9टंकी की दुकान

#whymeee?? #hopeless #sorryguys #NTAisajokeatthispoint

This is me. This is my current state. I am suffering from a rare condition known as "I Want To Write But My Brain Is Made Of Soup." 🥣

The cursor is mocking me. It’s blinking in Morse code and I’m pretty sure it’s calling me a dumbass. I know this will sound desperate but…

I have the motivation of a Ferrari but the GPS of a goldfish. I need a destination. Tell me what to do with Sushant. Make him soft (or hard 🌚), make him a menace, make him eat a taco—I don’t care. I just need to type something before my hands fall off.

DROP A PROMPT. SAVE AN AUTHOR. 🛟✨

PS: I am thinking about Sushant and oc’s kids, what do you think????

Sushant Bansal x oc!wife

Summary : Who knew a national hero could be defeated by a face scrub? Sushant pouts, Maya laughs, and the day ends in kisses.

Word Count : ~1.1k

A/N : This fic is dedicated to all the 'scary' men who are actually just 5 year-olds when their wives bring out the skincare bag… enjoyyy.

The bathroom was steaming, not from a shower, but from the sheer amount of "recovery equipment" Maya had laid out on the marble counter. Sushant stood in the middle of the room, looking like he was facing a firing squad rather than a self-care session.

He was still wearing his grey undershirt, his hair messy from sleep, and a faint, rugged shadow across his jaw that spoke of a man who hadn’t looked in a mirror for forty-two days.

"Maya, is this really necessary? Main theek hoon," he muttered, eyeing a particularly bright pink headband on the counter with genuine suspicion.

"Bilkul necessary hai, Sushant," Maya replied, her tone leaving no room for negotiation, the kind of tone he usually reserved for his field agents. "Look at your face. It’s dry, you’ve got a sunburn from God-knows-where, and you’re frowning in your sleep, consider this mandatory for your pores."

Sushant sighed, but he didn't move away. He never did when it came to her. He sat on the edge of the bathtub as she instructed, feeling absurdly large for the delicate space. Maya stepped between his knees, her hands reaching out to slide the pink plush headband over his forehead, pushing back his dark, unruly hair.

Sushant caught his reflection in the mirror and winced. "Maya, if my team saw me right now, meri sari izzat mitti mein mil jayegi. What is this even called?"

"It’s a spa headband, and you look adorable. Ab chup-chap baitho," she teased, squirted a bit of cleansing oil into her palms.

As she began to massage his face, her warm fingers circling his jaw and forehead, Sushant’s eyes involuntarily fluttered shut. The tension he carried in his temples, the kind that came from calculating variables and managing risks, began to leak out.

"Yeh kya hai? It feels... oily," he mumbled, his voice already losing its command edge.

"Cleansing oil. It breaks down the dirt and the sunscreen you probably applied once and forgot about for a week.”

"Sunscreen roz lagaya tha, promise," he lied poorly, his eyes still closed. "But tell me something... after this 'oil' thing, I’ll look better, right? Like, ek dum chamak aa jayegi?"

Maya burst out laughing, her fingers pausing on his cheeks. "Chamak? Sushant, it’s skincare, not magic. It takes time."

He opened one eye, looking genuinely confused. "Waiit. You mean I have to do this more than once? Ek baar mein results nahi milte? This is very inefficient, Maya. Logistics ke hisab se, it should work instantly."

"Logistics nahi hai, jaan, skin hai," she whispered, rinsing his face with a warm cloth. "Step two: Foam cleanser. It gets rid of the oil."

Sushant frowned, his brow furrowing under the pink headband. "Wait, wait. Pehle oil lagaya, ab oil hata rahe ho? Why did we put it on in the first place? Direct sabun se dho lete na?"

"Because 'sabun' is for your hands, not your face, and the oil pulls out the deep-seated gunk. Trust the process, jaan."

Sushant grumbled something about “being forced” but he didn't pull away. In fact, he leaned closer, his hands find her waist, anchoring her to him. The playful banter was cute, but the proximity was doing things to his heart rate that a mission never could.

"Next is exfoliation," Maya announced, picking up a small jar of scrub.

"Exfoli-what? Sounds like a weapon, something that Ajay sir would suggest for the enemy," he said, eyeing the grainy paste.

"It’s a scrub. It takes off the dead skin cells. It’s going to tingle a bit."

As she rubbed the scrub over his nose and cheeks, Sushant made a face. "Ow. Maya, are you sure this isn't sandpaper? Isme toh chote chote pathar hain. Are you sure this is safe for human consumption?"

"It’s sugar, Sushant! Sugars and coffee. Just sit still."

"Sugar? Waste of good chai ingredients," he muttered, though he was secretly enjoying the way her face was only inches from his. He could see the little flecks of gold in her eyes and the way she bit her lip when she was concentrating. "So, after these pathars, then the glow comes? I’ll look like those heroes in the movies?"

Maya rinsed his face again, her touch lingering on his jawline. "You already look better than them to me. But yes, you’ll have a 'glow'."

"Good. I want to look so good that you can't look away," he said, his voice dropping an octave, his eyes darkening as they tracked her movements.

"Sushant, behave. I’m trying to be professional here," she whispered, her cheeks flushing. She reached for a sheet mask, the ultimate test for any man. When she unfolded the cold, dripping white cloth, Sushant actually recoiled.

"No. Absolutely not. Maya, main bhoot lagunga isme. What is that? It looks like a wet handkerchief with questionable holes."

"It’s a sheet mask, Sushant! It’s full of serum. It’s the most important part. Please? Just fifteen minutes."

He looked at the mask, then at her pouting face, and he was a goner. He sighed, leaning his head back against the wall. "Fine. But no photos. Agar headquarters mein yeh photo pahonchi, toh main resign kar dunga."

Maya carefully laid the cold mask over his face. Sushant let out a small yelp at the temperature. "Arre! It’s freezing! Maya, are you punishing me for something? Maine kya kiya?"

"It’s cooling! It’s good for the inflammation. Just breathe, Sushant."

For the next fifteen minutes, the fierce commander of the most elite unit in the country sat on a bathtub edge, wearing a pink headband and a dripping white sheet mask that made him look like a very confused ghost.

Maya didn't stay still, her phone was out in a second, the camera shutter clicking repeatedly. She needed this saved in high-definition. A well-moisturized, pouty Sushant was a rare sighting, and she wasn't about to let that go undocumented,

Then, pretending as if she didn’t do anything mischievous she started organizing her own vanity, huming a song.

"Maya," he said, his voice muffled and stiff because he was afraid to move his face.

"Hmm?"

"Is it working? Can you feel it happening?"

She turned around, biting her lip to keep from howling with laughter. "I can feel it. It’s a very intense transformation, Sushant. You’re practically sparkling, like Edward from twilight ."

"Mazak uda rahi ho na?" he asked, though he couldn't see her clearly. "I’m serious. I’ve gone through three layers of chemicals and sugar stones. I expect to be unrecognizable. Like a new recruit."

"You’re ridiculous," she said, coming back to him. She sat on his lap, her weight making him grunt softly, and she checked the timer on her phone. "Okay, time’s up."

She peeled the mask off, and Sushant let out a breath of relief. "Thank God. I felt like a mummy."

"Wait, don't wipe it off! You have to pat the leftover serum into your skin," she said, her fingers dancing over his face, tapping gently.

Sushant caught her wrists, stopping her. The playfulness in the room shifted, the air suddenly feeling heavy and warm. He looked at her, his skin actually looking hydrated and bright, but his eyes were focused only on her.

"Enough tapping," he whispered, pulling her closer until her chest was pressed against his. "Maine bohot mehnat ki hai aaj. Sugar stones, cold cloths, pink headbands... I think I deserve a reward for my bravery."

Maya smiled, her heart doing that familiar flip-flop. "A reward? You think you’re a hero because you wore a mask for fifteen minutes?"

"In my world, this is considered as an act of bravery," he teased, his thumb tracing the line of her lip. "And I didn't break.“

"So, now give me my reward," he murmured, his gaze dropping to her mouth.

He didn't wait for her to respond. He pulled her into a kiss that was slow and sweet, but backed by the intensity of days of longing. Maya’s hands went to his neck, her fingers grazing the soft edges of the pink headband he was still wearing, which made the whole moment feel absurdly domestic and incredibly sexy all at once.

He broke the kiss just an inch, his forehead resting against hers, his breathing ragged. "So... if I do this every day, will I become even more handsome ? Or is there a limit?"

Maya laughed, her forehead still against his. "You just want me to touch your face every morning, don't you?"

He smiled, a genuine, boyish look that he only ever showed her. "Pakda gaya? Caught me. I know a good deal when I see one. I get a face massage, you get to look at my 'glow'. It’s a win-win."

He stood up, still holding her in his arms as if she weighed nothing at all. He walked toward the bedroom, the pink headband still firmly in place, looking like the world’s most dangerous and most well-groomed diplomat .

"Sushant, the headband! Take it off!" she giggled.

"Nahi," he said, his eyes full of mischief as he kicked the bedroom door shut. "It’s part of the mission now. And we haven't even finished the final step of the recovery protocol yet."

"What’s the final step?"

Sushant smiled, a slow, dangerous look that made her pulse soar. "Full-body hydration. And I think I’m going to need your help with that, Maya."

The lights went out, leaving only the scent of sandalwood, ginger tea, and expensive face cream lingering in the air—the scent of a commander finally, perfectly, at home.

PS : All the images and text dividers are from Pinterest.

@poetry-beauty-love-writez , @anxiousbeeing , @tanipartner , @tere-ni-kararan , @misteriadare , @abc1234y , @sea-breeze-in-my-hair , @dreamcatcher-cat , @moon-inked , @bitchy-bi-trash , @celestecelina , @begumwithbaggage , @lipistickkkk , @maraudersbitchesassemble , @gulaabjamun08 , @thebookyworm7 , @ossiespinsladen , @yearnersaremytype , @budugu , @shawty-writes-a-little , @mischiefmanaged666 , @seasonofthenerd , @buchanana00 , @lutt-le-gaya , @mainyahaankyunhoon , @rehmandakaitswife , @y0uneversawmehere , @zeherili-ankhein , @wannabefucko , @obsessedwidskincare , @desi-brownie , @nostalgicbitch-12 , @kenkozkmg , @dumbassdictionarysds , @natkhat-sa-shyam , @aaglagibastimainhumapnemastimain , @anakookie , @yetunekyakiyaa , @messrsmoonysblog , @capybara-fairy , @mysticalnightingale , @kamalkafool , @giantfirefly , @celesteablack , @idek19291 , @jagershootss , @idonthavechatpateusernamed , @rosiasthings , @loveunity24 , @carpediemdps707

Sushant Bansal x oc!wife

Summary : The silence of a lonely hallway finally ends. After forty-two days of encrypted pings, Sushant returns a day early, trading a final debriefing for a quiet kitchen.

Word Count : ~980

A/N: Writing after approximately three lifetimes. Forgive the mistakes… enjoyyy.

The keys felt lighter in Maya’s hand today, though her heart was doing enough heavy lifting for the both of them. It had been forty-two days.

I’ve got some major goals to crush by the end of May, and since I don’t plan on settling for anything less than absolute perfection, I’m going into full-blown "hustle mode." This means I won’t be posting much, or at least not with the frequency you and I have grown addicted to.

Zindagi mein kuch bade maqsad poore karne ke liye thoda gayab hona padta hai, so, right now, my focus is non-negotiable. If I’m going to ace this, I need my undivided focus on the grind.

It honestly kills me to leave things mid-way, and I’m so sorry to everyone whose requests I haven't been able to finish. Waqt ki thodi kami hai, and I hate that I couldn’t deliver the cinematic magic you guys deserve before this break. Please know your prompts are still on my mind.

Thank you. The love and intensity you’ve shown my work is what makes this blog feel so safe and alive. You guys make these stories being my first ones worth it , It’s that chaotic , crazy energy we share that keeps me writing.

My only request is that you don’t forget me while I’m away. Keep this fandom buzzing, keep the chaos alive, and don’t let the fire burn out. Be the Paro to my Devdas.

If you start missing me, go back and re-read my stories. Keep those numbers up and keep the vibes up . Meri Maya aur uske pati ka khayal rakhna.

Please tag me in any amazing work or chaos you see in the fandom! I don’t want to miss out on the good stuff just because I’m hitting the books or in this case the books are hitting me.

Bas thode waqt ki baat hai, save me a seat and popcorns and keep the tags messy. Mujhe laga nahi tha ki main itna sab leekh dungi. Ab mujhe roona aa raha h… main jaa rahi hu roone.

Wish me luck. Stay iconic, and I’ll see you on the other side of May. ✌🏻✨✨

Sushant Bansal x wife!oc

Summary : Sushant Bansal handles a national crisis every day, but a reckless driver just became his highest priority.

Word Count : ~1k

A/N: A round of applause for @thebookyworm , who proves that a 'good idea' is usually just code for 'let’s ruin a fictional man’s life for fun.

The sterile, metallic scent of the Base Hospital usually meant a high stakes debriefing for Sushant Bansal, but today, it smelled like failure. He didn't wait for the elevator, he took the stairs three at a time, his polished oxfords echoing like rhythmic gunshots against the concrete. Each step felt heavier than the last, his mind replaying the fragments of the phone call he’d received mid-briefing.

Sushant Bansal x OC

Summary : When the IB’s toughest man admits he’s lost his composure, you know the first date was a success.

Word Count : ~1k

A/N : This idea was asked about so many times… so I had to do . Hope you guys love it… enjoyyy.

The Deputy Director of the Intelligence Bureau, a man whose signature could authorize high-stakes extractions and whose gaze could make seasoned field agents sweat, was currently losing a three round boxing match with a silk tie.

"Control yourself, Sushant," he muttered to the mirror, his voice sounding less like a high ranking official and more like a teenager going to prom. He retied the knot for the fourteenth time, and finally decided to discard it . His brain, usually a fortress of tactical data and cold logic, was currently a disorganized Pinterest board of Maya.

There was the "Office Maya" who argued over budget allocations , the "Sarcastic Maya" who called him 'Sir' with just enough irony to make his pulse jump and then there was the Maya from his dreams , the one wearing that specific shade of mauve that had single-handedly destroyed his productivity for three straight working days.

He checked his watch: 19:05. He was early. In the world of intelligence, being early was being prepared, but in the world of dating, it felt like a tactical error. He unbuttoned his top shirt button. Too casual? He buttoned it back. Too much like a security briefing? He sighed, running a hand through his hair and grabbing his keys with a dry, nervous smile. "Aaj toh sari training fail hone wali hai," he whispered to the empty room.

Across the city, Maya was living through a localized textile earthquake. Her bed was currently buried under a "no," a "definitely not," and a "maybe if the lighting is dim."

"Maya, focus! You’re a professional woman, a literal diplomat not a teenager meeting a K-Pop idol," she scolded her reflection. But her hands were doing a frantic little tremolo as she tried to pleat her saree.

She had settled on a chiffon saree in a deep, midnight blue. She chose it specifically because Sushant had once jokingly told her she was a "threat to national focus" when she wore blue. If she was going to be a threat, she might as well be a high-altitude one. The fabric clung to her curves, and the pallu draped with a delicate precision that she hoped looked "effortless," even though it had taken forty five minutes and three YouTube tutorials to pin.

She practiced her "cool, effortless" smile in the full length mirror. It came out looking like she’d just smelled something suspicious. She tried again, biting her lip to bring out the natural color. Better. She dabbed on a scent of jasmine and vanilla, took a shaky breath, and then—Bzzz.

Sushant: I’m outside. No rush. Take your time. (He was lying; he’d been circling the block for ten minutes).

Maya knew he was lying. He was the Deputy Director , he’d probably been circling the block for ten minutes to ensure a precisely timed arrival. Her stomach didn't just do a backflip, it did a full Olympic floor routine. "Chal, Maya. Operation Date is a go!" she whispered to the empty hallway, grabbing her clutch and heading down.

When she stepped out of the lobby, Sushant wasn't leaning coolly against the black SUV like a hero in a Bollywood action flick.

Instead, he was standing so stiffly he looked like he’d accidentally swallowed a ruler. He was checking his watch, then his cuffs, then the horizon, looking for all the world like he was waiting for a ghost.

Then he saw her.

The "Deputy Director" persona didn’t just leave the building , it jumped off a cliff without a parachute. He stared. He blinked. He forgot how to use basic human language. The midnight blue of her saree against the warm streetlights was a sight that should have been classified as a weapon of mass distraction.

Maya," he breathed, her name sounding like a secret he was finally allowed to tell. He didn't even realize he was staring until she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

He cleared his throat, a faint, self deprecating smile touching his lips. "Maine puri drive pe socha tha ki tumhe compliment kaise dunga," he admitted, his voice dropping to a low, intimate register. "But honestly? Words don’t really do justice to how you look right now. You’re making it very hard for me to stay composed tonight."

Maya felt the heat creeping up her neck. "Tum bhi bure nahi lag rahe, Sushant," she teased, though her voice had a traitorous little wobble.

He stepped closer, the scent of his expensive, woody cologne enveloping her. He offered his arm with a hand that was—could it be? Yes—slightly trembling. As she looped her arm through his, the contact felt like a static shock that traveled straight to her heart.

The drive to the restaurant was a delicate dance of playful banter and heavy, charged silences. Sushant took her to a private rooftop spot , a glass walled conservatory filled with flickering candlelight and the soft, melodic hum of jazz. It was the kind of place where secrets were whispered and hearts were traded.

As they sat down, the table felt both too large and too small. Sushant, the man of a thousand classified files, was suddenly a man of zero words whenever Maya leaned forward.

"Tumne pure raste mein ek baar bhi phone nahi dekha," Maya noted, hiding her giggle behind the rim of her water glass. "Is the nation safe without you for two hours?"

Sushant leaned back, his eyes soft and dangerously focused on hers. "Tonight, the world can wait, Maya. My priority is currently sitting across from me, looking very dangerous in chiffon. Waise bhi, even the IB needs to learn how to switch off when the view is this good."

The tension shifted during the main course. Maya reached for the salt at the exact moment he did. Their fingers didn't just brush , they collided. Sushant didn't pull away. Instead, his skin warm and firm remained against hers. His thumb began to trace a slow, agonizingly shy circle over her knuckles.

The conversation died instantly, replaced by the suffocatingly beautiful weight of everything they weren't saying. Maya’s breath hitched. "Sushant," she whispered.

He didn't let go. Instead, he shifted his hand, his fingers slipping into the gaps between hers, locking them together on the white tablecloth. "Maya, main bohot economical insaan hoon words ke saath," he said, his voice dropping an octave into a gravelly caress. "Par aaj… mere paas bohot kuch hai kehne ko, aur himmat thodi kam."

After dinner, they walked through the rooftop garden. The humidity of the Delhi night felt heavy, and the scent of night-blooming jasmine was intoxicating. Sushant stood behind her near the railing, not touching, but close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his chest against her back.

He leaned down, his breath fanning against the sensitive skin of her ear. "Tumhe pata hai, when I saw you today in this saree , mera dimag kaam karna band kar gaya tha," he murmured.

Maya leaned back, her head resting against his shoulder, her eyes closing. “Is it just the saree,Sushant ?"

He let out a shaky breath, his hands finally coming to rest on her waist. He didn't pull her back, he just held her there, his grip possessive yet incredibly reverent. His fingers dug slightly into the soft chiffon, and she could feel the slight tremor in his palms.

He moved one hand, his fingers slowly trailing up her arm, barely grazing the skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

He stopped at her shoulder, his thumb stroking the bare skin where the saree blouse ended. He didn't kiss her , not yet , but the way he looked at her, like she was the only source of light in a very dark world, was more intimate than any physical act. He turned her around slowly, his hands now framing her face. His thumbs traced her lower lip, back and forth, a tease that made her toes curl.

"Sushant… tum maar daloge mujhe," she breathed.

He smiled, a dark, hungry, yet devastatingly sweet thing. "Nahi, Maya. Main bas tumhe yeh dikhana chahta hoon ki tumhara mujh par kitna control hai."

The interior of the SUV felt smaller than it had three hours ago. Every time Sushant shifted gears, his arm brushed against the edge of her saree, the soft friction sounding like a roar in the quiet cabin.

Maya looked at his profile in the passing glow of the streetlights , the sharp line of his jaw, the way his fingers tapped a restless, rhythmic code against the steering wheel.

"You're being very quiet, Sushant," she said softly, breaking the spell. "Kya soch rahe ho?"

Sushant didn't take his eyes off the road, but his grip on the wheel tightened. "Yahi, ki aaj se pehle mujhe Delhi ki roads kabhi itni choti nahi lagi," he said, his voice a bit rough. "I’m actually wishing for a red light... taaki ye rasta thoda aur lamba ho jaye."

He turned to look at her for a split second, his gaze heavy and focused, before looking back at the road. "Tumhe ghar drop karna is feeling like the hardest task I've had all week."

When they reached Maya’s doorstep, Sushant didn't just let her go. He walked her all the way to the door.

In the soft, amber glow of the porch light, Maya turned to face him. Before she could say "goodnight," Sushant stepped into her personal space. He didn't just stand near her, he crowded her, his large frame blocking out the rest of the world. He placed one hand on the wall beside her head, leaning in until their noses brushed.

"Maya," he rasped, his voice rough. "Tonight was... perfect."

Maya looked up at him, her hands coming up to rest on his chest. She could feel his heart hammering against her palms, a frantic rhythm that matched her own.

"Sushant..."

"Andar jao, Maya," he groaned softly, his eyes dropping to her lips for a heartbeat too long. "Nahi toh main ja nahi paunga."

Maya fumbled for her keys, her brain completely fried into a puddle of mush. Sushant took them from her, his warm fingers lingering against hers, and unlocked the door. He stood there for a moment, just watching her with an expression that made her feel like the most important person in the country.

"Goodnight, Sushant," she whispered.

“Goodnight, Sweetheart,”

The door clicked shut. Maya leaned against it, her heart doing a frantic victory lap. She let out a high-pitched, muffled scream into her hands, her legs kicking out in a burst of pure, giddy energy. She practically skipped to her bedroom and threw herself face-down onto the mattress, kicking her feet in the air. "Oh my god, oh my god," she whispered into her pillow.

Her phone chimed.

Sushant: I’m home. But my brain is still on that rooftop. You’ve compromised my security, Maya. Completely.

Maya: Is that an official report, Deputy Director? Because I think I’m going to need a follow-up briefing.

Sushant: It’s a confession. And the follow-up is mandatory. Second date, soon? Please say yes so I can actually sleep.

Maya squealed, rolling around like a happy burrito. She hugged her phone to her chest, her face flushed a deep crimson, and typed 'Yes' before he could even blink.

For Sushant Bansal, the mission had changed. It wasn't about intelligence anymore; it was about the girl in the blue saree who had just dismantled the Deputy Director with a single smile.

PS : All the pictures and text dividers are from Pinterest .

Sushant Bansal x wife!oc

Summary : He’s a world-class agent who can survive anything , except the way his wife looks at him when someone else dares to touch her favorite toy.

Word Count : ~1k

A/N : Credit to @thebookyworm7 for the spark. This one is entirely your fault (and we love you for it). Hope this is better that what you expected… enjoyyy.

Sushant was currently experiencing a level of internal panic that usually only occurred when a high-stakes mission went south in a foreign country with zero backup. This was objectively worse.

This was a bright, suburban organic market, and he was currently cornered between the artisanal cheeses and a woman who was very clearly trying to inventory his soul with her eyes.

He had come here with a singular, simple objective: find the specific smoked paprika Maya liked for their dinner. Instead, he’d bumped into Ananya, a field operative who had been trying to "grab a coffee" with him since the last training seminar.

Sushant, being socially inept in the face of unwanted advances and perpetually devoted to his wife, had spent months perfecting the art of the polite vanish. But here, with a shopping cart as his only shield, there was no exit strategy.

"Sushant, you’ve been ghosting the department group chats," Ananya said, her voice dropping into a playful, husky register as she stepped firmly into his personal space. The air around him suddenly felt suffocatingly small.

She reached out, her fingers grazing the sleeve of his crisp linen shirt, tracing the hard line of his bicep with a slow, deliberate touch. "I thought maybe you’d retired to a Himalayan cave. But looking at you? You’re in better shape than ever. What’s the secret?" . Sushant’s brain short-circuited. He felt his ears turn a bright, betraying red that clashed horribly with the organic produce.

"I... uh... workout. At home. Maya has a routine. I mean, we have a routine. For... health."

He tried to sidestep toward the aged cheddar, but Ananya was a trained operative; she mirrored his movement perfectly, her hand now resting more firmly on his arm, her thumb tracing small, suggestive circles.

"Health is important," she purred, leaning in so close he could smell her perfume- synthetic, and aggressive that made him miss Maya’s soft, expensive jasmine scent instantly. "But you look like you need a break from the 'routine.' I’m heading to that new rooftop lounge tonight. You should come. Just us. No talk about intel or extractions. Just... unwinding."

Sushant looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. He was a deer in headlights, staring at her hand on his arm as if it were a ticking thermal detonator he didn't know how to diffuse. "Tonight? Oh, tonight is... uh... laundry. And we’re watching a documentary on... artisanal salts. Very busy. Very tight schedule."

Ananya laughed, the sound grating against his nerves. Her hand slid up from his arm to his shoulder, her fingers inching toward the nape of his neck. "Sushant, don't be so boring. A man like you shouldn't be kept on such a short leash."

"He isn't on a leash, dear. He’s simply... well-fed and perfectly satisfied."

The voice was like velvet , slicing through the tension of the aisle. Sushant felt a shiver of both sheer terror and immense relief wash over him. He didn't even have to look to know Maya was standing right behind him. He could feel her presence, that aura of calm, undisputed authority that always commanded a room.

Maya didn't rush in. She appeared at Sushant’s side, her presence suddenly making the entire grocery aisle feel like a high-court gala. She was dressed simply, but on her, a casual outfit looked like couture. She didn't look at the hand on Sushant’s shoulder—at least not at first.

She looked at Sushant, her eyes scanning his face with a terrifyingly calm, possessive sweetness that made him want to both hide behind her and pull her into his arms.

"Sushant, darling , tumne cheese dhoond li?”

"Maya! Main... main... smoked paprika dhoond raha tha," Sushant stammered, his voice cracking slightly. He gently, but very quickly, shook off Ananya’s hand as if it were burning him, nearly knocking over a display of crackers in his haste to get closer to his wife.

Maya finally turned her gaze to Ananya. The polite, socialite smile she usually wore was gone. In its place was a look of cold, regal assessment. Her eyes flicked down to Ananya’s hand, then slowly up to her face, a deliberate movement that made Ananya’s confident smirk falter.

"Ananya, right? The one who keeps sending those... 'urgent' late-night emails about logistics?" Maya asked. Her voice was soft, melodic, but every word was laced with a chilling elegance. She stepped closer, effectively shielding Sushant with her own body, her shoulder brushing his chest in a silent claim of territory.

"I was just inviting him out for a drink," Ananya said, trying to regain her footing, though she had instinctively stepped back. "Networking is part of the job."

Maya laughed , a soft, melodic sound that didn't reach her eyes. "Networking. How charmingly old-fashioned. But you see, Ananya, Sushant’s 'network' is quite full. In fact, his schedule is managed entirely by me." She reached up, slowly and deliberately smoothing the front of Sushant’s shirt exactly where Ananya had touched it, her palms lingering on his chest as if she were wiping away a stain.

"And as for the rooftop lounge," Maya continued, her voice dropping into a dangerous, honeyed tone. "Sushant prefers the view from our balcony. It’s much more... private. Only for those who belong there."

The subtext was vibrating through the air: Place your hand on my husband again and you will not see the next sunrise . Ananya opened her mouth to respond, but Maya stepped even closer into her personal space, her height and poise making the other woman look suddenly very young and very out of her league.

"You have such a lovely perfume, Ananya," Maya said, her eyes narrowing slightly. "But it’s a bit... loud for a grocery store, don’t you think? It’s almost as if you were trying too hard to be noticed. Sushant, don't you think it’s a bit much?"

Sushant, who was currently trying to merge with the shelving, nodded frantically. "Bohot... strong hai. Haan. I think... I am having an allergic reaction… Maya? Chalein?"

Maya didn't break eye contact with Ananya for a long beat, ensuring the message was fully received and filed away in the 'do not attempt again' folder of Ananya's brain. "Yes, darling. Let’s go. This aisle has become a bit... cluttered."

She took Sushant’s arm, her grip firm and unmistakably territorial, and led him toward the checkout. Sushant pushed the cart like he was trying to win the race with the kid in the right aisle . He felt like he’d just survived an explosion, and the adrenaline was still humming in his veins.

The ride home was quiet, but the air in the car was thick. Sushant kept glancing at Maya. She was staring out the window, her jaw set in a fine, elegant line. She looked beautiful—and absolutely lethal.

"Maya?" he whispered as they pulled into the driveway. "Tum... tum theek ho? I swear, maine usse baat bhi nahi shuru ki thi. She just appeared and—"

Maya turned to him, her eyes finally softening, though the possessive fire was still lingering in the depths. "Sushant, stop. I know. I saw your face. You looked like a scared puppy. It’s not you I’m annoyed with."

"Phir?"

Maya leaned across the center console, her hand cupping his face. Her thumb traced his lower lip, her gaze intense. "Mujhe pasand nahi hai jab koi aur tumhe aise touch kare. Like they have a right to you. Like they can just invite you into their world whenever they want." She leaned in, her breath warm against his skin, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Tumhe pata hai na tum kiske ho, Sushant?"

Sushant swallowed hard. "Sirf tumhara. I promise."

"Good." She pulled him closer by his collar, her voice a low murmur. "Because the next time a 'colleague' decides to network with your bicep, I might not be so elegant about it."

Sushant’s heart did a little flip. "Elegant Maya zyada scary hai," he admitted, but then he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a rasp. "But honestly? That was so hot."

Maya’s eyebrows arched, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across her lips. "Was it now?"

"Ji," he breathed, his eyes fixed on hers.

"Accha? Toh phir thoda jaldi andar chalo . I’m still a little... agitated."

As they entered the house, the atmosphere shifted. The "grocery store" tension didn't evaporate, it transformed. Sushant set the bags on the kitchen island, but before he could even reach for the stove , Maya was there, backing him up against the cold marble counter.

She didn't say a word. She simply reached out, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling his head back just enough so he had to look at her. Her presence was overwhelming, the jasmine of her perfume, the heat of her body pressing into his. She kissed him then, not the gentle peck of a goodbye, but something deep, demanding, and utterly possessive.

Sushant groaned into her mouth, his hands finding her waist and pulling her flush against him. He was supposed to be the one in control. The agent, the protector, but in this kitchen, under her gaze, he was completely hers. Her hands slid down his chest, the same spot she had "cleaned" earlier, and he felt the fire from her touch spread through his entire body.

"Maya," he murmured against her lips, his breath hitching.

"Cooking can wait," she whispered, her teeth grazing his earlobe, sending a jolt of electricity down his spine. "I think I need a different kind of distraction first."

Maya’s hands slid down from his hair, her palms flat against his chest, feeling the frantic, hammering rhythm of his heart. She began to undo the buttons of his linen shirt, one by one, her movements slow and agonizingly deliberate. Each time her knuckles brushed his skin, Sushant felt a fresh wave of heat , finally popping the last button and pushing the fabric off his shoulders. She leaned forward, her lips trailing fire down the column of his throat to the dip of his collarbone.

Sushant’s head fell back, his hands sliding up her thighs, the friction of her silk dress against his palms making his head swim. He leaned in, finally capturing her lips in a kiss that was desperate, hungry, and entirely hers. It wasn't the polished, socialite Maya anymore , this was raw, unfiltered possession. He tasted the wine on her breath and the fire in her soul, and he realized with a dazed sort of clarity that he was completely, hopelessly lost in her.

He broke the kiss for just a second, his forehead resting against hers, both of them breathing hard. "You're incredible," he whispered, his voice thick with a mix of awe and desire. "That whole thing at the store... the way you handled her... it was so hot, Maya. It drove me crazy."

Maya smirked, a dark, triumphant look in her eyes as she pulled him back down by his collar. "I know it did. Now, stop talking and show me exactly how crazy it made you."

The kitchen grew quiet, save for the sound of hurried breaths and the soft rustle of fabric. The "malewife" was nowhere to be found; there was only a man devoted to the woman who owned every inch of him, and a woman who had no intention of ever letting go. The dinner was officially the last thing on anyone's mind.

She had made her point, she had reclaimed her territory, She wasn't just his wife; she was his entire world, and she would make sure anyone who forgot that learned the lesson very, very quickly.

PS : All the pictures and text dividers are from Pinterest .

Sushant Bansal x wife!oc

Summary : The Ministry demands her time and the Deputy Director demands her surrender. Sushant decides he’s done playing the patient husband. He’s closing the dossiers and pulling rank.

Word Count : ~1k

A/N : This piece exists because @dreamcatcher-cat has brilliant taste. Thanks for the idea , you absolute gem ! Hope this exceeds your expectations… enjoyyy.

Sushant knew exactly what he was walking into before he even turned the key; the faint blue light bleeding from the dining room was a dead giveaway. He didn’t need an intelligence brief to know that Maya had brought the Ministry home with her again.

The silence of the Bansal household at midnight was a heavy, broken only by the rhythmic hum of the air conditioner and the scratch of a fountain pen. Maya was currently in what Sushant privately called her "tunnel vision" phase. Her spine was a rigid line of pure stubbornness, her eyes bloodshot as they scanned the dense, black-and-white texts of the Ministry of Defense files spread across the mahogany dining table. She was swaying, just a fraction of an inch every few seconds, her body begging for the gravity of a mattress while her mind refused to sign the release form.

When the front door clicked shut, she didn't even look up. She knew the rhythm of those footsteps , the heavy, purposeful stride of a man who had spent fourteen hours dismantling threats to national security.

Sushant paused in the archway, his coat draped over his arm, his tie already loosened. He looked like the Deputy Director the world knew, sharp, imposing, and utterly exhausted. But as his eyes landed on Maya, the professional coldness vanished, replaced by a weary, localized frustration. He saw the stack of files , still four inches thick and the way her hand trembled as she reached for a highlighter.

"Maya? Abhi tak?" his voice dropped into that low, authoritative vibrato that usually made subordinates scramble.

Maya blinked, the movement feeling like sandpaper against her corneas. She didn't look at him, her focus pinned to the paragraph in front of her. "Just a few more, Sushant. They need the final clearance by 8 am . If I don't finish the vetting now, the whole procurement cycle gets pushed by a month."

Sushant dropped his coat onto a chair and moved into her space. He didn't stand over her , he circled the table, observing the labyrinth she had constructed out of paperwork and caffeine. He hated this. When he left the IB headquarters, he left the ghosts of the office at the gate. But Maya carried her ghosts home in leather-bound folders, tucked under her arm like a penalty .

"The world will not stop spinning if the Ministry waits another twelve hours," he said, reaching out to gently place his palm over the page she was reading.

"Sushant, hatao," she murmured, her voice thick with fatigue. "I don't have the luxury of your 'no work at home' rule. My department isn't the IB. We don't get to disappear into the shadows. We have deadlines that matter to the budget."

He didn't move his hand. Instead, he leaned down, his chest brushing against her shoulder, the scent of his cologne , expensive tobacco and cold rain, clouding her senses. "Look at yourself. You’re swaying, Maya. Tumhe hosh bhi nahi hai ki tum kya padh rahi ho. You aren't being efficient , you’re just being masochistic."

Maya tried to pull the file away, but her grip was weak. The sheer force of will that had kept her upright for the last four hours was crumbling under the sudden, suffocating warmth of his presence. "I have to finish," she whispered, though her head was starting to loll toward his chest.

Sushant didn't argue further. He simply reached down and took the pen from her fingers. He closed the file with a finality that brooked no debate and pushed the entire stack to the far end of the table.

"Hey! Kya kar rahe ho?" she protested, attempting to stand, but her knees buckled.

He caught her instantly, his arms sliding around her waist, hauling her flush against him. The physical contact was a shock to her system , the heat of him seeping through her thin cotton kurta. He was solid, a mountain of a man who dealt in the currency of control, and right now, he was exercising total jurisdiction over her.

"Bas ho gaya," he murmured against her temple. "Chalo."

He swept her off her feet before she could utter another syllable of dissent. Maya let out a soft gasp, her arms instinctively winding around his neck. Being carried by Sushant always felt like a security breach of the best kind , being handled with a strength that was terrifyingly absolute yet impossibly gentle.

He didn't take her to the bedroom immediately. He sat down on the large sofa in the living room, keeping her tucked firmly in his lap. The house was dimly lit, the only glow coming from the kitchen's accent lights, casting long, dramatic shadows that reminded Maya of the noir-ish world they both inhabited.

"Sushant, the files—"

"Bhool jao un files ko," he interrupted, his thumb tracing the dark circles under her eyes. "Tumhari tabiyat kharab ho jayegi. If your Director asks why they aren't done, tell him to call me. I’ll explain the importance of a rested asset."

"I'm not your asset," she mumbled, though she was melting into him, her face pressing into the crook of his neck.

"No," he whispered, his voice turning dark and honey-thick. "You're my wife. And I don’t tolerate high-level risks in my own home. This level of exhaustion? It’s a security risk, Maya. To my peace of mind."

His hand migrated from her waist to the nape of her neck, his fingers tangling in the stray hairs that had escaped her bun. He began to massage the tension there, his touch firm and knowing. Maya let out a long, shuddering breath, the last of her defenses dissolving. The friction of his calloused skin against her sensitive nape sent a different kind of shiver through her, one that had nothing to do with the cold office air and everything to do with the man holding her.

Sushant watched her, his gaze heavy and possessive. He loved this version of her, the one only he got to see. Not the high functioning bureaucrat, but the vulnerable woman who needed him to be her anchor. He leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of her ear.

"Relax, jaan," he breathed. "Main hoon na."

The endearment, so rare and deliberate from a man of his stature, made her heart stutter. He shifted her slightly, pulling her higher so her legs draped over the side of the sofa, and his mouth found the sensitive line of her throat. He didn't kiss her softly , it was a hungry, grounding pressure, a reminder that while she had been off in the world of logistics and paperwork, he had been waiting to reclaim her.

Maya’s hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer. The fatigue was still there, but it was being overwritten by a simmering heat. His touch was clinical in its precision , he knew exactly where to press, exactly how much weight to lean into her to make her feel completely encased in his shadow.

He pulled back just enough to look her in the eye, his hand sliding down to rest over her heart. "Do you feel that? It’s racing. You’re overstimulated and under-rested. Tumhe lagta hai tum machine ho, par tum nahi ho."

"You're one to talk," she whispered, her voice a breathy wreck. "You lived in the Bureau for three days last week during the Karachi briefing."

"And that is exactly why I know how this ends," he countered, his eyes darkening.

"When I am in that building, I am the Deputy Director. I am a ghost. But when I come through that door, I am yours. And you are mine. That means the work stays outside. Samjhi?"

He didn't wait for an answer. He captured her lips in a deep, commanding kiss that tasted of lingering coffee and the desperate need for connection. It was the way he used his body to shield her from her own ambitions. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, demanding entry, and when she gave in, the world of Ministry clearances and IB protocols finally, mercifully, went black.

His hand slid under the hem of her kurta, his palm warm against the small of her back, pulling her even tighter against the hard lines of his chest. The friction was intoxicating. Maya felt a low ache starting in her belly, a mix of exhaustion-induced hypersensitivity and the raw power Sushant always exuded. She felt small in his arms, but not diminished—protected.

Sushant broke the kiss, his forehead resting against hers, both of them breathing heavily in the quiet room. He could feel her pulse slowing down, the frantic energy of the workday finally being replaced by the heavy, sweet languor of his company.

"Sleep," he commanded softly, his hand moving in a soothing rhythm against her spine. "Right here. I’m not letting you go back to that table."

"The files..." she tried one last time, though her eyes were already closed.

"I'll set an alarm for 5:00 AM," he lied smoothly, knowing full well he would let her sleep until seven. "I’ll help you finish them over tea. But right now, sirf main aur tum. No more work , Maya. Just us."

Maya didn't have the strength to argue with a man who specialized in interrogation and extraction. She let her head sink onto his shoulder, her breathing leveling out as she finally surrendered to the gravity she had been fighting all night.

Sushant adjusted the throw blanket over them, his arms locked around her like a physical barricade against the rest of the world. He looked toward the dining room, at the stack of white paper that represented her stress, and felt a flare of protective arrogance.

Tomorrow, she would be annoyed at the lost time, but tonight, she was safe.

He leaned down, pressing one last kiss to her hair. A ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. "I always win."

As Maya fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, wrapped in the scent of him and the safety of his possessiveness, she realized he was right. The world didn't end. The sun would still rise, the Ministry would still exist, and Sushant Bansal would still be there to catch her when she finally stopped running.

Outside the jurisdiction of the Ministry, his arms were the only boundaries she never wanted to cross .

PS : All the pictures and text dividers are from Pinterest .

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Sushant Bansal x wife!oc

Summary : In the dim light of their bedroom, the man of steel becomes a man of silk, proving that his most classified truth is the heart he only shows to her.

Word Count : ~900.

A/N : On the request of @thebookyworm7 , I would like to present you this little piece , hope I didn’t disappoint you with this one cutie patotie 😘… enjoyyy.

The glass-walled office of the Deputy Director was freezing, the air conditioner humming at a temperature that usually kept Sushant Bansal’s mind sharp and his nerves steady. But today, he couldn't focus. He had glanced at his watch for the fifth time in ten minutes, his pen hovering over a report on cross-border infiltration that suddenly felt insignificant.

Sushant Bansal x wife!oc

Summary : Behind the steel of a high-ranking officer lies a man whose only true weakness is his wife.

Word Count : ~800

A/N : well first of all … this idea is brought to you by the @moon-inked . Hope this meets your expectations… enjoyyy.

The corridors of the Intelligence Bureau were usually thick with the scent of overpriced coffee and the heavy, suffocating silence of secrets. Sushant Bansal was the king of that silence. As the Deputy Director, he moved through the office like a ghost in a well-tailored charcoal suit, sharp and intimidatingly efficient.

To his juniors, he was a machine. To Ajay Sanyal, he was the only man whose brain worked faster than a supercomputer. Nobody knew what Sushant did after 8:00 PM. There were rumors, of course. Some thought he went home to a minimalist, cold apartment to read files , others joked that he probably just plugged himself into a charger.