The harvest of Red marks
Rehman × Ulfat
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.
⚠️ Mature content warning ⚠️: 🔞The following contains explicit sexual content and primal power dynamics like intense friction, possessive behaviour, tactical use of facial hair as a tool of dominance,features of a chaotic,alcohol- fueled protagonist , a Lil bit of hate sex , explicit depiction of bed breaking
Special thanks to @kidofmisfortune @sparksfromhell for the idea and giving me the opportunity to write this
The night at Baloch Haveli was a quiet melody, a symphony of crickets buzzing in the distant gardens, their rhythmic chirping the only thing anchoring the stillness. Inside the master suite, the air was thick with the scent of expensive oud and old paper. Ulfat sat reclined on the plush velvet of the couch, her nightgown flowing around her like a silken shadow as she remained deeply immersed in her book. The silence wasn’t just a lack of sound, it was a sanctuary she had built for herself, right until the heavy thud of the door closing shattered the peace.
Ulfat didn’t look up. She didn’t need to because she knew the exact weight of the man who had entered, she knew the specific cadence of those footsteps, the familiar heat that radiated from his silhouette, and the very rhythm of a heartbeat she had listened to a thousand times. But tonight, there was an unfamiliar jaggedness to it all. The pace of Rehman’s boots on the floorboards was heavy and rhythmic, sounding like a petulant brat whose favorite toy had been snatched away to be given to a younger brother. His pulse was thrumming with the mechanical violence of a drill machine, and his breath hitched in his chest, ragged and sharp, as if he were in the throes of an asthma attack.
Despite the storm of energy radiating from him the raw, vibrating tension of a man pushed to his limit — Ulfat didn’t allow it to disrupt her focus. She was seconds away from a throat-gripping plot twist, her eyes racing across the ink, refusing to grant him the satisfaction of her gaze just yet.
Rehman, on the other hand, had become a living, fuming engine, his blood boiling from the remnants of a jagged, heated argument with Hamza. He was a man who ruled Lyari with an iron fist, yet in this room, he was starving for a different kind of power. He wanted her attention with a desperation that bordered on physical pain. He needed her to look at him, to validate his existence, to reassure him through a single glance that he was still the sovereign, that he still held the reins of his world, and that he was still the man his people loved and feared.
Perhaps those were all just excuses he was feeding his own ego, thin veils for the simple, primal truth: he just wanted her to see him.
He stood there, eyes tracking the way she was engrossed in the fiction in her lap. He noticed the way her grip on the book’s spine tightened as the tension of the story peaked — a grip he envisioned elsewhere, on something more yielding yet firm. He watched the furrow of her brows, the way her eyes burned with the heat of a reader demanding answers, and he felt a surge of envy toward the paper. He wished that searing gaze would drop from the pages and land on him. He watched her eyes, on the verge of fluttering shut in deep thought, and he felt a desperate need for those eyes to close in a different way, under the weight of a different sensation.
After the chaos of the day, after the shouting and the threats and the endless weight of his crown, he felt he deserved a sanctuary. He was tired of the world, tired of justifying his every move to underlings, tired of cracking open the brains of his enemies and threatening those who dared to cross him. He was exhausted by the mountains of documents and the cold politics of the streets. Now, he didn't want to bury his head in more business, he just wanted to bury his face in the softness of her skin and let the rest of the world fade into nothingness.
But Rehman wasn't content with mere wishes. The simmer of expensive alcohol in his throat was a liquid fire, fueling a craving that went beyond simple desire. He wanted to taste her, to drown the bitter aftertaste of the day’s betrayals in the sweetness of her skin. The very thought of her, of the release she offered from the crushing weight of Lyari made his entire being recoil and twitch with a restless, frantic energy.
Despair was curdling into a jagged necessity. His pace quickened, his heavy boots rhythmically striking the floorboards until the sound amplified in the silence like a recorded swarm of ants marching under a high-gain microphone. Initially, he had been a distant storm buzzing in the corner, but now, the gravity of his Queen Bee pulled him in. He loomed over Ulfat, his presence thick- chipku, and suffocating, colonizing the very air she breathed.
Ulfat tried to cling to the sanctuary of her thriller. She was deep into the labyrinthine secrets of Tricia and the dead psychiatrist within the pages of Never Lie, but the mechanical thrumming of Rehman’s heartbeat was sounding more like a construction drill with every passing second which finally shattered her composure. With a sharp, frustrated exhale, she slammed the book onto her lap.
“What is your problem, Rehman?” she snapped, her voice cutting through his manic energy. “Can’t you see I am busy with someone — something — infinitely more important than your hovering?”
She was fuming, her chest heaving with indignation, but to Rehman’s intoxicated eyes, the anger only made her look more radiant, more edible. He froze, stiffening as if struck. For a fleeting second, a pang of guilt pierced the drunken haze, but his ego surged forward to offer a mocking ‘hello.’
His brow furrowed into a deep, wounded canyon. “What the hell did I do?” he slurred, his voice dripping with dramatic injustice. “I am just standing here, discarded like a piece of garment nobody wants because it’s got a hole in it! And everything is , clearly visible through that ho—”
“SHUT UP!” Ulfat interrupted, her shout echoing off the high ceilings.
She took a proper look at him — her disheveled, chaotic husband. He was a mess. His hair, usually slicked back with the precision of a warlord, was a ruin of dark strands falling over his forehead. Her gaze drifted to his jaw, noting the silver-flecked stubble that had begun to reclaim his skin. He was clearly out of his own control, drowning in the bottle and his own theatrics.
Sighing, she reached for her book again, but before she could even find her page, his hand came flying through the air. With a violent clap, he slapped the book shut.
“Stop reading that book with so much hotness, you fucking wife of mine!” he roared, his voice cracking with a mix of lust and genuine despair. “Do you even know how desperate I am getting just looking at you? Do you know the problems I face? I deal with chooze all day who have the audacity to use Clinic Plus shampoo and won't even share their hair care routine while my own hair is coming out in clumps from the stress!”
He transitioned seamlessly into a dramatic, alcohol-induced sob, the terrifying ruler of Lyari reduced to a weeping mess over split ends and insubordination.
“My dear drama queen,” Ulfat said, leaning back against the velvet cushions and rubbing her temples. “I really don’t have the energy to navigate your mood swings just because we haven’t had sex in three days.”
“YES!” Rehman shouted, the word a primal scream as he collapsed onto his knees with theatrical grace. “Jaan, it has been three agonizing days! How am I supposed to survive? My life light is flickering! I am fading away! I am literally dying!”
He let himself tip over, hitting the floor with a dull thud, careful enough not to break a bone, as he clearly intended to save that energy for breaking the bed later.
“Rehman... jaan,” Ulfat said, her voice dropping into a dangerously calm, silken warning as she reclaimed her book. “Have you forgotten the last time? You were the one who needed days to recover from the ‘hypersensitive sensations’ and that mysterious back pain. I was ready to go again, but you were a broken man. Don't push your luck tonight, or you know exactly what will happen.”
Rehman sat up straight, the fake tears vanishing instantly, replaced by a dark, predatory smirk that danced on his lips.
“Oh, Ulfat,” he purred, his eyes dark with the memory of their private wars. “You’re forgetting a very important detail. I let you have your way last time because the time before that, you spent an entire week being carried in my arms because you couldn't even manage a step on your own.”
The color drained from Ulfat’s face, replaced instantly by a flush that traveled from her neck to her hairline, turning her from a picture of fury into one of absolute, burning shyness.
"You talk too much for a man who can barely stand on his own feet," Ulfat hissed, throwing the book onto the floor with a finality that echoed like a gunshot. The psychiatrist’s secrets were forgotten, the only mystery left was how much more of this suffocating tension they could endure before they both shattered.
Rehman didn't wait. He moved with the sudden, predatory grace of a man who had spent his life taking what he wanted from the streets of Lyari. He lunged from his knees, his hands calloused from gripping weapons and signing death warrants clamping onto her waist with a bruising intensity. He hauled her off the couch, his movements rough, devoid of the gentleness he usually reserved for her.
"I don't need to stand to make you scream, Ulfat," he growled against the sensitive curve of her neck. The scent of alcohol and sweat rolled off him in waves, an intoxicating, masculine musk that made her head swim.
She didn't surrender, she fought back, her nails digging into the silk of his shirt, pulling at the fabric until buttons popped and skittered across the marble floor. This wasn't a dance, it was a war. They collided against the massive, hand-carved bedposts of the Baloch Haveli, the wood groaning under the impact of their tangled bodies.
Rehman’s mouth found hers, not in a kiss, but in a desperate, biting conquest. He tasted of whiskey and rage, his tongue demanding entry with a territorial hunger. Ulfat met him stroke for stroke, her teeth grazing his lower lip until she tasted the metallic tang of blood. She hated how much she needed this — how the chaos of his lifestyle, the blood on his hands, and the arrogance in his soul were the very things that set her blood on fire.
"Three days," he rasped, his voice a gravelly vibration against her skin as he hoisted her up, her legs instinctively locking around his waist. "Three days of you ignoring me for those paper heroes. I’m the only monster you need to worry about."
He threw her back onto the silk sheets, the impact jarring but fueling the fire. He was over her in an instant, a heavy, overwhelming weight that pinned her down. There was no tenderness in the way he stripped the nightgown from her shoulders, his eyes darkened as they traced the lace of her bra, which struggled to contain the curves it was designed to cradle. He leaned forward with a predatory groan, burying his face in her cleavage. The rough friction of his silver-flecked stubble against her sensitive skin finally forced a heavy, jagged breath from her lungs, a sound she had been fighting to kill, but one that acted like pure kerosene on his flickering restraint.
He didn't waste time with buttons or bows. With a rough tug, he swept the nightgown down her legs and tossed it aside like a discarded silk skin, leaving her exposed in nothing but her lingeries. Even though the evidence of her desire was already dampening the silk of her panties, her expression remained a mask of defiant denial, a silent challenge that drove him to the brink.
Rehman surged closer, his large, calloused hands sliding behind the arch of her back. With a practiced flick, he unhooked her bra, letting her soft breasts spill free into the cool night air. The sudden chill made her nipples tighten instantly, a physical betrayal of the heat she was trying to hide. He pulled her into a crushing hug, his hands roaming the expanse of her back while his chin grazed her shoulder, the rough growth of his beard leaving a trail of flushed, red marks on her porcelain skin.
The silence was broken only by the sound of his own clothes being discarded in a frantic heap. Finally free, his hardened length loomed over her, a physical manifestation of the three days of starvation he had endured. He leaned in for a kiss that was less of a plea and more of a desperate, suffocating conquest, leaving them both breathless and their lips swollen from the friction.
In a final act of stubborn resistance, Ulfat pulled away. She straightened her spine and flipped over, laying flat on her stomach. She arched her back, her ass tilted provocatively in the air as she buried her face in the pillows — a silent move intended to signal her boredom, even as every fiber of her being vibrated with the need for him to finally break her resolve.
Rehman moved like a man possessed, closing the distance in a blur of motion. He flipped her onto her back with a rough, singular pull. Before Ulfat could even draw breath to protest, he captured her nipple in his mouth, his tongue swirling and teeth grazing in a punishingly sweet rhythm. Ulfat instinctively jammed a hand over her mouth, a desperate attempt to cage the moan clawing at her throat, but Rehman’s hand was faster. He caught her wrist mid-air, pinning it against the pillow.
"Speak up, jaan," he rasped, his voice a dark, jagged vibration. "Let your melody enter my ear. Let me hear exactly how crazy I can drive you. Don't you dare stop screaming for me."
"Ah... Ummh," a soft, broken sound escaped her despite her best efforts. The restraint only seemed to fuel his hunger, he lunged for her other breast with a renewed passion, kneading the other soft flesh and teasing the peak between his thumb and forefinger. Her back arched off the silk, a silent plea for more. "Ahh... Rehman!"
He stopped abruptly, hovering just inches from her skin. "Jaan, phir se bolo," he commanded. To emphasize his point, he nipped the sensitive bud just hard enough to send a jolt of pain-laced pleasure through her.
"Rehmann!" she cried out, her voice pitching higher.
He smirked, a glint in his dark eyes. "Good wifey. Now get ready to scream my name until the walls of this Haveli shake."
He began a slow, torturous descent. His beard, rough and silver-flecked, left a trail of red heat from her chin down to her core. He used his teeth to snag the silk of her panties, tugging them down her legs in one swift, predatory motion. Positioning himself between her thighs, he parted her legs and buried his face in her heat. The sensation was a volatile mix — the burning friction of his stubble clashing with the liquid pleasure building deep in her stomach.
He trailed kisses along her inner thighs, his tongue occasionally darting out to soothe the very red lines his beard had carved. Then, his tongue found her clit. He started slow, tasting her with the desperation of a man who had spent a lifetime in a desert, before sealing his mouth against her. The deep, rhythmic suction made her world tilt.
"AHH REHMANNN... PLEASE!" she screamed, her fingers tangling frantically in the bedsheets.
He didn't slow down, he accelerated. He added two fingers, curling them inward to find the pulse of her, setting a pace that felt like both a divine gift and a wicked punishment. Her walls clenched around him, the pressure in her lower belly mounting until she couldn't breathe. The first orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave, leaving Rehman’s face and fingers slick with her. He didn't pull away, he sucked deep at the center of her pleasure.
"Fuck... Ahh," her back arched violently. She hadn't even begun to recover before the second wave started building, even more intense than the first. Her legs tried to close around his head, her hands flying to his hair to pull him away from the overstimulation. She felt weak, her body betraying her at every turn. "Fuck, Rehman... please... bass."
"I told you... I’m going to ruin you," he growled against her inner thigh, his voice a muffled, dark vibration.
his tongue relentless, his fingers driving into her with a pace that was both a gift and a violation. Ulfat was beyond words now, she was just a collection of gasps and high-pitched whimpers. When the second wave built, it was even more volcanic. Her body arched so high only her heels and head touched the bed. As she came again, a heavy, creamier flood erupted from her, drenching his fingers and coating his lips.
Rehman finally pulled his head back, his face a mask of absolute, filthy triumph. He was panting, his beard matted and glistening with her essence, the white-silver hairs now damp and dark. He didn't wipe it away. Instead, he looked her dead in the eye and began to move his chin slowly, deliberately across her vaginal opening and her clit, smearing the thick, wet evidence of her double climax all over his beard and jaw.
The stinging friction of the hair against her raw, post-orgasmic skin was an electric shock. "Look at it, Ulfat," he rasped, his voice dripping with a terrifying possessiveness. "I’m wearing you. Every bit of this is going to dry on my skin while I fuck the life out of you."
He didn't give her a second to process the filth. He surged upward, his hardened, throbbing length slicked by her own fluids as he positioned himself. With a guttural roar, he drove into her, the lubrication from her orgasms making the entry a wet, sliding collision that filled her to the absolute brink.
"Fuck... jaan... you're so wet, I’m drowning in you," he groaned, his thrusts becoming violent and shallow, focusing entirely on the friction of his pelt against her swollen core.
"You're... you're a monster," she gasped, her hands flying to his hair, pulling him down for a kiss that tasted of her own climax and his expensive whiskey.
"Your monster," he corrected, his teeth nipping her lower lip as he accelerated into a pace that promised to break the bed and their spirits alike.
"You’re still so tight, it’s like you’ve been saving every bit of this for me."
Ulfat’s fingers dug into his biceps, her nails drawing thin red crescents in his skin. "You... you arrogant bastard," she hissed, though her voice was trembling with pleasure. "Is this what you wanted? To break me?"
Rehman let out a dark, breathless laugh against her lips and began to move with a slow, punishing grind that hit every hypersensitive nerve his tongue had already primed. "I don't want to break you, jaan. I want to ruin you for anyone else. I want you to remember this feeling every time you try to hide behind those books."
The pace quickened, the drill machine heartbeat now manifesting in the violent, rhythmic collision of their bodies. The Baloch Haveli’s antique bed groaned under the weight of their unfiltered hunger. Rehman’s talk turned filthy, his filter completely dissolved by the alcohol and the heat. He whispered jagged, possessive things into her ear — claims of ownership, descriptions of how her body was reacting to him, and dark jests about the men he’d intimidated earlier that day who couldn't dream of the power he held here, in this bed.
"Tell me," he gasped, his thrusts becoming shorter, harder, "Who rules you? Who owns this?"
Ulfat was beyond pride now. Her head thrashed against the pillows, her hair a wild halo of dark silk. "You... ahh... Rehman... only you!"
"Good girl," he growled, his hand moving to her throat not to hurt, but to anchor her as he drove into her with a final, primal ferocity.
The friction was a liquid fire. Every time his stubbled chin brushed her skin, it sent a fresh jolt of electricity through her overstimulated nerves. She was reaching for the edge again, her internal walls squeezing him so hard he let out a shattered curse.
"I'm going to... fuck... Ulfat, look at me!"
As the final wave built, more violent than all the ones before, they collided in a chaotic symphony of tangled limbs and broken breaths. The orgasm hit them both like a physical blow, a tidal wave that left them drowning in each other. Rehman buried his face in the crook of her neck, his body shaking with the force of his release, while Ulfat screamed his name into the quiet night, her body finally surrendering every ounce of its resistance. He felt the hot, rhythmic pulse of his seed filling her, a heavy, searing warmth that flooded her internal walls. It was an overwhelming sensation — the physical weight of his surrender pouring into her, claiming her from the inside out. Ulfat’s eyes flew open, her pupils blown wide, her breath hitching in a high, broken note as she felt him spill over. The sheer volume of it was a testament to his starvation, she could feel the slick heat beginning to pool, a liquid evidence of the storm they had just weathered.
Rehman let out a long, shuddering exhale, his muscles finally turning to lead. He collapsed onto her, his sweat-slicked chest heaving against her breasts, his face buried in the crook of her neck. He stayed there, refusing to move, wanting to feel every last drop of the connection. The silent, heavy warmth between them was the only thing that mattered, the liquid heat slowly trickling onto the silk sheets beneath them, marking the end of their three-day war. He pressed a lingering, salt-tasting kiss to her pulse point, his voice a ghost of a whisper. "Now... try to go back to your book after that.”
The adrenaline that had turned the master suite into a battlefield slowly receded, leaving behind a heavy, humid silence that smelled of salt, spent rage, and the expensive whiskey still evaporating from Rehman’s skin. He didn't pull away immediately, he stayed anchored within her, his forehead pressed against hers as their breaths hitched in the same jagged, uneven rhythm. Slowly, he shifted, disengaging with a soft, wet sound that made Ulfat’s breath hitch. The liquid heat of his release pooled between them — a warm, slick reminder of the three-day drought they had just broken. Rehman didn't move to get up. Instead, he reached out with a shaky, heavy hand and hauled her toward him, his large arm hooking around her waist to tuck her back against his chest. He was being chipku again, his possessive gravity pulling her into his space as if he feared she might evaporate if he loosened his grip by a millimeter. His stubbled chin, which had spent the last hour causing beautiful, red havoc on her skin, now rested heavily in the crook of her neck. He let out a long, shuddering exhale, his muscles turning to lead as he prepared to sink into a drunken, satisfied stupor. "Rehman..." she whispered, her voice a raspy, broken thread, but the sharpness in it hadn't been blunted by the climax. "Hmm?" he grunted, his eyes already drifting shut, his hand splaying across her stomach with a territorial pride.
"The book is still on the floor," she said, her fingers finding the strength to pinch the skin of his forearm, hard. "And you... you are crushing my ribs. Just because you finally got what you were crying for like a toddler doesn't mean you get to use me as a mattress."
Rehman let out a low, vibrating chuckle that she felt more than heard against her spine. "Let the book stay there, jaan. Let the psychiatrist solve her own mysteries. You belong to a much more dangerous man tonight."
"Dangerous?" Ulfat scoffed, though her body was still humming with the aftershocks of his surrender. She turned slightly in his arms, her eyes narrow and burning with a familiar, searing intelligence even through her exhaustion. "You were kneeling on the floor sobbing about your hair care routine ten minutes ago. Don't play the big, bad wolf of Lyari with me now that you're satisfied and sleepy."
She reached up, her hand tangling in his disheveled hair and pulling just enough to make him hiss. "You're tired? Good. Because tomorrow, you’re going to deal with Hamza, and you’re going to do it without that pathetic ego of yours getting in the way. And if I see you hovering over my book again like a lost puppy, I’ll make sure the next 'drought' lasts three weeks instead of three days."
Rehman’s smirk didn't fade, but he tightened his grip, pulling her even closer until there wasn't a breath of air between them. He was the ruler of the streets, the man who opened brains and signed death warrants, but in this bed, under her gaze, he was a man who knew exactly who held the real power. "Three weeks?" he murmured into her skin, his voice thick with sleep and a begrudging adoration. "You’d die before I would, Ulfat. You like the 'monster' too much." "Go to sleep, Rehman," she snapped, though she finally allowed her head to rest back against his shoulder, her hand settling over his on her waist. "Before I change my mind and kick you off this bed entirely."
He didn't argue. He couldn't. He just buried his face deeper into her scent, his breathing slowing into a deep, heavy rhythm as the silence of the Baloch Haveli reclaimed the night.
I don’t know why my smut fics keep getting so long 🙄 I even have to cut a few scenes from this one, (because more than half of this was already saved in my word files I just added the beard element along with few modifications , this one was basically for the hate-sex but then I thought it will go beautifully with this one too ...)
Let me know whether you enjoyed it or not —
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