desiscarletwitch

Pairing: Clark Kent x Female Reader (featuring Lois Lane)

Summary: For eight months, you’ve loved Clark Kent in the quiet, suffocating shadow of his past. You convinced yourself that his broken promises and midnight cancellations were just the price of loving Superman—until a chance comment reveals he hasn’t been across the globe saving the world. He’s been three miles away, hidden in the dark bullpen with his ex-girlfriend. When eight months of suppressed insecurity and secret lies finally collide in a screaming match at the Daily Planet, you are left to pick up the shattered pieces of your heart, while the Man of Steel is forced to face the reality of what he lost.

Warnings: heavy angst, relationship distress, severe insecurity, lying/hidden truths, major confrontation, screaming/fighting, emotional breakdown, breakup, ex-girlfriend drama, condescending behavior, intense angst to fluff, happy ending, lois lane showed in a bitchy way (ik she's not but bear with me pls) This fic is sort of inspired by "my way" by Olivia Rodrigo. I honestly love that whole album and was thinking about that song while I was writing this so here we go lovelies.

The white button-down shirt you were wearing belonged to Clark, but it didn't smell like him anymore. It smelled like fabric softener and the lonely, quiet corners of your shared apartment.

For months, you had lived in the shadow of a ghost. Clark and Lois had ended their long, undefined relationship exactly two months before he asked you out. You knew the timeline down to the day. You had been together for nearly a year now, sharing an apartment, building a routine, but every time he looked at you with those impossibly blue, earnest eyes, a vicious little voice in the back of your mind still whispered, "Rebound. You’re just the soft place he landed when she walked away."

The transition from Clark’s breakup with Lois to the night he finally asked you out hadn’t been a clean, romantic handoff. It was a messy, painful gray area that dragged on for two agonizing months.

You were an outsider to the Daily Planet circle, but you weren’t blind. You had known Clark as a friend first—the quiet, massive guy who always bought you tea at the corner cafe and listened to you complain about your day. That's where you two first met- the small cafe plus bookstore- where you were buying books and accidentally dropped them all on Clark's feet. He didn't even flinched and instead helped you pick them up. And suddenly, you saw each other nearly everyday at the cafe and became friends fast.

But during those two months after Lois ended things with him, Clark was a hollowed-out shell. He would sit across from you, his eyes distant, constantly checking his phone every time a notification pinged, hoping it was her.

You became his emotional crutch. You were the one who sat on his couch until three in the morning, making him hot cocoa while he stared at the wall, processing the rejection. You listened to him talk about how much he missed the predictability of his old life. And the whole time, your own heart was fracturing. You were already desperately in love with him, but you had to swallow your feelings, putting on a brave face just to be the "good friend" he needed.

When he finally kissed you at the end of those two months, it didn't feel like a fairytale. It felt like a desperate, heavy realization on his part—like he looked at you and decided he couldn't handle the emptiness anymore. The doubt took root in your mind that very night: He didn't choose me because he saw me. He chose me because I was the only one left standing in the ruins.

You tried to be mature. They still worked together at the Daily Planet. They shared a byline, a bullpen, a history. You told yourself you were fine with it—mostly because you didn't have a choice. To ask Clark Kent to stop working with Lois Lane was like asking the sun to stop rising.

But lately, the date cancellations had become unbearable.

“I’m so sorry, honey. Something came up at work. I have to fly out.”

“Breaking news, sweetheart. Don’t wait up for me.”

For months, you never complained. You smiled, told him it was okay, and kept his secrets close to your chest. You thought "work" meant a collapsing dam in Asia or a rogue metahuman downtown. You thought he was saving the world. You sacrificed your evenings, your dinners, and your peace of mind because you believed you were supporting Superman.

Until Thursday afternoon.

You were walking through Centennial Park, trying to clear the heavy fog from your brain, when a familiar voice called your name.

"Hey! Y/N!" Jimmy Olsen jogged up to you, a heavy camera strap slung over his shoulder. He gave you a bright, friendly smile. "Long time no see! How's everything?"

"Hey, Jimmy. Good, just taking a walk," you smiled, adjusting your scarf. "Clark's been buried under mountains of work lately, so I'm just keeping myself busy."

Jimmy blinked, his smile faltering into a look of slight confusion. "Work? I mean, yeah, I guess. Man, Clark has been a total machine at the office lately. It’s crazy."

Your brows knitted. "At the office?"

"Yeah! He and Lois have been pulling massive late nights on that new corporate corruption expose," Jimmy said, completely oblivious to the detonator he was pulling the pin on. "I left the newsroom at midnight yesterday and they were still huddled over his desk, trading notes and hammering away at the keys. It’s classic Lane and Kent. They’re unstoppable when they get like this."

The world seemed to lose its sound for a fraction of a second. Midnight.

Two nights ago, Clark had texted you saying a flash flood in South America required his immediate attention. He hadn't been across the world. He had been three miles away, sitting in a climate-controlled room, breathing the same air as his ex-girlfriend.

"Right," you choked out, your throat suddenly tight, forcing the most hollow smile of your life. "Classic them."

The final blow came at 8:00 PM the next night.

You had spent three hours in the kitchen making an elaborate apple pie—Clark’s favorite. You learned the recipe from Mrs Kent and tried your very best to replicate it, knowing that Clark misses his home and family in Smallville. You had bought a nice bottle of wine, set the table for two, lit the candles, and even put on the dress he loved. It was your anniversary, and you wanted tonight to feel special. You wanted to feel like his girlfriend, not a ghost waiting in an empty apartment.

Then, the vibration of your phone against the counter.

Clark: Sweetheart, I am so, so sorry. The layout for the morning edition is completely backed up and Perry needs edits on the lead piece immediately. I’m going to be stuck here for hours. Eat without me, okay? Love you.

You stared at the glowing screen. The text didn't say Superman duties. It said office work. And office work meant working wit Lois Lane.

Something inside you snapped. It wasn't a clean break; it was a violent, jagged shattering of nearly a year of insecurity, silence, and suppressed jealousy. You didn't cry. The tears were completely burned away by a sudden, scalding wave of pure rage.

You didn't change out of your dress. You grabbed your coat, slammed the apartment door behind you, and took a cab straight to the Daily Planet building.

The elevator ride up to the bullpen felt like a descent into hell. The floor was mostly dark, the evening shift having already cleared out. The only light emanated from the far corner of the room—the investigative desk.

You walked silently across the carpet, your heels muffled. As you drew closer, the sound of laughter drifted through the quiet air.

It was a light, melodic giggle from Lois, followed by Clark’s distinct, deep, rumbling chuckle.

You stepped around the final partition and froze.

Clark’s glasses were pushed up onto his head. Lois was sitting on the edge of his desk, her legs crossed, swinging a stray shoe. Right between them, laid out over printed drafts, was a large spread of takeout containers. Clark was holding a pair of chopsticks, smiling up at her with a warmth that made your stomach violently turn. She reached out, playfully nudging his shoulder as she reached for a piece of sushi.

They looked perfect. They looked comfortable. They looked like a couple who had never skipped a beat, sharing a quiet dinner after a long day.

"Am I interrupting the editorial meeting?"

Your voice didn’t just cut through the bullpen. It vibrated with a raw, trembling fury that made the glass partitions hum.

Both of them flinched. Clark’s head snapped toward you, his eyes widening in absolute, paralyzing horror as his glasses slipped back down the bridge of his nose. He didn't even heard you walk in, being busy listening to Lois. He dropped his chopsticks and stood up so fast his rolling chair slammed into the filing cabinet behind him.

"Y/N?" Clark stammered, scrambling to stand up, his massive frame suddenly looking incredibly small. "What—what are you doing here?"

Lois didn't scramble. She slowly slid off the desk, smoothing down her pants. Her expression shifted from surprise to something cold, calculating, and deeply condescending. She crossed her arms, looking down her nose at your beautiful, wasted anniversary dress.

"Look who decided to drop by," Lois said, her tone dripping with an artificial, sweet arrogance. "You know, Y/N, the Planet has a strict policy about non-staff wandering the bullpen after hours. Clark is in the middle of a very high-stakes, breaking deadline. He doesn't really have time to play house right now. Some people understand the demands of real journalism. Others... well, I guess they just get lonely at home."

Every single fuse in your brain blew.

"Shut your goddamn mouth, Lois," you snarled, stepping directly into her space.

Lois’s eyes widened slightly, shocked by the venom in your voice, but she quickly masked it. "Excuse me? I don't think you realize who you're talking to—"

"Oh, I know exactly who the fuck I'm talking to!" you shrieked, the volume of your voice echoing off the concrete pillars. You marched directly into her space, your eyes blazing. "You think you're untouchable because you win a Pulitzer once in your fucking life?! You think that gives you a lifetime pass to show off that you're a great reporter a bazillion times, you dumbfuck?! You think it gives you the right to keep my boyfriend on a leash because your own ego can't handle the fact that he moved on?!"

"Y/N, please, let's calm down—lower your voice!" Clark begged, his face pale as he stepped between you and Lois, his massive hands reaching out blindly.

"Don't you dare tell me to lower my voice!" you screamed, turning all your rage onto him, shoving his chest with all your might. He didn't move an inch, but the sheer force of your hatred made him physically flinch. "Don't you dare look at me with those pathetic, cowardly eyes!"

You grabbed your purse and slammed it down onto the desk, sending takeout containers flying. Soy sauce splattered across the printed drafts they had been working on.

"Three months, Clark! For three fucking months, I have sat in that apartment like a ghost! I ate cold dinners alone! I watched the clock turn to two, three, four in the morning, weeping into my hands because I thought you were out there saving the world! I forgave every single canceled date, every broken promise, because I thought the universe needed Superman more than I needed a boyfriend!"

You stepped right back into Clark’s face, screaming upward at him, your voice cracking with pure, agonizing heartbreak.

"But you weren't across the globe! You were here! You lied to my face! You told me you were stuck in layout, you told me you were in South America, you told me a million different variations of the same disgusting lie just so you could sit here and giggle-fuck around over takeout with your ex-girlfriend on our anniversary!"

"It was just the article! Y/N, I swear to you, it’s just the deadline!" Clark roared back, his own voice finally breaking, his chest heaving as tears of panic and frustration finally spilled over his lashes. He had never raised his voice at you, but he was losing his mind with terror. "I was trying to finish it so I could come home to you! I love you! Why can't you see that?!"

"Because you don't act like it!" you shrieked, the tears blinding you now. "You love the safety net I give you! You love that I was stupid enough to wait around while you figured out how to be alone with your own thoughts! You don't deserve to be called a man, Clark Kent! A real man doesn't keep a girl wrapped around his finger just to feed his ex-girlfriend dinner while his actual relationship rots!"

"That is enough!" Lois shouted, trying to regain her footing and grabbing at your shoulder. "You are completely unhinged—"

"I said shut up!" you violently whipped around, glaring at her with such blinding malice that she actually stepped back, her breath catching. "You want him so bad? You want to keep playing your miserable, codependent, toxic little games? Take him! He’s all yours! You two deserve each other!"

You turned back to Clark, who was trembling, his hands hovering in the air between you, entirely paralyzed by the destruction.

"We are done," you whispered, the sudden drop in your volume vibrating worse than the screams. You yanked the promise ring off your finger and hurled it directly at his face. It struck his cheek and dropped pathetically onto the carpet. "Do not call me. Do not fly to my window. Go back to your fucking deadline, Clark. You two deserve each other."

You turned on your heel, your dress swirling around your legs, and walked away. The elevator doors shut on the sound of Clark letting out a raw, guttural sob that tore through the empty bullpen.

The separation was absolute. You packed your bags that very night while Clark stood in the hallway of the apartment, openly crying, not forcing his way in because he knew he had crossed a line that no superpower could fix. You moved into a temporary studio apartment across town, blocked his number, and buried yourself in your own life.

The month that followed was a living hell for both of you.

You changed your routine and threw yourself into work, but the angst followed you like a physical sickness. Every morning, you woke up nauseous, your chest aching so badly it hurt to breathe. You couldn't eat. You couldn't sleep. Every time a strong gust of wind hit your windowpane, your heart would leap into your throat, thinking he was there, only to be met with the agonizing reality that you were entirely alone. The insecurity ran deeper now—you wondered if he was relieved you were gone, if he had just crawled right back into Lois's life the night you left.

But Clark was living in a state of unmitigated torture.

He didn't go back to Lois. In fact, he couldn't even look at her. The morning after the fight, Clark had walked into Perry White’s office, surrendered his immediate assignments, and taken a forced leave of absence. The corporate corruption article was published, but it only bore Lois’s byline. Clark formally requested a permanent transfer to the low-level city beat just to stay completely away from the investigative desk.

He stopped taking care of himself. The apartment you had shared sat entirely untouched, the air heavy and stagnant. Because of his super-hearing, he couldn't escape the ghost of you. He tried to fly into the upper atmosphere to drown out the noise of the earth, but the second he came back down, his brain automatically tuned to the exact frequency of your heartbeat. He listened to you cry yourself to sleep for weeks straight. He heard the sharp, ragged hitches in your breath when you walked past the café where you used to meet. He felt every single ounce of the pain he had caused you, amplified by his own crushing guilt.

Lois, humbled and profoundly shaken by the raw devastation she had witnessed in the bullpen, finally woke up too. She realized her own behavior had been born out of a petty inability to let go of the past. Fifteen days after the breakup, she tracked Clark down at the empty apartment.

"I called her, Clark," Lois said quietly, standing by his doorway.

Clark looked up from the dark couch, hollow-eyed. "What?"

"I called Y/N. I apologized," Lois confessed, her voice tight with genuine remorse. "I told her the truth. That you haven't looked at me like a boyfriend does, in a year. That the late nights were just you running away from your own insecurities because you felt like you weren't doing enough for her or the city. I told her I was a bitter idiot, and that if he loses you, he loses everything. But she needs to hear it from you, Clark. Fix it."

By the fourth week, the silence between you had reached a breaking point. You were sitting on the floor of your new, small studio apartment, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes, staring blankly at the wall. The anger had burned out, leaving only a profound, hollow exhaustion.

A soft, hesitant knock sounded at the wood.

Your stomach dropped. You walked over, your knees shaking, and pulled the door open.

Clark stood on the welcome mat. He looked entirely broken. His hair was messy, his flannel shirt was wrinkled, and his eyes were bloodshot and heavy with dark circles. He looked like he hadn't slept a single hour in thirty days. He wasn't wearing his glasses. In his hands, he held a thick, crumpled stack of documents and a fresh bouquet of lilies.

"Please don't close the door," he whispered, his voice incredibly hoarse, tearing at your heart instantly. He kept his feet glued to the mat, not crossing the threshold. "I won't come in unless you let me. I just... I needed you to see this."

He held up the documents with a trembling hand. "It's my official transfer. And this... this is a request for a leave of absence from the League. I gave up the investigative desk, Y/N. I don't talk to Lois anymore unless a story demands a generic line."

You looked at the papers, then up at his raw, agonizingly sincere face. "Why, Clark? Why now?"

"Because you were right," Clark choked out, a heavy tear spilling down his cheek, his broad shoulders shaking. "I was a spineless coward. I used work and I used the city to hide from how much power you had over me. I was so terrified of how deeply I loved you—of how much it would hurt if I lost you—that I held onto the past like a crutch. I was terrified of not doing enought- for you and for Earth. I made the woman who holds my entire universe feel like a second option, and I hate myself for it every single second."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the promise ring, holding it out on his open palm. "I don't expect you to just forget. I know I broke us. But I spent the last month listening to your heartbeat across the city, dying inside because I knew I was the reason it was beating so heavily. I don't want to run anymore. I want to earn you back. Let me be the man you deserve, Y/N. Please."

The heavy, steel walls you had built around your chest cracked wide open. The desperation in his eyes, the physical proof of his sacrifice, and the sheer gravity of his remorse completely shattered the last of your doubts. He wasn't looking for a rebound. He was completely, utterly unraveled by the thought of a life without you.

With a ragged, tearful sob, you let go of the door frame and threw yourself forward, slamming your body against his chest.

Clark let out a broken, breathless gasp, his arms instantly whipping around your waist like iron bands. He lifted you completely off the ground, burying his face into your neck as he kicked the apartment door shut behind him. He held you so tight it almost hurt, crushing you against him as if he were trying to pull you right underneath his ribs.

"I've got you, I've got you," he sobbed into your skin, his massive frame shaking violently as he rocked you back and forth in the small entryway. "I'm so sorry. I love you so much, Y/N. You're my home. You're my only choice. I'm never letting you go again."

Six months later, the smell of burnt garlic and sweet chili filled the kitchen of a brand-new apartment on the quieter edge of Metropolis.

You were standing over the stove, a wooden spoon in one hand, completely focused on trying to salvage the stir-fry sauce. The apartment was smaller than the old one, but it was yours. The walls were painted a warm cream, the shelves were stacked with a chaotic mix of your favorite novels and Clark’s old journalism texts, and the air felt light.

Suddenly, a pair of massive, warm arms slid around your waist from behind.

You didn’t flinch. You didn't even blink. You just leaned back against the broad, solid wall of Clark’s chest, letting out a soft laugh as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply.

"You're home early," you murmured, stirring the pan.

"The city desk editor let me off at five sharp," Clark mumbled against your skin, his voice deep and rumbling with a contentment that still made your stomach do flips. His large hands spread flat against your stomach, anchoring you to him. "I told him I had a strict deadline at home. An anniversary dinner."

Seven months since the night the bullpen shattered. Six months since he stood on your mat, broken and bleeding emotion, begging for a chance to rebuild the ruins.

It hadn't been an overnight fix. The first few weeks after you got back together had been tentative, laced with the fragile, quiet fear of old ghosts. You had text anxiety and he had proximity anxiety. But Clark had kept every single promise. He had shifted to the local city beat, writing pieces on community gardens and transit strikes. He had established a hard rule with the Justice League: unless the earth was literally cracking in half, he was off the clock by dusk.

But more than the schedule changes, it was the way he looked at you now. The distant, distracted fog in his blue eyes was entirely gone. When he was with you, he was with you—present, heavy, and completely consumed by the space you occupied together.

"Lois called me today," you said casually, turning down the burner.

Clark’s hands tightened just a fraction around your waist, an instinctual, protective reflex. He pulled back enough to look down at you, his glasses sitting crooked on his nose. "Did she? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," you smiled, turning around in his embrace so you could loop your arms over his broad shoulders. You reached up, gently straightening his frames. "She wanted to know if we were coming to the Planet's summer gala next month. She said she’s bringing a date—some tech consultant from Star City."

Clark stared at you, searching your face for any trace of the old, suffocating insecurity that used to poison your chest. But there was nothing there. You weren't a rebound. You weren't the second choice. You were the girl who had looked Superman in the eye, demanded the respect you deserved, and brought him to his knees out of sheer devotion. You knew your worth now, and so did he.

"Do you want to go?" Clark asked softly, his thumb tracing the side of your hip through your sweater.

"I think I do," you said, leaning up on your tiptoes. "I have a really great dress I’ve been meaning to show off. And this time, I won't be waiting in an empty apartment for you to finish your work."

A beautiful, uninhibited smile broke across Clark's face—the kind of smile he only ever wore when the world outside was completely muted and it was just the two of you.

"No," he whispered, his eyes darkening with a fierce, unwavering adoration as he leaned down. "This time, I'll be the one holding your jacket at the door, waiting to take you home."

When his lips met yours, it wasn't the desperate, heavy kiss of a man trying to fill a void. It was slow, confident, and thick with a quiet promise that had been proven true over a hundred ordinary, perfect days. The garlic was a little burnt, the sauce was a little too thick, and the city outside was as loud as it always was—but inside, the fairytale was finally, beautifully quiet.

Heyyyy guyssss-so my first time writing a Clark Kent fanfic. I really hope you guys like it. please do leave a like and comment if you like it. And do comment if you want to be tagged in further Clark Kent fics.

@kentcant @kentcant @kryptidfiles @cantwritefastenough @ex-robin @lovergirlwhowearsglasses @yoyokslut @snoopysupe @maiamore @godmadeaterribleerror @tsaheylutales @sincere1ystar @kentdoll @pinksplace@honey-on-your-tongue @tsaheylutales @chloluvsdilfs @alunaseas @ggclarissa @blondwhxrewrites

the angssssttttt of it. it captures a very tragic emotion (several, actually) and makes me feel like a shell just reading it… which i love! 💀also your writing reminds me soooo much of various songs in a very beautiful way

wonderful wonderful work and would love to read more clark from you!!

Audgkahdndhsnskxbskshndjd Iloveyousomuch 😭✨💋

(part-1)

Bhallaladeva x Vrinda (oc)

Summary - Vrinda lived her entire life alone, so when a temple visit goes horribly wrong and she falls into a river, she wakes up in the world of Baahubali. What happens when Bhallaladeva falls in love with her? Will she rewrite his fate or become a part of the tragedy?

[ Disclaimer - This is a fanfiction based on the Indian movie franchise - Bāhubali. All the characters (except y/n) mentioned in this fic belong to the makers of the movie. ]

Based on this request.

words - 4.8k

masterlist

PRITAM PARKER HEADCANNONS PT.2

Boyfriend!Pritam who loves taking you to a quiet, secluded beach spot past midnight when his mind is racing, setting his laptop aside in the sand, and resting his forehead against yours while the sound of the ocean waves drowns out all the noise in his head.

Boyfriend!Pritam who pulls you onto his lap in the middle of the afternoon while he’s fixing a minor bug, wrapping his long left arm around your waist like a human belt, resting his chin on your shoulder and softly humming along to a slow acoustic track while his right hand lazily moves the mouse.

Boyfriend!Pritam who gets hyper-fixated on making sure you’re warm, instinctively tugging the heavy duvet up over your shoulders in the middle of the night, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck, and letting out a deep, contented sigh the second you settle back against his chest.

Boyfriend!Pritam who gets hopelessly distracted while helping you dry your hair after a rainy scooter ride home, taking the towel from your hands to gently wipe the stray drops off your face, completely stopping what he’s doing just to stare at you with that quiet, worshipful intensity in his eyes.

Boyfriend!Pritam who loves sitting on the cold kitchen floor with you at 2 AM, sharing a single bowl of late-night maggi while you’re both wrapped in a shared oversized blanket, feeding you the first bite with a soft smile before kissing the corner of your lips.

Boyfriend!Pritam who will softly trace the knuckles of your hand with his thumb while driving his scooter with the other, periodically bringing your hand up to his lips to press a slow, lingering kiss against your skin whenever the traffic slows down.

Boyfriend!Pritam who drops all his analytical, sharp tech-genius defenses the second you run your fingers through his messy hair, his eyelids immediately growing heavy as he buries his face in your lap, completely letting you hold him until his fast-paced world comes to a complete standstill.

Boyfriend!Pritam who sets his alarm ten minutes early every single morning just so he can lie in the dim dawn light and watch you sleep, trailing the lightest touch of his fingertips along your cheekbone, smiling to himself before pulling you as close as physically possible to melt into a few more minutes of cozy warmth.

Boyfriend!Pritam who will randomly pause in the middle of talking about something to cup your face in both hands, look at you like you hung the stars, and whisper a soft, out-of-nowhere "i love you so much, you have no idea" before kissing your forehead.

Boyfriend!Pritam who loves resting his head on your chest while you read, closing his eyes to just listen to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat because to him, it's the only sound in the world that brings him total peace.

Boyfriend!Pritam who gets super protective and soft when you're sick, making sure your pillows are perfectly fluffed, hovering over you with hot tea and chicken soup made by his dadu, and refusing to leave your side even if he has a mountain of work waiting for him.

Boyfriend!Pritam who secretly writes little hidden easter eggs into his personal coding projects—tiny lines of hidden code that translate into soft love notes and your name, just so a piece of you is forever embedded into everything he creates.

Boyfriend!Pritam who loves slow-dancing with you in his tiny living room at midnight with no lights on, just the soft glow of the city through the balcony doors, resting his cheek against yours and swaying so slowly that time completely stops.

Boyfriend!Pritam who gets flustered all over again when you wear his oversized plaid shirts, watching you walk around the house with the sleeves covering your hands, completely unable to wipe that proud, goofy grin off his face.

Boyfriend!Pritam who will reach out in his sleep to check if you're still there, his hand blindly searching the mattress until his fingers tangle with yours, letting out a soft sigh of relief the second he feels your touch.

Fiancé!Pritam who had planned the absolute most intricate proposal—complete with a custom digital coded website, a private beachfront setup, and a long, meticulously rehearsed speech about how you are his life and he will never leave you.

Fiancé!Pritam who lost his entire train of thought the exact second you walked up to him in the ocean breeze, his mind completely glitching, dropping all his smooth lines when the moment actually comes. He completely short-circuits, stumbles over his words so bad you can barely understand him, loses his entire train of thought, and just drops to both knees in the sand holding up the ring box, wide-eyed and begging, "pleaseeee... please marry me."

Fiancé!Pritam who hid his glowing red face in your stomach while you laughed, cried, and pulled him up to kiss him, his long arms wrapping around your waist like a lifeline as he kept whispering "thank you, thank you, thank you" into your neck.

Fiancé!Pritam who gets relentlessly mocked by Pedro Sir at the station the next day, with Pedro loudly reenacting the proposal in front of the whole cyber cell, dropping to both knees, holding a coffee mug, and dramatically wailing, "PLEASEEE MARRY ME!" while Pritam buries his face in his desk, groaning.

Fiancé!Pritam who sits on the porch with Dadu, blushing furiously while Dadu sips his tea, pats Pritam's shoulder, and chuckles, "at least when your dad proposed, he stayed on one knee! you were so terrified she’d say no that you fell on both!"

Fiancé!Pritam who secretly loves being called your fiancé, practically puffing his chest out in pride whenever someone at the station asks about wedding preparations or refers to you as his bride-to-be.

Fiancé!Pritam who turns wedding planning into his personal mission, staying up till 3 AM organizing spreadsheets for venues and playlists, but insisting that every single major decision aesthetic wise is completely up to you because he just wants you to have your dream day.

Fiancé!Pritam who gets impossibly clingy and soft during the week leading up to the wedding, sneaking into your room late at night just to lie next to you, hold your hand, and trace your knuckles while whispering about how excited he is to wake up next to you every single day for the rest of his life.

Husband!Pritam who broke down into quiet, breathless tears the second the doors opened at the mandap and he saw you walking down the aisle, completely forgetting to breathe until Pedro Sir had to nudge his arm and whisper, "oye, saas le aur shant ho... woh teri hi hai."

Husband!Pritam who couldn't stop looking at the simple band on his finger during the entire reception, constantly sliding his thumb over the metal, looking over at you across the room with a goofy, worshipful smile that he couldn't wipe off his face if he tried.

Husband!Pritam who proudly introduced you to every single person as "my wife"—his voice dropping into a deeper, warmer register every time the word left his lips, practically glowing with quiet happiness.

Husband!Pritam who carried you through the door of your home on your wedding night, carefully setting you down before immediately wrapping both arms around you, burying his face in your neck, and letting out the deepest sigh of relief, knowing you were officially, permanently his.

Husband!Pritam who makes Sunday mornings sacred—waking up before you, making hot chai, and sliding back into bed to pull you flush against his chest, softly kissing your temple while the morning light filters through the sheer curtains.

Husband!Pritam who still gets flustered when Pedro Sir calls his phone on weekends and casually starts the conversation with, "haan, Mrs. Parkar ke pati, laptop chhod aur chai peene aa."

Husband!Pritam who sits on the porch swing every evening after work with Dadu, watching you tend to the balcony plants, his eyes soft and completely grounded as Dadu quietly whispers to him, "look at her... you done good, boy."

Husband!Pritam who looks at you in the quiet moments—when the world outside is loud and chaotic, when the station cases get heavy, or when it's just raining outside—and knows without a shadow of a doubt that you are his home, his peace, and his entire universe.

@pritammparker @girllostinfictionworld @euphorkive @twinblueflamee @potashii @wtafananya @whyishekinda @yearnerray @kajuuuukatliiiiii @multifandom-boss-bitch @willowsgoldenhour @gulaabjamun08 @mad-who-ra @bittermiseryy @maladaptive-anxiety @dhoodhsoda @imrankaunbsdk @writrsblu @so-arttt-deco @vexillia @ab-yaha-koi-nhi-aayega @khoonaurkhanjar @bitchy-bi-trash @diyak11 @royaldreamermonsoon @idonthavechatpateusernamed @maxpaglu @fellivra @nazmnotes @hamzakamehroomkurta @ishq-e-rehman @tere-naal-nachna @luvvkk @sramgellar2005 @giantfirefly @indigo-pdf @kamalkafool @mujhekoimarsbhejdo @mehfil-e-random @theanonymousweeb2010

a = aftercare.

he gets super quiet and incredibly gentle after you two are done, his fast-paced tech brain finally completely silent and at peace. he’ll immediately wrap you up in his warmest, most oversized shirt that swallows you whole, fetch you a giant bottle of water, and sit beside you on the bed, softly running his long fingers through your tangled hair. he loves feeding you small, comforting bites of food with his own two hands while you rest your tired body against his chest, softly pressing slow kisses to your temple every single time you take a bite. he takes his sweet time brushing out your hair, making sure you feel completely safe, warm, and cherished before he lets you drift off to sleep.

b = body part.

his favorite part of you has to be the curve of your neck and collarbones—it's his personal canvas for leaving soft, lingering, dark marks that stay hidden beneath your clothes during office hours. he loves burying his face right there when he's overwhelmed, inhaling your scent to ground himself.

your favorite part of him has to be those long, lean, calloused fingers of his. watching those tech-worn fingers—usually so incredibly precise on a keyboard—tease and prep you so thoroughly, tracing every sensitive contour of your body until you’re left completely breathless, shivering, and pleading before he even enters you, is an absolute form of art.

c = cum.

for him, it’s a quiet mark of absolute ownership, safety, and physical grounding. after a long, grueling day of dealing with his shifts at the vacuum cleaner job, cyber threats and chaotic cases with Pedro, he desperately needs that tangible proof that you’re his and that he’s completely yours. he loves letting it sit warm between your thighs while he holds you close in the dark, whispering soft words of praise into your neck and telling you how remarkably good you were for him, strictly forbidding you from moving to clean up until he’s kissed every single inch of your skin.

d = dirty secret.

he secretly loves when you get completely impatient and ride his thigh while he’s deeply focused on doing something. he’ll pretend to ignore you for the first few seconds to test your limits, but the exact moment you let out a soft, needy whine, his ironclad composure completely shatters. he’ll drop his head back against his chair, let out a low, raspy groan, and use his free hand to firmly grip your hip, helping you match a steady, agonizingly deep rhythm right there in his desk chair while his work fades into the background.

e = experience.

he had little bit of experience in college- but after he ran away he was mostly a quiet tech nerd who spent all his time tucked away in front of monitors or spent time with his dadu before you came along, so intimacy was largely uncharted territory for him. seeing how easily you can completely undo all his logic and make his sharp mind glitch just by whispering softly in his ear gives you immense power over him. you know you hold his whole heart when the brilliant prodigy is reduced to raspy, breathless stammers under your touch, completely at your mercy as you teach him new ways to make you both lose control.

f = favorite position.

he loves having you sit on his lap facing him—whether on his office chair (after everyone has left ofc) or on the edge of the bed. it gives his long frame full control to wrap his arms securely around your waist, pull you flush against his chest, bury his face in your neck, and feel every single gasp and shudder you make right against his skin. he loves looking directly into your eyes while he dictates the slow, deep pace, completely intoxicated by the sight of you completely undone by him.

g = goofy.

even during intimacy, his adorable, slightly awkward nature can't help but peek through. he’s definitely the guy who will accidentally knock over a glass of water on his bedside table in his eagerness to pull you close, or get his head briefly stuck in his own shirt while trying to dramatically take it off, making you burst out laughing. he’ll pause, face turning a bright, adorable pink, before grinning shyly, pressing a playful kiss to your lips, and using that exact distraction to flip you onto your back and catch you completely off guard.

h = hair.

his hair is always a wonderfully messy, soft mop that you love tugging on when he's buried between your thighs. but what drives you completely crazy is the light, dark trail of hair going down his flat stomach, disappearing right beneath his waistband. running your fingers slowly down that exact path makes his breath hitch every single time, his stomach muscles tightening under your touch as his hands grip the sheets in anticipation.

i = intimacy.

intimacy with pritam feels like stepping out of a loud, chaotic storm into a warm, silent sanctuary. it’s intense, quiet and deeply emotional. he looks at you with such heavy, worshipful reverence in the dim light of the bedroom that it completely strips away all your defenses, making you feel like you are the center of his universe, protected from all the noise of the outside world.

j = jerk off.

he prefers your soft hands over his own, every single time. he’ll sit back against the pillows, holding your wrist gently to guide your pace, his heavy eyes dark with desire as he watches you make him feel good. hearing him softly plead, stammer out breathless compliments, and give you quiet words of praise while you touch him is your ultimate power over him—he becomes completely helpless and putty in your hands.

k = kink.

praise play. after carrying so much trauma from earlier and stress, noise, and pressure from his intense cyber cell investigations and Pedro Sir's constant shouting, hearing you whisper "you're doing so well," "such a good boy," or "I've got you, Pritam" completely unravels him. it melts all his defenses in a heartbeat, turning him into an incredibly needy, vocal lover who just wants to please you and hear you say it over and over again.

l = location.

the dark, empty cyber cell tech room late at night after everyone—including Pedro Sir—has cleared out for the day. the ambient blue glow of the computer monitors casting soft light over your skin while you try your best to keep your moans quiet, terrified that someone might walk back in, drives him completely wild. knowing he has you right where he works, turning his work environment into your private playground, gives him an unprecedented rush. and the fact that he gets to remember it all the next morning while working in the same office-just an added bonus.

m = motivation.

you are his ultimate grounding wire and his sole motivation. in a world full of dealing with rude people at his vacuum cleaner job, high-stakes digital crime and dangerous dark web threats at the station, the simple thought of coming home to wrap his arms around you, bury his face in the crook of your neck, and log off completely is what gets him through his grueling 14-hour shifts. you are the quiet reward waiting for him at the end of every chaotic day.

n = no.

he will never, ever leave you unsatisfied. if he happens to come first, he will stubbornly stay between your thighs for as long as it takes—using his fingers, his tongue, or whatever you need—until you’re trembling, vocal, and completely spent in his arms. he takes it as a personal point of pride to ensure you reach the peak multiple times before he allows either of you to rest.

o = oral.

he views giving you oral as a sacred form of worship. he will happily spend hours kneeling between your legs, resting his hands firmly on your inner thighs to keep you still while he takes his time teasing and devouring you. hearing your high-pitched gasps, feeling your fingers tangled tightly in his messy hair, and feeling your knees shake against his ears is his most favorite sensation in the world.

p = pace.

it usually starts off incredibly slow, lingering, and soft—almost like he’s trying to mathematically analyze and memorize every single inch of your body. but the second you start softly praising him, tugging at his hair, or pulling him closer, his pace shifts into something steady, deep, and intensely focused until neither of you can catch your breath, his rhythms becoming possessive and completely overwhelming.

q = quickie.

pulling you into the dimly lit supply closet at the station during a brief ten-minute case break. he’ll press you back against the closed door, his hands hungrily gripping your hips while he leaves dark, hidden marks along your collarbone, desperately rushing to taste you and hear your muffled gasps before Pedro Sir starts shouting his name down the hallway again.

r = risk.

you secretly sliding your hand up his inner thigh under the table when you brought with lunch at the station or during a long, tedious team case briefing with Pedro Sir. watching him try so desperately to maintain a serious, professional face while reviewing files, his knuckles turning white as he grips his pen and his ears turn a bright, telltale pink under his hair, gives you the ultimate thrill—especially when he secretly squeezes your knee under the table in warning.

s = stamina.

all those hours spent going to places for his vacuum cleaner sales or sitting at a computer desk haven't dulled his endurance in the slightest. once his racing mind goes quiet and he focuses entirely on you, his stamina will leave you completely exhausted, pleasantly sore, and clinging to his broad shoulders for dear life, wondering where all that strength came from.

t = toys.

he isn't big on complex gadgets or toys in the bedroom—he far prefers the raw, physical touch of his own hands and body. however, he is completely obsessed with buying you delicate, soft silk lingerie. he’ll sit on the edge of the bed with his chin in his hand, quietly watching you model it for him with heavy, dark eyes, his breath hitching before he slowly pulls you onto his lap to peel it off you himself.

u = unfair.

it’s completely unfair how easily he can switch from being a shy, flustered, messy-haired tech genius who forgets basic words in front of you during the day into an intensely focused, possessive lover the second the bedroom door shuts. the sheer, effortless control he holds over your body without even trying—and how thoroughly he can make you lose your mind with just a whisper—is wildly intoxicating.

v = volume.

he starts off trying to be as quiet as possible, burying his face in the crook of your neck to muffle his reactions. but as things heat up and he loses his composure, he becomes incredibly vocal—letting out low, raspy groans, heavy panting, and endless sleepy, needy praise right against your ear that makes your heart completely melt into a puddle.

y = yearning.

when he’s away from you on intense field investigations or stuck overnight working a major cyber breach, his yearning becomes almost physically painful. he’ll text you quiet, random strings of deep affection and soft voice notes throughout the night, completely restless until he can finally ride his scooter back to your apartment, burst through the door, and hold you tight against his chest for an hour straight.

z = zzz.

when you're both completely exhausted and drifting off into sleep, his hand automatically finds yours in the dark, tangling his fingers securely with yours against his chest. even half-asleep, he’ll press lazy, soft kisses to the top of your head, murmuring sleepy, muffled promises into your hair about taking you out on his scooter tomorrow, holding you so close that you can feel the steady, calm beat of his heart all night long.

gang-I need a bf like Pritam-I have too much time on my hands @girllostinfictionworld @euphorkive @twinblueflamee @potashii @wtafananya @whyishekinda @yearnerray @kajuuuukatliiiiii @multifandom-boss-bitch @willowsgoldenhour @gulaabjamun08 @mad-who-ra @bittermiseryy @maladaptive-anxiety @dhoodhsoda @imrankaunbsdk @writrsblu @so-arttt-deco @vexillia @ab-yaha-koi-nhi-aayega @khoonaurkhanjar @bitchy-bi-trash @diyak11 @royaldreamermonsoon @idonthavechatpateusernamed @maxpaglu @fellivra @nazmnotes @hamzakamehroomkurta @ishq-e-rehman @tere-naal-nachna @luvvkk @sramgellar2005 @giantfirefly @indigo-pdf @kamalkafool @mujhekoimarsbhejdo @mehfil-e-random @theanonymousweeb2010

Darr Ke Aage Jeet Hai (One-Shot)

Pairing: Gaurav Tiwari x Female Reader

Tropes: Paranormal Investigator / Skeptic Reader, Established Relationship, Rescued by Hero, Opposites Attract, Protective Hero, Comfort/Hurt

Synopsis: When a chaotic night out with your friends turns into a full-blown crisis in a supposedly haunted heritage house—Reader finds herself in a state of pure, hysterical panic. Enter Gaurav Tiwari, founder of the Indian Paranormal Society, equipped with EMF meters, quiet confidence, and a calm promise that "knowledge cancels fear."

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. This fanfiction is based on the real-life figure and public persona of Gaurav Tiwari (founder of the Indian Paranormal Society) portrayed by Karan Tacker in Bhay: The Gaurav Tiwari Mystery. It is a work of transformative fiction intended purely for entertainment purposes and is not affiliated with, authorized by, or endorsed by his family, the Indian Paranormal Society, or any associated production companies.

The rain was still hammering against the SUV’s windshield, but inside, wrapped safely in Gaurav’s arms, the dark silhouette of the Shimla mansion didn't feel nearly as overwhelming anymore.

You rested your cheek against his chest, listening to the steady, rhythmic thud of his heart.

"Honestly... I still can't believe how far we've come," you murmured, tracing the lines on his plaid shirt. "From me crying on a ruined staircase to sitting here with you."

Gaurav chuckled, a low vibration against your cheek as his large hand gently stroked your hair. "Ah, the infamous heritage house incident. Every time I remember that night, I don't know whether to laugh or be grateful to your friends."

"Don't compliment them," you groaned, looking up at him with a pout. "They are absolute chaotic idiots."

How could you ever forget that night?

It was nearly a year ago. Saraswata, Ahona, Arunima, and you had decided to hang out over the weekend. But instead of a normal cafe, Saraswata—being his usual overly ambitious and extremely annoying self—convinced the group to explore an old, abandoned colonial bungalow on the outskirts of the city that was supposedly "haunted."

Arunima was all for it, Ahona was curious, and you were dragged along purely by peer pressure, practically clinging to Ahona's arm the entire walk up the overgrown driveway. Fun fact: you were dead scared of ghosts. Hated horror movies and ghost stories with a passion since you were young.

"Guys, sach mein bohot creepy lag raha hai, ghar chalte hain na?" you had pleaded, shivering under your hoodie as the wind whistled through the broken wooden shutters.

"Chill kar yaar, do photos lenge aur nikal jaenge," Arunima had laughed, flashing her phone flashlight at the dusty ceiling.

Then, disaster struck.

One second Saraswata was walking ahead of you guys talking about local urban legends, and the next—poof. He was gone. No footsteps, no dramatic scream, just dead silence.

"Saraswata?" Ahona called out, her voice dropping its cool facade.

Nothing.

Five minutes of calling his name in the dark turned into total, unadulterated panic. The three of you girls were freaked the fuck out, holding hands in a tight, terrified circle in the pitch-black hallway, convinced that a ghost had swallowed him whole.

In reality, Saraswata had simply stepped through a rotten floorboard into a basement crawlspace and dropped his phone, but you didn't know that yet.

In pure desperation, you pulled out your phone, searched "ghost emergency hotline India," and frantically dialed the Indian Paranormal Society’s official dispatch line.

Within twenty minutes, an IPS unit that happened to be in the area arrived. The headlights of a black SUV cut through the darkness, and out stepped Gaurav Tiwari—looking calm, composed, and ridiculously striking in glasses and a dark jacket, holding an EMF meter and a high-powered flashlight.

"Who called for help?" his deep voice had echoed through the foggy courtyard.

You, Arunima, and Ahona practically tackled him with explanations, all three of you talking over each other in sheer hysterics.

Gaurav had immediately taken control. He looked at your pale, trembling face, stepped closer, and said in a calm, grounding voice, "Hey, take a breath. Main hoon yahan. Nothing is going to happen to your friend, and nothing is going to hurt you. Step back near the car with my team."

Within ten minutes, Gaurav had located the basement trapdoor, hauled a very bruised and embarrassed Saraswata out of the crawlspace, and brought him back up.

While Arunima and Ahona immediately started beating Saraswata up for giving everyone a heart attack, you were still shaking so badly you couldn't even hold your water bottle.

Gaurav had walked over, handing you a warm cup of tea from his thermos.

"Pehli baar kisi haunted spot pe aayi ho?" he had asked gently, leaning against the hood beside you.

"Aur aakhri baar bhi," you had squeaked out, your hands trembling as you took the cup. "I thought a fucking ghost took him!"

Gaurav had given you that warm, reassuring dimpled smile that immediately melted half your panic away. "Knowledge cancels fear. It was just bad luck, not a demon. Par tum kaafi brave ho ki itne darr ke baad bhi friend ke liye ruuki rahi."

Before he left that night, he had taken your phone, typed his personal contact into it, and handed it back. "Next time your friends pull a stupid stunt like this, don't wait for a ghost to show up. Call me directly. Main line pe rehke rescue kar lunga."

Back in the present SUV, Gaurav’s thumb lightly traced your jawline, pulling you out of the memory.

"Saraswata still owes me a thank you note, by the way," Gaurav grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief in the faint blue dashboard light. "But I guess I owe him one too. If he hadn't fallen through that floorboard, I would’ve never met you."

"He doesn't need to know that," you laughed softly, leaning up to kiss the corner of Gaurav's jaw. "His ego is already huge. But seriously... that night felt like a fever dream. I thought you’d just vanish from my life after saving us."

"Vanish?" Gaurav chuckled, his fingers tracing small, soothing circles on your hip. "Not a chance. Not after I saw how terrified you were."

The transition from a rescued frantic caller to the girl who stole his heart hadn't happened overnight, but it had felt entirely effortless.

It started three days after the heritage house incident. You were lying in bed at midnight, jumped at a creak in the window, and in a moment of pure weakness, texted the number he’d saved in your phone:

You: Is it normal to hear knocking sounds near the window at 12:30 AM or should I start packing my bags?

Your phone had rung in less than ten seconds.

"Wood expanding due to the rainy season and night temperature drop," Gaurav’s calm, deep voice had vibrated through the speaker, laced with amusement. "Relax. No ghosts in your bedroom, I promise."

That late-night call had turned into a two-hour conversation. And then another the next night. Soon, midnight phone calls became a ritual. He would talk you down from every irrational, spooky thought, explaining atmospheric pressure, thermal expansion, and electromagnetic fields until your panic dissolved into soft giggles. In return, you listened to him talk about his dreams for the IPS, his passion for science, and the quiet loneliness that came with constantly chasing things most people ran away from.

Three weeks later came your first official "non-ghost" meeting. He had asked you out for coffee at a quiet, dimly lit cafe downtown.

You remembered how you kept on rambling the whole date about everything and everybody- and then nervously fidgeted with your napkin until Gaurav reached across the table, gently trapping your hand under his warm palm.

"You know," he had said, his dimples deepening as he looked at you with that piercing, attentive gaze, "I spend almost all my time listening to EVP recordings and tracking phantom frequencies. But this... just sitting here hearing you talk about your day? This is the most peaceful my mind has felt in years."

Your heart had executed a full backflip right then and there.

The real turning point, though, happened two months later on a Tuesday. Gaurav had come back from a brutal 48-hour investigation in a notoriously hostile location, exhausted and running on zero sleep. Instead of heading to his own apartment, he had driven straight to yours.

When you opened the door, he didn't say a word. He just stepped inside, wrapped his long arms around your waist, removed his glasses and buried his face in the crook of your neck, letting out a long, heavy sigh that melted every ounce of his professional armor.

"I just needed to be somewhere safe for a little while," he had murmured, his voice thick with fatigue.

You had guided him to the couch, made him hot tea, and sat beside him, running your fingers through his hair while he rested his head on your lap. For a man who was everyone else's shield, watching him finally let his guard down with you made your chest ache with affection.

When he woke up hours later, the room was bathed in the dim golden light of the desk lamp. He looked up at you, his dark eyes brimming with unspoken emotion.

"Main har jagah darr aur superstition se ladta hoon," he had whispered, reaching up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lip. "Par jab tumhare saath hota hoon, sab kuch shaant ho jata hai. I don't want to do this life without you. Tum meri anchor banogi?"

You hadn't even let him finish before leaning down and kissing him—a soft, tearful confession of your own.

"You know," you murmured back in the present, looking up at him as the memories settled warmly in your chest, "you were supposed to just teach me how to not be scared of the dark."

"And I failed miserably at that," Gaurav whispered, his voice turning low and velvety as he wrapped his arms tighter around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest until there was no space left between you. "Because now you're stuck in a dark forest with me in the middle of the night."

"Best mistake of my life," you breathed.

He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a slow, lingering kiss that completely wiped away the chilly memory of the storm outside, replacing it with pure, intoxicating warmth.

When he pulled back, his breath fanned softly against your lips, his thumb gently smoothing over your bottom lip.

"I told you that night, and I'm telling you now," Gaurav murmured, his eyes locking onto yours with absolute devotion. "As long as I'm around, tumhe kisi cheez se darne ki zaroorat nahi hai, jaan. Now, ready to hold my hand and walk inside?"

HI GUYSSSSS-FIRST TIME WRITING ON GAURAV TIWARI I'm a bit mad about Karan Tacker since I first watched Special Ops but anyways here we gooo Do tell me your opinions and give a like and comment XOXO

@twinblueflamee @potashii @wtafananya @whyishekinda @yearnerray @mad-who-ra @bittermiseryy @avaaaaxoxo @sassytroopersurvivor @itstiaofficial @maladaptive-anxiety @dhoodhsoda @imrankaunbsdk @writrsblu @so-arttt-deco @awesomeblossomsblog @gulaabjamun08 @bumblebeeloverrr @gravelyperpetualpuppet @athaanorris @athaa @arabellapost @valiantsculptureveil @vicky-270415 @moon-inked @vexillia @ab-yaha-koi-nhi-aayega @khoonaurkhanjar @bitchy-bi-trash @diyak11 @avakthtvdmarvel11 @royaldreamermonsoon

So pritam x reader/oc enemies to lovers ish... But enemies is only from her side while he is just simping.

So like I am thinking sort of a thing where reader is like working with pedro in crime branch before he gets transferred na. And she is like very close to him and his family. Like they have a very good bonding given that she doesn't have a family of her own...

Enter pritam who charms and hacks his way into people's hearts including pedros. So after pedro gets transferred to cyber cell he takes pritam under his wing as well and she gets like hella jealous. Like I earned that place over the years and this guy just gets it in a day? And so she is like very competitive with him. Pritam finds something and gets praised by pedro she has to find a way to get praised as well.

While she is angry at him pritam is just being his own person uk. Like kinda pehle se phisal gaya wo... And he finds her antics and banter very cute . Like at first he is confused and hurt why she hates him but then he just enjoys her reactions and banter and stuff. And when he sees her on field in action for the first time? Yeah my man is gone... He is in deep shit now

And then in between cases and stuff she also notices him how he cares for his dadu how he remembers everyone's names how he defends her in front of other police officers who talk bad about her bcoz she is a woman stuff like that...

If u want beech me thoda angst daal sakte ho ki her getting distant from pedro thinking she has been replaced and then eventually their bond going back to normal thanks to pritam...

And then dheere dheere she starts falling for him as well...

Idk smtn like that... Sorry thoda jyada hi long ho gaya 😅

Charged Under Section: Falling in Love (One-Shot)

Pairing: Pritam Parker x Female OC

Synopsis: (given in the ask-)

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. This fanfiction is based on the character of Pritam Parker from Rajkumar Hirani's Pritam & Pedro web series, portrayed by Vir Hirani. It is a work of transformative fiction intended purely for entertainment purposes and is not affiliated with, authorized by, or endorsed by the filmmakers, actors, or production companies.

Sharvani wasn't always the brooding, quiet inspector who practically lived at the station. Before that disaster of a transfer, she was the literal sunshine of the Panaji Crime Branch. She was the person who brought homemade kheer when a constable’s kid passed their exams, the one who played loud Bollywood music in the jeep on the way to a raid, and the officer who could charm information out of the most stubborn local suspects just by flashing her bright, dimpled smile. She was a ball of energy, loud and unapologetically warm.

But her deep roots in the station went back way before she ever put on the khaki uniform.

Her father, the late Senior Inspector Vijay Wagle, had been Pedro Gonsalves’s first boss back in the late nineties. He was the legendary cop who took a young, hot-headed Pedro under his wing, taught him how to read a crime scene, and saved him from disciplinary actions more times than anyone could count. And then, the tragedy happened. Vijay was killed in action during a brutal dockyard shootout, while saving Pedro, when Sharvani was just a little girl. Sharvani's mother died in childbirth-the girl grew up only knowing Vijay as both her father and mother.

Standing at the funeral, looking at a terrified, silent seven-year-old Sharvani, a young Pedro had made a silent, unbreakable vow to his late mentor: Main sambhal lunga boss, aap kabhi chinta maat karna.

From that day on, Sharvani became Pedro’s shadow. He and Stacey raised her alongside their own family, making sure she never felt the vacuum of being an orphan. When Leo died, she was the rock and pillar of the Gonsalves family, holding them up till they became remotely normal enough to function. When she insisted on joining the force, Pedro fought the higher-ups to get her posted directly under him. It wasn't just professional loyalty- it was a sacred duty he owed to the man who made him the cop he was.

Sharvani was his pride and joy, the bright spark in his exhausting career. Until the Cyber Cell transfer stripped her of her light.

When Pedro got banished to the Cyber Cell, Sharvani’s natural cheerfulness took a massive hit. She tried to keep her usual bubbly spirit alive, packing a double tiffin of lunch and marching into the new basement office with a determined smile, ready to conquer the digital world alongside her foster father.

But walking into the room, her smile completely vanished when she saw someone else occupying the main desk.

A guy. Young. Scruffy beard. A blue-and-white plaid shirt that looked like it hadn’t seen an iron this entire monsoon. He was hunched over an open laptop, one earbud in, a vacant, goofy smile plastered on his face as he nodded to his own rhythm.

"Who," Sharvani asked, her voice losing its usual sing-song cheer, "is this?"

Pedro looked up from a tangle of wires. "Ah, Sharvani-beta! Aao, aao. Good timing. Yeh? Yeh Pritam hai. Vacuum cleaner bechta hai."

Sharvani blinked, her jaw dropping. "Vacuum cleaner? Toh yahan safai karne aaya hai?"

"Nahi yaar, genius hai ladka!" Pedro said, his voice full of pride and excitement that sent a sudden, sharp pang of jealousy straight through Sharvani's chest. "Woh ATM robbery case tha na? Are jish haafte tune chutti li thi wo dost ke shaadhi me jaane ke liye. Das minute mein case solve kiya isne. I got the department to approve him as an outside consultant."

Pritam suddenly spun his chair around. The vacant smile widened the second he saw her. He took one look at her bright red top, her big expressive eyes, and the way her hair fell around her shoulders, and his brain completely short-circuited. He had that soft, completely dazed look you get right before you fall headfirst.

"Hey," Pritam said, pulling his earbud out, his voice turning incredibly soft. "Hi, main Pritam. Nice to meet you. Vaise... aapke baal bohot achhe hain. Seriously."

Sharvani, completely thrown off by the sudden intrusion into their tight-knit dynamic, snapped. The bubbly sunshine girl instantly turned ice-cold. "Hato yahan se."

Pritam looked genuinely confused, blinking up at her. "Kahan jaun? Yeh toh meri seat hai abhi."

Pedro waved a hand, missing the tension completely. "Sharvani, yaar, gussa mat ho. We are a team now. Pritam is helping us."

Sharvani felt a heavy, physical twist in her stomach. Their team. The space she had earned by blood, history, and a legacy left by her father was suddenly shared with a guy who sold home appliances. She craved absolute constancy. Whether it was sticking to her usual ice cream order or arranging her books in the exact same color order, any disruption to her routine felt like a betrayal- and right now, Pritam Parker was such a change that she hated with her whole heart.

Over the next month, the station noticed a terrifying change: Sharvani stopped smiling.

The girl who used to light up the dingy corridors was now a quiet, rigid shadow. Her days were spent doing grueling grunt work—canvassing in the pouring rain, writing tedious physical logs, visiting crime scenes alone—while Pritam sat in the office, hacking into servers and getting showered with Pedro's loud, booming praise.

"Kya baat hai! Shabaash! Dekha Sharvani? Maine kaha tha na, genius hai mera bhai!" Pedro would yell, throwing an arm around Pritam after a successful trace.

Sharvani would just look at them from the doorway, the heavy weight of her history crashing down on her, a suffocating lump forming in her throat- He's supposed to look after me not because of my dad, because I'm like his child. He's supposed to care for me, love me. Am I that easily replaced by someone who just knows how to press buttons?

She felt an intense, agonizing rejection. She stopped bringing the extra tiffin. She stopped telling jokes. She became a textbook professional, answering Pedro in blunt, heartbreakingly distant one-word sentences.

Pritam noticed it before anyone else. He had fallen hard and fast for the fiery, energetic girl he saw on day one, and watching her bright, beautiful spirit slowly dim into a cold, sad silence broke his heart. He didn't want her to be quiet. He missed her sharp comebacks.

The breaking point happened when Senior Inspector Deshmukh stopped by the cell to mock Pedro’s demotion. Seeing Sharvani standing quietly against the wall, Deshmukh sneered, "Kya Gonsalves, abhi bhi Vijay Wagle ke naam pe is ladki ko paal raha hai? Pata tha mujhe, tumse akele kaam hota nahi, toh ek showpiece rakh liya purani dosti ke naam pe."

Sharvani’s breath hitched. The mention of her dead father used as a weapon to call her useless stripped away the last of her defenses. She bit her lip, her knuckles turning white as she prepared to let the humiliation burn inside her.

But before Pedro could even stand up, Pritam slammed his laptop shut. The goofy, dazed expression he used had around her vanished completely, replaced by a terrifyingly cold, hard glare directed straight at Deshmukh.

"Aapko dikhta nahi hai kya?" Pritam’s voice cut through the room like a blade. "Pichle char din se, Inspector Sharvani ne ground canvassing ki hai, forty witness statements record kiye hain, aur suspect ki gaadi locate ki hai. Yeh jo file unke haath mein hai na? Yeh unki mehnat hai, kisi ka ehsaan nahi. Aapke jaise chai ke bills approve karne ke liye baithne wale log unka kaam aur unki value nahi samajh payenge. So mind your language."

The room went dead silent. Deshmukh was thrown out by a furious Pedro seconds later, but the emotional damage in the room remained.

Sharvani marched over to Pritam’s desk, her voice trembling with a mix of shock and raw emotion. "Tum pagal ho kya? Mujhe tumhari help nahi chahiye, vacuum cleaner boy. Main khudh samal sakti hu."

Pritam looked up at her, the protective anger instantly melting into that soft, helpless simp look. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking incredibly earnest. "Look, mujhe na... jab log kisi insaan ki value nahi samajhte, toh mujhe bohot gussa aata hai. You do the real work here, Sharvani. Aur..." He hesitated, looking at Pedro, who was standing there looking completely struck with guilt. "Pedro sir aapse bohot pyaar karte hain. Woh aapse door nahi huye, woh bas is technology mein kho gaye the. Please... aap gussa mat ho unse."

Pedro walked over, his eyes wide and completely bloodshot with realization. He grabbed Sharvani’s shoulders, his voice cracking with emotion. "Sharvani... beta. Mujhe maaf kar de. Main Vijay bhai ka chehra dekhta hoon tere mein roz. Main is cyber ke chakkar mein bhool gaya tha ki tu meri takat hai. Is budhe cop ko chalna tumne aur tumhare papa ne sikhaya hai. Tumhare bina main kuch nahi hoon."

Hearing Pedro invoke her father's name with such fierce, genuine love broke the dam. Sharvani buried her face in Pedro's shoulder, sobbing quietly as the heavy, agonizing weight of the past month finally evaporated.

And when she looked over Pedro's shoulder, she saw Pritam watching them, a massive, incredibly relieved smile on his face, completely happy just to see the shadow leave her eyes.

Two days later, on a rain-drenched stakeout near the Miramar beachfront, the dynamics had completely shifted.

"Tum sirf gaadi mein baithoge," Sharvani warned Pritam, checking her service weapon. But this time, the sharp authority in her voice had a tiny, playful spark of her old sunshine self returning.

"Yes, boss," Pritam smiled, saluting her lazily.

As Sharvani stepped out into the pouring rain, navigating the slippery, muddy terrain with fluid, precise movements like a black widow, Pritam opened his laptop. But his eyes weren't on the map or the code. They were very much glued to the side mirror, watching her move through the shadows.

She looked terrifying, beautiful, and completely in control. The rain soaked her hair, but her focus was unyielding.

Pritam’s breath caught in his throat. His fingers froze over the keyboard, a massive, burning blush crawling up his neck.

Oh no, he thought, his heart thumping violently against his ribs. Main toh gaya. In deep, deep shit. Seeing the raw, badass reality of Inspector Sharvani on the field? He was completely, utterly done for.

A few minutes later, Sharvani jogged back to the car, opening the door and shaking the rainwater from her hair, a bright, genuine laugh finally breaking out—the beautiful, musical sound he had missed for weeks.

"Clear hai. Choti gang hai, surprise karte hain unko," she said, shifting the car into gear. She glanced over, noticing his wide, dazed eyes. "Kya hua? Tumhare kaan laal ho gaye hain. Thand lag rahi hai?"

"Nahi, nahi! Main thik hoon!" Pritam squeaked, quickly slamming his laptop shut and staring straight ahead, his heart racing. "Chalo... surprise karte hain."

Sharvani let out another bright, dimpled smile, nudging his shoulder playfully. "Chal fir, vacuum cleaner boy. Case solve karte hain."

The break from her silent, defensive shell didn’t happen overnight, but the ice thoroughly shattered on a sweltering Thursday afternoon.

Sharvani was sitting at her desk, nursing a cold cup of tea, when the heavy wooden door of the cyber cell unit creaked open. An elderly gentleman stepped in, leaning heavily on a polished wooden cane. He wore a crisp, faded white kurta-pyjama, thick glasses, and was carefully cradling a heavy, vintage wooden box under his arm.

Pritam looked up, his face instantly lighting up. "Dadu? Aap yahan kaise? Maine bola tha na main shyam ko ghar aake le jaunga aapka tape recorder."

"Arre, tu toh bhool jata hai," the old man scolded gently, his voice carrying the soft, melodious lilt of old Goa. "Iska wire phir se loose ho gaya hai. Mujhe abhi gaane sunne the."

Before Pritam could even get up from his dual-monitor setup, Sharvani was already on her feet. The cold, rigid exterior she had been wearing like armor completely melted away. Her natural, sunshine warmth flared right back to life the second she saw the elderly man struggling with the heavy box.

"Uncle, aap itne dhoop mein kyun aaye? Aap phone karke bata dete ki ane wale he-me khudh jakar aapko le ati. Laaiye, mujhe dijiye," she said, her voice dropping into that sweet, caring melody that Pritam hadn't heard in weeks. She gently took the heavy vintage tape recorder from his arms and placed it safely on her clean desk. She pulled her own comfortable chair out for him. "Aap baithiye pehle. Paani piyenge?"

Dadu blinked up at her through his thick lenses, a warm, wrinkly smile spreading across his face. "Bohot pyaari bachhi ho. Tum hi Sharvani ho na? Pritam roz tumhare baare mein—"

"Dadu!" Pritam squeaked, his face turning a violent shade of crimson as he practically tripped over his own laptop charger to get to them. "Paani... haan, main paani lata hoon!"

Sharvani ignored Pritam entirely, sitting cross-legged on the floor right next to Dadu’s chair so he wouldn't have to strain his neck to look up at her. "Haan Uncle, main hi hoon. Yeh aapka tape recorder bohot sundar hai. Vintage Philips model hai na?"

"Haan! Tujhe pata hai?" Dadu’s eyes sparkled with pure joy. He patted her hand affectionately. "Mere zamaane ka hai. Isme na Kishor Kumar ke gaane bohot saaf chalte hain. Main isme teri dadi ki gaane shunta hu roj-aisa laagta ha abhi bhi mere pass hi he. Par yeh mera pota na, bas computer mein ghusa rehta hai. Isko time nahi milta mere liye."

Sharvani gave Dadu a sweet, dimpled smile, shooting a playful, mocking glare toward Pritam, who was standing awkwardly nearby holding a plastic cup of water. "Pata hai mujhe, Uncle. Yeh saare engineer log aise hi hote hain. Aap bilkul chinta mat karo, agar yeh fix nahi karega na, toh main isko Cyber Cell se nikal doongi."

Dadu let out a hearty laugh, thoroughly charmed. "Bilkul, bilkul! Phir tum hi cyber cell me shanti se rehna."

Pritam stood there, looking back and forth between the two of them. His jaw was slightly slack. For the past month, he had literally hacked into foreign servers, solved high-profile cyber scams, and practically begged for a single non-angry sentence from Sharvani—only to get hit with absolute ice. And here was his Dadu, who had just walked into the room ten minutes ago, getting the full, blinding sunshine treatment.

"Matlab... kamal hai," Pritam muttered under his breath, leaning against the edge of his desk and crossing his arms, a thoroughly defeated but hopelessly fond smile tugging at his lips. "Dadu ko full bhaav mil raha hai. Aur meri toh yahan koi value hi nahi hai. Main toh bas software engineering ka majdoor hoon."

Sharvani looked up from tracing the vintage knobs of the tape recorder, catching Pritam's pouting, tragic expression. A genuine, bright laugh slipped past her lips—the first real laugh he had caused.

"Paani do Dadu ko, vacuum cleaner boy," she teased softly, her eyes holding his for a second longer than usual. "Aur chup-chaap baith ke screwdriver laao. Humhe Dadu ka radio fix karna hai."

Pritam quickly scrambled to find the tools, his heart doing backflips. He didn't care if he was being thoroughly ignored in favor of his grandfather- just seeing her smile again meant the entire world.

Six months later, the Cyber Crime Cell was loud, chaotic, and completely full of life. The walls were covered in network maps, and the broken printer was finally gone.

"Sir! Phishing network ping hua!" Pritam yelled from his dual-monitor setup, his fingers flying across the keys.

Pedro walked towards his chair, laughing. "Kahan hai location, batata chal!"

Sharvani walked in, carrying a large box of fresh, hot samosas, her bright, loud laughter echoing through the basement just like the old days. "Pehle samosa khao sab log! Subha se kaam pe laage huye ho-kuch nahi khaya. Pritam, tumhare liye extra green chutney laayi hoon."

Pritam spun his chair around, his signature goofy smile returning in full force as he accepted the food, his eyes completely locked onto hers with that soft, endless devotion. "Thank you, Sharvani. Vaise... aap aaj bhi bohot achhi lag rahi hain. Seriously."

Sharvani rolled her eyes, a massive, beautiful dimpled smile breaking across her face as she tossed a paper napkin at his head. "Samosa khao aur chup chaap data track karo, vacuum cleaner boy."

Pedro watched them, taking a bite of his food, a quiet, peaceful smile spreading across his face. He looked at the Polaroid pinned to the monitor—a picture of him, Sharvani, and Pritam laughing together in the rain. He looked up at the ceiling, thinking of his old boss Vijay, and whispered softly, "Bhai... dekh lo. Beti bilkul thik hai hamari."

HOLAAA BITCHESSSSS-ILOVEHIMTOOMUCH AND I KNOW YOU BITCHES ALSO WANT TO CLIMB HIM LIKE A TREE-

AM I OVULATING?-I ALWAYS OVULATE WHEN I THINK OF HIM

PLS DO LEAVE A LIKE AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKE IT XOXO

PRITAM PARKER HEADCANNONS

Coworker!Pritam who completely froze the first day you walked into the cyber cell tech room, watching you effortlessly patch a crashing firewall script that had him stressed out for hours.

Coworker!Pritam who exchanges panicked, wide-eyed looks with you across the room whenever Pedro Sir starts aggressively slamming his hand on a faulty printer and yelling at it like it's a cybercriminal.

Coworker!Pritam who would automatically slide his chair next to yours the second Pedro started shouting about a case, pulling up a random spreadsheet to lie that you were too busy helping him to do extra paperwork.

Crush!Pritam who would always find the most unnecessary tech issues to fix at your desk just to be near you.

Crush!Pritam who would aggressively clean out your laptop and phone storage, update your software, and hand it back with a proud, shy smile just to have an excuse to talk to you.

Crush!Pritam who completely short-circuits and forgets basic words whenever you lean in close to point something out on his monitor.

Crush!Pritam who would lose all his technical eloquence and literally forget the word for "keyboard" the exact second your hands accidentally brushed over a mouse.

Crush!Pritam whose ears would turn a bright, telltale pink under his messy hair whenever you brought him his favorite cold coffee during a long night shift.

Crush!Pritam who secretly curates highly specific, soft, late-night playlists and sends them to you with a casual, "hey, found some music to code to, thought you'd like it."

Crush!Pritam who turns bright red and buries his face in his hands whenever Pedro loudly teases him in front of the entire office about staring at you.

Crush!Pritam who would map out your daily routine in his head like a constellation, calculating the exact minute you'd walk past his desk just so he could casually look up and catch your eye.

Crush!Pritam who sat next to you in a completely dark presentation room and let his hand stay just a millimeter away from yours on the armrest, the heavy silence between you feeling louder than ever.

Crush!Pritam who nearly choked on his coffee when Pedro Sir slapped his back after a successful case and loudly said, "Oye, laptop chhod aur isko dinner pe leke ja, varna main chala jaunga teri jagah!"

Boyfriend!Pritam who confessed to you in the dim, quiet tech room after everyone left, nervously whispering that you are the only person who makes his chaotic, fast-running brain finally go quiet.

Boyfriend!Pritam who took you to a secluded beach cliffside on his scooter for your first official date, nervously sharing a single pair of earphones to listen to music in the dark.

Boyfriend!Pritam who would turn chaotic, late-night coding sessions at the office into impromptu coffee dates.

Boyfriend!Pritam who silently pulls you onto his lap when you walk into his room, keeping one arm wrapped tightly around your waist while he keeps typing with his other hand.

Boyfriend!Pritam who stubbornly keeps his left hand tangled with yours under the desk while he codes, refusing to let go even when he needs to type with his right hand.

Boyfriend!Pritam who drags you out for midnight scooter rides along the dark Goa backroads just to escape the screens and feel your arms wrapped around him.

Boyfriend!Pritam who walks straight into your apartment after a grueling 14-hour high stakes case, buries his face in the crook of your neck without a word, lets all his tech-genius defenses drop and just holds you tight to decompress.

Boyfriend!Pritam who absolutely melts when you run your fingers through his messy hair while he’s lying on your lap, his eyes slowly drifting shut even if he was trying his hardest to stay awake with you.

Boyfriend!Pritam who always pulls you closer when he’s tired, like his body just automatically calculates the shortest distance needed to get you tucked right against his chest.

Boyfriend!Pritam who treats your quiet, slow-dancing-in-the-kitchen moments like an oath to himself that no cyber threat or police chaos could ever touch.

Boyfriend!Pritam who protects your relationship like it's his only sacred, offline space in a world full of high stakes digital noise.

Boyfriend!Pritam who loves the slow-motion feel of rainy days with you, pulling the curtains shut so the two of you can just lie tangled in the sheets, listening to the downpour and tracking the rhythm of your heartbeats.

Boyfriend!Pritam who wakes up a few minutes before you do sometimes, just to look at your face in the quiet dawn light, smiling softly before pulling you back into his chest to fall asleep all over again.

Boyfriend!Pritam who has a deep, tired voice in the mornings and pulls you back into bed when you try to get up too early.

Boyfriend!Pritam who will softly trace the contours of your face in the dim light of dawn, looking at you with a heavy, quiet intensity that says you are the center of his entire universe.

Boyfriend!Pritam who doesn’t sleep well normally and has recurring nightmares, but the moment you’re tucked against his chest he finally knocks out.

Boyfriend!Pritam who keeps random little things that remind him of you — a hair tie, a note you left when you delivered him lunch, a photo in his wallet he pretends isn’t there.

Boyfriend!Pritam adores seeing you in his clothes. When your hair is messy and you’ve got nothing on but a loose plaid shirt of his, or when he buys you something and he sees you wearing it, he gets flustered and smiley.

Boyfriend!Pritam who presses slow, lazy, lingering kisses to your forehead and the temple of your head when he’s half-asleep.

Boyfriend!Pritam who nervously took you to meet his dadu for the first time, only to completely melt when his dadu immediately sidelined him to pull you into a warm hug and treat you like family.

Boyfriend!Pritam who smiles so softly watching you sit with his dadu on the porch, listening to old stories about Pritam's childhood, while dadu feeds you homemade snacks and tells you how much calmer Pritam has been since he met you.

Boyfriend!Pritam who watches you and his dadu team up against him in board games, his heart swelling so much it hurts as he intentionally lets the two of you win just to see you both celebrate.

Boyfriend!Pritam who gets incredibly flustered but quietly proud when Pedro Sir sees you two walking out of the station holding hands, and instead of yelling, Pedro just gives a knowing smirk, lowers his voice, and says, "Sambhal ke leke ja isko, aur kal time pe office aana, dono."

Boyfriend!Pritam who hooks his chin over your shoulder while you watch the sunset from his balcony, wrapping both arms around you so tightly as if he’s trying to shield you from the passage of time itself.

! NSFW content below !

Boyfriend!Pritam who is usually so soft and anxious during the day, but the second you two are alone behind closed doors, his entire demeanor shifts into something incredibly focused, intense, and grounded.

Boyfriend!Pritam whose voice drops an entire octave in the dark, murmuring praise right against your ear in a low, breathless raspy whisper that makes your whole body shiver.

Boyfriend!Pritam who loves pinning your wrists above your head with just one of his hands, using his lean strength to hold you down while he takes his time leaving dark, lingering marks along your collarbone and the curve of your neck and jaw.

Boyfriend!Pritam who loves being on top, but would melt if you took control.

Boyfriend!Pritam loves the feeling of you on top of him sitting in his lap, riding his dick, even when you reach over him to grab something.

Boyfriend!Pritam has a large dick that he’s not great at using- he’s not bad at sex, obviously but he’s too gentle sometimes likes he’s scared he’ll hurt you, until you begged him to fuck you senseless and he broke your headboard.

Boyfriend!Pritam who was so touch starved when you began dating him that it was bordering on pathetic. When you’d do so much as kiss him or brush your fingers through his hair, his brain would melt to mush and his jeans would grow uncomfortably snug.

Boyfriend!Pritam who makes the most adorable faces when he’s about to cum deep inside you, only for his cheeks to get dusted by a pale pink when you tease him later on. 

Boyfriend!Pritam will sit back in between your legs and watch his cum ooze out of you, swiping up some with his slim fingers and spreading it along the inside of your thighs, will then dip his head down and eat you out, tasting the mix of both of you on his tongue and it's enough to make his eyes roll into the back of his head and get him hard enough for round two.

Boyfriend!Pritam loves just lying there afterwards, still buried inside of you, feeling your warm walls pulse around him 

Boyfriend!Pritam who would prohibit you from biting your lips, hiding your moans, depriving him of those sweet sounds that make his core burn hot. 

Boyfriend!Pritam who gets incredibly possessive and needy when he’s overstimulated from a long day, burying himself deep inside you and pulling you so tight against his chest that there’s absolutely no space left between you.

Boyfriend!Pritam who looks down at you with completely blown-out, dark eyes, his messy hair falling into his face as he watches your expression shift, completely intoxicated by the fact that he is the one making you lose control.

Boyfriend!Pritam loves cockwarming- when you first started dating he didn’t seem to know much about sex (of course he knew the basics), but he didn’t know many positions so you left him on your laptop with pornhub opened while you went to work, when you came back he sat you on his cock and did not let you get up until both of your were whining and at your breaking points.

Boyfriend!Pritam really likes to grope you, you only allow it at home when the two of you are alone, he’ll come up behind you when you’re doing something and run his hands slowly up your torso then grab your breasts while nuzzling his face into your neck and breathing you in.

Boyfriend!Pritam who develops a massive praise kink after everything that has happened—carrying so much weight and pressure from the cyber cell cases that hearing you tell him how good he is completely unravels him.

Boyfriend!Pritam who will literally shiver when you trace his jawline in the dark and whisper, "such a good boy," his grip on your hips tightening instantly as he loses all his composure to focus entirely on pleasing you.

Boyfriend!Pritam who quietly hoards every single piece of gentle reassurance you give him, letting your soft words undo all the stress, shouting from Pedro Sir, and heavy burdens he carries until he's completely soft and safe in your arms.

Boyfriend!Pritam who will gently clean you up afterward with a warm towel, kissing your forehead and wrapping you securely in his sheets, holding you tightly to his chest while his heart rate slowly syncs back down with yours.

HOLAAA BITCHESSSSS-FIRST TIME WRITING HEADCANNONS HOPE YOU LIKE ITTTTT DID I WRITE MORE NSFW HEADCANNONS THAN HIS NORMAL HEADCANNONS?-YES I DID AM I OVULATING?-ALSO YES (TMI IK) PLS DO LEAVE A LIKE AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKE IT XOXO