Ahlawat oneshot whenn? 🥲
Where are u, is evrything ok?
Helloooo I'm soo sorry mann but I've been soo busy with work, And household stuff, anyways I did write the fic and changed the plot a bit but where you go-
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Every Ken needs his Barbie
Pairing:Tarun Ahwalat x Partner!Reader
T.W:SMUT GOOD DELICIOUS SMUT BUT MDNI, 18+
Tarun liked his life quiet, dark, and predictable. He liked his suits sharp, his coffee bitter, and his house smelling of nothing but expensive leather and old paper. He was a man of logic, a man who solved cases by stripping away the noise until only the cold, hard facts remained.
But Y/N was the noise. And secretly, he was addicted to it.
He’d never admit it to Gaitonde or any of his men, but the moments when she invaded his space were the only times he actually felt alive. He’d pretend to be annoyed when she replaced his elegant, white jasmine garden with a loud, messy patch of sunflowers and tulips.
He’d let out a heavy sigh when she’d march into his dark office and rip the blinds open, complaining that he lived like a hermit.
"Andhera? Sorry ab ye andhera rehne nahi wala hai aapki zindagi mein," she’d tease, her bright energy hitting him like a physical force.
He’d just grunt, pretending to be irritated, but inside, he loved the way her chaos forced him out of his own head. Without her, he feared he’d just become another cold, unfeeling part of the bureaucracy. She was the only thing in his world that wasn't grey.
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On his birthday, the Salgaonkarr case was a nightmare. Tarun was slumped in his chair, the dim light of his desk lamp casting sharp shadows over his head. His mind was a mess of forensic reports and dead ends. He felt heavy, the silence of the house feeling more like a burden than a comfort.
Then, the door swung open. The scent of vanilla and something sugary hit him before he even saw her.
Y/N walked in, looking entirely too bright for a man in the middle of a mental breakdown. She was carrying a cake that was, quite frankly, an eyesore bright pink fondant, massive glittery bows, and enough sugar to give him a heart attack.
"Happy Birthday, IG sahab!" she beamed, setting it down right on top of his messy pile of case files.
Tarun rubbed his face, his eyes stinging from the screen.
"Y/N... meri jaan, thank you. But please, just give me a moment. Mere paas waqt nahi hai... this case is a mess."
Tarun leaned back in his leather chair, the tension in his shoulders finally beginning to give way not to the case, but to the sight of her. He didn't even try to look back at his laptop. Instead, he just watched her, a small, private smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He was already amused. He knew exactly what was coming.
"Kaam? Is that all you think about?" Y/N started, her hands on her hips as she glared at the stack of files.
She didn't wait for an answer, she never did. "Tarun, it is your birthday! Log birthday manate hain, tum yahan files me hi khoe rehte ho! If you keep this up, you’re going to fall sick. Your brain is going to fry, and then who will handle all these cases?"
She started pacing the small space of his office, her voice rising in that way it did when she was truly offended on his behalf.
"And don't you dare say you're fine. Dekho apni halat! You look like you haven't seen the sun in three days. You need sugar, you need rest, and you need to stop being so...obsessive over your work!"
She stopped her pacing right in front of his desk, leaning down until her face was inches from his. The scent of her perfume something sweet, floral, and unapologetically feminine completely drowned out the smell of his old files.
"Laptop band karo," she commanded, her eyes flashing with a playful but firm authority that only she could pull off with a man like him.
"Now."
Tarun didn't argue. He didn't even try to defend his work or explain the urgency of the Salgaonkarr files. He simply watched her, his dark eyes tracking the way her lips moved as she ranted, a silent, amused warmth spreading through his chest.
With a slow, deliberate movement, he reached out and slammed his laptop shut. The click of the lid sounded final in the quiet room. He pushed the files aside, clearing a space as he stood up, his tall, imposing frame towering over her.
Before she could launch into her next lecture, he stepped into her space, his large hands sliding around her waist to pull her flush against him. Y/N let out a small, startled huff of air as she was tucked against the solid warmth of his chest.
Tarun didn't let her pull away, instead, he buried his face in the crook of her neck, nuzzling against her skin. The scent of her vanilla, sugar, and her was an instant sedative to his racing mind.
"Tarun..." she murmured, her scolding tone faltering as she felt the heat of him.
He breathed her in, his lips brushing against her skin as he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that sent a shiver straight down her spine.
"Jaisa aap kaho, meri Rani," he murmured.
He felt her hands settle on his shoulders, her fingers curling into his shirt, and for the first time all day.
Tarun didn't pull back immediately. He stayed there for a moment, savoring the way her heartbeat had sped up under his arms, the way her body had gone from a whirlwind of lecture to a soft, yielding warmth in his arms.
He let the silence stretch, the air between them thickening with a tension that had nothing to do with police work and everything to do with the way she was looking at him.
Slowly, he lifted his head, but he didn't let go of her waist. He leaned in just enough so that his gaze could lock onto hers, his eyes brimming with a playful, uncharacteristic mischief. A slow, smug smirk spread across his face the look of a man who knew he had already won the argument.
"So..." he murmured, his voice dropping an octave,
"Since I've been such a good boy and closed all my files... Tohh, aren't you going to give me a present? It’s my birthday, after all."
He punctuated the question with a slow, deliberate wink, his eyes dropping briefly to her lips before meeting hers again. A challenge, an invitation, and a blatant move to shift the focus from the pink cake to something much more interesting.
Y/N felt the heat rise to her cheeks, but she wasn't about to let him have the upper hand that easily. She let out a soft, knowing laugh, her eyes dancing with the same spark he had just thrown at her. She reached up, patting his cheek condescendingly, though her fingers lingered just a second too long against his skin.
"Oh, so now you're a demanding one?" she teased, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. She leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear, making him catch his breath.
"Don't worry, Tarun. Present toh milega."
She pulled back, a triumphant grin on her face, and gave his waist a playful squeeze before stepping out of his arms. Without another word, she turned on her heel, her hips swaying just a little more than usual as she began walking toward the bedroom. She didn't look back, but she knew he was watching her. She could practically feel his gaze burning into her back.
He followed her into the bedroom, his footsteps heavy and purposeful on the floor. He didn't care about the cake, the files, or the Salgaonkarr case anymore; the only thing that mattered was the woman walking ahead of him.
He caught up to her in the middle of the room, his hands finding her waist and spinning her around. Before she could even get a word out, he was on her. His mouth crashed against hers in a kiss that was anything but gentle it was demanding, possessive, and tasted of the sudden, frantic need he had been suppressing all day.
He backed her up toward the edge of the bed, his hands roaming her body with a restless energy. He was a man on a mission, his movements efficient but desperate. As he pressed his lips to the sensitive skin of her jaw, his fingers worked feverishly at the buttons of his shirt, tearing it open as he tried to shed it in one fluid motion.
At the same time, his other hand slid down, his palm hot against her skin as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her shorts, pulling them down with an urgency that left them both breathless.
"Tarun! Ruko!" Y/N gasped against his lips, her hands coming up to press against his chest to create even a fraction of an inch of space between them.
He let out a low, frustrated groan, a sound that was half growl, half plea, but she wasn't having it. She could feel the heat radiating off him, the sheer intensity of his desire, but she wanted to savor this. She wanted him to feel the anticipation just as much as she did.
"Slow down, you impatient man," she teased, her voice slightly breathless but filled with a playful command.
She used her strength to guide him, pushing against his shoulders until he was forced to sit back on the edge of the mattress.
She stood between his knees, her hands resting on his shoulders as she looked down at him. His hair was slightly mussed, his breathing heavy, and his eyes were dark with a hunger that made her heart race. He looked up at her, his expression a mix of intense longing and slight disbelief that she was actually making him wait.
"You're supposed to be the methodical one, remember?" she whispered, a triumphant, beautiful smile playing on her lips.
"Slow and steady, IG."
Tarun sat on the edge of the bed, his hands gripping the mattress so hard his knuckles were white. He was a man who prided himself on control, but watching her was making it nearly impossible. He could only watch, his breathing shallow and heavy, as Y/N began to move.
She didn't rush. She took her time, her eyes locked onto his, making sure he felt every single second of the anticipation. She reached for the hem of her top, sliding it slowly over her head in one fluid, graceful motion. The dim light of the bedroom caught the curve of her shoulders and the soft glow of her skin.
"Dekh rahe ho?" she whispered, a playful, sultry lilt in her voice.
"Abhi toh sirf shuruwat hai."
As she stepped out of her shorts, her movements were deliberate, almost hypnotic. But it was when she reached for the final layer that Tarun’s breath completely hitched in his throat.
Beneath her casual clothes, she wasn't wearing her usual comfortable things. She was wearing a set of lacy, deep pink lingerie the exact shade of the bows on her cake, but far more dangerous. It was delicate, sheer in all the right places, and hugged every curve of her body like a second skin.
The sight hit him like a physical blow. The sheer, unapologetic femininity of it the way the lace contrasted against her warm skin sent a jolt of pure arousal straight to his core. He felt a sudden, heavy ache in his trousers, a prominent, pulsing tension that made him let out a low, involuntary groan.
His gaze traveled from the lace tracing her hips up to her eyes, which were shimmering with a mix of mischief and pure desire. He looked completely undone, his usual composure shattered by the simple, beautiful sight of her.
"Tum..." he managed to rasp, his voice sounding like it had been dragged over gravel. He reached out, his hands trembling just a fraction as he gripped her waist, pulling her closer to the edge of the bed so she was standing right between his thighs.
"Tumhe pata hai tum mere saath kya kar rahi ho?"
He looked up at her, his eyes dark, hooded, and filled with a raw, primal need that made the air in the room feel thick and electric.
Y/N looked down at him, seeing the way his chest was heaving and the way his gaze was practically glued to her, dark and unravelling. She could see the physical evidence of just how much she had affected him, the heavy, undeniable tension in his lap that made it clear he was far past the point of being "composed."
Instead of immediately falling into him, she let out a soft, melodic giggle. It was a bright, bubbly sound that seemed to dance in the heavy, charged air of the bedroom. She leaned forward slightly, her hands resting on his broad, bare shoulders, her eyes dancing with pure amusement.
"Kitne jaldi haar maan gaye, IG sir?" she teased, her voice light and playful.
She reached down, her fingertips grazing the waistband of his trousers just enough to make him jump slightly.
She couldn't help it, seeing the formidable, unshakeable Tarun Ahwalat the man who could stare down the most dangerous criminals in Goa without blinking looking so completely undone by a bit of pink lace was the most delicious thing she had ever seen.
"Aap toh bade hi impatient nikle," she whispered, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she laughed softly.
She loved this power. She loved that she was the only person in the world who could make this man lose his legendary composure with just a single look.
Tarun let out a sound that was halfway between a growl and a sigh, his hands tightening on her hips. He didn't care if she was laughing at him, he didn't care about his dignity anymore. The amusement in her eyes only served to fuel the fire in his blood.
"Don't laugh," he warned, though there was no real bite in his voice, only a deep, heavy hunger. He pulled her closer, his forehead resting against her stomach as he looked up at her, his expression intense and raw.
"Mazaak mat udao... warna phir sambhal nahi paoge."
But Y/N wasn't finished playing with him. Instead of reaching for his belt or fumbling with his buttons, she leaned in and captured his lips again. This wasn't the frantic, desperate kissing from before, this was slow, deep, and agonizingly sensual. She tasted of the sweet cake and the heat of her own skin, her tongue dancing with his in a way that made his head spin.
As they made out, Tarun’s hands wandered upward, driven by a need to touch every inch of her. His large, warm palms slid up from her waist, tracing the curve of her ribs until they cupped her breasts.
He groaned into her mouth as he began to knead the soft, heavy weight of them, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks through the thin, lacy fabric of her bra. The sensation was erotic, a sharp contrast to the rhythmic, slow movement of her lips against his.
Eventually, she pulled back just an inch, her breath hitching as they both gasped for air. Her eyes were hooded and dark, but as she tilted her head, her gaze drifted downward.
She looked past his chest, past his stomach, straight to the center of the heavy, pulsing tension in his trousers. The sheer intensity of his arousal was impossible to miss, the fabric of his expensive trousers was stretched taut, bulging prominently, and a dark, damp patch was already beginning to bloom at the crotch of his pants from the sheer amount of pre cum he was leaking.
Instead of being shy, Y/N leaned closer, her face hovering just inches away from the bulge. She looked at it with a mock serious expression, as if she were inspecting a particularly interesting piece of evidence in one of his files.
"Aww, dekho toh isko," she cooed, her voice dropping into a silly, patronizing tone as she looked directly at his crotch.
"Itna impatient kyun ho rahe ho? Bas thoda sa intezaar karo... You need to be a good boy. I’ll give you all the attention you want in a little bit, okay? Abhi toh bas thoda sa wait karo!"
Tarun felt a hot flush of pure, unadulterated embarrassment creep up his neck and settle in his cheeks.
He was the Inspector General of Police! He was a man of iron will and absolute authority! And here she was, literally talking to his crotch like it was a needy toddler.
"Y/N!" he hissed, his voice a mix of a groan and a desperate plea.
He tried to pull his hips back slightly, his face burning, but he couldn't stop the embarrassed, half smothered laugh that bubbled up in his throat.
"Kya kar rahi ho? Please... chup ho jao-"
But she just looked up at him, a triumphant, mischievous glint in her eyes, clearly loving every second of making the most powerful man in Goa feel completely ridiculous.
Y/N rolled her eyes at his protest, a playful, innocent shrug lifting her shoulders.
"Arre, main toh sirf usse samjha rahi hoon!" she defended herself, her voice light and airy, as if talking to his anatomy was the most natural thing in the world.
"He looks so stressed, Tarun. He needs to know there's a plan!"
She didn't give him a chance to argue or hide his blushing face. With a sudden, graceful movement, she slid off the edge of the bed and sank onto her knees on the floor between his legs.
The shift in her energy was instantaneous, the teasing girl was still there, but there was a new, simmering intent in her eyes that made the air in the room feel twice as heavy.
Tarun froze, his breath hitching in his throat as he looked down at her. He watched, mesmerized, as her small, delicate hands reached for the waistband of his trousers. Her fingers were nimble and sure as she began to work on the button, her focus entirely on the task at hand.
"Finally..." he whispered to himself, the word a low, ragged exhale of pure relief.
The teasing was over. The waiting was over. The sheer, agonizing tension that had been building since he first saw her in that pink lace was finally about to break.
As she deftly unbuttoned his pants and began to slide the zipper down, Tarun’s composure finally snapped.
He couldn't just sit there and watch anymore; he needed to feel her. His large hands reached down, his fingers sliding into the thick, dark strands of her hair. He didn't pull hard, but his grip was firm and possessive, his knuckles grazing her scalp as he tilted her head back just enough so he could look down at her.
His eyes were dark, hooded, and burning with a primal intensity that would have terrified anyone else. But Y/N just looked up at him, her lips parting as she saw the sheer, unadulterated hunger written across his face.
"Ab toh theek hai?" she whispered, her voice a sultry challenge, her hands now working to push the fabric of his trousers down past his hips.
Tarun didn't answer with words. He just tightened his grip on her hair, a low, guttural groan vibrating in his chest as he leaned forward, his gaze fixed on her mouth, waiting for the moment she would finally, finally claim him.
The room was silent, save for the heavy, synchronized rhythm of their breathing and the wet, rhythmic sounds of her devotion. Y/N was thorough, her movements a masterful blend of teasing and intense, focused pleasure that had Tarun completely unmoored.
He sat there, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut as his fingers tangled deeply in her hair, his knuckles white. Every slide of her mouth, every flick of her tongue was a delicious torture that pushed him closer and closer to the edge of total madness.
When he finally couldn't take another second of the exquisite tension, he let out a low, commanding growl. He reached down, his hands firm as he guided her up, and before she could even catch her breath, he had scooped her up into his arms. He moved with a sudden, predatory grace, tossing her gently onto the center of the bed.
He followed her down instantly, his heavy, muscular frame pinning her into the soft mattress. He was a man who had spent his whole life being precise and controlled, but now, as he hovered over her, he was all raw instinct. His eyes searched hers, before he began to work his way back down her body.
His hands, large and warm, slid down her stomach, his touch trailing fire across her skin. When his fingers reached the edge of her lacy pink panties, he didn't hesitate. He hooked the fabric aside, his gaze never leaving hers as he found her.
He was a man of detail, and he applied that same focus to her. As he slid his long, slender fingers inside her, Y/N let out a sharp, broken gasp, her back arching off the bed. He was incredibly precise, his fingers moving with a rhythmic, expert pressure that seemed to hit every single sensitive nerve she possessed.
The sensation was overwhelming. His fingers felt so large and perfect inside her, the friction of his skin against her slick, swollen folds sending jolts of pure electricity through her entire body. He watched her face, mesmerously tracking the way her eyes rolled back and her lips parted in a silent scream of pleasure.
"Pasand aa raha hai, jaan?" he teased, his voice a dark, velvet caress against her ear.
He increased the pace, his fingers curling and stretching her, driving her deeper into the mattress. He could feel the heat radiating from her, the way her inner muscles pulsed and clamped around him in desperate, rhythmic waves. He was making her lose her mind, and the sight of her completely undone by his touch was the most intoxicating thing he had ever experienced.
Y/N’s head tossed from bobbed on the pillow, her breath coming in short, jagged hitches.
"Mhhhh..." she whimpered, the sound lost against his lips as he leaned down to capture her mouth in another deep, soul searing kiss.
The world outside the bedroom the files, the case, the city of Goa had ceased to exist. There was only the friction of his skin, the scent of vanilla, and the maddening, perfect rhythm of his long fingers working inside her.
She was right on the edge, teetering on the precipice of a massive, crashing wave of pleasure. Her hips began to buck instinctively, her body searching for something more, something to anchor her as the tension in her core tightened into a hard, pulsing knot. She was so close, her entire being focused on the white hot sensation building between her thighs.
Tarun could feel it too. He could feel the way her muscles were clenching around his fingers, the way her heat was intensifying, and the desperate, rhythmic tremors starting to take hold of her body. He knew if he waited any longer, the sheer pressure of her need would shatter them both.
He pulled his fingers out, the sudden absence of his touch making her let out a frustrated, needy moan, and moved to position himself between her thighs. He was thick and heavy, a pulsing weight that promised the final release she was screaming for.
He guided himself to her entrance, the tip of him brushing against her soaking wet folds, and then, with one slow, powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside her.
The sensation was overwhelming a total, seamless fusion of two bodies. Y/N’s eyes flew wide, her fingers digging into the muscles of his back as she let out a loud, uninhibited cry.
It felt as though he had filled the very center of her soul, the fullness of him stretching her and hitting her most sensitive depths with a precision that was almost divine.
Tarun let out a guttural, primal roar, his eyes snapping shut as he felt her internal muscles begin to spasm violently around him. She was coming, her entire body trembling in the throes of a massive, soul shaking climax. The rhythmic, crushing waves of her orgasm were the final trigger for him. He drove into her with a fierce, desperate intensity, his movements fast and heavy, his breath coming in ragged, broken gasps.
He felt the surge build in his own gut, a white hot tension that he could no longer contain. With one last, deep thrust that seemed to pin her to the very core of the bed, he let out a choked groan, his body stiffening as he came inside her, his release mirroring the intensity of hers.
They collapsed into each other, a tangled mess of sweating skin and heavy breathing.
Tarun lay on his side, his heavy arm draped protectively over Y/N’s waist, pulling her back against the solid warmth of his chest. He felt completely unraveled, his muscles heavy and pleasantly exhausted, his mind finally, blissfully silent.
For the first time in months, the shadows of the Salgaonkarr case had been completely chased away, replaced by the soft, golden glow of the woman in his arms.
He turned his head slightly, watching the way the dim moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft, silver highlights across her damp skin. She looked beautiful messy, flushed, and utterly content, her eyes closed as she drifted in the peaceful haze of the afterglow.
Slowly, as if afraid that even a sudden movement might break the spell, Tarun leaned forward. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead, his lips warm against her skin. It wasn't a kiss of passion or hunger, but one of deep, quiet reverence.
"Best birthday gift ever, Thank you, Meri Jaan...", he whispered, his voice barely a breath, thick with an emotion he rarely allowed himself to voice.
He pulled her a little closer, tucking his chin against the top of her head, closing his eyes. In the quiet of his bedroom, wrapped in the chaos and the sweetness of her, he had everything he actually needed.
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