Dhurandhar Paglu

He can do anything to me 🙌

Mr. Rampal finds new ways to reinvent his hotness no matter what the era 🥵🥵

Also, Sag don't crack 😉

*screaming* THEY ROBBED US OF AURA FARMIN IQBAL

*Iqbal on his wittle chair*

Major Iqbal x Reader

Disclaimer :- The fic is about the fictional version of Major Iqbal (played by Arjun Rampal) not the real life person. I am not romanticizing the real individuals or supporting the real event, this is purely fictional storytelling.

Summary :- A day full of interruptions turns into a night they finally get to keep for themselves.

Word count :- 1.6k words

Warning — heavy tension, suggestive scenes, implied smut.

A/N :- First time writing suggestive content so feedback is welcome (be gentle plz)

1. Morning — Almost Too Far

The rain paints the world in slow strokes, a morning meant for tangled limbs and stolen hours. You wake to the drum of droplets against glass and the heat of Iqbal’s chest pressed to your back, his arm already slung possessively over your waist.

“Uth gayi?” His voice is rough, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your kurta to trace the dip of your hip.

You don’t answer. Just arch into his touch, a silent go on.

Iqbal doesn’t need permission twice. He rolls you onto your back in one fluid motion, his knee coming in between your legs as his mouth crashes into yours. There’s no gentleness here, just hunger. His tongue swipes past your lips, swallowing your gasp as his hand palms your breast, thumb flicking over your nipple through the fabric.

“Iqbal—” You claw at his shoulders, as he’s already dragging your kurta up, his mouth following the exposed collarbone, the trembling valley between your breasts—

“Iss ghar mein koi uthta bhi hai ya nahi?!”

The shout from Brigadier Jahangir from the living room freezes him mid-motion. His chest heaves against yours, lips still hovering over your perked nipple.

“…ignore karo,” he grits out, but his fingers dig into your thigh, frustrated.

“Subah ke 8 baj baye hai—”. Yet another scream from the living room.

"Nahi uthi toh pura Ghar sar par utha lenge". You say in a frustrated tone, as you try to wriggle your way out.

He doesn’t let go. Not fully. Just sinks his teeth into your neck claiming, before wrenching away with a groan, as he watches you leave.

2. Late Morning — Worse

The kitchen reeks of interrupted desire. You’re chopping vegetables with unsteady hands when Iqbal steps behind you.

“Akeli ho?” His breath ghosts over your ear as his hands slide around your waist then lower. One palm presses flat to your stomach, pushing you flush against the counter’s edge while the other slips boldly beneath your salwar.

“Iqbal—Sofia aa jayegi—”

“Nahi aayegi,” he murmurs, fingers skimming lower to his desired destination.

You reach back to swat him, but he just laughs softly, his hands gripping your hips to keep you still. He buries his nose in the crook of your neck, lips grazing the delicate skin there as his other hand inches lower, teasing the edge of your underwear. You shiver partly from his proximity, partly from the prospect of getting caught. He must sense it. He chuckles again, low and smug.

"Agar tumhari awaaz sunegi, toh woh zaroor aa jayegi." he murmurs against your ear.

His fingertips press dangerously close to where you ache, but he doesn’t give you what you want. Not yet. Just traces slow, torturous circles high enough to make your breath hitch, low enough to leave you squirming.

You bite your lip, nails digging into the countertop. "Bas wo—"

"Nahi," he interrupts, voice low. "Abhi nahi."

And then—

Footsteps.

He tears himself away just as Sofia rounds the corner, her eyes flicking between you both. She bows slightly acknowledging Iqbal before turning to you.

 "Bibi, khane mai aur kuch banana baki hai kya?"

Your face burns with embarrassment as you answer.

"Roti bana de zara," you say as you turn to continue your work.

Iqbal steps back, expression schooled into indifference but the look he shoots you promises this isn’t over.

3. Before He Leaves — Almost Breaking Point

The doorway becomes a battleground. Iqbal stands at the doorway as he pins you against the wall, one hand cradling your jaw while the other grips your hip hard enough to bruise.

“Aane mein late hoga kya?” you whisper, already breathless.

His answer is a kiss that steals reason, all tongue and teeth and suppressed frustration from hours of interruptions. When he pulls back, his pupils are blown black. “Pata nahi".

You whimper, arching into him—

Then—

“Abbu!”

Mehr’s voice snaps the tension like glass. Both of you pull away immediately. Iqbal exhales sharply through his nose before adjusting himself subtly and then smiles at Mehr.

"Allahafiz" he say quietly to both you and Mehr before walking to his car.

4. Night — No More Interruptions

The house finally sleeps. Rain blurs the world beyond your bedroom as Iqbal crowds you against the door the moment it clicks shut.

“Abhi… koi disturb nahi karega,” you breathe.

His answering smirk is feral. “Pakka?”

You nod.

That’s all he needs.

In three strides, he has you on the bed, his body covering yours completely. His mouth is everywhere, your neck, your collarbone, the frantic pulse at your wrist each kiss a brand. When his fingers hook into the waistband of your salwar, 

“…finally,” you whisper.

He lets out a quiet breath, something more of relief.

“Haan,” he murmurs.

The last coherent word either of you speaks for hours. Dawn finds the sheets tangled at the foot of the bed, your body curled into his, and his arm slung possessively over your waist. The rain has stopped. The world finally feels at peace.

P.s :- The text dividers have been taken from pinterest.

Taglist :- @pleasetagmejaaneman @humsafarhumhihai @miraclejin1204 @budugu @cakiebleh @seasonofthenerd @mango-dolly @goodnightkatherine @anxiousbeeing @cloudyparadoxqueen @wanderingangelinsight @mango-dolly

veins on his neck 👅

I have nothing appropriate to say about this fine shyt 🙏👄