#akshaye khanna

[rehmandakaitswife]

EVERYONE IN THIS MOVIE WAS SO CUNTYYYY

[angelllk1ssed]

Yaaarrr what a hotie😜🫦

his appearance, his look was craaazzyyy damnnn AAAAHH I WANNA WATCH DHURANDHAR AGAINNN HELPP!!!

[ppinkitten]

Tum nahi jaogi

Pairing: baby trapper older! Rehman x young! reader

warnings: +18, smut, intoxication, baby trapping, dubcon!!!

A/n: based on dis request. Mujhe ninni aa rahi hai, hope aap logon ko acha lage. And please don’t interact if you’re not comfortable with such material. Mental health matters folks :)

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

You should have been decked in delicate bridal wear, your cheeks dusted with red as the shyness of a new bride oozed out of you. Then, Rehman would have held your mehendi-clad hand, searching for his name amongst the artistic swirls.

Five years later, you all would have been parents to two beautiful kids, with the third being nurtured in your womb.

He couldn’t bear the thought of you going abroad to study, what if you find a wealthy , untouched by crime and gore barrister? businessman ? Professor? Anyone who could provide a sheltered life to a pillow princess like you.

Even though you had agreed to a long distance relationship, saying “khat likhenge na Ek dusre ko rehman, bilkul filmi lagega” it didn’t soothe the growing unease of being abandoned.

Letters already took far too long to reach their recipients within the country—between continents, perhaps even longer. He said nothing, unwilling to interrupt his little love’s excited babble.

Rehman had offered a strain smile, as he watched those intoxicating giggles burst out of you. The smile was just a front, a front to the internal conflict brewing inside him.

As you went babbling away, gushing over the arrangements your abbu had made abroad. The dorm life, clubs , and all the new friends you would make in the next 2-3 years.

Rehman couldn’t help but wonder when exactly the crow’s feet around his eyes had begun to deepen.

The last time he’d caught his reflection in the mirror, there had been more silver threaded through his hair than he cared to admit—stubborn white strands he’d plucked away in quiet irritation before seeing you. Time was moving far too quickly, and he wasn’t getting any younger. He needed you to be his—properly, completely.

“You’re really serious about this?” Rehman asked quietly, leaning back against his taqht , watching you pace around the room with far too much excitement for his liking.

“Haan !” you beamed, nearly bouncing. “Tum samajh bhi rahe ho? Abroad, Rehman. Nayi jagah, naye log, better opportunities—”

“Hm.” He nodded slowly, his mind occupied with making you stay. The cigeratte packet rested untouched on the side table as he traced the arm rest of the glorified chair “Aur meri jaan ka kya?”

His jaan can’t just leave him, he is just corpse without his jaan.

You rolled your eyes immediately, thinking it be one of the dramatics men show at old age. “Drama band karo rehman~ AUR SUNO TO—.”

Rehman immediately put his foot down, not liking the way you had disregarded his loving words for you.

“Nahi, tum suno meri baat,” he said, reaching for your hand, making you settle on his lap, where you belong. “You have plans, I get it. Mashallah, bohot bare sapne hain tumhare.” It was hard keeping the frustration and his distaste for the topic at bay. His thumb traced absent circles against your skin. “Lekin… yeh sab yahin nahi kar sakti? Mere thoda paas reh kar?”

The result was always the same—utterly fruitless.

This conversation had long since become a regular occurrence between the two of you, always ending the same way: with a grumpy, visibly agitated Rehman and you stubbornly walking away.

As the date of your departure crept closer, his agitation only grew more prominent.

Rehman buried himself in work and disputes, snapping at close associates over the smallest inconveniences and nearly breaking off a dozen deals out of sheer irritability. It hurt to watch. The faint streaks of white near his temples had become harder to ignore, exhaustion settling deeper into the sharp lines of his face, though he still carried himself with that same clean, composed appearance.

You found yourself questioning your plans more often than you liked—almost enough to abandon them entirely if only to ease the heaviness weighing on Rehman.

Almost.

Because despite everything, you still weren’t ready to give up that dream—the one you had held onto for far too long to simply let go.

Thus Rehman had no choice but to resort to plan b, plan baby.

he had to get you pregnant as soon as possible, so when you noticed the absence of your period and your noticeable symptoms, your only solution would be to travel back into his arms and raise his son.

That night, 2 nights before your departure he had convinced you to stay in his haveli. You had sneaked out with his from your not so humble aboard and landed straight in his chambers.

He had convinced you to taste the jazbaat of lyari , one last time , before you belong to a foreign land for the next 2-3 years.

Only he knows you’ll last max to max a month.

Rehman did everything possible to keep your mind occupied and even disoriented, sharing several drinks with you until you were drunk enough.

Finally when your eyes glazed over and your movements turned a bit sloppy, a predatory look passed through the apex predator’s eyes.

Rehman’s mind was a storm of calculated obsession as he laid you back on the bed, watching your head loll to one side to expose the delicate column of your neck.

Your intoxicating eyes half-lidded and swimming from the liquor he had provided you.

His cock stood up in attention from the firm confines of his salwar, the idea of your fate in his hands stroked his ego in a delightful way.

He started gentle. A delicate being like you deserves it. Even though you’ll be absolutely ruined by daylight, this was a piece of comfort he could provide you in this confused state of yours.

His vieny hands moved with deliberate slowness, savoring the power he held over your intoxicated body.

Featherlight touches trailed down your frame, assessing the rooh and husn the apex had to conquer.

Rehman didn’t rush to strip you. Instead, he lifted your lavender cotton kurta , baring the smooth expanse of your stomach and then your mouthwatering breasts clad in a pink flimsy bra. A cute innocent bow sat inbetween the valley.

The soft mounds rose and fell with your heavy, drugged breaths.

Unable to resist he cupped them through the flimsy fabric, thumbs circling your nipples, watching them harden under his touch.

‘These will be so full soon’, he thought, a dark thrill shooting through his veins.

‘Full of milk for my child. I can already imagine them swelling, heavy and warm’

He unclasped your bra it expertly as if already done a hundred times, your breasts spilling out lewdly, catches his awe.

He squeezed the soft flesh reverently , rolling each nipple between his fingers until you let out a weak, unconscious moan.

“R-Rehman…” you let out a soft plea, for him to stop or continue? even you couldn’t decipher.

“Mashallah. Look at these pretty little tits,” he murmured, though he knew you were barely hearing him as his lips found yours. Your breaths mingling together along with your bodies. You felt as if rehman was trying to merge your beings, to be one with him.

So you would never leave.

He kept one hand kneading your breast while the other traced down your stomach and into the waistband of your underwear.

You were already wet—he could feel the slick heat emanating through the fabric. He hooked his long fingers and pulled the cotton aside, exposing your glistening slit. So ready and so eager. Just like his good girl. Even drunk, your body knows who it belongs to.

Rehman’s internal monologue grew darker as he freed his cock. His kurta discarded in some forgotten corner.

He didn’t unbutton his salwar fully—just pulled the drawstring loose enough to let his erection spring free. The thick shaft stood rigid, the head already slick with precum. He stroked himself a few times, then looked at you, his gaze ominous.

If you were not drunk, you would be worried.

“I’m not going to wear a condom,” he said, his voice low and firm, cutting through the haze of your intoxication.

You blinked dumbly up to him. He let out a cruel chuckle at your dumbfounded expression. So cute.

“You want to know why? Because I need to feel every part of you, little girl. I need to feel your walls gripping my bare skin, your heat seeping into me. A rubber would steal that. It would keep me from leaving my seed where it belongs—deep in your womb.”

He didn’t know why he had to explain it out aloud despite knowing only jumbled words would be what you could decipher at your current state. Maybe it was to feel you were a willing participant too.

Your first child may be out of wedlock, but your second would be with you as his wife and his ring on your finger.

Before you could respond He positioned the head of his cock at your entrance, teasing your folds with the tip.

“Main tumhare itna qareeb hona chahta hoon… ke hamare darmiyan kuch bhi na rahe.”

He pushed forward slowly, letting you feel every inch of skin stretching your pussy open. Your walls clenched instinctively around his bare cock, and he groaned, his eyes rolling back. So tight

‘Jannat ki tarah’

He bottomed out, his pelvis flush against yours. Hearing your pathetic mewls, he stayed there for a moment, savoring the sensation of having no barrier between you, losing himself in the intimacy of your closeness.

Then he leaned forward, pressing your knees toward your chest, forcing your legs back until your thighs were nearly flat against your body.

The mating press locked you down, your pussy tilted up, offering the deepest access possible. His restraint was ready to snap, the sight so lewd and welcoming.

He shifted his weight, driving his cock even deeper, until he could feel the hard ring of your cervix against his tip.

“Feel that?” he grunted, beginning to thrust. Each stroke was slow and cruel, dragging his full length out before slamming back in, the slap of his skin against your ass echoing in the room.

“I’m hitting the back of you. I’m going to fuck my cum right into your womb, little girl. Every drop.”

He kept one hand planted on your hip, the other returning to your breast, pinching and pulling your nipple.

“Your little nipples are going to get so sensitive when you’re pregnant. You won’t be able to wear anything tight without getting hard. And I’ll suck them whenever I want, tasting the first sweet drops of milk before our baby gets any.”

His pace quickened, the bed frame creaking under the relentless force. Beads of sweat formed on his brow, and he could feel his climax building, coiling hot and tight in his balls.

“Begum banengi aap humari” he growled, his voice ragged.

“Tumhe apna banaunga — tumhari ungli mein meri angoothi aur hamare mustaqbil ko tumhare saath”

He adjusted his angle, thrusting harder. The mating press kept you pinned, unable to move, completely at his mercy.

He watched your vacant expression, knowing you couldn’t form a coherent thought, and it only fueled his possessiveness. You’re nothing but a dumb little girl with big dreams on his cock.

“Tell me you want my cum,” he demanded, though you were too far gone to speak. He didn’t care. He grabbed your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his. “Say it. ‘Please, Rehman, fill me with your seed.’ Say it or I’ll stop.”

He didn’t stop, pussy so good he couldn’t stop. He kept pounding into you, his balls slapping against your wet skin.

Your mouth opened, a garbled sound escaping. “Please…fill…”

Mind too gone to think of consequences. You had gone completely dumb, drooling on the sheets.

He took that as agreement. “That’s my good girl.”

He shifted his weight, pressing you further down into a breeding press, forcing your legs even wider to ensure he hit your cervix with every single stroke. He wanted to hammer his cum directly into your womb

You were sobbing now, a mix of intoxication and sheer erotic overload, your body shaking with every heavy thud of his hips

"Look at you," he growled, his voice a low, vibrating rumble. "So drunk you can't even remember your own name, but your little pussy is soaking wet for me. You're just a pathetic little girl, aren't you?"

With a final, brutal series of strokes, he buried himself as deep as possible, his pelvis grinding against your clit.

He roared, his body shuddering as he released. Hot, thick cum shot from his cock directly against your cervix, flooding your channel.

He didn’t pull back—he kept pushing, rotating his hips, ensuring every last drop was deposited as deep as possible.

You let out a strangled scream, your head snapping back, your eyes rolling.

The sensation was overwhelming—the sheer size of him stretching your walls to the breaking point, the friction of his rough skin against your sensitive folds.

You were dumb on his cock, your brain short-circuiting as the pleasure hit you like a freight train. You couldn't think, couldn't fight; you could only gasp and cling to his muscular hairy arms as your anchor.

‘She’ll never leave me now’

He stayed inside you, softening, but didn’t withdraw. He leaned down and kissed your forehead, then your lips, his tongue forcing its way inside your mouth to taste you.

You moaned softly in protest but he didn’t relent. Softly biting your swollen lips playfully.

“We’ll do this every night until your belly starts to grow,” he whispered. “Tum nahi jaogi”

When he finally did withdraw, the sound was obscene—a wet, sucking pull as his shaft slid free from your gripping walls.

He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at the mess he'd made. His cum was already starting to seep out of your gaping hole, a thick white rivulet trailing down your ass crack toward the sheets.

His expression darkened with possessive urgency. He shifted lower on the bed, positioning himself between your spread legs.

With two fingers, he pressed against your swollen folds — pushing the escaping seed back inside. You whimpered weakly at the pressure, your overstimulated pussy clenching around his digits.

“Don’t waste a single drop, little girl. Every bit of me needs to stay inside you.” He murmured, his hair was slick due to sweat and sex, one slutty strand falling on his forehead as he offered you a sweet kiss.

He collapsed beside you, pulling your limp body into his arms. He arranged you so your back was pressed against his chest, your head tucked under his chin, your ass snug against his groin. His arm wrapped around your waist, his hand coming to rest flat on your lower belly.

1 month passed until you called him from your new home, with your heart pounding and a positive pregnancy test in your hands. by then, Rehman already had your plane ticket purchased and everything was prepared for them to raise their son in their home….but first the nikkah.

@draculauras-stuff @myboysfavouritetoy @ooopssssu @wwwjustkidding @gloomilyblazingvoyage @rini4everdreaming @ninniemouse98 @terijhukinazar @cloudmast @nerdreader @scentedwolfdragon @shellybellysstuff @desi-brownie @emogirlnotreallyemo @maraudersbitchesassemble @satorustorm @warnermeadowsgirl @livelaughlovebylerr @hazeljisulatte @layinglowkey @baddiefication101 @goldenharrysworld @poetry-beauty-love-writez @goodnightkatherine @fanaajnabi @chaotickittydreamer @misteriadare @kisswithknife @rehmanhatesdosa @minnielovesme @cvclee @chocolate-and-trouble @shadylovedhurandhar @gulaabjamun08 @dumdumdaisy @work-of-procrastination @lakshana-ke-lakshan @willowsgoldenhour @rosesandpeoniesthings @harrystyleskiwi9 @rosiasthings @sonasarchive

[desigal-26]

On special request of @twinblueflamee, here comes the Prithviraj Pratap x Indu’s younger sister oneshot (littlu self-promotion but if you want Prithvi’s bot on C.ai—you can use mine 😜😉).

Enjoy your reading!

Lovers? Even Worse

Prithviraj Pratap x Indu’s Younger Sister!Reader

Were they friends? No. Were they lovers? Even worse…

They said opposites attract, and yet, Prithvi Pratap had no interest in opposites. Rather his gaze sought the figure of the younger daughter of Rajkumar Seksaria.

Warnings: He fell first and harder. Enemies to lovers. Prithvi is a stubborn and hotheaded man. Age gap. Arranged marriage. Banter. Blackmailing (not the reader).

Tag List: @twinblueflamee, @sonasarchive, @goodnightkatherine, @poetry-beauty-love-writez, @myvarya, @budugu

Connections in the realm of politics were the currency that could buy power. The kind that came with the backing of the voters. The kind that came when the men meant to enforce the laws written years ago implemented the rules you made. And the kind that came with the chair of the Chief Minister of the state.

And Prithviraj Pratap had grown up watching his family consolidate connections in the highest ranks of Madhya Pradesh. He had watched a government forming due to his family’s party, and he had witnessed it fall when they withdrew it.

Everything had been going according to the plan—until the dirty claws of politics sank into the belly and tore it to pieces.

One second, he was the heir apparent to the Rashtrawadi Party, and in another? He was forming one of his own, but there stood problems waiting for him—like sharp thorns in his path.

Jana Shakti could only win if it had enough funding to campaign for the fast-approaching elections, but how could he—a young, temperamental leader with a childhood of wealth and abundance, spoilt, some would say—arrange for such numbers in such a short time?

His answer had come soon enough at the hands of his younger brother Samar.

An arranged marriage with the daughter of the local industrialist Rajkumar Seksaria—a man who had been a close acquaintance of his family. A man who had two young daughters, one blooming like a sunflower on a sunny day while the other was the calm of monsoon.

Prithvi knew Samar had meant Indu when he had proposed the plan, and he knew why she was the more…appropriate choice.

Bright like the sun in the heat of May, with a smile that lightened up her entire face. Completely opposite of the sharp-eyed man with anger like a bubbling volcano. The safer choice that would balance him out in the optics.

But his mind was already set on another.

The younger sister was nothing like Indu—not bright and cheerful. But calm, like the moon in a dark night. Steady but not loud. Someone who would use her mind before she uses the sharp blade of her words, with a smile that could kill enough men and even more boys.

Someone who had never been afraid of speaking her mind—and that was enough to have caught his eyes.

He had known her his whole life, given that she was her elder sister’s shadow, following her with quiet steps and observing eyes. The silence to her sister’s chaotic storms; the mind of cognition while her sister was the impulsive heart.

And Prithvi had always preferred mind to heart.

They never really got along, always bickering and arguing over the prevalent issues of the political world—and even when they were not discussing politics? They were bickering about something else.

Always together, always conversing, but never agreeing.

And somewhere along the line, he had started observing things he shouldn’t have. Like how she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was uninterested in a conversation, or how her gaze would always clock all the exits and guards in a room. She preferred wearing lighter colours instead of the eye-catching dark ones, plain solid kurtas over the flowy, flower prints Indu wore. Her hair was always pulled away from her face, in a loose braid with a few strands escaping, or in a bun held together by a pen.

“Aap jaise log hi humare system ke liye sabse bada khatra hai,” (people like you are the most dangerous for our system) she had hissed during a heated debate between them, something about corrupt civil servants and even more corrupt politicians.

“Hum jaise matlab?” (What do you mean by people like us?)

Prithvi had only recently entered the horizons of the game the men of his family had been playing for ages. A youth leader with a powerful name and an entire party’s support. Known already for his charismatic words, just as the whispers of his temper were heard behind hands.

He could still vividly recall the fire of defiance in her brown eyes, burning like the sun itself, and yet controlled like a bonfire under a starry night. Almost as if the Agni Dev himself danced in those orbs.

“Matlab joh apne jhoothe waadon se logo ko phassa kar votes lete hai, aur phir gayab ho jaate hai.” (I mean those who charm the people into giving votes with fake promises, and then disappear.)

Had it been someone else, his fist would have already kissed the jaw in a rough knockout. But the then-youth leader had only found himself smirking, stepping closer until he could study each of her long eyelashes under the April sun.

“So you think I am charming?”

“In your dreams, Pratap.”

When they had been younger, the thought of her not calling him ‘bhaiya’ angered him deeply, for he felt—back then—that she was refusing to respect him. But the realisation of how big a blessing in disguise it was came years later, way after she had walked out of their bickering with flushed cheeks and hands trembling in anger.

His father had thrown a grand party on the eve of his birthday, introducing him to men he had seen walking in and out of the doors of their bungalow, but never spoke to until that day. They shook his hand, complimented his looks, praised how he carried himself like a ‘true politician’, whatever that meant. He had seen the glances between the conversation—of skeptical, of insecurity, of the quiet ‘will he be the next head of the party’.

In all honesty? He basked under the spotlight.

Until she had walked in with a saree draped around herself like a weapon of mass destruction, her eyes sharpened by the kohl and her lips painted a sinful crimson that had made his breath stutter for a moment before his composure slid back into place.

He had avoided her like a plague that night, for his heart threatened to give up at the mere sight of her, and he wasn’t keen on finding out what shall transpire when he saw her up close. At least, not that night.

But he had understood one thing.

He has to have her.

And he had tried everything in his power to make that happen. From trying to charm her into giving him a chance to woo her—which ended up with them bickering over his ‘outrageous audacity’—to trying to persuade his father Chandra Pratap and uncle Bhanu Pratap into asking her hand in marriage, which again backfired, for both of them had ambitions far beyond the boundaries of Madhya Pradesh. He had spoken of her in riddles to his mother, calling her ‘the moon hiding behind the mist of winter’ one night, and ‘the bells of a temple echoing through the hilly valleys of the Himalayas in the morning’ the other.

Still, as days turned to weeks and weeks into months, and years had passed since his unsuccessful attempts at having her, his hopes had plummeted—a desire burning still inside his chest, but the practicality had softened the glow.

But now he sat in front of Rajkumar Seksaria, with Samar and Brij Gopal flanking him, Prithvi realises with an invisible startle that this was his only chance. That one moment he had been waiting for since she had dared to show up to his birthday in the softest of pink, as if she was one of the very roses that had decorated those walls that night.

“Toh meri beti se shaadi ke badle tum chahte ho ki main tumhari party fund karu?” (So in exchange of a marriage to my daughter, you want me to fund your party?)

That was precisely what Prithvi wanted. But they were talking of the wrong daughter still. The elder sister instead of the mastermind that the younger one was. But soon, he will erase that confusion from their minds, once and for all.

“Ji.” (Yes.)

“Aur main aisa kyu karunga?” (And why would I do that?)

The man leaned back against the couch, sparing not even a single glance in the direction of the two men sitting beside him. Instead, his gaze moves past the industrialist—stopping squarely at the object of all his desires. The very bane of his existence; the fire that draws him closer to his end.

“Kyuki apka damad CM hoga.” (Because your son-in-law would be CM.)

Greed, Prithvi had learned early, could sway the morals of the most honourable man, and businessmen and politicians had questionable morals to begin with. And what can an industrialist want more than a close relative of his in power? Especially when he has enough crimes to hide.

“Hume yeh rishta manzoor hai, aaj se Indu—” (I accept this relationship, today onwards Indu—)

A huff of amusement escapes the man clad in a plain white kurta, a maroon scarf curling neatly around his neck, his polished footwear shone under the lights as he stood up, rounding the table and bending down a little. The next words were a whisper into the businessman’s ear—off record as many things in Rajkumar’s life has been:

“Suna hai Malanpur wali factory ki zameen kabhi sarkar ki hua karti thi, jispe apne apni industry bana daali—aur nakli kagaz bhi banva liye…” (I have heard that Malanpur factory’s land used to be government’s, on which you opened your industry—and forged fake documents…)

His lips twitched, desperate for a smirk, but his face remains passive while his hands grip his soon-to-be father-in-law’s shoulders, prompting him to stand up. How could he possibly sit when his son-in-law was standing? That would be a blatant mistake, won’t it?

“Kya chahiye tumhe?” (What do you want?)

The desperation in the whispered words amused Prithvi to an extent beyond his comprehension. He realises in that moment why men fought for power, committed sins and acts horrifying enough that they were buried before they could see the light of a day. The intoxicating effect of seeing a powerful man bend his knee and serve his whims.

“Apki choti beti.” (Your younger daughter.)

The next few moments passed like a whirlwind—with a startled Rajkumar Seksaria rambling about ‘she is too young to be a politician’s wife’ and her eyes narrowing while he could see the gears of her mind working. He wondered what she was thinking; whether it was trying to find a motive behind his words, or whether it was trying to deduce what her life would be.

But it was the words that left her lips that made everyone raise their eyebrows and share glances, all while she remained impassive—the very moment Prithvi decides that her father knew nothing about her, for she would be perfect as the wife of the most important man in the state.

“Hume Prithvi se akele mein kuch baat karni hai.” (I want to speak to Prithvi in private.)

With a reluctant nod from the elders, she guides him through the maze of corridors of the mansion to the sprawling gardens—neat flowerbed, carefully cut trees, a stone way leading to a sitting area in between the space. Six chairs were centred around a white table, fancy without being loud. And yet, the arranged beauty of the greenery around them was nothing in compared to the woman in front of him.

The pink kurta she wore hugged her in all the right places, and the man following her like a guard dog had to tear his gaze away from her just to stop the river of thoughts he would not dare admit in the light. Thoughts that urged him to press against the nearest tree and kiss her—show her how much she had tortured him all these years.

But he stops a few steps away when she turned around, leaning her hips against the table while her arms crossed in front of her, drawing his gaze to the curve of her bosom, but his attention hastily diverts itself to the huge tree that provided shade to the arrangement of the table and the chairs.

“Hum kyu? Didi kyu nahi?” (Why me? Why not didi?)

He had expected that question, but he hadn’t been prepared enough to answer it immediately. Instead, he takes a step closer, and another until only a few inches separated them, shared breath warming each other’s face.

“Kyuki aap samajhdar hai.” (Because you are sensible.)

The kind that would stand by his side and not behind him. The kind that would not sit like a trophy by his side but participate actively in the matters of state politics—and one day, if the fate had willed so, even in national politics. The kind that would give better solutions to problems than the old men whose primary purpose was to fill their pockets.

“Kyuki aap kabhi mujhse dari nahi.” (Because you were never scared of me.)

Not when they were bickering and his voice had risen with rage flickering behind his eyes, for who would dare defy the opinions of the future Chief Minister? Except for, as it stood, his wife-to-be. Not even when he had lost his calm and nearly beaten a journalist asking evasive questions about something he doesn’t even remember now. She was never afraid—always putting forth opinions that rivalled his, without any fear.

It had annoyed Prithvi once, but things that annoy one can be things to be admired, and she was the only woman he cherished—even if it had been from a distance.

But not anymore.

“Kyuki aap mere dimag se jaati nahi hai. Subah, shaam—har waqt sirf apke baare mein sochta hu and it’s annoying, Ms. Seksaria. Kyuki aapse zyada respect na maine kisi ki kari hai, aur shayad kabhi kar bhi nahi paunga. Kyuki…pyaar toh hum bohot karte hai aapse…bass batana nahi aaya.” (Because you don’t leave my mind. Morning, evening—all the time, I think about you and it’s annoying, Ms. Seksaria. Because I don’t respect anyone more than you, and probably won’t.)

Not even the birds dared to chirp in the silence that fell in the garden, a tension so thick that it could be cut by a knife.

His hand rises almost cautiously, brushing away a loose strand away from her face, tucking it away behind her ear before his finger begins tracing her helix—a feather-light touch that send shivers down her spine. His thumb brushes against her cheek, eyes lingering on every inch of her features, as if committing her to his memory.

“Do sharte hai humari.” (I have two conditions.)

Prithvi only nods, even though he knew he would agree to them, regardless of what they were. Anything for her.

“Humse kabhi jhooth bolne ki koshish mat kijiyega. Khoon bhi karke aaye hai, toh bhi sach,” (Never try to lie to me. Even if you have murdered someone, tell the truth) she whispered, lips parting in a quiet exhale while her gaze flicks down to his lips. And had he not been waiting for her second condition, he would have kissed her by now. After all, patience had never been his forte, unless she was included in the mix.

“Manzoor hai.” (I accept.)

A pause. An exhale of hers that he breaths in like it was the most sacred air in the world. A small moment, her ducking her head a little—shy for the first time for him to witness—and their skin brushes against one another. Her forehead barely grazing his chin. Something that looked rather normal to anyone, but it had their hearts racing in their chests.

Her hands rise then, fingers curling into the collar of his kurta while the familiar fire shine in her eyes again.

“Agar kisi aur ladki ke baare mein socha bhi, toh neend mein hi maar dalungi.” (If you even think of another woman, I will kill you in your sleep.)

A gentle, admiring caress of his thumb on her cheek while a smirk brushes his lips, amusement dancing in his eyes. There she was, he thought to himself before he leaned his head forward, forehead resting against hers.

“Apke hote hue kisi aur ki kya zarurat?” (What is the need of another if you are here?)

Their lips crashed together.

A future sealed together.

[vakalatnelagadiye]

has the alcohol lulled him down or is he aware that his cock is about to burst through the confines of his salwar 🫪

godddddd he's sooo hard....just want him to fuck me silly and tipsy sex lowkey the horniest 💋 the tip of his cock smeared with pre cum, throbbing, red and twitching wildly before he pushes into mah wet inviting pussy, whining as the alcohol makes him subby, wantonly fucking with wild deep strokes, aching to cum the deepest pits of mah pussy 💦 while he busies himself with mah boobies, sucking them raw and fucking me raw.........FUCKKKKK

[nazmnotes]

​Dhurandhar Headcanons- In Bed

Note: MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. This content is intended for audiences 18+ only.

A/N: this is the first part of my headcanon series which I'll post regularly from now on, for this one I just wanted to give MY headcanon for each fuckable male character of Dhurandhar. Without further explanation- ENJOY<3

​1. Hamza:

​Hamza... He is a Gentle Dom. He wants you to surrender, but he’ll guide you through every step of that surrender - literally. I'm talking- talking you through it and praising you into heaven for taking it.

​Physics: He's above average, definitely nice and thick, filling you up reaaaally nicely. He's beefy, so he's stronger than you, you basically disappear under him every time you fuck and you love it.

​Kink: Impact play (light) and Praise Kink. He loves the sound of a sharp palm against your skin followed immediately by his soothing voice. Size Kink: You will look small next to this fridge- and he will love it - no matter your size or weight- he's constantly picking you up and fucks you in the shower holding you up- trust this man is STRONG.

​Turn-Ons: Hearing you say "Please." He needs to hear the desire in your voice. He loves eye contact during the most intense moments and oh boy- he loves Thighs. Let me tell youuu- this man goes crazy for your thighs ans grabs them everywhere you go. He's such a sucker for lingerie as well, buying you so much that he could just open a damn shop of his own.

​In Bed: He talks... a lot. "Look at me. Tell me you feel that. Good girl just like that." He’s very big on "checking in" without breaking the mood, using his thumb to wipe away tears or sweat, always has his hands on you. He's experimental, lets you try things you wanna try and even gives up dominance sometimes, letting you take charge by Riding him for example.

Favorite Positions: Missionary, definitely. He loves your pretty face, the look in your eyes, how your lips part when you moan, he goes crazy for it. He likes every position that he can see you face with nicely, but missionary is definitely his favorite. Honorable Mention: Riding and Mating press

​Aftercare: High-effort. He will carry you to a warm bath, wash your hair, and wrap you in one of his oversized shirts. He’ll whisper how proud he is of you until you fall asleep- he's the KING of Aftercare my friends

​2. Rehman:

​Rehman is a man that is in control- also in bed- ESPECIALLY in bed. His actions are loud...very~ He is a "Munch" through and through— eats pussy for breakfast lunch and dinner and will always ask for dessert. He views your pleasure as his primary duty and his greatest reward.

​Physics: Do not think because he's more on the Average size that he doesn't know how to work with it. Damn- this man can FUUUCK. He's lean, but muscular and he's strong- his hands are rough- and feel amazing against your skin and pushed into your mouth.

​Kink: He's a chronic Pussy-Eater and loves Sensory Deprivation. He loves blindfolding you so you can only feel the heat of his breath and the skill of his tongue- Another thing he's very fond of is Orgasm Control~ he looves telling you to hold it back until you are cross eyed and shaking all over. Tbh, he just likes giving you orders~

​Turn-Ons: Watching your face while he’s between your legs- yes I don't make the rules this man loves Pussy LOOK AT HIM. He also loves "marking"—leaving bruises or hickeys where only he knows they exist, he likes to make you wear lingerie under your clothes all day or he makes you wear vibrators with him relentlessly using that remote.

​In Bed: He’s a "taker" when it comes to your pleasure. He will stay down there nose deep in your bits for hours if he has to. If you try to pull him up, he’ll just grip your thighs tighter and growl, "I didn't say you were done yet." He makes you BEG for him to fuck you, and once he gives you what you wanted he isn't stopping before he gave you at least 3-5 orgasms ON HIS DICK ALONE. (Ulfat so lucky-)

Favorite Positions: Well maybe I didn't say it yet but- BRO NEEDS PUSSY IN HIS FACE TO SURRIVE OKAY- SIXTY-NINE is his favorite. Being able to taste you making a mess on his tongue AND fucking your pretty mouth? Yeah. This man is in heaven. Honorable Mentions: Reverse Cowgirl and Spooning

​Aftercare: Very physical and grounding. He needs skin-to-skin contact. He’ll pull you onto his chest, legs tangled, and just breathe you in, rubbing his chin against your neck, he would often watch you because, after that many earth shaking toe curling orgasms, you'd pass out right after sex, but you know that you're always taken care of<3

​3. Uzair:

​Uzair is the most "creative" of the bunch. To him, sex is a playground- He’s playful, unpredictable, and likes to push boundaries. One night he might be sweet; the next, he’s treating you like his favorite sextoy

​Physics: DAMN, big dick energy- wow. Hes definitely big, not as thick tho, still definitely more than ENOUGH. Hes athletic and surprisingly flexible for his Height. He uses his Tallness to manipulate your body into positions you didn’t know were possible girl-

​ Kink: Exhibitionism/Risk & Edging. He loves the thrill of "almost getting caught"—locking a door at a party or being loud in a room with thin walls or fucking you outside or in a damn elevator- hes HORNY everywhere and he likes how shy you get about maybe being caught. He is the king of edging you until you’re crying for it, hes such a damn tease.

​Turn-Ons: Feistyness. He loves it when you try to take control or talk back, just so he can "punish" you for it- he loves fighting for dominance with you. Also, This man stares at your Ass sooo much- that even other people notice. He loves to grab it and spank it while walking by, and your reactions to it.

​In Bed: It’s high energy, girl he can fuck you for houurs- There’s a lot of laughing, biting, and hair-pulling, from both of you, He might record a voice note of your sounds just to play it back to you later, or film you to watch it later. He wants to be your most "memorable" experience- trying EVERYTHING you wanna try, from dressing you up to Public sex, Vanilla to SM, hes in for it as long as you two are fucking and happy after it.

Favorite Positions: Oh boy. He likes many- but if he has to pick one, it's the Pretzel.- You two are entangled and so fucking close- he uses his flexibility and puts you in a position that forces your body to be all accessible to him, to reach down and pinch your clit, pull your head back for breathless kisses or spanking these pretty open thighs of yours. Honorable Mentions: Doggystyle and infront of a mirror

​Aftercare: Playful and sweet. He’ll order late-night takeout, feed you fries while you’re both naked in bed, and joke about the marks he left on you. He’ll stay up late just talking and kissing your forehead, he makes you laugh and feel save with him, but also tease you about how high-pitched your moans got while he pounded you.

​4. Iqbal

​Iqbal doesn't do "light." He is a Hard Dom into heavy BDSM. For him, your submission is his biggest pride. He loves to be in charge and take care of your needs while fulfilling his own.- Yet. He's always checking in, and he makes sure you have your safeword memorized and feel save with the more extreme side of his.

​Physics: Thats a big cock let me tell you and its thick too- it might scare you first and lemme tell you he LIKES that. He scarred, tall , muscular and intimidating. Just his presence in the room makes the air feel thinner and girl guess what's gonna feel fuller soon-

​Kink: Bondage (Rope/Cuffs), Breath Play, and Fear Play. He likes the primal aspect of intimacy. He wants you bound and helpless, relying entirely on him for your next breath or your next peak. He has you tied to bed or the Doorframe with your legs spread open in place and there's nothing that could get him harder than seeing how excited you are to be taken care of by him, getting wet with just the clink of the cuffs. He likes chasing you around for fun, overpowering you easily.

​Turn-Ons: Absolute obedience. The way you shiver when he enters the room with a set of leather cuffs. He loves the contrast between his rough, weathered skin and your softness. He loves your Consent. He loves to check on you ans you saying "fuck don't stop I love it-"

​In Bed: It’s intense and often silent, punctuated only by his low commands. "Don't move," or "Take it." He uses toys and tools with clinical precision. There is a deep, dark heat in his eyes that tells you he is worshiping you even while he’s being the one in charge. Then again- it can get very loud- screaming in pleasure while his hand slaps your ass- your crys into his biceps while he bends you over and fucks you- its really a mix if two extremes.

Favorite Positions: Prone bone. girl I can't even- like do I have to explain- you pressed down with him behind you pounding you while your face is either pressed into the pillows screaming or resting on your cheek while you have to tell him you want it harder?!- yes. The answer is yes. Honorable Mentions: Double Decker and up against the wall/door with your hands tied behind your back

​Aftercare: This is where the softness, the protector comes out. After a heavy session, he is incredibly gentle. He will personally check every mark, apply ointment to any rope burn, and hold you in a protective embrace that makes the rest of the world disappear. He’s the "weighted blanket" of partners, always telling you how amazing you were and that you are most precious to him.

That is it for this Part of my Headcanon series- I'll write this along with the next fics- also you can comment whatever you wanna read next!

Yours truly;

Nazm.

[ishq-e-rehman]

alright alright so a lot of people have left the fandom. its high time that whoever is still actively writing- we should be tight.

i also feel like the fandom is divided into various groups and no i'm not saying groups as in favoritism im saying groups as in the writers are somehow divived i see so many new fics from upcoming yet there are no mutuals with those writers so i don't really get to know about them.

i'm tagging people and please please, tag writers who are writing still for the dhurandhar fandom and writers if you see this, please respond in the comments COZ I WANNA BE MOOTS WITH ALL OF YOU OK AND WE SHOULD BE TIGHT KNIT AND SUPPORTING EACH OTHER

edit: see guys this is what im talking abt WE NETWORKING HARD LINKEDIN WHO

tags: @precioussophia @malekathesimp68 @carmenred28 @seasonofthenerd @kamalkafool @mainyahaankyunhoon @goodasaysboo @hereforfanfictionsfr @gulaabjamun08 @bobcuts-blog @stoicepochmaw @goodnightkatherine @mrgrungusthefrog @debsreads21 @obeythebutler @marvelfamily3000 @cloudmast @written-in-ishq @kisswithknife @carmenred28 @tojisloft @cloudmast @girllostinfictionworld @buchanana00 @sea-breeze-in-my-hair @judespoision @gehra-hua @main-apni-favorite-nahi-hoon @why-am-i-like-this-blog@desigurlie @ppinkitten @allthingsmythology @kitty-minnieee @fluffycheesecakey @work-of-procrastination @rosesandpeoniesthings@oinswiftie @mujhekoimarsbhejdo @itstiaofficial

[mehfil-e-random]

Jaisa aap kahen

Masterlist

Disclaimer: This is a purely fictional work inspired by the electrifying performances of the actors on screen. It has absolutely nothing to do with real-life terrorists or such individuals.

A/N : This one-shot is so random, but after that last post, I think our hearts deserve a little healing.

Fluff

The golden, dusky hues of the late afternoon faded into the rich twilight of Eid glow . Inside the grand Haveli, the air was thick with the rich, intoxicating aromas of burning roasted oud, sweet saffron, and simmering biryani. Evening had officially set in, casting a warm, romantic glow over the bustling home.

Upstairs, in the master bedroom, the atmosphere was far more intimate. Rehman leaned against the polished wooden mirror frame, his hair slightly damp, watching his wife through the glass with a slow, devastating smirk. Ulfat was attempting to adjust the borders of her heavy embroidered dupatta, but Rehman’s persistent gazes and even more persistent hands were making it entirely impossible.

"Rehman, please," Ulfat whispered, her cheeks flushed a bright rose tint as his fingers gently trailed down the exposed curve of her nape. "The guests will be here any minute. We need to go downstairs."

"Let them wait," Rehman murmured, leaning down to press a warm, lingering kiss right behind her earlobe, his hand sliding around her waist to pull her back against his chest. "It’s Eid, Begum. And my eyes haven't even had their feast yet."

"You've been 'feasting' your eyes for the last two hours," she teased, trying to wiggle out of his hold, though her hands instinctively rested over his arms. "And we are supposed to be getting ready, not—"

"Not what?" he chuckled against her neck, his voice dropping an octave, teasing and flirtatious. "Not admiring my own wife?"

On the center of the plush four-poster bed sat little Nemat, their toddler daughter. Utterly indifferent to her parents' romantic banter, Nemat was sitting dressed in a tiny, customized cream and gold-red lehenga. She had managed to pull her foot up to her mouth and was currently deeply engrossed in the serious business of tasting her own little toes, occasionally letting out a happy babble.

Before Rehman could press his advantage and steal another kiss from Ulfat, the heavy wooden doors of the bedroom burst open without a single courtesy knock.

"Abba! Look!"

In marched Naieem, carrying himself with the quiet pride of a young man, followed closely by Faizal , who was bouncing on his heels. Right behind them was Uzair, wearing an identical expression of smug triumph.

Rehman immediately straightened up, clearing his throat while Ulfat quickly pulled her dupatta over her shoulders, stepping away with an embarrassed cough.

"Do you people even know how to knock?" Rehman grumbled, adjusting his cuffs while glaring playfully at his brother.

"Knock? On Eid?" Uzair scoffed, striding into the room and spreading his arms wide to showcase his outfit. "Look at us first, Bhai! Tell us who looks the best."

All three of them— Naieem, Faizal, and Uzair were dressed in identical, exquisitely tailored cream-colored silk kurtas featuring delicate threadwork along the collar and cuffs. It was an exact replica of the cream kurta Rehman was currently wearing.

Faizal puffed out his chest. "Abba, look! We look like a royal army. Yours is just a bigger size!"

"More like a bunch of copycats," Rehman drawled, though a proud smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he looked at his sons and brother. "You couldn't come up with your own style, Uzair?"

"Why innovate when the classic works?" Uzair laughed, reaching down on the bed to scoop up little Nemat, who giggled instantly and stopped her foot-tasting session to grab at her uncle’s embroidered collar. "Look at our princess, sitting here while her parents delay the whole evening."

Naieem shook his head fondly at his parents, noticing the remaining blush on his mother’s face. "Ammi, the preparations downstairs are complete. Akhlaq Chacha was asking for you."

"I am coming, beta," Ulfat said quickly, giving Rehman a subtle, stern glance that silently said see what you did? "Let's all go down together."

The grand courtyard downstairs was lit up with dozens of warm yellow lanterns and fairy lights draped over the marble archways. As the family descended the sweeping staircase, a tall, well-built man stepped forward from the doorway.

It was Hamza, Rehman’s most trusted right-hand man, who was considered nothing short of a family member in the Haveli. He was holding a stack of sweet boxes, looking sharp and elegant—dressed in the exact same cream-colored kurta as the rest of the men.

Uzair broke into a wide grin the moment he spotted him. "Oh, look! The cream kurta club gains another member! Hamza, did you steal the fabric from Rehman Bhai’s room too?"

Hamza rubbed the back of his neck, a slight, rare blush creeping up his rugged face as he smiled respectfully at Rehman and Ulfat. "Eid Mubarak, Rehman Bhai. Bhabhi. I....well, Uzair kept insisting we all match this year."

"It suits you, Hamza," Ulfat said warmly, stepping down. "Eid Mubarak to you."

"Eid Mubarak, Bhabhi," Hamza replied softly.

Before Uzair could tease Hamza further, heavy footsteps echoed from the main entrance, accompanied by a hearty, booming laugh. Jameel Jamali, a politician and long-time family friend, stepped into the courtyard, draped in an opulent shawl. Walking beside him was his graceful wife, Shabnam Jamali, and behind them came their daughter, Yalina Jamali.

Yalina looked breathtaking in a deep crimson sharara that contrasted sharply with the Haveli's pastel theme. The moment she crossed the threshold, her eyes subtly scanned the room until they locked onto Hamza.

Hamza’s breath caught in his throat. Standing by the pillar, he subtly adjusted his collar, his eyes lingering on Yalina for a second too long. Yalina caught his gaze, her lips curving into a shy, secret smile as her cheeks turned a violent shade of red. Unknown to the rest of the world, the two had been quietly dating for months, hiding their sweet romance behind lingering looks and stolen moments.

"Eid Mubarak, Rehman!" Jameel Jamali called out, stepping forward with open arms.

"Eid Mubarak, Jamali Sahab!" Rehman met him halfway, embracing him warmly, followed by Uzair and the boys giving their respect. Shabnam and Ulfat embraced tightly, exchanging warm greetings and laughter while Yalina respectfully stepped forward to hug Ulfat and kiss little Nemat’s chubby cheeks.

Jameel turned his attention to the boys, his gaze landing on Faizal, who suddenly tried to hide behind his older brother Naieem.

"Ah, Faizal!" Jameel exclaimed, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he wrapped an arm around the young boy's shoulders. "Eid Mubarak, mere bacche! Tell me, how are the studies going? Maine suna tum 8th class main phir se fail ho gaye, Jameel mamu ki tarah politician banoge !"

The entire courtyard erupted into laughter. Faizal groaned, turning beet red.

"Jameel uncle, don't encourage him!" Naieem chimed in with a laugh. "He already thinks he's the king of the house."

Amidst the hearty laughter and lighthearted banter, the family transitioned into the main dining hall. The massive dining table was a sight to behold— spread wide with a regal feast consisting of fragrant mutton biryani, rich chicken korma, crispy kebabs, sheer khurma, and endless bowls of dry fruits and naan.

Everyone took their seats around the long table. Naieem sat near the center, lifting little Nemat onto his lap. The toddler was fascinated by her brothers. With her tiny, chubby hands, she began reaching up, playfully touching Naieem’s jawline and then leaning over to poke Faizal’s nose.

Faizal made ridiculous faces every time she touched him, causing Nemat to burst into high-pitched, toothless giggles. The entire table paused to watch the sweet bond, everyone admiring the tender moment between the siblings.

"Look at her," Shabnam said softly, her hands folded over her chest. "She has her father's eyes, but all of Ulfat's charm."

"And her brothers are already her personal bodyguards," Jameel added, taking a bite of a kebab.

Meanwhile, sitting diagonally across from each other, Hamza and Yalina were engaged in their own silent, hidden world. Every time Hamza reached for a jug of water or passed a dish down the table, his eyes would catch Yalina’s. Yalina quickly took a sip of her drink to hide her blushing cheeks, her fingers lightly messing with the delicate glass bangles on her wrist.

Rehman, reached out toward a large platter of fiery, spicy nihari that had just been brought out.

Before his fingers could even touch the serving spoon, Ulfat’s hand smoothly intercepted his path. She gently slid the spicy dish away from his reach and replaced it with a milder, aromatic bowl of chicken stew.

"Not that one," Ulfat murmured softly, her tone firm yet brimming with care. "You know your stomach gets upset with too much red chili. Have this instead."

Rehman paused, looking at the bowl she had placed in front of him, and then lifted his eyes to meet hers. A soft, devastatingly handsome smile spread across his face. Instead of protesting, he leaned slightly toward her, his gaze filled with pure adoration.

"Jaisa aap kahen, meri jaan," Rehman said in a deep, velvet voice that was meant only for her, yet carried just enough to be heard by those closest to them.

Ulfat’s breath hitched. A deep, instant blush rushed to her face at his bold choice of words in front of the entire family. "Rehman....everyone is watching," she whispered under her breath, playfully nudging him with her elbow to make him behave.

Instead of backing off, Rehman let out a low chuckle. Under the cover of the heavy tablecloth, his long arm snaked around her waist, pulling her flush against his side. Ulfat went still, her cheeks burning red-hot with shyness as she felt the firm grip of his hand resting snugly on her waist.

"Oh, look at them!" Shabnam teased loudly, clapping her hands together with a hearty laugh. "Decades together, three kids, and they still behave like newlyweds! Ulfat, my dear, how do you manage to blush like a young bride even today?"

"Auntie, Abbu never misses a chance to flirt," Naieem commented with a smirk, while feeding a small piece of soft bread to Nemat. "Even we feel invisible sometimes."

"Hey, respect your father!" Rehman warned playfully, though he didn't loosen his hold on Ulfat’s waist for a second, enjoying her delightful embarrassment.

After a few more minutes of lively conversation and delicious food, Ulfat managed to gently pry Rehman’s hand away. She cleared her throat and stood up from her chair, smoothing down her designer kameez.

"Please enjoy, everyone," Ulfat said, trying to regain her composure. "I will just go to the kitchen to check if Akhlaq Chacha needs any help with the desserts."

"Bhabhi, everything is already on the table, why bother?" Uzair pointed out, his mouth full of biryani.

"Still, I'll just double-check," she insisted, giving a sweet smile before turning around and walking toward the quiet, dim corridor that led to the back kitchen area.

Rehman watched her retreat. Without skipping a beat, he casually wiped his hands with a napkin, pushed his chair back, and stood up.

"Where are you going, Bhai?" Uzair asked innocently.

"Just....checking on the dessert situation," Rehman replied smoothly, not even trying to hide his intentions.

The entire table burst into collective giggles and knowing chuckles. Uzair shook his head, laughing out loud, while Naieem leaned back in his chair, shaking his head in fond admiration at how hopelessly in love his parents still were. Even little Nemat clapped her small hands together, babbling loudly as if she completely agreed with her brothers' unsaid thoughts.

Ulfat walked down the dimly lit hallway leading toward the kitchen, taking a deep breath of the cooler air to soothe her burning cheeks.

Suddenly, a strong, familiar hand gripped her wrist from behind.

Before she could gasp, Rehman gently but firmly pulled her sideways, tucking her neatly into the quiet shadow behind the heavy archway door.

"Rehman!" she gasped softly, her back hitting the smooth cool wall as he pressed close, trapping her within the frame of his broad shoulders. "What are you doing? Someone will see!"

"Let them see," Rehman murmured, his voice thick with playfulness and desire. "You left the table, Begum. Did you really think I wouldn't follow?"

"I came to check on the kitchen!" she insisted, her voice trembling slightly as his proximity sent a familiar shiver down her spine. "You are completely shameless, you know that?"

"Only for you," he whispered smoothly.

Slowly, deliberately, Rehman slid his warm, large hands under the hem of her heavily embroidered kameez. His bare fingers made contact with the smooth skin of her bare waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them.

Ulfat’s breath hitched instantly, her hands flying up to rest against his broad chest to steady herself. "Rehman..." she breathed out, her eyes fluttering shut at his touch.

Instead of answering, Rehman leaned down and captured her lips in a slow, deep, lingering kiss. It was filled with years of unyielding love, warmth, and the quiet passion that had only grown stronger over time. Ulfat melted into the embrace, her fingers gripping the fabric of his cream kurta tightly.

When he finally pulled back just a fraction, his forehead resting against hers, both of them were slightly breathless.

Ulfat opened her eyes, looking up at him through her long eyelashes. She let out a quiet, shy laugh, breaking the sudden intensity. She glanced past his shoulder toward another dimly lit corner visible through the archway window.

There, stood Hamza and Yalina. Believing they were entirely unobserved, Hamza was delicately holding out a small velvet box, gifting Yalina a pair of stunning silver earrings. Yalina’s face was glowing with absolute joy as she accepted them, her shy giggles echoing faintly.

Ulfat looked back up at Rehman, a teasing smile gracing her lips. "Look at them. Ye sab Hamza aur Yalina karte theek lagte hain, Rehman," she whispered softly, pointing subtly toward the young couple.

Rehman casually turned his head to look in the direction she indicated, watching his right-hand man awkwardly try to help Yalina put on the earring. A fond smirk appeared on Rehman's face.

Taking advantage of his turned head, Ulfat stood on her tiptoes, pressed a soft, warm kiss directly onto his cheek, and leaned into his ear.

"Teen bachon ke baap ho..." she whispered cheekily, her eyes dancing with mischief. "...Lekin lagte nahi ho."

Rehman turned his gaze back to her, a slow, ridiculously handsome flush rising on his own cheeks as he looked at his wife. He let out a low, husky laugh, his grip on her waist tightening just a little bit more as he leaned in close to her ear.

"Aap bhi khana lagti hai, Begum," he murmured shyly yet boldly, his lips brushing her earlobe. "Aap kahen toh do-teen bacche aur karlein?"

Ulfat gasped, her entire face bursting into a bright, flaming shade of red.

"Rehman!" she chided him gently, giving him a firm push on his chest while biting back a huge, uncontrollable smile.

She quickly ducked under his arm, gathering her ornate dupatta, and hurriedly blushed her way back toward the bustling light of the dining room—leaving her husband standing behind the door, grinning like a smitten teenager on Eid night.

Tags : @shippingtheshippers @pavbhajisupremacist @tanipartner @sparksfromhell @harrystyleskiwi9 @desigurlie @delusionpromaxxsubhu-99 @vakalatnelagadiye @erenfox @rini4everdreaming @scentedwolfdragon @sanpiece @pleasetagmejaaneman @chunkychocosblog @cloudmast @obsessedwidskincare @gulaabjamun08 @tere-naal-nachna @lakshana-ke-lakshan @layinglowkey @shadylovedhurandhar @geometric-circle @ch3rrycok3s @dukh-dard-peeda @cholebhaturesupremacy @rehmanhatesdosa @debsreads21 @snihrayy @akshayes @moonxinthesky @neverkhushialwaysgham @maroonphase @unicornxkeep @faebutterflygayaf @rosiasthings @theuselessdaydreamingidiot @mainyahaankyunhoon @lilymodernfamily @thandicoffee @heavenlit-34 @itstiaofficial @sunxister21 @prahelika @mcdreamyshepherd @ishq-e-rehman @pearls456 @dearlaharii @writrsblu @staticshadowblaze