❀Chai Se Pehle❀ — {uzair baloch x reader} — (Oneshot)🔞
Summary- Showering alone is apparently a punishable offense. The punishment being: getting dragged into the shower again.
Akele nahana band karo. You have been warned. warning: mdni
The room of the Baloch haveli was bathed in soft morning light. Uzair was already awake, sitting against the headboard with one arm tucked behind his head, watching the bathroom door.
Then you walked out.
Your wet hair lay over one shoulder as you scrubbed at it with a towel. You were humming under your breath, lost in your own world. Uzair didn't say a word, just watched. The red salwar suit caught the morning light. Your bangles clinked, red and gold, soft against the quiet room. The silver anklets, the ones he'd given you right after the wedding, chimed with every step.
He let his eyes follow the sway of your waist as you crossed to the dressing table. You picked up your brush, glanced up, and caught his reflection in the mirror. You froze. Heat climbed up your neck. You knew that look. It wasn't a morning look.
Uzair sat up, dragging a hand through his messy hair. "Yeh toh zyaadti hai," he grumbled, voice thick with sleep. "Mujhe bataye baghair akele akele naha bhi liya?"
Your hands stilled on the brush. You turned away, grabbing the edge of his kurta off the chair, twisting the fabric.
"Uz-Uzair... aap bhi nah!" You couldn't look at him. "Aap jaiye fresh ho jaayein. Main aapke liye chai leke aati hoon."
He chuckled and swung his legs out of bed, standing to his full height. He crossed the room and leaned down until his face was an inch from yours.
"Chai?" His voice dropped into a rough morning rasp. "Chai sei mera dill kahaan bharega, jaan. Mujhe toh tumhe khana hai."
You gasped. "Dhaattt!" You swatted his bare chest with the towel and bolted. Your anklets chimed frantically down the corridor, his laughter chasing you all the way to the kitchen.
Ten minutes later, the rich scent of cardamom filled the air. You carried the steaming cup back into the bedroom, where the bathroom door was now cracked open, thick clouds of steam rolling out into the cooler room.
As you approached, the door opened a fraction wider. Uzair’s bare, wet arm stretched out through the gap.
"Jaan, zara towel dena. Andar bhool gaya."
You set the hot cup down on the side table, grabbed a fresh towel from the closet, and held it out while keeping your eyes firmly on the floorboards. "Yeh liji...."
Wet fingers clamped hard around your wrist. You didn't even have time to gasp before he yanked you forward. Your bare feet completely lost traction on the slick, wet tile and you stumbled blindly right into the suffocating heat of the bathroom. The door clicked shut behind your back.
Your shoulder blades hit the wall with a dull thud. The stray overspray from the showerhead instantly soaked through the thin cotton of your salwar, making it stick awkwardly to your skin. Uzair blocked you in completely, his massive frame trapping you against the wet tiles. It was so foggy it was actually hard to breathe, and you had to blink rapidly against the stray drops of water dripping from his wet hair right into your eyes, stinging them slightly.
"Uzair, suno!" you squeaked, shoving the now-damp towel against his chest like a useless shield. "Yeh kya badmaashi hai? Meri chai thandi ho rahi hai!"
He didn't care. He leaned down, his mouth finding the sensitive skin right under your jaw, his damp hair brushing against your cheek. His hand slid down to your waist, bunching up the wet fabric of your suit to pull you flush against his bare, hard length.
"Chai toh baad mein bhi garam ho jayegi," he muttered against your skin, his thumb digging into your hip. "Pehle mujhe meri biwi chahiye."
"Aap... aap bohot besharam ho gaye hain." Your hands shook against his chest.
He let out a low laugh, tangling his fingers in your hair to tilt your face up. A drop of water fell off his nose and landed on your lip.
"Abhi besharmi dekhi kahan hai tumne?" he murmured, his gaze dropping to your mouth. "Abhi toh bohot kuch dekhna baaki hai, jaan. Aadat daal lo ab."
His mouth crashed down on yours in a demanding kiss. You whimpered into his mouth, your grip loosening until the towel slipped from your fingers, landing on the flooded floor. Your arms wound tightly around his neck instead.
Your bangles struck sharp against his shoulders every time you moved.
He grabbed the hem of your wet kameez, tugging it upward. Because it was soaked, the fabric caught awkwardly on your elbows and chin for a frantic second before he wrenched it over your head and dropped it into the puddle below. His calloused hands were slick with sandalwood soap as they found your bare skin, heavy and rough against your breasts. You gasped, your heel slipping on a soapy patch of tile as he bit down on your collarbone, leaving a sharp sting that would definitely turn into a dark mark by afternoon.
He fumbled briefly with the wet drawstring of your salwar, shoving the water-logged pants down past your knees until you kicked out of them entirely. When he lifted you, your thighs scrambled for purchase around his waist, your wet skin sticking to his hips. He didn't wait to make it elegant. He pinned you back against the wall, caught your mouth in another rough kiss, and drove inside you in one unvarnished push.
His forehead dropped against yours, his jaw locked so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. Then he started to move. It wasn't clean; it was just rough and hard. The rhythmic, wet slap of skin against skin echoed loudly over the roar of the running shower. You had to tilt your head back to breathe, coughing slightly as a stray stream of water hit your face, your hands gripping his wet shoulders for dear life while your silver anklets clattered frantically against his lower back.
He kept a vice-like grip on your hips, his fingers digging in hard enough to leave distinct handprints later. The tension wound so tight it felt like a wire snapping. Your back arched off the wall, your voice crying his name into the thick, humid air as the orgasm hit you.
That completely broke whatever control he had left. With a couple of rough, desperate surges, he groaned into the crook of your neck, his entire body going rigid as he came deep inside you.
The shower just kept running, the water pooling around your discarded, soaked clothes on the floor. The only sound left was the frantic, messy sound of both of your chests heaving for air.
Uzair didn't let you down right away; he just kept his arms locked around you, burying his face in your wet shoulder while his heartbeat gradually slowed down against your ribs. Finally, he kissed your damp cheek, a lazy, thoroughly satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"Ab batao," he murmured against your ear. "Chai peeni hai, ya yahin rehna hai?"
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Summary:— He married her for his wife. He hunted her down for himself. She came back for reasons she'll never say out loud.
The smell of gun oil and cold steel used to cling to your father's clothes every evening when he returned from Rehman Baloch's factory. But now, the house only smelled of antiseptic and despair.
When the stroke hit, it took away the right side of his body and, with it, the only income keeping your family afloat. With a paralyzed father, a weeping mother, and two younger siblings to feed, the mantle of breadwinner fell onto your shoulders. You had no choice but to go to the one man who held the keys to your survival: Rehman Baloch.
Rehman Baloch's haveli was as intimidating as the man himself. A formidable figure in the underworld, he sat behind his massive mahogany desk, his sharp eyes studying you as you made your plea.
"Sardar..." you began, your voice trembling but resolute. "Abba ab chal phir nahi sakte. Ghar mein maa, chota bhai aur behen hain bhooke marne ki halat mein. Mujhe factory mein koi bhi kaam de dijiye, main kar lungi."
Rehman took a drag of his cigarette, the smoke curling around his hardened features. He remembered your father's loyalty. "Gun factory ka mahaul aurton ke liye theek nahi hai," Rehman replied, his baritone voice echoing in the quiet study. He paused, thinking of his own family. "Mera chota beta hai, Faizal. Uski dekh-bhal ke liye kisi ki zaroorat hai. Haveli mein rahogi, Faizal ki aaya bankar. Tankhwa tumhari umeed se zyada hogi. Manzoor hai?"
You nodded instantly. It was a lifeline.
Life in the Baloch household was unexpectedly warm at first. You became fiercely protective of little Faizal, and in return, Rehman and his wife, Ulfat, treated you with respect. Ulfat Baloch was a striking woman, radiating the fierce pride of a mother who had birthed the heir to the Baloch empire: Naieem.
But in their world, peace was always borrowed time.
The news came on a Tuesday night. Naieem had attended a close friend's wedding. What was supposed to be a night of celebration turned into a massacre when a rival gangster, Babu Dakit, ambushed the venue. When Naieem's blood-soaked body was brought into the courtyard, the Baloch household shattered. The wails that tore from Ulfat's throat didn't sound human.
As weeks turned into months, the fierce matriarch faded into a ghost. One evening, you walked into the living room to find Ulfat sitting in a rocking chair, softly humming a lullaby. Cradled against her chest was a lifeless porcelain doll, wrapped in an old baby blanket.
"Sshh..." Ulfat whispered, glaring at Rehman as he stepped into the room, his eyes red and exhausted. "Mera Naieem so raha hai. Shor mat karo, Rehman. Usse neend aa rahi hai."
Rehman dropped to his knees beside her. "Ulfat, khuda ke liye hosh mein aao. Yeh khilona hai... Naieem jaa chuka hai, meri jaan."
Ulfat clutched the doll tighter, her eyes flashing with a terrifying, hollow anger. "Jhoote ho tum! Yeh raha mera bacha! Babu Dakit kuch nahi kar paya usse!"
Rehman was a man who commanded an army, but in the face of his wife's broken psyche, he was utterly powerless. Doctors were brought in quietly. The psychiatrist suggested that bringing a new life into the house, another baby, might snap Ulfat out of her psychosis and give her maternal instincts a real anchor.
But Ulfat had gone through early menopause. She was completely infertile. There would be no more children for the Baloch family.
Months passed. You did your best to keep Faizal away from the silences that had settled into every room. One afternoon, you were in the courtyard with Faizal. You were chasing him, your laughter mixing with his pure, innocent giggles. You picked him up, spinning him around before pressing a warm kiss to his forehead. For a moment, the heavy shadows over the haveli seemed to lift.
From the second-floor balcony, Ulfat watched you.
She held the porcelain doll to her chest, but something behind her eyes clicked into place , the way it did when she used to give orders. She didn't see a maid playing with her son. She saw a mother. She saw warmth, youth, and life.
Without a word, Ulfat turned and walked straight to Rehman's study. He looked up from his ledgers, startled by her sudden presence. For the first time in months, she wasn't looking at the doll. She was looking right at him.
"Rehman..." she said, her voice eerily calm. "Mujhe mera Naieem wapas chahiye."
Rehman sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. "Ulfat, hum is bare mein baat kar chuke hain. Main majboor hoon..."
"Nahi. Ek rasta hai," she interrupted, walking to the window and pointing down at the courtyard where you were holding Faizal's hand. "Dekho usse," Ulfat whispered, her breath fogging the glass. "Faizal uske paas kitna khush hai. Usme jaan hai, Rehman. Uska khoon garam hai. Woh mujhe mera Naieem lauta sakti hai."
Rehman had put men in the ground with his bare hands. He had never flinched. He flinched now.
"Tum janti ho tum kya keh rahi ho, Ulfat? Woh humari mulazim hai."
Ulfat turned to him, tears streaming down her face, but her jaw was set with terrifying determination. She stepped closer, grabbing Rehman's collar with trembling hands.
"Ek aur nikah kar lo, Rehman. Usse apni biwi banao."
Rehman stared at her in stunned silence.
"Mujhe mera bacha chahiye, Rehman," Ulfat sobbed, her voice breaking. "Uski kokh se mera Naieem wapas aayega. Tumhe yeh karna hoga... mere liye. Humare liye."
Outside, you smiled and wiped dirt from Faizal's cheek.
a/n- based on this request, hope you all would like it, interact cutus flop mat hone dena yawr </3
Trigger Warning- 18+,dom!Iqbal sub!reader ,rough sex, age gap, consensual bdsm, spanking ,body insecurity, some fluff, breeding kink? 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 - 4.25k
Marriage with Iqbal was not a usual one but the same as one would envision for a life with someone of his rank- Major Iqbal, he would disappear for days,weeks and months at some point, occupied with a mission that was too classified for you to know, he did not find it fit it to mix you with his professional life, the maven of his army or dirty deeds rarely touching the footsteps of your marital home other than the occasional visits from Rehman and other gang members.
From the first night of the marriage he had made it clear that his woman,his wife was going to be his devotion and it showed in the way he peeled the clothes off of your body on that night, kissing every inch exposed under the dim mellow light reflecting pale yellow on your skin, in derision to his worship was the clear entitlement and control that you belonged to him in the way he held you still when he first entered you keeping you from squirming, consoling you in cooes that you are fine when you were clearly not, the rough yet homely- well mannered everywhere except from the bedroom - persona continued for a short amount of before you knew you were pregnant at 6 months, in a span of 4 years you had given birth to his two beautiful daughters.
His ways had softened inordinately, treating you like a delicate doll and maybe you would have appreciated it if he was this way from the start but not after he had broken you in,when he had shaped that the concept of being claimed into your mind and heart and then leave you a loving but lukewarm intimacy. He kept your pleasure as priority even now and it was good, but with the way your body had changed the dulled down fire from him made you feel less secure at times and wonder at if the behaviour shift wasn’t from care but the lack of attraction.
You laid pliant, hips uplifted by the plush cushion moaning softly into his ear while his beard scratched at your skin moving his hips in slow deliberate movements, each push hitting that sweet spot that had your hands fisting at the bedsheets, his name leaving your lips in desperate plea to speed up, you never said it out loud but you wished he would understand- he shoved in impossibly deep slapping his palm tight around your half open mouth. His finger curled and gripped around your jaw and you were shocked for a second, hazy eyes shooting up to meet his face ,the sudden sharpness of his movement had caught you off guard but your wetness had started a whole new story together, cunt tightening noticeably hard at his length clamping tight enough that his eyebrows furrowed, forcing his jaw shut close to hold in a moan.
“Ammi apne bola toh aap ludo khelogi aaj” The knocks were muted, the kids chubby hnd pressing flat at the wooden wall that kept them away from their dearest mother, Sana’s voice was clear but Rasha was whining along with her older sister . “ Sana aapki ammi aaj bahut thak gayi hai, araam kar rahi hai abhi, hum aapke saath khelenge aap bas abhi ke liye Rasha ko apne saath leke bedroom mei wait karo, theek hai beta?” He replied back, fighting hard to eat away any hoarseness that remained. “ Pakka baba” “ Haan meri gudiyan pakka” “ Pakka promise?” she asked sweetly, he bit his lips, it was incredibly hard to keep himself from moving and over that to hold an innocent conversation with his daughter in this situation. “ Pakka promise beta” he forced out normally, before burying his face into your neck to muffle the loud hungry sigh.
“ Abbu please chalo na” the voice was there again soft and naive almost teary that his father wasn't running to shower her with affection in moments like he usually did - one trait both the daughter and mother shared when it came to him , “ Koi baat nahi, aap chale jaiye bacche jidd kar rahe hain” you whispered politely, dislodging him slowly from your insides that clamped down upon him.
“ Meri jaan” He whispered kissing your forehead patiently, his whole body unwilling to leave but he knew what having precious two toddler daughters meant and how loud their tantrums could get, and you were still -he assumed -exhausted from childbirth because he did not give you a long enough break with the children with Rasha being born one and a half year after Sana.
You naturally expected him to come back and give you that impending release you have been craving for ever since your postpartum depression wore off with Rasha, because that man genuinely looked like at the brink of breaking tonight or so you thought, because your dear shauhar was snoring with two chubby kids on his chest. Maybe he is just turning old, hair and beard taking this beautiful salt and pepper. Maybe men his age are more tired, not as active in bed. You patted your cheeks twice ‘ Stupid’ nobody changed that much in just 4 years and he was just
not that attracted anymore.
The guilt was bitter to blame your body after it had given you something so priceless but resentment was a funny thing and more Iqbal grew distant you cursed the shape you had taken, the next morning had disappeared in his usual fashion without a word just a small note at the bedside that was meant to be an explanation
“ Kaam jaroori than jaana pad gaya, call nahi utha paunga jab mai call karunga tab utha lena, Sana aur Rasha ka kyaal rakhna koi bhi taqleef hoo toh Sajid ko call kardena”
he won't be able to pick up the call but you are supposed to pick up the second he does, frustrating it frustrating to live this way and the way he had left you on the edge last night, this note only meant he wouldn't be back by the evening or late night because if it was that , he would have sufficed with a simple
“ Kaam jaroori tha, time se khaana ke lena”
“ Kaam jaroori tha, waqt se so jaana”
This ‘ long' note only meant one thing he was going to gone for long , one week had passed the insecurities brewing more with time and you had been too upset with everything cutting his calls without a second thought, till you were too tired to be peeved by him, missing him fondly enough that you had resorted to walking around his office, running your hand through the solid furnished wood, sitting yourself down in the leather sturdy chair where he would sit smoking his cigars, this room was off limit to you and the kids for several reason most being guns that he kept around and again he did not want you mixing with his violent life.
Your cell phone buzzed in your hand with a whir that echoed through the empty room, None other than your shauhar of course had messaged, short clipped to the point.
“ Ghar pahunch gaya saath mei kuch mehmaan hai, tum kaha ho?”
“ Aapse matlab? Bahaar hoon mai aap mehmaano ke saath hi rahiyega”
You hit send,oh shoot you did not meant to send it, meanwhile the house of men laughing could be heard from outside indicating he really was home.
“ Aap log baithaye, mai apni begum se milke aaya thodi naraaz hai shayaad” his deep voice was followed by the chuckle of the men around him, did he really need to tell everyone that?
“It can take time you might as well go through the files”
His office would be the last place you could, you needed time to stop the flush creeping onto your face and act angry, because you were angry just a little flustered but not any less vexed - and the first room he checked was the office.
You hurried back into the corner turning your face away from him completely and he had the audacity to laugh. Before you could take another breath he was there wrapping his arm around your waist, resting his head on the line of your shoulder. His rough beard scraped against your skin as he nuzzled
“ Itne se shareer mei itna saara gussa?”
You didn't reply, just cleared your throat, clearly trying to express your displease but he only took it as a cute attempt
“ Tumhe lagta hai sirf tumhe meri yaad aayi? Mhm meri jaan se ek hafta alag rahna mere liye asaan thodi tha, khaas kar jab tumne failsa kar liya tha mera phone nahi uthaane ka”
His voice was darker now, hands feeling rougher over the thin fabric of your nightgown “ Kyu nahi uthaya phone?” he scolded nipping at your earlobe.
“ Mann nahi tha”
“ Mann nahi tha?”
He repeated back pinching the soft your waist
“ Yeh joh phone hai na tumhare abbu ne nahi dilaaya hai tumhe, maine dilaaya hai mujhse baat karne ke liye aur agar nahi karni toh utha ke phek do isse”
he pried open your hand to get a hold of the cell phone, threatening to smash it against the floor.
Tears streamed down your face, you had been missing him for so long and the first thing he does after meeting you is taunt you, scare you about some stupid calls you did not pick up because you were upset,queasy, insecure. Iqbal went stiff the second he heard your sniffle
“ Sorry.. Aisa nahi bolna chaiye tha mujhe meri pyaari ko”
He didn't let you squirm away kissing every where till the pit in your stomach was replaced with the giddy feeling of being held by him, a man so much older than you yet so comforting. “ Bacche kaha hai?” “ Ammi ke paas” He hummed happily greedily kissing both your plump cheeks from behind, the beard still tickling at your skin, “ Accha kiya, uss din humaari baat adhuri rah gayi thi” he recalled cupping your jaw to make you look his way and you did, melting into whatever he was willing to give and for now it was a kiss he wholeheartedly needed after a one week apart from all of this softness.
He did not need to tell you twice to open your mouth just once sweep of his tongue against the seam of your lips told you enough, mouth parting for the man who owned you since the day you signed the nikaahnama since the day he laid those eyes on you. “ Iqbal” You murmured faintly into his mouth when his tongue grazed at your sensitive palate, exploring your mouth with an intensity you hadn't felt in months from him so much you had to find some anchor, hands going to tangle into the hair that fell below the nape of his neck, tangling in it gently.
He left your lip in a torturous parture, pushing you further into the wall till your very face and heavy bosom was pressed against the cold concrete. You were trapped and it felt intoxicating, the sound of him breathing right behind you so rousing that it went straight to your cunt. It was a joke right he wouldn't do it now, he had guests in the house- he dived into your neck sucking deep marks, you giggled trying to defuse the situation “ Iqbal ji bas bhi kijiye maan liya aap bahut pyaar karte hai humse” “Ji jaana voh toh bilkul karte hai” you heard the smirk smile in his voice.
He pressed you in further, reducing the room to a few inches and just breathing bodies “ Is kamre mei kyu aayi tum? Jis kaam ke liye mai mana karta hoon vahi kaam karne ka bahut shauk hai tumhe? Kitni dafa samajhaya hai yaha nahi aane ke liye, mera call uthaane ke liye”
Jeez what's with his mood swings
“ Yaad aa rahi thi aapki.. Isliye aagyi”
“ Yaad aa rahi thi toh bedroom mei chali jaati, yaad aa rahi hoti toh mera phone utha leti, bas badtameezi karne ke nayi aadat sikh rahi hoo tum”
that's more like it, you thought that's more like the man you married, hands snaking you squeeze your chest through the fabric in way he had not since three years, you moaned instantly tiny droplets of milk leaking at the fabric
“ Iqbal kapda kharaab ho jayega” You came up with the most pathetic excuse that he didn't even bothered replying just continued the movement, capturing and twisting your peaks in between his fingers. You licked your lips in anticipation the dark spot forming on your chest wasn't a problem for not over the seeping wetness in between your legs showing through the fabric in an obvious wet patch and the way your hips moved back instinctively to meet his.
“Do bachon ke baad tum jism se aur bhi zyada kashish aur haseen ho gayi ho... tumhein dekh kar sabr nahi hota”
“Ab kaha…ab itni acchi nahi lagti”
you smiled bitterly, he scoffed out loud hands slipping to lift up the thin cotton nightgown over your hips, breath going heavier after the fact that you weren't wearing an underwear,
“ Acchi nahi lagti? Itni tawajuhh se tumhe khuda ne banaya hai, lahore se aadhe raastien se hi mai ghar aa gaya tumhe mehsoos karne ke liye ab mana mat karna meri meri chaand” he ran his hand over the cellulite that sat on the back your thighs, over to the stretch mark that sprawled across the now loose skin of your stomach going over the parts you hated the most with more patience and reverence claiming them slow with his touch, you shuddered wiggling your hips so the fabric would fall back in place before this got any for and before he saw something he would find ugly.
He pressed another soft kiss to the nape of your neck, making your small resistance stop in place helping him by holding up the cotton nightie up by yourself, “ Seekh rahi hoo” He cooed in appreciation, cupping your throbbing wetness with one hand and you were already on your toes grinding slow on his hand a moment he allowed and praised with a caress to the back of your hand. You reached back to hold onto his wrist to keep his hand captured in between your thighs rocking your hips more desperately this time feeling the rough bristles that sat at the top of your palm from lifting heavy weight brushing against your swollen pearl deliciously each time.
“ Accha lag raha hai?” You nodded moaning his name sweetly, so sweetly he couldn't control himself and slam in two fingers inside your aching cunt. You gasped jolting back into his body for support, “ Meri jaan, upar karo isse aur” You complied in your hazy state lifting up your gown more than it let go of your ample chest, the cold air grazing the sensitive skin. With one hand moving inside you, curling his finger slow in the spot you liked and the other joining to torture you further by squeezing the full breasts. “ Agli baar se is kadar apne shauhar ko pareshan nahi karongi na meri jaan?” he flicked your clit with his thumb you could only mewl in response, bobbing your head in a whiny yes riding his hand like a good little wife when all you could see was the wall in front of you.
From outside you could hear the damp voices off his guests, the footsteps coming to a stop at the room beside his study and immediately tried to bite your lips and scoot away from his fingers, he quickened the pace leaving your breathless , “Isthir raho” he thrusted in particularly deep, deep enough you forgot about the men in the room just alongside this one mouth falling open to moan his name, he swept in holding your jaw till your face met his swallowing each sound that tried to escape. “ Iqbal koi sun lega” You whimpered pulling back to catch your breath, “ Shh chup raho”
You world paused when you felt it, he had unbuttoned his pants enough to free his length when you were withering with pleasure. His cock erect and poking at the line of your ass, he quickly withdrew his fingers wiping them down your back “Iqbal koi sun lega” you repeated, voice quivering with excitement, the temptation of feeling his hardness down your slick cunt, slapping the swollen clit on the head. You wanted nothing more than to be filled and the dread of some one might hearing it was just as dirty and exciting, he offered you his hand to nibble on, to keep quiet but you still kept being vocal waiting for the second he would seize all control and shut you up like he did that night.
Your heard the rustle of the fabric and wondered if he was taking off his shirt as well for better skin to skin but before you could blink he had turned you to face him, you smiled timidly watching the desire on his face shifting your hips slightly till he aligned with your entrance.
He had been nice about it for three years now even though you missed the roughness from when you first met him, it was expected he would go in slow- he dived right it in burying himself to the hilt, your lips fell agape but he stole your voice in a second, stuffing an rumaal into your mouth, till it touched the back of your throat. The sudden stretch was burning, your eyes rolling back from the dual sensation of being impaled on his 8 inch cock and the control he was taking over you.
(rumaal - handkerhchief)
Your walls accepted the intrusion despite the violent-ness of it, and you smiled in bliss around the makeshift gag, struggling to meet his hungry eyes. He wiped that smile away quickly with a heavy thrust
“ Zyada force lag raha hai?”
he asked, making sure you heard the sarcasm dripping from his voice, he pulled back a little before stabbing back in this time hitting your cervix, your eyes welled up from the pleasure pain.
“ Zyada dard ho raha hai?” he mocked, sweetening his voice to an unbelievable extent while ramming into you, holding you stable by one thigh draped over his arm, you shook your hard , mumbling, crying over the gag “ Aur zor se” he chuckled roughly, watching your puffed up cheeks looking adorable and asking him to go harder with this innocent face.
He melted into your demand working faster, mouth going to latch onto your nipples, happily slurping at the milk that leaked out into his mouth, you gagged around the fabric, the cloth dampening in your mouth muffling out everything that came out from your mouth. The Unquenched desire and impatience of 3 years finally being fulfilled had you clamping down on him like you had never before pushed up to meet his thrusts. “ Iqbal I need to come” your voice was half broken around the cloth but he could make out what you were saying. “ Abhi nahi meri jaan”
He grunted loudly in your ears, you were trembling, shaking to hold it in, his voice his scent so musky so masculine it was getting hard for you to obey, restlessly shifting in his big arms, face scrunched up in euphoria, when your hand slapped against the shelves, his trophy falling down with a loud thud, it took him a fraction to punish the mistake, yanking your head back hard wrapping his palm around your long undone hair.
“ Lagta hai Major sahab hi biwi jyada gussa mei hai” The men laughed, assuming you threw the trophy at him
You couldn't anymore, releasing all over his cock the wetness catching at his shirt , for the movement he couldn't keep in himself at the tightness clenching and pulsing around him and came inside you raw panting heavily against your clammy skin, licking the sweat that trickled down the line of your back. You coughed out the gag from your mouth, smiling nervously at him, snuggling your face into his broad chest.
“Mere ijajat ke bina kiya agay kaam mujhe bilkul bardasht nahi” he huffed out, pushing you away in a way you did not felt belittled but elated to see what he would do next, picking up the drenched handkerchief back up hands working on his cell phone. “ Sajid in sabko bolo hall mei mera intezaar karo, mujhe apni begum se kuch zarrori baat karni hai” you did not dare to fix your clothes and upset him further just watched him with those big curious eyes, tracing the sharp line of clenched jaw, the crease forming in between his eyebrows he looked even more tasteful and dangerous. He abruptly held you by your wrist dragging you along with him, settling into his leather chain manspreading, his bulge still hard and visible when he hauled you stomach down onto his thighs.
“ Beshram, badtameez, Dheet”
the insult rolled off his tongue and you only felt more aroused and inclined to rub against his rigid thigh. “Meri koi baat tumhare kaan tak nahi pahunchti, shayad maine hi tumhein sar par charha rakha hai” your breathed shakily over his skin ,watching him calculate and feel the rise and fall of your cheek“ Iqbal-” "Shayad main hi tumhare sath kuch zyada hi narm ho gaya hoon." He whispered darkly, slapping his hand hard against your rear. He wasn't holding back his force striking you hard enough to rattle your bones, each hit unrestrained blooming new red over your exposed bottom,
“ Aur yeh rumaal kis se puch ke nikaala hai tumne?” you sniffled looking over your shoulder to look at him, he pressed his fingers into your jaw till you opened your mouth. “ Ab kya jarrurat ab toh sab chale gaye-” He shoved it back in watching you cough before adjusting to the obstruction in your mouth. The taste salty against your tongue once again, he started back again, spanking the already swelling skin hard enough for you to start flailing and screaming around the fabric to escape the rough blows of his hands, the loud sound of the slaps echoing off in the room.
He only stopped when you started sobbing, snot running down your nose ,soothing the bruised skin,calmly running his hand up and down the arch. “ Shh shh” he watched your hole still greedily clench and unclench around nothing, the mixtures of your release spurting out and down your thighs in a lewd white concoction. The sight infuriated him further, he gathered the discharge on his thick digits and forced it back into your cunt. You moaned fervently,clutching at his pants "Chalo ab bas karo, apne aansu saaf karo” you nodded, sensing his cock poke at your stomach. He kept fucking you gently rubbing at your clit as a silent apology and reminder that he still loved you
"Ab toh meri baat suno gi na, meri jaan?" you nodded vigorously, blabbering nonsense into the cloth still shoved up your mouth hips twitching at the fact that he was scissoring his finger in your already over sensitive insides He finally allowed you to let go of it, taking the fabric out of your mouth “ Ab bolo, baat suno gi na? Ab tum ek acchi biwi ki tarah meri baat sunogi, haina?" “ Ji Iqbal” you trembled finally able to relax your jaw, he disciplined pinching the engorged flesh “ Major” he urged you patiently
“ Ji Major sahab” You whined, “ Table par chado, aur lait jao” he said suddenly leaving you empty again .
Your feet touched at your ears, thighs sore from holding them open and back like this with your own hands, watching his thick cock disappear into your slick cunt with each thrust, your entrance distending around him ruining you every man ever. Your breast jiggled painfully with each thrust, that he would lean into occasionally capture the dark brown nipples into his mouth still leaking milk from breastfeeding, mating press is a cruel position is all you knew right now, offering yourself to your husband like this was not only overly humiliating but dangerously arousing as well because you were shamelessly gripping him in.
You couldn't tell what was louder the sound of your hips meeting or the moans you he had finally given you the permission to let out, your walls crumbling under the brutalities he was performing on you.
He was fucking you so passionately, the rhythm of his hips bordering on madness for the fact at how pretty his wife was, grunting with each thrust boasting about how you were his good little wife and how tight you were till all the weary insecurity for your own body was swallowed by his need, rutting into you, before he came right into your womb, holding himself deep inside you. “ Ek aur waaris dogi tum mujhe”
The wind kissed your skin soft, the white pristine dupatta dancing with the small waves, you sat peacefully in the garden nursing your new born, this time a little boy with eyes like Iqbal. He was busy with Sana all focused on waddling Rasha trying to walk before she would fall and start crying loud enough to wake up the whole neighbourhood. The baby gurgled, stretching its tiny palm, his innocent face scrunching before relaxing into a deep sleep, the furrow between his eyebrows matching his father’s as he worked to manage two crackhead of daughters.
Soon enough Rasha and Sana found something better to do than trying to climb up their father, occupied with moulding mud from the garden into balls, Iqbal just sighed deciding he will scold them later when he had the energy to watch his princess’s cry, he wrapped the dupatta back around you and his son possessively. Kneeling at the ground to kiss the still swollen stomach, worshipping you for giving him yet again another beautiful child.
“Meri sabsi keemti amanat tum ho”
a/n- I love Iqbal so much I swear to god that man and I think spanking kink is very canon for him lol , PLEASE DONT KILL ME agar taglist koi galti se tag hogaya ho toh itne notification mei mistake ho jaati kabhi kabhi :.)
a/n: This is a fic for @mainyahaankyunhoon, a writer I've always silently admired since my early days in the Dhurandhar fandom :) I loved the prompt of Rehman x singlemother!reader, and I really hope I've done justice to your idea. Also, a HUGE thank you to @dhurandharsecretgiftexchange for organising this event! Thank you so much for taking the effort to create such an amazing event, and I'm so honoured to be part of it :)
This fic is VERY canon divergent. It is solely based on Akshaye Khanna’s portrayal of Rehman Dakait in the movie Dhurandhar and has nothing to do with the gangster Rehman Dakait in any way, shape or form. I sincerely hope he is being tortured in the worst way possible, wherever he is. Rest of the notes (and a psa) are at the end!
PART 2
You were running late.
Lyari traffic was insane. Crowds of men moving across narrow roads, hawkers pushing carts full of vegetables and fruits through throngs of bodies, jeeps whirring past like traffic rules didn’t exist, shaking everything in their wake. Your rickshaw was speeding too — there were really no laws in a town governed by guns and knives— but the people in front of you were making it difficult. The heat didn't help either. It felt like the sun had developed a grudge against humanity, and no amount of water seemed capable of soothing your dry throat.
Naturally, you blamed Khanani.
The man had somehow transformed petty revenge and employer entitlement into an art form. After you'd blackmailed him into hiring you, a tactic you had to use to keep a roof over your head and pay fees and bills on time, he had developed an uncanny habit of finding ‘urgent’ work fifteen minutes before your lunch break. Never enough to keep you until evening — that would’ve gone against the terms of your contract — just enough to ensure you left at the worst possible time, when Lyari's roads became a battlefield of traffic and impatience.
Today was no different.
Your feet were on the road before the auto could halt, and you threw a few notes at the driver before rushing through the school gates, weaving past the security guard and into the lobby. The space was empty now, save a tired receptionist, the afternoon chatter long gone, and your eyes immediately darted across the room for a familiar mop of black hair, a blue backpack, anything that belonged to Ayaan, but there was no sign of him.
You walked towards the classrooms, heart pounding against your ribs as you searched for your son. The corridors were eerily quiet now, stripped of the chaos that usually accompanied dismissal, and with every empty classroom you passed, the knot in your stomach pulled a little tighter. Just as you were beginning to wonder whether he'd wandered off somewhere he wasn't supposed to, you heard an unmistakable childlike voice from the ground.
“Aur agar Babar fifty maarta na…”
Relief hit you so abruptly that you nearly laughed. Following the sound, you walked out into the courtyard, only to find your son standing on top of a bench, cricket bat tucked beneath one arm as he passionately lectured his class teacher about a match she couldn’t care less about, unlike his almost religious devotion with which he followed cricket. His tie was crooked, his shirt untucked as he gestured dramatically with his free hand. He picked up his bottle — presumably to use it as a makeshift bat — when he saw you.
“AMMI!”
He abandoned both his audience and his cricket analysis without a second thought, sprinting across the courtyard and nearly crashing into you as his small arms wrapped around your waist. “Aap phir se late aayi.”
You scooped him into your arms before he could protest, pressing a quick kiss against his temple and silently thanking every higher power in existence for the fact that he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
“Haan, aur tum phir Rukhsaar ma’am ko cricket padha rahe the,” you muttered, adjusting his shirt. “Bag lekar aao, ghar chalte hai.”
Ayaan nodded enthusiastically and rushed towards the neem tree under which he had abandoned his backpack, nearly tripping over his own shoelaces in the process.
"Ma’am, aap please thoda jaldi aayein."
You turned to find Rukhsaar — his class teacher — offering you a tired but sympathetic smile.
"Ayaan aap ke liye roz intezaar karta hai. Complain nahi karta, lekin aap har din ek ghante late nahi aa sakte. Bahut bhook lagta hai usko." She adjusted the stack of notebooks in her arms before continuing gently, "Hum jaante hain aap bahut kaam karte hain par please."
Guilt settled heavily in your chest.
“Haan,” you admitted quietly, watching him walk towards you, backpack bouncing against his shoulders with every step. “Koshish kar rahi hu.”
Ayaan arrived a few seconds later, backpack slung over one shoulder and cricket bat clutched triumphantly in his hand.
“Chalein?” he asked, as though he hadn't just lectured a teacher on batting techniques.
You shook your head fondly and took his hand.
“Chalein.”
The journey home passed much like every other weekday. Ayaan narrated every important event of his day with the urgency of a war correspondent, pausing only to take dramatic breaths before launching into the next story. By the time you reached home, you knew which classmate had stolen whose eraser, who had cried during mathematics, and why Pakistan's batting order needed immediate intervention.
Once you were home, however, your peace was short-lived.
Ayaan was left in the care of the house help with strict instructions to finish his homework while you freshened up and rushed back to Khanani's office, somehow managing to make it before the clock struck 2. He had recently decided he needed a new cricket bat, and unfortunately for your bank account, your son rarely abandoned an obsession once it took root.
By the time you got home again, the sun had already set. Ayaan finished his homework at the dining table — he always managed to convince the househelp that he could play first and complete his homework once you were home — while you answered emails from Khanani, both of you occasionally stealing food from the same plate. It wasn't the life you had imagined at twenty-seven, but it had become its own comforting routine, even if you woke up with dark circles under your eyes the next day.
Ayaan had fallen asleep on the couch halfway through a cartoon, teddy bear dangling from one hand while the television cast blue light across the room. You carried him to bed without waking him, pausing only when he mumbled something incoherent about cricket before burying his face deeper into your shoulder.
A few hours later, a terrified scream shattered the silence.
You were out of the chair before the scream even ended, not caring about the email you were drafting or the toe you stubbed as you rushed towards the singular room. Somewhere, something clattered to the floor in your haste, but your only concern was the cry that had torn through the apartment.
He was sitting upright in bed, small shoulders shaking violently beneath his blanket, tears streaming down his face. The nightlight cast long shadows across the room, making him look much younger than five.
“Ayaan?” You gathered him into your arms. “Kya hua? Bad dream dekha?”
Your son buried his face in your neck, clutching your nightsuit so tightly that the fabric bunched beneath his fists. For a moment, all you could hear were ragged little breaths.
Then, in a voice so small it barely sounded like him, he asked:
“Vaapas nahi aayega na?”
Your breath caught as he choked out another sob, his tears straining your neck and your clothes. He didn't sound hopeful when he asked it; if anything, he sounded afraid of the opposite answer, as though some lingering part of the nightmare had followed him into the waking world and he needed you to reassure him that it wasn't real, that the door wouldn't suddenly open one day and bring old fears back with it.
You tilted his face towards yours, your heart breaking when you saw his puffy, red eyes and the dried tracks of tears running down his cheeks.
“Abhi tak aaya hai?” you asked softly.
Ayaan shook his head.
“Phone kiya hai?”
Another shake.
“Darwaza knock kiya hai?”
“Nahi.”
You brushed a damp curl away from his forehead.
“Toh phir kyun lagta hai ki aaj aayega?”
His lower lip trembled.
“Bad dream mein aaya.”
Your heart clenched at the sound of it.
Children were strange that way. They could spend months avoiding a subject, refusing to utter a name, pretending a person no longer existed — only for a nightmare to drag every buried fear back to the surface. The words were small, but they carried a weight no five-year-old should have been carrying.
You pulled him closer, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.
“Woh nahi aayega, mera sher,” you whispered. “Kabhi nahi aayega. Aur main yahin hu.”
Ayaan eventually drifted back to sleep with his face pressed against your shoulder, small fingers still curled into your nightshirt, as if he were afraid you might disappear too. You remained there long after his breathing evened out, staring at the cracks in the ceiling and wondering when exactly motherhood had become synonymous with helplessness.
~~~~~~
Rehman was mad.
Livid. Furious, even.
He had been the Baadshah of Lyari, Sher-e-Baloch, leader of the town's largest gang for longer than Jamali had been married, and yet the man still had the audacity to grin at him when an international delivery under his supervision went downhill.
Jamali had welcomed Rehman to his estate with a clap on the shoulder and a slimy smile that made Rehman want to strangle him. Worse, he was acting as though he had no idea the shipment had gone awry, even though he had explicitly assured Rehman that he would ensure the shipment reached its destination on time due to his connections. Rehman knew the man wasn't the brightest politician, but screwing up an entire international delivery required a level of incompetence that bordered on talent.
“Fikr mat kar,” the slimeball had said. “Mera bachcha hai tu. Sab theek kar dunga, tum tension mat lo. Juice lega?”
Rehman had stared at him like he had grown a pair of horns.
“Juice?”
“Haan.” Jamali had gestured towards the jug on his desk, too relaxed for a man responsible for losing a shipment worth more than most people would see in their lifetimes. “Aam ka hai.”
For a brief moment, Rehman had genuinely considered smashing the jug on his pudgy head.
“Jamali sahab,” he said slowly, the way one spoke to particularly stubborn children, “meri delivery gaayab ho gayi hai.”
“Haan, toh dhoondh lenge.”
“International delivery.”
“Rehman baccha , duniya khatam nahi ho gayi.”
No, but Jamali's chances of surviving the morning certainly were.
He left the estate an hour later with his temper hanging by a thread and absolutely nothing to show for it. Uzair, thankfully, didn’t say a word, probably picking up on the headache that was building behind Rehman’s eyes, and broke all traffic rules so he could get home by 11, so he could pop a pill or two and calm down before lunch was served. Khanani had also requested a meeting — that fucker was probably more slimy than twenty Jamalis combined, and while the latter at least treated his workers well, the former was known across Lyari for overworking all his employees, going as far as refusing to send them home till he was satisfied, even if it meant they would have to walk the streets of Lyari alone at midnight.
By the time he reached the haveli, all Rehman wanted was a cigarette, a quiet verandah, and ten uninterrupted minutes to himself. He had barely settled into his chair when something green came flying over the wall and landed on the ground with a sharp thud.
Rehman's eye twitched.
Couldn’t a man get five minutes of peace?
Muttering a curse under his breath, he bent down and picked it up, briefly contemplating whether murder would be considered a reasonable response in this situation. He was an atheist, but if gods were listening, then surely they understood that a man with a splitting headache was being tested beyond human limits. Whoever had launched the ball into his verandah had approximately thirty seconds to explain themselves before Rehman seriously considered driving it to Clifton and throwing it into the Arabian Sea.
He turned the ball around in his hands, intending to throw it to Uzair, but the scrawled writing made him stop.
UKG-E
Rehman wasn’t stupid. He knew there was a school next door — he barely saw it during working hours, since he was usually at the factory till the sun set — but not once had the workers in the haveli ever mentioned a tennis ball landing in the verandah. It could’ve been a kid from that class; which five-or six-year-old was strong enough to launch a ball from the school grounds, over the compound wall and into the neighbouring house without touching a window or a door?
He was answered a minute later, when one of his guards hobbled in.
“Rehman bhai, ek bachcha aaya hai, kisi ball dhund raha hai.”
Rehman was unconvinced, but gestured for him to be let in.
A few moments later, a small boy stepped onto the verandah, tie loosened, shirt untucked and a cricket bat clutched in his hand. He looked tiny, almost minuscule against the tall walls of the haveli, like an insect that had flown in somehow. The child offered a polite salaam before his eyes landed on the tennis ball.
“Woh meri hai,” he said, pointing at it. “Cricket khel rahe the, six maara.”
Rehman looked at the ball.
Then at the boy.
Then back at the ball.
No.
Absolutely not.
There was simply no way this tiny creature had launched a ball over a compound wall that half the grown men in Lyari would struggle to climb.
“Uncle?”
Rehman blinked, realising he had been staring for an uncomfortable amount of time. He almost felt sorry for the kid — did an older bully send him to retrieve the ball? How else does one have the gall to stand in front of the most feared person in Lyari, holding their hand out for a tennis ball that was so run-down that it could barely qualify as one anymore?
“Tumne maara tha?”
The boy nodded immediately. “Haan.”
“Nahi.”
The answer escaped before Rehman could register what he was saying.
The boy frowned. “Haan.”
“Beta, jhoot bolna buri baat hai.”
The child's eyes widened in genuine offence.
“Uncle, main jhoot nahi bol raha hu! PT period hai, Tariq sir bathroom se waapas aa jayenge. Mujhe ball leke school jaana hai, warna Tariq sir mujhe khelne nahi denge.” Tears immediately began gathering in his eyes. “Sorry. Main agli baar itna zor se nahi maarunga.”
Rehman sighed and held out the ball before the child could start crying properly. The transformation was immediate. The boy snatched it from his hands as if it were treasure and hugged it to his chest.
“Shukriya!”
He turned to leave before Rehman stopped him.
“Naam kya hai tumhara?”
The boy paused.
“Ayaan.”
“Ayaan kya?”
The boy looked at him in disbelief, like the concept of a surname wasn’t known to him. His shoes were streaked with mud, Rehman noticed.
“Bas Ayaan.”
“Achcha. Bas Ayaan, main Rehman hu.”
Ayaan nodded and was halfway out of the gate when Rehman, driven by an instinct he didn’t know he had, called out after him.
“Aur suno…”
Ayaan turned to look at him through the bars of the gate.
“Agli baar ball mere haveli mein nahi, samundar mein phekna.”
Ayaan giggled. “Khuda hafiz, Rehman uncle!”
Rehman nodded.
“Khuda hafiz, Ayaan.”
The boy took off after that, sprinting at a speed Rehman hadn't thought physically possible for someone whose bat looked larger than his torso. The sight pulled a smile from him, and as Ayaan disappeared back towards the school grounds with the ball tucked in his hand, Rehman realised that, for the first time that day, the headache pounding behind his eyes felt a little easier to ignore.
~~~~~~
“PAAGAL HO KYA?”
You had picked up Ayaan from school early that day, only to be informed by his teacher that your son had left the school grounds during PT period, climbed into the neighbouring haveli belonging to Rehman Dakait of all people, held an entire conversation with the man, retrieved his cricket ball, and returned to school, all within five minutes.
The ensuing panic ensured Ayaan spent the remainder of the school day seated outside the principal's office.
He was now sitting beside you in the auto as it rattled through Lyari's crowded streets, hands folded neatly in his lap, gaze fixed firmly on his fingers as you rambled, alternating between fury, panic, and relief that he was unharmed.
“Agar kuch ho jaata toh?” you demanded. “Kaun dhoondta tumhe? Kaun mujhe batata tum kahan ho? Tumhe andaza bhi hai kitni darr gayi thi main? Ek minute ke liye teacher nahi thi, aur tum seedha kisi ajnabi ke ghar mein ghus gaye!”
“Ammi—”
“Nahi, Ammi mat karo!” you snapped, ignoring the auto driver’s flinch. “Kya soch rahe the? Agar woh aadmi bura hota toh? Agar tujhe kuch ho gaya toh? Kya karti main? Kahan dhoondti?”
Ayaan’s shoulders curled slightly. “Bas ball lena tha.”
“Ball?” you repeated incredulously. “Ball? Ek ball ke liye tum compound wall paar karke kisi ke ghar chale gaye?”
“Wall paar nahi kiya,” he muttered.
“Ayaan!”
“Sorry.”
“Tumhe teacher ko batana chahiye tha! Guard ko batana chahiye tha! Mujhe phone karva dete! Kuch bhi karte, lekin yeh nahi!”
Ayaan rubbed his eyes and crossed his arms, his eyes blinking the way they would when he would get close to crying.
“Sorry.”
The tiny apology took some wind out of your anger, but not enough.
“Tum paanch saal ke ho,” you said, voice trembling now from panic you hadn't fully recovered from. “Main tumhe do minute ke liye nahi dhoond paayi aur meri jaan nikal gayi. Dobara kabhi aisa mat karna. Samjhe?”
He nodded rapidly.
“Zor se.”
“Ji.”
You leaned back in your seat, letting out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding, and scrubbed your hands down your face, thanking the gods that he was safe. Entering Rehman Dakait’s house was something even his closest confidants thought twice about, and your son had boldly done that, had a conversation with the man, called him Uncle — which would’ve been understandable had that not been the most dangerous person in Lyari — and run out with a tennis ball any other trusted adult could’ve retrieved.
Of course, Ayaan was clueless about Rehman’s identity, and you intended to keep it that way for as long as possible. He was still young enough to believe the world was mostly good, that adults could be trusted, and that every problem could be solved with an apology and a promise not to repeat it. You weren’t planning to introduce him to words like gangs, wars, violence, or the complicated web of loyalties that governed Lyari long before he was old enough to understand them.
The plan had always been to save enough money to leave. A better city, a better country, anywhere Ayaan could grow up without learning how violence and politics were two sides of the same coin, without learning to be invisible but not weak, without learning how to wield a gun or identify a bomb before he knew the elements that made them.
At least, that’s what you hoped.
~~~~~~~~~
a/n: THINGS PICK UP IN PART 2 OKAY. This was supposed to be a four-part series but somehow extended to ten and tbh, I feel ten parts would do way more justice to this amazing prompt. I don't know whether I will be able to get all parts of it out by the 30th, but rest assured, at least Part 3 will be out by then. College is unfortunately starting so the entire fic might take till august to finish, but I hope I finish it before my next round of exams start lol. Please comment/dm if you want to be added or removed from the taglist!
Summary:- Five times Uzair Baloch swore he would throw the orange cat out of his haveli, and the one time he grounded the family vet under house arrest because his "baccha" had a minor stomach ache. A sweet, cozy glimpse into the slow downfall of a grumpy husband turning into an overprotective cat dad.
A/n:- inspired by the OGs @mainyahaankyunhoon & @obsessedwidskincare 🫡
“Yeh yaha nehi reh sakta. Katey nehi! Mei ese ajhi wohi chor ke aunga jaha sei mene laya tha,” Uzair huffed, slamming the door of the room shut behind him.
He was at it again. It was barely seven in the morning, and his voice was already echoing through the haveli. This time, though, he actually had proof of the crime. He was holding up a white, freshly ironed linen kurta by the shoulders—or at least, it had been clean until a certain furry terrorist decided it was the perfect place to pee.
Down on the rug of dalan, Lio was casually licking his paw. He didn't even look up at the grown man yelling at him. Honestly, just like you, Lio had learned that Uzair’s morning rants were completely empty threats, even when they involved ruined clothes.
"Yeh dekho zara!" Uzair gestured wildly at the damp spot on the fabric, his jaw tight. "Sirf paanch minute ke liye maine isse bed par rakha tha. LITERALLY paanch minute. Isne jaanbujh kar kiya hai yeh, I swear."
The irony of the whole thing was that Uzair was the one who brought Lio home in the first place. Back at the factory, Lio had been a master manipulator. He used to butter Uzair up, rub against his ankles, and completely steal his heart. Uzair had fallen for it completely and brought him to the haveli.
But the second Lio stepped inside, Uzair faced the ultimate betrayal.
Lio took one look at you, decided you were the real boss of the house, and immediately became your shadow. He stole all your attention, took over your lap, and didn't give a single duck about Uzair anymore. And apparently, hurting Uzair's pride wasn't enough—now he was actively sabotaging his wardrobe.
"Pehle yeh chup-chap mere kadmo ke paas baitha rehta tha," Uzair muttered, glaring at the cat before tossing the kurta toward the laundry basket. "Ab toh yeh billa mujhe aise dekhta hai jaise mai tum dono ke beech kabab mein haddi hu, aur isiliye mujhe hi raste se hatane ki koshish kar raha hai.”
You hid your smile behind your tea mug, trying your hardest not to laugh out loud. Uzair’s little heart was just bruised. Deep down, he still loved the cat—he’d literally named him Lio after Lionel Messi, his favorite footballer. But now, it was a matter of pride. It just felt like two boys in your life competing for your attention, and Lio had definitely won this round.
"Toh jao na, chor ao isse wapas factory," you teased softly, taking a sip of your tea.
Uzair glanced at you, then at the smug-looking cat, and cleared his throat as he reached into the wardrobe for a backup shirt. "Jaunga... bas nashte ke baad. Fir thora kaam hain, usse niptane ke baad isse bhi niptunga.”
— — — 🐾 — — —
Two weeks later, once again, the war began between the two men in your life.
It was late evening, and the haveli was finally quiet after a long day. Everyone was chilling lazily around the house. You were curled up on the corner of the living room sofa, reading a book, while Lio was stretched out right next to you, purring like a generator.
Uzair walked into the room right after Rehman bhai, unbuttoning his cuffs and looking completely exhausted from the factory. He took one look at the couch, then at Lio, and stopped dead in his tracks. His face twitched, looking as annoyed as ever.
"Tum phir shuru ho gaye?" Uzair grumbled, crossing his arms.
Lio didn't even blink. He just opened one green eye, let out a tiny, lazy meow, and stretched his paws out further, occupying the exact spot where Uzair usually sat.
"Hato yahan se. Yeh meri jagah hai," Uzair commanded, stepping closer and snapping his fingers. "Chalo, shabaash. Factory wale din bhool gaye kya jab mere bache hue biscuit par palte the? Chalo utho!"
You suppressed a giggle, not looking up from your book. "Uzair, thak gaya hai woh. Sone do usse."
"Aur mai? Mai jo din bhar dhoop mein kaam karke aya hu, mai zameen par baithu?" Uzair huffed, staring at the cat like he was looking at his worst business rival. "Maine pehle hi kaha tha isse chor ke aata hu factory mein, yeh yahan nahi reh sakta. Isne sofa bhi harap liya, ab toh mai isse phek aunga!"
"Arey Uzair, yeh kaisi bacchon ki tarah harkat kar raha hai? Chup chap dusri jagah baith, ek billa hi toh hai, tera sautan nahi," Rehman bhai said with a smirk, clearly enjoying the whole scene.
"Rehman, baccha gussa hai, usse itna bhi tang mat kariye," Ulfat bhabi said, walking in with a tray holding two glasses of Rooh Afza for the grumpy men. "Lo Uzair, thanda thanda sharbat pio aur thoda cool ho jao," she added, her tone purely teasing.
Uzair let out a defeated sigh, walked over, and awkwardly sat down at your feet while holding the glass, leaning back against your legs.
"Sabne bola isiliye is bille ko chhod raha hu," Uzair muttered, his voice dropping so only you could hear. "Warna isse toh mai abhi phek aata."
Right on cue, Lio shifted, stretching his front paws forward until he rested his head directly against Uzair’s shoulder, seeking out his body heat. Uzair froze, his whole body going rigid. He glared sideways at the cat, but despite all his big talk, he didn't move away.
— — — 🐾 — — —
A month later, the kitchen became the new battleground.
The haveli was filled with the mouth-watering aroma of freshly frying chicken. You were standing by the stove under the strict supervision of Ulfat bhabi, who was making sure the spices were just right. Nearby, sitting on the kitchen slab at a safe distance from the popping oil, was Lio. He was watching your every move with laser-sharp focus.
Uzair walked in, following his nose straight to the stove. His mouth was watering, and he looked completely starved.
"Ek piece chakhne ke liye do na, please," Uzair pleaded, giving you his best puppy-dog eyes.
"Abhi nahi Uzair, thoda toh sabar kariye," you muttered softly, turning a piece over in the oil.
"Bhabiiii..." he whined, pleading to Ulfat bhabi and trying his luck once again.
Ulfat bhabi laughed, nodding at you to let it go. You sighed playfully, fishing out a perfectly golden, crispy piece of chicken and placing it on a small plate for him.
Uzair grinned victoriously. But instead of just eating it, he looked over at Lio, who was staring intently at the plate. Uzair just couldn't resist pulling the cat's leg. He picked up the plate, leaned slightly toward Lio, and smirked.
"Yeh dekh, kya mila mujhe," Uzair taunted in a teasing voice. "Tujhe nahi milne wala yeh. Kisi ko tujhse pyaar nahi hai yahan, samjh aya? Sirf mai hi is haveli ka asli hero hu."
Lio just blinked, his tail twitching lazily as if he was calculating his next move.
Uzair turned around and set the plate down on the kitchen table, sitting on a chair and blowing on the hot chicken to cool it down. He was just about to take a bite when his phone suddenly rang. He pulled it out, saw the caller ID, and groaned. It was Hamza.
Muttering a curse, Uzair wandered out of the kitchen toward the courtyard to get better reception, leaving the chicken completely lonely and unguarded on the table.
It took Lio—the absolute ninja of a cat—exactly three seconds.
Before you or Ulfat bhabi could even open your mouths, Lio leaped from the slab to the chair, and then straight onto the table. He snatched the piece of chicken right off the plate and bolted out of the kitchen door.
When Uzair walked back in two minutes later, pocketing his phone, he was totally ready to finally eat. He reached for the table—and froze. The plate was completely empty, except for a tiny drop of oil.
Uzair blinked, looking at the empty plate, then at you, and finally at the open door.
"Mera chicken kahan gaya?" Uzair asked, his voice cracking in pure disbelief.
Ulfat bhabi was already wiping tears of laughter, leaning against the counter. "Maine kaha tha na Uzair, usse tang mat karo. Woh apna badla lena jaanta hai."
Uzair’s face went completely red as he realized he had just been outsmarted by a cat. He marched straight to the kitchen door and shouted out into the courtyard, "Tu sach mein ek chor he, Lio! Mai tujhe sach mein wapas factory chhod kar aunga! I swear!"
From somewhere behind the rose bushes in the courtyard, a faint, muffled crunching sound was the only reply.
— — — 🐾 — — —
It was a beautiful, pleasant morning. Since it was a day off for everyone, the entire haveli was in a completely relaxed mood.
Everyone was sitting out on a massive mat in the courtyard, having breakfast like a little family picnic. Ulfat bhabi was busy serving food and juice, occasionally calling out to her two boys—her elder son, Naieem, and the younger one, Faizal—to come eat. They were in the middle of a heated football match in the yard, with Hamza acting as the referee. Nearby, Rehman bhai was completely absorbed in his morning newspaper.
Meanwhile, the newlywed couple was busy in their own little world. For the first time in weeks, Uzair was in a state of pure contentment. The reason? That annoying santhra billa was nowhere to be seen.
Uzair was happily resting his head right in your lap, closing his eyes as your hand softly stroked through his hair. You were casually reading a book, occasionally smiling down at him. Everything felt perfect.
Suddenly, Hamza's phone rang. He stepped out of the courtyard to answer it, leaving the boys to their game.
But just two minutes later, Hamza came sprinting back into the courtyard, literally screaming like a girl.
"Bhai! Uzair dekh isse!" Hamza yelled, his voice hitting a ridiculous high pitch as he stormed toward the mat.
He was holding a very annoyed Lio by the scruff of his neck. Lio’s paws were dangling in the air, and he looked completely unfazed by Hamza's meltdown.
"Is bille ne meri bike ki seat par apne nakhun maare hain! Poori seat kharab kar di isne!" Hamza cried, holding the cat up like a piece of evidence. "Mai bata raha hu, aaj mai is bille ki dum kaat dunga!”
Hamza raised his hand dramatically, pretending he was actually going to swat the cat.
Before you or Rehman bhai could even react, Uzair’s eyes snapped open. He sat up in your lap so fast he almost knocked your book away. Standing up instantly, he stepped between Hamza and the cat, his face completely serious.
"Arey, neeche utar usse!" Uzair commanded sharply, swatting Hamza’s hand away. "Neeche rakh mere... I mean, neeche rakh isse! Jaan nikale ga kya bacche ki!”
Hamza blinked in absolute shock, slowly letting Lio drop to the grass. The orange cat immediately trotted over to your side of the mat, completely safe.
"Uzair ? Tu bhi iske side le raha hain?" Hamza asked, looking betrayed. "Isne mera bike ki vaat laga di!"
Uzair cleared his throat, suddenly realizing the whole family—including Rehman bhai over the top of his newspaper—was staring at him with amused smiles, while you and Ulfat bhabi exchanged teasing glances. His face went a little red, and he quickly crossed his arms to recover his pride.
"Mai koi side nahi le raha," Uzair muttered, looking away stubbornly. "Mai toh bas... insaniyat ke naate bol raha tha. Aur waise bhi, teri bike ki seat pehle hi kharab thi." He paused, trailing off half-heartedly as he glanced back at the said billa. "Aur waise bhi, yeh kuch hi dino ka mehman hai... isse mai jald hi chhod aunga."
— — — 🐾 — — —
One afternoon, Uzair came home from work and went straight to the bathroom to freshen up. When he walked back out into the bedroom, wiping his face and damp hair with a towel, he stopped.
There on the bed was Lio, completely engrossed in playing with a ball of bunched-up socks that Uzair had just discarded. The orange cat was kicking it, pouncing on it, and tossing it around like a maniac. Seeing the silly cat playing so mindlessly did something to Uzair. For a split second, a sudden warmth hit his heart, and a small, involuntary smile tugged at his lips.
Stepping closer, he decided to playfully pick a fight, leaning down toward the bed.
"Wah beta, tujhe sirf meri cheezen hi dikhti hain badmashi karne ke liye?" Uzair muttered, his voice dropping into that familiar, mock-stern tone. "Pehle toh tune meri biwi ko chura liya. Phir woh perfume ki bottle jo tune apne pair se gira ke todi, phir mera kurta barbad kiya, phir tune meri jagah le li, mera khana churaliya, mere dost ki bike ka kabada kar diya... aur ab tune meri socks bhi le li? Kya chahta hai tu? Mera sukoon?"
Lio paused mid-pounce, looking up at Uzair with his lazy, unblinking green eyes as if he was completely bored, casually holding the sock ball between his paws. He let out a sharp meow right at him, sounding exactly like he was mocking him—as if to say, 'Haan, lunga sukoon. Kya karega? Kisi ke baap se nahi darta.'
"Bhool mat kisne tujhe ghar diya hai," Uzair warned, pointing a finger at him, though there was zero real anger left in his eyes. "Zyada uchal mat, nahi toh factory mein hi chhod kar aaunga. Pada rahega kisi kone mein."
You were just walking up to the bedroom door holding a tray with his afternoon chai when you witnessed the whole thing. You stood there frozen in the doorway, a huge smile blooming on your face as you watched your tough, grumpy husband having a full-blown conversation with a cat
— — — 🐾 — — —
One day, Lio was not feeling okay. At the crack of dawn, you and Uzair were jolted awake by that sickening, rhythmic gagging noise—the absolute universal nightmare of every single pet parent.
Both of you jumped out of bed instantly. There on the foot of the bed was Lio, hunched over and vomiting. Normally, a cat ruining the bedding would have been the ultimate topic of Uzair’s annoyance, but this morning, there was no room for anger. Lio looked incredibly small, his little body shivering as he let out a pathetic, low meow.
Uzair completely panicked.
He didn't even care about work. He cancelled all his meetings for the day, summoned his private vet to the haveli, and fiercely told him that he wasn't allowed to leave the premises until Lio was completely back to normal. And honestly, who would dare deny The Uzair Baloch?
Even though the vet repeatedly checked Lio and assured him it was just a minor issue, Uzair wasn't having it.
"Suniye Uzair bhai, Lio ko kuch nahi hua," the vet tried to explain, packing up his stethoscope to calm him down. "Yeh sab thoda bloating ke wajah se hua hai jo bohot normal hai. Do-teen din medicines khayega aur rest karega toh thik ho jayega."
"Medicine aur rest thik hai! Bas koi saline-phaline nahi chadhoge isse! Dekho toh kitna bimaar lag raha hai baccha!" Uzair interrupted, his voice laced with uncharacteristic worry as he paced back and forth with his arms crossed."Mujhe koi risk nahi chahiye. Aap yahin rukenge. Jab tak yeh khud uth kar apni shararatain shuru nahi karta, aap is haveli se ek qadam bahar nahi nikalenge. Samjh aya?" he demanded sharply.
The poor vet could only nod quickly, completely intimidated. Uzair spent the rest of the afternoon hovering in the corridors, checking on Lio every ten minutes like a hawk.
Late that night, after making sure the kitchen was clean and checking on the rest of the house, you finally walked back into your bedroom.
The door was slightly ajar, and when you peeked inside, your heart completely melted.
There on the bed was your six-foot-one, giant alpha husband, fast asleep. And curled up right on his chest—completely safe, warm, and content—was the very same orange cat Uzair had spent months claiming he would throw back into the factory. Lio was breathing softly, his tiny motor purring so loudly you could hear it from the doorway, completely synced with the steady rise and fall of Uzair's chest. One of Uzair’s large hands was loosely draped over Lio’s back, protectively holding him close even in his sleep.
You walked in softly, setting your phone on the nightstand, and whispered down to the sleeping duo.
"Factory chhod kar aunga... hmmm?" you teased in a barely audible whisper, gently brushing a stray strand of hair from Uzair's forehead.
As if hearing you, Uzair let out a low, sleepy grunt and pulled Lio just a tiny bit closer to his chest. Lio didn't even open his eyes; he just let out a sleepy, satisfied purr.
You leaned against the pillows beside them with a soft smile on your face, finally knowing for a fact that the santhra billa wasn't going anywhere. He was officially a Baloch.
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The sun was barely piercing through the thick bedroom curtains, but Rehman Baloch was already wide awake. You drifted out of sleep with a soft gasp, realizing his massive arm was securely banded around your waist, pulling your back completely flush against his broad, bare chest.
Every inch of your body ached beautifully from the long hours of your suhagrat, but the King of Lyari clearly wasn't finished claiming his new bride.
Before you could even fully open your eyes, his calloused hand slid up to cup the swell of your breast, kneading your soft fullness with a rough, possessive hunger. Below your waist, his hips rolled forward deliberately, pressing his thick, scorching morning arousal right into the cleft of your bottom, letting you feel exactly how ready he was.
"R-Rehman..." you whined softly, your voice thick with sleep. Your instinctively tried to inch away from the overwhelming, dangerous heat of him.
"Hilna nahi," he growled, a low, gravelly vibration right against your ear. His teeth caught your earlobe, nipping it gently before his tongue soothed the sting. "Raat bhar mein mera nasha utra nahi hai, jaan."
His hand left your chest, trailing down your flat stomach and slipping effortlessly between your thighs. You jolted as his thick fingers found you already slick and hypersensitive from the night before. He began stroking you with a slow, agonizing rhythm that instantly made your breath hitch in the quiet room.
"Rehman, dard ho raha hai... or subah bhi ho gayi hai," you pleaded weakly, your hands blindly reaching back to clutch at his thick thigh.
"Lyari mein subah mere hisaab se shuru hoti hai, meri malika," he hushed you, pulling your hips back to angle you perfectly against him.
With a heavy, breathless grunt, Rehman drove into you from behind. The sheer size and depth of him made you cry out, arching your back so your head fell back onto his shoulder. His arm locked around your stomach like an iron band, keeping you completely trapped and anchored to him as he began to move.
Slow. Deep. Impossibly dominant.
He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the sweet, natural scent of your skin as he set a heavy, rhythmic pace that quickly melted your shy protests into soft, helpless moans. The spooning position gave you nowhere to hide; every thrust sent a shiver of pure electricity down your spine.
"Sshh... ab chup chap maze lo," Rehman rasped, his voice dark and heavy with lust. His hand came back up to tightly squeeze your breast, his thumb rolling over the peak as he pushed endlessly deep inside you. "Pura din yahin rahogi... meri baahon mein, meri qaid mein."
Summary - On a quiet night in the ocean, Kabir notices a stranger standing too close to the edge.
[ Disclaimer - this is a fanfiction based on the Indian movie - Dil Dhadakne Do. Any resemblance to real life is just a coincidence.]
{A/N - this is based on the scene from Titanic, where Jack stops Rose from jumping off the ship. Hope y'all like it 😉. Using the dhurandhar tag for reach.}
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Maya didn’t know where she was going.
She just kept running, trying to get away from the world, trying to get away from herself.
The night air burned against her skin as her breath came in uneven gasps, sobs tearing through her chest like they refused to be contained. Her mother’s insults from the evening, still ringing fresh in her head.
Her vision blurred as she stumbled forward with no particular direction.
She didn’t notice him as she ran away.
Kabir lay stretched across a bench tucked into the shadows, one arm behind his head, his gaze fixed lazily on the stars above. The world was a distant place.
Until she ran past him like a storm.
He frowned, pushing himself up. His eyes followed the sound of her broken sobs, as it cut through the silence.
At a distance Maya halted, hand reaching out for the pole beside her gripping it tightly like it was the only thing holding her upright. She tried catching her breath with fresh hot tears still streaming down her face. Her shoulders shook uncontrollably.
For a moment she just stood there.
Breaking.
Then slowly lifted her gaze - there a few feet away, past the dim lights and quiet hum of the engine, the edge of the ship waited.
Calling out to her.
She moved towards it and staredout at the black water.
Then starts to climb over the railing, the climbing was clumsy. Then methodically she turns her body, carefully stepping on to the edge with her back to the railing. Facing the blackness.
She leans out, her hands gripping the railing tightly, she looks down almost sixty feet below her into the vortex.
“Don’t do it”
She whips her head around at the sound of his voice, her eyes take a second longer to focus.
“Stay back! Don’t come any closer” she yells.
Kabir sees the tears on her cheeks in the faint glow from the moonlight.
He carefully takes a step forward, stretching out his hand.
“Take my hand. I’ll pull you back in.”
“No! Stay where you are. I mean it, I’ll let go.”
“No you won’t.”
“What do you mean i won’t? Don’t presume what i will or will not do. You don’t know me.”
“You would’ve done it already, now come on take my hand”
She turns her head back to the ocean, wiping her tears with one hand almost losing balance.
“You’re distracting me. Go away.”
“I can’t, if you let go I’ll have to jump in after you.”
“Don’t be stupid, you’ll get killed.”
He starts removing his jacket.
“I’m a good swimmer.” he says and starts unlacing his shoes.
“The fall alone would kill you.” Maya says.
“It would hurt. I'm not saying it wouldn't. To be honest I'm a lot more concerned about the water being so cold.”
She look down, her mind slowly returning to reality.
“How cold?” she asks.
“Freezing. Which is why I'm not looking forward to jumping in after you. But like I said, I don't see much of a choice.” then he continues after a pause, “I guess I'm kinda hoping you'll come back over the rail and get me off the hook here.”
“You’re crazy.” Maya whispers.
“Well I’m not the one hanging off the back of a ship.” he moves closer, “Come on, you don’t want to do this. Give me your hand.”
She stares at him for a long time, the sincerity in his eyes seemed to convince her what she was doing was wrong.
“Alright” she mumbles, moving one hand to place in his open palm. He holds her hand with a firm grip.
“I’m Kabir. Kabir Mehra.”
“Maya.”
Maya starts to turn, now that she has decided to live. When she glances below her the height seems horrifying. She lets out a shriek when her foot almost slips.
“Don’t look down Maya, just place your hand on my shoulder, just look at me.”
She looks at him, placing her hands on his shoulder, gripping him tightly. His arms wrap around her waist as she climbs over the railing. He holds her with all his strength, making sure she won’t slip away. She flails slightly as she gets over the railing. They fall together onto the deck in a tangled mess, Maya landing on top of Kabir.
Even though I don’t think anyone really cares...... but I’ll be leaving Tumblr for a while. Thank you to the few people who supported my writing and interacted with my fics ♥️...Maybe I’ll come back someday, maybe not… but thank you for being part of this little phase of my life🙏
• Genre: ABO AU, Military Romance, Forced Proximity, Hurt/Comfort.
• Pairing: Alpha! Jaskirat Singh Rangi x Omega! Reader
• Warnings: Graphic Violence,dub-con,
Breeding Kink, Protective/Possessive Behaviour.
The wind howled like a grieving widow across the jagged peaks of the Line of Control, carrying with it a bite that felt more like shards of glass than frozen water. Jaskirat’s breath hitched in his chest, coming out in ragged, crystalline puffs that vanished instantly into the white abyss. He was a mountain of a man, an Alpha whose presence usually commanded a room. Still, here, in the unforgiving embrace of a Kashmiri winter, he felt like nothing more than a flickering candle in a hurricane.
The day had started with an eerie silence, the kind of quiet that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. The intelligence reports had warned of unrest, of infiltrators moving through the treacherous terrain near Keran, but the sheer ferocity of the ambush had caught them off guard. One moment, he was joking in hushed whispers with his unit about the quality of the mess food; the next, the mountainside had erupted in the staccato rhythm of gunfire and the deafening roar of grenades.
In the chaos of the shootout, Jaskirat had felt the searing heat of a bullet tearing through his side. It was a clean entry but a messy exit, and the adrenaline had been the only thing keeping his legs moving as he laid down cover fire for his brothers. But the fog had rolled in, thick, soup-like, and suffocating. A nearby explosion had sent him tumbling down a steep embankment, and by the time he clawed his way back to a standing position, the world was a silent, white void. His walkie-talkie was gone, likely buried under feet of fresh snow or smashed against a rock during his fall.
Now, hours later, his olive-drab uniform was soaked through with blood and melted sleet. Every step felt like dragging a lead weight through wet cement. His Alpha senses, usually so sharp and predatory, were dulled by the onset of hypothermia. The scent of pine and old snow was all he could process, the metallic tang of his own blood acting as a grim reminder of his ticking clock.
"Bas thoda aur… chal Jassi, rukna nahi hai," he hissed through grit teeth, his voice barely a rasp against the roar of the wind.
His vision was beginning to fray at the edges, turning the world into a series of dark, looming shapes and blinding white patches. He was new to this sector, a fresh deployment to the high-altitude border, and he had no internal map to guide him. He was walking on instinct alone, a dying predator looking for a place to ground itself.
Just as the darkness began to claw at the centre of his vision, he saw it, a faint, flickering orange glow. It wasn't the harsh electric light of a military outpost; it was soft, rhythmic, and warm. He stumbled toward it, his boots sinking deep into a drift. As he got closer, the silhouette of a small stone-and-wood cottage emerged from the haze. It sat on the outskirts of a tiny hamlet, perched precariously on a slope, looking like a stubborn barnacle clinging to a ship.
His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic rhythm of hope and exhaustion. He reached the heavy wooden door, his hands shaking so violently he could barely form a fist. He leaned his entire body weight against the frame, the heat from inside bleeding through the cracks and mocking his frozen skin.
"Koi… koi hai?" he managed to choke out, his voice failing him. He raised a hand and thudded his fist against the wood once, twice, three times.
The world tilted. The smell of the house hit him, not of gunpowder or cold steel, but of lavender, dried herbs, and something else. Something soft, sweet, and undeniably Omega. It was a scent that bypassed his injured brain and hit his Alpha core with the force of a freight train. It was safety. It was home.
His knees buckled. As the door began to creak open, Jaskirat’s vision finally gave out, and he collapsed forward into the warmth, the last thing he felt being the soft gasp of someone catching his heavy, freezing frame.
Inside the cottage, the air was thick with the scent of dried roots and boiling kahwa. You lived here with your Dadi, the two of you tucked away from a world that had taken too much from you already. Your parents were shadows in your memory, lost to a stray blast and the heartless crossfire of a terrorist insurgency when you were barely old enough to walk. Since then, the border had been both your home and your enemy.
As an Omega in a land crawling with soldiers and restless Alphas, you had learned the art of invisibility. Every morning, you applied a bitter, pungent herbal paste to your scent glands, a recipe passed down by your grandmother to suppress your natural sweetness. To the outside world, you smelled of nothing but dusty earth and medicinal herbs. It was your shield, your way of avoiding the predatory eyes of men who saw Omegas as prizes rather than people.
"Dadi, bahar koi hai!" you cried out, your heart leaping into your throat.
Your grandmother, though frail, hurried from the kitchen. "Darwaza band kar! Is mausam mein sirf maut bahar ghumti hai."
But it was too late. The massive form of the soldier had already slumped into your entryway. You dropped to your knees, your hands flying out to catch him. He was enormous, his heavy tactical gear slick with freezing rain and dark, terrifying blood. The moment your skin brushed his, even through the layers of your herbal suppressants, a jolt of pure Alpha energy shot through you.
"Hai Allah! Dadi, ye toh fauji hai," you gasped, struggling to roll him onto his back. "Suniye! Aap thik toh hain?"
He didn't respond. His face was pale, his beard frosted with ice, and a dark stain was spreading across his abdomen, turning his camouflage jacket a deep, muddy crimson.
Dadi knelt beside you, her eyes sharp despite her age. "Alpha hai… aur bahut gehra zakhm hai. Isse andar kheench, jaldi! Agar bahar choda toh thand isse maar degi."
With a Herculean effort, you dragged him onto the rug in front of the fire. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the whistling wind outside. You knelt beside him, your hands hovering over the buckles of his tactical vest.
"Dadi, kitna khoon beh gaya hai…" you whimpered, tears pricking your eyes. You grabbed a clean cloth and pressed it firmly against the wound.
"Rona band kar," Dadi scolded gently, though her own hands shook as she fetched the medical kit. "Wohi jaddi-booti le kar aa jo humne kal peesi thi. Iska zakhm saaf karna hoga."
As you worked to cut away his soaked uniform, the heat radiating from his feverish body scorched your hands. Even in his semi-conscious state, his presence was overwhelming. He was a warrior, a protector, and right now, he was a broken man in your care.
"Paani… garam paani lao!" you called out.
You began to peel back the layers of his clothing. When you reached his skin, the Alpha groaned, a low, guttural sound that vibrated in his chest. His hand, large and scarred, twitched near yours.
"Suniye, ghabraiye mat," you said, leaning close to his ear. Despite the bitter suppressant paste on your neck, your internal instincts were screaming to comfort him. "Aap safe hain. Main aapko marne nahi dungi. Bas mujh par bharosa rakhiye."
You spent the next hour in a blur of motion. You boiled water, shredded your cleanest linen sheets into bandages, and prepared the potent antiseptic herbs. The wound needed to be cleaned and stitched, or the infection would kill him before the blood loss did.
As you worked, his scent began to leak through the smell of blood, sandalwood and rain-drenched earth. It was a fierce, underlying spice that made your inner Omega stir with a strange, protective instinct you hadn't felt in years.
"Itna bada zakhmi hokar bhi aap itni door tak kaise aaye?" you wondered aloud as you carefully threaded a needle.
Suddenly, Jaskirat bolted upright for a split second, his hand flying out to catch your wrist in a grip of iron. His eyes snapped open, blazing with a terrifying, primal intensity.
"Dushman…" he rasped, his voice a ghost of a roar. "Kahan hain woh?"
You didn't pull away, despite the pain in your wrist. You looked him directly in the eyes, trying to project the calm your Dadi had taught you.
"Koi dushman nahi hai yahan," you said softly, your voice steady. "Aap akale hain. Hum dost hain. Aap chotil hain, Jaskirat."
The sound of his name, read from the tag on his chest, seemed to act like a sedative. His grip loosened, and his eyes searched your face, lingering on your features before the exhaustion won. His eyes closed, and his head fell back against the pillows.
"Bach jayega ye," Dadi whispered from the corner, watching you watch him. "Lekin yaad rakh, beti… ye Alpha hai. Jab hosh aayega, toh ye dharti aur aasmaan ek kar dega apne logon tak pahunchne ke liye. Humne sirf iska khoon roka hai, iski kismat nahi badli."
You nodded silently, your hand lingering near his forehead to check his temperature. The storm raged on outside, burying the village in white, but inside, the fire crackled. You looked at the soldier, then at the bitter paste on your own wrists. For the first time, you wondered if your secrets would be enough to keep you safe from the storm this man brought with him.
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• Genre: ABO AU, Military Romance, Forced Proximity, Hurt/Comfort.
• Pairing: Alpha! Jaskirat Singh Rangi x Omega! Reader
• Warnings: Graphic Violence,dub-con,
Breeding Kink, Protective/Possessive Behaviour.
The wind howled like a grieving widow across the jagged peaks of the Line of Control, carrying with it a bite that felt more like shards of glass than frozen water. Jaskirat’s breath hitched in his chest, coming out in ragged, crystalline puffs that vanished instantly into the white abyss. He was a mountain of a man, an Alpha whose presence usually commanded a room. Still, here, in the unforgiving embrace of a Kashmiri winter, he felt like nothing more than a flickering candle in a hurricane.
The day had started with an eerie silence, the kind of quiet that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. The intelligence reports had warned of unrest, of infiltrators moving through the treacherous terrain near Keran, but the sheer ferocity of the ambush had caught them off guard. One moment, he was joking in hushed whispers with his unit about the quality of the mess food; the next, the mountainside had erupted in the staccato rhythm of gunfire and the deafening roar of grenades.
In the chaos of the shootout, Jaskirat had felt the searing heat of a bullet tearing through his side. It was a clean entry but a messy exit, and the adrenaline had been the only thing keeping his legs moving as he laid down cover fire for his brothers. But the fog had rolled in, thick, soup-like, and suffocating. A nearby explosion had sent him tumbling down a steep embankment, and by the time he clawed his way back to a standing position, the world was a silent, white void. His walkie-talkie was gone, likely buried under feet of fresh snow or smashed against a rock during his fall.
Now, hours later, his olive-drab uniform was soaked through with blood and melted sleet. Every step felt like dragging a lead weight through wet cement. His Alpha senses, usually so sharp and predatory, were dulled by the onset of hypothermia. The scent of pine and old snow was all he could process, the metallic tang of his own blood acting as a grim reminder of his ticking clock.
"Bas thoda aur… chal Jassi, rukna nahi hai," he hissed through grit teeth, his voice barely a rasp against the roar of the wind.
His vision was beginning to fray at the edges, turning the world into a series of dark, looming shapes and blinding white patches. He was new to this sector, a fresh deployment to the high-altitude border, and he had no internal map to guide him. He was walking on instinct alone, a dying predator looking for a place to ground itself.
Just as the darkness began to claw at the centre of his vision, he saw it, a faint, flickering orange glow. It wasn't the harsh electric light of a military outpost; it was soft, rhythmic, and warm. He stumbled toward it, his boots sinking deep into a drift. As he got closer, the silhouette of a small stone-and-wood cottage emerged from the haze. It sat on the outskirts of a tiny hamlet, perched precariously on a slope, looking like a stubborn barnacle clinging to a ship.
His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic rhythm of hope and exhaustion. He reached the heavy wooden door, his hands shaking so violently he could barely form a fist. He leaned his entire body weight against the frame, the heat from inside bleeding through the cracks and mocking his frozen skin.
"Koi… koi hai?" he managed to choke out, his voice failing him. He raised a hand and thudded his fist against the wood once, twice, three times.
The world tilted. The smell of the house hit him, not of gunpowder or cold steel, but of lavender, dried herbs, and something else. Something soft, sweet, and undeniably Omega. It was a scent that bypassed his injured brain and hit his Alpha core with the force of a freight train. It was safety. It was home.
His knees buckled. As the door began to creak open, Jaskirat’s vision finally gave out, and he collapsed forward into the warmth, the last thing he felt being the soft gasp of someone catching his heavy, freezing frame.
Inside the cottage, the air was thick with the scent of dried roots and boiling kahwa. You lived here with your Dadi, the two of you tucked away from a world that had taken too much from you already. Your parents were shadows in your memory, lost to a stray blast and the heartless crossfire of a terrorist insurgency when you were barely old enough to walk. Since then, the border had been both your home and your enemy.
As an Omega in a land crawling with soldiers and restless Alphas, you had learned the art of invisibility. Every morning, you applied a bitter, pungent herbal paste to your scent glands, a recipe passed down by your grandmother to suppress your natural sweetness. To the outside world, you smelled of nothing but dusty earth and medicinal herbs. It was your shield, your way of avoiding the predatory eyes of men who saw Omegas as prizes rather than people.
"Dadi, bahar koi hai!" you cried out, your heart leaping into your throat.
Your grandmother, though frail, hurried from the kitchen. "Darwaza band kar! Is mausam mein sirf maut bahar ghumti hai."
But it was too late. The massive form of the soldier had already slumped into your entryway. You dropped to your knees, your hands flying out to catch him. He was enormous, his heavy tactical gear slick with freezing rain and dark, terrifying blood. The moment your skin brushed his, even through the layers of your herbal suppressants, a jolt of pure Alpha energy shot through you.
"Hai Allah! Dadi, ye toh fauji hai," you gasped, struggling to roll him onto his back. "Suniye! Aap thik toh hain?"
He didn't respond. His face was pale, his beard frosted with ice, and a dark stain was spreading across his abdomen, turning his camouflage jacket a deep, muddy crimson.
Dadi knelt beside you, her eyes sharp despite her age. "Alpha hai… aur bahut gehra zakhm hai. Isse andar kheench, jaldi! Agar bahar choda toh thand isse maar degi."
With a Herculean effort, you dragged him onto the rug in front of the fire. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the whistling wind outside. You knelt beside him, your hands hovering over the buckles of his tactical vest.
"Dadi, kitna khoon beh gaya hai…" you whimpered, tears pricking your eyes. You grabbed a clean cloth and pressed it firmly against the wound.
"Rona band kar," Dadi scolded gently, though her own hands shook as she fetched the medical kit. "Wohi jaddi-booti le kar aa jo humne kal peesi thi. Iska zakhm saaf karna hoga."
As you worked to cut away his soaked uniform, the heat radiating from his feverish body scorched your hands. Even in his semi-conscious state, his presence was overwhelming. He was a warrior, a protector, and right now, he was a broken man in your care.
"Paani… garam paani lao!" you called out.
You began to peel back the layers of his clothing. When you reached his skin, the Alpha groaned, a low, guttural sound that vibrated in his chest. His hand, large and scarred, twitched near yours.
"Suniye, ghabraiye mat," you said, leaning close to his ear. Despite the bitter suppressant paste on your neck, your internal instincts were screaming to comfort him. "Aap safe hain. Main aapko marne nahi dungi. Bas mujh par bharosa rakhiye."
You spent the next hour in a blur of motion. You boiled water, shredded your cleanest linen sheets into bandages, and prepared the potent antiseptic herbs. The wound needed to be cleaned and stitched, or the infection would kill him before the blood loss did.
As you worked, his scent began to leak through the smell of blood, sandalwood and rain-drenched earth. It was a fierce, underlying spice that made your inner Omega stir with a strange, protective instinct you hadn't felt in years.
"Itna bada zakhmi hokar bhi aap itni door tak kaise aaye?" you wondered aloud as you carefully threaded a needle.
Suddenly, Jaskirat bolted upright for a split second, his hand flying out to catch your wrist in a grip of iron. His eyes snapped open, blazing with a terrifying, primal intensity.
"Dushman…" he rasped, his voice a ghost of a roar. "Kahan hain woh?"
You didn't pull away, despite the pain in your wrist. You looked him directly in the eyes, trying to project the calm your Dadi had taught you.
"Koi dushman nahi hai yahan," you said softly, your voice steady. "Aap akale hain. Hum dost hain. Aap chotil hain, Jaskirat."
The sound of his name, read from the tag on his chest, seemed to act like a sedative. His grip loosened, and his eyes searched your face, lingering on your features before the exhaustion won. His eyes closed, and his head fell back against the pillows.
"Bach jayega ye," Dadi whispered from the corner, watching you watch him. "Lekin yaad rakh, beti… ye Alpha hai. Jab hosh aayega, toh ye dharti aur aasmaan ek kar dega apne logon tak pahunchne ke liye. Humne sirf iska khoon roka hai, iski kismat nahi badli."
You nodded silently, your hand lingering near his forehead to check his temperature. The storm raged on outside, burying the village in white, but inside, the fire crackled. You looked at the soldier, then at the bitter paste on your own wrists. For the first time, you wondered if your secrets would be enough to keep you safe from the storm this man brought with him.
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Requested by @browniemilkies hope i did justice to your request.
The ocean was a vast, shimmering expanse of sapphire, but to you, it felt more like a gilded cage. You hadn't even wanted to come on this cruise. The "Mehra Excellence" anniversary celebration was exactly the kind of high-society circus you preferred to avoid, but Noorie had been relentless. She’d practically dragged you onto the deck, her eyes darting around with a nervous energy you didn't quite understand yet. "Please, yaar, mere liye," she had pleaded, and being the soft-hearted cousin you were, you’d packed your bags and stepped into the world of Kamal and Neelam Mehra. The air was thick with the scent of expensive cigars, French perfume, and the kind of forced laughter that only comes from people who are more concerned with their stock portfolios than their souls. You were standing by the railing, watching the wake of the ship cut through the Mediterranean, when you felt a presence beside you. It wasn't the usual stiff-collared uncle or a socialite looking to gossip. It was something different.
"Boriyat ho rahi hai?" a low, smooth voice asked.
You turned to see Kabir Mehra. He wasn't wearing the expected tuxedo yet; his shirt sleeves were rolled up, and there was a restless, magnetic energy about him. You’d seen him in magazines, the heir to the Mehra empire, but the photos didn't do justice to the way his eyes actually looked at you, like he was seeing a person, not a headline. You smiled despite yourself, the salt spray catching in your hair. "Thodi si. It’s all a bit much, isn't it?"
Kabir leaned against the railing, his shoulder brushing yours, sending a sudden, sharp jolt of electricity through your skin. "A bit much? Yeh toh bas trailer hai. Picture abhi baaki hai, mere dost. My parents don't just throw parties; they host spectacles." He looked at you properly then, his gaze lingering on your face. "Waise, I haven't seen you before. You don't look like you belong in this crowd. Tum bilkul alag ho."
"I’m Noorie’s cousin," you explained, feeling your heart skip a beat. "She convinced me that I needed a vacation."
Kabir chuckled, a deep sound that resonated in his chest. "Noorie is good at convincing people. But I’m glad she succeeded. I was honestly dreading this trip until about thirty seconds ago."
_______🌸______
It was love at first sight, though neither of you said it. It was the kind of instant, bone-deep recognition that makes everything else fade into the background. For the next few days, the cruise transformed from a chore into a dream. You and Kabir became experts at the art of the 'accidental' encounter. You’d meet in the library at 2 AM, or find a secluded corner of the observation deck while everyone else was busy at the gala dinner. The sexual tension was a physical weight between you, a cord stretched so tight it felt like it might snap at any moment. You remembered one afternoon in the narrow corridor near the engine rooms, where the air was hot and heavy. He’d pinned you against the wall, his hands resting on your waist, his thumbs tracing the line of your hip bones through your silk dress.
"Tumhe pata hai tum kya kar rahi ho mere saath?" he whispered, his breath hot against your ear.
You leaned into him, your hands finding the back of his neck. "Main? Maine toh kuch nahi kiya, Kabir."
"Wahi toh problem hai," he groaned, his lips brushing against your jawline. "Tumhe kuch karne ki zaroorat hi nahi hai. Just being here is enough." He kissed you then, a hungry, desperate thing that tasted like gin and salt and secrets. Every time he touched you, it felt like the world was narrowing down to just the two of you, the hundreds of people upstairs completely irrelevant.
The peak of it all came on the fourth night, a night where the stars seemed to hang lower, witnessing the quiet revolution happening in the heart of the Mehra Excellence. The moon was a mere sliver of silver, casting ghostly reflections on the dark, churning Mediterranean. While the rest of the ship succumbed to a champagne-induced slumber, you had slipped into Kabir’s cabin, your heart pounding against your ribs like a trapped bird. The luxury of the suite, the gold-leaf accents, the heavy velvet drapes, the scent of expensive oud, stood in stark, cold contrast to the chaotic, burning feelings crashing inside you. There was no hesitation that night. The moment the door clicked shut behind you, the world outside, with its business mergers and family expectations, simply ceased to exist.
"Tum aa gayi," Kabir whispered, his voice thick with a relief so profound it was almost a sob. He didn't wait for an answer. He crossed the room in two strides, his hands finding your face with a desperation that bordered on reverent.
The collision was instant and electric. The raw need to stay close, to bridge the impossible gap between your two worlds, left you both tangled in a feverish dance. Clothes were abandoned in a trail across the plush carpet, silk and cotton thrown in every direction as if they were obstacles to your very survival. His hands, usually so controlled, were desperate now, creasing your skin with a love so visible it could be seen with the naked eye. He touched you as if he were trying to memorize you with his fingertips, his palms hot against your waist, pulling you into him until there was no space left for even a breath of air.
When he finally laid you back against the cool sheets, the heat between you was enough to set the room ablaze. As Kabir moved over you, his eyes never left yours; they were dark, swimming with a mixture of worship and an ache that went deeper than skin. When he moved inside you, it wasn't just a physical act; it was a total surrender of two souls who had been lonely in the middle of a crowd. You gasped, your fingers digging into the muscles of his back, anchoring yourself to him as the world tilted.
The room was filled with the sound of hitched breaths and soft whimpers. Kabir was worshipping you, his lips tracing every curve, every secret place, while he whispered praises against your damp skin. "Tumhe idea bhi nahi hai tum kitni beautiful ho," he groaned into your ear, his voice vibrating through your entire body. "I feel like I’ve been waiting for this my whole life." You answered him with broken "I love yous," your voices weaving together in the dark, a secret language meant only for the two of you.
In the height of it, as the rhythm of his body became the only truth you knew, he paused, his forehead resting against yours, his chest heaving. "Everything is so complicated out there, but this... tumhare saath, everything feels so simple," he muttered, his voice cracking with emotion. He began to kiss your neck ever so softly, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of your throat, making you shudder and tingle from your head to your toes. It was a slow, agonizingly beautiful devotion that made the pleasure feel like a holy thing.
When the lovemaking session finally reached its peak and the world slowly drifted back into focus, you didn't pull away. You spent the rest of the night tangled in his expensive sheets, your limbs entwined so tightly it was hard to tell where you ended and he began. The rhythmic, low-frequency hum of the ship’s engines felt like a second heartbeat to your own, a steady pulse in the silence of the night.
You lay there in the afterglow, his heart beating against your ear, talking about things that had nothing to do with the Mehras, the Soods, or the suffocating weight of family legacies. He spoke into the crook of your neck, his voice a low rumble. "Pata hai, when I'm up there in my plane, everything looks so small. All the problems, the business deals, the 'status'... it all disappears. I just wanted to fly away and never look back." He told you about the vintage plane he loved more than his own name, the smell of grease and old leather, and the freedom of the open sky.
And you, held safe in the arms of the man the world thought was unreachable, told him about the life you wanted, the one that felt real. You spoke of a home that didn't need grand staircases, of mornings that started with simple chai instead of champagne, and of a love that didn't need to be hidden. That night, under the sliver of the moon, you weren't a middle-class girl and a billionaire heir; you were just two people dreaming of a horizon where they could finally be free.
_____🌸_____
But while you were falling deeper into this secret world, the real world was plotting. Noorie came to you the next morning, looking pale and frantic. She confessed everything, about Rana Khanna, the son of the family the Sood's detested most. She had been sneaking off to see him, risking everything. "Please, please help me," she begged. "Mom and Dad are suspicious. If they ask where I was last night, I’ll tell them Kabir and I were together. Hum movie dekh rahe thhe, okay? Kabir knows. He’ll back me up. Just don't say anything."
You felt a pang of unease, but you loved Noorie, and you knew Kabir was in on it. "Theek hai, Noorie. Main kuch nahi bolungi. Relax."
You didn't realize that this tiny lie was the spark that would blow up your entire world. Kamal and Neelam Mehra, ever the opportunists, heard the news that their son and the daughter of their close business associates had spent the whole night together "watching a movie." To them, it wasn't a lie, it was an opening. They saw a way to solidify a merger, to clean up Kabir’s image, and to keep the family power intact.
_____🌸_____
The next evening, you were looking for Kabir, wanting to steal another moment away from the crowd, when you passed by the Mehra’s private lounge. The door was slightly ajar, and you heard Kamal Mehra’s booming, authoritative voice.
"Kabir, look at the bigger picture. Noorie is a perfect match. The families are already aligned. It makes sense," Kamal said.
"Dad, please. It was just a movie. Noorie and I... it’s not like that," Kabir’s voice sounded strained, defensive.
"Beta, listen to me," Neelam’s voice was softer, but more manipulative. "We know how much that plane means to you. The maintenance, the fuel, the hangar costs... it’s a massive liability. Your father was thinking of selling it to the Singhania group next month."
There was a dead silence. You held your breath, your heart hammering against your ribs.
"You want the plane, Kabir?" Kamal asked coldly. "Agree to this engagement. Once the announcement is made and the stocks stabilize, the plane stays in your name. Forever. Think about it. Ek shaadi hi toh hai. People do it for much less."
You waited, praying for Kabir to laugh, to tell them he was in love with someone else, to tell them to take the plane and shove it. But the voice that came out was quiet and defeated. "Fine. Fine, agar aapko yahi chahiye. But I have a condition. The engagement stays low-key for now."
"Of course, beta. We are so happy!" Neelam exclaimed.
You backed away from the door, your vision blurring. You didn't hear the rest—how Kabir planned to play along just long enough to secure the legal transfer of the plane before calling the whole thing off. You didn't hear him tell himself that he’d explain it to you later, that you’d understand it was just a business move. All you heard was his "Fine."
_____🌸_____
The next few hours were a blur of agony. You saw the Mehras and your aunt and uncle huddled together, clinking champagne glasses. You saw Noorie looking relieved, thinking her cover was blown in the best way possible, blissfully unaware of the price Kabir was paying, or the price you were paying. When the official announcement was made during the gala dinner, the applause felt like physical blows. Kabir stood on the stage, his face a mask of polite indifference. He caught your eye for a split second, and the look of panic in his gaze was enough to confirm everything.
You left the hall before the first toast was even finished. You spent the night on the furthest deck, staring at the black water, feeling like a fool. Every kiss, every word he’d whispered in the dark, felt like a well-rehearsed lie. You thought of the night in his cabin and felt a wave of nausea. He hadn't chosen you; he’d chosen a machine. He’d sold the "love of his life" for a set of wings.
The next morning, Kabir tried to find you. He cornered you near the buffet, his face pale. "Sunno, please... meri baat toh sunno. It’s not what it looks like."
You didn't even look at him. "Kuch sunne ko bacha hai? Congratulations, Kabir. I hope the plane is worth it."
"You don't understand!" he hissed, grabbing your arm. "It’s a plan. I’m going to call it off. I just need to get the papers signed first. It’s just business."
You ripped your arm away, your eyes burning with a cold fire he’d never seen before. "Business? Humare beech jo tha, woh bhi business tha? Was that part of the deal too? To keep the cousin occupied while you negotiated for your toy?"
"Nahi! Tum jaanti ho woh sach tha!"
"Mujhe kuch nahi pata," you said, your voice trembling. "Mujhe bas yeh pata hai ki tumne mujhe choose nahi kiya. You didn't even try. You just gave in. Don't come near me, Kabir. Just stay away."
_____🌸_____
You spent the rest of the cruise as a ghost. You stayed in your cabin, ignoring Noorie’s frantic knocks. When she finally forced her way in, her face full of confused joy, you couldn't take it anymore.
"Kya hua hai tumhe? Why are you being like this? Isn't it great? Kabir and I... I mean, it’s a mess because of Rana, but at least the parents are happy for now!" Noorie chirped.
You stood up, the chair screeching against the floor. "Great? Tumhe lagta hai yeh great hai? Noorie, tum itni self-centered kaise ho sakti ho? You used him as an alibi, and he used you for a plane, and both of you just... you didn't think for one second about me!"
Noorie blinked, stunned. "Wait, what do you mean? What do you have to do with this?"
"I loved him!" you screamed, the words finally breaking free. "I was with him! While you were with Rana, I was with Kabir. And he just traded me in. And you... you’re so caught up in your own little drama that you didn't even notice your own cousin was falling apart. Tum dono ek jaise ho. You deserve this fake marriage. You deserve each other."
You pushed past her, leaving her standing there in shocked silence. You found Kabir in the lounge, surrounded by family friends, looking every bit the dutiful son. You didn't care who was watching. You walked straight up to him, the silence spreading through the room like a virus.
"Enjoy your flight, Kabir," you said, your voice loud and clear, cutting through the sophisticated hum of the room. "I hope when you’re up there, you realize that you’re all alone. Kyunki yahan neeche, tumne sab kuch kho diya hai."
You didn't wait for a response. You walked to the gangway as the ship docked, your heart a heavy stone in your chest. The Mediterranean sun was bright, but as you stepped onto the solid ground of the pier, you felt like you were drowning in a sea that no ship could ever cross. You didn't look back at the Mehra Excellence. You didn't look back at the man who had promised you the world and then settled for the sky. You just walked away, leaving the glitz, the glamour, and the beautiful, broken lies behind you.
TAGs (Send a DM or leave a comment to be added to or removed from the tag list.):@harrystyleskiwi9 @ooopssssu @obsessedwidskincare @sanpiece @pleasetagmejaaneman @avasif @pzychothicc @batata04 @kia-loves-anime @kimmingyuswifee @warnermeadowsgirl @giantfirefly @afortoru @laal-pari @whydoshe2308 @bittermiseryy @goodnightkatherine @pinkfreakpie @cloudmast @browniemilkies @legendmoonstone @kenkozkmg @buchanana00 @laal-pari @poetry-beauty-love-writez @ttttesdddddd @gulaabjamun08 @luvmaii @jkdaddy01 @sanju-03 @anxiousbeeing @precioussophia @roses-and-iron @cloudyparadoxqueen @hamzakamehroomkurta @theuselessdaydreamingidiot @mainyahaankyunhoon @seasonofthenerd @pn28 @nervouscashrascalflowers @scentedwolfdragon @debsreads21
We can't date casually. We can't casually have sex. There's nothing casual about being in my space. I'm a real lover. There is nothing casual about my intimacy.
Requested by @browniemilkies hope i did justice to your request.
The ocean was a vast, shimmering expanse of sapphire, but to you, it felt more like a gilded cage. You hadn't even wanted to come on this cruise. The "Mehra Excellence" anniversary celebration was exactly the kind of high-society circus you preferred to avoid, but Noorie had been relentless. She’d practically dragged you onto the deck, her eyes darting around with a nervous energy you didn't quite understand yet. "Please, yaar, mere liye," she had pleaded, and being the soft-hearted cousin you were, you’d packed your bags and stepped into the world of Kamal and Neelam Mehra. The air was thick with the scent of expensive cigars, French perfume, and the kind of forced laughter that only comes from people who are more concerned with their stock portfolios than their souls. You were standing by the railing, watching the wake of the ship cut through the Mediterranean, when you felt a presence beside you. It wasn't the usual stiff-collared uncle or a socialite looking to gossip. It was something different.
"Boriyat ho rahi hai?" a low, smooth voice asked.
You turned to see Kabir Mehra. He wasn't wearing the expected tuxedo yet; his shirt sleeves were rolled up, and there was a restless, magnetic energy about him. You’d seen him in magazines, the heir to the Mehra empire, but the photos didn't do justice to the way his eyes actually looked at you, like he was seeing a person, not a headline. You smiled despite yourself, the salt spray catching in your hair. "Thodi si. It’s all a bit much, isn't it?"
Kabir leaned against the railing, his shoulder brushing yours, sending a sudden, sharp jolt of electricity through your skin. "A bit much? Yeh toh bas trailer hai. Picture abhi baaki hai, mere dost. My parents don't just throw parties; they host spectacles." He looked at you properly then, his gaze lingering on your face. "Waise, I haven't seen you before. You don't look like you belong in this crowd. Tum bilkul alag ho."
"I’m Noorie’s cousin," you explained, feeling your heart skip a beat. "She convinced me that I needed a vacation."
Kabir chuckled, a deep sound that resonated in his chest. "Noorie is good at convincing people. But I’m glad she succeeded. I was honestly dreading this trip until about thirty seconds ago."
_______🌸______
It was love at first sight, though neither of you said it. It was the kind of instant, bone-deep recognition that makes everything else fade into the background. For the next few days, the cruise transformed from a chore into a dream. You and Kabir became experts at the art of the 'accidental' encounter. You’d meet in the library at 2 AM, or find a secluded corner of the observation deck while everyone else was busy at the gala dinner. The sexual tension was a physical weight between you, a cord stretched so tight it felt like it might snap at any moment. You remembered one afternoon in the narrow corridor near the engine rooms, where the air was hot and heavy. He’d pinned you against the wall, his hands resting on your waist, his thumbs tracing the line of your hip bones through your silk dress.
"Tumhe pata hai tum kya kar rahi ho mere saath?" he whispered, his breath hot against your ear.
You leaned into him, your hands finding the back of his neck. "Main? Maine toh kuch nahi kiya, Kabir."
"Wahi toh problem hai," he groaned, his lips brushing against your jawline. "Tumhe kuch karne ki zaroorat hi nahi hai. Just being here is enough." He kissed you then, a hungry, desperate thing that tasted like gin and salt and secrets. Every time he touched you, it felt like the world was narrowing down to just the two of you, the hundreds of people upstairs completely irrelevant.
The peak of it all came on the fourth night, a night where the stars seemed to hang lower, witnessing the quiet revolution happening in the heart of the Mehra Excellence. The moon was a mere sliver of silver, casting ghostly reflections on the dark, churning Mediterranean. While the rest of the ship succumbed to a champagne-induced slumber, you had slipped into Kabir’s cabin, your heart pounding against your ribs like a trapped bird. The luxury of the suite, the gold-leaf accents, the heavy velvet drapes, the scent of expensive oud, stood in stark, cold contrast to the chaotic, burning feelings crashing inside you. There was no hesitation that night. The moment the door clicked shut behind you, the world outside, with its business mergers and family expectations, simply ceased to exist.
"Tum aa gayi," Kabir whispered, his voice thick with a relief so profound it was almost a sob. He didn't wait for an answer. He crossed the room in two strides, his hands finding your face with a desperation that bordered on reverent.
The collision was instant and electric. The raw need to stay close, to bridge the impossible gap between your two worlds, left you both tangled in a feverish dance. Clothes were abandoned in a trail across the plush carpet, silk and cotton thrown in every direction as if they were obstacles to your very survival. His hands, usually so controlled, were desperate now, creasing your skin with a love so visible it could be seen with the naked eye. He touched you as if he were trying to memorize you with his fingertips, his palms hot against your waist, pulling you into him until there was no space left for even a breath of air.
When he finally laid you back against the cool sheets, the heat between you was enough to set the room ablaze. As Kabir moved over you, his eyes never left yours; they were dark, swimming with a mixture of worship and an ache that went deeper than skin. When he moved inside you, it wasn't just a physical act; it was a total surrender of two souls who had been lonely in the middle of a crowd. You gasped, your fingers digging into the muscles of his back, anchoring yourself to him as the world tilted.
The room was filled with the sound of hitched breaths and soft whimpers. Kabir was worshipping you, his lips tracing every curve, every secret place, while he whispered praises against your damp skin. "Tumhe idea bhi nahi hai tum kitni beautiful ho," he groaned into your ear, his voice vibrating through your entire body. "I feel like I’ve been waiting for this my whole life." You answered him with broken "I love yous," your voices weaving together in the dark, a secret language meant only for the two of you.
In the height of it, as the rhythm of his body became the only truth you knew, he paused, his forehead resting against yours, his chest heaving. "Everything is so complicated out there, but this... tumhare saath, everything feels so simple," he muttered, his voice cracking with emotion. He began to kiss your neck ever so softly, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of your throat, making you shudder and tingle from your head to your toes. It was a slow, agonizingly beautiful devotion that made the pleasure feel like a holy thing.
When the lovemaking session finally reached its peak and the world slowly drifted back into focus, you didn't pull away. You spent the rest of the night tangled in his expensive sheets, your limbs entwined so tightly it was hard to tell where you ended and he began. The rhythmic, low-frequency hum of the ship’s engines felt like a second heartbeat to your own, a steady pulse in the silence of the night.
You lay there in the afterglow, his heart beating against your ear, talking about things that had nothing to do with the Mehras, the Soods, or the suffocating weight of family legacies. He spoke into the crook of your neck, his voice a low rumble. "Pata hai, when I'm up there in my plane, everything looks so small. All the problems, the business deals, the 'status'... it all disappears. I just wanted to fly away and never look back." He told you about the vintage plane he loved more than his own name, the smell of grease and old leather, and the freedom of the open sky.
And you, held safe in the arms of the man the world thought was unreachable, told him about the life you wanted, the one that felt real. You spoke of a home that didn't need grand staircases, of mornings that started with simple chai instead of champagne, and of a love that didn't need to be hidden. That night, under the sliver of the moon, you weren't a middle-class girl and a billionaire heir; you were just two people dreaming of a horizon where they could finally be free.
_____🌸_____
But while you were falling deeper into this secret world, the real world was plotting. Noorie came to you the next morning, looking pale and frantic. She confessed everything, about Rana Khanna, the son of the family the Sood's detested most. She had been sneaking off to see him, risking everything. "Please, please help me," she begged. "Mom and Dad are suspicious. If they ask where I was last night, I’ll tell them Kabir and I were together. Hum movie dekh rahe thhe, okay? Kabir knows. He’ll back me up. Just don't say anything."
You felt a pang of unease, but you loved Noorie, and you knew Kabir was in on it. "Theek hai, Noorie. Main kuch nahi bolungi. Relax."
You didn't realize that this tiny lie was the spark that would blow up your entire world. Kamal and Neelam Mehra, ever the opportunists, heard the news that their son and the daughter of their close business associates had spent the whole night together "watching a movie." To them, it wasn't a lie, it was an opening. They saw a way to solidify a merger, to clean up Kabir’s image, and to keep the family power intact.
_____🌸_____
The next evening, you were looking for Kabir, wanting to steal another moment away from the crowd, when you passed by the Mehra’s private lounge. The door was slightly ajar, and you heard Kamal Mehra’s booming, authoritative voice.
"Kabir, look at the bigger picture. Noorie is a perfect match. The families are already aligned. It makes sense," Kamal said.
"Dad, please. It was just a movie. Noorie and I... it’s not like that," Kabir’s voice sounded strained, defensive.
"Beta, listen to me," Neelam’s voice was softer, but more manipulative. "We know how much that plane means to you. The maintenance, the fuel, the hangar costs... it’s a massive liability. Your father was thinking of selling it to the Singhania group next month."
There was a dead silence. You held your breath, your heart hammering against your ribs.
"You want the plane, Kabir?" Kamal asked coldly. "Agree to this engagement. Once the announcement is made and the stocks stabilize, the plane stays in your name. Forever. Think about it. Ek shaadi hi toh hai. People do it for much less."
You waited, praying for Kabir to laugh, to tell them he was in love with someone else, to tell them to take the plane and shove it. But the voice that came out was quiet and defeated. "Fine. Fine, agar aapko yahi chahiye. But I have a condition. The engagement stays low-key for now."
"Of course, beta. We are so happy!" Neelam exclaimed.
You backed away from the door, your vision blurring. You didn't hear the rest—how Kabir planned to play along just long enough to secure the legal transfer of the plane before calling the whole thing off. You didn't hear him tell himself that he’d explain it to you later, that you’d understand it was just a business move. All you heard was his "Fine."
_____🌸_____
The next few hours were a blur of agony. You saw the Mehras and your aunt and uncle huddled together, clinking champagne glasses. You saw Noorie looking relieved, thinking her cover was blown in the best way possible, blissfully unaware of the price Kabir was paying, or the price you were paying. When the official announcement was made during the gala dinner, the applause felt like physical blows. Kabir stood on the stage, his face a mask of polite indifference. He caught your eye for a split second, and the look of panic in his gaze was enough to confirm everything.
You left the hall before the first toast was even finished. You spent the night on the furthest deck, staring at the black water, feeling like a fool. Every kiss, every word he’d whispered in the dark, felt like a well-rehearsed lie. You thought of the night in his cabin and felt a wave of nausea. He hadn't chosen you; he’d chosen a machine. He’d sold the "love of his life" for a set of wings.
The next morning, Kabir tried to find you. He cornered you near the buffet, his face pale. "Sunno, please... meri baat toh sunno. It’s not what it looks like."
You didn't even look at him. "Kuch sunne ko bacha hai? Congratulations, Kabir. I hope the plane is worth it."
"You don't understand!" he hissed, grabbing your arm. "It’s a plan. I’m going to call it off. I just need to get the papers signed first. It’s just business."
You ripped your arm away, your eyes burning with a cold fire he’d never seen before. "Business? Humare beech jo tha, woh bhi business tha? Was that part of the deal too? To keep the cousin occupied while you negotiated for your toy?"
"Nahi! Tum jaanti ho woh sach tha!"
"Mujhe kuch nahi pata," you said, your voice trembling. "Mujhe bas yeh pata hai ki tumne mujhe choose nahi kiya. You didn't even try. You just gave in. Don't come near me, Kabir. Just stay away."
_____🌸_____
You spent the rest of the cruise as a ghost. You stayed in your cabin, ignoring Noorie’s frantic knocks. When she finally forced her way in, her face full of confused joy, you couldn't take it anymore.
"Kya hua hai tumhe? Why are you being like this? Isn't it great? Kabir and I... I mean, it’s a mess because of Rana, but at least the parents are happy for now!" Noorie chirped.
You stood up, the chair screeching against the floor. "Great? Tumhe lagta hai yeh great hai? Noorie, tum itni self-centered kaise ho sakti ho? You used him as an alibi, and he used you for a plane, and both of you just... you didn't think for one second about me!"
Noorie blinked, stunned. "Wait, what do you mean? What do you have to do with this?"
"I loved him!" you screamed, the words finally breaking free. "I was with him! While you were with Rana, I was with Kabir. And he just traded me in. And you... you’re so caught up in your own little drama that you didn't even notice your own cousin was falling apart. Tum dono ek jaise ho. You deserve this fake marriage. You deserve each other."
You pushed past her, leaving her standing there in shocked silence. You found Kabir in the lounge, surrounded by family friends, looking every bit the dutiful son. You didn't care who was watching. You walked straight up to him, the silence spreading through the room like a virus.
"Enjoy your flight, Kabir," you said, your voice loud and clear, cutting through the sophisticated hum of the room. "I hope when you’re up there, you realize that you’re all alone. Kyunki yahan neeche, tumne sab kuch kho diya hai."
You didn't wait for a response. You walked to the gangway as the ship docked, your heart a heavy stone in your chest. The Mediterranean sun was bright, but as you stepped onto the solid ground of the pier, you felt like you were drowning in a sea that no ship could ever cross. You didn't look back at the Mehra Excellence. You didn't look back at the man who had promised you the world and then settled for the sky. You just walked away, leaving the glitz, the glamour, and the beautiful, broken lies behind you.
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The Soldier’s Sanctuary : A Glimpse into the Storm
From Chapter One: The Fallen Warrior
The line between life and death was as thin as the mountain air at the Line of Control. Jaskirat, a mountain of an Alpha, felt his strength hemorrhaging into the pristine Kashmiri snow. His walkie-talkie was a smashed relic somewhere in the ravine behind him, and the metallic tang of his own blood was the only scent his dulled senses could track.
Through the haze of a blinding blizzard, a flicker of orange warmth appeared, a cottage, solitary and stubborn against the gale. With his last ounce of Alpha grit, he thudded a heavy, frozen fist against the wood.
"Koi... koi hai?"
As the door creaked open, the scent hit him, not of gunpowder, but of lavender and something sweet, soft, and undeniably Omega. He collapsed forward, the world turning black just as a pair of small, trembling hands tried to catch his massive frame.
Coming Soon...
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