My second headcanon on tumblr hehe :3 , I’ve always been a fan of hybrid au’s in other fandoms (especially the smut heheheheh). So here’s my try to incorporate it in our dhurandhar bous 😼
Credit: @chai-ke-sath-parleg for some of them, as discussed in one of my posts comment section.
Wolf! Major Iqbal who is jaded and old from his years in the intelligence and military . Still striking nonetheless with his murderous fangs (one of them being golden) and intimidating demeanour , had ventured to the picturesque mountains of Azad Kashmir for an ISI mission….which had turned into a personal one of his own as his eyes land on Bunny! Reader — frolicking in the lush fields where eons had seen the spilling of blood from both sides. You a softening addiction and addition to the seasoned wolf’s life.
Wolf! Major Iqbal immediately takes refuge in your home, just to be closer to you. Your parents being more than happy to accommodate him as he was the community’s Messiah. While you on the other hand try to avoid him on every turn you see his jet black wolf ears or bushy unkept tail. Finding him terrifying for your bunny self, the way he stares at you as if he’s about to devour you … especially your twitchy cotton tail.
Wolf! Major Iqbal, who starts pursuing you insistently— in the sense that he loves to pull your little cotton tail and pinch those adorable bunny ears to gain your attention. Of course, he knows they are sensitive. That’s exactly why he does it: just to see that puffed-up cheek and pout of annoyance when you shoo him away while rubbing the sore spot.
Wolf! Major Iqbal who finally makes you open up to him by playing saviour — a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
On one of the rare sunny days, you had ventured to the village market for some sweet, juicy berries, only to be chased away by rough hybrids lurking in the shadows. Your terrified squeaks and cries had alerted the watchful Major, who, in no time, ripped them to shreds.
Wolf! Major Iqbal, who, after finally gathering you into his arms, found his rough hands trembling at the feeling of something so painfully soft and innocent tucked against his chest.
You cried quietly into his strong, comforting embrace, trembling as his scent — leather, gunpowder, and expensive oud — wrapped around you like safety itself, his large hand gently petting your impossibly soft ears while murmuring reassurances under his breath.
So overwhelmed by the warmth of finally being protected, so utterly drowned in his careful gentleness, you failed to notice the dangerous glint hidden deep within his tired eyes — that quiet, possessive sort of obsession blooming as he held you closer, already unable to imagine letting you go.
Wolf! Major Iqbal who’s territorial about your scent too. If another male’s smell lingers on you from that day forward—even from a handshake—he drags you to the nearby stream, strips you naked, comforting you with the context it’s normal for lovers to do this, and bathes you himself. Then he scents you again, head to toe.
Wolf! Major Iqbal when the moment your eyes well up, his cock twitches. He loves how vulnerable you look, how your pouty lips quiver, how your small body shakes when youre overwhelmed. From whatever has troubled you that day. He’ll push you past your limits just to see that sweet, wet face.
Wolf! Major Iqbal’s mind goes into a haywire the first time he sees you wearing his olive-green military jacket, his breath catches in his throat and his cock thickens instantly. The worn fabric swallowing your tiny bunny frame so completely that the sleeves hang past your fingertips and the hem brushes your knees, making you look even smaller. He stalks toward you with that predatory stillness in his shoulders, ears pinned flat, dark eyes burning as he circles you slowly, taking in the way the jacket carries his scent—leather and oud—mingling with your soft, sweet bunny smell. He growls low in his chest, grabbing the lapels and yanking you against him, pressing his nose into the collar where your neck meets the fabric, inhaling deeply, almost drunkenly. He loves when you wear his clothes.
It’s cute how clueless you are about the blood of enemies that has splattered in the olive green cloth, thinking of it as nothing but a curry stain.
Wolf! Major Iqbal who loves you being tucked against him, whether it be you sitting on his lap or spooning against him. Your warm presence a comforting rest against the cold world.
He made you sit on his lap one day, while the house was an abode of silence, your parents being out for the day in the mountains. Petting your little tail, his ears twitching in predatory excitement while you cry like the little cry bunny you are.
Your parents had made you drop out of college due to the rising tensions in your locality, you being hidden from the fact that it was the major who convinced your parents for it.
His future plans including you as his little bunny bride, decked with finery in his Clifton mansion.
Wolf! Major Iqbal who comforts by whispering filthy promises into your floppy ears: “Gonna put a litter in you, little bunny. Gonna see your belly swell with my pups and bunnies.” He’s obsessed with the fantasy of you round with his young, your nipples dark and tender, as you prepare to nurse.
Just one more day, and he’ll ask your parents for your hand. They will be elated to hear his proposal. After all…he is a Major and you? A dumb little bunny.
The little boy couldn’t have been more than a year old, but he had already managed to do what no rival gangster in Lyari ever could: completely push Rehman Baloch out of his own bed.
You were sitting up against the headboard, humming a soft tune, completely engrossed in cradling your son. He had his tiny, chubby hands fisted in your kurti, nursing sleepily. You were so focused on him that you barely noticed the heavy, thudding footsteps entering the bedroom.
Suddenly, a large, looming shadow fell over the bed. Rehman stood there, his jaw clenched, arms crossed over his massive chest. He wasn't looking at his son with fatherly pride; he was glaring at the infant like the kid had just stolen his favorite territory.
"Abhi tak nahi soya yeh?" Rehman grumbled, his deep voice rough and thoroughly irritated.
You looked up, suppressing a smile at the sheer absurdity of his expression. "Sone hi wala hai, Rehman. Dekhiye kitna pyaara lag raha hai."
Rehman climbed onto the bed, his heavy frame making the mattress dip. Instead of keeping his distance, he crawled right up behind you, wrapping his thick arms tightly around your waist and pulling you flush against his chest. He buried his face in your neck, biting gently at your skin to mark his presence.
"R-Rehman, rukiye... bacha jaag jayega," you whispered, your inner 'burger bachi' still easily flustered by his raw dominance.
"Jaagne do," Rehman growled against your skin, his large hand moving up to possessively cover your other breast, squeezing gently. "Jab se yeh aaya hai, tumhare paas mere liye waqt hi nahi hai. Din bhar isko pakad ke rakhti ho."
"Aap apne hi bache se jal rahe hain?" you teased softly, turning your head to look at him.
Rehman’s dark eyes locked onto yours, blazing with that familiar, intense obsession. "Haan, jal raha hoon. Lyari ka badshah hoon main, meri jaan, aur tum meri malika ho. Isiliye is kamre mein, is jism par, aur tumhare is narm..."while kneading the swell of your breast roughly "sabse pehle aur sabse zyada haq sirf mera hai. Isko jaldi sulao, mujhe meri rani chahiye."
A/N: right so I hate this. like absolutely hate this. I will probably delete this. had to thug it out and finished it(took me three week btw) and its garbage but alas it is effort im not willing to let go. have fun reading it--if you guys hate it, feel free to let me know! if you oddly like it--well let me know too because I appreciate both perspectives. im truly exhausted but ive got some fun ideas cooking up of you guys if you all would still wanna read my work after this monstrosity :o enough of my rambling, please please enjoy this piece!
I high recommend listening to Saiyaara[Tanishk Bagchi], Javeda Zindagi[Kshitij Tarey], Jhol[Mannu], Nafrat[Darshan Raval], Duaa[Nandini Srikar] and any other sappy song as it will heighten your reading experience! please ignore any grammar mistakes, spelling mistakes and/or anything else that's faulty(I'm tired) okiii byeeeee mwah mwah mwah
Genre: Uzair Baloch x Reader
Word Count: ~5800 words
*Disclaimer: all characters, topics, themes mentioned within this work do NOT affiliate with the plot and history of Dhurandar. This story does NOT glorify, support, and/or fantasise about the real-life equivalents(nor their action) of the movie characters aka Uzair Baloch, Rehman Dakait, and all else involved. Please be advised of its fictitious nature.*
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2 years. 730 days. 730 glances. 730 kisses. 730 smiles. 730 promises. The earth revolves around its sun twice in that frame. He, however, stood stagnant for the first time in 730 days– for he had lost his sun all together.
Uzair couldn’t grasp when he had started taking her for granted but god, oh god, would offer his bleeding heart at stake just to keep her.
Y/N sat impatiently on Uzair’s bed, draped in a simple black saree dusted with faint gold flecks that caught weakly under the bedroom light. It was her mother’s saree; Uzair’s favorite. Tonight was supposed to be theirs. Y/N had finally completed her third year of medical studies, Rehman bhai’s years of labor within Lyari had finally begun bearing fruit, the kind sweet enough to let Uzair breathe on his own terms for once.
Yet somehow, he still couldn’t.
The room sat heavy beneath the suffocating heat. Lyari was notorious for its clammy nights, but this felt different… artificial… as though the resentment Uzair held was seeping into the hot air locked within. Uzair paced slowly-footsteps uneven against the floor, phone pressed tightly against his ear while the veins on his arms protruded, hinting at his agitation during the call. One moment he was still by the window, the next he turned sharply again, dragging frustrated fingers through his damp, humidity-clung hair before snapping at the voice on the other end.
His jaw remained locked, grinding his teeth to halt the frustration threatening to spill out of him. Each exhale grew sharper than the last. Y/N followed every movement from the edge of his bed, hands fidgeting on her lap. At first, she watched him with concern. Then slowly, quietly, she sank into herself in understanding.
She had lost him to someone else yet again.
Three weeks. Three weeks since they had been allowed uninterrupted time together, and even tonight, when the world had finally slowed enough to hand them a few hours of peace, she sat waiting for him to finally look at her.
His kurta clung to his back with sweat as he halted by the window once more, completely consumed by the conversation refusing to end. The pale light from his phone sharpened the exhaustion beneath his eyes. He never noticed her stand as she pushed herself off the bed quietly, her saree brushed faintly against the floor tiles as she walked toward the bathroom in resignation.
The flickering bathroom light stung, highlighting the taunting reality of her state. She stared at herself in the mirror. Her curls had long since fallen loose, softened by the stuffiness and hours of waiting. The glitter around her eyes no longer caught light the way it had earlier. Her lipstick had faded nearly two shades lighter than before-applied carefully in hopes of leaving traces of herself across Uzair’s skin. Maybe behind his ear; across his jaw if he was lucky enough.
But only her efforts remained visible and this time she didn’t bother fixing it.
Quietly, she reached up to remove her jhumkas. The metal clinked sharply against the marble sink, the sound mocking her hope. Y/N paused for a moment, trying to find a sliver of light in the enclosing darkness that had started to grow over their bubble. Then her fingers drifted toward the delicate سُکون (sukoon) necklace resting against her neck. Her fingertips paused against the clasp. Uzair had fastened it on her birthday, fingers fumbling slightly while he avoided looking directly at her afterward. Safe haven. Security. That’s what he had accepted her as in his life.
Tonight, the chain felt sturdier than whatever held them together. She unclasped it slowly, wincing faintly when a strand of hair caught against the hook before slipping free.
From outside, she heard his curt “Khuda hafiz” followed by the rustle of fabric and the dull sound of pacing resuming almost immediately after. He was probably dragging his hands through his hair again, trying to regain control over whatever had stolen him away this time.
Y/N looked at herself one final time in the mirror. Less adorned now, easier to disappear into the night.
She stepped back into the room softly, and Uzair still hadn’t looked up. She made her way quietly toward the bedroom door, fingers wrapping carefully around the handle, hoping to slip away without interruption.
“Chalo. Waise hi time kaam hai.” Uzair directed, his eyes still fixed on his phone while his thumbs moved hurriedly across the screen. The collar of his kurta had darkened, a sign of his weariness, fabric wrinkled heavily around his forearm from how long he had held the phone there.
Y/N said nothing. Her fingers tightened around the handle again hoping to disappear. Only then did he finally look up.
“Y/N?” agitation still lingered beneath his voice.
“Hm?” she answered softly, turning toward him.
His gaze dropped immediately toward her hand curled around the handle.
“Kahan jaa rahi ho?”
“Ghar” she admitted quietly.
He looked at her. Really looked. Her hair, once curled neatly down her back, was now dull. A few strands frizzed around her face. Her lipstick had nearly disappeared. The glitter around her eyes no longer caught the light in his periphery.
Then his gaze shifted lower. Her neck was bare. His necklace was gone. Something about its absence irritated him even more.
“Tum kahin nahi jaa rahi ho.” The firmness came slower now.
“Uzair, main-”
“Hum dono bahar jaane wale hain.” He adjusted his damp collar absentmindedly while stepping toward her, as though the night could still be salvaged if they simply continued where they had left off.
“Der ho gayi hai…”
“Kya?” he halted at her mutter.
“Der ho gayi hai.” a pause.
She pulled the bedroom door open not wanting to explain herself further, but Uzair reached it before she could leave, pushing it shut with a sharp thud against the frame.
“Yeh kya befazool ka natak kar rahi ho? Jaa rahe hain na bahar?” he snapped at her, frustrated, as though she were the difficult one.
Y/N finally broke “Nahi jana mujhe bahar! Samajh nahi aa raha ya phir behre ho?”
“Kyun nahi jana? Huh? 5 minute kisi se baat kya kar li kaam ke baare mein, tum apna chehra mukaar logi?!”
“5 minute?! Yeh sab 5 minute ki rukawat thi?” She flailed her hands around the room to highlight their disheveled state.
“To agar mera kuch kaam aa gaya, usme kya masla hai tumhe? Abhi bhi jaa sakte hain bahar… yahi chahti thi na tum?” His voice rose in agitation, reminding her that this had been her plan.
“Ehsaan mat karo mujh pe. Bheek nahi maangi thi maine tumse… waqt guzarne ka mann tha, lekin tumhe fursat kahan hai humare liye?!” she countered, matching his level, yet shocked by his nerve. How dare he?
“Fursat hai, issi liye tumhare saamne abhi khada hua hun.” He stepped closer to her in defiance, narrowing his eyes, daring her to continue this fight.
“Mat khade raho phir! Waise bhi kya haasil-”
“Minaat kyun karwa rahi ho?! Raat khatam nahi hui hai–tumhe samajh nahi aa raha?! Thodi si der kya ho gayi… main nahi kar sakta tha isko ignore.” His tone rose while he attempted to bargain weakly.
“Kar sakte the, Uzair.”
“Tumhe zyada pata hai?” He snapped at her audacity.
She blinked, wounded by his insinuation; This conversation was spiraling.
“Nahi… mujhe kuch nahi pata hai, lekin itna zaroor bol sakti hun ki tum humein…” she pointed between their heavy souls, “…prioritize nahi karte.”
“Ky-” He faltered at her accusation, eyebrows drawn in disbelief. “Kaam sambhal raha tha– isme mujhse kaunsi galti ho gayi? Batao.” He seethed.
She knew he wouldn’t listen to her words; far too prideful to engage, so she retreated. As always.
“Kuch nahi hai batane ko. Main…” she sighed and nodded apologetically, “main jaa rahi hun apne ghar…baad main baat kar lenge… khayal rakhna.” She crossed past his shoulder and reached for the door handle.
“Zyada nata-”
“Uzair, bas!” she cried “Bohot ho gaya. Nahi hota mujhse ab intezaar.” admitting agonizingly, blurry eyes meeting his unfocused ones. “Zindagi ruk gayi hai meri tumhare peeche bhaag bhaag ke. Thak gayi hun main!” She finally faced him, pleading for relief.
“Y/N-” he tried calling for her, shocked at her outburst.
“Aur kitna wait karun main…” Her lips trembled, hoping he’d understand her plight.
Something flickered across his face at her admission: worry, fear. What did she mean? Red tinted his gaze as he stared at her worn-out frame, struggling to make sense of the pain she was insisting upon. Wait? Wait for what? He had always been there for her- day and night. Whenever she needed him. What more could she want from him? Everything was hers already.
These thoughts ached inside him, fueling his growing animosity for the wasted night even more. How could she dismiss his efforts so easily…especially when he was trying to make up for their lost time. Before his heart could make sense of anything, his ego took over, twisting her words into a misunderstanding he no longer wanted to address.
“Theek hai. Jana hai to jao. Main nahi rokunga.”
She finally took a breath in relief. He heard her for the first time.
“Lekin tum aaj gayi, to phir wapas aane ki jurat mat karna.” He shrugged detachedly, hiding his trembling hands in the cold pockets of his kurta.
Y/N’s eyes widened at his ultimatum. Did he just…He did not mean that. He couldn’t have.
“Uzair tum yeh k-” she tried to amend but was only met with his averted gaze and taut shoulders.
Uzair couldn’t have cared less to hear her out.
Her posture stiffened at his uninterest. He was far too old to be playing these games with her but if he wanted to end it right here-right now…so be it.
“Theek hai. Behtar hoga,” she agreed curtly. This was it. “Ab tumhe apna keemti waqt mujh pe zaya nahi karna padega…” she noted while exiting his room without turning back.
Uzair felt paralyzed at those words. He hadn’t expected her to concede… shit.
The door remained slightly ajar, swaying faintly as the sound of her heels faded farther into the distance. He simply stood there, eyes foggy yet fixed on the spot where she had stood seconds ago. His heart recoiled-feet scrambling past his barricading bedroom door, hoping to catch the glimmer of his favorite saree and drag her back to him- beg for her forgiveness, but he was met only by the flickering candlelight decorating the haveli hallways.
His body had moved too late.
She was gone.
Y/N had left…and he had let her.
Month 19 [Day 30] Lyari – Karachi, Pakistan
A month had passed by since that night. A month since he had seen her. heard her. held her. Uzair hadn’t been functioning well since that hour. Restlessness clinging to his nerves- eyes frantically searching for her in everything he did.
Walking through the market with his bhabhi? He would lead himself astray–stopping at the shops she was a regular at.
Driving past any hospital? He would slow down his jeep, hoping to catch her walking home after class.
Playing football with Faisal? He would miss the goal. Body unmoving; convinced she was nearby because he was being drawn by her perfume–lillies.
Uzair’s descent to madness didn’t go un-noticed. His friends found him taking detours during their drives- conveniently driving past her streets. Rehman bhai often caught him writing scattered syllables on work order receipts: her name etched in his conscience. Ulfat bhabhi noticed his worst: when the jittery tremors tugged him to her college. Every Wednesday. 6:30pm. Sharp. Making him wait outside the rusted metal gates–a make shift hurdle– just for a glimpse of her. A fleeting chance to have her back. Yet when his drunk form was dragged back into the haveli on those nights…Ulfat knew he had lost himself again.
Most nights he’d settle in his balcony, after the familial commotion had hushed. A cup of chai rotting cold on the table as two cookies lay limp in the tray–as though the accessories were chosen to lure her back to him. He’d wait. Patiently. Succumbing to his guilt. Legs crossed on the sofa, cushion hugging tightly against his gnawing heart like a hopeful kid–fighting sleep in fear that he would miss her in case she did come back, to him the peace offering, during the silent hours. But she never did. And by dawn the chai and cookies were cleared–as was his himmat.
Uzair was running desperate. Her untouched jewellery glimmering under the dull bathroom light haunted his every sleep. How had he said those words so easily? Why didn’t he take them back? What else could he do? He would give her space - he would give her anything, dammit, if only she would let him. If only he could find her again.
He had left no stone unturned in his search across Lyari, seeking her warmth like a shivering puppy, but it was as though she had vanished. Where was she?
He needed her.He needed her.He needed her.
And if there was a god kind enough to answer his every waking, pitiful prayer, then Uzair’s sukoon would be brought back to him.
Month 20 [Day 18] Lyari- Karachi, Pakistan
Wednesday [7:30PM]
Uzair sat on the veranda floor, his back pressed against the couch for support. It was the first Wednesday he hadn’t rushed to her college…His energy had long since faded. He nursed his second glass of whisky (a surprisingly small amount for him these days) while mindlessly turning her necklace between his fingers, its engraving mocking under the setting sun. Another month had passed without her. He wondered if she missed him as much as he did. Did she lie awake at night, haunted by their words? Maybe she had stood outside the guarded haveli gates, unable to make herself step inside.
Rehman bhai and Ulfat bhabhi exchanged quiet whispers behind him, glancing wary looks in his direction, but Uzair remained lost to it all. He sat numb to his surroundings, deciding that his sorrows were worth more than reality.
The haveli gates creaked as Donga’s entrance boomed across the open area where the family was dispersing. He whispered short salutations across while making a headway straight towards Uzair, settling on the couch against which the lonesome boy was frozen. Donga tilted his head in curiosity as he took in his friend’s unmoving state. He gave a quick, unamused, glance over to a retreating Rehman before grabbing Uzair into a chokehold and vigorously shaking him around.
“Ullu ke pathe, nikal iss dukh se-kitna rona dhona kaarega tu?” he loudly complained while giving Uzair a slap against the back of his head. Uzair just sat there, allowing himself to be swayed. Donga let go of the chokehold at Uzair’s lack of resistance with a sigh.
“Aa jaye gi bhabhi… chinta mat kar…” his voice softened. “Chal, bahar chalte hain.” He nudged while peering down to meet the wilted gaze staring blankly ahead. “Woh angrezi mein kehte hain na…‘my treat.’ Waahi hoga.” he coaxed further, forcing a cheeky grin and clapping his back in encouragement , hoping to break Uzair’s trance. Uzair reluctantly nodded and stood up. Maybe going away from Lyari for a bit wouldn’t be too terrible. Maybe his luck would finally shine. Maybe he’d come across her.
“Waise bha-” Donga continued, helping Uzair stand up when he was interrupted. Hamza stumbled through the entrance–wide-eyed. Breathless. panicked. His chest heaved violently beneath his kurta as he tried to find Rehman bhai, but Uzair barely noticed any commotion. His eyes locked onto the small red-tinted card crushed tightly in Hamza’s fist.
Something inside Uzair was unsettled.What happened? Did Hamza find her? Was she finally back? Was that a note from her?
He slowly stepped toward Hamza, unable to quiet the frenzy building inside him. “Woh kya hai, Hamza?” he asked softly.
Hamza instinctively tried hiding the card behind his back. Unmissed. Why would Hamza do that?
“T-tere li-”
“Hamza.” Uzair stepped closer. “Haath mein kya hai?” His voice came quieter this time.
Hamza looked toward Donga for help, subtly shaking his head no, as if warning him the conversation waiting ahead was not meant for Uzair to hear. Donga immediately picked up on it. Uzair stood between the two scheming men, eyes still glued to the red-colored paper hiding in plain sight.
“Uzair bhai, iska chhoro na, hum cha-” The glare Uzair shot at him was enough. Stay out of this.
“Mu band rakh.” Uzair snapped, gaze never leaving Hamza’s.
Hamza’s grip tightened around the now-crushed card, palm growing sweaty beneath it. Uzair continued stalking toward him slowly, hand extending out.
“Bhai, meri baat sun le-” Hamza retreated backwards. One step. Then another. Trying to create space between them.
“Kya chhupa raha hai tu mujhse?” Uzair’s agitation heightened with every step forward.
“Tere liye nahi hai, baat samajh” Hamza insisted weakly. But Uzair had reached his limit.
He grabbed Hamza by the collar roughly and shoved him against the nearest brick wall of the veranda. Hamza’s breath hitched. Uzair stared into his dilated eyes, already knowing his best friend was hiding something pivotal. His grip tightened against the collar as he tried snatching the paper away, but Hamza quickly hid his hand behind his back.
That only enraged Uzair further. “Hamze.” His jaw clenched. “Haath dikha.”
“Main nahi kar sakta… tere liye nahi hai yeh.”
“Yeh kya bakwaas laga rakhi hai tune?!” Uzair barked, shoving him harder into the wall. “Itni jaldi mein kyun bhaga andar aur card kyun chhupa raha hai?!”
Yet Hamza remained still. “Rehman bh-”
“Nahi hai yahan. Ab bol.”
“Uzair, please meri-”
“Dikha mujhe!”
Uzair pressed him harder against the wall, forearm tight across his neck before finally snatching the godforsaken paper from Hamza’s hand.
Hamza immediately tried grabbing it back. Too late.
Uzair stepped back slowly, letting go of his captive as he unfolded the crumpled red card. Donga glanced toward Hamza, ready to intervene, but Hamza widened his eyes sharply at him. No.Not now.
“Uzair, woh Rehman bhai ke liye ha-” Hamza tried again desperately.
“Bol m-” Uzair’s words died the second the card opened fully in his hands. Gold lettering sewn delicately across the center.
Y/N
Weds
Fawad.
Y/N. His Y/N. Weds…
The world went silent. Uzair stood frozen. Chest tight, breath hitched, fingers gripping the invitation for support. His heart had stopped, yet his mind ran rampant trying to make sense of the horror before him. Short breaths pulsed unevenly through him as the growing hollowness slowly spread through his being.
The card trembled faintly in his hands as his eyes dragged over the gold lettering again. Slower. Frequent. Burning. As if the words would disappear if he stared hard enough. Hamza noticed immediately, stepping forward to steady him, but halted the second he met Uzair’s ruined eyes.
“Y-yeh…” his voice cracked softly. “Kab?” ache carried through his tone.
“Aaj…” Hamza swallowed.
Uzair felt his nerves tremble violently beneath his skin, mind incapable of accepting that his sukoon could ever do something like this.
Two months. Two months of waiting. Aimless drives. Bloodshot eyes fixed on empty roads. He had mapped out the entire land for her. Had not slept for her. Had barely lived. Only for the hope he followed to lead him here?
No. Nononononono. He wouldn’t let this happen.
Before either of them could stop him, Uzair shoved past Hamza and stormed toward his jeep. “Uzair!” Donga shouted after him.
The engine roared through the haveli grounds as Uzair tore into the streets, every thought leading back to her.
She would not walk towards that nikkah. Not unless it was him waiting at the altar. Not while he still had so much left to say. And not before she listened.
[8:45PM]--Karachi, Pakistan
Y/N sat before her vanity, wrapped in a soft maroon joda embroidered with gold that caught beneath the warm wedding lights. The scent of fresh lilies lingered around her as she adjusted her dupatta over her head, dark mehendi staining her hands, his name hidden within the patterns only meant for him.
For a moment, she truly looked at herself in the mirror. Adorned like every bride. Beautiful. Ready. Yet the ache settling deep within her chest didn’t let her believe that she was truly getting married.
Every vow, every prayer, every promise she had ever held carried his name. The card should have said the same, but it couldn’t. Not after that night. She hadn’t spoken his name in a long time now, choosing instead to bury every memory of him somewhere deep enough that it wouldn’t haunt her- because acknowledging him meant accepting that she had truly lost him.
Still, she remembered his words clearly. Spoken so easily. So dismissively. And no matter how desperately she tried to erase them, her rooh still ached for his warmth.
The realization tightened painfully around her chest as guilt slowly began to set in. Everything she had spent so long trying to build with him was now just an illusion- an alternate reality where she never reached.
A shaky breath escaped her lips. Her fingers curled tightly around the edge of the vanity as her thoughts spiraled faster than her mind could contain. The room suddenly felt too congested, too loud despite the silence ringing in her ears. Tears blurred her vision as panic settled beneath her skin. Maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t destined for this night because she was losing herself again…to him.
Her bedroom door slammed open, the sound tearing through her thoughts and making her flinch in surprise. She glanced her teary gaze toward the mirror to check who had barged in—only to meet a dark pair of eyes staring back at her.
His eyes.
Uzair Baloch.
Her breath hitched. For a second, she could only stare at his reflection, her chest heaving beneath the heavy jewelry resting against her skin. He looked almost unreal standing there, like a manifestation of every thought she was trying to forget.
Her grip loosened from the vanity. She squeezed her eyes shut, covering them with the heels of her palms as she shook her head in quiet dismissal. The faint tingling of her bridal jewelry echoed softly through the room, grounding her just enough.
This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.
She sighed, hoping to clear away the tricks her mind was playing, but when her eyes flickered back to the mirror and caught his, she knew this wasn’t her imagination anymore. Her eyes widened at his looming frame, hair longer now, shaggy, as if a testament of his chaos. She tracked her view back to his tired face, eyes unrelenting of their storm. She hadn’t moved, couldn’t bring herself to, just stared at him through the reflection.
“U-”
“Tum shaadi kar rahi ho?” The suffocating silence shattered between them, his voice rough and breathless.
Y/N remained still, not trusting herself enough to stand, so she merely nodded meekly.
He stiffened at her confirmation-unbelievable. “Nahi.” he ordered
Y/N’s breath caught, brows furrowing in confusion.What was he talking about?
He sniffled softly, shaking his head as though trying to reject the reality in front of him before taking another step closer. Y/N slowly turned in her seat, watching him stalk toward her, confusion deepening with every uneven breath that left him.
“Uzair?”
“Chalo, ghar chalo…” he beckoned impatiently. “Tum yeh shaadi nahi kar sakti.” He still refused to properly look at her, his gaze restless, avoiding hers entirely while Y/N sat frozen, unable to process the absurdity of what he was saying.
“Yeh kya-”
He finally looked at her. Eyes fierce. Unafraid
“Sunai nahi deta? Uttho, ghar chalo.” He pointed at her yet she didn't break, irritation washing over her
“Kya bol rahe ho tum? Kaunsa ‘ghar’? Andar ghuse kaise tum?” she retorted in agitation
His jaw tightened instantly, tension coursing through his nerves -not appreciating her accusations as though he hadn't just given up everything to take her back- why was she turning this whole ordeal against him?
“Humara ghar…” he reminded firmly. “Haveli.”
A humorless scoff left her lips. “Wo mera ghar nahi hai.” Her voice hardened. “Na kabhi tha. Na kabhi hoga.”
“Kya bakwaas kar rahi ho-”His tone sharpened immediately at her declaration. Because in his mind, the haveli had always belonged to her.
“Pagal ho gaye ho tum?!” she finally snapped, pushing herself to her feet and stepping toward him. “Kamre se bahar niklo.” she pressed, not in the mood to deal with his bullshit.
“Mein pa-”
“Bahar!” she yelled at him, grabbing his arm to force him toward the door, but before she could move him, his hand wrapped tightly around her wrist, pulling her back until barely inches remained between them.
The fire in his eyes was long gone, replaced with something unidentifiable. “Kyun…” he whispered looking down at her glossy eyes- dropping his heated guard.
“Kya kyun?!” she pressed immediately, searching his face for the arrogance he had walked in with, but she couldn’t find it anymore.
“Kyun kar rahi ho yeh shaadi?” His hand still burned against her wrist.
“Meri maarzi, rishta aaya tha, acha lad-”
“Jhoot..”
“Kya matlab jhoot?!” she snapped, yanking against his hold. “Tumhe kya pata hoga?! Uss raat tumne mujhe nikala tha!” She tried pulling her wrist free again, but his grip only tightened.
“Do manhiney…puri layari ukhardi tumhare liye ki pata nahi kiss kone mein tum mujhe wapis miljaogi” he admitted painfully, his grief stricken eyes never leaving hers
Her words died in her throat, anger simmering down as she witnessed him surrender. Why was he telling her this? Why would it matter now?
“Galti ho gayi thi…” he whispered hoarsely. “Maafi mangna chahta tha-”
“Bas, Uzair.”
“Mera sukoon cheen liya tumne jis raat tum chali gayi.” Y/N’s face twisted instantly.
“C-chali gayi?” she repeated in disbelief. “Tumne mujhe jaane ko bola tha!”
“Ho gayi galti mujhse!” he snapped suddenly, his voice rising again. “Mujhe pachtawa hai uss baat ka! Har roz kosta hoon apne aap ko!”
“To apne ghar jake pachtao, meri zindagi aur maat kharab karo!” she tugged her gripped wrist again, finally setting herself free
He blinked at her audacity- her insinuation that he was the reason for her short-falling life, that it was him for all her failures
“Apni zindagi tum khud kharab kar rahi ho!” he fought harder trying to make her realize that this marriage would ruin her even more
“Tumhe kyun fikr hai?!”
“Mohabbat karta hun tumse.” he admitted angrily, inching closer towards her.
She scoffed. “Kaisi mohabbat? Woh mohabbat jisme tum mujhe apna waqt nahi de paate the? Ya phir woh jisme tumne mujhe kabhi suna hi nahi?”
Her lips trembled, eyes welling up, as she took a small step back. “Nafrat ke layak hai tumhari mohabbat…”
His heart seized. The tears gathering in her eyes hurt far more than her words ever could. Because for the first time, he realized she looked at his love and saw nothing worth fighting for.
“Aise maat bolo. Kya nahi kiya tumhare liye maine, hm? Apna pura wajood tumahre saamne rakh diya tha maine” he emphasized “Chalo mere saath, tumhari haar bat sununga, tu-main-” he stepped closer, unable to pour his feelings into words frustration bleeding through.
He grasped her mehndi clad hands again, placing them right above his staggering heart. “Mere dil ki dhadkan ho tum…yeh kya rahega tumhare bina?..” tears spilled through her eyes as she took in his every confirmation, his every loyal word, hand clutching his creased kurta as he continued “main wada karta hun…baas tum he kush dekhna chahta hun– aapni sukoon ko wapis lana chahta hun”
“Kya faida iss wade ka?!” she cried. “Jab main roz tumhara intezaar karti thi tab kahan thi yeh mohabbat?” Her hand tightened against his kurta. “Kaise khush reh sakti hoon main tumhare saath agar tum mere saath rahoge hi nahi?” The words struck him harder than anything she'd said that night. Because her anger had been replaced by fear. Years of it.
“Aaj ho...” her voice cracked. “Kal nahi.”
Uzair froze. Y/N shook her head, fresh tears sliding down her cheeks.
“Kya guarantee hai, Uzair?” she whispered brokenly. “Kya guarantee hai ke tum mere saath hamesha ke liye hoge?” Silence swallowed the room. And suddenly he understood. This was never only about the missed time. It was about every conversation that felt like it could have been their last.
Y/N let out a tired broken laugh. “Main aisi zindagi nahi bita sakti.” Her fingers loosened against his kurta. “Tum gaye toh mera kya hoga?” she questioned- trying to make him realize that his promises fell flat in front of their crumbling reality.
Uzair’s anger showed his rational yet again this night- not willing to negotiate her loss “ek muka to do-”
“Muka tha! Pechele do saal se muka tha! Tumne wo gawaya-” she jabbed her finger against his rising chest “aur kya chahate ho tum mujshe- kya hai mere paas tume dene ko?!”
“Maat karo yeh shaadi.” he begged harshly, eyes frantically searching hers.
“Uza-” she tried to call in exhaustion
“Marr jaunga main!” The room fell silent at his pain and vulnerability. Uzair's chest heaved. “Nahi jee paunga apne aap ke saath...” he whispered brokenly. “Khali hoon main...”
She looked at him with a hard-stare–why now? Why had he chosen to say this now? 2 years. 730 days. 730 opportunities he was given to reassure Y/N that she was his for life. Why? now.
Anger. Hurt. Remorse bubbled as she struck back “Marro.” The word left her lips in a whisper. Then louder. “Jao. Marro phir!” Her palms slammed against his chest. again and again and again “Kyun khade ho mere saamne?!” Another shove. “Jao na!” The lilies slipped from her haath phool one by one, scattering across the floor. Glass cracked beneath their feet as part of her chooda shattered from the force of her movements, but she didn't stop. Couldn't stop. Her tear-filled gaze never met him as she kept pushing him. Kept hitting him. Forcing months of grief, years of disappointment on to him with every hit.
And Uzair let her. He didn't stop her. Didn't grab her wrists. Didn't move away. He simply stood there and took it. As though he deserved every blow.
“Aab batane ka kya faida?! Gaya humara waqat! Nahi wapis aayga-” she rambled as she continued to trash against him, tired–her light dimming.
Uzair inhaled sharply before finally catching her moving wrists, gently lowering them to her sides. She didn't resist. Didn't have the strength to as she sobbed helpless.
His arms wrapped around her before he could stop himself. One hand cradled the back of her head, pressing her gently against his chest while the other rubbed slow circles across her back.
And Y/N broke. She wept into his warmth–mouring what could have been tonight.
The duo remained frozen, unable to move from each other's grasp, longing for this moment for months now. Uzair held her tighter as though keeping her close would maybe make her feel the true essence and worth of all the words he had confessed tonight.
The heavy silence stretched between them. Resting his chin on top of her dupatta-covered head, Uzair glanced down at the destruction surrounding them. Her makeup ruined. Lilies scattered across the floor. The scent of them slowly fading with every shaky inhale. Broken pieces of chooda glinting beneath the wedding lights.
Uzair swallowed hard, maybe in guilt, maybe in exhaustion. Maybe because for the first time in his life, he had no idea how to fix something. He let out a deep sigh and whispered a final plea in the air “Y/N…” the words lost in defeat
Y/N hiccupped against his chest. The night that was meant to celebrate her future had instead forced her to mourn the one she had always wanted. Her throat burning raw from all the words. She didn't fight his hold. Didn't fight his plea. She couldn’t. He had taken her very last breath.
“Nahi hai aur himmat.” she whispered hoarsely
“Please. Jaane do mujhe.”
Uzair shut his eyes…knowing it was his time to retreat. He could not believe that loving him had become a burden to her; not when he had spent every waking moment of the past two years trying to brighten the only life that fueled his own. How could he let her go though? After everything…
He pulled away, looking at her streaked face intently. God, even now, looking at her face brought back his sukoon. He gently wiped her face, erasing their history one tear at a time. She let him. He tucked the fallen pieces from her bun which framed her anguished face behind her ear. She let him. He lifted her chin upwards, moving her face to meet his, both of their gazes bare of all their burdens.
Y/N was a bride but not his bride…
Uzair took hold of her now-empty wrist, his touch cold, as he led her towards her bedroom door, his steps crunching over the glass of her broken bangles.
Y/N looked at him warily, panic settling at his unknown movements. She tugged at his hand to free herself, but his grip only lingered.
“U-uzair” she called out, continuing to tug as he led her through her home’s hallway.
“Y-yeh kya kar rahe ho tum, Uzair… mera haath chodo” she repeated as he weakly dragged her down the stairs, through the awaiting crowd.
Her fear grew as he remained silent—passing the staring aunties, passing Hamza, who had followed his best friend, helpless, unable to stop him either.
“Uzair! Pl-” her words stumbled as he finally released her hand, placing her at the edge of the embroidered carpet that led to her mandap.
“Main tumhara hoon. Hamesha tha. Hamesha rahunga” he reminded her, broken. And she couldn’t do anything but stand in the weight of it.
“Jao. Karlo nikaah. Nahi rok paaya tumhe…” he whispered as Hamza stepped in, trying to pull him back faintly, “lekin yaad rakhna… haveli ke darwaze hamesha khule rahenge… aur main khada rahunga.”
“Ghar hai woh tumhara.” he declared in finality, glancing down at her deeply stained mehndi hands, as Hamza pulled him away.
Y/N followed their every last move… until his presence disappeared behind the lavishly decorated gates.
And he did not look back. Not once.
Not knowing Y/N’s mehendi had hidden his name all along.
⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆
goodnight guys, im seriously hibernating after this phew
Disclaimer - Work of fiction. I do not support any irl terrorists.
Warning - Smut, P in V, Orals (both M & F), Manipulation, virgin worship, showmanship, dubcon, cnc,
Happy Reading~
Rehman didn't come from a background of purity or sunshines, rather he was the king of darkness. Wherever he walked, trailed along the black goo of his wrongdoings.
But quite the juxtaposition is how he had been grown to be known as the Messiah of his people.
Sher-e-Baloch.
The tag which shivered people to the timbers and also comforted the other clan.
He knew where his authority lied and he also knew that the reputation he had build for himself was extremely important for him to maintain.
With the slightest slip up he could lose his comfort, his name, his respect and worst of all... His kingdom, which he had built on thorough blood and tear shed.
He did everything in his power to provide comfort and home to his people. Hospitals, schools, colleges, supplies what not, he provided it all and the people couldn't be happier.
But what most people did not know that the Messiah himself needs some indulgence, some reward, some relief, some pleasure.
Yet he would be rather caught dead that to be found indulging into some dubious relief with the people who were considered scarred by the society. You won't do that your well curated reputation.
He had to be clever. That sharp twisted brain of his came up with an idea so sinful that the humankind would spit on his so-called reputation if they got aware of the intent.
He had convinced Shirani in one of his earlier visits that in order to purify the bloodline of the most elligible balochi woman, the sher himself would need a night with her the very second, she turns 21.
Shirani being already pleased by Rehman's charity, agreed. According to Shirani, if the sher himself chooses to cleanse any woman she would he sacred and anyone would be blessed to have Rehman.
The tradition was simple. Every who had turned 21 were presented to Rehman and he would take his pick to "admire" That girl for the night.
Rehman handpicked the nooks and curves of the tradition to cater to his needs. Though a part of him felt a sting of guilt, he convinced him that this was just his reward.
It started to take place years after years and it changed the perception of pleasure for Rehman through and through.
Young girls began to prepare for this day the second they were old enough. The king needed to be served. It was almost a competition of being chosen.
He was welcomed with warm regards this time around as just like always. He sat on the soft white takht leaning down and resting his side of the soft silk claded cushion.
After the welcome ceremony Shirani approached Rehman.
"Rehman... Aj ka intezam thora khash hai" He smiled and added.
"Apke saare intezaam khash hi hote jan Shirani Sahab.. " He smirked.
"Aj ladkiyon mai meri chotu poti bhi hai" Shirani added with pride.
Rehman quirked his eyebrow and nodded.
Soon the evening dawned in and the spread of exquisite beauty was presented in front of Rehman.
Young and innocent pair of eyes bored through Rehman, competing gazes of the girls were almost amusing to Rehman.
They wore traditional balochi suits, their body covered with heavy jewelries traditional to their land. The clinks reflected their excitement.
He scanned the room with five fine silk adorned women. Of them his landed on the owner of the softest pair of lips and even smoother skin and the naivest eyes.
Rehman walked closer and stood in front of you.
You were prepared and taught about this day ever since you turned 18. Your nanu-jaan always reminded you that your purity and regards towards Rehman is almost a blessing to the community.
You were determined to win him through, after all he saved multiple of your brothers and flourished your land. The least you could do was to serve him how he pleased.
When Rehman stepped in front of you a wave of relief and victory fawned over you.
He carefully took your hand, pecking your knuckles with utmost care, choosing you. You were rather perplexed by his softness. The women previously chosen by him spoke of him as a beast in private. But he seemed so soft and caring... Right?
You addressed him with a soft glazing smile which he reciprocated in a split second.
Soon he was escorted to his suite as you prepped for him. He rested himself on the well decorated luxury pawn of a bed, waiting for his meal to walk inside on two feet.
“Koi Fariyaad” by Jagjit Singh played in it’s beautiful hum in the background of the ruin ground of the room. The room trapped innocence of the girls he had ruined with his very hand.
15 minutes passed and Rehman was growing impatient. Right when he had decided to walk out and ask about you himself, he heard the doorknob twist and you stepped inside the room of your fate.
You wore a white silk attire which symbolized your purity and innocence. Rehman being the beast of innocence found for you to be the perfect meal for him to consume.
“Bada waqt laga diya apne..” Rehman added with a voice which was almost tinged wwith impatience and exasperation.
“woh... mai taiyaar ho rahi thi…” You smiled at him, hoping for him to overlook your underlying nervousness.
His eyes trailed over her figure. Adorned with soft jewelries and softer silk contradicting what she wore during the show off.
He was impatient and his constant tapping of his heel mirrored that emotion quite well. A part of him wanted to admire your beauty and the other wanted to strip you off of your innocence as hastily as possible.
He stood up striding towards you and stopped right infront of your face.
“Tumhe pata hai na ki tumhe kya karna hai?” He enquired, almost testing the waters.
“Apki baat maan ni hai aur muskuraane ka ek wajah deni hai” You added with confidence.
“Mashallah, meri jaan…ap toh badi tez ho” he nodded “Aur khubsurat bhi” he added whilst gently caressing your face.
“Shukriya” You felt pride creeping up your straightened spine and the nervousness subsiding a bit.
He leaned down to take in your intoxicating smell as his hand wrapped around the nape of your neck, pulling you close to plant his face near your neck. His nose touched your soft sensitive skin earning a small gasp from you.
He chuckled at your reaction “awaze ap bohot pyaari nikal te ho… jab jab mai apke kareeb au...aisi awaze nikal te rehna..”
“Apko pasand hai?” You questioned him softly.
“Behad” He growled and his lips immediately found yours in a quick second.
You gasped at the unfamiliarity of the experience and held him close for some support, more emotional than physical.
His hand travelled under your slippery smooth kurti and caressed the dips of your curves.
Before you could roll into the comfort of it, his teeth sank in your lower lip and your kurti was tugged and ripped off of your body in a blink.
You knew better than to cover yourself but the hesitance in your motion was evident.
He stepped back to admire the sculpture he was about to break. Your eyes did not meet his in hesitance.
“Kapde utaaro…” He ordered and lit his cigarette.
You politely obliged and stripped bare Infront of his predatory gaze. Rehman scanned your physique, making a mental note of where bruises awarded by him would look the best.
He led you to the bed pushing you down, before looming over you.
He kissed you again this time with a desperation which almost felt unreal. His lips bruised your as his tongue swiped over and against your inexperienced one.
You whimpered running your hand up his broad back.
He discarded his kurta and salwar with little care. His sculpted physique almost numbed down the seriousness of the situation for you.
Your fingers ran over his toned torso, only for him to smirk up at you. He loved how lost each one your finger tips graze felt like. He was basking in the attention you gave him and vice versa.
His hand spread your thighs open and his veiny fingers dipped in your soaking wet pussy. You moaned out at the touch and tried to scurry away, just for him to click his tongue and smack your thigh to steady you down.
You yelped and let him be, if anything the unfamiliar touch was pleasurable and you unknowingly grinded against his hand.
He whistled at your desperation and the tip of his finger circled your swollen nub. He would usually not bother tasting his rewards. It was not for their pleasure, but for his. But your smell, your touch made it almost impossible for him to not taste you.
He leaned down and you rested up on your forearms confused by why he’s between your legs. You did not know that you could be kissed down there. 21 years of keeping you in the shadow from any sexual explanation did not help.
He took a whiff of your glistening pussy and immediately dove in. His tongue thrusted in your agape as you screamed out at the unfamiliar build up of pleasure. He maintained eye contact with your foggy eyes almost cumming in his pants just at the taste.
Your hand tangled with his hair which only seemed too fuel him further. The overwhelming knot in your stomach was tightening.
He eased a two fingers in your spongy core and you audibly screeched.
“Dard hoga… please d-don’t” you begged, scared of the impact.
You were silenced with your own yelp as he slapped your pussy.
“Mujhe rokogi?” he growled as his ego was ticked off by you.
He shoved yet another finger in you stretching you out. Dismissing your scared screams. His nose nudged your nub too well causing the knot in you to finally let go and gush all over his face. He drank you up with satisfaction.
As you tried to pull away from his face and finger he flipped you on your back, yanking your head up clutching at your scalp.
“Kaha bhag rahi ho..?” he rasped next to your ears and the beast everyone was explaining was flashing through. You were terrified and the waves of tears was the evidence.
Rehman felt bad for scaring you, but he should not care. This was his reward; he told himself now and again. He deserved this. Your tears made his cock throb in a way he could not explain. And if your tears were pleasurable for him, he will make you cry a river. Reward was for him and not for you to negotiate.
You had started to struggle to get out of bis grip and oh did it excite Rehman.
You did not know why you were trying to get away, this was supposed to purify you, but none of this felt any pure or safe at all.
Rehman laid you on your back and placed your soft legs on his shoulder. The anklet twinkled next to his ears.
Till now you had not really got the chance to look at his length. But now that your gaze met with his length a shriek left your throat. You could only imagine how bad it would hurt.
“it will hurt” you stated with fear lacing your demeanor.
“You’ll manage” he patted your cheek and nudged the tip of his cock around your clit and you threw your head back.
He eased just the tip of his cock in your cunt and the delicious stretch almost made you pass out.
He moaned our shuddering as he eased in you inch by inch. His girth stretched your virgin hole and tears spurted out your eyes.
“N-no I can’t” you screamed out clawing at his torso trying to get away.
Rehman was getting sick of your innocent defiance. He needed to fuck you. He had been patient and giving enough. He did not need to be any more mindful. You were his reward and nothing more.
He choked your throat and kept you pinned as he thrusted in you entirely with a single thrust.
You screamed out, your eyes rolling back. Drooling out from your thin soft pink lips you looked at the man who held every ounce of mercy.it was painful, he made the pain worse as if. He looked scary and unforgiving. The senses of you went at alarm as his thrust picked up.
You tried to kick him away when you met with a harsh slap.
“I have done… so fucking much for you and your community and you cannot even present me your pussy well… shame” he spat on your face with pure disappointed.
His disappointed voice brought back waves of every lesson your mother and grandfather had taught you. Rehman was your messiah. He sheltered your brothers, saved them, because of him the kids of Balochistan read and wrote. And you could not please him?
The tears which pooled now were from shame rather than pain. You had brought shame onto yourself and Rehman’s disappointed eyes and words made it so painfully obvious.
“kisi aur ko chun leta..toh shayadd tumse behtar hoti” He added and kept thrusting watching you jerk in pleasure and a mixture of pure shame.
“Nahi nahi nahi…mai..sirf mai..i’ll be good take me please” you sobbed begging for him to take pleasure in the form of you.
Rehman smirked knowing full well that his words had arched properly through you.
“Good girl” he smiled and groped your exposed breast.
“you are so pretty… you should let me admire you well baby” he smirked and you nodded desperately. He leaned down to swirl his tongue over your nipples making you arch your back. He continued the assault on your breast and equally on your sobbing pussy which bled desperation and sucked him in.
He flipped you on your fours and got a hold of his discarded scarf. He wrapped it around your throat in a leash tie. The tie was tight enough to bruise, matching all the bruises he had already left on your body. You were confused but the scent of his arab ittar on the scarf gave a weird amalgamation of comfort and terror which numbed you down.
He tugged at the scarf choking you and pulling your head back forcing you to arch your back as he rutted in you.
Your tongue rolled out at the choke and your eyes crossed. Rehman pecked down your spine as you came again. The familiar wave breaking you.
The room was filled with filthy sounds of skin meeting and graons. Your soft cries danced along the wall like the music playing.
He pulled out watching you crumble under him.
He yanked your languid self up tugging at the scarf which was a leash on you. Your face close to his groin as he shoved his cock down your already parted swollen lips. You gagged and closed your eyes taking whatever he had to give.
The warmth of your mouth and the tears stained face made him lose his mind. He came down your throat.
You gagged at the taste but swallowed anyways maintaining a weak eye contact.
He let go of you as you fell back like a weak bambi. He gathered you in his arms as exhaustion took over you.
The hums of Jagjit Singh had subsided and only the soft breathing of your could be heard.
You looke so broken, so soft and oh so precious. He had to keep you. You were too precious to be just his one time reward. He had to make you his little ruined bride. And he knew full well that Shirani would fawn at the thought of it.
He had already won the second you looked at him and now you are trapped…forever…
Sher-e-Baloch had you and your people conquered. It showed on the smirk of his lips which now smoked his Davidoff with you asleep in his arms.
Summary: Your mind runs entirely on pink thoughts and glossy lips, but the moment your tiny dress is yanked up, you're forced to take every relentless inch of him until you make a total breathless mess of his expensive clothes.
Uzair x bimbo!reader
Trigger Warning: Sexual Content, Power Imbalances & BDSM Elements
Uzair Baloch was not a soft man.
He ruled Lyari with blood and fear. People lowered their eyes when he walked through the streets. His voice alone could make grown men piss themselves. Cold. Calculating. Brutally patient.
But then there was you.
His pretty little bimbo with your glossy lips, long lash extensions, and brain that seemed to run mostly on glitter and pink thoughts. The contrast was almost ridiculous — a dangerous man like him keeping a girl who thought “taxes” was a type of insect and called his loaded guns “scary metal sticks.”
Yet here you were, perched on his lap in his private office like you belonged there. You were wearing a tiny baby-pink babydoll dress that barely covered your ass, white thigh-high stockings with little bows, and the expensive diamond ‘U’ pendant he’d bought you last week resting between your pushed-up tits.
“Uzzi babyyy,” you whined, dragging your long acrylic nails down his chest, “you’re like… super hard again. Didn’t we just do it in the car?”
Uzair’s large hand rested possessively on your bare thigh, squeezing the soft flesh as he leaned back in his leather chair. His other hand held a glass of whiskey, barely touched.
“You’re the one who keeps wiggling that little ass on my cock, sweetheart,” he said, voice low and rough. “What did you expect?”
You giggled, the sound bubbly and empty-headed, tilting your head so your shiny hair fell over one shoulder. “I can’t help it! You’re just so big and strong and scary-looking… it makes me feel all tingly.”
Uzair’s lips twitched — the closest thing he ever got to a smile. He loved how stupidly innocent you sounded even when you were being filthy. He set the whiskey down and grabbed your hips with both hands, easily lifting you like you weighed nothing and turning you to fully straddle him.
You gasped cutely as his thick bulge pressed right against your soaked panties.
“Uzzi—!”
“Shh,” he murmured, one hand sliding up to grip your jaw, forcing you to look at him. His eyes were dark, intense, almost obsessive as they studied your glossy, pouty face. “You wanted my attention so badly tonight. Now you have it.”
You bit your lip, eyes wide and sparkly. “But I’m still sore from earlier… you were really mean to my poor princess parts.”
Uzair chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating through his chest. He yanked your tiny dress up around your waist and pushed your panties to the side, exposing your glistening pussy.
“Mean?” he repeated, dragging the thick head of his cock through your folds. “Baby, I spoil you rotten. You drive around in cars most men will never afford. You wear diamonds heavier than your brain. And still you complain when I fuck you like I own you?”
You whimpered as he started pushing inside, stretching you open with his usual brutal thickness. Your long nails dug into his shoulders, leaving little crescent marks through his black shirt.
“‘Cause you’re too big!” you moaned dramatically, eyes fluttering. “It’s like… not even fair. My brain stops working when you put it in…”
“That’s exactly how I like you,” Uzair growled, finally bottoming out inside your tight heat. He groaned at the feeling, gripping your ass hard enough to leave fingerprints. “Brainless. Wet. And completely mine.”
He started moving you on his cock with zero effort, lifting and dropping your body like a toy. Your tits bounced in the tiny dress with every thrust, soft whimpery moans spilling from your shiny lips.
“Uzzi— Uzzi— slow downnn,” you whined, even as your hips rolled greedily to meet him. “I’m gonna make a mess on your expensive pants…”
“Then make a mess,” he said darkly, voice dropping into that dangerous tone that made your stomach flip. “I want everyone downstairs to smell your pussy on me when I go back to my meeting.”
Your cheeks flushed pink. “You’re so dirtyyy,” you giggled breathlessly, then moaned loudly as he hit that perfect spot inside you.
Uzair gripped your throat lightly, forcing your eyes on his.
“And you’re my pretty little idiot,” he murmured, thrusting up harder. “So fucking empty up here—” he tapped your forehead, “—but so tight and perfect down here. My favorite toy.”
You moaned shamelessly at his words, clenching around him like a vice, already getting close.
Uzair smirked, dark satisfaction burning in his eyes.
“That’s it, baby. Cum for me like the brainless little slut I trained you to be.”
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