Daddy!Dean Di Laurentis taking over while you're gone and it turns to absolute chaos.
blah: you decided to leave Dean up to it this weekend because you had some work to catch up on after giving birth. What happens when you leave your husband in charge almost all day?
warnings: strictly fluff, mentions of children lol, mentions of liquids, sweet wholesomeness.
note: sorry I haven't been active :c I promise I'll be as productive as I can with school in a few days!!! This is a bit short I'm soooo sorry bebes
You'd recently went back to work after weeks at home with your twin boys and newborn.
Dean decided he would take it upon himself and take off from work when the kids were sick. He woke up extra early and even made you your favorite breakfast-in-bed dishes.
You smiled. "You didn't have to."
Which he just shrugged, squeezing your thigh with one warm hand. "No. I wanted to." That made your heart squeeze and flutter.
Your enthusiastic boys bounced around the house babbling incoherent sentences.
Beau climbed on the counter with chubby sticky fingers. Marshall assisted in pushing a stool underneath his brother's feet so he didn't fall.
After you'd left for the morning, Dean clapped his hands at the front door. "Alright kids. We've got go help wash mom's car." He told them.
Beau tilted his head and waved a small hand. "Car?" Marshall jumped up with energy, smacking Beau across the cheek. Dean stifled a laugh, while Beau looked outright offended at his brother's smack.
-+-
Outside was humid. Your flowers seemed to be thriving happily planted, Dean poured water in them and they uplifted gracefully in response.
Marshall's tiny hands gripped the water hose, aiming it at your black Mercedes Benz. Dean assisted him by turning the handle, his big eyes widening in awe at the sight of the heavy pressure.
Beau made grabby hands at the soapy bucket. "Dad, I want!" He began waddling over towards it. Dean laughed, grabbing the handle and giving Beau the watery-soap bucket.
He smiled, two missing teeth on display. His feet padded with watermarks, gently scrubbing the car doors with ease for someone so small.
Dean sighed and dragged his chair. "Good boys. Dad needs some sleep." He set the carrier down beside him, kneeling down to apply sunglasses to the fussing newborn who instantly relaxed, balling her fists up and waving them around with tiny kicks.
"Relaxation time!" Dean collapsed in his chair. He leaned back, kicking his feet up on the curb and closing his eyes. Beau and Marshall’s changed small frowns of jealousy.
Dean had managed to fall asleep. Big rookie mistake. The twins exchanged mischievous glances and whispers before stumbling inside.
They gathered different supplies and poured different cleaning supplies, cracked eggs, and yucky smoothie mixtures into the bucket with ecstatic grins.
Helping assist each other carry the bucket out, they waddled over to Dean. They climbed on the bar stools he had out beside them in case Marshall or Beau wanted to take a nap with him, and poured the thick, clumpy smelly mixture all over his workout clothes.
Dean shot upright, gagging and shrieking. Not a manly one either—more like a little girl. Beau and Marshall pointed at him, laughing manically at his disgusted expression.
"You—AHHH!" He rubbed his eye to get any egg remains he might've had out.
Unfortunately for him, your car rolled up to the driveway. You stepped out in your business attire. "Hey baby. They didn't need me after all to stay all day for work so I—" you paused at the sight of everything.
Your Mercedes Benz half cleaned, the newborn in a carrier with shades on beside a messy Dean with egg splatter, water, and whatever else was on him, and two evil grinning Beau and Marshall's who looked like they had just won the marathon and got millions of dollars.
"Don't ask."
"Wasn't… gonna?"
Dean glared at the twins. "You both are in a lot of trouble." Beau and Marshall's smiles faded. You snort. "What led them to do this anyway?”
Beau snitched, holding up a chubby finger. "Daddy decided we had to clean and he had to sleep!" Marshall nodded frantically, pleading their mother would take their side in this.
You look at Dean. He looked at you. "Now you're in trouble."
But he couldn't help the smile that graced his lips. "Hey? I was tired!"
After all, he had a terrible track record of taking care of the twins AND falling asleep.
All work belongs to @KODASALBUM 2026. Please do not copy my work, translate it, give to other websites or other platforms, or feed into any sort of ai. You’ll will definitely be blocked. Thank you for getting this far.
please read this even if you're not indian. especially if you're not indian.
you've seen the jokes. india is "dirty", indians are "everywhere", why don't they fix their own country. ok. let me tell you why, and what's happening right now while nobody's watching.
first, the history you skipped: britain ruled india for two centuries and drained it. economist utsa patnaik's research estimates around $45 trillion in today's money was taken. the india that got independence in 1947 was one of the poorest countries on earth. every "why is india like this" question starts there. you don't get to profit off a robbery and then mock the crime scene.
now, what's happening RIGHT NOW:
in may the question paper for NEET leaked. that's the national medical entrance exam. over 2.2 million students took it. cancelled. years of studying, families' savings poured into coaching, gone overnight because someone sold the paper. students died by suicide after. these were kids who wanted to be doctors.
and out of that came a protest movement. a gen z group called the cockroach janta party, started by a 30 year old named abhijeet dipke, got 22 million instagram followers within DAYS. they've been doing a sit-in at jantar mantar in delhi demanding education minister dharmendra pradhan resign.
and then there's sonam wangchuk. if you've watched 3 idiots, he's the real engineer the character was based on. built solar schools in ladakh. invented ice stupas so himalayan villages have water. spent his whole life on education. he's 59 and he's been on hunger strike for 17+ days now. reporters went to see him this week and he was too weak to talk. and the troll armies are calling him "anti national" and "foreign funded". a man starving himself for other people's children. that's the thing here, anyone who asks a question is suddenly a traitor.
it's not one incident, it's everywhere you look:
• infrastructure worth thousands of crores failing within months of the ribbon cutting. tunnels collapsing in regions where heavy rain is a guarantee, not a surprise.
• youth unemployment near 10% for ages 15 to 29, 13.6% in cities. in a country of 1.42 billion where more than half the population is young.
• only about the top 3% of indians earn above 10 lakh a year. meanwhile billionaire wealth keeps ballooning and the headlines celebrate it.
• manipur burned for over two years. an ethnic conflict, tens of thousands displaced, and the prime minister barely said the word manipur while it happened.
• journalists raided. critics' houses bulldozed. activists sitting in jail for years without trial under laws like UAPA. our press freedom ranking has cratered.
• even the petrol is a fight now, ethanol blending pushed through while drivers complain about their engines and get no straight answers.
and through all of it, the PM, who came to power on religious polarisation (americans, sound familiar?), travels abroad for photo ops and has not held one single open press conference in over a decade. not one.
what i'm asking:
if you're not indian: share this. our media mostly won't cover any of it because the big outlets are owned by the same billionaires the government serves. the only reason wangchuk's fast is getting any coverage is people refusing to look away.
if you ARE indian: speak up even if you're comfortable. especially if you're comfortable. join the protests. add to this, correct me, translate it. staying quiet is a choice when nothing in this post touches your life.
india is not "dirty". india was robbed, and it's being robbed again, from the inside this time. but it's also the country where a 59 year old will starve for strangers' kids and 22 million young people will rally behind a party literally named after cockroaches, because cockroaches survive everything.
A/n: hello ! I wrote the plot from my own perspective because you didn’t specify what plot you wanted , which is totally fine ! I hope you enjoy how I wrote this, this may not be the best but I tried 😅! And I just wanted to mention, Indian girls are so gorgeous!! OMGG , but anyways ! Enjoy!!
You meet Hannah Wellsy and Allie Hayes at a campus coffee shop on a Tuesday morning, mostly because the line is moving at the speed of a dying snail and you have absolutely nothing better to do than complain about it
You’re standing near the back, scrolling mindlessly through your phone, when a brunette with a shaggy haircut girl a few places ahead lets out an exaggerated sigh “I swear to God, if this girl takes another five minutes to order a latte, I’m dropping out”
You glance up, trying not to laugh “That might be a little dramatic “
She turns around immediately, eyes narrowing playfully “You clearly haven’t been standing here long enough”
The brunette beside her laughs softly, shifting the guitar case on her shoulder “She says that every time”
“Because it’s true” Allie looks back at you“I’m Allie, by the way”
You give her your name, and she immediately introduces you to Hannah
Somehow, the three of you end up talking until you’ve reached the front of the line, then talking while you wait for your drinks, and then talking even after you’ve gotten them
You don’t know exactly when a twenty minute complaint session turns into an invitation to sit with them, but it does
It’s strangely easy with them Hannah is quieter, thoughtful in a way that makes you feel comfortable rather than awkward, while Allie seems physically incapable of letting a conversation stay calm for more than thirty seconds
You tell them you’re Indian, that you grew up between Mumbai summers and American school years, and that you’re still occasionally asked questions about where you’re “actually” from despite having answered that question approximately a thousand times
Allie immediately declares those people annoying
Hannah just listens, occasionally asking questions without making you feel like you’re explaining yourself for her benefit
By the end of the afternoon, you’ve exchanged numbers
After that, things move quickly You start sitting with them between classes, joining them for late night food runs and spending more time in their dorm than your own Hannah plays guitar while you work on assignments, Allie sprawls across the bed and complains dramatically about her professors, and somehow you become part of their little trio without either of you ever formally deciding it
It’s the kind of friendship that sneaks up on you
One day you’re three girls who happened to meet in a coffee line, and the next, Allie is texting you at midnight because she needs someone to confirm that the dress she bought online is “hot and not desperate,” while Hannah is sending you pictures of something Garrett did that she finds embarrassing
You know Garrett before you know most of the rest of the hockey team because it’s impossible not to
Garrett Graham is practically a Briar institution
Captain of the hockey team, ridiculously talented, ridiculously confident, and completely gone for Hannah
You’ve heard enough about him to know that he’s serious about her, even if you’ve never quite understood how the two of them managed to become such a terrifyingly cute couple
So when Hannah shows up at your dorm one Friday night with a jacket in one hand and a smile on her face, you already know exactly what she’s about to say
“There’s a party at the hockey house”
You don’t even look up from your laptop ”No”
Allie’s voice comes from behind Hannah. “Yes”
You glance toward the doorway “Why are you here?”
“To make sure you don’t say no”
“I was going to say no and i already did “
“I know”
Hannah laughs ”Garrett invited us”
“That doesn’t mean I have to go”
“It does when I’m asking”
You look between them Hannah gives you the softest, most hopeful smile, while Allie is already holding up a sparkly top like she’s prepared to physically dress you herself
“You two are unbelievable”
“We know” Allie says happily
You eventually give in
By the time the three of you reach the hockey house, you can hear the music from halfway across campus. The windows are glowing, people are crowded around the front porch, and someone is shouting from upstairs about a missing phone You stop at the bottom of the steps and look at Hannah
“This is your idea of fun?”
She laughs “You’ll be fine”
Allie grabs your wrist “Come on”
The second you step through the front door, the noise hits you Music pulses through the walls, people crowd the living room and kitchen, and the entire house smells like beer, cologne, and whatever tucker has been cooking in the kitchen You immediately understand why this place has a reputation
Hannah barely has time to take off her jacket before Garrett spots her
His entire expression changes
He crosses the room without hesitation, wraps an arm around her waist, and pulls her into him
Allie watches them with a disgusted expression
“Get a room”
Garrett laughs against Hannah’s hair
“You came”
Hannah smiles “Obviously”
He looks at you and Allie “You guys having fun?”
“Ask me in an hour” Allie says
Garrett laughs before someone calls his name from across the room
He tells Hannah he’ll find her later and disappears into the crowd
You’re still looking around when Allie suddenly grabs your arm
“Okay”
“What?”
She’s staring toward the kitchen
“Don’t look now”
“That phrase has literally never worked”
“Just—”
You look anyway
There are several hockey players gathered around the kitchen island, but one immediately stands out
You’ve never met him before.
You’ve heard his name, though
Dean Di Laurentis
Even if you hadn’t, you probably would have figured out who he was eventually There’s something about him that draws attention without him having to ask for it
He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, beer in hand, laughing with Logan and Tucker. His blond hair is slightly messy, sleeves of his sweater pushed up his forearms, and he has the kind of easy confidence that makes it look like he’s never once questioned whether people are going to like him
“Allie” you murmur “who is that?”
She looks at you
“You really don’t know?”
“No-well maybe?”
“That’s Dean”
You look back
“Oh”
“Exactly”
“What does that mean?”
“It means don’t”
You laugh “Don’t what?”
“Don’t encourage him”
“I haven’t even spoken to him”
“That’s how it starts”
Hannah gives Allie an amused look ”You’re being dramatic”
“I’m being realistic”
Before you can respond, Dean looks up
His eyes meet yours
It’s brief at first
Then it isn’t
He says something to Logan, sets his beer down, and starts walking toward you
Allie groans quietly
“Oh, no”
You look at her
“What?”
“He’s coming over”
“Maybe he wants something”
“He wants everything! ” Allie groaned
You turn your attention back to Dean just as he reaches you
He smiles
“Hey”
His voice is warm, easy, almost annoyingly charming
“Hi”
His eyes flick toward Hannah
“You’re one of Hannah’s friends”
You nod. “I am”
“I’ve seen you around with her”
You raise an eyebrow. “Apparently you’ve been paying attention”
He grins
“Maybe”
Allie makes a noise beside you
Dean glances at her “What?”
“Nothing”
“Doesn’t sound like nothing”
“She’s just protective,” Hannah says
Dean looks back at you
“I can tell”
You give him a small smile “I’m capable of protecting myself, she’s just kinda dramatic “
His eyebrows lift slightly, clearly amused
“I believe you”
There’s no arrogance in the way he says it
If anything, he sounds intrigued
He holds out his hand
“Dean”
You tell him your name
He repeats it
Not because he’s struggling to pronounce it, but because he seems to like the sound of it
“You’re new?”
“Pretty new”
“To Briar?”
You nod
He smiles “That explains why I haven’t seen you before”
“I’ve been here”
“Then I’ve clearly been looking in the wrong places” he nods with a flirty grin
You laugh before you can stop yourself
Dean’s grin widens
“There it is”
“What?”
“That laugh”
You shake your head “You’re very confident”
“I’m usually right”
“That’s unfortunate”
“For you?”
“For everyone around you”
He laughs
You’re beginning to understand why everyone seems to like him
He’s charming without trying too hard He knows exactly how to keep a conversation going, and unlike some guys you’ve met, he actually listens when you speak instead of waiting for his turn
At least, that’s what you tell yourself
Someone bumps into you from behind, and Dean instinctively reaches out, steadying you by the elbow before letting go
“You okay?”
“Yeah”
“Good”
His eyes stay on you for another second before someone ( Logan) calls him from the kitchen
“Dean!” Logan yells
He looks over his shoulder
“Coming” Dean calls back
Then he looks back at you
“I’ll see you around”
You smile politely “Probably”
He gives you a look
“Definitely” he corrects
Then he walks away
Allie immediately turns toward you
“No” she says for the millionth time
You laugh “What?”
“No” she repeats
“You keep saying that”
“Because you keep smiling”
“I am not”
Hannah glances at you and smiles
“You kind of are”
You roll your eyes and take a sip of your drink
“He’s just friendly”
Allie stares at you
“Dean Di Laurentis is many things Friendly is not the word I would use”
The night continues, and you try not to think about him
You really do
You dance with Allie
You talk to Hannah
You meet some of the other hockey players
At some point, Garrett drags Hannah into the living room, and Allie disappears because she has somehow found someone from her drama class
You’re standing near the kitchen, talking to someone you’ve just met, when you hear a familiar voice beside you
“Having fun?”
You turn
Dean
“You again”
He smiles. “Miss me?”
“I’ve known you for an hour”
“That’s not a no”
You laugh
He holds out a bottle of water
“Here”
You look at it
“Why are you giving me water?”
“You’ve been dancing for the last twenty minutes”
You glance toward the living room
“You were watching?”
“Maybe”
You take the water
“Thank you”
“You’re welcome”
For once, he doesn’t immediately make another joke
Instead, he leans against the counter beside you nursing a beer
“You’re different”
You look at him
“Different how?”
He shrugs “I don’t know yet”
“That sounds like a you problem”
He laughs
“Maybe it is”
You look at him for a moment
“You flirt with everyone?”
“Pretty much”
“At least you’re honest”
“Always”
“That’s probably not true”
He grins
“Okay, Usually”
You laugh again
Dean watches you for a second, then looks away
The conversation moves on naturally
talk about Briar, hockey, your classes, his teammates, and eventually about growing up He tells you about his family, about his parents being lawyers, about growing up with money and expectations and a life where most things were handed to him before he even had to ask
You tell him about your own experiences, about being Indian in spaces where some people sometimes make assumptions before they’ve even learned your name
He doesn’t interrupt
Doesn’t make some awkward comment
Doesn’t turn it into a conversation about how “exotic” you are
He just listens
When you finish, he nods
“People can be stupid”
You smile slightly “That’s one way to put it”
“I’m trying to be polite”
“Since when?”
“Since five minutes ago”
You laugh again
Someone calls Dean from inside
He looks toward the door but doesn’t immediately leave
“You know,” he says “I thought you were going to hate me”
You raise an eyebrow
“Why?”
“Because you looked at me like you already knew exactly what kind of guy I was”
“And what kind of guy are you?”
He pauses
For the first time all night, he doesn’t have an immediate joke, he looked … genuine
“I don’t know yet”
You study him
“That’s surprisingly honest”
He smiles
“Don’t tell anyone” he teases
You laugh
Eventually, Hannah finds you, and the three of you decide it’s time to leave
You’re halfway out the front door when you hear your name
You turn
Dean is standing on the porch
He has one hand in his pocket and the other resting against the doorframe
“You leaving?”
You nod
“Yeah”
He looks at you for a moment
Then he smiles
“I’ll see you again”
You raise an eyebrow
“Confident” you teased with a smile
“I’m serious”
“And if I don’t come back?”
His smile turns a little more playful
“Then I’ll have to come up with another reason to see you”
You shake your head
“You’re persistent”
“I’ve been called worse”
Allie grabs your arm
“Come on”
You laugh and turn away
But before you walk down the steps, you glance back
Dean is still watching you
And this time, when your eyes meet, you don’t look away quite as quickly
You leave the hockey house with Hannah and Allie, the three of you talking over each other as you make your way back across campus
Allie spends most of the walk insisting Dean likes you
Hannah doesn’t disagree
You keep telling them they’re imagining things
Maybe they are
Maybe Dean is just Dean
Maybe the way he remembered your name after hearing it once means nothing , even though he still doesn’t remember half his puck bunnies names
Maybe the fact that he noticed you weren’t drinking much means nothing
Maybe the way he looked at you before you left was just another part of the effortless charm everyone already knows him for
You tell yourself all of that
For now
Because you don’t know Dean Di Laurentis enough yet
And he doesn’t know you
But judging by the way he watched you disappear down the path, neither of you is particularly interested in keeping it platonic that way
Requested by: @mujhekoimarsbhejdo - Hope you like it!
Prompt: Chosen numbers: 1. Pairing: Uzair x Reader and 2. Trope: Friends to lovers
Disclaimer: This is fiction inspired by the characters portrayed by the actors in Dhurandhar, not the real individuals themselves.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
If there was anything you knew, it was that you could get away with anything.
As the only daughter of Ali Ahmed, leader of the PAP, the world was truly your oyster. You were the apple of your parents’ eye, and they had never learnt to say no to you.
You wanted to dye your hair red? Ammi jaan bought the dye.
You wanted to study in Lahore? Daddy dearest dropped you off.
You hated Lahore and wanted to return home to Lyari? Both your parents were overjoyed their home would be full of life again.
When you returned, your best friend was already at your home, ready to greet you.
“Yalina!” you exclaimed, jumping right out of the car and running into her arms.
“Toh Lahore ne tumhe Lyari wapis kar hi diya,” she joked, “Ab aayi na Lyari mein jaan!”
You laughed as your mother pushed you aside to hug Yalina, “Y/N nahi thi toh tum ghar hi nahi aati thi!”
“Arrey aunty, bahut zyaada hi mashroof hun aaj kal,” she whined as she entered your house.
—
“I have a crush on someone!” Yalina burst out the second the two of you were alone in your room.
“Oho, toh inn sab cheezon mein mashroof ho?” you joked, before sitting next to her, “Tell me everything!”
“I have something even better,” she said with a twinkle in her eye, “We’re meeting him at Qasim Qila tonight”.
—
“You know, this is where we met first, like properly,” Yalina gushed as she entered the club, “Police yahaan aa gayi thi toh he gave me a ride”.
You gagged, “Yalina, please, theek se baat karna seekh le”.
She rolled her eyes and led you in, face brightening when she spotted her man, “That’s Hamza! Oh, he’s brought Uzair bhai. Chal, tere liye bhi koi hai”.
“Yalina, I thought hum tere bande se milne aayein hain?”
“Tu mil le, phir humein akela chhod dena”.
You rolled your eyes, “You’re paying for all my drinks tonight. Aaj koi achche club chali jaati, par tum mujhe yahaan le aayi ho. Who even goes to fucking Qasim Qila anymore?”
Yalina simply laughed and pulled you towards the booth, where two men sat with a bottle of Black Label between them.
As you walked towards them, the man with long hair and biceps the size of your head stood up.
Yalina ran towards him and hugged him, before turning to you, “Y/N! Yeh hai Hamza!”
You nodded at him before sitting next to the other man. This close, your eyes ran over his broad shoulders and long fingers.
“Aur aap kaun?”
“Uzair Baloch,” he said, raising an eyebrow, “Aur aap hain Ali Ahmed ki eklauti beti”.
He glanced at you before pouring a glass of whiskey and nudging it towards you.
“Yeh kya hai?” you asked.
“Peene ki cheez hai,” he said, “Pee lo”.
“Woh mujhe pata hai,” you rolled your eyes, “Pooch rahi hu itna sasta wala kyu mangwaya”.
A silence descended on your booth, before Uzair barked out a laugh. Hamza choked on his drink, before joining the laughter.
“Burger bachchi,” Uzair teased you, “Bilkul jaisa Yalina ne bataya”.
"Kya?!" you asked, indignantly.
“Kuch nahi,” he grinned, “Abhi ye pee lo. Agli bottle aap ke hisaab se mangayenge”.
You tried to pout up at him, you really did. But something about the way he said it, amused - not mean, made it hard to be upset.
—
Yalina needed a cover for her meetings with Hamza, and naturally, you were her cover. While she drove off into the sunset with her now boyfriend, you were stuck in Uzair’s car.
After meeting him a couple of times and complaining about the car, the weather, and the lack of entertainment - each of which was met with amusement and laughter - he asked what you wanted.
“Daaru,” you shrugged, “Aur woh sasti wali Black Label nahi”.
Yet again, he smirked, before starting the car and driving to the nearest bar.
—
The bar was tucked away in a corner of Lyari. You entered, eyes widened, taking in the dim lighting, the lush carpet, and the gilded mirrors on the wall.
“Aap ko yeh jagah ke baare me kaise pata chala?” you asked in wonder.
“Mere bhai ki hi hai”.
“Rehman bhai?”
“Unka naam suna hai?”
You nodded, following him like an eager puppy, “Abbu unke saath kaam karna chahte hai”.
“Kya?” Uzair pulled a chair out for you, and you paused to thank him, before sitting down.
“Rehman bhai aur People’s Aman Committee bahut achcha kaam kar rahe hai. Abbu knows, so he wants to work with him!” you continued, excitedly.
Uzair smiled softly, before calling for your drinks.
“Yeh theek hai ya yeh bhi sasti hai?” he asked, turning the label of the bottle towards you.
You laughed, pushing his shoulder lightly, before picking your glass up.
—
Weeks passed this way, and now, you met him even when Yalina wasn’t with Hamza.
One of the nights, it was just you and him in his car, a bottle of expensive vodka in your hands. You took a sip and passed it over to him, “Ek baat batao…”
He hummed, taking a sip and passing the bottle back to you.
“Aap ko darr nahi lagta?”
“Kis cheez se?”
“Aap ka kaam,” you slumped in your seat, “Abbu kehte hain ki aap aur Rehman bhai kaafi danger mein ho?”
“Apne abbu se meri baatein karti ho?” he teased, chuckling when you swat at his shoulder, before continuing, “Darr lagta hai, kabhi kabhi. Par dikhana nahi jaanta hu”.
“Abhi toh mujhe dikhaya,” you pointed out.
“Tum alag ho”.
—
Uzair had just finished a long, grueling shift at the factory, and was just looking forward to going home and passing out, when his phone rang.
Your name lit across his screen and he smiled to himself before picking up, “Kaise yaad aayi meri?”
“Uzu,” your voice warbled through the line, “Mujhe bore maar raha hai”.
“Uzu?”
“Uzuuuuu,” you slurred, “Mujhe pick karo. Tumhari gaadi me baithna hai”.
He ran his palm across his face, his smile getting wider against his will, “Abhi aaya”.
—
“Burger khaana hai,” you whined, as you pulled the seatbelt on.
“Iss waqt koi burger nahi milega”.
“Uzu,” you whined again, pulling his ear gently as he got into his seat.
“Uzu kyun bula rahi ho?”
“Tumhara naam hai”.
“Mera naam Uzair hai”.
“Sab tumhe Uzair bulate hain. This is exclusive! And sirf mera hai! Aur koi tumhe Uzu nahi bulata hai, aur na hi bulayega”.
He drove off in silence, before asking, “Tum bahar akeli kyu khadi thi? Andar wait kar leti”.
“Uss Bilal ne kaha mujhe ghar chhod dega aur phir bandi dikhte hi mujhe chhod diya,” you grumbled, “Galat kiya na?”
“Bahut galat,” he agreed, “Main tumhe nahi chhodta aise beech sadak par”.
“Haan, kyunki tum achche insaan ho”. You looked out the window and added softly, “Sab kehte hain ki tum dangerous ho, par mujhe aisa bilkul nahi lagta”.
“Sab sahi kehte hai”.
“Nahi,” you argued, “Tum mujhe subah ke do baje lene aaye ho. And I know tum thake hue ho, phir bhi aaye”.
“Tum ne bulaya”.
You ran your hand over his forearm, “Tumhe dekhne ka bahut mann tha”.
“Oh?” He teased, “Mujhe laga meri gaadi ki yaad aa rahi thi”.
“Uzair!” you yelled, before both of you burst into laughter.
—
By the time you got home, you were asleep against his window.
“Y/N,” Uzair stopped the car, and turned to you, “Uth jao, ghar aa gaya”.
“Uzu nahi,” you whined, “Paanch minute, please”.
He shook his head, before getting out of the car and walking towards your side. He opened the door slowly, supporting your head, and gently shaking you, “Apne bistar me so jao. Chalo, ghar aa gaya”.
You grumbled a bit more, before getting out of his car and slowly wobbling towards your door. Once you reached the entrance of your house, you turned back and waved sleepily at him with a big smile.
Uzair thought about it all the way home.
—
You woke up with a pounding headache, three missed calls from Yalina, and a text from Uzair that simply said, Be ready by 2. Kuch baat karni hai.
You looked at the clock - it was half past one. You jumped out of bed and ran into the shower, calling Yalina.
“Kal kya hua?”
“Main aur Hamza party se dus baje hi nikal gaye the,” Yalina started, “Aur phir uske ghar gaye. Oh god, Y/N, main kaise batau, I swear kal raat toh maine jannat dekh li-”
“Yuck, Yalina,” you warbled, brushing your teeth. You spat, before returning to your call, “I’ve a message from Uzair saying he’ll pick me up at 2!”
“Oho, phir se date?”
“Shut up! Yalina, I called him Uzu yesterday!”
Yalina’s laughter echoed through your bathroom, “You’re mad!”
“I know,” you sighed, before adding softly, “Tumhe lagta hai woh mujhse gussa hai kya? Maine usse subah ke do baje bulaya”.
“Aur woh aaya na?”
You bit your lip, “I don’t know what he wants to say”.
“So get ready. He’ll be there in fifteen”.
You glanced at the time on your phone and hurriedly cut the call.
—
You threw on the first outfit you found and quickly brushed your hair. You ran out the door with a minute to spare, but Uzair’s car was already outside.
You slid in and quickly buckled the seat belt, “Sorry, Uzair. Kal raat do baje bulaya, aur tum thake hue bhi the, tum gussa toh-”
“Saans le lo pehle,” he said, slowly pulling out of your driveway, “Main gussa nahi hun”.
He didn’t say anything else for a full minute, which, to you, felt like eternity.
“Uzair,” you asked, “Sab khairiyat se hai?”
“Uzu”.
“Kya?”
“Kal tum ne mujhe Uzu bulaya”.
You pulled at your sleeve nervously, “Woh, sorry-”
“Aur phir kaha ki yeh exclusive hai, aur sirf tum mujhe yeh bula sakti ho”.
“Nahi nahi,” you backtracked, “Woh toh, koi bhi bula sakta-”
“Chup karo,” he cut you off. His fingers flexed on the wheel, before he continued, “Kal raat. Jab tumhe ghar drop kiya, toh tum meri gaadi mein so gayi thi. Jaise tumhe pura bharosa tha ki tum mere saath mehfooz ho”.
He sighed, before continuing, “Tum jaanti ho hum kitne alag hai. Tum Ali Ahmed ki beti ho, aur main… main woh hun jiski wajah se Lyari bahut baar laal ho chuki hai. Yeh koi fairytale nahi hai”.
“Toh kya hai?” you asked quietly.
“Yeh hai ki main tum se mohabbat karta hun. Pata nahi kab se shuru kiya, par jaanta hun ki pure din phone par nazar rehti hai ki tum kab call karogi. Kab meri gaadi me baithogi”. His ears turned pink as he added, “Kab Uzu bulaogi”.
A slow smile unfurled across your face, “Maine kaha tha na kal. Tumhe dekhne ka bahut mann tha. Har baar tumhe dekhna ka mann hai. Tumhari gaadi me baith kar tumhe tang karna chahti hun. Aur tumhe isiliye raat ke do baje phone karti hun kyunki mujhe yakeen hai ke tumhare saath main hamesha mehfooz rahungi”.
Uzair brought the car to a stop and looked at you, “Tum kya keh rahi ho?”
You rolled your eyes, “Yahi, ki main bhi tum se mohabbat karti hun”.
A smile broke out across Uzair’s face and you matched it with your own giddy smile.
He hesitantly leaned closer and you surged forward to meet him halfway, finally kissing him.
“I love you, you idiot” you said, before kissing his cheek, “Ab chalo, kal ka burger pending hai!”
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
Tag list (If you'd like to be added/removed please let me know!)
Synopsis: In Lyari, everyone knows Major Iqbal's name. They know the power he commands and the fear he instills. Men obey him while women admire him from afar. He's untouchable and unreachable. For a man who had no use for marriage, desire was still a debt the body demanded be paid. It is bought, used, forgotten, and left behind before dawn. Just another transaction, another closed door, another face he never intends to see twice after sunrise.
Until one transaction quietly becomes another. And another.
Night after night, he returns to the same kotha. To the same room. To the same bed.
The same girl…
Some stories begin with love.
This one begins with a sin.
Inspired by this edit by cutie @wtafananya [He looks like the type of person to like it raw]
Content Warnings: 18+, mature content!!! Toxic relationship, age gap. Not suitable for minors!
a/n: ahh its finally heree, this one is much more emotionlly charged. I decided to split ch4 in to 2 parts just bc it was getting wayy too long, but the 2nd part is pretty much done and will release it by the of the week <33. love u guysss im almost to 100 followerss bc of my ficc and just hv to say thank youuuu loviess
Chapter 4:
Karachi
2:30 PM
Under the dry, scorching sun of Karachi your world stopped.
It obliterated and shattered in the span of 10 seconds.
“...Y/N!”
The sound of your name cut clean through the bustle of the marketplace, reaching exactly to the pair of ears it intended to.
You froze, your limbs rigid as ice.
For a heartbeat, life around you stilled as if everything was all frozen in time.
The bargaining voices of merchants muted everywhere.The clatter of handcarts rolling over uneven stone faded into nothing. Even the mothers and children walking all stopped their movements… Until only you remained in the moment.
No.
It can't be.
Your breath stopped midway between your lungs and your throat.
You knew that voice.
Slowly, almost afraid of what you might find, you turned.
And there he was….
Major Iqbal.
He was standing a few feet away, almost blended amidst the people in the market, but he wasn't an average man. He stuck out, very outwardly, amongst the crowd. His uniform, an impeccable sight to see. However, it wasn’t his frame that took your breath away.
It was his eyes.
Those dark, piercing depths, covered with translucent aviators that had once seen every secret of your soul, were locked straight onto yours.
It's him.
Your heart lurched painfully against your ribs.
For a few seconds, you were bewildered to see him again, you never thought that the man who haunted your dreams would be standing in front of you this close again.
Your eyes were wide as they were locked deeply into his. Nothing remained in the moment except the presence of you and him.
Every carefully rebuilt piece of yourself, every hurt you’d stitched up together in his absence, came apart in an instant.
Panic immediately set in, it surged all through the edges of your body. Your fingers loosened without realizing it. The bundle of flowers slipped from your grasp, its petals scattering soundlessly across the stones.
You didn't stop to pick it up.
Instinct took over before reason ever had the chance, your feet started moving without thought. They began weaving quickly into the crowd, life around you resuming to its chaoticness. Your pulse was threatening to kill you, your heart pounding against your chest.
You didn't look back to see if he was following, you just ran. You scurried through the narrow gaps between carts, pedestrians and rickshaws, your breath becoming shallow gasps.
You couldn't look back, you shouldn't. If you looked back you'd stop, and if you stopped you didn't trust yourself not to do something foolish. So you did anything to put space between you and that man, running away from the atrocities he reminded you of, running away to find solace in a place where he didn't exist. You didn't even know where you were going but you kept moving through the market, to any open space, any exit distant to him. Your white chiffon suit blazed behind you, outlining your body as a blur of white against the brown and greys of the bazaar.
In your frenzied haste, a sudden gust of wind or perhaps just the downright speed of your flight pulled at your shoulder. The fold of your dupatta gave way. The light, airy cloth slid off your head, floating for a moment in the air like a dying swan before settling onto the dusty ground. Your curly hair flying loose around your face.
You didn't stop for that either, you couldn't afford to.
Behind you, Iqbal started to make his way towards your silhouette. He looked down at the scattered flowers fallen onto the ground. He crouched briefly and gathered the bouquet from the pavement with quick, careless hands. He started tracking your movement, after all he was a man who spent years training and you were easy to spot all clad in white. He wove through the same path you took, pushing past vendors to reach you. He caught sight of your dupatta all spread out on the ground and quickly picked it up with the same hand, the fabric was so soft and thin against his palm, the scent of you, embedded in the threads, plaguing his senses.
He didn't waste another second.
He was already moving after you, cutting through the crowd with the same purpose that had gotten him out of the SUV in the first place.
He didn't have to yell your name out again, he knew these streets well. And he knew where the alleys led….
You finally turned down a side street without thinking, the market noise now distant, replaced by the hush of a narrow, abandoned alley. Sunlight cut through overhead, illuminating your exposed body. But as you looked to the other side, you saw that there was no exit, it was a dead end with no way through.
Shit
The other side was a completely solid brick wall littered with broken crates. The risk was too great to switch places because you would be compromised in the open street if you left. So, you quickly glanced to the open side and for a heartbeat, the street was empty. You finally stopped, leaning against the rough wall, your chest heaving in pants, trying to catch your breath. A sigh of relief passed through you.
You thought you were safe…
Suddenly, a set of footsteps, slow and practised, rounded the corner. Your heart twisted.
A dark silhouette entered the alley, casting a long shadow on the ground blocking your view and…. your only exit.
Iqbal
He moved in slowly, your dupatta draped over his arm and the flowers held in his hand.
"Aur kitna bhago gi" he said softly.
Weeks of silence, weeks of aching and unanswered waiting, and here he was, standing in front of you in broad daylight. Never did you think that you would ever see him again, ever be in the presence of him like this. Your stomach dropped somewhere below your feet. You hated him, you hated the very essence of him.
He took a step closer, and something in his chest wringed tightly at the sight of you after so long, your eyes carrying a burning rage that concealed the flicker of hurt behind them.
For you, the memory of his betrayal came crashing through, so bitter and cruel. The breathing in your chest turning frantic, huffing and puffing all the air around you.
Your hand moved before your mind gave it permission.
CRACK
You slapped him, hard, across the face with every ounce of strength and hatred you possessed.
Landing harsh across his face, the sound of it sharp and sudden in the narrow alley. Your palm stung badly, scorching from the impact, your breath coming in short, furious gasps but you chose to ignore the pain. Iqbal's head turned slightly with the force of it. He didn't blink nor did he react. He… just stood there, taking the blow without flinching.
For a long time, Iqbal didn't move. His jaw was tight, a faint mark blooming across his cheek where your hand had struck, but he made no move to touch it, no move to step away from you. He stayed looking to the side, but his expression wasn't of anger, it was recognition, like a man finally accepting his sentence for a crime he committed.
"Yeh tumhara haq hai” he said quietly, his voice rough.
Your chest was still heaving, your hand still trembling at your side, the sting of the impact traveling up into your wrist. Your eyes had filled without your permission, hot and furious, and you hated that too, hated that after everything, after two weeks of forcing yourself to stop caring, one look at him had undone all of it in a matter of seconds.
“Haq?” you scoffed with a choked laugh. “Aap haq ki bare mein kya jante hai” the words coming out jaggedly.
Something about the calmness of him, the way he absorbed your slap without protest, frightened you somehow. You felt your composure crack down the middle, the anger still there, still burning, but underneath it something rawer clawing its way up your throat, threatening to reveal itself as something far more humiliating than rage.
You hadn't meant to be found here. Now all you wanted was to be hidden away from him once more.
“Aap ko yahan nahi ana chaiye tha” you let out a last time, your voice final.
You turned sharply, desperate suddenly to leave, to be anywhere else, to put a wall of space between yourself and his chest. But before you could take another step, his hand shot out. He didn't grab you, he didn't dare touch you, but he put his hand against the wall beside your head. His body became a cage but not an immovable one, it was a soft boundary that if you walked through you could escape and he would let you.
"Ruk jao" he said low, still not lifting his head. "Ek waqt ke liye."
"Ruk jaon?” You huffed with a mock laugh.”Main aapki baat kyun sunun?" you shot back. “Haatein mere raste se-” you looked beyond his arm, though you made no move to push against him.
Iqbal finally lifted his head, and what you saw in his face stopped whatever you'd been about to say next. There was no coldness there, no amusement, none of the antics you'd learned to expect from him. His eyes were the colour of midnight and they looked almost.. tired, highlighted by the sunlight cutting sideways through his aviators.
"Maine tumhein takleef di" he said, his voice rough, quieter than you'd ever heard it. “Maine bohut bara gunah kiya tumhare saath”.
Your heart cracked slightly at his words. You furrowed your eyebrows, illuminating the painful weeks you had to endure, the words came out of you through impulse.
"Aapko andaza bhi hai... yeh hafte kaise guzre hain mere liye?" Your voice was shaking now, the tears pooling in your lids, all the composure you'd built over days starting to collapse at once.
"Main har raat so nahi paayi. Har roz us kamre meh rothi rahi. Har awaaz par darwaze ki taraf dekhti thi, sochti thi shayad aap phir uss gunah kar ne ayien hai”
You paused slightly, shocked that you let all your most vulnerable moments out to him. But you forced yourself to not care, he needed to know what he did…So you continued on.
“Maine socha shayad main kaafi nahi thi…… Shayad main itni buri thi ke aapne mere saath ek jurm kar diya”. You let out quietly not meeting his gaze.
"y/n..." he let out so softly, completely taken back at what he was hearing.
"Nahi!" you objected. "Mat bulayein mujhe! Aapko koi haq nahi hai! Aapne socha ke aap aayenge, ek baar phir mujhse milenge, aur main aapke paas aa jaungi?" you let out a disbelieving laugh that was hollow and brittle.
“Mai-” he spoke.
"Nahin." Your voice cut across his.
"Nahin... aaj meri baari hai.”
You shook your head, taking a step back even though the wall was already behind you. You wanted to look straight dead in his gaze, your black kajal running down your face. “Us raat ke baad, meri har zingadi ki khoobsurat cheez kaali ho gaye thi, meri puri khushi, jitni bhi choti thi, mit gaiye”
“Jab bhi aap ke khayalat aaiye to phir khud ko yaad dilati thi ke... ke apke liye main kuch bhi nahi hoon. Ek raat ka adhura kissa. Hai na?"
That night flashed in your head as if you were back on the bed. It was a gruesome memory causing a tinge of nausea to spread in your gut. You closed your eyes to suppress it, instead using it as a fuel against him. You composed yourself internally, squeezing out any remaining tears from your eye lids, not caring if your undereyes were darkened from the kohl, you didn't want him to see the most fragile, vulnerable parts of you anymore.
You opened your eyes, and he immediately noticed the change in yourself. The rage in you now turned into an ice cold fury.
“Aap kyun aaye yaha?" your voice was stern, void of any emotion. The last bit of tears running down your red, irritated eyes. "Kyun? Kya baat baaki reh gaye humare beech mein? Sab kuch toh le gaye aap..."
Iqbal stayed there, his eyebrows furrowed together hearing the honesty of your pain that hit him like a thousand daggers, looking at you with absolute piety and pity.
"Main jaanta hoon... main ne tumhara dil toda. Main ne tumhe woh dard diya jo kisi insaan ko guzarna nahi chaiyhe." He paused, his eyes searching yours. "Meri koi umeed nahi hai ke tum mujhe kabhi maaf karo gi. Yeh thappad... kuch bhi nahi tha us zakham ke saamne”
"Lekin mujhe is gunah ka kaffara dena hai, jo tum saza doh hum haazir hain”
His surprisingly honest confession hit directly in the unguarded part of your chest. You couldn't believe that the most powerful man in the whole city was at your feet, ready for any punishment you deemed fit. It gave you a new sense of equality and power with him. But you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of accepting his words, so you stayed the way you were: stubborn to no limit and completely rejecting towards his request.
You grabbed the collar of his uniform in your palm and pulled at him, bringing him closer, looking straight up at him in anger and defiance.
“Main aapse behad nafrat karti hoon” you spitted out.
Iqbal wasn't fazed instead he liked that you were taking a stand for yourself. He leaned in closer as well, both your lips mere inches away.
"Woh bhi qabool hain” he let out.
Silence fell between you and him after that, thick and whole, swallowing every last trace of the bazaar’s noise until there was nothing left in the world except a random, abandoned alleyway and two souls standing in it.
You held his gaze. You weren't going to submit, no way in hell.
Your eyes burning with something hot and unrelenting, hatred and hurt so tangled together you could no longer tell where one ended and the other began. You wanted him to look away first. You wanted, more than anything, to be the one who won this, this silent, terrible standoff where the only weapon either of you had left was the refusal to blink.
But Iqbal didn't look away.
His eyes moved between your smudged kohl-rimmed ones, searching, the way someone searches for light across the sea’s horizon, tracking every small movement of your pupils, every shadow beneath your eyes that hadn't been there before, every hint of grief you couldn't quite bury under the anger. He looked at you like he was trying to memorize something he was terrified of losing again, as if your hatred was a language he deserved to be fluent in and was only now, painfully, starting to learn.
The oxygen between you was gone, the patience stretched thin as wire. The inches between you felt like a war, two people standing at the edge of a sword that neither of you was willing to be cut by. You were held together by nothing but the unbearable pressure of everything you weren't saying. And yet beneath the hatred in your eyes, beneath the grief, Iqbal saw that there was something else entirely, something that looked, if he hadn't dared to name it, exactly like longing.
He opened his mouth slightly, something breaking loose behind his eyes, a word forming-
"Sir!" His right hand man came to an abrupt stop a few feet away, breathless, glancing between the two of you standing so close. He promptly averted his gaze with poorly concealed alarm before catching himself. "Maafi chahta hoon... lekin abhi nikalna zaroori hai. Ek call aa gayi hai."
Iqbal's jaw clenched hard, irritation crossing his face. Despite the man’s haste, Iqbal did not move, his hand still out against the wall, like letting you go was going to cost him something.
"Abhi?" he said, not looking away from you.
"Ji sir. Foran."
A long ragged breath left him. Slowly, like he was forced to, he lowered his arm. He stepped back just enough to let you breathe, though his eyes never left your face. The sudden space between you almost intolerable after how tense it was a few seconds ago.
You didn't realize how close he had been standing to you this whole time….
He brought his hand up, and wordlessly pressed the bouquet of flowers gently into your hands, careful not to touch you.
Then he took the white chiffon dupatta resting in his hands and with a care that felt entirely at odds with the man the world knew him to be, he stepped forward and draped it back over your head with the kind of tenderness you felt when he first learned of your scar. He let one end fall softly over your shoulder and the other end, he meticulously wrapped it across your chest and let it rest over your back. A stray curl fell directly in front of your face, which he then carefully tucked it behind your ear beneath the dupatta, his fingers careful to not graze even an inch of your skin.
"Mujhe jaana hoga" he said, almost like the words themselves tasted bitter. "Lekin main wapas aaunga. Mera vaada hai."
He held your eyes one final second, before he finally turned and walked away, his aide falling into step beside him, already speaking urgently, already dragging him back into the world that kept taking him away from you.
He made it almost to the end of the alley before he looked back.
A single glance over his shoulder that found you still standing exactly where he'd left you. You averted his gaze quickly and looked away, acting completely uninterested towards this gesture.
But Major Iqbal was a man looking at the one thing in his life he hadn't figured out how to walk away from cleanly.
Then he was gone, swallowed by the crowd, by the passing cars, by the world waiting to take him back.
And you stood there after he'd left, your breath caught somewhere. The white fabric of the dupatta blowing against your face, tiny curls wisping around your eyes, the flower petals scattering with the wind as you gazed upon the direction he disappeared to. The hatred was still there, burning bright and wild in your chest. And you knew, it wouldn’t go away anytime soon. But deep inside, in the darkest, most abyss caverns of your heart, a flicker, so indistinct that it would be missed if not paid attention to, blossomed with a hint of mercy-
for him……..
You shook your head, trying to snap that thought right out. You wouldn't let him be forgiven this easily, he needed to do much more.
So you continued on, walking towards the bazaar once more, resuming your day like before, not giving any attention to the moment you had with him today. He will not ruin this too….
But unbeknownst to both of you, a small child had seen the entire moment play before his eyes from the corner of the street.
⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆
A Few Hours Later
The afternoon had finally cooled down into a cloudy shade, offering some relief from the scorching sun.
You walked through the market with a new profound sense of purpose, your hands were aching carrying a bunch of shopping bags from various stores and tiny shops. But you weren't complaining.
You were spending the currency of a man who committed a sin.. It was the money he gave from the two nights you had spent with him. And the funny thing was, that you didn't feel the guilt of spending on yourself which you usually felt. You actually felt satisfaction, that If he wanted to pay for his transgressions, you would let him pay in full. Every item you bought a tax on his conscience.
You had actually had a surplus of money that he left for you, that even after donating generously to orphan shelters across Lyari, you still had many rupees remaining. It didn't take you much time to decide to spend the rest of it, after all you deserved it and second, you didn't want to keep any memory of him remaining in your life even if it was a bunch of cash.
Most people would've spent the money on temporary pleasures but you wanted to do something daring with it. Something different that no other woman had attempted before in the kotha.
You wanted to start a business.
It felt like a scary word to you because you hadn't had the luxury of a classroom. Being sold so early in your life meant that you weren't able to finish basic schooling. Only learning bits and pieces from the worn textbooks Madam Bi would buy you, in hopes that you may perhaps educate yourself. And boy were you determined. Every night, when you were little, you would turn on your flickering lamp, and learn to read and write in the quiet hours while the sounds of men and women’s laughter alike rang from the floors below. You tried your best to survive in the situation you were in.
You paused by a stall selling journals and ink, your fingers grazing the leather cover of a notebook. In order to start something, you needed to plan it out and a single notebook seemed like a good place to start.
But doubt creeped in.
What if I wasn't smart enough to do it? What if it fails?
Those thoughts gnawed in your head, but you knew that if you didn't do this, you would never be able to escape the life of a prostitute. And you wanted nothing more than to leave your current life behind. The need for independence outweighed the uncertainty for the future. You needed to become a role model for your siblings so that they too can escape poverty, no matter where they were.
You wondered what they were doing now, all these years later-
A loud horn of a car broke you out of your thoughts. The sky was starting to become dusky. Sp you quickly bought the leather notebook, thanking the sweet old uncle who had sold it to you and began walking the familiar path back to the kotha.
As the neon signs began to flicker to life, casting light reds and pinks over your skin, the dread of the house began to settle back into you.
When you stepped through the wooden doors, you saw that the other girls were beginning to dress, their voices rising in a cacophony of gossip and laughter.
Madam Bi was standing in the center of the room, scanning every woman who moved around, calculating their value by the glow of their skin or the slump of their shoulders.
And her gaze snapped towards you.
"Kahan thi tum itni dair tak?" her voice laced with worry. "Aur yeh itne saaray thailay? Market gayi thi?"
You felt a little prickle of sweat on your neck. You tried to shift the bags behind your back, trying to make it look as if you hadn't spent a bunch of money or that you had met a certain someone.
"Bas... zaroori saman lene gayi thi" you replied, avoiding her eyes. "Kuch cheezain chahiye thi."
Madam Bi narrowed her eyes to the way you were holding yourself, the nervousness spooling out of you.
"Saman lene gayi thi... ya kisi se milne?" Her voice dropped an octave. "Major sahab aaj aye thay kya?"
You froze. The mere mention of his name brought back the replay of your meeting earlier in the afternoon.
If she knew you had met him, if she knew he was still pursuing you, she would see you as a goldmine. She would push you back into those sheets. She would tell you that Major Iqbal was a man who gave girls like you “security” and that you were lucky to be his choice. But you knew that this “security” only dwindled down to more money for her pockets.
"Nahi" you said quickly, perhaps too quickly. "Nahi, main ne unhe nahi dekha. Main toh bas..."
Madam Bi stayed analyzing you. She looked at you for a long beat, sensing the hesitation. You thought she would demand the truth, that she would push for more, but she simply sighed and waved her hand dismissively.
"Theek hai, chalo, jao. Apna kam khatam karo" she muttered.
You didn't wait for a second invitation, you practically bolted up the stairs until you reached your room. You slammed the door shut and collapsed onto the bed, letting all the bags fall down. Taking a moment to let the exhaustion melt out of you. Then slowly you sprawled out on your stomach, a surge of excitement rushing through your veins like adrenaline. You wanted to start planning your so-called business.
You quickly grabbed your leather notebook from the bag and laid it open in front of you. You stared at the blank pages, the white paper mocking you with its emptiness. You had no ideas currently. But a word popped up in your head and you quickly jotted it down in the center of the page.
آزادی (Azadi - Freedom)
━ ◦ ❖ ◦━
Later That Night
You thought about the money Iqbal had left. It was a start, but a business, a real one, something that would let you walk away from this kotha forever, required more than just a few thousand rupees. You needed capital, a safety net.
A depressing thought dawned at you. To get that money, you couldn't rely on the same man because you didn't know if you'd ever let him back. But you needed a steady stream of income… which meant resorting back to a certain act.
Kya mujhe... phir se wahi karna hoga? you wondered, a shiver of disgust running down your spine.
The thought of another man’s touch, of the transactions that occurred in those rooms, made you want to scream. But the desperation was stronger. You wanted out, for a life where you weren't just bought by the hour.
You hated what you were about to do, but without thinking it through, you stood up. You didn't put on the heavy makeup or the silks the other girls wore. You just wrapped your dupatta tightly around you and walked downstairs. However, making sure you were hidden from everyone in the corner, your heart pounding. You quietly peaked in the common area, hoping to catch a client who might pay a premium for a "fresh" face.
It didn't take long.
A group of men, wealthy merchants and politicians, were lounging on the sofa and in the center was an older man with many gold rings glistening on his finger. He looked like he might pay generously for you. But hesitation was preventing you from taking those steps towards him. You needed to remind yourself what you were doing this for. So you took a deep breath and finally mustered enough courage to start walking to hi-
When suddenly, the old man’s loud laugh cut through the kotha.
The reality hit you fully.
What am I doing?
You were about to sell yourself. And even though you absolutely despised it, Major Iqbal’s words played in your head, making the idea of another man's touch feel repulsive to you.
No, I'm not putting myself through this again.
The rashness that had driven you downstairs vanished, instead sensibility rocked through you. You needed to find another way.
Without looking back, you turned and walked up the stairs again.
You didn't want to earn your money like that, especially not by selling yourself to other men. You wanted the money, but you couldn't stomach the price. As you locked your door, you collapsed against it, letting your head rest back, realizing that the path to freedom was paved with things you weren't sure you could survive.
⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆
Day Later
The first delivery arrived the next morning.
You had planned to go downstairs to eat breakfast like usual, when you saw a small parcel sitting right outside your door.
It was a rectangular package, wrapped in plain brown paper. There was no name on the outside but there was a tiny card that was wrapped in the string, once you brought it closer to yourself you saw that it had your name written on it, in an elegant urdu script.
Who sen-?
You knew immediately who it was from, some part of you had known before you'd even untied the string.
Inside was a slim, secondhand book of Urdu poetry, its spine soft and cracked from other hands before yours.
Your first instinct was to throw it across the room.
You had promised yourself, walking home that day with your dupatta re-draped by his own hands, that you would not make this easy for him.
But when inspecting closer, you saw that it was actually a first edition copy of Ghalib. Your eyes widened, how did he get this. The original 19th century printings of his work was exceptionally rare, and there was quite literally no way to acquire them as an ordinary person…
Unless it was specifically requested by the most decorated officer in all of Pakistan.
You rolled your eyes. Of course.
When you opened the book, a note was tucked into the first page, the handwriting sharp and controlled, each letter pressed hard into the paper.
“Suna hai tumhein alfaaz se mohabbat hai”
You read it once, twice, then a third time, a feeling that felt too close to being moved ignited in your heart.
No-
You quickly told yourself it meant nothing, a book was just a book, putting it on the shelf without thought.
Hours later, you read it that same night anyway, by yourself, your lips moving soundlessly over the verses long after the light should have been switched off.
It was when you flipped a few pages, reading like the way you used to as a girl, when you noticed the handwriting.
Faint pencil markings lived in the margins of certain pages, an elegant, slanted Urdu script, pressed with the same hand that had written your note.
You slowly realized they were annotations.
Commentary. Small, private arguments he had with a dead poet, alone, in some dark hour you couldn't imagine him in.
Your breath caught. This was a book that, verse by verse, had the record of a man who had clearly sat with it for hours, turning each couplet over in his mind, refusing to accept any line at face value until he'd wrung some deeper meaning out of it for a certain girl who cherished poetry.
You turned the pages slower now reading all his little notes, until you reached a simple line of Ghalib's, one you recognized instantly, that every child in Lyari had heard someone recite at least once:
"Dil hi to hai, na sang-o-khisht, dard se bhar na aaye kyun"
(It's only a heart, not stone or brick, why shouldn't it fill with pain?)
Beneath it, in the margin, his script wrote:
"Dil ek kamzor cheez hai. Jitna zyada mehsoos karta hai, utna hi zyada tootne ke qareeb aata hai."
The heart is a fragile thing. The more it feels, the closer it moves to breaking.
You stared at the line for a long time, longer than you meant to. You understood exactly what he meant, why a man like him would read a line about a fragile, aching heart and see in it nothing but a liability waiting to be exploited.
But you didn't agree.
You found a pencil on your nightstand, and beneath his line, after crossing it through gently to mark it answered, you wrote something in your own smaller hand:
"Ya shayad, jitna zyada mehsoos karta hai, utna hi zyada zinda hota hai"
Or maybe, the more it feels, the more alive it becomes.
You didn't think much of it at the moment. It felt more than anything, like an argument you needed to win rather than a message you were sending.
But what you didn't realize was that in that small exchange, you had written yourself into a direct conversation with him. You had written the first real thing you'd ever said to the parts of him he kept locked furthest away, the parts nobody could ever have told you existed.
You were viewing the world through his lens, and you fought to show yours to him…
The second gift came the next morning: a beautiful watercolour set, the paints arranged in silver little pans, a handful of good brushes tied with string, and beside it, almost as an afterthought, a small set of acrylics too, as if he hadn't been entirely sure which you preferred. It was nothing like the dried, old set you were currently using. The note this time was longer.
"Dekhte hain tumhari zid kitni khoobsurat cheez bana sakti hai"
You stared at the paints for a long time, something uneasy turning over in your chest.
Why is he doing this?
The third gift came after. A wooden flower press, hand-carved, the joints fitted so precisely. You wondered whether his hands were the ones to create this before they reached yours. As usual, a small note was attached and you quickly flipped it over to read it.
"Us din bazaar mein tumhare haathon se phool gir gaye thay. Agli baar, jo bhi tumhare haath mein ho, wo hamesha ke liye tumhara rahe."
That day in the market, the flowers slipped from your hands. I want that whatever you hold next stays yours, forever.
You sat on the edge of your bed for a long time after reading that one, the wooden press balanced in your lap. The memory of how he'd knelt in the dirt of that alley to gather your scattered flowers without being asked suddenly replayed in your head. You let yourself feel the full unfairness of it: that a man capable of disappearing without a word was also capable of this. Of remembering a small, forgettable detail from one afternoon and turning it into something so specific, so achingly thoughtful, that it made your chest soft for a man you promised you wouldn't be for.
But one perplexing thought churned in your head.
All these items, all these things you love to do, you hadn't told him that.
You hadn't told him much of anything, not really, not in the nights you'd spent together, where words had mattered less than the acts that happened between you.
So how did he know?
The answer arrived on its own, when Madam Bi mentioned, completely without context, in the middle of discussing the price of onions, that a man had called the kotha a week ago asking polite questions about you. What you liked. What you used to do as a girl. What gives you joy.
Your spoon paused halfwsy to your mouuth.
"Kaunsa aadmi?" you asked, too casually.
Madam Bi just shrugged, unbothered. "Kisi General sahab ka aadmi tha, bola tha koi Farooq naam tha"
Your eyes slightly widened in recognition.
Major Iqbal’s right-hand man.
A scoff, fully unbidden, came out of you.
Of course he'd sent someone to dig on you, the same way he probably did for every operation in his professional life, gathering intelligence before making a move. It should have annoyed you so much more than it did yet it triggered a different feeling, a feeling you didn't have a clean name for….
He could have sent anything.
A man with his money, his position, could have buried you in gold bangles or maybe diamonds, the way other men in his position drowned their guilt in extravagance. He could have sent gifts that cost a fortune.
It would have been so easy for a man like him because it would have meant nothing at all. And you would have thrown every last piece of it back without second thought, and felt righteous doing it because it would've made forgiving him so much harder.
But he hadn't done that. He'd sent a poetry book full of his thoughts for you, a hand-carved press, tins of paint that a girl who grew up with nothing could actually hold without feeling like she was being bought all over again.
He'd learned you. Patiently, quietly, almost too well, well enough to know that the fastest way past your anger wasn't grandeur, it was thought. It was choosing, out of everything in the world he could give a woman, the exact small things that would make you feel seen rather than purchased.
He had known what would put you back together.
That thought horrified you.
Because throwing away a diamond was easy.
Throwing away a man who had clearly gone searching for the shape of you, piece by piece: that was going to take a great deal more than you currently had left in you.
⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆
Madam Bi’s Kotha
A Few Days Later
Word travels strangely in a place like Lyari, it's like the way water finds every crack in a wall, until one day the whole structure is soaked through and nobody can say exactly when it started.
It began, as these things often do, with the child who had fatefully seen the both of you that afternoon.
He was running errands for his mother through the market that afternoon when he had frozen mid-step at the sight of Major Iqbal, a man mothers invoked to frighten children into behaving, standing close enough to a woman that their shoulders had nearly touched. Close enough that anyone watching would have understood, instantly, that whatever was happening between them was not suitable.
So it began, the rumours.
The boy harmlessly mentioned this to his mother, she then mentioned it to a neighbor while folding laundry, and the neighbor mentioned it to her husband, who repeated it to a friend over cards that night. Each version being tweaked slightly like the way people do when a story makes them feel like they know something worth knowing.
By the fourth telling, it was no longer the Major standing near a woman. It was him cornering you in an alley, refusing to let you leave.
By the seventh telling, you had a description: fair-skinned, kohl eyed, dressed in chiffon with a dupatta the color of cream. Someone recalled you'd been carrying flowers. Someone else recalled, with total confidence, that you were running away from him. Still your identity being concealed.
By the tenth telling, someone had located you..
Woh kotha wali ladki hai. Madam Bi ke ghar se.
That detail, once it entered the sea of gossip moved through Lyari like fire finding dry grass.
Major Iqbal: untouchable, unmarried, a man the entire city had never once seen him with a woman on his arm, not at a wedding, not at a function, was seen in broad daylight, in public, standing close enough to a prostitute that anyone with eyes could read exactly what it meant.
It was, by the standards of men who lived and died by reputation, a most outrageous scandal.
And scandals in Lyari, had a way of turning into opportunity.
Because if the Major Iqbal, a man who could have any woman in Karachi with a single phone call, had chosen you, specifically, then the men who heard the story didn't hear gossip, they heard an advertisement.
Kya khaas baat hai us ladki mein?
The question moved through the elite circles over cigars in private studies, in the back rooms of clubs where powerful men traded information and currency. Merchants who had never once considered visiting Madam Bi's kotha suddenly found themselves curious about it. Politicians who kept mistresses in secret already began asking casually over dinner, whether anyone knew which area you lived in, how you looked like, which girl you were at the kotha.
The unwanted attention you started to get without your knowledge was because of what you had become: a kind of prize. You were the woman good enough, rare enough, dangerous enough that even a man like Major Iqbal had apparently been unable to keep his hands off you in public. In a world built on status and reputation, that alone made you valuable. Men who wanted to prove something to themselves, that they too, could have what Major Iqbal wanted, began secretly making inquiries.
Madam Bi heard the rumors before you did, as usual, and immediately looked at you to ask what had happened that afternoon.
"Beti" she said, setting her teacup down with unusual care, "poora shehar tumhare baare mein baat kar raha hai."
Your stomach dropped.
You didn't yet know how far the rumor had traveled, or how many men were already asking after you by name of “Major Iqbal ki ladki”. Even across the city, in rooms you would never see, your face: one which nobody had actually seen clearly, was already becoming the victim of a hunger that had to do with what you represented now.
You only knew, sitting there under Madam Bi's disappointed gaze, that the peaceful, careful life you'd been trying to rebuild for yourself had just become considerably more dangerous because of one unguarded moment in a bazaar.
"Tumne mujhse jhoot bola" Madam Bi said final. "Maine poocha tha, Major sahab aaye thay kya. Tumne kaha nahi."
Your mouth went dry. "Madam Bi, main-"
"Chup." The word came sharp, more exhausted than angry. “Poora shehar jaanta hai ab. Aur jo log jaante hain, unme se kuch... kuch bohot khatarnak hain.
Fear soared through your heart.
Madam Bi really looked at you now "Ab har amir aadmi is shehar mein tumhara hissa lena shuru kar de ga, kyunki ek Major ne tumhein chuna tha"
"Main ye nahi chahti thi-” you said looking down, fully aware of the consequences now.
“Tumhe ab dehan rakhna hai” Madam Bi cut you off, her voice hardening…
ISI Headquarters
Major Iqbal sat behind his mahogany desk. He didn’t look at the man standing before him, his aide, Farooq who was currently sweating through his suit. Iqbal was focused on the flicker of his gold lighter in his palm. Click. Flick. Click. Flick
"Phir se bol" Iqbal commanded.
The officer cleared his throat, his voice trembling. "Sir... bazaar mein... jo hua tha, us din, log baat kar rahe hain, us larki ke bari mein”
Farooq kept his eyes somewhere just past Iqbal's shoulder, unwilling to meet his eyes directly. "Aur... khabar phail chuki hai ke woh Madam Bi ke kotha se hai, bade log bhi puchh rahe hain, kaun hai woh, kahan milegi-"
Iqbal’s thumb stopped moving.
He had heard the rumours circulating before anyone else did, after all his network was designed to catch whispers before they even became words. Yet each time he heard it, he couldn't believe that you were starting to get compromised.
He couldn't quite understand how the word had spread in the first place. The place had been abandoned, it shouldn't have been breached.
That moment in the bazaar, the flower petals scattering on the dirt, the way he had let his guard slip for a second, allowing himself to stand too close to breathe the scent of your skin, had all cost you something he didn't wish for.
His grip tightened on the lighter, a vein pulsing slightly in his temple. He didn't care about the gossip, he had burned cities to the ground without blinking, but the thought of you starting to become in danger, the vultures of Karachi circling you because he was seen with you in that alleyway, he hated the thought of it all.
He wanted to erase every rumour by making it clear that you didn't belong to the politicians, the wealthy merchants, or the men of Karachi or to the gossip.
You belonged to him.
Iqbal already started planning the next course of action.
Madam Bi’s Kotha
Men after men came by the kotha to ask for you, but of course nobody knew what you looked like. So Madam Bi, taking that to her advantage, always made excuses that you weren't here at the moment or maybe that you were unavailable with another client. She tried her best to keep you away from the lustful gazes of men who only wanted to taste you because Major Iqbal had.
But it was inevitable that the protection you were in wore off soon enough.
It was a night later, when the sound of a foreign, luxury car screeched right outside the kotha’s doors.
The man who stumbled in reeked of liquor, his kurta rumpled, a gold watch flashing loose on his wrist as he gestured wildly at the girls scattering out of his path. Madam Bi recognized him as the greedy politician of a small town, whose influence was as vast as his need for cruelty.
"Madam Bi!" he shouted, his voice slurring as he practically fell into the main hall, knocking over a vase with a careless sweep of his arm. "Kahan hai woh? Woh choti chidiya (bird) kahan hai jis ne Major ko deewana kardia hai?”
Madam Bi stepped forward, she wore the mask of professionalism despite the alarm in her eyes. "Sahab, aap bohot thakay hue lagte hain" her voice soothing, trying to guide him toward the plush seating area away from the stairs. "Aaiye, pehle aaram kijiye. Main aapke liye thanda paani mangwati hoon..."
"Paani nahi chahiye mujhe!" he spat, shoving himself away with a rough jerk. He began to pace the room, his eyes scanning the girls who had frozen in their tracks. "Kahan hai woh ladki?" he yelled, his words slurring into each other. "Mujhe Major ki ladki chaiye, abhi!”
He started pushing the furniture around him, causing ruckus around the kotha. Madam Bi tried her best to contain the mess of a situation they were in, but alas he wasn't stopping.
Upstairs, you had gone rigid at the sound of the commotion through the halls. You heard some of the girl’s voices, hushed and frightened, and the scrape of furniture as someone tried uselessly to block a door. Then Madam Bi's voice, tight with something you had never heard from her before, real fear.
Suddenly you heard the high pitch sound of a glass break. In a moment of naive concern, you rushed downstairs to see if Madam Bi was alright. Deep down you knew, walking down those stairs was a mistake, like a half-second of clarity that bestowed upon you.
As you descended the first few steps, the light of the chandelier caught the curves of your body, the softness of your eyes. The politician’s eyes immediately locked onto yours, and just as quickly his expression changed into an ugly hunger. He could tell you were the girl he was searching for by the way you were so protected.
"Toh yeh hai woh haseena... jisne poori Karachi ko pagal kar diya" he murmured. "Bilkul waisi jaisa bataya gaya tha." he said reverently, stepping toward you before you could retreat.
You recognized the type of man he was before you saw his face clearly. He was the kind of man that had never once been told no, dressed in expensive cloth and stinking of entitlement and arrogance.
"Sahab" Madam Bi tried again, her voice desperate now "woh abhi-"
He wasn't listening. Before you could react, he lunged. His hand, smelling of alcohol and old sweat, clamped around your bicep tightly. You gasped, your body jerking back, but he was too strong.
"Aao mere saath" he sneered, his breath a wall of stale liquor against your face. "Mujhe bhi woh jannat dikhao jo tum Major ko dikhati ho”
Terror took over all your senses. “Y- yeh aap kya karein hain, thora sa toh lehaas kar lein” you gasped, twisting against him, disgust clawing up your throat.
"Chup" he screamed, dragging you another step closer, his other hand coming up toward your face. "Major ne chakha hai toh mujhe bhi haq hai"
You began to thrash, your small frame shaking as you tried to wrench your arm free. "Madam Bi! Choriye!" you shouted.
Madam Bi rushed forward "Sahab, yeh ladki abhi tayyar nahi hai, usey choriye!"
"Hatt!" he yelled, shoving you violently against the couch to stay out of Madam Bi’s reach.
Around you, the girls had frozen all useless and terrified. Zoya's hand was pressed over her own mouth, another girl backing into the wall, all of them understanding that intervening meant risking a man wealthy enough to make you disappear if he wished to. This was not a man they could fight. This was a man whose money could bury complaints, silence police, erase consequences the way rich men in this city always had.
Madam Bi understood it too. And in the chaos, with your body still locked in a stranger's grip and no one in the room able to move against him, she did the only thing left.
She fled to the back office, hands shaking as she dialed the one number that could stop this.
When the line finally connected, her voice came out in a frantic rush. "Major Sahab... jaldi aaiye" she sobbed into the receiver "Y/N ko madat chaiye... ek mard aaya hai. Jaldi aaiye!"
….
At the other end of the line, the world stopped.
Iqbal didn't ask who. He didn't ask where. The mere mention of your name triggered a switch in him that bypassed all logic and went straight to violence.
Iqbal was already moving before Madam Bi finished the sentence, snatching his jacket off the back of his chair, his face turning into something Farooq had only seen a handful of times in his years of service. A look of fury. Iqbal decided with total clarity, that whatever else was on his mind no longer mattered until you were safe.
Iqbal quickly hung up the phone. He looked at Farooq, his eyes turning into two shards of obsidian.
"Gaari nikaalo" he commanded with a single finger.
The drive to the kotha was a blur of burning rubber. Iqbal’s jaw was locked, his mind running through every version of what he might walk into and hating all of them equally.
The kotha's doors swung open when he arrived.
The scene that met him stopped him dead in his tracks. The drunk man's hand was fisted in your hair, his mouth crushing against your chest as you twisted and fought against him, his other hand touching into your waist. You were sobbing, your eyes wide with tears. The girls were paralyzed around the edges of the room, Madam Bi's voice broken from shouting.
Your eyes found his over the man's shoulder.
Something in your face, the terror, the humiliation, a plea exuding out of you, undid the last thread of Major Iqbal’s control.
Instead of shouting or warning, he took a few steps forward. In a flash, his hand moved to his holster and with a sudden cock of his gun-
An explosion of light boomed.
The gunshot cracked through the room like the world splitting open. The bullet tore the politician right in the thigh.
The man screamed, releasing you instantly, crumpling sideways against the wall as blood bloomed dark through his kurta at the thigh, his hands scrabbling uselessly at the wound.
A flicker of blood had stained your kurti.
Every girl in the room shrieked in horror. You staggered back, gasping, your hands flying to your own mouth as tears broke loose all at once, your whole body shaking.
Iqbal crossed the room slowly, his boots thudding against the wood, and crouched beside the whimpering man without a shred of mercy, his eyes ice cold.
"Usko haath lagane ki himmat" he said low and even "acha faisla nahi tha."
The man sobbed something incomprehensible while clutching his thigh.
Iqbal stood up, not sparing him another glance, and turned to Farooq, who had already moved into position by the man. "Isay le ker jao" Iqbal gestured once with the gun still loose in his hand in absolute order. Farooq moved immediately, hauling the wounded man up by the collar and dragging him out through the doors.
Iqbal didn't acknowledge the man bleeding on the floor anymore. His eyes set on you.
But you didn't wait to see the rest.
The moment Iqbal’s gaze was on you, you quickly turned and fled for the stairs, your breath coming in torn, uneven sobs, your hands scrubbing furiously at your face as if you could wipe away everything that had just happened.
"Y/N…" Iqbal called out softly.
You didn't stop.
"Nahin" you gasped, not turning, your voice cracking apart. You reached your door upstairs and shoved through it, stumbling to the window, gripping the ledge like it was the only thing. Your shoulders were shaking with the force of everything you'd been holding since the market, since the alley, since the two weeks before that. And now this.
Major Iqbal went after you, taking the stairs two steps at a time and appeared in the doorway a moment later, breathing hard, his eyes finding your hunched body against the window light.
"Y/N.. Tum theek ho?"
You spun around so fast your dupatta slipped from your shoulder, your face streaked with hurt, grief and rage that had nowhere left to go except at him.
"Theek?" Your voice broke on the word. "Theek kaise hongi main? Apke wajah se!"
You grabbed the nearest thing your hand found, a book still on your nightstand and hurled it at him. But that didn't strike him and it fell open on the floor, the pressed flowers sliding loose from between its pages, drifting in the air like something moving in slow motion.
"Apne mujhe… apne mujhe poore shehar ke saamne beich diya!" Another object followed, a random bag, its contents scattering. "Har koi baat kar raha hai mere baare mein! Har amir aadmi sochta hai ke ab uska bhi haq hai"
"Y/N…."
"Nahin!" You grabbed a stack of books off the shelf, hurling them one after another, any object you found you threw but Iqbal let it happen, he knew you needed this. Your chest was heaving, tears streaming freely now. "Apko pata bhi hai kaisa lagta hai? Ke aapki wajah se main ab ek... ek cheez ban gayi hoon?" you screamed in rage.
“Jahan har koi mujhe chu sakta hai kyunki aapne mujhe chua tha!" Your voice cracked entirely on the last word, and you stood there, chest heaving, surrounded by the wreckage of everything you'd thrown.
"Main aapse nafrat karti hoon" you whispered, the fight suddenly draining out of you all at once, leaving only exhaustion in its place.
Iqbal stood perfectly still in the doorway, the gun long since holstered, his own chest tight with seeing what you had to go through.
"Humare beech ab kuch nahi raha" you screamed, the tears streaming down your face. "Kuch nahin…Ab bataiye mein kon hoon aapki?”
Iqbal took a few steps forward while closing the door behind him. “Tum meri humsafar ho”
He stood there in front of you and let you see, for the first time, what you meant to him. Why he came all this way for you. Why he would kill for you. Why he thought of you in the depths of his soul.
A part of you broke hearing that, humsafar meant a companion, a lifelong partner.
Does he really think that of me?
Your heart was protesting, an inner war churning inside you. One side of you wanted to forgive him, to forget about all this and walk into his arms again but another part of you wanted to hate him all your life, burn at the thought of him, to continue the everlasting flame in your soul.
Iqbal could sense the turmoil through your eyes, his eyebrows furrowed together seeing the fight you were battling with yourself.
"Mujhe maloom hai maine kya kiya" his voice a devastatingly low tone. "Main ek gunahgaar hoon. Tumhara dukh mehsoos kar sakta hoon. Mere haathon mein khoon hain magar mein kahbi tumhe khatra me nahi dalna chahta”
You shook your head slightly, the tears gliding down your cheeks. “Phir aap kyun nahi thay jab mujhe aapki zarurat thi” your voice cracking. “Itni nafrat kyun dal de mujh mein, Kyun!”
Iqbal took a step toward you. He stopped close enough that you could feel the heat coming off him, far enough that his hands stayed at his sides.
“Mein tumse door nahi reh sakta"
For a long moment he looked at you hard through his aviators, the way he had in the alley, when he was searching for something in your face.
Then, without a word he reached down, drew the gun from his holster, and held it out to you.
Your breath caught. "Yeh... yeh kya kar rahe hain?"
"Goli maar do" he said, his voice stripped "mere gunaah ho ke liye, meri maut tumhare haathon se mujhe pura kabool hai"
Your hands were shaking as he pressed the weapon into them, the metal cold and heavier than you expected. Your fingers closed around it. Your crying stalled for a second, breath stopped in your throat, your eyes red and wide, fixed on him like you couldn't understand what he was asking of you.
The gun was trembling in your hands.
He felt the hesitation from you, but he wanted you to decide.
He wrapped his hand around the barrel, and pushed the metal until it pressed flat against his forehead. His full height loomed over you, his dark eyes locked on yours without any fear in them as you looked up in them.
"Chala do" he said quietly.
Your breathing turned ragged, fast, your chest heaving with heartbreak. Your whole body trembling under the pressure of everything he'd cost you, everything he'd made you, everything you still, God help you, felt for him despite all of it.
He just held your gaze steady, waiting, the gun still digging into his forehead, giving you the choice he clearly believed you deserved to have over him, over everything he'd taken and given and taken again.
You didnt know what to do. The intensity of the moment was becoming too much for you. Your fingers had wrapped around the trigger, but it was impossible to decide whether you wanted to pull it or not. Your breathing was turning too heavy, too fast, your hand rocking like a leaf. Your brain churning a million thoughts all at once.
Immediately, you closed your eyes and shot….
You had wrenched the barrel sideways, away from him, and pulled, the bullet cracking into the wall behind him. You dropped the gun the instant it fired, your hands flying to your mouth, a sob tearing loose from deep in your chest.
Iqbal moved fast, catching the weapon and setting it aside without ever taking his eyes off you.
Then you were on him.
Your fists came up, hitting his chest, once, twice as hard as you could. Thrashing all your hands against him. All your raw, broken hurt pouring out through your hands because you didn't know where else to put it.
"Kaise chod sakte hein mujhe?" you sobbed, striking him again, your voice cracking apart with every word. "Kaise? Itna waqt laga diya!" You pounded your fists against him “Kyun? Kyun?"
He didn't flinch away from your hands. He let you hit him, let your grief land wherever it needed to, absorbing everything completely, without complaint.
And then his arms came around you, both of them, his full strength wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you flush against him, one hand splayed against your back, the other cradling the back of your head as your head nestled under his chin.
You broke completely then, sobbing and screaming into his chest, your fists uncurling to grip the front of his shirt, holding on like he was the only solid thing left standing in the wreckage of your life. You let everything out, all the pain and hurt. The scent of his neck overpowering you, his heat melting you in a puddle.
"Shhh" he whispered against your hair, letting you cry everything out into him that you'd been carrying alone. His hand caressing the back of your head.
He sighed softly before he spoke “Humari andheri zingadi main, tum hi ek sitara ho.”
Your breath caught at the word, sitara. He'd never called you that before. It went somewhere soft and unguarded in your chest, and you hated how badly you wanted to hear it again.
He held you like that for a long time, saying nothing else, his heartbeat slow and even beneath his uniform, the only proof either of you needed that, despite all of it, you both found each other again.
⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆
Your face was pressed into his chest, letting his heartbeat slow your own, until, your sobbing eased into calm breaths.
His hand kept moving against the back of your head, slow like he had nowhere else in the world to be.
Slowly, you found yourself pulling back just enough to look up at him.
Your eyes were still glistening, all swollen and red, your lashes wet and clumped together, but there was something different in them now. A feeling that was waiting underneath the anger this whole time, so patient and afraid to be seen.
Iqbal looked down at you like something he couldn't quite believe was real, his hand coming up slowly to cradle the side of your face. His thumb brushed away a tear that had caught along your cheekbone.
"Maine bohot kuch khoya hai apni zindagi mein" he said quietly. "Log, waqt, cheezein jo khabi wapas nahi aatein. Lekin tumhein khona...yeh main kabhi hone nahi doonga."
Your chest started rising unevenly, touched by his words.
"Tum sirf ek raat nahi thi" he continued, his eyes never leaving yours, "na koi ek gism, na koi galti, tum meri sabse keemti (precious) cheez ban gaye ho”.
Something inside you simply gave way at that, a sudden pour of affection causing a small sob to choke you.
Seeing this, Iqbal leaned down slow, until his forehead came to rest against yours, his hand still cupping your face.
"Main tumhein nahi khona chahta" he whispered lightly "Kisi bhi hadd par."
You stood like that for a long time, foreheads pressed together, the whole room gone quiet except for your shared breaths. You could feel his heartbeat where your hand still rested against his chest, fast now, and you realized that he wasn't as unshakeable as the world believed, that you were the one thing capable of shaking him.
"Mujhe maaf kaar do" he whispered, caressing your face.
You should've still hated him, your mind should be scrambling for the anger that had felt so solid an hour ago.
But standing here, seeing the Major Iqbal at his most vulnerable, sharing an intimate moment with you in the dark. All the hatred, anger felt very far away. You couldn't believe that this man saw you as something precious, something he didn't want to lose ever. Your soul ached for this type of longing in the depths of your heart.
Your gaze burned into his, your eyesight at the tip of your eyebrows as you looked into the dark eyes of the most powerful man in the city who was at your whim.
You rose slowly onto your toes, your hand sliding up from his chest to curl against the back of his neck.
and kissed him.
⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆
To be continued....
xx Nurya
btw i dont support relationships like these nor do i romanticize the real iqbal and his dynamics, pls stay away from men like that!
i love a good smut every now n then but why is almost everything on here smut?! 💔 someone PLEASE write something cute n soft with peter parker or ill have to do it myself 😔
now that everyone is done watching bnd.. i’m expecting a shit ton of arachnid sensory overload! peter parker fics immediately at my desk by tomorrow morning with a side of canon compliance…
why do men get hotter whenever they’re depressed and bruised
a/n- idk yeh kya hai, first time writting this y/n waale format mei not my usual thing but i tried :.) (not proof read!!)
Trigger Warning- 18+, dub con, cnc, p in v, swearing, rough sex, dont read if that's a heavy topic for you , your mental heath matters :) yandere? idk maybe, aftercare
Note- This is a fanfic in no means meant to glorify people like the real Uzair baloch its just that Danish is too freaking hot!
MASTERLIST
Word count- 4.2k
The wind blows softly sweeping off the leaves from the verandah into the courtyard, the blazing summers slowly but steadily shifting into a much gratifying autumn that came packed with its soft chills.
Ulfat fussed over Faizan still not studying enough for his midterms despite having failed 8th grade for the third time, hand pinching the crease forming at the middle of her forehead, the bangles chiming softly in her hand. The charpai digged slightly into your thigh, the haveli was huge and in no doubt ornate the pillar carved to perfection with bailey patterns, each stained glass entrance ,corner stunning, chandeliers gleaming in the dinning but it wasn't like the mansion you had lived in your whole life , if things hadn't gone the way they had you would be in your father's house lounging, munching away on popcorn watching TV. But you were here instead, married - that's a heavy word for a 19 year old , only if your father hadn't been silly gambling a game with Rehman which he was bound to loose, it was a political gamlbe now you are part of this family willing or not.
Ulfat was in fact the best part here, cause other than that you only had a brooding husband who has proven himself to be the most naqis, awara, bad niyat, tang dil man on earth. You were a delicate doll, pampered and raised into a rather coy girl what do you mean your father wed you off to this .. this man.
You still haven't forgave him for a lot things, and definitely not for all the times you had waken up with his dick sticking inside you ( mind you it's not even have been a month since your wedding where was he getting so comfortable from) and especially for what he did on your wedding day.
You have tried holding in your cries for the whole night, but when the car finally came to drive you away every memory from your childhood flooded your mind, hands automatically going to cling at your father's body loud sobs wrecking your body. Everyone watched in awe and condolence feeling teary eyed themselves at the emotional but familiar sight of the bride parting from her parents. You weren't a stranger to Uzair, your elder sister Yalina had been married to his best friend after all, he seemed like a nice man, cheery among his nephews his gang members, but there was a small problem he only seemed nice.
Strenuously you picked up your heavy sharara bottom, Uzair opened the door for you to climb in and following in soon into the backseat after you have fall sat with a thud. You expected a gentle squeeze around the shoulder, his thumb catching your tears before they could fall further oh but you were wrong, he looked at your tears stained watery eyes , snot running down your nose face and decided to laugh out loud. “ Burger bacchi”
-ps he did all of that after
Once the sun had set the air going frigid you had got your cue to get back inside your room, his room or whatever they called it - a marital bedroom. The sheets still undone from the morning, you moved around straightening out the creases, tucking them into the mattress, brushing your hand against soft cotton the memory of your wedding night crossed your mind. Laid down on this same mattress, rose petals sticking at your sweat sheen body, Uzair's rough hand intertwined with yours as he moved with the utmost patience, whispering away your fears- the second time you had any less marginally scared of him.
The first still being the movement he parted the nikah purdah, seprating the thin wall of jasmines to look at you his movement slow and unhurried as he cupped the soft of your face pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead, “Mashallah”
Outside to his family he was a friendly man but inside the confines of your room only you knew how hostile the air turned around him, living your whole life in polished, softness his roughness, the smell of smoke that clunged to his very existence tied your stomach in a dreary knot. You had sacrifced your usual clothes, tucked away into the corner of alimrah rested the grave of your mini skirts, and dresses too afraid to ask him if it was permissible according to the standards of the house.
He was overly possessive, envious of any men standing any closer than a feet to you marking your neck with hickes at all time to 'claim' you properly. Checking on your poor dabba nokia cell phone sms holding in his breath till he had not read all of them.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, you watched down at your feet turning on the bed side lamp preffering the subdued shade of yellow over the harsh bright white lights, the light chiffon dupatta sat comfortably at her shoulder, it covering the lines of her collarbone and cleavage. The white of it light enough for the maroon fabric underneath to peek through, lost in your own thoughts so much so that you hadn't heard the car pull up outisde,, the laughter of the men downstairs,fiddling with the ring on your finger only looking up when the door to her room had been opened.
She was already raised in a manners away from harshness, was never much interested in speaking with boy age, making her - despite all the big talk a very coy person- one glimpse of Uzair standing leaning against the door frame, his pathani suit rolled up at his forearms the dark hair brushing the skin there, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips, one glimpse was enough for her to decide that the floor looked very interesting after all.
Lowering your gaze, eyes fixed on the marble floor which was polished decades ago yet shone in its full glory, what marble was it again? calcatta gold, the big blocks cut into slabs then treated with epoxy to have that rasin everlasting shine, intresting anything but the man inching closer to her, the possessive energy radiating off him even when he hasn't said a word still.
“Aise kya dekh rahi hai?” his voice was prude, gravel grinding under tires on rainy roads, and the tone so impolite that previous you would have had a heart attack. “ Kuch nahi” You tried to speak but all that came out was a pathetic mumble that barely made it out of your mouth let alone reach his ears.
He removed the gun holster that remained at the side of his hip, setting it down over the vanity table where your bangles, lipsticks rested, a strange sight but the action giving you some times to walk past him and out the room occupy yourself in the kitchen do anything but stay under his ravenous gaze. You weren't getting lucky today, his hand hauled you back, arm wrapped around your waist crushing your chest with his, he took a second and a courtesy to remove the cigarette frame and not blow the smoke directly at your face, speaking in raspy rude tone that mangled your already rattled nerves “ Kha jaa rahi hai? Abhi toh mai aaya hoon, mhm?” “Kitche-” “Kyu Aklakh mar gaya hai kya?” he tightened his grip, the small gasp immediately leaving your lips.
He leaned forward crowding the space with his tall frame and the smell of sandalwood mixed with something masculine and uniquely him. Without a warning he bit your low lip in between his teeth, torturing the soft flesh, before you even got to the time to react or speak he tugged on it once before letting go sending your stomach in a whirlwind of arousal and fear, your legs feeling mushy, the burn traveling from your cheeks to your ears painting you red. “Paani chala de” run the water? What was so hard about running the tap himself he just wants to soak into your shyness, doesn't he? To watch you fumble around.
Your fingers shake as you dip one wrist into the water, set up to a temperature that was neither too warm nor too hot, just a pleasant in between ,suitedwith the changing weather , eyes fixed on where the water bubbles when breaking the surface of the water running from the tap to avoid his stare.
He plopped himself against the bathroom doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest, the silence stretching , oppressive from him. He watches you fidget, a low hum of amusement rumbling in his chest. He moved closer standing right behind you, you who was currently sitting on the stool trying to pretend he didn't exist in this space. His hand picks at the loose end of your dupatta plucking it off, watching it slide of one your shoulder smoothly like water exposing the soft skin of the swell of your chest, and the ridge of half your collar bones, you snapped right back at him in instinct, giving him a half glare that he deliberately ignored.
“Paani taiyar hai” You muttered, fixing the fabric right back into place. standing up too fast, immediately meeting with his firm hand on your shoulder, “Kha ja rahi hoo?” “Paani hogya ab mera yaha kya kaam” You whisper ,try and reason with the devil, fear simmered right below the surface of your scan dancing at your finger tips still not used to his rugged ways. “Maine abhi parakh ke nahi dekha tab tak tum kahi nahi jaa rahi”
He didn't ask, he announced it, hands moving to remove the pathani suit off of his chiselled heavy build that had you tempted even with all the agitation you had around this man, you fixed your stare like you usually did -on the floor. A bad idea you realised when his salwaar came off, surely he won't think you are looking at ‘it' right, he knows better than that and looking up now would only make you look more guilty. You were guilty in some ways, eyes wandering till his rigid thighs before you forced yourself to look away, for someone who has been raised so clemently, cosseted throughout your life away from the harshness of this world his hungry gaze felt illegal at times.
He stood bare in front of you not an ounce of shame, comical against your extra covered body yet still flushed cheeks and the nervousness had you tapping your feet against the tile floor,the voice carrying throughout the bathroom.
He sinks into water, some water splashing out of the tub,his muscles coiled tight, and leans his head back against the rim, watching you waiting for his approval so you can finally flee from this hostage situation. “Theek hai” He said simply with no sigh of relief from his lips that suggested he was going to rest in there for a while, you didn't catch that clue turning on your ankles to scurry out as fast as you could.
His hand gripped your wrist suddenly, in a tightly unyielding hold. With a tug his arm yanks you hard off balance, and you tumble into the tub, soaking your salwar and dupatta through instantly. The water laps around your waist, your breath caught in your throat as he pulls you tight against his chest, fitting your curves against his plane. Your nipple rubbed at the soaked clothes, the cold and him hardening it to such an extent it protruded achingly, the outline embarrassingly visible through your now sheen white dupatta, and the cotton bra now drenched sticking to your skin. The shivers came first then the heat between your legs mixing with the panic that churned at the proximity.
You remember to gasp the sound echoing off the walls, chastening into whimpers when his hot breath soothed the clammy cold, he nuzzles the side of your neck taking in deep breaths with his whole body,the stubble scraping against your soft skin. “Kya waham tha tumhara?meri cheez mujh se chupa lo gi? Main hamesha apna haq cheen kar hi rehta hoon.” This visceral reaction for these clothes? How would he react to the actual regular clothes you wore? His scorching hand pulled at the dripping fabric of your kurta, that was sticking to you like a second skin enough to clasp his hand around your waist, squeezing the flesh in his hands eliciting another helpless whimper. “Dekho zara tumhein... hamesha apne hi shohar se bhaagne ki nakaam koshish karti ho, but you are wet now mhm and and in my arms,ab kahaan jao gi?”you squirmed for a fraction, he didn't shout, didn't tighten his grip further, just gave you a ‘really now?’ look with the subtle raise of his eye brows.
“ What happened? Didn't think you would be surprised, khaas kar jab aaj tum aisi qahar lag rahi ho... Sach batao, kya mere liye ban-sanwar kar aayi ho? Dressed like a sweet little wife” you never got used to the crude vocabulary almost physically hurting your - used to sweetness ears. He gave your waist another squeeze, the hardness of thigh brushing in between your legs abruptly, “ Ngh” You religiously bit down your lips in an attempt to stop the sound before this stupid tugging game got any further.
A low, rough laugh rumbles in his chest , his fingers digging deeper into your soft waist pulling the kurta up just a little more.He nips the sensitive spot just below your ear, breathing hot against your wet skin.“Ngh, that’s all I get? C’mon, use your words. Be a good little wife for me.”His hand slides up from your hip, slow and deliberate, cupping your breast over the soaked thin fabric of your kurta. He twists a nipple between his fingers, and his teeth scrape harder against your neck, leaving a dark mark. Your lips fall loose, the moan reverberating through the air, loud and needy “Ahh!”
He hummed in approval.His other hand trailed up , pinching flicking both the overly sensitive bud together making you jump, crushing yourself against him more “There’s that sound. You sound so pretty when you gasp like that for me, don’t you?”
You tremble your legs apart slightly inviting him in with out your own concise, the way you had fallen limp over him for a moment he had enough already, He groans low against your neck, his hand slipping lower now snaking in between your thighs under the soaked fabric,the warmth of your arousal evident seeping through the rather cold plunged fabric of your salwaar. He rocks his hips into you, hard, the water sloshing over the edge of the tub onto the tile. “Acting like a scaredy cat still so wet?”
You shivered harder now, your teeth clattering the cold catching up to you despite your feverish haze, he watched for a moment before peeling off the wet fabric off your skin with a vigour that he was envious at how close it was to your flesh. You shuddered in whatever relief it provided, before realising your condition rushed back, felt his hand rug and pulled down your salwar as well even before you had a coherent thought. The petrified whisper only came out when his hand had reached the soaked fabric of your underwear
“Kya kar rahe ho Uzair? Choro”
He chuckles dark against your wet shoulder, his fingers pressing harder against the seam of your underwear, not stopping for a second. He holds you tighter against his body so you can’t squirm away.“Chor du? Why would I? You’re mine, remember? I can do whatever I want with you”
“Uzair choro! ” “ Aise kaise tumhe sard lag jayegi toh? ” He tutted mockingly , fingers jerked down the underwear, the last clothing left on your skin snatched and thrown across the floor. He eased two fingers into your slick, already throbbing entrance , burying them till his knuckles, thumb finding the engorged clit pressing and rubbing it firmly. Shockwaves going throughout your whole body, your fight melting into pure titillation,his thick digits curled recklessly hitting that spongy part that made your eyes roll back. His sultry mouth latching onto the left nipple, sucking the tingling peaks hard enough to mar the skin,the unoccupied hand holding you still for his tormentation.
He would bite too harshly then soothe it with the lap of his tongue, finger moving in and out with a practiced fidelity on how hard to keep the rhythm enough to keep you in line without breaking you, he looked up from the valley of your chest, the cold air prickling the wet skin he abandoned. He watched your face, breath hitching with each thrust, hips moving to rub your clit better against his hand. “Good girl”he rasped
Your back arches against his chest, nails scraping the porcelain edge of. He nips your earlobe once again , pressing his fingers harder, picking up the steady, rough rhythm that makes your knees go weak."There we go. Give it to me. Let me feel you, baby.”Your wet heat clenched on his finger, your sudden release gushing down his bristled fingers making him whistle low.
When the high wore off , the realisation came over in whose hand you were nestling in , the terror came creeping back stealing the air out of your lungs at the way he was looking at you, he clearly wasn't going to stop at this, the testament also being the hardness pressed against her thigh.
She squirmed once, then twice before thrasing in the now freezing water ,
“ Uzair please!” you quaked struggling uselessly in his arms. He wasn't offended then but now your audactiy to try and squeeze away after coming over his fingers had replaced the winning smirk into a crooked expression, his jaw shut tight , eyes furrowing in unsaid ire. “ Uzair please!” she finally dared to look him right in the eyes frustation washing over your face at his constant entitlement,and how he always had you right where he wanted it. The heave of his breath, the way he would tremor just a inch when your hand brushed against his body had surged a rush to you at the power you had over him sometimes, wondering what would it be like to put it to use, but definitely not now, when your hands are shaky, cheeks are flushed, eyes downcast again unable to face his bestial craving gaze peering through your very being or the fact he might see the same expression hiding there in your learned bashfulness.
His hand found its path up the back of your neck into your scalp, raking through it with a false kindess before he jerked it hard till you looked at him Please what? Please what let you go after your fun?” “ Had my fun? Kaisi baatein kar raho hoo Uzair?”
Water splashed hard this time, at an inhuman speed he had flipped you over, You yelped loudly, your body tumbling, moulding once again in his hands, your nipples grazing against the cold porcelain the sensation painful enough to make you screech over your yelp, hand going to find purchase at the edge. The world spun with you, tears pricking at your eyes at the of lack of control, his hands digging into your hips hard enough to bruise, he parted your soaked lips watching the wetness still drip down from your last release, hole still clenching unclenching around nothing and sinking his finger right back in starting the torturous movement again.
Small cries formed in your threat leaking in between when he thrusted too hard, then it all stopped, his hand faltered, his grip on the hip present but no longer bruisingly tight. It was eerie Uzair didn't let go of things that easily and especially not you once he get his hands on you. You sniffled looking back with curiousty that lingered with desire and fear, peeking back at him through your shoulder. Black tears ran down your face, soorma smudged, hair wild making you look more like a savage then the dignified daughter you once were.
He was stroking his hard angry cock, twisiting at the base, spreading the bead of pre cum around his bulbous head, viens bulging and gracing his prodigious manhood.
You moved quickly fumbling to climb out the tub only to slip at wet surface surging yourself completely in the water by accidentally, coughing at the water gushing in your lungs, hands thudding at the base. Uzair pulled you up in one go positioning you in a way your back arched like a cat, ass sticking out and plunged in, burrying his whole length in one to go the hilt.
You gasped in between your coughs adding onto your struggle to breathe, the pain was immense at the sudden strech your velvety walls struggling to accomadate him more than usual, knuckle going white at how hard you held at the edge, sobbing openly now. He noticed your inability to take more, but too deep in to pull out now without hurting you further so he retorted into showing care the only way he know, through his commands “Saans lo” You wheezed coughing harder, “ Saans lo varna aur dard hoga” he rubbed one hand down your back, pressing soft kisses to your spine.
The pain subsided soon under him, leaving only faint ache behind, your cunt fluttering around his length, he took the cue and started snapping his hips hard jolting you forward, squashing your body into the freezing surface. The unrestrained force of it all had your head in a muddled state , the squelching of your flesh gripping his dick tight developing him in , his heavy balls slapping against your skin, obscene, wet noises bounced off the wall along with your long pleasured moans and repeated prayers of his name a proof to how much you were clearly enjoying it, being treated this nasty getting manhandled by a man twice your size putting you in place.
When you slacked off, the curve of your spine falling in the heat of your desire, he hand landed hard against the plump cheek of your ass a beautiful deep red blooming on your skin. “Arch” he spat out halting his movement , you blundered arching awkwardly the only way you knew- messy naively not ready to leave behind that shyness. He scoffed loudly, tutting, “tch” He wrapped your waves around his hand methodically pulling it back so your back dipped properly.
It felt so much deeper and bigger in this position ,it always did knocking all the air out of her, body going still for a movement.
“ You feel it jaan? Feel how its breaking you” You whine, your knees jelly going numb in the water “ Still want to fight” You nodded a small nod just to see how he would react, why did you do that again? , another harsh spanked, another harsh tug and he started rutting into you frantically, he was crumbling your walls, his thrust so vigorous completely splitting you from inside out.
The water rippled in the tub sequenced with his movements, hand hauling you keeping you pliant and still by all means, spitting on your back watching it drip down to the partition of your ass cheek down blending into the natural lubricant of your cleft, an act so filthy it made you pause even in your dazed state. The urge to flee back, renewed in shame, floundering pathetically, “Choro!”
He grumbled needing to fuck the defiance out of your body, resting whole his weight on you, the knot coiled tight in your stomach at his dominance, squeaking out moans with the jabs of his dick.
He flexed one hand hovering above her throat before tightening it, growling low in her ear "Tum itni khoobsurat ho, kya tumhein dikhta nahi ke tumne mujhe kis qadar pagal kar diya hai? Jab tak main tumhein chhoo na loon, mera dam ghootne lagta hai,jab tak tumhein mehsoos na karun mujhse saans nahi li jati, aur agar tum door raho toh yeh dard aur bhi na-qabil-e-bardasht ho jata hai.” You barely could say anything, mumbling his name incoherently, “ Need to come? Then say it, don't act shy now” he plunged in deep, “ Ah-” “Say it y/n or I stop”
You gathered your words stuttering them out in needy whimpers, “Please U-U-Uzair I nee-need you”
The rest was the pleasure flooding hot and white, his thrust timed with way he handled your swollen clit, making you release in no time screaming desperately , letting out thoughts you didn't even know had nestled into your head, “Fuck yes yes yes make me yours Uzair!” that was the last straw and he painted your tight walls with the spurts of his cum,groaning deeply, almost animastically, hips stuttering to ride out both of your orgasms.
You went mush against his body, loud cries wrecking through your frame, he didn't pull out but flipped you back to face him, watch your lips tremble, chest heave with the overwhelming mix of emotions. He tucked you into his chest, pressing your face against his pounding heart letting you know he was just as overwhelmed as you are, “Shh it's okay, you did so well” He brushed the sweaty lock out of your face, “Meri jaan”
a/n- yoo this was supposed to be one shot, par iske two part banane padega cause i dont think i did justice to the yandere part, isko thoda reach mile toh I will think about it, geniuenly not used to writting this stuff plus extra sleepy and hungry kuch galat likha hai toh ignore kardena. Love you guys, goodnight or goodmorning
Girl please do headcannons pt 2 Pritam Parker .and make it long 😭❤️
PRITAM PARKER HEADCANNONS PT.2
Boyfriend!Pritam who loves taking you to a quiet, secluded beach spot past midnight when his mind is racing, setting his laptop aside in the sand, and resting his forehead against yours while the sound of the ocean waves drowns out all the noise in his head.
Boyfriend!Pritam who pulls you onto his lap in the middle of the afternoon while he’s fixing a minor bug, wrapping his long left arm around your waist like a human belt, resting his chin on your shoulder and softly humming along to a slow acoustic track while his right hand lazily moves the mouse.
Boyfriend!Pritam who gets hyper-fixated on making sure you’re warm, instinctively tugging the heavy duvet up over your shoulders in the middle of the night, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck, and letting out a deep, contented sigh the second you settle back against his chest.
Boyfriend!Pritam who gets hopelessly distracted while helping you dry your hair after a rainy scooter ride home, taking the towel from your hands to gently wipe the stray drops off your face, completely stopping what he’s doing just to stare at you with that quiet, worshipful intensity in his eyes.
Boyfriend!Pritam who loves sitting on the cold kitchen floor with you at 2 AM, sharing a single bowl of late-night maggi while you’re both wrapped in a shared oversized blanket, feeding you the first bite with a soft smile before kissing the corner of your lips.
Boyfriend!Pritam who will softly trace the knuckles of your hand with his thumb while driving his scooter with the other, periodically bringing your hand up to his lips to press a slow, lingering kiss against your skin whenever the traffic slows down.
Boyfriend!Pritam who drops all his analytical, sharp tech-genius defenses the second you run your fingers through his messy hair, his eyelids immediately growing heavy as he buries his face in your lap, completely letting you hold him until his fast-paced world comes to a complete standstill.
Boyfriend!Pritam who sets his alarm ten minutes early every single morning just so he can lie in the dim dawn light and watch you sleep, trailing the lightest touch of his fingertips along your cheekbone, smiling to himself before pulling you as close as physically possible to melt into a few more minutes of cozy warmth.
Boyfriend!Pritam who will randomly pause in the middle of talking about something to cup your face in both hands, look at you like you hung the stars, and whisper a soft, out-of-nowhere "i love you so much, you have no idea" before kissing your forehead.
Boyfriend!Pritam who loves resting his head on your chest while you read, closing his eyes to just listen to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat because to him, it's the only sound in the world that brings him total peace.
Boyfriend!Pritam who gets super protective and soft when you're sick, making sure your pillows are perfectly fluffed, hovering over you with hot tea and chicken soup made by his dadu, and refusing to leave your side even if he has a mountain of work waiting for him.
Boyfriend!Pritam who secretly writes little hidden easter eggs into his personal coding projects—tiny lines of hidden code that translate into soft love notes and your name, just so a piece of you is forever embedded into everything he creates.
Boyfriend!Pritam who loves slow-dancing with you in his tiny living room at midnight with no lights on, just the soft glow of the city through the balcony doors, resting his cheek against yours and swaying so slowly that time completely stops.
Boyfriend!Pritam who gets flustered all over again when you wear his oversized plaid shirts, watching you walk around the house with the sleeves covering your hands, completely unable to wipe that proud, goofy grin off his face.
Boyfriend!Pritam who will reach out in his sleep to check if you're still there, his hand blindly searching the mattress until his fingers tangle with yours, letting out a soft sigh of relief the second he feels your touch.
Fiancé!Pritam who had planned the absolute most intricate proposal—complete with a custom digital coded website, a private beachfront setup, and a long, meticulously rehearsed speech about how you are his life and he will never leave you.
Fiancé!Pritam who lost his entire train of thought the exact second you walked up to him in the ocean breeze, his mind completely glitching, dropping all his smooth lines when the moment actually comes. He completely short-circuits, stumbles over his words so bad you can barely understand him, loses his entire train of thought, and just drops to both knees in the sand holding up the ring box, wide-eyed and begging, "pleaseeee... please marry me."
Fiancé!Pritam who hid his glowing red face in your stomach while you laughed, cried, and pulled him up to kiss him, his long arms wrapping around your waist like a lifeline as he kept whispering "thank you, thank you, thank you" into your neck.
Fiancé!Pritam who gets relentlessly mocked by Pedro Sir at the station the next day, with Pedro loudly reenacting the proposal in front of the whole cyber cell, dropping to both knees, holding a coffee mug, and dramatically wailing, "PLEASEEE MARRY ME!" while Pritam buries his face in his desk, groaning.
Fiancé!Pritam who sits on the porch with Dadu, blushing furiously while Dadu sips his tea, pats Pritam's shoulder, and chuckles, "at least when your dad proposed, he stayed on one knee! you were so terrified she’d say no that you fell on both!"
Fiancé!Pritam who secretly loves being called your fiancé, practically puffing his chest out in pride whenever someone at the station asks about wedding preparations or refers to you as his bride-to-be.
Fiancé!Pritam who turns wedding planning into his personal mission, staying up till 3 AM organizing spreadsheets for venues and playlists, but insisting that every single major decision aesthetic wise is completely up to you because he just wants you to have your dream day.
Fiancé!Pritam who gets impossibly clingy and soft during the week leading up to the wedding, sneaking into your room late at night just to lie next to you, hold your hand, and trace your knuckles while whispering about how excited he is to wake up next to you every single day for the rest of his life.
Husband!Pritam who broke down into quiet, breathless tears the second the doors opened at the mandap and he saw you walking down the aisle, completely forgetting to breathe until Pedro Sir had to nudge his arm and whisper, "oye, saas le aur shant ho... woh teri hi hai."
Husband!Pritam who couldn't stop looking at the simple band on his finger during the entire reception, constantly sliding his thumb over the metal, looking over at you across the room with a goofy, worshipful smile that he couldn't wipe off his face if he tried.
Husband!Pritam who proudly introduced you to every single person as "my wife"—his voice dropping into a deeper, warmer register every time the word left his lips, practically glowing with quiet happiness.
Husband!Pritam who carried you through the door of your home on your wedding night, carefully setting you down before immediately wrapping both arms around you, burying his face in your neck, and letting out the deepest sigh of relief, knowing you were officially, permanently his.
Husband!Pritam who makes Sunday mornings sacred—waking up before you, making hot chai, and sliding back into bed to pull you flush against his chest, softly kissing your temple while the morning light filters through the sheer curtains.
Husband!Pritam who still gets flustered when Pedro Sir calls his phone on weekends and casually starts the conversation with, "haan, Mrs. Parkar ke pati, laptop chhod aur chai peene aa."
Husband!Pritam who sits on the porch swing every evening after work with Dadu, watching you tend to the balcony plants, his eyes soft and completely grounded as Dadu quietly whispers to him, "look at her... you done good, boy."
Husband!Pritam who looks at you in the quiet moments—when the world outside is loud and chaotic, when the station cases get heavy, or when it's just raining outside—and knows without a shadow of a doubt that you are his home, his peace, and his entire universe.
synopsis- Uzair holds Aslam daughter captive to use her as a scapegoat for information while she bewitches him with her softness to avenge her dead father
a/n- hello hello , second last part is here, last time very lowww engagement </3 i tried harder this time , lemme know if you like it
Trigger warnings- Age gap 32-21, gore, blood, voilence, p in v, possesiveness, cursing, unprotected( dont do that!), manipulative! reader, gentle to rough
The smell of the summer from his memories haven't felt so vivid in years, it didn't bring him joy- he was a weak kid who couldn't keep up with the boys his age, nobody wanted him on their team and soon enough the sidelines became the usual from him.But there was one warmth from the memories that remained, because he always had the benediction of running back home past the wearing off buildings and the bougainvillaea trees into his mothers arm.
Sleep was not a comfort it was a privilege, after all these years the vacant eyes of his mother's face had never left his mind. He had carried that pain for so long and then Rehman was gone just like that, he feared if there would ever be a day when he had not found himself one second away from collapsing and feared he would never feel that fall, feel the guilt less relief of letting go
Why did his world feel so much lighter now? He thought, stirring awake,confused at why the softness of his mother’s dream still carried into his reality.
His lips were glued to the side of your neck, one hand wrapped around your waist refusing to let you go at any cost.
He jolted away from the sensation, his head jumbling more to watch how your clothes had pulled down your shoulder and the scandalous amount of hickies he had left behind. He doesn't remember doing that
The last thing he remembered was watching you from the distance, the moonlight glided through the jhaali window, dripping down the line of your back, the small curve that dipped when your hands moved to unfasten your dori.
Was he really that tempted that he barged into your room like an animal and pressumbly fucked you into the mattress, he wish he had(cross) but he was still clothed and so were you almost… at least.
You mumbled
He forgot the wrongdoings, the calculation running in his head and his unblinking gaze locked onto your face, he saw the smallest of twitch of your eye brows, the movement shaping into furrow- you were fussing because he had pulled away.
Uzair was more than entranced to dive back in and uncover what he couldn't last night, cursing himself profusely for forgetting how your moans sounded but in a passing movement he remembered how he felt when he heard it.
It was a stubborn wave that refused to meet the shore but ended up washing at the same spot the others before it did, reaching farther than the last ones souse-ing the untouched parts of his heart even when it didn't mean to. The vehement sound of waves crashing much akin to her own thoughts fighting against each other but ending up at the same point regardless
It was the sweetest surrender he had ever heard of ,because even in your succumb he found his own destruction.
Uzair watched down to see the seeping wetness at his crotch and his hardness showing through the salwaar, he wanted kiss the parts of your breast that plunged out as you turned to your side, needed to see you wake with his name on your lips but he did not have excuse of intoxication now to touch you.
You had slept with the long realisation of what had happened, so when you did actually wake up up to him breathing heavily into your ear like cat. You were not embarrassed, but he was. His hand scratched at the back of his neck, looking at you who was unpashed by the severity of the situation.
It was horrible, his attempt at a apology was horrible “ Agar maine kuch badtameezi ki tumhare saath toh maaf karna” you sat up completely eyeing his body, from the planes of his chest down the way his kurta bunched at his stomach to his still prominent bulge. You smiled slyly, pressing forward the sole of your feet into lap, the soft skin pressing right at his erection. His voice died in his throat, his eyes widening before going hooded with the unfamiliar pleasure.
“ Dimaag kharab hai tera?” “ Kyu? kya hua?” You asked sweeten-ing your voice, staring at him dumbly but your feet contained that shameless movement, acting as if you were just resting your feet there while you rubbed one foot up and down slowly on the whole of his length. Uzair did not know how to react, his body locking in place, hands fisting into the old sheets. He endured the rhythm for a few seconds, felt how the warmth of your small sole provided a vile friction over the damp spot on his most intimate place. He sustained and you found your thrill in his muffled grunts.
The fabric tickled your skin, you were experienced;yes but it took a lot for you to pretend that this was not making you nervous. For you and Rehan intimacy was naive and was only an addition to your curiosity amidst your budding love, you had never used it as a weapon, you had never acted this boldly. And when the hardness against you felt too real, your own breath hitched. He lunged forward grabbing the already slipping off kurta with an intensity that you were sure the worn out fabric was going to meet its end today.
You shrieked loudly, the sun had been up for hours now and apart from you both slacking off the house was in its usual chaos and your voice carried out to the staff followed by a deep grunt. “Dimaag kharab hai tera? Mere sabar ka imtihan mat le” He rasped watching your big eyes blink up at him “Mujhe is hadd tak mat jala, ek second nahi lagega mujhe tere kapde paadh kar tera jism be parda karne mei” You whimpered, your eyes teary with a reason that was far from fear. If anything you had felt a searing heat run through you with how crass he was being.
Your whimper catched attention outside and not even a few seconds later there was insistent knocking from outside “ Uzair? Uzair bhai aap andar hoo?” Siyahi was the one posing the question but you already knew all four of them were outside.
Uzair had been watching the same photographs for too long, finding himself to be miles away from the boy he saw in the photos, with almost always Rehman hand resting on his shoulder
The melodious natural sound of your brief giggle caught his ears, breaking the usual train of thought that he carried throughout the day. His eyes carried up the steep curved stairs, watching you share a laugh with the other left servants of the house.
He had never heard it before- it was just irritating, scraping at his ear or at least that's what he told himself le his legs remained stuck in place, eyes fixed on the woman he is supposed to hate. You had found some sort of temporary solace in holding conversation with the women who were somehow similar to you in many senses. The air had felt lighter for once in what felt like years before it was dampened again with the stare you could sense from feet away. ‘Would this be considered wasting my time instead of working?’ you met his eyes for a fraction of second, oh he was going to yell at you,wasn't he?
But he said nothing, just watched and somehow that was worse. He found ecstasy in all - at the giggle, the dance of your eyes when you realise had been caught, the smile that stuck to your face and how you had to force your lips down to a line. “ Neeche aa” He ordered clearly and everyone knew it was for you.
You glided down trying to ignore the mess of last night that still sat atop fresh marks over your neck. Uzair did not look like the same bothered man from the morning, you missed that look - it made you feel like you had some power. “ Kaam nahi karna tujhe? Joh upar khade hoke bakwaas kar rahi hai” He scolded harshly, his demeanor turning into the same brooding kadhoos man. You decided you needed to test the effects you had on him, holding your skittish nerves together, you gathered enough courage to tease him
“Aapko aise muh banane ke paise milte hai”
You smiled widely tilting your head up innocently and surprisingly his thin patience did not break at the first chime of your voice
“Ya fir hasne ke paise lagte hai?” you added more sweetly, blinking up at him.
“Bola na tujhe, muh mat lag mere” He muttered, you immediately followed “ Muh lagne ki baat aur aap-” He cut your teasing comment half way, pushing you into the wall by the stairs, with a white knuckle dying grip on your shoulder, “ Bola na dur reh mere se” His voice was strained as he pressed himself closer to you, not even trying to hide the insincerity of his own words.
Your breath grew quicker, cheeks flushing at the proximity, any one who would have passed by could have seen the compromising position you both were in. Lips inches away from each other, the oxygen you inhaled becoming a shared, mixed breath. You watched the silent temptation as his eyes kept sweeping to your lips, his expression on the verge of crumbling. Deliberately you darted out your tongue naively to wetten the plump surface of your bottom lip, his eyebrows furrowed in despair. He growled, pulling away suddenly; this man was mud in your hands.
The realisation was shared, what followed was Uzair accompanying all of your meals because he could not compromise the health of his captive, and lose his only source of information. Information, which he was clear you did not have at this point, but it worked as a great excuse to keep you in his haveli, because really you were the only thing keeping him sane. He did not need the high, he just needed to watch you exist
Your lower body was giving up at this point, second days of periods weren't generous to you. ‘Just one more room’ you told yourself, hoisting up your cramped body, each part aching with a different pain and the cold water on your hands only added to the misery. None of the women had sanitary napkins here. They advised you to put a cotton cloth instead of a pad and god it was uncomfortable. Each step made you dread if you were leaking, you were in to dust the last room when Uzair entered watching you from behind for long without saying anything.
You could feel the change in the air when he entered the room, remembered the sound of his footsteps and instantly cursed yourself for noticing it at all, “ Yeh kya laga hai” OH FUCK DID YOU LEAK? You turned to face him, your hand going to cover your backside “Kuch nahi!” You exclaimed.
His eyes narrowed, he tutted in disbelief crossing the room in one go. He hooked one hand at the crook of your knees, picking you up in a swift movement before you could start and protest at all. Uzair shifted to hold you close to his chest, uncaring if the blood from you stained his clothes. “Phele bolti tera mahina chal raha hai” “Utaaro mujhe aap, kya kar rahe ho”
He carried you through the aangan, in front of the servant's eyes , cradling you like a new bride and maybe you wouldn't have been so mortified if it was not in front of an audience but just the watchful eyes had you flushed and hiding in his chest.
He watched a strange knot twisting in his heart, if the circumstance would have been any different would you have ever even looked his way? He was aware of the visual difference of your ages but he could not bring himself to care. He wondered for a time if you really were his new bride, dressed in red and coveting in his chest, and that childish play pretend made him feel human for a second there.
Uzair gently lowered you into the mattress of your bed, you sighed in whatever slight comfort the rest to your back provided. “ Dard ho raha hai?” he asked his hand hovering over your abdomen before he finally gave in. His hands working efficiently to massage the hurt, “ Chal aaj kam mat kariyo, yahi pe reh mai thodi der mei aaya”
Why he had taken it upon himself to coddle you, you did not need it. You reminded yourself clutching at where it hurted, he got back in minutes his steps hurried outside the door and you also could tell he stopped outside the door to catch his breath and walk in slow like he was not rushing.
He handed the packet in your hands, you peeked inside to find the sanitary napkin and pain killers. You stared at him , considering his gawaar behaviour you did not expect him to be even a little informed on such things but alas a little sensibility from his side. You went inside the bathroom to change and by the time you were outside he had left the room, but there remained a small chocolate bar on the table. You hated him.
He watched you tease him thrice by now, poking fun at the way he was staring at your lips. Pulling you into a corner, Uzair let out his heart's content, kissing you hungrily for 5 long seconds before letting go with a pinch to your waist. After you still had the audacity to stick out your tongue, and run up the stairs before he could catch you.
Hamza raised his eyebrows but was used to the act by now, “ Isse puch yeh batayegi” “Kya kya?” You chimed in from above, Uzair ignored your attempt to throw him off track. “ Tujhe lagta hai yeh batayegi, dimaag kharab kar diya is ladki ne mera, lagta hi nahi isse pakad ke rakha hai yaha, dekho abhi kaise daant paadh rahi hai.Koi dar hi nahi hai”
😛- reader
After another long sigh, Uzair continued in hushed tones “ Dubai ki ticket ki hai, voh bhi bas iski akele ki”
You heard them continue talking, settling at the cold stairs when suddenly. The flight, the date it was booked- it was the day you had told your ‘father’ about your grades, about what you wanted to do. He heard it, he heard you for once and he gifted you for the first time just a few days after, didn't he? What you spent your whole childhood waiting for was finally going to be yours and it slipped right out of your hand, in front of your head, while you watched naively from the small opening.
Your heart churned with a feeling so vicious you did not know you had it yourself, you wanted the ceiling to crack open and fall at his neck , wanted to watch the blood spray out of his mouth, imagined the disfigurement of his face. That ruggish- handsome face ruined in the most gruesome way, the skin of his forehead cut enough to show the flesh inside, wanted to hear the last of his breath leave to give him the damnation of his actions, your ‘father’ told you once, you were his brave daughter and what kind of daughter would you be if you did not fight to avenge him till the last of life you had in yourself.
You wanted him dead, it was the same pain that made him kill your father- the pain of a life that you never got to live. You weren't different from him in many ways were you?but you did not have the exemption of strength or the freedom to go down the path of insanity, like he did. You only had yourself trapped inside his ‘shelter’ and then there was this other thing. Uzair wanted to be dead, the vacancy of his eyes spoke for itself at days and it was not hard to tell that he used violence to cope with what he had lost, giving him death would be like euthanising an animal stuck permanently in the bear trap- it would be relief not the retribution you needed it to be.
The sickly sweetness of death would only come when he had the hope of living in the first place, you had hated him in guileless ways for days but this was the reprisal for your conceit now, reprisal for the future you lost, reprisal for the father you lost. You were going to give him the hope of living.
Killing him wouldn't be easy since it was not practical in many ways and despite that he practically melted at the sight of you, he still had not let his guard down.
From all those instances you went through your childhood, you had subconsciously recollected one thing - pain was the only constant to bring people closer. Whether it was the blood of your uterus, the blood from your scraped knees, Or fevers that wouldn't allow you to get up from bed. You had seen Uzair pause at even the idea of your hurt, now you wanted to see him break at the sight of your blood.
Till now Uzair had supervised every conversation his men had with you, if he wasn't present Hamza would take the place in his stead, but the tension from earlier days has eased. You moved around the house more as a tired maid than you did as a captive so for once Uzair had let it be and had you sit down for a conversation with a man you neither recognised or knew. You had first planned the injury to be something that had happened due to his carelessness, from the way he tried to torture you with the overwork, maybe a cut from the kitchen knife?but you know what to do now. A wound inflicted from somebody else would result in a greater havoc, even if he did not remember the slurred words he said when he was high on toxins “ Meri hai tu, sirf meri” the idea was etched into his heart before he had even known it.
Disgusting, but you needed it now. You sat perched up on the couch with an attitude of a mountain, refusing to open your mouth as the man asked the same few questions you had learned by heart along with the new ones- where were your siblings? Honestly you did not know. You were still suffering with the melancholy of the collection of catastrophes your life was becoming, already drowning in envy that you did decide not to cut open your wounds yourself and ask them where they were going and despite how absurd it sounded to him, it was the very truth. You said out clearly “ Nahi mujhe nahi pata” He scoffed harshly, his patience running thin.
You were going to provoke him, “ Pata hota toh bhi nahi batati” that worked for Uzair for obvious reasons. He pulled at the end of your hair, the pain unbearable and for a brief moment you forgot this was what you wanted. Your body shuddered for once hearing the damned curses fly from his mouth “Kya samajhti hai khudko! Raand saali, voh Uzair na mard hoga mai nahi” “ Aihsiyat hi kya hai teri?” You spat before flinching back for the expected hit.
Your head snapped to the sound, the loud crack of his dirty hand touching your skin echoing loudly in the air, “ Joh karna hai kar lo mai kuch nahi bataungi” You said, holding in the crack of your voice and the actual terror that build up, but you needed to see blood before you gave up. “ Na mard hoga tu” He lunged forward, repeatedly striking the same side, holding your face to his when you couldn't keep up anymore, your body falling to the side.
Beads of red dropped at the sofa cover, the paisley design spinning in front of your eyes. Your mouth stinged with the fresh cut and the taste of blood was the same as you remembered it to be 15 years back, only the hurt could never compare.
Uzair had been occupied outside the house, when he entered he thought nothing of the silence but soon his footsteps graced the hall, the cigarette hanging loosely from his lips despite the slowness of his pace he was alert, and the first thing his eyes fell upon was you. You drinked down the winning smile looking up at him with a broken, scared expression, forcing your lips out further so the blood dripped out more pathetically down the slope of your chin. He stepped forward painfully slowly, stopping in front of you.
He lifted your chin up gently, the look in his eyes was crushing – it was fierce, it was crazy,it was protective , it was one you last saw in your abbu’s eyes and before you knew your expression crumbled itself under his careful caress, and you broke into a small scared sob.
His hand moved up, wiping the tears that rolled down before they left your face in a departure that was woeful as the bleeding sky, the burn of his finger sticking to your skin among the tears and blood in a heinous mixture that stirred need, you had not felt this wanted ever not in Rehan arms, not anywhere in the world.
What followed was Uzair efficiently lifting the man off his weight with a brutal grip on his throat, “ Kis se puch ke haath lagaya isse” You whimpered clutching your clothes to yourself like he had tried putting his hands on your dignity, Uzair anger augmented beyond limits. He did not need an explanation from him, anything said from your mouth, anything you conversed with your eyes was the gospel truth, it was Aini- e - Haqeeqat- a truth so unsullied it defined existence itself.
His hands wrapped furiously tighter till the man’s eyes bulged out, the choking wheeze spoke for his struggles and pleas that he could not even muster to get out of his throat. When the mere shutting of breath wasn't enough, Uzair sent the guy on the floor, immediately following a blow to his chest, with Uzair pressing his heavy boot with unrestrained force at his ribs. “Chua isne tujhe?” He asked you roughly over his shoulder, you nodded, your body shaking as you held your clothes tighter together. “ Jooth bol rahi hai yeh Uzair bhai-” He slammed his boot on his jaw unable to hear anything that called you deceitful, the action followed by a disgustingly loud crunch.
Uzair slammed the vase down from the table, getting holding of the sharpest,largest, piece his eyes scanned. “ Meri aurat pe haath pe daalega??!” he roared holding the man back down to the floor with a grip that paralysed him, fuming with fury he raised the sharp glass to stab it into his neck. He was going to do it, you could tell by the madness in his eyes. He was beyond reasoning, everything that has happened were a blur of movements, it was a testament to how little others life meant to him.
You couldn’t believe your eyes, he pulled back. Ulfat had made the rules of the house clear from the first day she had entered the haveli, ‘ No blood inside the house’ that single comment had stayed with him, throughout the years, she was the first person Uzair found the safety of home back in. Rehman had been his saviour but it was truly her who saved him, he yearned for her more than a blood child did for its mother, even in her absence her words were the absolute rule of the house like she still lingered around to complain when the house got to messy, or scold him when he returned him too drunk.
He watched you for another second, before gripping tight at the man's hair dragging him outside with him.You saw the chance, you needed it to happen. You needed for him to snap out of his restraint and finally have you, and what could have been more tempting than you already in his bed. Hurriedly you washed the blood off the dripped down your lips, but left some, enough to harness the pity that you needed from him right now. You could not bring yourself to remember what your definition of love was anymore, the time spent with Rehan faded with how hard your heart was beating for him right now. Did you really need to do this at this point? He already looked crazy enough for you at this point, but you still had not given him the taste of you, or the pleasure of your absolute surrender.
Outside Uzair mechanically slashed each finger off his hand, the one that dared to slap you. Separating each finger individually so the pain would extend, so he would feel half the pain he felt, seeing you like this. Uzair was aware how much he had taken from you already, the least he wanted was to keep you safe, keep you to himself and he failed at that, just like he had failed to save Naiem, just like he had failed to save Rehman.
Uzair panicked momentarily when you weren't where he had left you, but then his eyes caught at the deliberately half open door to his room, so he could see your trembling frame resting on his bed. The intimacy of you to sit on the mattress where he rested each night was more than sufficient for the familiar desire to pool in his stomach again, and you weren't any decent either, pulsing with need at how you could still feel his warmth ingrained into the bed sheets.
The room confined you both in, the air sticking to your skin. You watched him walk over to you, wiping the blood off his hand onto his kurta. When he reached the bed, he didn't springed to have you, like you would have expected and like you wanted, instead he stood at the foot for an agonisingly long movement, tracing the quiver of your lips the heave of your with his occult eyes. Your breath had become audible with impatience , only then he climbed up. The mattress sunk under his heavy weight, as he sat on his knees towering your frame with the devotion of a person that was on his last breath, praying to their khuda.
You weren't his khuda, but you were the divine in his eyes
Fanaiyat was the willing, blissful annihilation of one’s identity to merge with the divine, and what were you if not that noorani.
With the same prayer to dissolve into you, he cupped your face with his blood stained hand, “ Sorry” he whispered. You shook your head to assure him he wasn't the one at fault, closing your eyes. You heard his breath break before his lips finally descended against yours. The taste, the metallic smell of blood engulfed you both. You sat still for the first few seconds, feeling him caress the tender flesh with his, his lips often pausing at the fresh cut to carefully kiss the pain away. You kissed back, parting them open for his cordial slaughtering. His tongue swept into your mouth as he hung from your lips, his hands slid up the sensitive nape of your neck to tangle into the roots of your hair. The pull did not hurt, it just grounded you in place,in his arrest.
He pulled back after long to bury his head into the crook of your neck, breathing heavily to absorb your scent. His free hands slowly slid down the hard lines of your collarbone to the softness that called for him under the fabric of your kurta. He palmed one of your heavy chest into his large, weighing the fat and on cue the grunt from his lips vibrated against your skin. Uzair slammed his lips onto yours, only this time he couldn't hide under the pretense of gentleness, it was all tongue and teeth.
You gasped feeling the cloth between your legs getting embarrassingly wetter by each second, the scheming was still stuck to your head but the heat was also undeniable. With another grunt he was pushing up the kurta to bare your waist, pulling back from your swollen lips to pull the kurta over your head before slamming his lips against yours once again as if the brief partition almost killed him. His tongue scourged the inside of your mouth hungrily, his long fingers digging into your breast hard enough to leave behind red imprints shaped like his claim. He snagged the flimsy material of your bra in one go, with offence you bit at his lips.
“Puch toh lete”
You complained, but made no effort to stay away from his searing touch
“ Puchna toh gairo ka kaam hota hai”
He reckoned, eyeing the dark areolas before holding the stiff nipple in between his fingers. You whimpered on instinct, still finding the strength to complain
“Haq jata rahe hoo?”
You stuttered in arousal as he leisurely twisted the receptive nipple watching you with that same hunger, that same devotion.
"Tumne mauka diya” he voiced calmly, pushing you into the mattress slowly, searching your face for any sign of disapproval, contrary to his words.
"Haq jataya nahi jaata, haq cheen liya jaata hai. Aur tujh par toh mera poora ikhtiyar hai" You swallowed your breath, nodding in what was supposed to be deceit but you don't know who you were betraying him or yourself as another rush of wetness dripped at the lace of your panties.
Uzair was buried in your chest, sucking at the peaks with an insatiable hunger. Each swirl of his tongue made the knot in your stomach tighten, your clit pulsed at your fabric. You needed him, you needed him. You held his hand which was kneading your breast that wasnt under the torture of his mouth and took it down the line of your stomach. The amusement only stopped him for a brief second, he willingly swayed to your wish, pulling open the tie of your salwar in one go.
He pulled down panties, his undivided attention falling at your core. Your cunt was already slick, he devoured the sight of the wet lips that kept the entrance hidden for him and moved his middle finger adorned with the cold ring in between to separate open the inner lips and see the pulsing pink canal.
The silver grazed shortly at your clit as he worked his way up, “ Uzair please” You whined bucking your hip,he grounded you with the promise of his finger pressing firmly at your opening. He had only pushed in an inch when your walls clamped tight at his digit to suck him in. Uzair hissed, pulling back to directly plunge two fingers inside after he had realised you were already eased and ready for his touch, his thumb pressing and rubbing firm circles on your small bud. You arched into his touch, your small hand wrapping around his wrist to keep him there as you moved your hips to fuck yourself on his fingers.
Uzair couldn't handle the beauty, burrowing back into your neck. Sucking back the marks he once left at the slope of the side of your neck to its full glory, his cock was painfully hard but he ignored it for now. He had the whole night, his whole life to get his share right now he needed to see you come undone with his name on those heavenly lips. “ Dard toh nahi ho raha na?” He asked, increasing the pace of his thrusts, your soaking cunt splashed out more wetness that fell till his wrist, you did not need to answer the question anymore when your body was not holding back any chance to give him the evidence of his impact.
He watched you become a shaking mess as he curled his finger at your sweet spot, in the classic come-hither movement, sending sparks throughout your whole body. Your honey dewed voice carried to his ears and only he knew how much it took for him to not just slam into you then and there, he kept up the rhythm of his fingers coaxing you into a mind breaking orgasm as you finished over his fingers with his name slipping from your lips “ Uzair..hngh..yes”
His hand still left behind trails of blood that had not dried yet over your bare skin, the sight of him fully clothed pricked your eyes. You get yourself up just for the time to push up his clothes with him before falling back into the mattress with your legs spread open. He tangled one hand with yours, the other stroked his erect length, guiding it to your willing entrance. "Jo na kehna hai, abhi keh do. Baad mein main tumhara inkaar bardasht nahi kar paaoonga" " Haan” your breathed out, placing your delicate thigh over his hip inviting him in further.
Your velvety wall enticed his dauntingly huge length inside, you were only scared for the pain for a second but that delicious feeling of your walls stretching and wrapping around him washed away the last of doubts. You had never done it bare and certainly it burned not with pain but this a pleasure so delirious it made you feverish, eyes rolling back at fullness. Uzair's jaw was clenched at how you held him with a grip of a vice that only ruined a man further and further till the only thing he wanted was that same very cause of his ruination.
“ Uff jaan” he whimpered, body shaking to bury himself to the hilt, “ Aaram se” He gasped in a short plea as you tightened more around him, eventually he gave in. Thrusting all of him inside he stayed still to watch your crumbling expression.
He couldn't bring himself to start harshly so he instead dragged his length in out of you with precision. Each taut up veins brushed at your insides, the slow friction only amplified the weight of the pleasure. Soon you learned his rhythm, rolling back your hips to pull him in deeper into your pulsing cunt. “Uzair” You moaned, feeling the broad head touch at the spot that made your vision go white. When both of you couldn't endure the feeling alone, you latched onto each others mouth, swallowing whatever sounds that were to escape, finding comfort in the breath you were forced to share, he sped a little just so he could drive you to end and you did once again, coming on his cock.
There was not a drop of alcohol on his blood, just unfiltered possessiveness as he rested his whole weight at your back, crushing you into the mattress face first. His heavy hips smacked with yours from behind, the only sound was the loud ‘thwach’ of your bodies meeting in lewd dance. When you felt yourself slipping into the constant state of bliss as you can't even recall how many orgasms and peaks he had churned out of you by now, he turned you to the side abruptly.
Pulling on ankle on his shoulder (not before kissing the inside of your foot of course) he started pounding again, some of his cum had dried down, some of it still fresh and dripping down your rear, your back, your stomach and he elated at the sight of it. Your cunt had become a leaking mess, he slid in and out of you easily due to how sloppy you had turned down there, your cheeks flushed from being in the constant state of arousal. Despite all the release your walls had only started to thrum more at his length, tightening around him greedily still.
“Bas Uzair, ab hogaya” You fussed, barely opening your eyes
"Maine kaha tha na inkaar kar de... ab tu mujhe khud se door nahi kar payegi" He announced calmly before ramming into you harshly. Your eyes snapped open real quick
His jaw clenches at your desperate cries. A feral rumble of raw dominance vibrates deep in his chest as he tightens his rough grip on your hips. "Take it” He growled fiercely, burying his face against your neck as he snaps his hips in short hurried movement that squashed your insides.
You felt it in your gut, till your throat, your stomach bulging out obscenely
His fingers dig hard into your bare thighs, anchoring you down as he thrusts upward with brutal, unyielding force. Each sharp snap of his hips knocks another breathless sound from your throat, and a dark, possessive heat floods his chest at the noise "Meri jaan” he growls hoarsely, his rough thumb pressing against your racing pulse. You felt completely stuck in place, that only heightened your sense and with the last of the fight you had left, you deliberately squeezed him tighter, clenching your walls around him. He groaned loudly “ Ya allah”
He couldn't handle the teasing at all, at how you timed to clamp down on him as his tip touched at your cervix. He fit himself snug into your cunt, resorting to desperate grinding, making sure his pelvis rubbed at the bundle of nerves. His sounds were so raw so vulnerable as he mumbled nonsense about how tight you were, that he was going to die here, “ Meri jaan, meri y/n, meri jannat, ya khuda”
What followed was the shattering release, you just wailed eyes closing at how deep he felt,as if you will ever forget the stretch of him, your gummy walls allured him. Your tights walls quaking,gushing at him, he himself was long gone, unable to hold himself back from finishing inside you, releasing spurts after spurts directly into your womb, “ Y/N” he rasped out.
a/n- like kardo guys varna meri motivation ded ho jaati ,yeh mai ho desperate hoe, hope the smut was good mujhe toh nahi laga hahah
Anyone who believes in or follows the reservation hatao instagram page can unfollow me right now 🙏🏽 If you can sympathise with them, then you truly don’t understand why reservation is still so necessary for lower caste people
casteism is sadly still deeply rooted in our culture. just because YOU don't face it/see it, doesn't mean it's not real. stop being delusional. it's highly practiced in many places. check the news once in a while and see how many people are still shamed, ostracised, and literally killed over it. fighting for equality also includes giving provisions to people who are disadvantaged. if you're such an equality fighter, first stand to stop discrimination based on caste and other factors. i understand the frustration but whining about reservation won't do anything.
I'm sad how people don't understand why reservation exists, ask someone like me, whose ancestors were denied education until last 3 generation, education that was the basic right of every single person
Even after getting resignation of education minister this CJP and anti-hindu clowns keep spreading hate just saw a Clown talking about RSS a group which existed from the time of partition have always supported India and kept some extremist into check but now this CJP clowns are showing their real face by selectively targeting hindu and their beliefs they are slowly showing what they truly wants this clown will openly support Umar khalid an anti-nationalist who openly said Bharat tere tukde honge but will hate RSS who always supported India this show how brainwashed and retarted this people are
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