minds, but it did not stop the extra time we’d steal before Uzair had to leave and I would have to sneak back out of the Haveli.
This train of thought led my eyes to the man in question, who was already looking at me with a soft smile, but something glinting in those soft brown eyes, mischief? Need?
Before I could even raise a brow to ask Uzair, my reverie was broken with Donga’s boisterous laughter, “NO WAY! HOW DID YOU EVEN CAPTURE THAT MONSTROSITY? YOU WILLINGLY GAVE UP YOUR EYESIGHT JUST TO TAKE THAT PICTURE? WAAH YAAR, MAN’NA PADEGA TUJHE TOH SIYAHI!”
As I looked at the phone in Siyahi’s hand, a particularly disgusting picture of his ex, Shagufta and her current boyfriend, locked in a heated embrace, graced my eyesight, earning a look of pure hatred and disdain at the pair. The former, having cheated on Siyahi, had been on the receiving end of all of our collective side-eyes for the last couple of weeks.
Sure, Siyahi might have been busy with the factory work and running from Balochistan to Lyari constantly, but that didn’t give her an excuse to cheat now, did it?
“Bhai, yeh toh sahi ka downgrade hai, sachme yaar! Kya bakchod pictures leta hai par tu bhi, matlab Donge ko bhi competition de raha hai ab kya?” Hamza chuckled, as he touched upon the very topic Donga received the most criticism or love for, depending on who you asked. His love for photography was a much-debated topic in the youth of Lyari and particularly in our group. It wasn’t the scenery or stills of this city, but rather the strange and frankly, disturbing quirks and situations of people that he liked to capture.
His gallery consisted of people drooling literally, in the middle of spitting out blood after a fight, Akhlaaq mid-sneeze, Sajid’s unfiltered yearning for SP Aslam, whispered conversations between the helpers in the Haveli and so on. It was rarely endearing and mostly unsettling.
“Nahi yaar, Donge ko koi nahi hara sakta, mai bata raha hu, shayad Y/N ya Faizal bhi nahi” Siyahi stated. That drew everyone’s attention into the conversation. “Kya matlab Y/N ya Faizal nahi hara sakte? Tu yeh bol raha hai ki mere bacche bhi yeh Donge ke sangat me aake aisa ajeeb ajeeb tasveere kheechne lagi hai?!” Rehman Bhai exclaimed comically.
This prompted the current situation, the gang, scrolling through their collections, showing each other pictures and videos we’d taken of the others sleeping, mid-screaming or simply embarrassing themselves.
Hamza sat next to me, looking through the folder in my gallery where I had taken photos of the gang mostly, unlike the other weirdos who shot (a/n: hehe) random people as well. As he scrolled past a particularly insane photo of Donga and Siyahi in a heated argument, that looked like they would kiss at any moment, he landed on a photo of Rehman Bhai staring daggers into the ledgers, trying to make sense of the entirely wrong calculations of one of the boys.
“Arre kya din tha Hamza voh, aisa lag raha tha ki ya toh book inhe kha jayegi, ya fir bhai book ko. Voh jo naya banda rakha tha na aapne, mai sahi bata rahi hu, na credit ka c jaanta hai na debit ka d. Isse achha toh aap Uzair ko hi karne dete bhai, mai bata rahi hu. Unse accha koi nhi karta finances.”
As I continued ranting, consciously trying to fluster Uzair while ensuring I don’t give us away too much, Hamza swiped to the last photo in the folder. A loud squeak left him, “Y/N??!! UZAIR??!!”
I turned to tell him off for cutting my rant, and shit.
There sat, one of my best works, a picture of Uzair frickin Baloch, manspread, hair mussed, eyes glassy, and his kurta torn. His neck and chest- a true masterpiece from my ministrations from one of our shared evenings. Littered with dark and forming hickeys across the expanse of his shoulders, neck, pecs, and his abs, all prettily arranged, highlighted by the glow of the low lit lightbulbs across his room.
Every single detail, his hazed lust-filled eyes, the tent of his pants with a dark patch on his thigh, his nose highlighted with remnants of the white powder, my bra hanging over the edge of the bed in the background, was so clearly on display to every single person there and all I heard was the sharp inhale Uzair took.
fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK (a/n: literally. I wish.)
“I- I can explain, I promise-” I squeaked out, turning to Rehman Bhai, “EXPLAIN? I THINK THIS PICTURE SPEAKS LOUD ENOUGH FOR BOTH YOU AND MY DEAR BROTHER DON’T YOU THINK??” He burst out. “Since when, Uzair?”
“Bhai, mai bata raha hu na, humein explain toh karne di jiye, plea-”
“KAB SE UZAIR? HUMEIN KAHA NHI GAYA KYA TUM DONO SE? EK BAAR BHI? ULFAT SE? HAMZE SE?”
“BHAI MAI USSE PYAAR KARTA HU, VOH MUJH SE KARTI HAI, HUM NIKKAH KARENGE BUT ABHI HUME THODA TIME CHAHIYE. HUM EK DUSRE KO JAAN RAHE HAI, PLEASE PARESHAN MAT HOIYE AUR ULFATBHABHISEBACHALENAPLSPLSPLS” He stopped to take a breath, when Hamza burst out laughing. “Chal Donga, paise nikal, mai jeet gaya, bola tha na, iss mahine toh kuch na kuch inke kaand nikal hi aayenge”
My head whipped around so fast, I wanted to smack this stupid ass over the head, “KYA?! TUMNE HUMPE SHART LAGAYI THI? HAMZE KE BACCHE RUK TU AB” as I got up to chase him through the verandah. Just as I was about to cross Uzair, his long arms pulled me flush down on his lap and held me in place with a strong grip around my waist. “Ruk jaao, jaana, isko toh hum saath me dekh lenge, pehle bhai se nipat le, fir bhabhi se bhi toh bachana hai inhe humko.” he whispered as he placed a kiss to the side of my head.
“Hmmph! Theek hai, jaan, magar pehla strike uss par mera” I whisper back with a kiss of my own to his forehead.
“Ho gya tumhara yeh chumma-chaati? Aur kitna jaanoge ek dusre ko ab, Uzair? Bhabhi ko aane do, tum dono ki toh khair nahi!”
A/N: My first fic! Feel free to reblog, comment and give feedback.
This was lowk supposed to be a little bit spicier, but ended up being fluffy i think? let me know :)
This is not about the actual person, but the portrayal of the character by Danish Pandor in Aditya Dhar's Dhurandhar & Dhurandhar 2. The actual people can go rot.
creds: pinterest, not mine!
Summary: An explicit picture of Uzair, taken by you, is revealed on a normal chai evening with the gang, chaos ensues.
Word Count: 1.1k
Warnings: suggestive, no actual smut, allusions to it, slight cursing.
The crisp Lyari air fluttered through my hair as I pulled out my clutcher from the side of my kurti, to pin it up. It was one of those rare evenings where the Baloch Haveli was allowed peace of its own, for everyone’s laughter to ring through its corridors and high ceilings.
The closest circle of Sardaar’s gang, sat huddled around the verandah of the Baloch Haveli each nursing a cup of chai and the famed chaand biscuits of Sikander Bakery.
The kids, along with Ulfat Baaji had gone on a much-awaited visit for a few days to her parents in Karachi. With a mostly empty haveli left to Uzair and I’s devices, it surely allowed us some time to indulge ourselves, undisturbed.
Rehman Bhai’s presence acted like a constant warning in the back of our minds, but it did not stop the extra time we’d steal before Uzair had to leave and I would have to sneak back out of the Haveli.
This train of thought led my eyes to the man in question, who was already looking at me with a soft smile, but something glinting in those soft brown eyes, mischief? Need?
Before I could even raise a brow to ask Uzair, my reverie was broken with Donga’s boisterous laughter, “NO WAY! HOW DID YOU EVEN CAPTURE THAT MONSTROSITY? YOU WILLINGLY GAVE UP YOUR EYESIGHT JUST TO TAKE THAT PICTURE? WAAH YAAR, MAN’NA PADEGA TUJHE TOH SIYAHI!”
As I looked at the phone in Siyahi’s hand, a particularly disgusting picture of his ex, Shagufta and her current boyfriend, locked in a heated embrace, graced my eyesight, earning a look of pure hatred and disdain at the pair. The former, having cheated on Siyahi, had been on the receiving end of all of our collective side-eyes for the last couple of weeks.
Sure, Siyahi might have been busy with the factory work and running from Balochistan to Lyari constantly, but that didn’t give her an excuse to cheat now, did it?
“Bhai, yeh toh sahi ka downgrade hai, sachme yaar! Kya bakchod pictures leta hai par tu bhi, matlab Donge ko bhi competition de raha hai ab kya?” Hamza chuckled, as he touched upon the very topic Donga received the most criticism or love for, depending on who you asked. His love for photography was a much-debated topic in the youth of Lyari and particularly in our group. It wasn’t the scenery or stills of this city, but rather the strange and frankly, disturbing quirks and situations of people that he liked to capture.
His gallery consisted of people drooling literally, in the middle of spitting out blood after a fight, Akhlaaq mid-sneeze, Sajid’s unfiltered yearning for SP Aslam, whispered conversations between the helpers in the Haveli and so on. It was rarely endearing and mostly unsettling.
“Nahi yaar, Donge ko koi nahi hara sakta, mai bata raha hu, shayad Y/N ya Faizal bhi nahi” Siyahi stated. That drew everyone’s attention into the conversation. “Kya matlab Y/N ya Faizal nahi hara sakte? Tu yeh bol raha hai ki mere bacche bhi yeh Donge ke sangat me aake aisa ajeeb ajeeb tasveere kheechne lagi hai?!” Rehman Bhai exclaimed comically.
This prompted the current situation, the gang, scrolling through their collections, showing each other pictures and videos we’d taken of the others sleeping, mid-screaming or simply embarrassing themselves.
Hamza sat next to me, looking through the folder in my gallery where I had taken photos of the gang mostly, unlike the other weirdos who shot (a/n: hehe) random people as well. As he scrolled past a particularly insane photo of Donga and Siyahi in a heated argument, that looked like they would kiss at any moment, he landed on a photo of Rehman Bhai staring daggers into the ledgers, trying to make sense of the entirely wrong calculations of one of the boys.
“Arre kya din tha Hamza voh, aisa lag raha tha ki ya toh book inhe kha jayegi, ya fir bhai book ko. Voh jo naya banda rakha tha na aapne, mai sahi bata rahi hu, na credit ka c jaanta hai na debit ka d. Isse achha toh aap Uzair ko hi karne dete bhai, mai bata rahi hu. Unse accha koi nhi karta finances.”
As I continued ranting, consciously trying to fluster Uzair while ensuring I don’t give us away too much, Hamza swiped to the last photo in the folder. A loud squeak left him, “Y/N??!! UZAIR??!!”
I turned to tell him off for cutting my rant, and shit.
There sat, one of my best works, a picture of Uzair frickin Baloch, manspread, hair mussed, eyes glassy, and his kurta torn. His neck and chest- a true masterpiece from my ministrations from one of our shared evenings. Littered with dark and forming hickeys across the expanse of his shoulders, neck, pecs, and his abs, all prettily arranged, highlighted by the glow of the low lit lightbulbs across his room.
Every single detail, his hazed lust-filled eyes, the tent of his pants with a dark patch on his thigh, his nose highlighted with remnants of the white powder, my bra hanging over the edge of the bed in the background, was so clearly on display to every single person there and all I heard was the sharp inhale Uzair took.
fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK (a/n: literally. I wish.)
“I- I can explain, I promise-” I squeaked out, turning to Rehman Bhai, “EXPLAIN? I THINK THIS PICTURE SPEAKS LOUD ENOUGH FOR BOTH YOU AND MY DEAR BROTHER DON’T YOU THINK??” He burst out. “Since when, Uzair?”
“Bhai, mai bata raha hu na, humein explain toh karne di jiye, plea-”
“KAB SE UZAIR? HUMEIN KAHA NHI GAYA KYA TUM DONO SE? EK BAAR BHI? ULFAT SE? HAMZE SE?”
“BHAI MAI USSE PYAAR KARTA HU, VOH MUJH SE KARTI HAI, HUM NIKKAH KARENGE BUT ABHI HUME THODA TIME CHAHIYE. HUM EK DUSRE KO JAAN RAHE HAI, PLEASE PARESHAN MAT HOIYE AUR ULFATBHABHISEBACHALENAPLSPLSPLS” He stopped to take a breath, when Hamza burst out laughing. “Chal Donga, paise nikal, mai jeet gaya, bola tha na, iss mahine toh kuch na kuch inke kaand nikal hi aayenge”
My head whipped around so fast, I wanted to smack this stupid ass over the head, “KYA?! TUMNE HUMPE SHART LAGAYI THI? HAMZE KE BACCHE RUK TU AB” as I got up to chase him through the verandah. Just as I was about to cross Uzair, his long arms pulled me flush down on his lap and held me in place with a strong grip around my waist. “Ruk jaao, jaana, isko toh hum saath me dekh lenge, pehle bhai se nipat le, fir bhabhi se bhi toh bachana hai inhe humko.” he whispered as he placed a kiss to the side of my head.
“Hmmph! Theek hai, jaan, magar pehla strike uss par mera” I whisper back with a kiss of my own to his forehead.
“Ho gya tumhara yeh chumma-chaati? Aur kitna jaanoge ek dusre ko ab, Uzair? Bhabhi ko aane do, tum dono ki toh khair nahi!”
A/N: My first fic! Feel free to reblog, comment and give feedback.
This was lowk supposed to be a little bit spicier, but ended up being fluffy i think? let me know :)
This is not about the actual person, but the portrayal of the character by Danish Pandor in Aditya Dhar's Dhurandhar & Dhurandhar 2. The actual people can go rot.
creds: pinterest, not mine!
Summary: An explicit picture of Uzair, taken by you, is revealed on a normal chai evening with the gang, chaos ensues.
Word Count: 1.1k
Warnings: suggestive, no actual smut, allusions to it, slight cursing.
The crisp Lyari air fluttered through my hair as I pulled out my clutcher from the side of my kurti, to pin it up. It was one of those rare evenings where the Baloch Haveli was allowed peace of its own, for everyone’s laughter to ring through its corridors and high ceilings.
The closest circle of Sardaar’s gang, sat huddled around the verandah of the Baloch Haveli each nursing a cup of chai and the famed chaand biscuits of Sikander Bakery.
The kids, along with Ulfat Baaji had gone on a much-awaited visit for a few days to her parents in Karachi. With a mostly empty haveli left to Uzair and I’s devices, it surely allowed us some time to indulge ourselves, undisturbed.
Rehman Bhai’s presence acted like a constant warning in the back of our minds, but it did not stop the extra time we’d steal before Uzair had to leave and I would have to sneak back out of the Haveli.
This train of thought led my eyes to the man in question, who was already looking at me with a soft smile, but something glinting in those soft brown eyes, mischief? Need?
Before I could even raise a brow to ask Uzair, my reverie was broken with Donga’s boisterous laughter, “NO WAY! HOW DID YOU EVEN CAPTURE THAT MONSTROSITY? YOU WILLINGLY GAVE UP YOUR EYESIGHT JUST TO TAKE THAT PICTURE? WAAH YAAR, MAN’NA PADEGA TUJHE TOH SIYAHI!”
As I looked at the phone in Siyahi’s hand, a particularly disgusting picture of his ex, Shagufta and her current boyfriend, locked in a heated embrace, graced my eyesight, earning a look of pure hatred and disdain at the pair. The former, having cheated on Siyahi, had been on the receiving end of all of our collective side-eyes for the last couple of weeks.
Sure, Siyahi might have been busy with the factory work and running from Balochistan to Lyari constantly, but that didn’t give her an excuse to cheat now, did it?
“Bhai, yeh toh sahi ka downgrade hai, sachme yaar! Kya bakchod pictures leta hai par tu bhi, matlab Donge ko bhi competition de raha hai ab kya?” Hamza chuckled, as he touched upon the very topic Donga received the most criticism or love for, depending on who you asked. His love for photography was a much-debated topic in the youth of Lyari and particularly in our group. It wasn’t the scenery or stills of this city, but rather the strange and frankly, disturbing quirks and situations of people that he liked to capture.
His gallery consisted of people drooling literally, in the middle of spitting out blood after a fight, Akhlaaq mid-sneeze, Sajid’s unfiltered yearning for SP Aslam, whispered conversations between the helpers in the Haveli and so on. It was rarely endearing and mostly unsettling.
“Nahi yaar, Donge ko koi nahi hara sakta, mai bata raha hu, shayad Y/N ya Faizal bhi nahi” Siyahi stated. That drew everyone’s attention into the conversation. “Kya matlab Y/N ya Faizal nahi hara sakte? Tu yeh bol raha hai ki mere bacche bhi yeh Donge ke sangat me aake aisa ajeeb ajeeb tasveere kheechne lagi hai?!” Rehman Bhai exclaimed comically.
This prompted the current situation, the gang, scrolling through their collections, showing each other pictures and videos we’d taken of the others sleeping, mid-screaming or simply embarrassing themselves.
Hamza sat next to me, looking through the folder in my gallery where I had taken photos of the gang mostly, unlike the other weirdos who shot (a/n: hehe) random people as well. As he scrolled past a particularly insane photo of Donga and Siyahi in a heated argument, that looked like they would kiss at any moment, he landed on a photo of Rehman Bhai staring daggers into the ledgers, trying to make sense of the entirely wrong calculations of one of the boys.
“Arre kya din tha Hamza voh, aisa lag raha tha ki ya toh book inhe kha jayegi, ya fir bhai book ko. Voh jo naya banda rakha tha na aapne, mai sahi bata rahi hu, na credit ka c jaanta hai na debit ka d. Isse achha toh aap Uzair ko hi karne dete bhai, mai bata rahi hu. Unse accha koi nhi karta finances.”
As I continued ranting, consciously trying to fluster Uzair while ensuring I don’t give us away too much, Hamza swiped to the last photo in the folder. A loud squeak left him, “Y/N??!! UZAIR??!!”
I turned to tell him off for cutting my rant, and shit.
There sat, one of my best works, a picture of Uzair frickin Baloch, manspread, hair mussed, eyes glassy, and his kurta torn. His neck and chest- a true masterpiece from my ministrations from one of our shared evenings. Littered with dark and forming hickeys across the expanse of his shoulders, neck, pecs, and his abs, all prettily arranged, highlighted by the glow of the low lit lightbulbs across his room.
Every single detail, his hazed lust-filled eyes, the tent of his pants with a dark patch on his thigh, his nose highlighted with remnants of the white powder, my bra hanging over the edge of the bed in the background, was so clearly on display to every single person there and all I heard was the sharp inhale Uzair took.
fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK (a/n: literally. I wish.)
“I- I can explain, I promise-” I squeaked out, turning to Rehman Bhai, “EXPLAIN? I THINK THIS PICTURE SPEAKS LOUD ENOUGH FOR BOTH YOU AND MY DEAR BROTHER DON’T YOU THINK??” He burst out. “Since when, Uzair?”
“Bhai, mai bata raha hu na, humein explain toh karne di jiye, plea-”
“KAB SE UZAIR? HUMEIN KAHA NHI GAYA KYA TUM DONO SE? EK BAAR BHI? ULFAT SE? HAMZE SE?”
“BHAI MAI USSE PYAAR KARTA HU, VOH MUJH SE KARTI HAI, HUM NIKKAH KARENGE BUT ABHI HUME THODA TIME CHAHIYE. HUM EK DUSRE KO JAAN RAHE HAI, PLEASE PARESHAN MAT HOIYE AUR ULFATBHABHISEBACHALENAPLSPLSPLS” He stopped to take a breath, when Hamza burst out laughing. “Chal Donga, paise nikal, mai jeet gaya, bola tha na, iss mahine toh kuch na kuch inke kaand nikal hi aayenge”
My head whipped around so fast, I wanted to smack this stupid ass over the head, “KYA?! TUMNE HUMPE SHART LAGAYI THI? HAMZE KE BACCHE RUK TU AB” as I got up to chase him through the verandah. Just as I was about to cross Uzair, his long arms pulled me flush down on his lap and held me in place with a strong grip around my waist. “Ruk jaao, jaana, isko toh hum saath me dekh lenge, pehle bhai se nipat le, fir bhabhi se bhi toh bachana hai inhe humko.” he whispered as he placed a kiss to the side of my head.
“Hmmph! Theek hai, jaan, magar pehla strike uss par mera” I whisper back with a kiss of my own to his forehead.
“Ho gya tumhara yeh chumma-chaati? Aur kitna jaanoge ek dusre ko ab, Uzair? Bhabhi ko aane do, tum dono ki toh khair nahi!”
I AGREE OMG, I LITERALLY WROTE THIS WITH THAT PICTURE ABOVE IN MIND AND THE OG MANSPREAD UZAIR WHO'S SNORTING COK€ IN D2. I HAVE SO MUCH TO SAY ABOUT IT😼😼
Indentations
Summary: An explicit picture of Uzair, taken by you, is revealed on a normal chai evening with the gang, chaos ensues.
The Throne
Summary: The day Uzair Baloch was declared the Sher-e-Baloch, he chose to celebrate it in the way he knew was important & satisfactory. MDNI.
A/N: My first fic! Feel free to reblog, comment and give feedback.
This was lowk supposed to be a little bit spicier, but ended up being fluffy i think? let me know :)
This is not about the actual person, but the portrayal of the character by Danish Pandor in Aditya Dhar's Dhurandhar & Dhurandhar 2. The actual people can go rot.
creds: pinterest, not mine!
Summary: An explicit picture of Uzair, taken by you, is revealed on a normal chai evening with the gang, chaos ensues.
Word Count: 1.1k
Warnings: suggestive, no actual smut, allusions to it, slight cursing.
The crisp Lyari air fluttered through my hair as I pulled out my clutcher from the side of my kurti, to pin it up. It was one of those rare evenings where the Baloch Haveli was allowed peace of its own, for everyone’s laughter to ring through its corridors and high ceilings.
The closest circle of Sardaar’s gang, sat huddled around the verandah of the Baloch Haveli each nursing a cup of chai and the famed chaand biscuits of Sikander Bakery.
The kids, along with Ulfat Baaji had gone on a much-awaited visit for a few days to her parents in Karachi. With a mostly empty haveli left to Uzair and I’s devices, it surely allowed us some time to indulge ourselves, undisturbed.
Rehman Bhai’s presence acted like a constant warning in the back of our minds, but it did not stop the extra time we’d steal before Uzair had to leave and I would have to sneak back out of the Haveli.
This train of thought led my eyes to the man in question, who was already looking at me with a soft smile, but something glinting in those soft brown eyes, mischief? Need?
Before I could even raise a brow to ask Uzair, my reverie was broken with Donga’s boisterous laughter, “NO WAY! HOW DID YOU EVEN CAPTURE THAT MONSTROSITY? YOU WILLINGLY GAVE UP YOUR EYESIGHT JUST TO TAKE THAT PICTURE? WAAH YAAR, MAN’NA PADEGA TUJHE TOH SIYAHI!”
As I looked at the phone in Siyahi’s hand, a particularly disgusting picture of his ex, Shagufta and her current boyfriend, locked in a heated embrace, graced my eyesight, earning a look of pure hatred and disdain at the pair. The former, having cheated on Siyahi, had been on the receiving end of all of our collective side-eyes for the last couple of weeks.
Sure, Siyahi might have been busy with the factory work and running from Balochistan to Lyari constantly, but that didn’t give her an excuse to cheat now, did it?
“Bhai, yeh toh sahi ka downgrade hai, sachme yaar! Kya bakchod pictures leta hai par tu bhi, matlab Donge ko bhi competition de raha hai ab kya?” Hamza chuckled, as he touched upon the very topic Donga received the most criticism or love for, depending on who you asked. His love for photography was a much-debated topic in the youth of Lyari and particularly in our group. It wasn’t the scenery or stills of this city, but rather the strange and frankly, disturbing quirks and situations of people that he liked to capture.
His gallery consisted of people drooling literally, in the middle of spitting out blood after a fight, Akhlaaq mid-sneeze, Sajid’s unfiltered yearning for SP Aslam, whispered conversations between the helpers in the Haveli and so on. It was rarely endearing and mostly unsettling.
“Nahi yaar, Donge ko koi nahi hara sakta, mai bata raha hu, shayad Y/N ya Faizal bhi nahi” Siyahi stated. That drew everyone’s attention into the conversation. “Kya matlab Y/N ya Faizal nahi hara sakte? Tu yeh bol raha hai ki mere bacche bhi yeh Donge ke sangat me aake aisa ajeeb ajeeb tasveere kheechne lagi hai?!” Rehman Bhai exclaimed comically.
This prompted the current situation, the gang, scrolling through their collections, showing each other pictures and videos we’d taken of the others sleeping, mid-screaming or simply embarrassing themselves.
Hamza sat next to me, looking through the folder in my gallery where I had taken photos of the gang mostly, unlike the other weirdos who shot (a/n: hehe) random people as well. As he scrolled past a particularly insane photo of Donga and Siyahi in a heated argument, that looked like they would kiss at any moment, he landed on a photo of Rehman Bhai staring daggers into the ledgers, trying to make sense of the entirely wrong calculations of one of the boys.
“Arre kya din tha Hamza voh, aisa lag raha tha ki ya toh book inhe kha jayegi, ya fir bhai book ko. Voh jo naya banda rakha tha na aapne, mai sahi bata rahi hu, na credit ka c jaanta hai na debit ka d. Isse achha toh aap Uzair ko hi karne dete bhai, mai bata rahi hu. Unse accha koi nhi karta finances.”
As I continued ranting, consciously trying to fluster Uzair while ensuring I don’t give us away too much, Hamza swiped to the last photo in the folder. A loud squeak left him, “Y/N??!! UZAIR??!!”
I turned to tell him off for cutting my rant, and shit.
There sat, one of my best works, a picture of Uzair frickin Baloch, manspread, hair mussed, eyes glassy, and his kurta torn. His neck and chest- a true masterpiece from my ministrations from one of our shared evenings. Littered with dark and forming hickeys across the expanse of his shoulders, neck, pecs, and his abs, all prettily arranged, highlighted by the glow of the low lit lightbulbs across his room.
Every single detail, his hazed lust-filled eyes, the tent of his pants with a dark patch on his thigh, his nose highlighted with remnants of the white powder, my bra hanging over the edge of the bed in the background, was so clearly on display to every single person there and all I heard was the sharp inhale Uzair took.
fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK (a/n: literally. I wish.)
“I- I can explain, I promise-” I squeaked out, turning to Rehman Bhai, “EXPLAIN? I THINK THIS PICTURE SPEAKS LOUD ENOUGH FOR BOTH YOU AND MY DEAR BROTHER DON’T YOU THINK??” He burst out. “Since when, Uzair?”
“Bhai, mai bata raha hu na, humein explain toh karne di jiye, plea-”
“KAB SE UZAIR? HUMEIN KAHA NHI GAYA KYA TUM DONO SE? EK BAAR BHI? ULFAT SE? HAMZE SE?”
“BHAI MAI USSE PYAAR KARTA HU, VOH MUJH SE KARTI HAI, HUM NIKKAH KARENGE BUT ABHI HUME THODA TIME CHAHIYE. HUM EK DUSRE KO JAAN RAHE HAI, PLEASE PARESHAN MAT HOIYE AUR ULFATBHABHISEBACHALENAPLSPLSPLS” He stopped to take a breath, when Hamza burst out laughing. “Chal Donga, paise nikal, mai jeet gaya, bola tha na, iss mahine toh kuch na kuch inke kaand nikal hi aayenge”
My head whipped around so fast, I wanted to smack this stupid ass over the head, “KYA?! TUMNE HUMPE SHART LAGAYI THI? HAMZE KE BACCHE RUK TU AB” as I got up to chase him through the verandah. Just as I was about to cross Uzair, his long arms pulled me flush down on his lap and held me in place with a strong grip around my waist. “Ruk jaao, jaana, isko toh hum saath me dekh lenge, pehle bhai se nipat le, fir bhabhi se bhi toh bachana hai inhe humko.” he whispered as he placed a kiss to the side of my head.
“Hmmph! Theek hai, jaan, magar pehla strike uss par mera” I whisper back with a kiss of my own to his forehead.
“Ho gya tumhara yeh chumma-chaati? Aur kitna jaanoge ek dusre ko ab, Uzair? Bhabhi ko aane do, tum dono ki toh khair nahi!”
not a minor, female, use any pronouns, i don't really care.
(usually go by she/her- if you're confused.)
student, bisexual as fuck (BI DESIS STAND UPP) 😛
i've been a part of tumblr for a couple of years now, grew up on fics across websites lol. i write poetry, but i'm trying my hand at fics, mostly cus of dhurandhar.
i did start writing some stuff for characters here and there though, over the years, like blaise zabini, tony stark, yuki tsunoda and miles morales, but never really got around to properly writing it, let alone finish/ post it.
my requests are always open, just be respectful.
i don't tolerate any sort of hate/ phobia towards anything, and will not hesitate to block you or delete anon asks. (and cuss u out, i have a penchant for it ;)
feel free to reblog, comment and rave on things i post!
ok love u bye <3
ps. intended lower caps. i prefer it this way, but my fics will follow proper grammatical rules. :)
