Daisy

₊˚๑﹒Daisy﹒✨₊˚੭ • she/her • if I was a Bird, I'd know who I'd shit on.

[dumdumdaisy]

They mistook my kindness for weakness, I fucked up i know but Jesus can't a girl just do the best she can?

𐙚 Daisy 𐙚 17 𐙚 Infj 𐙚 She/her

⬤ׄ︵𖥔🪽𑁍𖥔︵ׄ⬤ °He hit me and it felt like true love.

Masterlist 𐙚

Junoon : 𐙚prologue 𐙚ch1 𐙚ch2

𑁍Saroor

𐙚Jaado-e-Dhurandhar (Dhurandhar Hogwarts AU)

Ch 1

🍀 !headcanons¡

𐙚 Husband Jaskirat

𐙚Major iqbal

🪽¡one-shots!

Uzair: Product Review

[the-bleeding-poetesss]

Imagine making memes about someone who's literally fighting for your rights. How apathetic do you have to be to mock a person who's been on a hunger strike for 19 days straight all for the sake of our future?

[dumdumdaisy]

Jinko ram mandir chanda chori se problem nahi Hui, hanuman ji ke rally me nachne se problem nahi Hui, unhe ramji ko "sitaji ke pati" kehne se problem hai!

Did they not disrespect your religion?

I DO NOT SUPPORT BJP. I'LL CLEAR THAT FIRST OF ALL...

Just because i support the protest that also does not mean I support CJP either. The protest is clearly for the students and the country

[heer-toh-badi-sad]

Saying that the protestors brought in the religion angle is inherently wrong considering it was people of bajrangdal and these Hindu extremists themselves in the initial days of the protest who came in jai Shree ram ke najare lagate hue, smearing the ram naam while doing so. A little research would show how the protestors were bashed for saying jai bhim instead of jai Shree ram by said people.

My simple point was to make sure that people stay informed about what is happening and not fall for any propaganda or out of context clips and, you are blowing that out of proportion.

Rise above your hatred for a particular community, and direct your anger towards the group that is actively smearing your gods reputation.

Ps. cjp openly invited anyone who wanted to speak in favour of students, even bjp officials. If I come across the clip again I will post it here.

[dumdumdaisy]

What is cjp’s “agenda”

One of their ideologies as Kashmir was never an integral part of India.

CJP'S leader openly supports Umar Khalid.

So yeah the inka agenda clearly dikhta hai. But hey, it's okay, unki ideologies alag hai aur meri alag hai. So I'll never support them but this movement is definitely not about the agenda but holding the government accountable.

[dumdumdaisy]

I do not support CJP nor do i support BJP.

I'll never ever agree with CJP's agenda and ideologies, but I am with Sonam Wangchuk. We are the people of a country who practices democracy, it's our soul's right to hold the country accountable for its mistakes and want transparency. 21 baccho ki jaan jana koi aam baat nhi hai. The system is obviously against us.

If the government cannot be held accountable, then it simply shouldn't be in power.

[not-your-asian-fantasy]

“Women are not sex objects.”

Thanuja, a transwoman diva at Asia's largest transgender festival - Koovagam, speaks up about how India treats women and stands firm: Women are not sex objects. Her candid chat with @roshminm on Indian men's attitudes toward women.

101India

[myauditionfordrphil]

yeah let's hold sonam wangchuk under scrutiny for apparently not fasting properly and his intentions but how dare we hold the minister under whom 7 national level papers were leaked accountable. how dare we question our supreme leader who still wishes him a happy birthday while parents are mourning their children who were killed by the system they created. istg if this fuck ass public questioned the govt as much as they are questioning the protesters we would not even be protesting. they'll ask every question - why is dipke not fasting, why is wangchuk allies with cjp, is he truly even fasting, how is he not dead he must be eating in the bathroom, why a hunger strike, blah blah blah but dare we actually ask people - mind you public servants meant to serve us - these kinds of questions rather than people who owe us absolutely nothing. our leaders - yes, that includes the absolutely incompetent opposition as well - are the ones who owe us shit but we'll question and probe into everybody's actions but theirs. atp i think sonam wangchuk should break his fast because the youth he is protesting for are also walking the path of their whatsapp educated parents, supporting a political party who hurted students in a way like no other and holding the people - their own peers- who are fighting for their cause accountable for the problems of the country. i have seen enough "youths" in comments section being so unbelievable vain and honestly fucking dumb that it boils my blood, i have no hope in this fucking world; call me full of hatred of what but i hope they fucking die, that they feel every ounce of pain that the children who killed themselves felt and even worse i hope they feel the same level of hopelessness that the children who are still alive, still fighting for their basic rights while their own people bash them instead of the perpetrators felt, if our generation cannot bring a revolution for our own future and on top of that bring down the people bringing one, then we dont deserve that future.

[hereforfanfictionsfr]

🚨 BEWARE: Creepy Account Warning 🚨

Please block and report the account @f3mmepetal immediately.

This account is targeting Desi/Indian users with a specific pattern of creepy and predatory behavior:

The Bait: She will initially message you pretending to be genuinely interested in Indian culture, building rapport to make you feel comfortable.

The Turn: Once she has your attention, she shifts the conversation to highly inappropriate, creepy, and invasive questions about porn, masturbation, and gooning.

The Demands: She will proceed to demand nudes and face reveals.

The Guilt Trip: If you refuse or set boundaries, she plays the victim, acting innocent, "heartbroken," and manipulative to try and guilt you into complying.

You are not alone in experiencing this. @akshayekhannamyhusband has dealt with the exact same manipulative behavior from this account.

📸 Proof Attached Below:

Please reblog to spread the word and keep our community safe. Do not engage with this account, just block and report instantly!

WATCH OUT GIRLS

@marlena-marlena @twinblueflamee @precioussophia @iamadelusionalwriter @athena-roy @maroonphase @adityami @bobcuts-blog @yembarzal @365daywritingchallenge @gehra-hua @marvelfamily3000 @gulaabjamun08 @granddynamonovajbvgjjj @pixiiiiiiiiidust @majoriqbalkibiwi @seasonofthenerd @donatogary22 @starrysugargrace @prettyprettypleaseplease @ooopssssu @mainyahaankyunhoon @not-aviii @yearnerray @cherryyelixir @debsreads21 @ninnimouse @cloudyparadoxqueen @misteriadare @gehra-hua @hersatanicmajestysshit @kisswithknife @tere-naal-nachna @sinnoire @tojisloft @tessa-bl @prahelika-fics @neelom @idonthavechatpateusernamed @crimsontraditiongolem @multimedia @crispydreamrelic @saniisinsane @mrgrungusthefrog @akshayekhannamerehai @lookathelilac @luvvkk @obsessedwidskincare @yearnerray @sanpiece @tere-naal-nachna @pleasetagmejaaneman @hamzair-is-my-otp @rutvii @gudbud @gloriouspurpose01 @rabbdaradio @maroonphase

[dumdumdaisy]

*Slides on the stage*

*clears throat* mic test one two three...

It's been a while ...hehe

A lot has happened in my life ...papa se jhagda, meri gane ki classes band ho gayi. I heard my best friend was slut shaming me behind my back.

BUT!!! OUT OF ALL THIS FIASCO. SOMETHING GREAT HAS HAPPENED MERI JAANS!!!

GUESSS WHO GOT A BOYFRIEND!!!!!

YES! YES!! YES!!! MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!! *JUMPS OFF FROM A BUILDING*

AAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAH!!! USSI KE SATH CHUMA CHAATI KARNE MEIN BUSY THI 😋😋🥰✨✨✨✨!!!

PATA HAI EKDUM GHERA HUA TYPES WALA SCENE BHI HUA THA HUMARAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!! HAYE PATA HAI KITNA PYARA HAI WOOOOOOO MENE RO DENA HAI.

MERI YALINA MUJHE MIL GAYI. 😤

Ok so writing jari rahegi. Sir ji ne encourage kiya hai. (Usse lag raha hai mein novel likh rahi hun.)

Toh mein chali junoon likhne!!!

[filmy-totoro]

Misti – ​Ishar Singh Grewal(Keenu) x Reader(misti) - oneshot

The golden afternoon sun of Sargodha cast long shadows across the dusty streets, the whole town humming with its usual lazy rhythm. You navigated the familiar alleys, the silver anklets beneath your cotton salwar kameez chiming softly with every step. Cradled in your hands was a brass dabba filled to the brim with rosogollas you had spent the morning preparing.

It had been two years since your father, the District Magistrate, had been posted to this bustling Punjabi town. Leaving the lush green landscapes of Bengal had broken your heart at first, but Sargodha, and specifically the fiercely loving family in the haveli at the end of the lane, had stitched it back together.

You stepped through the wooden doors, the scent of ghee and dried red chilies giving way to jasmine blooming somewhere in the courtyard.

"Sat Shri... Sat Sri Akal, Beeji," you called out, stumbling slightly over the vowels the way you always did, pulling your dupatta a little higher over your shoulder.

Beeji was on her charpoy in the center of the aangan, sifting through a plate of wheat. Her face broke into a crinkly smile the moment she saw you.

"Do saal ho gaye, phir bhi tera Punjabi kaccha hai," she laughed, not unkindly, waving you closer. "Koi baat nahi, dhee. Aaja, aaja meri dhee. Aaj phir kuch meetha banaya hai? Teri mehek toh is dabbe se pehle aati hai."

You smiled, a little sheepish, the small correction landing soft rather than sharp, the way it always did in this house. Your eyes betrayed you as they scanned the courtyard, searching the verandas and the rooftop for a tall frame, a neatly tied pugri, a crisp pant shirt. He wasn't there. You held up the container anyway.

"Haan Beeji, rosogolla banaya tha aaj. Phoola kahan hai?"

Beeji's eyes twinkled with ancient mischief. "Apne kamre mein padhai kar rahi hai. Jaa, uske paas chali jaa, warna saari mithai main akele kha jaungi."

You made your way to the back room, laughing softly. You and Phoola were the only girls in your batch at the Government College, a bond that had quickly turned into sisterhood. But as you pushed open the heavy teakwood door, you knew Phoola's love for sweets was only half the reason you visited so often.

"Oye hoye! Meri Misti aayi hai!" Phoola shrieked, abandoning her history books and lunging for the brass container. She popped a rosogolla into her mouth, eyes closing. "Waheguru! Misti, tere haath mein toh jaadu hai. Kasam se, main inke bina nahi jee sakti."

Heat rushed up your cheeks, and as always happened when you were flustered, your mother tongue slipped out. "Arey, baba, aaram se kha. Onek aache... I mean, aur bhi hain dabbe mein. Dheere dheere kha, Phoola."

You settled on the edge of her bed, gossiping about a particularly strict professor from college, your sketchbook resting shut beside you the way it always did, never quite out of your hands for long. You were deep in conversation when the rattle of bicycles echoed in the outer courtyard.

Keenu and his best friend Aftab pushed open the heavy gates. Keenu's cotton shirt was tucked neatly into his trousers, his pugri immaculate as always, mid-sentence in some line of Urdu poetry he had just penned, when Beeji's voice cut through the courtyard.

"Oye Keenu! Aa gaya tu?"

"Haan ji Beeji, bas abhi aaye hain," Keenu replied, leaning his Raleigh bicycle against a pillar.

"Toh jaldi andar jaa. Aaj Misti aayi hai," Beeji said, tease dripping from every word. "Aur apne saath tere pasandida rosogolle bhi layi hai. Pata nahi, shayad Phoola ne ab tak khatam kar diye hon."

Misti.

Keenu froze. The couplet died on his lips. His hand flew up, smoothing down his beard, then trailing to check his pugri.

Aftab caught the panic in his friend's eyes and let out a snort. "Oye hoye, Majnu bhai! Sun liya naam? Pairo mein pahiye lag gaye?"

"Sachi Beeji? Woh aayi hai?" Keenu's voice cracked, deaf to Aftab's teasing.

"Haan haan, jaa bhag ke jaa!" Beeji laughed, waving him off.

Keenu didn't think twice. He abandoned the bicycle, which wobbled precariously before Aftab caught it, and sprinted across the courtyard, dodging a charpoy and leaping over a drying mat of red chilies.

"Oye ruk jaa, aashiq! Gardan tudwayega kya!" Aftab yelled, cracking up as he dropped the bikes and ran after him.

The commotion drew Keenu's mother and aunts to the veranda. Their usually composed, poetry spouting, college going boy, sprinting like a five year old towards his sister's room. The elder women erupted into laughter.

"Haye rabba, dekho isko! Jawaani ke din," his aunt giggled, pulling her dupatta over her mouth. "Bada kavi banta hai, par ladki dekhte hi bacha ban jata hai."

A few steps from the door, Keenu stopped.

He pressed a hand to his chest, drawing one long breath in, then let it out slow, like he could push the last of the sprint out of his body along with it. His fingers moved fast and practiced, smoothing his beard, straightening his pugri, tugging his shirt back into place at the waist, running a hand down the front of his trousers to knock the dust off. He rolled his shoulders back, chin lifted, chest puffed, the picture of the composed, poetry reciting man he wanted her to see.

That was the exact moment the door flew open.

You came barreling out, sketchbook clutched to your chest with both arms like something that might be torn from you, Phoola right on your heels.

"Dikha na yaar, sirf ek baar dikha de!" Phoola laughed, grabbing for the edge of the sketchbook. "Tu hamesha usi mein muskurati rehti hai jab koi nahi dekh raha hota, main bas dekhna chahti hoon kya hai usme!"

"Nahi, Phoola, chhod!"

Neither of you saw Keenu standing there, freshly composed for an entrance that never got to happen.

You collided into him at full speed, the impact knocking the sketchbook clean out of your arms. His arms shot out on instinct, catching you at the waist before you could stumble back, steadying you against him. For a second neither of you breathed. His hand was warm through the cotton of your kameez, and you could feel your own heartbeat everywhere at once.

Behind you, Phoola skidded to a stop, hand flying to her mouth to smother a laugh she didn't try very hard to hide.

"Sambhal ke," Keenu said quietly, not letting go a second longer than he needed to.

The sketchbook lay open on the ground between you, pages splayed. You both bent for it at the same time, and your hand landed on his.

Neither of you moved.

His eyes dropped to the page.

It was his own face looking back at him. Charcoal lines of his jaw, his pugri, the exact tilt of his head when he recited a couplet without realizing he was doing it. Not one sketch. Page after page, each one more careful than the last.

He looked up at you slowly.

The tip of your tongue poked out between your teeth for half a second, the way it always did when you got caught doing something you weren't supposed to, before you pressed your lips together and looked away, unable to hold his gaze.

You couldn't speak. There was nothing left to hide behind, not the dupatta, not the rosogollas, not the practiced Punjabi you always fumbled at Beeji's door. Just this.

Something in his chest settled, quiet and certain, like a line of poetry finally finding its last word. He had filled half a notebook with her name disguised as metaphor, her eyes hidden inside verses about the moon, never once imagining she carried him too, tucked into the corner of a sketchbook in careful black lines.

He would show her, he decided. Someday. Every page.

For now he only closed the sketchbook gently and held it out to you, his fingers brushing yours again on purpose this time.

Behind you, Phoola cleared her throat loudly, suddenly very interested in the pattern of the courtyard tiles, a smile she was fighting tugging at the corner of her mouth. Neither of you noticed. Neither of you looked away.

Drop a comment if you want to be added to the tag list for my upcoming Main Vaapas Aaunga fics! 💕

[verdantdrawzstories]

Reminder that fanfic authors write the stories you like

FOR FREE

[bambistjames]

non-writers will never understand the mental illness of writing an entire conversation in your head while doing dishes and then forgetting every word the second you open a blank doc

[heavenlit-34]

Major Iqbal x !v.Prostitute Reader

Synopsis: In Lyari, everyone knows Major Iqbal's name. They know the power he commands and the fear he instills. Men obey him while women admire him from afar. He's untouchable and unreachable. For a man who had no use for marriage, desire was still a debt the body demanded be paid. It is bought, used, forgotten, and left behind before dawn. Just another transaction, another closed door, another face he never intends to see twice after sunrise.

Until one transaction quietly becomes another. And another.

Night after night, he returns to the same kotha. To the same room. To the same bed. 

The same girl…

Some stories begin with love. 

This one begins with a sin.

Inspired by this edit by cutie @wtafananya [He looks like the type of person to like it raw] 

Content Warnings: 18+, mature content!!! CNC, dub con, virgin reader, power dynamic, rape, age gap. Not suitable for minors!

a/n: Hi loviess this is my first ever fan fic, although i LOVE reading major iqbal fluffy and domestic fics I rlly wanted to read abt movie canon iqbal where hes just dark, dominant and not to mention so mysterious. I'm planning on making this a few chapters long, it depends on how u guys are liking it and whether u want to see more. I just hope you guys enjoy and pleaseee let me know how u like itt, dont be afraid to comment it only makes my work better for yall. Consider this a gift to all my Iqbal fan girls, ur not alone and i deff see youuu <33

There is a kind of hunger that does not announce itself, it arrives with heat. A kind of heat that’s low and persistent like the way embers stay alive and glow under ash for days before anyone notices. If further fuel is added, the embers can spark a fire so wild and blazing that it becomes hard to even ignore the slightest. And until water is used to extinguish it, who knows what it may burn in its path.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Major Iqbal was a man who was highly decorated with medals and stars from his years of warfare. Men everywhere spoke his name with both fear and reverence, for it is he who commands and rules over both the underground mafia of Karachi and the Government of Pakistan. Being the head of ISI , there was no one more terrifying and brutal than Iqbal. He was merciless, unforgiving, and ruthless if anything or anyone got in his way. His men cowered in terror, keeping their heads low and paying their respects every time he walked in. Because if someone even gave him the wrong look, you can never know when it would be the last day they were seen alive. 

Through his extensive time of being a part of ISI in the chain of command, Major Iqbal had learned to manage many things: pain, threats, betrayal. The deathly silence of a room after a decision was made that would unmake other men's lives, watching the spies he tortured finally succumbing to their wounds all bloody with decay. He had spent years mastering the discipline of deprivation. Sleep became optional. Mercy became unavailable. Guilt became a language he no longer remembered. Every instinct and need that made a man ordinary had been suppressed into silence until only his control remained.

Or so he believed.

Desire was an inconvenient thing.

It was as inevitable as hunger, as instinctive as breathing. No battlefield could prepare him for the wars that unwrapped in the quiet hours after midnight. When Lyari was nothing but an oasis of glimmering stars in the night sky and a barren desert on land. When the call to evening prayer had long since subsided. When nothing remained except the buzzing sound of crickets.

After all, he was still a man.

There were nights in Lyari when the heat was physical. When air itself pressed against his skin that made the wanting underneath more violent.

Because underneath- God, underneath….

He had needs. 

Sinful ones. 

One that reminded him what pressed beneath his uniform whenever he stayed working at his desk during the sinister late hours of the night, smoking a Cuban cigar while pouring hard whisky down his throat. Even in the most inconvenient of hours, his drive reminded him that he was not stone.

He was flesh.

And flesh, in the end, always finds its way to heat.

He wasn't married. It was quite surprising to the public that Major Iqbal had never taken a wife. And it wasn't because he lacked any opportunity - only God knows how many women across Pakistan admired him, a few even loved him- but because marriage required permanence, and with the life he leads, he long ago abandoned the idea of a wife waiting behind the doors of his haveli. That version of him who would be happy laughing over evening chai with someone was long since buried. His work never allowed enough presence to handle his affairs at home, let alone a whole woman who would forever be in his possession. He simply refused and saw no need to get married and be tied down to one woman. 

Major Iqbal had however taken lovers over the years, women who were willing to accept his corrupt, twisted self and to satisfy his voracious appetite, no matter how short the duration of their relationship was. Even for a few nights, some women were grateful that they even got the chance to be around him. He had that charisma to him, one that came naturally that other men could not replicate. But it wasn't as if they were treated horribly, he was still quite the gentleman. He would buy them expensive gifts, sometimes gold jewelry, foreign imported shoes or even an apartment to live in. After all, he had some heavy pockets. But in the end, he didn't care enough to keep them in his possession for long. He would take whatever they would give him and move onto the next. 

Despite that, women everywhere spoke of him differently.

Some had only caught glimpses. A black luxury SUV disappearing into the night, polished boots pounding against broken pavement, the sharp line of his jaw flexing as he took a cigar between his lips beneath the amber glow of streetlamps. Others had watched him from grilled balconies or market stalls, stealing looks they prayed he never noticed through his aviator covered eyes. 

He was quite handsome, but not in a conventional way. He was beautiful in the way that storms were beautiful - powerful, majestic and devastatingly dazzling.

Major Iqbal was a man who inspired temptation as effortlessly as he inspired fear. The kind of man people looked at twice without realizing they had done so, and each time he would always notice. 

There was something unnerving about him. As if he had been sculpted with equal parts elegance and ruthlessness. It was evident with how he would be immaculately dressed with tailored suits and kurtas that would hug his well-defined body in all the right places, always composed with his dark, mystic eyes that could hypnotize someone if they stared too long. Not to mention the mystery that clung to him like expensive cologne. There was something profoundly unfair about how attractive Major Iqbal was. His face belonged in a devout prayer yet the man behind it belonged to a warning. He embodied the kind of presence that silenced and crushed the confidence of every man in the room.

But in the end, he belonged to no one, not to gossip, not to his lovers, not even to the city that whispered his name.

He was devoted to his obligations: to classified files, intelligence, politics, assassinations reports, the underground mafia, the list continues.

It was inevitable that something within him demanded something back. 

Long days steeped in violence, deception, and endless restraint left behind a hollowness no amount of silence could quiet. He had long accepted that certain hungers were simply part of being a man.

And with no wife waiting behind the doors of his haveli, no marriage to soften his edges, no constant mistress, those hungers had long since found their own arrangement.

There were places in Lyari where morality was left at the door. Places where respectable men pretended never to go, yet their faces were as familiar as the worn floorboards beneath them. Places where secrets were purchased by the hour and buried beneath stacks of broken banknotes. 

Where rich drunk men would linger around to have their chance at heaven for a few minutes.

Madam Bi’s kotha was that place for Iqbal. 

It was the only place where he had solace, hidden behind weathered doors and neon signs.

Madam Bi’s kotha was a safe haven for the elite men of Karachi’s society, so that they could become strangers beneath the dim light, trusting that the darkness would keep their dirtiest truths hidden behind velvet curtains.

Madam Bi never asked questions when he arrived. She didn’t need to.

Men like him did not come for conversation…

When he comes, he walks through the kotha like someone carved from stone itself. Always unreadable. His broad shoulders hoisting his impeccable uniform casting long shadows on the walls. Even there, where sin was disguised as comfort, the room made space for him. The conversations lowered around him, the girls giggled softly behind their hands, even time seemed to pause. Each woman anticipated being the one to spend the night with him, until they realized what would follow. Major Iqbal was ruthless. The only remnants of his entanglement being ripped kameez’s and soaked sheets. 

In the end, each night he spent with a different girl was always according to his desires, his dirty wants. You couldn't refuse him even if you wanted to…

Yet he remembered them only until he walked out the door. By sunrise, they had become indistinguishable from every woman who came before them. 

It was an understanding he had made with himself years ago. That there wouldn’t be any names worth mentioning, no attachments capable of becoming weaknesses. He was there for his sole purpose of satisfying his inner need. His wants were no less human than any other man's, they were simply kept behind closed doors, where reputation could not follow.

By dawn, Major Iqbal was back to being the man everyone in Lyari feared and and the last man anyone dared question.

It was a simple arrangement.

Until, it wasn't.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The meeting had been running for 2 hours and 45 minutes. 

He knew this, even without the watch on his wrist. He always had that in him, an internal clock that always kept running inside him no matter what he was doing. 

Around the table, men in suits, men in uniforms with maps and numbers took the space of Iqbal's private study. Cigarette smoke slowly hazing around each man while they all discussed different details about an upcoming strategy. But to Iqbal, it only sounded like low chatter, their voices now distant in his mind. 

Rain was pattering against the window, the water droplets trickling down the seams. Outside, the sky was a blur of all shades of grey. The day had been gloomy since it started, clouds pouring down soft droplets of liquid. Each one splashing onto Lyari’s unpaven roads, washing the whole city in a layer of melancholy. 

He sat at the edge of the conversation the way he always did. Present and still, saying the precise amount required and nothing beyond it. His jaw was set. His eyes moved slowly across the room, reading each and every man’s intentions from his aviators.

His cigar had burned to the filter. 

He pressed it into the ashtray beside him without looking down. He reached for another in a wooden box and with a tap, draw, light, he was right back smoking a Davidoff Blanco. 

He thought about tonight. 

He had made a call earlier in the week to Madam Bi. Arrangements had been set in motion. There was a particular order to these things, a particular etiquette that Madam Bi has always respected and that he always appreciated about her. She was a business woman in the oldest sense: discreet, efficient and fully without judgment. 

He respected that...

The meeting had finally ended at 7:45 pm. 

The others filed out, ensuring they gave Major Iqbal a proper goodbye, with handshakes, final conversations and the social performance of bidding farewell. He stayed seated for an extra moment, smoking his cigar while watching the rain streak down the glass. 

He finally stood, adjusting his collar and took out his phone. He stepped into the hallway corridor, a place empty and quiet with a tall glass window overlooking the city. He briefly watched the city across, it was quite gray and wet all the while starting to come alive with the particular energy of the evening, when Karachi transforms from one version into another much darker one.

He finally dialed her number. At the first ring, Madam Bi finally spoke. 

“Ji Major Sahab?”. 

“Intizam?” he asked. One word, he didn't need more with her.

There was a slight pause.

“Sab tayyar hai”. 

Satisfied with her answer, he hung up. 

He took a long drag of his cigar, watching a raindrop trace its way down the glass.

He had 3 hours.

He pocketed his phone and walked back down the corridor, his footsteps even against the floor just like a soldiers.

He was a man who knew where he was going.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

A Few Hours Earlier. 

Madam’s Bi Kotha

You were sitting across the window ledge in your room, your knees tucked beneath your chin. Rain had drifted lazily down the window glass, each droplet carving its own winding path before disappearing into another. Your fingers tracing them without thought, as though following their journey might somehow quiet the unease growing inside your chest.

You knew what was coming…

The monsoon always made Lyari look softer. It hid the dust, blurred the broken buildings and washed away the dirt of the streets for a little while. From your window, the world almost looked beautiful.

Almost. 

You had just turned 19, five weeks ago. It wasn't much of a celebration, there was no sweets, no laughter, not even gifts.

Birthdays meant little inside Madam Bi’s kotha. After all, it only meant you were coming closer to the day where you would need to lose your innocence to the cruel world.

Madam Bi had sheltered you from a prostitute's world for as long as she could.

Ever since you were sold here at 8 years old, she'd found ways to keep you away from the room’s downstairs, from the pre-marital beds. You swept the corridors, folded washed sheets, served tea to the other women and spent your afternoons learning to read Urdu poetry from books someone discarded years ago. You lived discreetly among the kotha’s walls without ever truly becoming part of them. 

Your mother never wanted to let you go. She came from a poor village where every harvest depended on mercy from the sky, and mercy became very scarce. Some nights there wasn’t enough flour to make bread for everyone which would result in your younger siblings crying themselves to sleep while your bastard father staggered home reeking of cheap liquor.

He spent what little money your family had to chase another bottle. And when there was nothing left to sell, he found you.  

The memory of that day had faded over the years. Yet you still remembered your mothers trembling hands and grieving face as she held your tiny face one last time, whispering prayers through her tears you were too young to understand. You had spent years wondering if she ever forgave herself.

Or whether she hoped you would ever forgive her…

A quiet knock broke you out of your thoughts. 

The door creaked open. Madam Bi did not fully step into the room, she stayed by the door, her expression heavy with a mixture of pity and rationality. She looked at you, so very still and fragile like a piece of unglazed porcelain and sighed. 

It was only a matter of time before you too had to be exposed to the real world. Living in a kotha meant a certain debt being placed on your head which could only be paid through the expense of your body. Sooner or later, every girl learned the price of the roof over her heads and the years they've been allowed to remain untouched. 

“Beta, chalo utho” she said, her voice softening. “Waqt ho gaya hai”

You felt a cold shiver run down your spine, you knew about this day. Today was the day when you would start paying off your debt.

“Beti tum itni khoobsurat ho gayi ho, bilkul ek gulaab ki tarah jo bahaar aate hi khil uthta hai."

Her smile faltered slightly. 

"Lekin har khilta hua phool ek din hawaon ka saamna karta hai, tum ek aurat ho aur ye din tumhara pehla shuruat hai iss dunya mein”

You lowered your eyes, she finally walked toward you and cupped your cheek with tenderness. 

"Madam Bi…, lekin mujhe nah-”

"Mujhe maloom hai tum darr rahi ho, aur kaash main tumse keh sakti ke tumhein kabhi yeh din dekhna na padta”

“Lekin waqt kisi ke liye rukta nahi”.

Hearing that, it gave you no room to protest. Even though you knew this was coming, a little part of you hoped that perhaps you didn't need to do this to survive, you didn't need to sacrifice yourself for this. But alas, you accepted your fate.

“Aaj raat ek khaas insaan aa raha hai”

Your stomach tightened. “K- kaun hai woh?” you asked nervously, hoping it wouldn't be that man you've seen with the other girls. You had seen them walk into those rooms with trembling shoulders and walk out with limp legs and gold bangles that felt like shackles. 

Please don't let it be him. 

She hesitated only briefly. 

“Major Iqbal”

The name left the room colder than it was before. Your eyes widened.

“Kya! Major Iqbal?!, Bi jaan m- meh ye nahi kar sakte” Your panic started to creep in. How can your first time be with a man like that!? 

Madam Bi’s expression hardened, the business woman replacing the guardian. She gripped your chin, forcing you to look at her.

"Madam... main..." your voice trailed off, barely a whisper. "Main tayyar nahi hoon."

Madam Bi locked her eyes on you. “tayyari toh koi nahi hota, bachay. Magar yeh Major Iqbal hain. Inka intezar poora Lyari karta hai, aur aaj tumhari baari hai”. 

In the kotha, the air changed when he was expected. The other girls spent hours preening themselves just so that he could be pleased with them. They painted their lips a deeper crimson and tightened their lace, their eyes glittering with a hunger for the attention of the man who ruled Karachi.

The mention of his name made your heart hammer against your ribs. You had heard the stories. You remembered the first time you saw him, from a distance, stepping out of that black SUV. He hadn't looked at anyone, yet everyone had looked at him. 

"Lekin... woh bohot sakht hain" you stammered, your fingers twisting the fabric of your simple cotton kameez. "Woh to reham (mercy) bhi nahi karte, mera kya hashar karein gai?”

As if on cue, a giggle erupted from the hallway. Two of the older girls, Zoya and Meher, were leaning against the doorframe, watching your distress with mischievous grins.

"Reham?" Zoya laughed, her voice dripping with irony. "Beta, Iqbal Sahab reham nahi, sukoon dete hain... magar apne tareeqay se."

Meher leaned in, her eyes dancing. "Suna hai woh ghore (horse) ki tarah charhte hain. Ek baar pakar liya, toh chhorte nahi jab tak tumhari cheekhon se poora kotha na baar jaye."

Your face flushed a deep, burning red. The imagery, the sheer, almost violent intensity they described, sent a wave of panic through you. You were nineteen, but in the ways that mattered, you were still a child. You had never experienced something like that, not to mention you were quite clueless on how to even pleasure a man despite living in a kotha. Madam Bi protected you from all this. But the thought of that man, that mountain of a man, taking something you could never get back felt less like a transaction and more like an execution.

"Chup raho tum dono!" Madam Bi snapped. 

She turned back to you, her expression becoming firm. "Suno. Darna fitrat hai, magar darna mana hai. Woh bohot sakht mard hain haan, be-reham bhi. Tumhein sirf ek baat yaad rakhni hai... unki marzi ke khilaaf kabhi mat jaana. Jo woh kahen, bas wahi karna. Phir dekhna, is sheher mein tumse zyada mehfooz koi larki nahi hogi."

She stepped toward the wardrobe, pulling out a sheer, blood-red kameez that shimmered like a deep rose. She laid it across the bed: the place where you would lose it all, you realized.

"Ab rona band karo. Nahane jao. Chambeli (jasmine) ka tail aur gulaab ka saboon istemaal karna. Aur apne jism ko teek sai dhona. Main chahti hoon ke jab woh kamray mein dakhil hon, toh unhe sirf tumhari khushbu mehoos ho aur ek narm jism mile."

But you still had one more question.

"Madam, kya... kya bohot dard hoga?" you whispered, your eyes welling up.

Madam Bi’s gaze softened for a fleeting second. She knew the answer. She knew that for a man like Iqbal, pleasure was often synonymous with pain and dominance.

"Thoda sa, bas unki baat manna," she tried her best at lying. Great, no pointers from her either. 

You knew you were screwed.

 "Lekin tum naram aur jawan ho, tum seh lo gi. Yahi toh maza hai. Ab jao beti”

As you walked toward the bathing area, your legs felt like lead. You could already imagine the heavy thud of polished boots in the corridor. You could imagine the scent of expensive cigars and his musk overpowering your delicate one. 

Because tonight, the innocence you’ve clung to becomes a currency. Today is the day you stop being a girl of this house... and become a woman of the trade.

You were a lamb being prepared for the slaughter, and the butcher was a man who didn't know how to be gentle…

As you stepped into the steaming shower, you stood there trying to bask in the only warmth that will keep you warm tonight. The steam in the small bathing chamber becoming a thick, humid veil that stuck to the walls and blurred the view around you. You stood beneath the spray of the shower, the water scalding, nearly too hot, but you welcomed the sting. It was a distraction from the drumming of your heart against your ribs.

What if he didn't like what he saw? What if he wasn't pleased with me?

Those thoughts kept circulating in your head, gnawing at the little bit of confidence you had mustered up. It wasn't as if you didn't have a woman’s body, you were blessed with the swell of your breasts and your slim yet full curves around your waist. Your hips were wide in contrast to your tiny back. Your curly long hair wrapping around your slick body.

After all, you could only hope he would be satisfied with you.

You reached for the rose scented soap Madam Bi had insisted upon, the bar slippery and fragrant in your palm. With trembling fingers, you began to lather, the white foam contrasting against the tan hue of your skin. You scrubbed with a meticulousness born from terror, wanting to be pristine, to be void of any flaw that a msn like Major Iqbal might find distasteful. 

You moved the soap over the swell of your breasts, the tips of your nipples hardening not from the cold, but from the anticipation of a touch you had only imagined in the quietest, most shameful hours of the night. As you slid the soap down the curve of your waist and over the flare of your hips, you felt the fragility of your own body. You were a vast canvas of softness, and you were about to be handed over to a man made of iron and stone.

Then, you reached for the grooming tools and the fine oil.

Your breath flickered as you stepped lower, your legs shaking. You had heard the other girls whisper about the Major’s preferences. He was a man of discipline, he liked things precise and controlled. As you carefully began to remove the course, soft hairs from your intimate areas, a wave of vulnerability crashed over you. 

You worked slowly, the blade grazing your skin as precisely as you could. You wondered, with a sudden, sharp spike of anxiety, if he preferred a woman completely bald, smooth as a marble or if he liked the naturalness of a girl. Does a man like him even care? you wondered. Or will he find any stray hair an insult to his perfection?

You didnt want to risk it, so you spent an agonizing amount of time ensuring every inch of your mound was flawlessly smooth, your skin flushed pink from the friction. You wanted to be a blank canvas for him. You wanted there to be nothing between his skin and yours, no barrier, no resistance. The thought made your stomach flip, a mixture of dread and a sudden, traitorous heat pooling between your legs.

Finally, you reached for the jasmine oil. You massaged it into your limbs with slow strokes, the oil shimmering under the dim light, making your skin glow with an iridescent sheen. You smelled of crushed roses and jasmine, a scent that signaled submission to men like him.

Stepping out of the shower, you didn't dry yourself completely. You liked the way the few remaining droplets clung to your collarbones and the valley of your chest, acting like tiny dismonds against your skin.

You put on a deep red lingerie set that was simple yet all net as Madam Bi preferred, allowing him to see everything from behind a cloth.

Then, you turned to the bed.

The blood red kameez lay there, waiting for you: a garment of surrender. 

You slid the kameez over your head, the sheer material clinging to your damp curves. It was so thin it felt like a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination. As you fastened the small hooks, you looked at yourself in the mirror. The red of the dress made your skin look creamier, your lips look plumper, and your eyes wide with a desperate, haunting innocence.

With makeup, you didn't want to hide the simplicity of your natural beauty, so you went with kohl in your eyes and a simple dark crimson lipstick that resembled the shade of pomegranate seeds. Your curly hair naturally flowed, you tried to contain the chaos by brushing it and maintaining it but it wasn't managing. Defeat was accepted and you left it as it was, hoping the Major didn't mind it.

You didn't wear jewelry, Madam Bi had said the Major preferred the natural beauty of a woman's body over the artificial look of ornaments. Preferring to have nothing disturb his actions.

Finally, you were finally ready, a gift wrapped in crimson silk.

You sat on the edge of the bed, your small hands gripping the sheets, listening. 

It was 10:00 pm now. The place had gone quiet, the usual chaos of the place turning into a heavy, dark silence. Madam Bi had arranged the whole kotha for Major Iqbal, ensuring no clients came today. The girls stayed in their rooms, knowing what will happen to you soon.  

Tonight, the kotha left only you and him.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

10 minutes had passed, then 30, then 45. The restless in your heart kept thrumming, the anxious waves making you almost nauseous. When will he get here? When will this be over-

Then, you heard it.

The distant, heavy thud of leather boots hitting the wooden floorboards of the corridor. Thump. Thump. Thump. 

He was here.

The sound didn't stop. It grew louder, rhythmic, echoing through the hallway until it stopped for a moment. You heard a deep, musky voice speaking indistinctly with a woman's voice, Madam Bi’s voice. They talked for a bit about who knows what. All you could focus on was the ferocious beating of your heart, your hands sweating in anticipation.

Then the sound of the footsteps started again and this time stopped directly outside your door. The silence that followed was suffocating, the kind of silence that kills you from within.

You closed your eyes, your chest heaving, the red fabric rising and falling with your shallow breaths. You were a sacrifice, and the man who took everything was finally standing at the threshold.

The door finally clicked open, the heavy wooden frame creaking under the weight of his presence. You stood up immediately from the bed, watching the myth of a man finally entering. The first thing that hit you wasn't the sight of him, it was the scent of him, an intoxicating blend of cuban tobacco, sandalwood, expensive oud cologne and his natural blend of musk. 

You stood frozen at the edge of the bed, it was as if your throat was tightening so harshly you could barely breathe, your fingers digging into the sides of your kameez. 

Up close, he looked even more striking. He was a beast of a man, his silhouette cutting a jagged line against the dim light of the hallway. The type of man who made the world around him feel smaller. He was dressed in an olive green military uniform with a khaki coloured pathani kurta underneath that clung to the breadth of his shoulders and the hard planes of his chest, the sleeves of his jacket rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle and dusted with dark hair. His face was a severe masterpiece, a jawline that looked like it had been carved from basalt, a straight, arrogant nose, and eyes… eyes that weren't dark, but void-like, absorbing every flicker of your fear and curiosity behind his glasses.

He closed the door behind him, locking it without looking back. He didn't speak, he didn't even acknowledge you at first. He stopped in the center of the room, his polished boots clicking against the floor. With a painfully slow movement, he brought a glowing cigar to his lips, inhaling deeply. The tip flared a bright, angry orange in the shadows. He exhaled a plume of silver smoke that curled around his head like a crown of ghosts. 

And his gaze brought up, finally locking onto yours. You were star struck.

The intensity was physical. It felt like a hand pressing against your chest, stealing the air from your lungs. He looked at you not as a man looks at a woman, but as a python when it has already decided who to suffocate.

You didn't know what to do, all you did in that moment was stand and look at him. But you quickly averted your gaze to the ground after realizing you had been staring too long. 

He found that amusing, a prostitute averting her gaze rather than holding it. 

Interesting, he thought.

Slowly, he began to move toward you. Each step was precisely measured, the grace of a panther. He stopped inches away, his scent becoming overpowering, your nostrils started to burn. You felt the heat radiating off his body clashing with the chill of your nervous skin. He smelled of power, and as he looked down at you, you felt smaller than you ever had in your life.

He reached out. His hand was massive compared to your face, his skin tanned and rough, the fingers long and strong wearing two silver rings, one on his index and the other on his ring finger. He didn't touch your skin at first, instead, he hooked a few stray curls of your hair, winding them slowly around his index finger. He tilted his head, his half-lidden eyes scanning your face: the kohl-rimmed eyes, the trembling crimson lips, the sheer red fabric that left nothing to the imagination.

You tried to keep your eyes down. 

He leaned in, his voice a deep vibration that seemed to echo in your very bones. "Ye hayaa hai ya sirf dikhava," he murmured, his breath warm against your cheek. 

Your heart rate went up. Can he tell I’m nervous? Did Madam Bi tell him that I’m unexperienced?

The proximity was getting too much for you. The magnetism of him, the dark energy he radiated, sent a jolt of panic through you. You flinched, stepping back instinctively, your heels catching on the bedsheets.

Iqbal’s eyes narrowed. He didn't like the retreat. In his world, people didn't move away from him, they moved for him.

His hand shot out to grab the side of your head, prompting you to look at him. A soft whimper left your lips at his grip and your eyes had finally met his gaze directly. His fingers started slowly intertwining within your hair, his gaze analyzing every twitch of your face. 

“Koi masla?”, he asked very softly, his eyebrows furrowed together.

“N-nahi”, you tried to answer but all you could do was stutter it out. 

I don't think he knows, you thought to yourself. 

Without another second, he plunged right into your neck, his nose and beard grazing at the most sensitive part of your side neck. All he could smell was the jasmine oil you spread on your body. Realizing that, he took a small bite, his lips a foreign sensation on you. You yelped at his sudden intrusion. The pain triggering instant panic inside you and you quickly jerked away from his face, causing you to slam backwards against the nightstand beside the bed. Your hands catching yourself by gripping the edge of the table.

Your breathing started going up. 

Before you could blink, his hand shifted and grabbed the side of your head. The patience he had shown in the first few seconds vanished, replaced by an abrupt, sharp hunger.

His fingers tightened around your head, gripping the thick curls at the nape of your neck and yanking your head back with a sharp, sudden force.

A small gasp escaped your lips, your neck arching, your chest thrusting forward against the red of your kameez. You were forced to look up into those dark, merciless eyes.

"Kyaa hua? Sharma rahi ho?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave, dripping with a dark, mocking amusement that didn't need volume to be intimidating. You could tell he was becoming restless. 

Your heart was hammering so hard you thought it might burst through your ribs. Each millisecond you kept quiet, his fingers pulled harder at your hair causing a sharp pain to shoot in your skull. He was waiting for an answer to what you did. 

You trembled under his grip, your voice coming out in a fragile, broken whisper. "Wo... bas... main... main kabhi kisi admi ke saath nahi leti." You let out abruptly. 

The silence that followed was revealing. You saw the moment the words registered. His pupils dilated, his gaze dropping to the swell of your breasts and then back to your terrified, innocent eyes. The revelation of your virginity didn't make him soften, it actually did the opposite. It sparked something primal in him. The idea of being the first, the only, to break that seal of innocence turned his desire into something violent.

A dark, evil smirk touched his lips causing his gold tooth to shine under the dim light, one of his eyebrows raising. "Sach?" he whispered, his grip on your hair tightening just enough to keep you pinned. "Tumhare liye... yeh pehli baar hai?" 

You nod slightly, hoping that perhaps he would let you go since he probably preferred more experienced women. 

Right. Right? Well, it couldn't be further from the truth. 

The air in the room became thick, saturated with the scent of his cigar and the buzz of a man who had just found a prize he didn’t expect. Iqbal didn’t let go of your hair, instead, he stepped closer, his massive frame eclipsing the light, swallowing you whole in his shadow.

“Toh yeh baat thi.” The words sounding like a sentence rather than a question. "Madam Bi ne ye baat mujse chupaye”, he says ever so slowly. 

He released your hair but Iqbal didn’t move. He didn’t offer a comforting word or a gentle touch to soothe the trembling of your shoulders. Instead, he stepped back slowly and moved toward the heavy mahogany chair positioned in the edge of the room. He sat, leaning back with ease. He sprawled his legs wide, his polished boots clicking against the floor, occupying the space with an arrogance that demanded submission. He took one last drag of his cigar, the ember glowing a fierce, hungry red, before crushing the butt into a crystal tray on the side table.

His eyes never left you. They traced the line of your thin throat, the frantic pulse jumping in your neck, and the way the red fabric of your kameez clung to your shivering form. To a man like Iqbal, innocence wasn’t something to be cherished, it was something to manipulate.

"Pas aao," he commanded, raising his fingers to flicker you to come.

You took a small step forward, your bare feet feeling the coldness of the floor. You stopped a few feet away, your hands twisting the fabric of your dress.

"Kapare utaro," he ordered. 

What..

The command was flat, devoid of any request. You froze. The thought of standing there, completely exposed under that clinical, dark gaze, sent a surge of unease through you. You had spent hours preparing, scrubbing every inch of your skin to prepare for him, but now that the moment had arrived, the vulnerability felt like a physical weight crushing your lungs.

"M-major sahab... main... ple-..." you whispered, your voice cracking. You didn't even know what you were asking for, mercy, patience, or for him to simply stop. All you knew was that you didn't want to be here, didn't want to be standing in front of a man presented like an object.

Iqbal’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, the hesitation seemed to irritate him. He didn't like the word please when it was used as a plea for hesitation. He liked the word yes.

He stood up.

The movement was so sudden you gasped, stepping back, but he was faster. He closed the distance in two strides, his massive 6’2 frame looming over you like a storm cloud. His index finger came up and hooked the neckline of your kameez. He pulled the fabric toward him, allowing him to effortlessly take a look at your cleavage, right between your breasts. As if he was inspecting something. 

It was a brutal invasion of privacy, but alas you couldn't do anything about it. 

Before you could utter another word, his whole hand moved, gripping the front of your sheer red kameez with a hard force and pulled. You let out a sharp cry as you felt the fabric strain and then, rip, the sound of silk tearing echoed through the silent room. The garment was shredded down the center, exposing the delicate net of your lingerie and the trembling, cream-colored skin of your chest.

The fabric was now discarded in the ground, all torn.

"N-nahi... please, thoda aaram se," you whimpered, one of your hands coming up to instinctively cover yourself, and your other hand brushing against his hard chest. The cool air hit your damp skin, making your nipples harden instantly, a traitorous reaction to the terror. 

Shame was the only thing you could feel in that moment. 

"Main ne kaha tha, utaro," he murmured, his voice dangerous. "Lekin tumne meri baat nahi suni." 

You tried to pull away, your arm crossing even tighter over your breasts, trying to shield yourself from the intensity of his stare. You felt small, exposed, and utterly powerless. 

"M- mujhe daar lag raha tha” was the only thing you could spit out. Your eyes welling up with tears now.

“Darr bohot kuch sikhata hai,” he countered, his voice devoid of warmth. "Aur jab tum dene mein itni hichkichati ho... toh phir tumhein lena seekhna padega."

Before you could recoil, his hand clamped around your wrist with a grip of iron. He didn't move your hand, he forced it with all his might. He yanked your arm down, pressing your palm firmly against the heavy, warm bulge beneath the fabric of his khaki shalwar.

You gasped, your eyes widening. Even through the fabric, you could feel the incredible size of him, the pulsing heat of his arousal, the length of him. He was hard, stony and demanding.

"Dekho," he commanded, his other hand gripping the back of your neck to keep you pinned against him. "Mehsoos karo. Ek mard ko aish dena itna mushkil kaam nahi."

He began to move your hand in a slow, rhythmic stroke. He wasn't letting you touch him out of desire, he was forcing you to acknowledge the power dynamic he held. Your fingers were small, shaking, and forced to wrap around the length of him. He liked that, not to mention how good it felt. 

"Is kamre mein tumhari haya ki qeemat main pehle hi ada kar chuka hoon. Aaj raat se subah hone tak... tumhara har hissa, katra dar katra, meri milkiyat hai." He had a devious look to him now.

As he forced your hand to stroke him again, harder this time, you felt the first spark of something terrifying. You were being broken, piece by piece, and the most frightening part was that as he held you there, shredded and shaking, you could feel yourself sinking into his dark gravity. 

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The sound of the rain outside had shifted from a melodic patter to a continuous drumming, as if the sky itself were trying to break through the roof to witness the dismantling of your innocence.

Iqbal didn’t care for your tears. To him, tears were merely a lubricant, a sign that the spirit was breaking and the body was finally becoming malleable. He watched the way your chest heaved, the deep line of your cleavage pulsing, the way your small, trembling hand was forced to grip the rigid heat of him. He liked the contrast, your porcelain fragility against his weathered strength.

"Kaampna band karo," he commanded, though he made no move to soothe you. "Yeh mujhe bezaar karta hai."

But you couldn't help it. You were so immersed in stroking him so that he wouldn’t punish you further, making sure you kept an even pace. 

But he had different plans. 

With a sudden, brutal movement, he yanked your wrist away from his length, and his hand hooked under your arm not to hold you but to fling you backward. You got pushed back, your heels catching on the heavy velvet rug, and you landed hard on the plush velvet rug with a muffled thud. Your whole body rebounding against the impact. Before you could even gasp for air, he was standing above you. 

You tried scrambling back with your elbows but his arms grabbed your ankles and pushed you towards him, his ankle locking with yours, giving you slight carpet burns on your back.  He wanted to examine your fleshed out body against the candle light.

With you immobilized, he took his time penetrating you with his stare from the tip of your head all the way to the bottom. You had slight tears falling down your cheeks, your face writhed in anger at him. But he enjoyed watching you squirm on the carpet, your defiance useless. He noticed the net lingerie closely now, fixating on the dark nipples protruding through the bra. Then slowly, his gaze swept over your stomach then-

Surprisingly, you managed to break free from his possession by shifting your ankle and quickly stood up, having your back facing him now. You were so desperate now, running to reach the door. 

But Major Iqbal having years of training, walked barely two steps before he abruptly pulled you flush against him. One arm locking your across neck, the other running through your lower abdomen, his hold slowly squeezing your body to the point of pain. A small wince came out of you. 

You amused him so much, despite all he did to you. 

“Arey kaha bhag rahi ho”, he groaned against your ear. He pushed your ass entirely flat against his member, the line between your cheeks fitting perfectly against his bulge. Iqbal’s chest was a wall of granite against your back, his heat seeping through your exposed skin. “Itni sharat kyun?” he asked deviously. His hand on your abdomen slowly reached lower. 

Everything in you wanted to rebel, to bite his arm on your neck but the way his hand snaked even lower down made you forget any train of thought. His touch so warm and hot against your skin, you craved for this touch in the depths of your fantasies. 

His finger finally reached the seam of your panties, his mouth now buried in the border between your neck and shoulder, pressing and sucking hard kisses across so very slowly. You leaned your head back on his chest, a whimper leaving you as he pushed his index finger beneath the net, feeling nothing but warm skin at the top of your flesh. The sudden contact of his rough fingertips against your most intimate skin made your toes curl into the velvet rug.

He paused and opened his eyes surprised, his fingers splaying across the smooth, hairless expanse of your mound. A low, guttural hum vibrated in his throat, not of disappointment, but of a wicked curiosity. He was used to the natural coarse growth of the women of Lyari, but this, this pristine, bald smoothness, was a rarity to him. It felt like an invitation.

"Itni safai..." he murmured, his voice a rough caress against your ear.

He leaned his head over with you still caged around him and checked inside your panty to reaffirm, his fingers pulling at the edge and seeing nothing but bare brown skin, coupled with a few minor cuts from a blade he assumed. 

He nuzzled back against the side of your  neck, ”Inti intizam kiye hai humare liye” he said, teasing at your preparedness.

You flushed with embarrassment and shame all at once, you couldn't believe he was checking you for hair. So shameless you thought, a man had never spoken to you this way. You tried to turn your face away so he couldn't see the shock you held, but he was already watching your face express all those emotions from a few seconds ago. 

Slowly, deliberately, he slid one finger past the edge of your lace, pushing through the narrow opening of your folds. His finger running down your slit, ensuring not to spread your lips yet. 

Your head started swimming, the shame you felt moments ago beginning to melt into a terrifying haze. As he ran his finger up and down your slit, his mouth found the sensitive junction of your back, sucking a deep, bruising mark into your skin. 

You let out a sharp, broken gasp, your back arching instinctively against his hard bulge. You had never been touched here, not by anyone. The intrusion was sudden and heavy, but as he slid down even further against your slit, he felt a surprising surge of moisture meeting him. Despite your fear, your body was betraying you, opening for him with a desperation you never felt before.

Iqbal felt it. He felt the slick, hot fluid of your arousal staining his finger. 

“Bahar itni sharam... aur andar itni garmi. Tumhe pasand aa raha hai, hai na?”

His deep voice broke you out of your trance, your eyes splitting open wide, alarm beginning to set again.

“Choriye mujhe…”, you plead as you begin thrashing against him, using your nails to dig in and push his arms off you. “Mujhe nahi pasand yeh” you cry out as you use all your might to break free, pushing your body against him repeatedly.

But he wasn't letting go, his arms still locked in even harder than before, your rebelliousness rushing blood southward even more, the bulge becoming even more prominent. You felt it, pausing suddenly. His length felt as if it was straining to plunge inside you. 

But Iqbal instantly turned you around, spinning you in his arms until you were facing him. His hands gripping tightly around your wrists. You could tell his patience was wearing thin. 

“Mera sabr aur mat aazmao”, he warned in a dark tone. 

Without wasting another second, he grabbed behind your knees, lifting you up in his arms princess style. But it wasn't gentle like you imagined in movies, he moved towards the bed and threw you right down on the mattress, causing you to go flying. Your breasts bouncing against the impact. 

You looked up at him now, his pupils fully blown dark behind his glasses. All you could sense was the immense lust and hunger that was looming over him.

Oh no, it's starting.

Instantly, he lunged right at you. His massive frame pinned you into the mattress, the sheer weight of his body crushing the breath from your lung as he hovered over you. The scent of sandalwood and tobacco became a suffocating cloud. You tried to scramble backward, your hands searching for purchase on the sheets, but his hand came around your throat with a grip that threatened to snap the bone, causing you to choke.

"Major Sahab... please... maine kahbi yeh nahi-" your voice straining, your hands clawing at his to stop this brutality.

"Main jaanta hoon tumne aaj tak kya nahi kiya," he interrupted, his voice a low, dangerous rumble against your ear. "Isi liye tum yahan ho.”

His other hand, calloused and heavy, didn't waste time. He began to grope you with a controlling desire, his palms crushing your breasts through the thin net of your bra, squeezing with a force that bordered on bruising. He wanted to mold your soft flesh to his liking, to mend it to his wants.

He descended on your neck, his mouth kissing and sucking a deep, dark mark into the area right under your ear, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you let out choked sobs. You tried to push him away, but he locked your wrists above your head with one hand, pinning them to the pillow. 

With his hand gone from your throat, you immediately took a deep breath, finally taking in oxygen. He smirked against your neck at your desperation.

So evil. 

He didn't use his hands to undress you further, he used his teeth. He leaned down, his mouth finding the sensitive curve where your shoulder met your neck, and bit down- hard. You let out a sharp, piercing shriek that echoed through the silent kotha, a sound of pure shock and pain. The mark he left was deep, a dark purple brand that stung your body long before the act even began.

You fought. You kicked your legs, your heels drumming against his muscular thighs, your head thrashing against the pillow. But fighting Major Iqbal was like fighting the tide,  it only made the waves crash harder. 

"Mujhe…. choriye.. abhi!" you sobbed, your voice cracking. 

With a violent jerk, he hooked his thumb into the center of your bra and pulled it in half, the metal hooks in the back leaving marks. The sound of net snapping echoed in the room, leaving your breasts exposed to the cool air and his searing gaze. He looked at the way your nipples hardened and strained against your chest. He didn't pause, his mouth descending to capture a nipple, sucking it hard into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the peak until you let out a broken sob of pain.

"Sshhh... rona nahi. Abhi toh shuruat hai," he whispered, his eyes dark with a sadistic kind of lust.

With a plop, removing his mouth from your breast, he reached down, his hand gripping the waistband of your panties and sliding them down your legs with one effortless motion, tossing them aside. You felt completely naked, stripped of everything but your fear. He looked at you- really looked at you, his gaze sweeping all the way down now and a smug grin played on his lips.

You felt the cold air hit your skin for a fraction of a second before both his rough, calloused palms slammed against your thigh, prying you open, your knees on either side of you. The stretch stung your pelvis, you have never been in this position, so wide and exposed. You felt the sudden, intrusive pressure of his fingers slowly sliding down your slit, his index and middle finger parting your folds. This time without your permission, more warm, clear slick liquid flowed out of you. 

Iqbal was pleased, even though you desperately wanted to bury your face into the pillows. 

His middle finger started running circles around your clit, watching you squirm. Without looking down, he tried sliding further downward to your hole, but his eyebrows furrowed, taken aback he couldn't find it with ease like he usually does. He looked down at your flesh and realized how small you were.  Your hole was barely visible, barely having an opening. 

Yet he still reached down, his large, rough finger sliding against your wetness until he dipped just the tip of his finger in, circling it around to loosen it.  And then, without warning, he forced one finger inside despite the size.

A sharp scream left your lips as he pushed it inside. You weren't ready, the opening was too tight, the seal of your virginity acting as a barrier he had no intention of respecting. 

"Aah! Major sahab! Boht dard ho raha hai! Rukiye...!" you cried out, your hips jerking upward, trying to escape the intrusion. But he leaned his full weight into you, crushing you into the mattress.

Iqbal didn’t stop. He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear, his voice a cold, hot contrast. "Dard toh hoga, jaan. Tumhari jagah itni choti hai", he said in a mocking, teasing tone, dripping with amusement. 

He didn't give you time to process the terror any further. He added a second finger, stretching you brutally, the pressure feeling like you were being split in half. He moved them in a slow, rhythmic stretch, forcing your body to accommodate him, ignoring your whimpers and the way you sobbed into the open air, unable to do anything. 

"Ab hilna mat," he growled, his eyes flashing with a dark, obsessive hunger.

He didn't wait for you to be ready. He didn't care if you were shaking or if your eyes were clouded with terror. He reached down, pulling his shalwar down with a clinical speed, just enough for his length to spring out from his boxers. But he didn't bother to take off his kurta or jacket, he wanted the contrast with you nude and bare and him fully clothed.

You gasped in horror. Your eyes finally met his cock. A mere full 8.5 inches, pulsing with a frantic rhythm, beads of his pre-cum swelling from his wide brown tip. His veins protruding in all directions down his member, with dark, curly hair dusted at the top. He was hairy but well trimmed, like his beard.

But it was big, too big for your liking. 

How can something like that even fit inside me, he could barely fit a finger inside.

His eyes met your gaze, seeing the sheer terror written in your face watching his dick. While staring right at you, he took his cock in his hands and started stroking it up and down so vigorously that he let out a subtle groan himself. He was preparing.

He shifted his weight now, his massive, rigid length pressing against your thigh, the heat of him scorching as he loomed over, forcing you to look right at him. He gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your hips, anchoring you to the bed.  

And then you felt it- the blunt, searing heat of him pressing against your clit.

You squeezed your eyes shut, a sob racking your frame. "please… thora aram se..."

Iqbal’s jaw tightened. The plea for slowness was an insult to the urgency roaring in his blood. He wanted the friction, he wanted the resistance. He wanted to feel the exact moment your body gave up and accepted him.

He held his cock and started to tap repeatedly against your bundle of nerves, causing even more slick to drip out down your cunt. He wanted you to be well-prepared for him because of your size, trying to ensure you were lubricated enough to take all of him. After all, the difference between his cock and your virgin hole was staggering, even he knew that.

Once he was thought it sufficed, he gripped your hips and he lowered his mouth and took one long stripe of your flesh with his hot tongue, a jolt of electricity shot through your spine, forcing a broken moan from your lips. For a fleeting second, the terror was eclipsed by a searing, forbidden pleasure. The taste of you was so ravenous, he dove again and this time pushed his tongue in your entrance as far as he could go, making sure your thighs were spread even more.

You trembled beneath him, your thighs quivering against his calloused palms. Looking up at the monolithic man above you, the sheer scale of him felt impossible. Your gaze flickered down to where his rigid length rested, then back to his dark, predatory eyes at your flesh.

"Yeh... yeh andar kaise ayega? Main phat jaoongi (ill tear)..", you whimpered, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

Iqbal paused, his gaze dropping to the tight, glistening seam of your virginity. A slow, cruel smirk curved his lips. He didn't offer no comfort, he offered a command.

"Tum le lo gi," he rumbled, his voice a low vibration that seemed to rattle your very bones. "Bas chup chap maze lo”, effectively shutting you up.

He didn't give you a chance to breathe. He shifted his grip, his fingers digging into your hip bones with enough force to leave marks, anchoring you firmly into the mattress, his knees pushing your thighs out again, making sure your knees were as far apart as possible. He positioned the broad, searing head of his cock against your entrance, the blunt heat of him stretching the opening even before he moved.

With a sudden, guttural grunt, he plunged forward.

A scream tore from your throat, a vulnerable sound of pain and rupture. The sensation was an explosion of pressure, a feeling of being stabbed inside. Your toes curled inwards, your fingers clawing uselessly at the sheets, your breath hitching in a series of broken, jagged gasp.

Outside, zoya and meher heard your shrieks and knew exactly what was going on. They quietly looked at each other and let out tiny giggles.

The impact was violent. He drove inward with a powerful, unchecked thrust, but he didn't slide in. He hit a wall. The tight, stubborn seal of your hymen acted as a barrier, stopping his massive girth halfway. He was stuck, the friction of his thick head pressing against your narrow walls creating a pressure that felt like you were being split open from the inside.

Iqbal let out a sharp, frustrated groan, his muscles locking as he felt the resistance. He didn't pull back to ease the pain,  he leaned into it, his jaw flexing with a sudden, raw intensity.

"Kaisi zidd hai..." he hissed, his eyes darkening. 

Without warning, he braced his weight on his elbows and slammed his hips forward with a brutal, singular force.

A piercing shriek ripped from your throat, your back arching violently off the bed. You felt a sudden, searing pop, a sensation of something tearing, a sharp flash of white-hot pain that blinded you. The barrier broke. 

He didn't stop. He used the momentum of the break to drive the rest of his length home, burying himself deep into your untapped depths with a heavy, wet thud, his shalwar adding additional friction against your inner thighs. The force of the impact knocked the air from your lungs, leaving you gasping and sobbing under the crushing weight of him.

As he settled, a slow, warm trickle of blood began to seep from the junction of your bodies, staining the white sheets of the bed in a crimson bloom. You felt stretched to your absolute limit, your insides screaming at the intrusion of something so immense.

Iqbal stayed still for a moment, his chest heaving, a look of satisfaction crossing his face as he felt the tight, hot grip of your virgin walls clamping around him. He looked down at the blood mixing with the slickness of your arousal, a dark glint of possessiveness in his eyes.

"Ab chillao," he whispered, his voice dripping with a dangerous, dominant heat. 

He began to move, hard, rhythmic, and merciless. Each thrust was a hammer blow, driving the air from your lungs and replacing it with the scent of his dominance. It wasnt making love, it was hardcore fucking. His length came out all the way til the edge of his tip touched the outside of your entrance before drilling it back all the way back in to your cervix, his balls slapping against the end of your cunt, his pubic hair grazing the top of your cunt.

The room had become a blur of amber light and suffocating heat, mixed with the scent of copper from your blood and slick arousal.

His heavy hips slamming against you with a wet, rhythmic thud that echoed through the room, making the bed frame groan and the headboard bang against the wall. The filthy sounds of skin slapping against skin was the only thing ringing in your ears. He didn't glide smoothly like you expected, he hammered into you. Each thrust was a jagged intrusion that pushed you further into the mattress, your breath leaving you in broken, unintelligible whimpers.

You shook your head, your eyes squeezed shut, refusing to see the man who was breaking you.

He wasn't looking at your face anymore, he was focused on the friction, the way your tight, virgin walls clung to him in a desperate, involuntary grip. He was rutting like an animal, his movements savage and needy. He didn't care that you were sobbing, that your hands were clawing at the sheets in a blind attempt to find leverage. To him, pain and pleasure were the same thing.

Minutes bled into a haze. The physical intensity became so overwhelming that the world began to slip away from you. You felt your consciousness fraying at the edges, a sudden sense of dissociation washing over you. You felt as though she were floating somewhere near the ceiling, watching a girl beneath be broken by a man made of stone. The screams felt like they belonged to someone else, the searing heat in your core becoming a distant, pulsing throb. 

You wondered what you would be doing if you were back at home, with your mother. Your started eyes glazing over, staring blankly at the canopy of the bed. 

But then, Iqbal shifted. 

He felt the friction, but he wanted more, he wanted to break you completely. He felt that you were too tight, your body fighting him even in your stupor. So he needed to find the exact point where your resistance broke into ecstasy. He paused, his breathing heavy and ragged, and leaned back slightly to look between his cock and to where you were connected. He saw the way his thick girth was buried deep, the way your flesh was stretched white and taut around him. With a sudden grunt, he reached down and gripped your ass, his large fingers digging into your plush soft cheeks. With a powerful heave, he hoisted your hips higher, tilting your pelvis at a steep, punishing angle. The change in position caused his length to angle sharply, driving his head directly into the sensitive ceiling of your vagina.

The shift changed everything. 

The head of his cock slammed directly into your g-spot with the force of a piston. 

An even louder shriek tore from your throat because of a sudden, violent electricity that shocked you back into your body. The dissociation snapped. You were back, and the pleasure was so intense it felt like a violation.

"Yahan... hai na?" he hissed, his eyes flashing with a wicked triumph. He didn't let up. He locked his rhythm right there, hitting that spot with every single plunge. Your ass resting on his muscled thighs now. He started rutting in you faster, his movements becoming harder more frantic. 

The friction became an inferno. Your internal walls were pulsing, clamping around him in waves of unwanted, overwhelming need. You felt the pressure build, a sensation that you couldn't escape. You were sobbing, your head thrashing from side to side, your voice gone, reduced to stripped wails that filled the kotha.

He felt your peak approaching, the moment your consciousness would shatter. But Iqbal wasn't a man who gave gifts without taking a toll first.

Just as you felt the first wave of the orgasm crash over you, he didn't pull back or slow down. Instead, he locked his arms on either side of your head, pinning you with the full, suffocating weight of his muscular frame. 

“Abhi nahi..." he growled, his voice a dark command. You just wanted to release, all the build-up now gone with him pausing.

Then, he shifted his weight, grinding his hips in a slow, agonizing circle, rotating his thick head against your overstimulated g-spot. He used his thumb, pressing it firmly against your clitoris, pinning the swollen nerve against the base of his shaft. He began to apply a rhythmic, pulsing pressure, fast, then slow, then a hard, crushing squeeze.

The contradiction was too much. The blunt fullness inside and the sharp, pinpoint friction outside collided. You felt a surge of heat shoot from your core to your fingertips, your vision blurring as the orgasm hit you not as a landslide. 

You moaned, your body snapping taut like a bowstring, your internal muscles clamping around him in a series of violent, rhythmic contractions that squeezed him with a strength that almost made him twitch. Your hips jerked upward instinctively, trying to chase the peak, your voice dissolving into a sob of pure, unfiltered ecstasy.

But as the peak began to plateau, you realized he hadn't moved. He was still there, buried deep, his expression one of feline observation. 

He hasn't climaxed yet.

Then, without warning, he began to move again.

He didn't give you a second to breathe or recover. He slammed back into you with a force that felt like a collision, his rhythm turning frantic and relentless. You were already raw, your nerves frayed and screaming from the climax, and now he was drilling into you again while you were still pulsing.

"B- bas... bohut zyada ho raha hai!" you wailed, your voice sounding distant even to yourself. 

The pleasure had crossed back over into a searing, overstimulating heat. Every thrust felt like a bolt of lightning hitting a wet wire. You began to thrash beneath him, your legs kicking out, your hands pushing uselessly against his granite-hard chest. You were overstimulated, your body shaking in a state of sensory overload where every touch felt like a burn.

Iqbal didn't stop. He loved the chaos of it, the way you were fighting for air beneath him. He gripped your wrists tightly, acting as shackles. With the other hand, he gripped your jaw, forcing you to look at him, to see the dark, focus in his eyes.

"Sabar karo, abhi bohot kuch aage hai" he commanded, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. 

He accelerated, his movements becoming a blur of power. His teeth gritted, the muscles in his neck and shoulders cording. He was a man pushing himself to the absolute limit, his breath coming in harsh, ragged snarls.

Then, the tension in his body reached a breaking point. 

A low, animalistic sound ripped from his throat. He lunged forward one last time, burying himself so deep he felt your cervix yield, and he locked his hips against yours, pinning you to the bed with the full, crushing weight of his body.

A tremor racked his entire frame as he unloaded into you. He filled you with his hot, pulsing seed, painting your womb white, his release as powerful and uncompromising as the man himself. His thrusts now lazy and slow to pump out all remaining semen, his chest heaving against yours pressing very slow kisses against your neck, his hands groping your breasts. The silence of the room finally returned, save for the sound of your broken whimpers and the distant, steady rhythm of the rain against the glass

As his lenght softened and your walls tightening around him, he slowly pulled out, some cum rushing out. You suddenly felt so empty as if something was yanked out of you. He laid beside you now, his palm resting on the side of his head supported by his elbow, his dark eyes staring down at the ruin he had made of your innocence. He slowly reached over with his other hand and his fingers had pushed back a stray sweaty curl out of your face...

The heat in the room was thick, tasting of iron and the heavy musk of sex. 

Iqbal sat up against the headboard now. He liked the aftermath, the way the quiet was broken only by the ragged, hitching sobs of the girl who was beneath him a few moments ago. He watched you, his dark eyes tracing the way your eyes remained glazed, staring at a ceiling you no longer recognized.

Slowly, he reached for the bedside table. With a practiced flick of his lighter, the tip of a cigar glowed a menacing orange. He took a long, slow drag, the smoke curling around his sharp jawline like a shroud. As he exhaled, his gaze dropped. 

A thick, pearlescent stream of his seed was beginning to leak from you, sliding down the curve of your thigh and staining the ruined white sheets. A flicker of possessiveness hit him. He didn't want it leaving you. Not yet. Without a word, he reached down. His thick finger pressed firmly against your opening, sliding the finger deep inside you, pushing the pooling cream back into your depths with a slow shove. 

You let out a breathy whimper, your hips twitching instinctively. 

He withdrew his finger. He watched the way your naked body was still uncovered, the way your breasts still moved in panicked bursts. Most men would have been satisfied. Most men would have dressed and left the kotha before the sun dared to rise.

But Major Iqbal was not most men. He was a man of appetite that didn't end with a single peak. He looked at you and saw the way your flesh had molded to his, the way you were pink, raw and open, the lips still parted from where you were connected.

The hunger returned, more violent than before.

He didn't ask if you were tired, he didn't ask if the pain was too much. He simply gripped your waist and flipped you over with a jarring force, pressing your face into the mattress. 

"Abhi toh raat javan hai, meri jaan," he teased, giving you the warning of what will follow…

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The next few hours became a blur of agony and forbidden heat. 

He was relentless, moving you like a piece of clay, sculpting your body to fit his exactly. He pushed you to the edge of the bed, your legs draped over his shoulders as he hammered into you from above, his weight crushing the air from your lungs. He turned you onto your side, locking your legs together to make you tighter, his movements becoming slow, deep, and agonizingly precise, filling every corner of you until you forgot where your body ended and his began.

Every time you thought you had reached the limit of what you could endure, every time you begged for a moment of air or a second of peace, he would find a new way to break you. He would grip your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat to his teeth, or pin your wrists above your head, reminding you that in this room, your only purpose was to take him.

He took his time, exploring the geography of your surrender. He would spend an hour just tasting the skin of your thighs, only to spend the next two jamming his manhood into you with a ferocity that made the bedframe scream against the wall. He cummed into you again and again, filling you until you felt heavy with him, your insides pulsing in a state of permanent, overstimulated shock.

The room became a sanctuary of sin, the only light provided by the dying embers of his cigars, melted candles and the occasional flash of lightning from the storm outside. 

By the time the clock on the wall ticked toward 4:00 AM, the rain had slowed to a rhythmic drip. 

Iqbal finally collapsed beside you, his skin glistening with sweat, his muscles finally slack. Not one whisper of sweet words was uttered to you after hours of your breaking. He just stayed there, the predator sated for the moment, watching as you lay beside him, shaking, ruined, and irrevocably marked.

He reached out, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek with a touch that was almost tender, though his eyes remained as cold and commanding as the day he arrived.

He had taken what he wanted. And you knew that the simple arrangement of the kotha had instead became something that you could never erase from your memory.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The room, once filled with the unforgiving symphony of skin hitting skin and broken gasps, now felt suffocably still. 

Iqbal finally took off from the bed, the muscles of his back rippling like corded steel in the amber light. He didn’t look back at the ruin of the sheets, he instead began to adjust his clothing, his uniform, managing his cuffs, fixing his watch, making sure he looked befitting as a Major again, his movements efficient and cold, the soldier returning to his skin.

As he stood over you, you felt tinier than you ever had in your life. You quickly brought the blanket to cover your nude body and take back some dignity that was practically erased by him.

Iqbal reached into his pocket and pulled out several crisp banknotes. He leaned over, placing 5,000 rupees on the nightstand, way more than what Madam Bi agreed to. His fingers brushed your arm, a touch that sent a jolt of terrified longing through you.

"Tumhara inam," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly vibration.

As he moved to leave, you noticed him place something else beside the money: a small, foil-wrapped blister pack. 

Plan B.

The sight of the pill triggered a sudden, sharp spike of panic in your chest. You were nineteen, you had kept away from the gritty realities of the other girls. The concept of "preventing" a pregnancy was a theory you barely were taught, but the image of a child, a miniature version of this man, suddenly flashed before your eyes. You imagined a life where you weren't a prostitute anymore, but a secret mistress, bound to him by a child you couldn't afford to raise in a world that viewed you as disposable.

A small sob escaped your throat.

Iqbal paused, he didn't turn around fully, but his voice sliced through the dark, commanding and certain. "Kha lena," he ordered. 

He finally leaned down to press a firm kiss to your forehead. It wasn't tender, not in the way a lover's kiss was, but it was possessive. It was the kind of kiss a king gave a subject he found amusing.

"Tum ne kitne acchi se liya hai aaj," he whispered, his eyes half-lidden now, the words dripping with a dark, hot approval that made your toes curl despite the pain.

He straightened up, his silhouette blotting out the light from the candles. He paused, his dark eyes scanning your trembling form one last time. 

The predator had found a prey he actually liked the taste of.

"Is raat ki baad, koi aur mard ab tumhe choo ga nahi" he stated while checking his watch, his tone shifting into something absolute, "sirf main aounga, Madam Bi se baath kar loonga."

It wasn't no request, it was an absolute order. He had claimed the turf, and Major Iqbal did not share his land.

As he finally reached the door, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder. A slow, mocking smirk played on his lips, a flash of the man who enjoyed the hunt as much as the kill.

"Aur haan," he teased, his voice dripping with a cruel, playful heat, "agli baar... apni safai nahi karna." 

With a final look that promised more violence and more pleasure, he stepped out into the corridor. The heavy thud of the door closing echoed like a gavel.

You lay there in the dark, the silence of the room rushing back in. You looked at the money, then at the pill, and finally at the space where he had been. You should have felt violated. You should have felt terrified. But as you felt the cooling slickness of him inside you, a traitorous warmth began to bloom in your chest. 

You may have started as just a girl in a kotha, but now you were the only thing in Lyari that had managed to make the Major Iqbal come back.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

To be continued....

xx Nurya

btw i dont support relationships like these nor do i romanticize the real iqbal and his dynamics, pls stay away from men like that!

Taglist: @wtafananya @forsakensigilquill @rehmandakaitt @hereforfanfictionsfr @yourindianbabydoll @miaaaow @hcneymark @thegay-lord @adityami @mutlifandom-enthusiastt @adityami @cloudyparadoxqueen @oinswiftie @doesntmatteryawwrr @was-nai @sonasarchive @goodnightkatherine @maroonphase @indulgabilities @granddynamonovajbvgjjj @lunathelu @rabbdaradio @giantfirefly @crimsontraditiongolem @khlomoneyyyy4 @kiki888 @rutvii @foolishlyradiantshrine @itstiaofficial

[winterisfortaehyung]

Ek Raat, Garage, aur Woh. 🔞

The sexy mechanic..

Jai Angarchand x Reader

Warning: Sexually explicit content, smut, NSFW, one night stand (turns into more), banter, sarcasm, oral (fem! receiving), fingering, orgasm denial, edging (slightly), p in v, unprotected sex (DONT DO THIS), rough sex, riding, heavy makeout, spit kink, spit play.

Summery: Y/N's scooter breaks breaks down in the rain. She sees that that there is a mechanic shop nearly which was, to her luck, still open. She expects a quick fix of her vehicle.. not Jai Angarchand. Banter slowly turned into something... dangerous.

Thank you @rosesandpeoniesthings for the idea and this if for @cloudmast !! Love 💋

Words ≈ 2.9k

...

Y/N sighed, the tiredness of the long day still on to her shoulders as she dragged her scooter toward the dimly lit garage. Rain had already started and she was soaked. The sign outside read "Chand Auto Works". To her luck it was still open.

Inside, a pair of legs stuck out from under an old Maruti. She cleared her throat. “Hello?”

“Garage band hai, kal aana,” a muffled, irritated voice said.

She frowned, she thought the man was working, but on looking closer, he was just there resting with his eyes closed. “Garage band hai ya malik band hai? Thoda farak hai dono mein.”

A deep sigh came from under the car. Jai Angarchand slid out from under the car, wiping his hands on an already dirty rag. When he looked up at her, his jaw went slack for half a second.

Fucking hell.

She was drenched, the black shirt she wore clinging to every curve of her body. The deep red pencil skirt hugged her hips and stopped mid-thigh, now riding up slightly from pushing the scooter. Her nipples were hard from the cold, straining against her shirt. Strands of wet hair stuck to her flushed cheeks and neck.

Jai stood up slowly, grease all over his forearms and that grey t-shirt he wore. His hair was messy, he had a light stubble, and those big, intense eyes made him look dreamy.

“Kya hua, madam? Rainy night stroll pe nikal padi thi kya?”

She crossed her arms, “Scooter kharab ho gaya. Theek kar do jaldi. Kal office hai, aur yeh barish mein main yahan nahi rukna chahti.”

Jai walked over to her scooter, turned the key, and the engine made a nasty grinding noise. “Engine kharab hai. Piston aur wiring dono mein gadbad lag rahi hai.”

“You know just by listening?” she asked, raising an eyebrow curiously.

He smirked, grabbing a wrench. “Machine bolti hai. Tumhe samajh nahi aayega.”

She scoffed, a chuckle escaping her. “Accha? Aur meri machine kya bol rahi hai abhi?”

Jai glanced back at her, eyes deliberately dropping to her soaked chest before meeting her gaze. “Bol rahi hai ki owner bahut ziddi hai. Aur thodi si… demanding bhi.”

“Asshole.." she muttered, but her lips twitched into a smile.

He laughed. “Tool do. Wrench.”

She looked at the scattered tools and pouted, confused. She handed him a screwdriver.

Jai took it, stared at it, then looked at her. “kya kaam karti ho?”

"Assistant hu, for xyz company." She said.

He scoffed, "ironic."

Her eyes narrowed at the taunt.

He got to work, sleeves rolled up, muscles flexing. Oil soon covered his hands and somehow got on his jawline. She found herself sitting next to him, watching him work. She saw the oil on his face and without thinking, she reached out and wiped the oil from his jaw with her thumb.

Their eyes locked.

“Thanks…” he said, voice huskier.

She nodded, unable to look away. God, his eyes are really.. something.

The rain outside picked up. Jai glanced toward the entrance, then back at her.

“Lagta hai tumhe mere saath hi raat guzarni padegi, madam. Bahar toh toofan hai.”

Her eyes narrowed at his suggestive words.

He realized it too and cleared his throat, but the smirk didn’t leave. “…aur tumhari scooter ko bhi. Yeh hi matlab tha mera. Gandi soch..”

She scoffed, cheeks flushing. “Achha? Main toh kuch bola bhi nahi.”

Jai leaned closer, pretending to reach for a tool, his arm brushing against her thigh. “Flash theek se pakdo.” he handed her a torchlight.

They then heard thunders, it was a thunderstorm.

He hummed, glancing outside. With a sigh, Jai stood up, wiping his greasy hands on his already ruined t-shirt, and walked over to pull the heavy garage shutter down with a loud clang.

Her eyes narrowed. “Kya hua?”

“Aise barish mein impossible hai tumhara ghar jaana,” he said. “Dekho, do-teen hafte ke liye dad ghar pe nahi hain. Toh tum… raat ko yahin raho. Main kuch nahi karunga. Promise.”

She crossed her arms, “I don’t trust you,” she smirked, tilting her head.

“Theek hai, jao barish mein,” he huffed, gesturing toward the closed shutter.

She couldn’t help it, she giggled, “Accha accha… thank you. Mujhe bahut thand lag rahi hai.”

Jai nodded, satisfied. “Iss scooter ko utna kuch nahi hua hai. Kal subah theek kar dunga. Andar aao.”

He led her through a side door into the attached house. The living space was cozy with warm lighting. He pointed at the old sofa. “Yahin ruko. Hilna mat.”

She stood there, dripping, as he disappeared into another room. He returned with a clean towel, tossing it to her. The warmth wrapped around her instantly. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring it, rubbing the towel over her wet hair and arms.

When she opened her eyes again, Jai was standing there naked.

Okay, she was being dramatic.

He wasn’t fully naked, he was shirtless.

But the sight was still mesmerising. His lean, toned body was on full display. His shoulders were broad, arms defined from years of mechanical work, and a trail of dark hair running down his chest and torso, disappearing into the waistband of his pants. That happy trail looked far too inviting.

“…Tum nange kyun ho?” she asked, her best attempt at sarcasm.

He laughed, running a hand through his messy hair. “T-shirt ganda ho gaya tha, oil se. Comfort chahiye tha.”

She let her intrusive thoughts win and blurted out before she could stop herself, “Pant bhi toh gandi ho gayi hai…”

Jai’s jaw dropped, then he burst into genuine laughter. “Chi yaar, what’s wrong with you?”

She giggled, cheeks flushing but refusing to back down. “Tumne hi toh kapde utar diye! Main toh sirf observe kar rahi thi.”

He handed her a bottle of water, his gaze dropped shamelessly to her chest. Her nipples were still visibly hard against the damp fabric, the cold keeping them perked up. He didn’t even try to hide it.

“Perv,” she accused, taking the bottle but not moving away.

“I am,” he admitted without a bit of shame.

She stared at his lips, at the stubble on his sharp jaw. He stared right back, at her mouth, at the wet strands of hair clinging to her neck.

Eye contact is a dangerous thing, because one second ago, they were just standing there.

The next, they were on each other.

...

Jai’s hand cupped the back of her neck, pulling her in roughly as their mouths crashed together. She moaned into the kiss, fingers digging into his shoulders, nails lightly scratching.

Jai’s hand slid to the back of her head, threading through her damp hair as he pulled her in. He sucked on her bottom lip. His stubble scraped against her soft chin. Her soaked shirt pressed against his warm skin, the contrast making him shiver.

Her mind was a going nuts. This is crazy. Main jaanti bhi nahi hu isse. But god, he feels so good.

Jai’s thoughts were equally chaotic. He’d been fighting the attraction since the moment she’d walked in dripping wet, but now that he needed her. She’s so soft against him.

Their mouths parted slightly, and then their tongues met, slow at first then bolder.

He pulled her even closer, and the kiss turned exactly how she liked it, sloppy, wet, and filthy.

She deliberately her her tongue slide messily against his, pushing more saliva into his mouth. Spit coated their chins as she sucked on his tongue. Strings of saliva connected them every time they shifted angles. She deliberately made it messier, drooling a little more just because she loved the slick, dirty feeling of it.

They had been devouring each other for too long.

He was rock hard, his dick straining against his pants. She had been wet all along and the kissing intensified it.

Finally, Jai detached his mouth from hers. He kissed her cheek, then moved to her ear, nibbling at the lobe. Then he buried his face into her neck, breathingher in. He started sucking and kissing the soft skin there, leaving faint marks.

This feels far too intimate for a casual hook-up, she thought, a shiver running through her. It felt dangerously nice.

His hands moved to her shirt, fingers opening the buttons one by one. Finally. She slid her hands down his bare chest until she reached his bulge. She palmed him through his pants, feeling how hard he was, and started undoing his belt.

Jai groaned against her neck. Her shirt slipped off her shoulders, revealing her in a black bra that barely contained her breasts. His lips trailing down to kiss and lick at her cleavage, stubble scraping deliciously over the soft mounds. She managed to undo his belt completely and let it clatter to the floor.

Impatience won and Jai suddenly scooped her up. He carried her to the couch and sat her down on it, then hooked his fingers into the waistband of her drenched red pencil skirt. He peeled it down her legs.

She lay there in just her bra and panties, eyes half-lidded with lust. She lifted one foot and slowly rubbed it against the bulge in his boxers, feeling it twitch under her foot.

“Fuck…” Jai muttered, quickly shoving his pants down and kicking them away. He stood there in just his boxers, the thick imprint of his hard cock clearly visible. The sight made her pussy flood with arousal.

He dropped to his knees in front of the couch. His fingers hooked into the waistband of her panties. He looked up at her, silently asking.

She nodded, biting her lip.

He pulled them down and tossed them aside. Instinctively, she closed her legs, a flicker of nervousness hitting her. Jai wasn’t having any of it. He gripped her thighs firmly and spread them wide apart, pulling her closer to the edge of the couch and toward his mouth.

Then he went to town.

The first long, slow lick from her asshole all the way up to her clit made her eyes widen and a sharp gasp tear from her throat. “Ahh!” her asshole clenched at the foreign touch.

Jai groaned loudly against her. She was drenched and tasted intoxicating. He licked up her juices with broad strokes of his tongue. He sucked her clit, alternating between gentle suction and rapid flicks that made her hips jerk.

Every swipe of his warm and wet tongue pleasured her. He lightly scraped his teeth over her swollen clit, making her sob. He spat directly onto her hole before diving back in, making everything even sloppier. The sounds of him eating her out filled the room.

She was losing herself. He was too good at it. Her fingers curled into his hair, gripping hard as soft, breathless screams and moans spilled from her lips.

Jai shoved two thick fingers inside her without warning, curling them perfectly against that spot. Her back arched off the couch, a louder cry escaping her. He pumped them steadily while his tongue continued its assault on her clit.

He scissored his two fingers inside her, stretching her soaked pussy open to prepare her for what's about to happen. Her thighs began to tremble, her walls clenching around his fingers as she was about to cum.

Just as she was right on the edge, Jai pulled his mouth and fingers away completely.

She let out a loud, frustrated whine, “Kya kar rahe ho?”

He chuckled “Itna jaldi nahi.” Jai stood up and shoved his boxers down. His thick, girthy cock sprang free, heavy and veiny. He gave it two slow strokes. It looked almost intimidating.

“Dheere?” he asked, as he looked down at her.

"Nahi." She said quickly, eyes glued to his cock. He raised his eyebrows and smirked.

He reached behind her and unclasped her bra, and let it fall off. Her tits spilled out, full and soft, nipples hard. He leaned down and kissed her lips once, before lining up the fat head of his cock against her hole.

“Condom?” he asked, breathing heavily.

She stared at him for a long second, then huffed, “No need.” (DO NOT DO THIS OKAY I JUST LIKE WRITING KINKY SHIT)

A smirk spread across his face, satisfied.

He pushed in slowly. Her pussy took him in surprisingly smoothly, thanks to how he had eaten and stretched her out.

“Sab theek?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed, jaw tight from how insanely her pretty pussy was gripping him.

“Hm…” she answered, voice desperate. “Move… please.”

Jai hooked her legs over his shoulders, and started drilling into her. The first powerful thrust made her eyes widen, then roll back as she screamed in pure pleasure. His thick cock slammed directly into her G-spot with every stroke.

It felt like he was splitting her open in the best possible way. Every vein on his cock dragged against her sensitive walls. The wet slapping sounds of skin on skin filled the room as he fucked her hard. Her eyes closed and all she could think about what how big he felt.

Jai groaned loudly, the tight heat of her pussy driving him insane. “Mm.. fuck,” he growled.

Her moans were too loud. He clamped a hand over her mouth, muffling her cries while continuing to fuck her. The pleasure was almost too much for both of them. Barely three minutes in, they were already about to cum.

He suddenly pulled out completely.

She groaned in frustration, "Kya problem hai tumhara?!” she whined.

He chuckled breathlessly. “Itni jaldi nahi. Utho.”

She obeyed. Jai sat down on the couch and pulled her on top of him. She understood immediately. She sat on his lap and lined up his cock with her entrance and sank down onto him.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, tongues sliding as she started bouncing on his dick. Their moans were swallowed by each other’s mouths. Jai grabbed her ass, squeezing the soft flesh hard, and began lifting her up and slamming her back down onto his cock.

This time she couldn’t hold back. Her pussy clenched around his cock as she came hard, soaking him with her cum. She screamed into his mouth, nails digging into his shoulders.

Jai quickly lifted her off, pulled out, and wrapped his hand around his cock. He jerked it twice and came with a groan, thick ropes of cum painting her stomach.

...

After a few minutes of heavy breathing, Jai’s hand lazily slid down her back and landed on her ass with a firm slap.

“Uth jao,” he said.

She groaned softly, burying her face deeper into his neck. Her body felt limp, thoroughly fucked and satisfied.

He huffed in amusement, then simply wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up with ease. He took her to the bathroom. He set her down gently on the toilet seat.

“Pee,” he instructed casually while turning on the tap and cleaning himself.

She looked at him, "with you here?"

He smirked, "Dekh toh liya sab.. dont be shy."

She blushed but did as told. When she finished, he pointed toward the shower. “Nahalo. Garam paani hai. Call me if you need anything.”

He stepped out finally giving her privacy, and went to his bedroom. He rummaged through a drawer and pulled on a pair of loose black shorts. Then he grabbed one of his oversized t-shirts, one that was super old and now probably too big for him also.

When he turned around, she was standing there in the doorway, completely naked. Water trailing down her curves, over her breasts, and down her tummy. Behind her, there was a trail of water from the bathroom all the way to his bedroom.

Jai stared at the mess for a second before looking back at her.

“Tumne towel nahi diya… meri kya galti,” she said with a mischievous smile.

He tried to keep a straight face but failed. Cute. He thought.

He grabbed a clean towel from the cupboard and gave it to her. He started drying her off, first her hair, then her shoulders, her back, and down her arms. He took his time on her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples teasingly, which she slapped away. Once she was dry, she slipped into his t-shirt.

They moved to his bed. She immediately turned toward him, pulling him close. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders, the other resting on her hip under the t-shirt.

For a while, neither spoke.

“Kal office hai na?” he murmured quietly

“chup,” she replied sleepily, pressing closer.

He chuckled softly. “sorry, madam.”

Soon, both of them drifted off to sleep.

...

Next morning.

Jai was crouched beside her scooter in the garage.

She stood a few feet away. She was sipping the hot chai he had made for her earlier in the same tshirt of his. Her office clothes were still lying in a damp, crumpled pile on his bedroom floor. There was no way she was going to the office today.

Jai gave the scooter one final check, wiped his hands on a rag.

“Ho gaya,” he announced.

She smiled, lowering the cup from her lips. “Kitna hua?”

He hummed, pretending to think, running a hand through his messy hair. “Puncture ka hua…”

She frowned instantly, tilting her head. “Puncture toh tha hi nahi?”

Jai’s lips curved into a slow, mischievous grin. He grabbed a screwdriver and gave the rear tire a sharp jab. The tire began to deflate.

She stared in pure disbelief, mouth falling open.

“Ab ho gaya,” he said smugly, turning back to her with a wink. “Kal phir aana.”

For a second, there was complete silence.

Then she exploded with a laugh.

“YOU ASSHOLE!”

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆THE END☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Writing smut during ovulating is my favorite thing ever. So here is yall's goon material. @rosesandpeoniesthings ne yeh idea mujhe diya, aur @cloudmast ne mujhe bole yeh likhne so here you go! I love you my girlies and i hope this satisfies some of that thirst you have bottled up 💋.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

@mynotesapptbh @prettylady2006 @goodasaysboo @ishq-e-rehman @maroonphase @gulaabjamun08 @rini4everdreaming @anxiousbeeing @calmlyillustriousoasis @alyislost @layinglowkey @moonysscar @flwryyysh @miaaaow @rosesandpeoniesthings @goldenharrysworld @rosiasthings @heavenlit-34

[chai-ke-sath-parleg]

The Jealousy saga

Pairing: poly!hamzairlina x shy!reader

Series Masterlist: four is a crowd

Summary: being the youngest daughter of Karachi's known politician you grew up quiet sheltered not knowing much about the outside world. Well lucky for you, you had a rebellious bestfriend her hot boyfriend and a broody unnecessary gangster all to guide you through the streets of lyari.

Trigger warning: poly couple if u couldn't tell, bisexuals 😍, wlw, mlm, mention of alcohol cigarettes and kissing kinda angsty, kinda suggestive. DISCLAIMER: this fic also contains the ship Uzair x Yalina so dont proceed if ur not comfortable i m warning you

A/n: ello guys 👋🏻! Heres part two ✌ buckle in cuz its a looong chp 😍 this one is more PolyHamzairlina centric esp uzair x hamlina and has very less PolyHamzairlina x y/n Anyways happy reading

(Flashback one year ago

Uzair Baloch was jealous no he was seething with envy and somehow it was totally justified, how wouldn't it be? Anybody would be if they were in his shoes watching the man he was pinning and yearning miserably after was smiling fondly at someone particularly his new girlfriend Yalina Jamali.

God he was turning green with envy watching them hold hands and blush like teenagers. It was a hard pill to swallow and even harder to look away once he felt the same man look in his direction before turning away, Uzair wanted to dissappear.

Yalina was a angel in a human disguise she was kind, loving, so damn sweet and likable yet he still couldn't digest that fact that the man he was secretly loving from a distance was now sharing affection with someone else.

It all started in fifth grade when a new transferred student joined the school he introduced himself as Hamza Ali Mazari he was from Quetta moved here in Lyari with his family. Uzair didnt pay any mind and continued dozing off at the back of the class barely paying attention to the teacher teaching infront of the class.

it was recess when Uzair finally got up and went outside near the play ground on his way through he noticed two older kids walking one of them elbowed the other and smirked "dekh dekh school me gunde mawali bhi padhne aye hai".(look look even gangsters are attending school now) Ah! the burger bacche who thought they were better than others simply because they had daddies money who also very much irritated Uzair to a degree higher than mount everest. He had a sudden urge to puch them but refrained because last time that got him in the principals office with a Rehman who was trying very hard to hold in his laugh and a worried Ulfat staring at him, this time he simply chose to ignore that was until the other one spoke-

"Bhai kuch mat bol nahi toh uska bhai ake hume zamin me gaad dega akhir vo bhi toh gunda hai usko dusra kuch ata hi kya hai". (bro dont say anything his brother will bury us in the ground in the end even he is a gangster what else does e even know.) Yea no absolutely no he can tolerate people bad mouthing him but he wont let anyone disrespect his brother and bhabi that was simply unacceptable. So he did what was justified he walked up to them fury radiating off of him and kicked one of them hard in the stomach making him kneel clutching his stomach as his face scrombled in pain the other guy scrambled away as a teacher walked towards them from them end of the hallway.

"Kya ho raha hai yaha par?!". ( whats happening here?!) The teacher shrieked "Uzair! Kitni bar warning di thi tumhe is bar toh seedha principal maam suspend kar dengi". ( Uzair how many times have i warned you this time principal maam is going to suspend you) The teacher continued to yell.

"Uski galti nahi hai". ( it was not his fault) An unfamiliar voice spoke out- "vo ladka mujhe pareshan kar raha tha isliye Uzair ne mujhe bachaya". ( that boy was giving me trouble and Uzair was trying to save me) It was the new kid Hamza.

The teacher sneered "kya ye sach bol raha hai?". ( is that true?) Uzair glared at the boy he had injured as if to say 'agree or else-' the boy nodded weakly.

"Iss bar warning ke sath jane de raha hu next time wapas principal ke cabin ki seer karunga". (i am letting you off with a warning this time nex time you will ean yourself a trip to principals cabin.) Then walked away with a huff clutching the injured boy's arm probably dragging him to the sick room.

"Tumhe beech me ane ki koi jarurat nahi thi mai khud sambhal sakta tha". (there was no need for you to interveine) Uzair spat out trying to set a boundary. Hamza just shrugged.

"Pata hai par vo jo kuch keh rahe the aisa lag raha tha ki pitna chate hai". ( i know but whatever they were spewing it seemed like they were asking for a beating) Hamza responded nonchalantly and started to walk away.

Uzair stared at his back slowly processing his words and then made a lifetime decision to befriend him and he ran towards Hamza trying to catch up.

"Arey ruk! Oye-

(hey ! wait up!-)

That was almost 17 years ago now everything had changed. Both of them stopped going to school after 12th instead both opted to work under Rehman bhai as his left hand and right hand men. Over the years their friendship bloomed into an inseparable bond wherever one went the other subconsciously would follow and with this closeness bought new feelings one those Uzair disguised as close friendship. For years both pretended those lingering accidental touches, cold nights spent on the rooftop sharing a cigarette, late evening having deep conversation on nostalgia over a cup of tea were just things close friends do. Not one was ready to accept the feelings they kept the ones they smothered under the thick veil with poor excuses of not wanting to ruin the friendship and society.

And eventually that resulted in the current sight Uzair Baloch watching the man he has loved for almost 7 years holding hands with his recent girlfriend with jealousy evident in his eyes.

Yalina was a angel in a human disguise she was kind, loving, so damn sweet and likable yet he still couldn't digest that fact that the man he was secretly loving from a distance was now sharing affection with someone else. Uzair didnt know if he wanted to be Yalina or wanted Yalina.

Hamza and Yalina weren't fucking oblivious. They knew Uzair was watching them with hearts in his eyes they were just waiting for him to act on!

The one thing Hamza knew since his birth was that he was loved, as a child his parents made sure to spoil him and his brother and shower them with affection, as a young boy he was loved by his peers even his teachers valued his as an excellent student he was loved by Uzair and even Uzairs family the haveli had accepted him as a part of their family long time ago. Hamza would be most times at the Haveli than at his own house. Growing up so loved simply meant he had more love to give!

Yes he loved Yalina that was no lie and his feelings for Yalina did not dissimiss his feelings for his bestfriend Uzair. He was tired of waiting for the male to finally fuss up and confess because Hamza didnt want to be the one to cross the line that was Uzairs decision, Hamza wanted Uzair to be sure of his feelings before they did anything.

And confess he did! it was late at night after a particularly brutal work day they sat alone in the factory everyone else had already left as Uzair told them he would close up. they were sitting near the football ground backs leaned againt the wall with a cigratte in their hands their shoulders brushing against each other with even the slighest movement. Hamza was staring at his phone probably texting Yalina and Uzair was staring at Hamza.

Hamza placed his phone in his pocket and turned to look at Uzair to ask for a lighter but found Uzair already looking at him their faces cetimeters apart. Uzairs breath hitched but he couldnt look away Hamzas eyes travel to Uzairs lips for a secound as he looks back up in his eyes. Uzairs eyes were clouded with confusion and want his pupils were dialeted and his adams apple bobbed as he gulped, fuck Hamza couldnt control himself he leaned in slightly tilting his head. Uzair closed his eyes and angeled his head in anticipation he opened his eyes in confusion when he didnt feel the other males lips on his.

"Uzair kya tumhe yaqeen hai? iske baad hum piche hatt nahi sakte". ( Uzair are you sure about this? because if we continue we cant go back>) Hamzas question made him pause was he really sure about this was he sure about kissing the man he has love for 7 years? was he sure about making his feelings hidden since a long long time known? yes yes he was. Uzair nodded his head without hesitation Hamza immediatly grabbed Uzairs collar and placd his scared lips on Uzairs lush ones the kiss was anything but slow and controlled it was restrain breaking and crumbling down it was uncertainity collapsing as their tongue danced lapping each other.

Uzair pulls away first light headed and out of breath he takes in a deep breathes trying to calm himself Hamza looks at him with a grin as his big hands craddled Uzairs face thumb stroking his cheek which now had a pinkish hue as Uzair clutched Hamzas collar lightly.

A notification went off on Hamzas phone he looked away and took out the phone it was from Yalina. Uzairs breath hitched for the second time today as doubt surfaced in his mind and shame took over his heart fuck he had just kissed a taken man this was wrong wrong so damn wrong he pulled away sharply his hands leaving Hamzas collar as he stood up and backed away.

"Kyu? Kyu kiya ye tumne?". (Why? Why did you do this) His eyes almost teared up noticing that Hamza looked unaffected .

"Maine jabardasti nahi ki thi Uzair maine tumhari ijazat bhi mangi thi". (I didn't force you Uzair i even asked your permission.) Hamza responded with surprising calmness as he got up and walked closer

"Yalina ka kya! agar usko pata chala toh, vo kya kahegi Hamza?!" (What about Yalina! What if she gets to know about this what will she say then Hamza?!) Uzair almost yelled out as he moved back even more his back hitting the wall as he was trying to make the other male understand the seriousness of the situation.

"Pata chale toh chal ne do.." Hamzas pins Uzair to the wall as he tilts his head to look down at him and his hands now come up to Uzairs collar. The tension was so thick it could be cut with a knife.

"Akhir vo meri jagah hoti toh vo bhi yahi karti". His voice reduced to a low gruff he rested his forehead on Uzairs. (If she get to know so what... in the end if she was in my place she would've kissed you too.)

Kya?.. (what?..) Uzair asked dumbfounded. Hamzas hand moves from Uzairs collar towards his cheek his thumb tracing circles lightly.

"Uzair tu mujhe se mohobbat karta hai?". (Uzair do you love me?) Hamza asked with a grin already knowing the answer. Uzair nodded his head almost shyly.

"Uzair kya tu... Yalina se mohobbat karta hai?". (Uzair do you love Yalina too?) Hamza asked again this time a bit unsure about the answer. Uzair gulped his throat suddenly dry what should he say he cant just tell his bestfriend that he loved his girlfriend too this was probably a trick he should just lie amd deny the truth once again but Hamzas grinning face makes him think otherwise.

With a pregnant pause he nods his head again a bit hesitantly his cheeks flushing with embarrassment each passing secound. Hamza lets out a low chuckle.

"Kya... kya Yalina ko ye pata hai?" (Dose.... dose Yalina know about this too?) Uzair asked his voice laced with uncertainty.

"Tu khud usse sunn ley". (Why dont you listen yourself.) Hamza replied taking out his phone from his pocket as he dialed Yalina's number. The phone made 2 rings before a cheery voice responded excitedly from the other side.

"Ji meri jaan kya kaha Uzair ne". (So my love what was Uzairs response.) "Kya usne ha bol diya kya usne akhir kar ha bol diya?". (Did he say yes did he finally say yes?)

Hamza smirked and looked at him "Uzair kya hamara banna chaega?". (Uzair do you want to become ours?) Hamza waited in anticipation. Uzair let out a broken 'ha' as a squeal erupted from the phone. Hamza immediatly crashed his lips on Uzairs kissing him silly.

This was a year ago nobody knew that Hamza and Yalina werent a couple but actuall a throuple dating Uzair that was a secret locked securely in a vault which only opened in quite nights when they were all together at Hamzas kaabutar khaana cuddling each other and giggling at nonsensical things or having a night full of passion at a club away from Lyari.

Flashback end)

You were jealous. No not at the cute couple sitting before you Hamza and Yalina no but rather of the man sitting besides them Uzair Baloch.You didnt understand why he was here he had no reason to be.

It was the weekend, you were out on a shopping spree with Yalina at the mall to once again buy useless things that nobody needed with daddys money. Stuff like new clothes, some perfume more new clothes etc etc when Yalina received a call from Hamza and he asked her whereabouts, typical Hamza you almost roll your eyes cant this man just leave your sweet bestfriend in peace a day hadn't even passed that he was desperate to see her again.

The call ended in few minutes and lo and behold! Hamza had once again crashed your outing with Yalina and the worst part Uzair was tagging along with him like a ek pe ek free deal.

Instead of shooing them away like you wanted, Yalina immediately clings to Hamzas side showing him around the mall as if he was a toddler visiting the zoo for the first time. In the end your shopping spree with Yalina was cutshort as you slowly followed the couple and Uzair around because you didnt want to be left behind.

This feels pathetic really you felt as if you were intruding on their date when it was clearly the other way around. You slowly trailed behind them looking around sadly at the stores you didnt get to shop at, weirdly the bustle of the mall always managed to make you feel better, you knew the layout like the back of you hand it was sort of like a comfort place. Whenever things got too loud at home and you would call Yalina to hangout at the mall the colourful stores and newly released items always be it jewelry or makeup or even stationary making you temporarily forget the thunderstorm waiting for you at home. And honestly you needed that now

The last week has be no less than a mental hell, you lashed out and left by yourself to go home on monday after throwing yourself on the bed guilt immediately wrapped up around you, yes you didn't say anything mean or heartful but you still raised your voice something you had promised your younger self you wouldn't resort too even if you were angry because you had grew up seeing the damage it did to others you had experienced it too.

The rest of the week wasnt any better alternating between college and home was exhausting your studies were no longer easy memorizations you had to put in actual effort to learn the material it didnt help that you were also try to adjust living in someone else's house Somehow you were feeling slightly homesick even though you hated that place and wished to never go back but it was still the same house you had grown up in.

And the worst part is a whole week had passed but your mom and dad didnt even bother to check up on how you were faring, they should have played pretend and put on a act of faux worry, instead your dad had transferred sufficient ammount of money to your bank account as if it was enough to erase the neglect. You almost had a mind to call them yourself and demand to know whether they cared about you or not but dismissed the idea because maybe the answers would hurt too much. So yea this week was absolute shit.

Somehow deep in your thoughts you didnt manage to notice Uzair was now walking right besides you.

"Kya hua aaj itni udas kyu hai?." (Whats wrong why are you so sad today?) Uzair had noticed your stiff posture immediately after seeing you, he thought maybe it was because him and Hamza had tagged along but that didnt seemed to be the case as they had pulled this stunt many times but it never upset you this much before. You shook your head brushing him off as if to say your werent in the mood to indulge in his antics.

Uzair took that as a signal to not bother you anymore he awkardly patted your back and walked ahead once again that was surprisingly very sweet of him.

Uzair was now worried, fuck you looked like you were verge of tears he wanted to do nothing more than pull you in his chest and wrap his arms around you but that'll have to wait for some other day. He left you alone because he knew you were stronger than you showed. The other two were oblivious to your current state but not him. Uzair himself has been through the rough since he was a child thats why he can easily recognize someone who is going through it.

After walking around aimlessly for an hour all four of you settled in a café, you had finally calmed down with more than enough distractions around you. You took in the scene around you the cafe was aesthetic straight out of pintrest it was the one you frequented maybe that was an understatement because you knew the batistas and waiters by name. You looked infront of you, Uzair, Hamza and Yalina sat to your opposite with Yalina in the middle her head on Hamzas shoulder as they talked and giggled about god knows what . Your gaze drifted towards Uzair who was also looking at those two with an unexplainable softness in his eyes.

You were jealous. No not at the cute couple sitting before you Hamza and Yalina no but rather of the man sitting besides them Uzair Baloch.You didnt understand why he was here he had no reason to be.

How was he so comfortable sitting besides them very unlike a third wheel, he looked as if he was puzzle piece which fits perfectly in their picture how very unlike you god you were gonna be sick. This jealousy was wrong this constant urge to fit in was wrong, this aching need to belong somewhere was so damn wrong.

You forced yourself to look away telling yourself to look at anything else the cups, the celling fan anything other than them, Anything that didnt remind you how your presence wasnt required, how you were replaceable how no matter hard you tried you had no one to call yours no family no friends not even a lover.

You got up excusing yourself to the restroom to stop thinking so damn hard. You emerged out few minutes later when a familiar voice called out from the front counter.

Safina a girl close to your age who had started working here last year, you both werent friends but also werent strangers since she was a social butterfly who had no understanding of personal space and would occasionally have a long chat whenever you came by to grab a drink.

"Y/n hii kaisi hai kitne dino baad ana hua tera". (Y/n hii how are you, you visited after so many days) she exclaimed. Besides her was Rayn a quite guy also closer to your age who had worked here for a long time he was sort of like your friend you had known him for far more time you had known Safina but you never had much of a conversation with him as he was really shy and easily embarrassed especially around you for some reason.

"Oh hii safi kya hal chal, tum kaise ho Rayn?" You asked softely turning towards the other guy, Safina nudged him.

"Vo toh accha hi hoga tum jo ayi ho". Safina responded the last part an inaudible whisper as Rayn cleared his throat, muttering something about the kitchen needing help with how busy the café was today as he turned away even though you and the other three very the only customers present. Safina simply shook her head and rambled about some mishaps that happened in your absence for the next few minutes before she was called in the kitchen to help.

Unknown to you the trio had witnessed the whole interaction with Rayn clenched jaws. It was obvious to anyone with a set of eyes that he was crushing on you hard, how dare he sought after something that wasnt his? how dare he lay his eyes on their sweet girl? this was simply unacceptable. Gods they were seething with envy!

"Maan kar raha hai saale ke ankhe noch lu".

"Mat kar Uzair, vo lodu Y/n ka dost hai".

"Dost hai toh kya hua? Y/n toh hamari hai na."

"Meri jaan ye baat sirf hum teeno ko pata hai, Y/n ko khud bhi pata nahi, abhi hum kuch nahi kar sakte." Yalina squeezed his hand under the table.

"Usko baad me dekh lenge abhi hamari jaana ko khush karna hai, dekha nahi tum dono ne kitni udas lag rahi thi vo".

Hamza and Yalina nodded approvingly the conversation stopped as you walked closer to the table.

Oh poor you so utterly clueless, overthinking and getting sad about how you didnt fit in the picture when honestly they wanted nothing more than to make you a permanent piece.

Hope yall like it 🎀

Ik ik theire is a evident lack of dialogue 😔☝️i tried okk also it took too much time yo was supposed to post in the morning but ghar ki light 12 baje ayi 2 baje gayi thi 😭 lmk ur thoughts

Tagging: @mainyahaankyunhoon @gulaabjamun08 @mujhekoimarsbhejdo @rutvii @gehra-hua @sunf1over @avasif @whyishekinda @was-nai @laal-pari @softcorelune26 @idonthavechatpateusernamed @vaari-javaan @chocolate-and-trouble @goldenharrysworld @goodnightkatherine @hamzakamehroomkurta @sinnoire @imrankaunbsdk @harrystyleskiwi9

PLS LMK IF I MISSED ANYONE!!

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[rutvii]

Hirasat

IQBAL X wife!READER

a/n- based on request, hope you all would like it, interact cutu ded by writing this incoherent af

Trigger Warning- 18+,dom!Iqbal sub!reader ,rough sex, age gap, spanking ,some fluff, breeding kink once again ,very dub con i dont know how that happened lol,gun play, NOT PROOF READ!

Note- I of course dont support terrorism in any form this is only and only for the character potrayed by Arjun Rampal

Word count - 6.9k

The canopy of the bed fell way high above your head, the netted curtain fell like a shower and above all the overwhelming smell of roses and jasmine that flooded your head, they were bunched together carefully hanging from the over head in stripes covering the whole span of the bed, your heart has beaten uncomfortably in your chest, the queasy feeling that brewed in your stomach, you were a dutiful daughter did everything your father had asked you to all your life to keep his name and reputation clean , safe, protected, caged but you allowed it for your dearest abbu and what did you get in return? To get married off to a man almost 15 years older than you.

Iqbal was the last man you thought you would have married maybe even one of your cousins would have been a reasonable match, or the burger bacche of your college but no he decided on the broody quiet grump who you have seen twice in your home living room smoking away a cigar and now you were supposed to be his good little wife. You were angry at yourself, that you found yourself bending to your family's ,your father's decision for such an important thing in your life.

 Iqbal stood like a stone beside you throughout the whole thing, you couldn't even tell if he was even looking at your zoning out or.. Well there was this other times where you felt like he was eye fucking you which wouldn't make sense for the dignified disciplined man he was. Other than that he remained quiet , so quiet that you were utterly nervous about a thing you had been so sure about and trained for your whole life , for being a wife. 

Iqbal found himself walking into a place that has always been his before tonight, the room held its breath at him entering slow, yours eyes flickered close to dampen out the reality of the situation,he didn't say anything not a word just closed the door behind him with a click that ringed like a death sentence. You wanted to keep your eyes shut forever but then it grew slowly, the curiosity to understand the man you had been handed over too, with each rustle of his fine sherwani as he moved, the sound of metal meeting wood as he took off his watch and his breathing that only grew deeper with each passing second. 

You peeked only to find him already looking at you through the mirror, you were caught. You instantly lowered your gaze, cheeks burning at the intensity of his gaze but tried to procure some normalcy by pulling the kadhai of your anarkali, the door wasn't closed it was locked, the bed decorated with rose petals for your sweet sacrifice. He stalked over to the bed, settling right beside your shoulder brushed against yours. You couldn't think, you didn't expect this immediate closeness at all. You had prepared yourself for the sweet talk of holding hands, not this immediate possession. 

“ Y/N” he breathed over your neck and you felt physically destroyed into pieces, his voice was so deep and said with an effortless tone that flowed calmly but the command was clear each time. “ Ji?” “Khush ho?” He asked not really expecting an answer, sliding his coarse hand down till they got a hold of yours, what was supposed to be romantic,soft looked clinical as he searched through your hand tracing each design under his thumb. There was a twinge in your heart for how mechanical it all felt if this is what the rest of your life was supposed to be spent? To be with a man like your father who wouldn't find the time to understand if you would actually live your life in the shell of what you could have been. 

Iqbal's beard tickled at your skin stopping your trail of thought, you didn't notice him lean into  your palm inhaling at the rose milk scent with all his passion, “ Mashallah” Another tremor ran down your back in another unexplainable sensation that threatened to take over the hurt. “ Apni marzi se shaadi ki hai aapne?”  he looked up, the deep brown void of his eyes swallowing you,you paused for a fraction - it was by all means done with your willing but that tad bit of you had to kill itself to mould into your father's demands. “ Ji, apne mann se kari hai” You mumbled pulling down the crimson veil off your head at your shoulder.

 “ Mann se kari hai,  par kya dil se kari hai?”

“ Aapne kari hai dil se?” you shot back, surprising yourself but his presence had been too dizzying keeping you befuddled. You expected anger at the audacity but he chuckled, his eyes crinkling with pure admiration. He huffed pulling the loosely draped cloth down your shoulder more to see your silhouette without the obstruction of the dupatta. 

“ Aapko kya lagta hai rishta aapke abbu ne chuna hai? Maine hi aapko dekha tha do baar mujhe door se dekhte hue aap pasand aagyi toh maine nikaah ke liye puch liya par lagta hai aap is faisle se itna khush nahi hai” 

You lowered your gaze, cheeks flushing into oblivion you didn't know that the man lounging with your father had eyes for you all along , “ Nahi …hum kush hai” You whispered, twisting the ring at your finger.

“Mujhe aisi khoobsurat biwi ki naemat mili hai aur aap mujhse poochh rahe hain ki kya main ne apni dili khushi se is shadi par razamandi di thi? Hum bhi bahut kush hai”

You smiled before you knew it, chest heaving with excited breaths waiting for him to close the distance, he lips brushed against your like a soft breeze, the smell of the coffee he had mixed with the natural masculine scent of him, the silk of his clothes all of it flooding your head, you let yourself get pushed in the mattress ready to give yourself to him.

Iqbal did not hurt you not for a second, gently guiding you through everything with a patience that betrayed the hunger that simmered inside him, he had seen you twice peeking out from behind the wall in your simple kurta and an emotion that had not stirred in him throughout his whole life bleaking to his heart, avoiding his father taunts about marriage to devote himself to work he found himself wanting to be married. When you cried out when he entered you, he felt his heart break in two but insanely harder at the sight of your tears, so he held himself and the monster inside him back leaning down to press kisses to your temple till you have adjusted to his thickness. 

The first month of your marriage passed in marital bless, Iqbal was so much more than you expected him to be and he clearly wasn't a grump but a lovesick man who wouldn't get enough of you, calmly waiting for you to talk more than what would be considered informal. That was his one complain from you, you never talked to him more than necessary not because you were shy because you thought it wasn't dutiful, proper to talk so much in front of him even shameless to torture him with the blabber of your whole day. 

You wiped the sweat beading at your forehead, your hair tied up in a messy bun that was half undone from behind. Your dupatta tied at the side, your blush pink kurta sticking to your skin through that wetness, flour patted onto your cheek working in the sweltering heat in the kitchen, the smell of korma filling the kitchen as you worked to knead the dough. It's not like he did not keep the house help but you just liked cooking for him, you didn't hear the muffled footsteps as he strode to you over the sound of your own irritated hiss and the consistency got too slimy. Iqbal swept you off your feet, you gasped before giggling at the familiar sensation of his hands wrapping around your waist, he twirled you once before settling on the cold marble counter. 

“Kitni pyaari lag rahi hai aap” He murmured appreciatively, his hands tugging your neckline up possessively before trying to kiss your sweat slick cheek,

“ Choro na Iqbal, kya kar rahe hai aap? Koi dekh lega”

“Toh kya hua, begum hai aap hamari”

You hit at his chest trying to hold back the wild smile that was painting your face at this proximity. 

“ Aapne toh kitchen ko hi apna ghar bana diya hai kabhi humare saath bhi baith liya karo”

His hand moved quickly keeping both your palms flat and pinned at your sides, it was supposed to be sweet but it felt scarily exciting to know that even his effortless grip could hold you down easily, you swallowed watching him inch closer till his lips met your again in a soft and slow rhythm. You half chuckled turning your head away mid movement, for a second there Iqbal frowned a deep and ugly one for not getting what’s his but he trains them back into neutral. 

You noticed it, without much words you have learned to  communicated by observing people and though how much you admired and felt loved in his presence there was something off about him, about the parts that he kept to himself and that was also part why you hesitated to talk to him because the ugly truth about a traditional marriage was that despite being well educated you had no autonomy and all the power for your happiness laid in his hand, it was for him to decide what he wanted to be to you the man now or the quiet statue you saw at your wedding, so you avoided questioning it. 

You don't know if he felt the shift, but he moved, reaching into the front pocket of his shirt pulling out dainty silver anklets,

“ Yeh kya hai?”

“ Aap toh humse baat nahi karti socha yahi kar lenge”

he nodded at the anklet, flicking them soft, hearing the mellow chime hum through the kitchen. He sat down on his knees clasping them in place, “ Iqbal please aise accha todhi lagta hai” embarrassed at a man so much older than you kneeling to you, you tried to pull back your feet “ Nakhre bahut karti hai aap” You gave up into his hand because what else could you have done. 

Iqbal has been occupied with work lately, the time of his arrival increasing with each passing night and with the same brooding expression he would walk through the door and sigh ever so softly when he saw you wide awake and waiting for him, it was the same as any other day only this time his shoulders fell heavier, his eyes darker and the sigh deeper almost a snarl.

“ Iqbal aap theek toh hai na?”

For the first time you gathered enough courage to ask him something out of mundane homely tasks,

“ Tumhe ek baar mei baat samajh nahi aati hai waqt se so jaaya karo”

his reply was short and clipped out of character for the way he had been cherishing you for the past month, you fell quiet the pain of your heart settling in your wrists.

“Aur yeh kya haal kar rakha hai kamre ka”

He turned to watch the clothes piled up into a heap by the bed which you were too lazy to clean up and even lazier to call and explain to the maids the order at which they were to be arranged.

“ Karti kya ho pura din ghar pe?”

you felt yourself grow smaller at each word, all the puff leaving your chest,

“ Aur yeh kya phen rakha hai?”

He nodded at your slip night gown with pure disdain at the satin that covered nothing. You shrank further pulling the bedsheet up to your chin wondering why you asked him anything at all. 

Iqbal noticed but he did not comment on it walking to the bathroom with his fist clenched almost as if to hide something, the second he stepped back out again freshened up he was a different man altogether. Nervous,skittish with how you were laying on the very edge of the bed turned away from him , “ Gussa hogayi?” he tried to joke, leaning slow from behind to burrow his face into your neck, you shrugged him off scooting further away. 

“ Sorry meri jaan, kaam se thak aata ho aur tumhe mere vajah se itni der ko jagah hua dekhta toh aur takleeq hoti hai mujhe” 

“ Mujhe daatne mei nahi hoti?” you whispered hiding further into the pillow 

“ Sorry thoda gusse mei tha kuch bhi bol diya, itni pyaari ..um…dress? Pheni hai aapne mujh jaise budhe ko thodi samajh aayega” he cupped your breast from behind, nuzzling his nose into your shoulder. You wanted to give in but the hurt still remained fresh so you didn't react to him at all. Iqbal got the idea and pulled back, keeping enough distance for your bodies to not touch while you slept, but you knew he was looking at you, his gaze searing through your back, through the thin fabric of your gown. At some point you were more scared than you were mad if this was his actual self and the lovely gestures were maybe a facade. 

The next morning Iqbal tailed you like a lost dog while you refused to talk to him. Eventually he gave up and just watched as you put down plates with more force than required ‘slamming’ them on the dining table. “ Y/N” he half whispered but you didnt answer, “ Maaf kardo” he tried again holding your hand as you moved to throw down the cutleries as well, “ Bolo kya chaiye aapko?” “ Humne kuch nahi chaiye” you finally huffed something out over the lump in your throat, Iqbal left quietly this morning fighting the urge to kiss your temple and bid you goodbye like usual because you clearly did not want to be close with him right now. 

By afternoon you had started feeling guilty about the way you ignored his desperate attempts and it didn't look right either that such an older man had to walk around in circles for your opinion and you understood he was just frustrated from work and didn't mean to snap but the possibilities for that behavior scared you, when you were cleaning up after your lunch you saw it his tiffin box tucked at the end of the kitchen slate hidden behind the stack of dishes in front of it. 

The idea had formed before you allowed it, the end to your first couple argument and it was sweet in idea, you would dress and go by to drop his tiffin box and forgive him for all the things he said last night. You put on the kurta you wore in your college days, and had seen Iqbal's eyes stop at it when you were skimming through your clothes before a function once, he didn't say he liked but his eyes spoke for him. The butter yellow complimented nicely against your skin tone, it different than the intricate suits you had moved to after marriage because you were living in the house of one of the most reputed man in pakistan, luxury wasn't a choice it was mandatory for the public image and this road side stall brought kurta maybe stood no chance in front of the fine silk but Iqbal had admired it and so did you.

It was with printed large pink patterns, the same patterns on the light dupatta that you had draped carefully over your shoulder and head, feeling a college girl again, but you were married now with Iqbal's lunch box in your hands, chand baali in your ears, the bangles in your hand stacked and first time going to see what burdens him so much that he is weared out when he returns home, a chance to understand him better. 

“ Bashir mujhe Iqbal ke daftar chor dijiye” “ Begum sahiba.. Iqbal sahab ne mana kara hai” “ Aise kaise mana kara hai hum bol rahe hai na leke chalo” “ Sach mei unhone mana kara hai” “ Agar aap humne nahi leke jaoge toh hum auto se chale jayege fir dekhna Iqbal ji kitna gussa karenga” You poked at his shoulder and he couldn't do anything other than listen to the lady of the house.

Inside of the office was normal, just like your father’s had been with all the cubicles leading to a big room at the end, illuminated by yellow lights and closed off from the rest, Iqbal’s office. You held the tiffin box walking slowly to his office, most of the people were confused as to why the boss’s wife was here at all dressed in all pastel in this gloomy mood. The office was empty, his leather seat cold from his long absence “ Iqbal?” You called out three times with no reply from anyone, a familiar man entered the room, his face furrowed, hair disheveled

“ Y/N aap? Aap yaha kya kar rahi hai”

He faltered standing straight and respectful

“ Sajid voh bas Iqbal ji apna tiffin bhool gaye vahi dene aayi thi”

“ Mai de doonga aap ghar jaiye”

he reached out but you held the box closer to yourself cutting off any possibility of him getting a hold of it, well because he wasn't exactly allowed to touch you.

“ Nahi hume apne haath se dena hai”

“ Iqbal sahab office mei hi nahi hai, bahar gay hai kaam se”

on cue came the sound from the room beside, even distant than that more muffled, downstairs, it was from downstairs.

“ Iqbal hai vaha?”

Sajid did not know how to lie to you 

“Abhi kisi ka aana allowed nahi hai”

“ Accha theek hai naraaz hai voh humse samajh gayi, par itna gussa kaisa? milenge bhi nahi mere se“

" Please aap ghar jaiye”  You pouted tapping your feet at the wooden floor, “ Mai nahi jaungi, Iqbal se bina nahi jaungi” “ Fir aap inteezar kar sakti hai yaha baith ke.. Bas abhi nahi mil sakte” You plopped down on the couch, eyes flickering to the door over and over. “ Sajid chai milegi?” “ Abhi?” “ Ji mujhe abhi chaiye.. Aap hume mana  kar rahe hai hume?” He sighed not knowing who to follow the boss, or his wife because upsetting his wife might be a bigger crime than betraying him here. 

The second Sajid was out of the door you sprang to the room attached to his office finding the narrow spot in the corner that led downstairs. It was a whole different world all together, alienated from the sophisticated exterior you just saw, the wall painted a dull white and fluorescent light shining overhead and the air was already eerie but you carried on looking for Iqbal. 

Iqbal had been viscous since last week when he found out there was a mole in his business, selling away his hard work to his enemies and busied himself in finding and extracting other sources that made it possible by the way he knew- torture. He had been patient handling the work to the most trusted Sajid , but it has been one week and the man was still not opening his mouth and he had to take things into his own hands. 

The room was equipped with weapons designed to slowly kill, to inflict such pain that there was nothing left other than surrender. Iqbal rolled up the sleeves of his faded navy blue kurta to his elbows slipping on the black leather gloves moving with a quiet intensity that carried a storm itself scanning through the row after row of the most heinous weapons quietly, Iqbal had already peeled off his nails after the man had gone out his way and struggle and scratch at Iqbal exposed skin violently enough that it was bleeding, but he wasn't satisfied with it, more vexed than usual because his dear wife had not spoke to him once and he needed an outlet to take that out and he was found an excuse today with the blood that ran down his forearm form the cut.

Iqbal decided on a classic saw because he knew it wouldn't cut through on the first blow, that what made the process more fascinating for Iqbal, he leaned in into the chair the man was tied to soughing in agony at his deformed fingers, flailing his hand against the time, “ Abhi bhi waqt hai bol do beta” Iqbal tutted,speaking so softly that the man knew what was set for his fate, Iqbal raised the saw crashing it down his tied arm with sickening crunch.

You saw it eyes wide, standing at the entrance. Your husband was doing this.

“ Bolo beta?” He asked but didn't give him the time to reply, aggressively bringing down the saw over over one the half cut arm in repeated violent motions that were too perfect to be not the ‘norm’ and especially by the look on his face they weren't, he wasn't hesitating not for sliver of his body recoiled by what he was doing ,blood spattered spraying at Iqbal's suit “ BOL BETA BOL” the screamed the sound echoing off the walls. 

You stepped back slowly, careful not to catch anyone’s eyes. He is a monster, a monster. The man in the chair you recognised from the dinners Iqbal held at home, how he introduced him to you as an old acquaintance of five years. Five years? And Iqbal didn't struggle to commit something so horrifying to him, so how will a wife of one month stand a chance against his temper, this nature. You were almost out of sight when you moved a little too fast, your ankles chimed faintly over the screams but Iqbal's head shot up, instantly recognising the sound. “ Y/N?” he mouthed.

Your body was in dilemma whether to catch your breath first,to run to keep your heart beating because with no doubt Iqbal had seen you, you dropped the tiffin watched the content fall open on the floor as you ran as fast as you can again marvelling if to take off your anklets first, hands shivering so hard they fell like they would fall off. Cutting off a man's hand was so easy for him what would he do with you since you had made him so upset yesterday, you carried yourself on unsteady legs. Lungs burning for the desperate attempts you made to breathe the panic only growing when you couldn't find your way back upstairs, running into doors after doors and then you froze for a second hearing the heavy boots tracing your footsteps. Those damn anklets gave it away and Iqbal was onto you, you forced yourself to move slowly so the movements wouldn't amplify the sound further getting into the first room beside you. 

You fumbled with the knob twice before twisting it open to what looked like a rest room for the times Iqbal stayed back in his house, it was his room you could tell by the cub cigars discarded on the floor on the bedside table , his favourite one and if that didn't give it away there was a frame of you rested atop just beside the cigar from your wedding, cropped so it was only you for him to admire when he couldn't find his way back home and the fear wavered stupidly with the warmth rising in your body. 

The room was so sickly drowned with his scent that your head was getting dizzy, chest heaving which felt a lot like excitement. Disgusting;you cringed and then came the final call of the door turning and opening in front of you. Iqbal looming inside without a word. 

You stood breath hitched, hand gripping at the desk behind you, still not a word he moved past you, still not a word as he took off his gloves, not a word as he tried to wipe off some of the blood from his kurta. 

He hadn't said a word, maybe you could just run away. You dashed to the door without him moving a fraction, just when you twisted the knob in your hand he covered the distance in three long steps , picking you up so effortlessly that you wondered if you weighed anything under at all. 

You slipped in his grips, squirming and thrashing to get free while he remained unyielding, jaw shut  tight throwing you on the desk. “ Iqbal please mujhe chor do, maine kuch nahi dekha please” You sobbed, slapping your palm at his rock hard chest, Iqbal held you still with that extreme gaze and strength that he did not have to apply to keep you from moving.

 “ Shh shh”

 He hushed you finally, ignoring your small useless movements to slam his forehead against yours breathing deep and low. Your mind actively worked against your logical conscience, the human urge to survive overshadowed by disgustingly attracted you were to him, even after the revelation of his true self. 

“ Kitni haseen lag rahe hoo aaj, uff.. Mujhe milne aayi ho itne sajj ke?” He said his voice husky and hungry, thumb caressing your cheek as if your body wasn't actively breaking into sobs from the fear, from the clear evidence that dampened his shirt the blood brown against the blue of his shirt. 

 “ Iqbal please hum sach mei kisi ko kuch nahi bolege”

 “ Kya nahi bologi? Meri jaan yahi meri jindagi hai is se aapke siwa sab vaafiq hai aapke abbu bhi”  before the disbelief of his first few words he could hit you he continued

 "Tum nahi jaanti ke mujhe tumhare baap ko maali tor par tabah karne ke liye kis hadd tak jana pada, sirf is liye kyunke wo tumhe mujhe saunpne par raazi nahi tha. Tumhe andaza nahi ke is sab ke peeche meri kitni gehri saazishein thien... kis qadar junoon tha tumhe paane ka, tumhe apni baahon mein qaid karne ka"

He confessed, two glances and he had decided to drain your father financially to have you. There was no doubt your husband was crazy and holding you so fiercely calm. You wanted to be angry but all that came out of your mouth was a bated breath and even that he did spare, swallowing it in his mouth. Clashing your lips with his, you gasped in surprise giving him the opportunity to thrust his tongue into your quivering mouth, your hands flailing uselessly as he carefully but swiftly pulled over the kurta over your head. The air is clammy, goosebumps prickling at your skin.

Fear and arousal churned all together in a dangerous mix pooling in your gut, “ Iqbal-”He tangled his tongue with yours again blurring out every thought in your head for a movement, you only came back to your sense when you felt the cold metal press between the valley of your breasts, tracing up and down over the cleavage formed by the cotton bra "Tumhe lagta hai ke main ne ye sab tumhe paane ke liye kiya, sirf is liye ke tumhe takleef pahchaoon?"your hands did not need containing anymore, your struggles have stopped itself from the sheer paralysing fear. “ Iqbal please aap..yeh kya kar rahe hoo?” the safety was off- the safety was off it was off but you couldn't move, his gaze so commanding that even when your heart threatened to crash you didn't want to go against it.

The revolver sleek body prodded at your skin, it was loaded and he wasn't stepping back if anything, you felt the metal dig harder into your plump flesh, his finger rested dangerously at the trigger, the only comfort was the eye contact he held with you, that kept you captive in place. In your hindsight you could see as he crushed the trigger further, your eyes snapping close but not moving from the position you were in to save your life. The shot went empty but you flinched from the impact, hands going to hold onto his bicep, holding onto the very cause of your fear, nails digging into his skin. Iqbal eyes dragged over your face, watching the fresh tear drop glisten in a sheen line over your eye, the way you trusted him he had never felt his heart beat so frantically like it did at the at the depraved sight of your trust and the cede of your body, you were his sweet victim not upset at the fact he had plotted his way into this marriage, but just watching him doe eyes that were begging him to fuck you. 

He glided it over your soft skin, hooking the mouth of the gun beneath the strap of your bra sliding it down your shoulder, unraveling your left breast to his ravenous eyes. “ Iqbal” You whimpered but he ignored it, rubbing at the nipple with the side of the gun, before holding it back in between your breast, sliding it down and over your stomach. Your breath caught when you realised he wanted to stop, tugging the salwar and panties up together with the gun, skidding it down along with his hand. 

The freezing cold metal pressed against your clit, making you jolt forward and thrash momentarily before you met his eyes again, lulling you back into submissiveness. He was more handsome up close, wrinkles running around his eyes, the side of his lips along with the scar that ran above the side of his mouth, his moustache and beard thick and salt and paper that he didn't care to cover with fake dyes, just intensifying visually the obvious age gap between you both. “ Iqbal” You tried again, but he didn't budge, sliding your clothes down till you had no choice but to comply by lifting your hips so he could strip you bare. 

You were a beautiful mess the innocent cotton panties stopping at your ankles, left breast out of the fabric and body shivering, your clit throbbed against the foreign object , he drowned in the sight of you getting worked up from the fear, his true self, at your how the bud that hid above your folds looked pressed against something so dangerous. Your entrance peeking out from the folds, pink and fleshed raw , he was tempted to push the barrel in but he understood enough to not do that, just teased you with the hard rigid metal that had your toes curling. 

He handled it with the perfect pressure, he had learnt that much about your pleasure now, holding the mouth of the gun pressed flat against your slit till the start of your taint, “ Iqbal!” You shrieked, just his name no indication for him to stop or start because deep down you didn't know whether you did or not yourself. “ Ji begum” He rasped, nibbling on the shell of your ear the sweet endearment sound so mocking now . “Please chor dijiye, Iqbal mujhe dar raha hai”

He smirked, tapping the sensitive bundle of nerves and on cue your wetness gushed down more, lubricating yourself  “ Dar lag raha hai aapko meri jaan?” He cooed, catching the wetness at the gun, holding up the slick metal in front of your mouth, “ Yeh hai aapka dar?” those trembling lips have been inviting since the day he saw you, he drummed the head at your lips. 

“ Open” he demanded, your hands clutching tighter at his bicep only roused him more, testing the patience that he was holding back for one month. He squeezed your mouth open , the end of the barrel hitting at the back of your mouth. “ Suck” He demanded again, this time over your gagging self, turning more vulnerable under his control. 

Sucking his cock would have been way easier, the hard edges hurted a little and you knew if he started fucking your mouth himself how hard he would do it so you started yourself. Wrapping your tongue around the line, bobbing your head up and down slowly. Iqbal eyes rolled back at the obedience, he murmured praises against your forehead, about you were his good little wife before latching onto your nipple, engulfing the hard pebble into his mouth, slurping loudly around it, switching between biting and sucking constantly that the pain balanced out with pleasure, but soon he decided he did not want to miss a second of you fucking your mouth. 

He stood back eyes digging into your skin, your small palm still wrapped around his bicep for comfort while he barely offered any when he plunged two fingers into your soaked entrance, curling his fingers inside to rub against the spongy part in constant strict movement that didn't give you another option than to accept the abuse on your cunt,  his thumb rubbed in firm circles over your clit working proficiently so you could come early and he can shove his dick in you, because at this point he was so hard it hurted painfully

The bulge heavy and insistent over the fabric of his shalwar, you squelched loudly the wetness dripping down your cunt and spreading over the mahogany desk as you moaned around the muzzle. Iqbal liked seeing you contained but he also wanted to hear you whine his name. The gun left your mouth abruptly with a soft pop that allowed you to relax your jaw and mouth, “Iqbal ji please chor dijiye na” You whimpered all while your hips bucked to have his finger deeper, the sentence infuriated him enough for him to want to ram the gun down your throat again because of the obvious lie which he didn't enjoy. 

He doubled his efforts on your pussy and had you releasing all over his hand, face nuzzled and drooling at his covered bicep when the gun shot went off making you cling harder to him breaking into a sob on instinct and the realisation The gun had bullets??? And he fired that over your heart?

Despite the horror you had only gotten wetter, clunt clenching unclenching around nothing waiting on what he had trained your body by now, his cock. The sound of your anklets were dampened and restricted under the clothes that bunched up at your ankles first he pulled them off in a harsh motion, then he dropped you on your feet on the floor, you expected him to take you to bed and claim you properly but he dragged in front of the long mirror reclined on the wall. Standing behind you, his six feet two swamping your frame and the view in front of you of your used body 

You waited to watch what he meant to do, fixing your eyes anything but what was right in front focusing on the chipped edges of the mirror instead, when you felt him take out his hard dick maybe this is the part he throws you on the bed, but he lines himself against your entrance that was looking comically small in comparison to his tout head,  “ Iqbal bed pe-” He snarled, and the next second you known the gun was now at your throat. The muzzle now warmed with bullets fired, and the fear came back in full surge washing over your body in tremors.

“ Maine tumse pucha tumhe kya chaiye?” 

you shook your head, grasping at the mirror feeling the stretch of his cut head pushing inside your body. 

You could see how desperate your own body was getting how your walls extend to accommodate his thickness, the size difference thrilling but it flushed your cheeks, shyly you lowered your gaze onto the floor to avoid the reality of what’s happening to you

"Khabardar jo tum ne apni nazrein jhukaaeen, upar dekho"

The revolver delved into the hollow of your throat as he impelled you slowly on his dick feeding you inch by inch till you were a crying mess forced to look at your ruins from the fear of the weapon your husband threatened you with. He grunted when he finally buried himself to the hilt, the sound sending spasm through your body resulting in you tightening around him, your eyes flickered struggling to keep up "Tumhe ek seedhi si baat samajh nahi aati? Nazrein mujh par tikaye rakho." he spanked his palm at your ass with unrestrained force that made you wail and slap your palm at the glass. “ IQBAL!” 

“ Watch how you take me” You looked down unwillingly at the mortifying sight of hips flush against yours from behind, as he pulled back a little you saw how hard you gripped to keep him inside, his meaty flesh red and throbbing with veins that taut on it brushing deliberate at the gummy walls of your insides, you were too tired,too overstimulated for this torture when he started something worse.

He slammed back into you one violent thrust and started a punishing rhythm which was way worse than the slow descent before, your whole world world was blurring with how harsh he was being, body jerking forward and threatening to fall down with the heavy rams but he kept you up with one hand snaked around your waist other still holding the silent reminder to comply by your neck. He was smug like he was saving you from collapsing when he was the one who was enabling it, groaning how tight you were while you struggled to breathe around his cock. 

Iqbal had mapped and studied each part of your body by now familiar with each curve and where exactly to hit to find your spot, aggressively snapping his hips to meet that spot so you were forced to be drowning in pleasure when your eyes rolled back from the obvious affect, he hit you again your cheeks burning red with the imprint of his palm.

Iqbal had realised you weren't scared of the gun anymore because the second you were going against his words and that didn't exactly feed into his arrogance and it has served it's purpose now, you were aware Iqbal would never hurt you in spite of having all the means to do so. He grabbed your chin forcing you to look yourself, squeezing your cheeks roughly with his palm that was larger than your face “ Dekh khudko” His groaned his tone and speech getting crass,

"Apni haalat toh dekho, ro aise rahi ho jaise tumhe is sab mein maza nahi aa raha”

you clamped around his shaft watching how he was soaking in your tears with an arousal that didn't even feel human anymore it was that primitive. A victory smirk broke through his face in between of the harsh clenched jaw expression before he lost himself to your tightness again cursing out loud and resuming your breaking. 

His cock filled you stretched you out the pain of him bruising your cervix so delicious it bordered on pleasure, and estranged from the lewd scene and noises was the dainty chimes of your ankle as your feet fell above the ground with each thrust due to the obvious size difference, while he forced you to watch. Watch as the fear completely left your face leaving behind only greed, that asked him to ruin you more humiliate you the idea fact that you how small you in front of him in every sense of the word at how little control you had of your life and yet he wouldn't hurt you not in the way it would sting your heart. 

"Main sabr nahi kar pa raha us waqt ka jab tumhe samajh aayega ke tumhari jagah kahan hai—sirf mere paas. Tum yahan hamesha mehfooz rahogi, meri mohabbat aur meri jaan ban kar." 

Your ankles chimed harder, coerced to let out sound louder than they were meant to because Iqbal wanted to hear it so he had of course roughened his pace. His deep thrusts were mind breaking that your consciousness was slipping and instead of being ashamed your eyes were glued to the view in front you when he finally found the energy to complete his broken sentences in between his moans and groans

“ Aur inshallah jaldi hi mere bacchon ki maa banke”

WHAT? Your eyes shot up over the haze you wanted to move to look over your shoulder but his grip kept you still, and you realised you didn't need to look back at all you met his eyes in the mirror, that glance confirmed it for you he was serious about what he just said and that ‘jaldi hi’ clearly meant today. 

You found some sense over the high and tried to scoot away only to be met with his hand rubbing at your now swollen bud coaxing, capturing you slowly into a frenzy that meant you were his captive for life. Your orgasm didn't give you relief by drowning out the knot in your stomach, instead it hit you like a tidal wave with your head still stuck on the fact about what followed after, and you couldn't even form a coherent sentence let alone argue with him as his hips started stuttering. “ Meri jaan” he grunted, forcing himself deeper till his tip found your cervix again, holding himself still as he spilled out his load raw. You felt the warmth seep to your stomach as if already taking root.  

“Iqbal” you sniffled defeated, falling limp and wanting nothing more to be in his arms. “ Theek hai aap?” he asked picking you up ,you wanted to pout but you only nodded hiding in his chest.

a/n - its is four am while I post this kuch glat shalat likha ho toh maaf kar dena dont slime me

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