Yandere! Lt. Dharamvir x reader
“Pyaari kahan hai?” (Sort of fluff?+ a bit of angst)
𝓨𝓸𝓾’𝓻𝓮 𝓼𝓾𝓹𝓹𝓸𝓼𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓶𝔂 𝓼𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻
“WO AA GAYA! WO AA GAYA!!” Kammo ran through the fields her anklets jingling, alerting the village men of his arrival.
Several heads turned, most of them earnest. The light of the bhann household had arrived, Dharamvir singh bhann had arrived.
The dust from the bus hadn't even settled before Dharamvir's eyes were scanning the crowd, a predatory sharpness cutting through the fatigue of his journey.
His mother, was already wiping happy tears, Kammo helping the old blind lady forward. The young woman was dressed in her best suit, her hair braided with fresh flowers, looked at him with hopeful, adoring eyes.
"Puttar," his maa sobbed, touching his face, mapping out the features she had missed but never forgotten despite being blind after her husband’s death. Her only son. "Aa gaya tu. Bahut yaad kitta, Dharam."
Dharamveer offered her a soft smile before he bent down to touch her feet mechanically, his gaze still flicking over her crouched figure, down the lane. Past the familiar faces. Past the waving children. Past Kammo's coy and boisterous smile as she tried to gain his gaze.
Finally he stood up straight, not caring how his army shirt had come untucked due to bending down so low. His voice was rough from the travel through the Indian desert , but a low, coiled tension ran through it.
The question cut through the warm welcome like a cold wind. His maa’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before gaining its original form.
Kammo’s hands, which were reaching out to take his bag, froze mid-air. The color on her cheeks deepened, not from shyness, but from a sharp sting of humiliation. She was standing right there, dressed like a bride, and he was looking right through her. To her sister, who wasn’t even there to receive him.
"She must be at home, or near the lake," his mother waved dismissively, trying to get the attention back at the union . "Busy, you know her. Always in her own world. Kammo, beti, take the bag inside."
Kammo reached for the bag, forcing a bright smile. "Haan Dharam, come inside. I’ll make your favorite—"
His ears were deaf to them.His jaw tightened and a muscle in his neck pulsed.
The excuse was like salt in an open wound. He had counted every day, every hour of his deployment. He had written letters he never sent. He had pictures of you tucked into his uniform, hidden next to his heart. And you hadn't even come to the bus stop?
His heart ached treacherously before a think heavy blanket of obsession coated over it.
His pupils dilated as he rolled up his sleeves, not even 30 minutes back home and he has to correct you.
Good thing for you , that he is obsessed adores you.
Dharam was impatient all the tiredness of his travels vanishing in seconds.He pushed past Kammo, his shoulder bumping hers roughly, and walked into the courtyard. He threw his heavy duffel bag onto the cot near the door.
"Maa," he said, his voice clipped. "Main Zara aaya."
He didn't look back at Kammo's pleading face or how his mother frowned. He walked straight out of the back gate, his boots crunching on the dry earth path that led through the mustard fields.
He knew exactly where you would be.
You always escaped to the old banyan tree by the pond when you wanted to be alone. You were probably sitting there, reading one of your silly city magazines, dreaming of high rises and traffic. A dream that didn't include him.
The thought made him stop dead in his tracks. It irked him in ways that would result in his enemies to suffer.
His hands clenched into fists. No. You were his dream. The city could burn.
He had spent months learning how to be patient, how to stalk a target, how to wait for the perfect moment like a lion, to strike. He was a soldier. A hunter. And you were the only prize he cared about.
It’s a shame how you always flinched shied away from him. How adorable.
He didn't go straight to you, no….He stopped at the well first.
Your family well. The one where you always came to fetch water early in the mornings.
He saw your flower clip sitting on the ledge, an expensive gift from the city he had brought you.
Must’ve fallen when you were bend over the well.
His brows furrowed as he imagined some good-for-nothing village boy looking at you in that intimate position. no. This could not continue.
Once he’s had you, you would never set foot outside the house, let alone bend against a well like a common woman to draw up water.
He picked the delicate clip up, brought it to his nose, and inhaled deeply. The faint, sweet scent of your skin mixed with the shampoo you used was intoxicating.
He ran his thumb over the flimsy metal, imagining how he had put it on your soft locks with nervous hands and an awkward, lovesick smile. Without a second thought, he pocketed the clip. A piece of you. A talisman.
He drifted towards the old banyan tree, more out of instinct. And then he saw you.
You were facing away from him in a loose baby blue kurta, shoulders slightly hunched over the book resting in your hands, so absorbed that the world around you seemed to dissolve into silence.
He didn’t move. For a long moment, he simply stood there, watching the gentle rise and fall of your breathing, as though reassuring himself that you were real.
The wind wandered through your hair, lifting a few loose strands before letting them fall against your neck again.
His fingers twitched with an impulse he refused to name, wondering what it would feel like to gather those strands into his hand. Instead, he committed the moment to memory—the soft curve of your shoulder beneath the fabric and the afternoon light resting against your skin.
Six months. This was the first time he had seen you in six months.
"Pyaari," he called out, his voice surprisingly soft, but carrying a weight that demanded immediate attention.
You flinched and turned around. Your eyes widened.
You had spent the last six months convincing yourself that keeping your distance was the right thing to do.
Kammo glowed whenever Dharam’s name came up, her cheeks pink, her smile shy. Everyone in the village saw it. Maybe he didn’t, but you did.
She deserved someone who looked at her the way she looked at him. If that someone happened to be Dharam, then you would quietly step aside. It wasn’t a sacrifice, you told yourself.
Just… the kinder thing to do. So you stopped lingering by the well at dawn because he always seemed to know when you would be there. You stopped reading beneath the banyan tree whenever word spread that he was home.
You even thought of to stop wearing the little hair clip he’d brought from the city after he smiled for far too long when he saw you wearing it. Alas it was too pretty to ignore.
Today, you hadn’t gone to the bus stop for the same reason. Kammo should have been the first face he looked for, not yours.
But Dharam had always made you uneasy in ways you couldn’t explain without sounding cruel.
He remembered everything—every book you borrowed, every sweet you refused due to your ick of sweets, every place you escaped to when you wanted to be alone…even the ones no one the entire world knew…. He noticed when you braided your hair differently, when you laughed at another boy’s joke. ESPECIALLY when you laughed at another boy’s jokes.
It should have felt thoughtful. Instead, it felt like being quietly followed by a shadow no one else could see.
Even now, as he stood impossibly close, his eyes fixed on yours with that same unwavering intensity, your stomach tightened.
There was something possessive in the way he looked at you, as though your absence had offended him, as though you belonged somewhere only he had decided. That somewhere being…with him.
You offered him a small, polite smile out of habit, but your fingers curled tighter around the edge of your book. A part of you wanted to take a step back. Another part knew he would notice and it would do no good to anyone.
"Dharamvir... aap aa gaye?!. I... I was just about to—"
Dharam cut you off mid justification. He walked towards you, his eyes never leaving yours and stopped just a foot away.
the apprehension in your eyes made him smirk.
Good. You should be nervous. You should know that you belonged to him.
"Tum bus stop pe nahi aai?."
It wasn't a question, far from that— It was an accusation.
His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist. His grip was tight, almost painful. He pulled you closer, his breath ghosting over your delicate nape.
Your breath hitched at the contact.
"Mujhe laga... Kammo aur maa jaa rahe the..."
"Bullshit." His voice was a low growl right next to your ear making you flinch at his rough tone.
“Tum meri ho. Mere ghar lautne pe tum gayab nahi hoti. Kabhi nahi. Chhe mahine se tumhara chehra nahi dekha maine… aur pehli cheez jo tum karti ho, woh mujhse chhupna hai?”
He let go of your wrist and instead cupped your face, his calloused thumb stroking your soft plump cheek.
The touch was gentle now, a stark contrast to his harsh grip. His eyes, dark and intense, searched yours.
“Ik vaari hona…” he whispered, his voice rough around the edges. “Main wapas aa gaya hoon.” His eyes searched yours, desperate, unwavering. “Ab dobara kahin nahi jaa raha. Kabhi nahi.”
He let out a slow breath.
“Meri vest ke andar tumhari tasveer rakhi hai.” A faint, almost broken smile crossed his face. “Tumhari khushboo… ab tak yaad hai mujhe. Roz yaad ki hai.” He shook his head. “Lekin woh kaafi nahi hai.”
He rested his forehead lightly against yours, closing his eyes for a moment. He looked…in peace?
“Mujhe tum poori chahiye.” His voice was barely audible now. “Har hissa. Har din. Main chahta hoon ki duniya mein koi bhi tumhe mujhse zyada na jaane.”
He reached into the pocket of his uniform and pulled out a small packet wrapped in an old handkerchief. The corners were dusty from the long journey home.
Carefully, he unfolded it to reveal a thin silver anklet, its tiny ghungroos giving a soft, shy chime as it settled in his palm.
He had bought it in a village outside Jaisalmer during his deployment, the old woman at the stall insisting it would suit “someone with delicate feet.” He hadn’t bargained.
He had simply thought of you. His thumb brushed over the tiny clasp again and again, almost absentmindedly. It was only an anklet—a simple gift. Yet in his hand, the little hook seemed to linger a moment too long, less like a clasp and more like something to make sure it never slipped away.
Before you could ask what he was doing, Dharam was already kneeling in front of you.
“Dharam…” You instinctively drew your foot back, his declaration has shaken something inside you…as much as you tried to hide it.
He glanced up, his warm eyes now filled with something colder. “Bas. Ek minute.”
There was no impatience in his voice, only the quiet confidence of someone who didn’t expect to be refused.
He eased your sandal off, his fingers warm against your ankle, it made you let out a tiny gasp which seemed to please him immensely. From the handkerchief, he took out the silver anklet and carefully wrapped it around your foot. The tiny bells gave a faint chhan as he fastened the clasp.
“Perfect,” he murmured, almost smiling.
You looked down, assessing the chain. “You really didn’t have to buy me anything.”
“Apni pyaari Ke liye to sab kuch kharid lu main.” His thumb brushed over the chain once, making sure it sat straight against your skin. “Jaisalmer mein dekha toh bas… laga yeh tumhare pairon ke liye hi bana hai.”
You laughed awkwardly, not knowing how to reply. “Kitna sochte ho tum….”
“Sirf tumhare baare mein.”
The words were so matter-of-fact that they landed heavier than if he’d whispered them.
He looked at the anklet for another moment before finally meeting your eyes. “Isse mat utarna.” A small pause. “Jab wapas aaun… main isi mein tumhe dekhna chahta hoon.”
Something about the way he said it made your smile falter. It wasn’t a request, and it wasn’t exactly an order either. It sounded like a certainty—as though, somewhere in his mind, the decision had already been made for you.
He stood up, looking down at your squeamish frame.
"Tonight," he said, his voice returning to that deceptively calm tone. "Ajj raat nu, everyone will be asleep. Main gate te milenga tainu. We are going to the fields. Just you and me."
He let the sentence hang, a predator's smile touching his lips.
"If you don't come..." He let go of your face and the warmth vanished immediately. His eyes hardened. "If you don't come, I will just have to find you again. I will stand outside your window all night. And this time, when I get you, I'm not letting you go. Ever."
He turned and walked away, leaving you trembling by the tree.
Why why why was he like this! Always saying cryptic things and that tone? It always left your mind in a frenzy.
Your breathing was erratic as the weight of his words settled in your being.
What would he do to you? It would be a scandal! If anyone from the close knit village people saw.
It took you a minute to remind yourself that he was temporary, he would go back to the border and you would be off to the city, to pursue a higher education
And then him and kammo could get their happily ever after.
It left a quiet ache in your heart, but it was for the best.
A few weeks more…and he’ll be off your back.
Back at the house, Kammo had watched the entire exchange from the window. She saw him grab you. She saw him whisper to you. She saw the look in his eyes—a look he had never once given her. A look of raw, starving hunger.
Her nails dug into the wooden doorframe, splintering the old paint.
"Kammo, beti, Zara Pani Lana ," his mother called from outside the house, knitting something on the verendah.
Kammo blinked, snapping out of her trance. She turned, her face a mask of pleasant obedience. "Abhi layi maa!."
But inside, her blood was curdling.
You. It was always you. The quiet one. The dreamer. The one who didn't work in the fields. The one who read books while she fried puris. The one Dharamvir asked for first.
Dharamveer loves me, she lied to herself, her fists tight. He just doesn't know it yet. He is confused. I will make him forget her name. I will be the wife of the house. She will leave for her stupid city, and I will stay.
Her eyes hardened as she looked at Dharamvir's bag on the cot. She would unpack his clothes, find his dirty laundry. She would be the one to wash them, to fold them, to place them in the cupboard. That was her job. Her right. Not yours.
You didn’t even care…why was he always behind you…
Meanwhile, Dharamvir was on the roof of the house, leaning against the parapet wall, a cigarette burning between his fingers.
He wasn't watching the sunset. He was watching the path to the banyan tree. He was calm now. The anger was gone, replaced by a cool, satisfied certainty.
He had you trapped. You would come tonight. You had nowhere to run.
The cigarette smoke curled into the air as he smiled to himself, his hand moving to the pocket where the pretty clip rested.
Pyaari... tonight in the fields, I will chain you to me. Forever.
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Disclaimer- i love him smmm, he's my hubby yall 🥺🥺🥺🥺. I need more fics on him. It 2 am and as always I love posting at long past midnight heheheh. Hope y’all like it , also aestgetic inspo from @/angelllk1ssed. Love her smmmmmm.
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