I'm back

stop! get some help! [akshaye khanna x oc smau]

part one

author’s note. thank to everyone who sent me questions i love u </3 this is all i got until i finish my rehmat x oc wip ok bye.

disclaimer. this is an AU and a work of fiction it does not resemble real life people or incidences. this is also not meant to hurt any sentiments or disrespect anyone.

ps. rpf has existed for a long time and i only made this out of love and admiration. however if rpf makes you uncomfortable, please scroll away. for the love of god do not waste your time and send anon msgs complaining about this, i won't be entertaining any.

_sp aslam chaudhary.

a = aftercare.

he likes to feed you with his own two hands after you two are done for the minute, he wouldn't like to keep you hungry, physically or otherwise.

sometime during your after-sex smokes, his lips attach to yours. to get a taste, and then some more, a little more till he's back with his distractions again.

he keeps you well fed and well looked after, brushing your hair in the bathtub, the one he got made just for him to lay you in, after he ruins you.

b = body part.

his favourite part of you has to be your legs, tiny, slender, unable to run as fast as his legs can, when you tease him.

toned, smooth, something he can twist into torture leading upto eventual heavenly pleasure. until he has you cumming and squirming up in oversensitivity, it's only second to your hair.

your favourite part of him has to be those thick, obstrusive fingers, unrelenting and mercilessly forcing you to open up to him, prepping you or atleast trying to prep you for what's coming each and every time.

c = cum.

usually it is just an evidence of your frivolous activities but at other times, it's an act of degradation, dominance and putting you in your place.

when he gives you permission, he's get to show you exactly who you are, not letting you wipe it away, letting it sit between your thighs, reminding you each second who you belonged to, giving you exactly what you trot around enticing him for.

d = dirty secret.

he likes it when you get yourself off on him without his help. just his darling so whiny for him without even a single touch. he likes it even better when you wake him up with it in the middle of the night, half asleep groggily with his thigh wedged between your sweet cunt, rubbing yourself on it like a bitch in heat. he likes that your drive is one that can at times almost surpass his.

e = experience.

he's had a lot of women in his youth, and no one has escaped that knowledge, not even you. it would be false to deny your feelings of inferiority when you first became his lover, though slowly but surely you came to find out the very value of your actions and how helpless you could make him at times.

you knew then that weren't any less than him, with your skillful mouth and your random visits to his office late at night all spent on reminding him who he belongs to, and who he leaves back at home each day.

when you have even got him babbling, groaning out apologies for his mistakes, you know you shouldn't be the least concerned about the 'difference' in experience between you two.

f = favorite position.

his favourite position is when he lays you in bed, with your hands held hostage above your head, unable to touch him, looking so pathetically whorish, needing to touch him. your expressions as you attempt you writhe out of his hold, are addictive to him.

g = goofy. skip

h = hair.

he has hair like most men do, but it is somehow..better? dark, coarse and absolutely stunning, going from his chest right down to his torso and more and you are not disappointed in the slightest.

i = intimacy.

aslam makes you feel...intense. even the word intense seems ingenious to the emotions that he puts you through.

it's implausible to for you to feel any doubt of his love for you, when you can feel it increasing each and everyday in ferocity.

his love feels renewing, heavenly, almost divine.

j = jerk off.

he prefers your hand better than his own, you know how to make him feel good. why would he do such a thing, when he has such a beautiful woman to help him with it, sometimes even begging to do so.

k = kink.

prey play. to be able to chase you, so sure of his meal and you trying to escape despite the inevitable.

making him run around, just to drive up the intensity, make your heart leap out of your chest and your thighs feel shakey enough that he has to hold you up.

l = location.

out of all the places he's had you, his office is the best, with you trying your best to be quiet for him, his angel, trying to hold back from screaming his name loud enough that the whole office could hear you.

he likes you being scared of somebody walking in, knowing that in seconds he can have you not care about it as long as he is inside you. at those times, he knows you wouldn't care if you were being heard halfway across lyari.

but of course, he'd kill anyone that got to lay they eyes on you when you were like that.

m = motivation.

you keep him going each day, you make him remember that he has to come home each day, alive, he's been more careful about his life since you stepped in.

other than emotions, your touch, your body, your skin and warmth, they are more than enough to call him home every day, like a siphon, the day only ends when you are in his arms, as you should be.

n = no.

he wouldn't ever stop before you get to cum unless he's punishing. he never let's you use toys or entertain the idea of a threesome. though your suggestions were only made with the intentions to rile him up, you found out that the answer, even theoretically would be a no go. especially when he kept you writhing in bed for days after, proving to you he's all that you could ever need.

o = oral.

he has you on your knees like a habit, to remind you just how good it feels when he's in control. to make sure you remember just how to take him. make sure you give back for all he's given to you. remember how he's kneeled between your thighs to devour you, just to make his girl feel good.

p = pace.

there is no set pace with him, and you both prefer that. a little surprise each time you fuck is almost pleasurable. the thrill of it, the knowledge of not knowing what happens next is what you both like.

q = quickie.

he's rushed you into dark corridors and quiet rooms, trailing kisses down your spine, accidentally tearing your dresses, leaving you all hot and heavy.

he has had to hide your body on the way back to your room so you didn't have to walk around half naked as a result of this.

r = risk.

forgetting about his risqué acts for a sceond, you don't have much of a clean slate either, egging him on in public, your feet nudging his crotch under the dinner table when you have guests, knowing he could just as well have you on the table in front of everyone if he wanted to.

s = stamina.

his stamina has often left you needing to cancel meetings and appointments. he is ruthless and he's had to help you work up your strength to be able to take him and follow along with all of his whims.

t = toys.

he is not as open to toys as he is to lingerie, buying you the newest styles from each season, he requires you to model each of them for him both before AND after buying them.

but he doesn't let you change until he thinks you have thanked him enough for each and every item, letting him use you as he sees fit and letting you show your appreciation in any way he sees fit.

u = unfair.

it's unfair how well he treats you, knowing that no one can do it like him. how you can't go back to your boy toys now that you've met a real man.

who knows exactly what you need and want. he knows when you need to be punished and praised.

he knows how to fuck you silly and take care of you after instead of running away unlike all of those other losers.

he understands your every whine and moan better than anyone. it's unfair that he holds so much power over you, but you love it.

v = volume.

aslam doesn't hold back when it comes to being vocal, it is just a virtue to him. to him real men do not refrain from showcasing pleasure. as for you, he takes your volume as a challenge to see how far he can push you.

w = wild card. skip

x = x-ray.

under his kurta always lays a silver chain with a charm on it, one that you had gifted him, thin enough to hid under his clothes, with your initials on it.

and it turned you on that it hung over you when you had sex, taking it in between your teeth and biting.

he likes that you enjoy your own gift so much. always pulling him in with it, before pressing an unchaste kiss and running away.

y = yearning.

he was a calm man before you came along. equally levelheaded and unaffected by deep emotions. buut now he's restless without you near him, wihout him having you right in his field of his vision.

he figured he can make sure of your safety by keeping you sat on his lap, not minding who's looking but for the tomes you were couldn't be near he went as far to buy you a pendant with your birthstone, without telling you it had a tracker inside.

he could be possessive but it didn't originate from some psychotic obsession rather from his deep mistrust of the world, wanting to keep you as safe as he could with a world full of people who wanted to take his peace away.

though it didn't take you more than a few hours to figure out the tracker, of course you did, you were his little sly bug, always too smart for your own good.

he hoped to give you a life where you didn't have to look over your shoulder and overanalyze everything to the T.

where you didn't have to exert your lifeforce in trying to be quick. and maybe he was succeeding by little.

z = zzz.

his hands trail to your hair, then tangling with your own when he's sure you're too deep in sleep to notice. fingers brushing over where he thinks a ring should be.

an indicator that you're his, for everyone to see.

he might try to make it out as it doesn't effect him as much, your love, but he will never let you believe that he doesn't love you much more, that is just a weak man's motive. he'll make the declaration every single day, to make sure you know.

Chapter 3

Masterlist

TW!crude language

Seven weeks from their first encounter

Must be his fifth call she misses; he is getting antsy. He does not have an appointment today or tomorrow; he has no business reason to call her, but he wants to hear her voice anyway. More importantly, he refuses to admit it, but he has had the gnawing need to know where she is since he opened his eyes this morning. He rubs his hand over his face and takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as he leans back in his chair. 

His phone does ring after a while; it is her, and he picks up on the first ring. 

"Agar phone uthane mein itni der hoti hai toh phone rakha hi kyun hai? Kabootar paal lo," he says dryly, the phone on speaker. Why have a phone if it takes you so long to pick it up? Get a pigeon. 

"Hello to you too, Shaurya," she says in a slightly tired voice. "Do you need anything?" 

"Tum apna phone nahi utha sakte time pe?" he pushes. Why can't you pick up the phone on time? 

"So rahi thi," she says plainly, and he can hear her getting up. I was sleeping. 

"Aaj mil sakti ho?" he asks, fingers twisting the thread poking out of the seam of his dressing gown. Can we meet today? 

"Nahi, uh kaam hai," she informs him. No, uh, I have work. "We agreed on Monday; do we need to reschedule or anything?" 

"No, of course not; we are meeting on Monday," he sighs. "I just wanted to see you today as well, that's all." 

"Oh, uh, I am sorry, darling," she says, and he cannot help but be impressed at the act of sincerity because it is a very real possibility that she is acting, which makes his own real desperation feel like a joke of sorts. 

"It's okay," he says, closing his eyes. "What work do you have?" 

"Actual legal work," she laughs. "I have a job besides the one you are aware of, you know." 

"Right," he chuckles. "I know that, of course." In truth, he is relieved that she is not seeing some other man or sleeping with him. 

"Well, I am glad because it is actually a nice job," she laughs again. "Just the pay is horrid." 

"Happens to the best of us," he hums. "Neuroscientists get paid less than cricket players; it's an unfair world we live in." 

"Doesn't your father own Sunrisers Hyderabad?" she taunts almost lovingly. 

"Hate the game, not the players, Api," he laughs. 

"Yeah, I suppose it does trickle down, doesn't it?" she chortles. "You pay me a lot of money." 

He takes in a deep breath, staring at the ceiling now. He hates being reminded of the actual relationship they share, which violently tears him away from the idea he has of them in his head, cuts which heal instantaneously when they are together and touch. "I suppose so, yeah," he murmurs. "Send me a picture of what you're wearing?" he asks after a beat. 

"Like right now?" she laughs softly. 

"Yeah?" And she goes silent for a moment before he receives two pictures on his phone; his breath hitches when he opens them. The Victoria's Secret babydoll nightie he had gotten her two weeks ago clings to her body like it had been made for her. "Oh, you look gorgeous, I have incredible taste," he whispers. 

"You think so?" she hums teasingly, and he laughs, amused at her sudden act of coyness. 

"I believe so, you stunning woman," he assures her. "Like my little pinup doll, I really like dressing you, you know." 

"Oh, trust me, I know," she giggles and his heart soars, a genuine smile on his lips. He likes making her happy; he has discovered. 

The next day

He enters Slink and Bardot at around ten p.m. and makes a beeline for the bar; he needs a drink or ten, possibly, no particular sadness plaguing him beyond his usual host of issues. Had a horrible fight with his father this morning, but that is every other day. 

"One scotch neat," he tells the waiter, sitting at the bar, scanning the room, eyes travelling the entire expanse before they land on the one person he wishes he had not seen. Aparajita is sitting at the other end of the room, dressed in a scandalously skimpy dress, so different from how he usually sees her. She looks stunning; obviously she does, her beautiful body, the grace in her long and lithe limbs. There is an irrepressible and almost irresponsible look of her zest for life in her eyes; almost thirty-two and yet looks not a day over twenty-five, loves life or at least puts up the show that she does. Brilliant actress. 

He can almost hear the last sip of her drink rattling in her straw. He knows she does not drink alcohol; she does not like the taste. But then again, she does not need alcohol to let loose; her inhibitions leave the window the moment her environment demands it. Her perfect body luxuriates in tactility as she moves forward, the lean muscle on her back shifting a little; the man beside her places a hand on her lower back, his palm covering the expanse of exposed skin, and takes pleasure in her gorgeousness. Shaurya can tell. Downs his drink in one gulp. 

He cannot take his eyes off her, her gorgeous back, her tantalising side profile. Her make-up is different too, highlighter on her cheekbones, shimmering eyelids, brown lipstick. He is four drinks deep now, feeling an ugly possessiveness rise in him. He can see the side of her breast from the way her dress is cut, the same one he has in his mouth four days a week, now done up for someone else. Takes his phone out and unwittingly texts her. 

I'm in the bar, right across the room; come to the bathroom, only five minutes, I swear

He watches her feel her phone buzz in her purse and take it out; her client is talking to some other man. 

Are you at Slink and Bardot?

Yes. Please, Aparajita, five minutes, that's all 

Fine. Now.

She gets off the barstool, presses a kiss to the man's cheek and makes her way to the washroom. He waits a moment before following. The ladies' room is where she goes in. 

Once in the washroom, he stares at her for a moment, does not know how to react; he has never been in this sort of situation before, not with her or any other woman for that matter. There is nobody in there, strange but not entirely impossible.

"You look really nice," he says softly, and she nods. 

"Thanks, but you know someone is waiting for me, right?" she asks gently. 

"Aparajita paanch minute maang raha hoon, puri raat nahi," he sighs, reaching to touch her arm, soft, waxed, glowing from her cherry blossom-scented moisturiser. Aparajita, I am asking for five minutes, not your whole night. 

He pulls her close and kisses her forehead, both his hands on her upper arms now, grabbing them almost. Leans down and presses open-mouthed kisses on her sternum and her breasts. 

"Kya kar rahe ho?" she asks, surprised, pushing him off her. What are you doing? 

"Uske saath accha lagta hai tumhe?" he asks, pulling her close again. Do you like it with him? "Does he fuck you as I do? Does he make you cum as I do?" His tone swirls anger with desperation, though the latter is much more in amount. 

"It doesn't matter," she sighs, letting him hold her a moment. 

"No, you see, Aparajita, it fucking matters to me that you are with other men; I don't like it," he says, his words a bit slurred now; the alcohol has lulled his inhibitions, and it is starting to show. 

"I am an escort, Shaurya; obviously I sleep with different men. What the hell are you on about?" she asks, irritated now. 

"Oh, shut the fuck up," he spits out. "You're not just that, you know that." 

"That is the only relationship we have," she says plainly. 

"What about everything else? What about the way we talk?" he asks, staring at her. 

"Consider it part of the experience," she responds, smoothing her dress. 

"So it meant nothing to you?" he asks, his hands on her shoulders now. 

"Sure," she shrugs, and he pulls her closer, kissing at her neck, which she allows. 

The bathroom door opens, and she stills, pushing him off. 

"Tia?" a male voice asks, and she smooths her hair, putting on a smile. 

"Yeah, I'm here," she says in a sweet voice, and the man appears, dressed in an expensive suit, hair slicked back, sharp eyes. 

"And this is?" he inquires, his arm snaking around her waist. 

"A friend," she smiles, and he comes up to Shauryaman with a smug smile, leans in and whispers in his ear. 

"Aaj mere paas hai, kaal tu le lena, randi hi toh hai," he says. She's with me tonight; you can have her tomorrow. She's just a whore after all. 

"Tameez se baat nahi kar sakta saale?" he asks angrily, seeing red as he pushes the man away from him. Do you have a shred of decency in you? 

"Ek randi ke liye itna rona kyu macha raha hai be?" the man inquires, fixing his jacket. Why are you being this dramatic for a hooker? 

Shaurya stares at him, opens his mouth to say something, but the words die in his throat because what even is the answer to such a question? The heart wants what it wants; he cannot help it, but he knows how stupid he will sound. 

She stands, a bit shocked by it all, almost unable to react before she finally does. "Let's go, sir," she sighs, taking the man's hand, which almost feels as if she is slicing his chest open. The man nods, looking at him incredulously before they exit the bathroom. 

He sits on the edge of the Marine Drive, staring out at the sea, images of her underneath that man torturing him. Tears fill his eyes before they start travelling down his face; he wipes them, feeling like an idiot because that man had been right. He has no right to be possessive about her, absolutely no right. Even then, he feels a sort of connection with her, and he had been sure until today that she felt it too. He had been assured by the way she looks at him, the tone in which she talks to him. But it had clearly only been a service strategy. With what face would he see her tomorrow? He is not aware. 

Ofc lmk if you want to be tagged or untagged

For sleeping with my boyfriends enemy after he cheated on me.

Summary: a reddit post that blew up about a girl seeking third party opinion on her revenge. Or in which you find out about your boyfriend cheating on you and as a revenge you decide to sleep with a stranger who turn out to be Uzair baloch

Pairing- Uzair Baloch x reader

Trigger warning: Smut. Oral fem reciving ,P in v (wrap it before u tap it guys 🙏) infidelity etc.

Disclaimer: this is inspired by Danish pandor character in the movie not by the real life fuckers. SO CHILL

A/n: this has been floating in my head rent free for quite some time now, anyways happy reading!

Genere: Fluff, Crack-ish if you squint.

Pairing: Pritam Parker x Dr. Y/N L/N

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based on Rajkumar Hirani and Avinadh Arun's series Pritam and Pedro. All Original characters belong to them with exception of Y/N. This is made for entertainment purpose only.

Warnings: Bad writing😭

A/N: Been through the Writer's block for a while now so this might be shit. Read at your own risk😭

If there was one thing Pedro Gonsalves hated more than paperwork, it was rich people with smart homes.

The victim's villa overlooked the beautiful stretch of goan sea, all white walls, glass windows and expensive automation. Every light and electronics could be controlled through an app, every door had biometric locks, all the cameras uploaded footage to the cloud every 24 hours.

Which would've been impressive...if only the owner wasn't found dead inside the house and somebody hadn't wiped every second of security footage.

"Sir, the local CCTV DVR is clean. Whoever did this deleted everything." Jayant, approached Pedro with a tablet.

Pedro nodded towards the man sitting cross legged on the floor with three laptops open around him,"Usko dikhao."

The inspector hesitated,"Him?"

"Haan, usi ko."

Pritam Parker looked up from his laptop with an easy smile,"Good morning, Jayant sir."

The inspector looked at Pedro again,"Sir...?"

Pedro rolled his eyes,"Don't just stand here, dikhao Usko.. yeh sab cyber-wyber walo ka kaam hai."

Jayant gave him a look as he handed the DVR to Pritam,"...Sir aap bhi toh cyber waale hi ho-" 

Pedro glared at Jayant so hard that Jayant decided it was best for him to just walk away from the scene.

Meanwhile,Pritam plugged another cable into the DVR.

It’s crazy how some authors were hating on others for writing about Iqbal and telling people to raise their standard if they wrote for Iqbal

Honestly i understand he is based on a irl monster but the dhurandhar version is between that and honestly it's a frictional character ( plus it's Arjun rampal 😔🙌) so IMO we should respect and appreciatethe people who write such complex characters.

I feel like we should never hate the people who put there time and effort into a work they made with love and passion instead we should appreciate it and give all the love as much as we can!!

And if it's not your thing ignore it respectly, no one is forcing anyone here can we all just be happy and enjoy a thing together it's not that hard guys

Also gonna tag the people I think people should appreciate for writing Major Iqbal fics (GO SHOW THEM LOVE)

@ppinkitten @vexillia @peonies7002 @kisswithknife @fanaajnabi @tere-naal-nachna @rabbdaradio @roses-and-iron @pine-breeze @desigal-26 @rutvii @chocolate-and-trouble (and anyone else I forgot to tag but they write for major Iqbal I'm sorry I'm bad with names)

HEAVY SMUT 18+ MDNI

Chapter 2

Masterlist

Three weeks from their first encounter.

The water is warm; soap suds on the wet hair sticking to his chest. He lies in the bathtub, not quite thinking as he picks up his phone and dials Tia's number. She picks up on the third ring. 

"Hi, Shaurya," she says, sounding distracted. "Did you need anything?" 

"Are we still on for 11 o'clock?" he hums, staring at the foam on the water he is soaking in.  

"Yes, of course, as you said. I'll meet you at Lotus, and then we'll go to the Marriott," she says plainly as if she is not paying attention to the conversation at all. 

"What are you doing?" he asks despite himself because he knows he will not like the answer. He sees her about three to four times on average and takes up her whole day. Does not want to know what she might be doing on the days they do not see each other. 

"Cleaning up," she says dismissively. 

"What?" he presses, sitting up a little. 

"What do you mean?" she laughs, and he can hear shuffling in the background. 

"Mera matlab hai aisi kaunsi safai ka kaam kar rahi ho?" he asks, pinching the bridge of his nose. I mean, what kind of cleaning is going on? 

"Such a thing called client confidentiality," she chuckles, and right there, his heart painfully twists inside his chest. 

"Did you see said client today?" he asks warily. 

"No, don't be silly, I only see one person a day," she says casually. "I didn't go home last night, just cleaning up the mess before I go home; I don't want to subject the hotel staff to more than necessary." 

"Right," he breathes out shakily, clenching his hand underwater. "Did you like it?" he asks in a low voice, feeling his skin turn into a seasick sort of sage green as he does. 

"Shaurya," she sighs. "This is my job; I don't know what you want to hear." 

"I'm sorry," he relents, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'll see you in a bit, yeah?" 

"Yeah," she says sweetly, sounding relieved. "What should I wear?" 

"Your favourite sari," he says softly. "Aur ek laal bindi." And a red dot on your forehead. 

"Done." He can hear her smile, and it makes him happy for reasons he does not wish to confront. "See you. Bye bye." And she cuts the call. He throws his phone on the soft carpet and sinks deeper into the water, which has run cold now in the bathtub, feeling entirely like a fool. 

She is an escort, for Lord's sake. A hooker. No matter how beautiful and educated she may be, she is a prostitute at the end of the day. To be acting this way for a whore is embarrassing; he is ashamed of it, of course, to feel anything for a woman who sleeps with illustrious and wealthy men for money. She does not care for him, he is certain, just another block on her calendar which hurts him more than he can admit, just about moved to tears before he pulls himself back. 

At the Lotus, he spots her nursing a cup of tea again. He has found out that she does not like the taste or smell of coffee; no amount of sugar, milk and syrups can make the drink palatable for her. She always orders a masala chai with extra cardamom and cream. 

"You look beautiful," he says, sitting opposite her. She is wearing a baby blue muslin silk sari, a sleeveless blouse with a deep V-neck which shows a tasteful amount of cleavage. 

"Thank you," she says, smiling at him with the same subservient yet challenging look he has grown to adore. She does not act as if she is a hooker, which is the issue, not even like the high-end escort that she is. Every time, he feels as if he is meeting up with a friend who understands him and knows him, which she does.

He waits until she finishes her tea, reaches to hold her hand halfway through, her soft skin against his rougher palm. He traces the lines of her palm, her skin so thin he can see the veins underneath. "Your lifeline has a break," he says in passing, and she pauses, staring at the remnants of cold tea in her cup. 

"Since when do you read palms, Shaurya?" she asks, returning to the hopelessly charming skin she wears for all her clients, he assumes. 

"Woh, Gauri used to do it, picked up on some things," he laughs easily. 

"I remember thinking she was so beautiful when your divorce was on TV," she says. 

"Yeah, yeah, she is," he sighs. "Too bad we were deeply incompatible in the sense that I could never love her for all her beauty and qualities." 

"Do you wish to talk about it?" she asks as he traces the green line on the tip of her index finger to the beginning of her palm. 

"Bolne ko kuch baki hai kya?" he laughs softly. "Main ek kutte kamine ki tarhah usko marta tha, istemal karta tha. Woh taang aake mujhe chhod ke chali gayi." Is there anything left to say? I used to hit her and use her like an asshole. She reached her limit and left. 

"I'm sorry," she says gently, her thumb moving to bump the tips of their thumbs. 

"Don't be," he sighs. "I am the villain in that story." 

"But who prays for Satan? Who in now twenty-one centuries has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it most?" she asks, looking up at him with slightly hooded eyes. "It is easy to feel bad for the victims, the weak and meek ones. But true humanity lies in having sympathy even for those who have fallen from grace." 

He stares at her a moment, pulling her hand. "Let's go to the room," he sighs, and she nods, picking her bag up. The hotel has put her bill on his tab. 

In the room, their clothes come off methodically, her sari folded alongside her petticoat and blouse on the sofa. She is in a matching lacy set of a white bra and panties, sitting pretty in the middle of the bed, waiting for him to undress. His cock is hardening as he walks towards her, a primal sort of attraction he feels towards her, a want for her body and her mind. 

He is on his knees in front of her, looking at her face, her soft lips painted a diffused red remind him of rose petals. Kisses them gently before his tongue asks for entrance, which she gives, and he reaches behind her to unhook her bra. He pulls away and takes her bra off, her nipples hardening when in contact with the cool air. His hands cover them, squeezing slightly. 

"What size are you?" he asks. 

"Thirty-two C," she says under her breath. 

"I want to dress you up to undress you, you know," he whispers, kissing her. "You have such a beautiful body; I want to see you in wonderful and lavish clothes, but then I'd miss how you look without anything on at all." 

"We can do that, dressing me up in different clothes, I mean, before we have sex," she says against his lips, and he hums in agreement. 

"Send me your measurements; I'll order some clothes," he murmurs, pushing her down to lie on the bed. "My pinup doll." 

"I will," she murmurs as he takes her panties off; she is wet, he sees, wet and wanting for him. Part of him wants to know if her body reacts the same way to her other clients, but ignorance is bliss, he realises. Right now, he can believe that she only reacts this way for him because he simply does not know any better. 

They kiss for a while, their bodies tangled, arms snaked around each other tightly- he is her constrictor, and she is his. 

"Get on top of me," he gasps against her lips, and she pulls away, grabbing a condom from under the pillow. The hotel knows its guests. 

She sits between his legs, tearing open the foil packet and sliding the slick rubber onto his thick cock, her touch on him enough to make more pre-cum dribble out of the tip. She climbs on top of him, reaching down to guide his cock inside her, and she sinks on it, inch by inch. His hands reach for her waist, feeling the taut muscle under the soft skin; she works hard for this body, he realises. 

A/N: imagine him undressed with this expression thanks

His finger touches the thin, faint and slightly raised line of a scar on her lower belly between her hip bones; it is so blended with her skin that he cannot be faulted for not noticing it before. She freezes a moment before she starts to move on his cock, hips going in circles. He moves his hand away and sits up, her still on his lap as he leans back against the headboard, his hands on her hips as she starts to bounce on his cock, he can see the lean muscle on her abdomen and thighs slightly bulge as she moves with ease. 

For a couple of minutes, they fuck and say nothing, his mouth on her right breast and his hand on her left, drawing soft moaning sounds from her as she rides him. When he finishes, it is sudden, and a loud gasp leaves his mouth before she kisses him and swallows it, gently moving on his cock to help him ride out the high as he releases inside the condom. 

"Tia," he breathes out as she takes the condom off him, tying it at the opening and throwing it into the bin. "Let me please you." 

"You don't have to," she chuckles, lying down next to him. 

"I like seeing you cum," he smiles, pulling her close, both lying on their side now, facing each other. His hand travels the line from between her breasts to her core, his fingers feeling how wet she is. He rubs her clit for a bit, feeling her get wetter somehow. "Good?" he asks. 

"Fuck," she moans when he pushes two fingers inside, curling them to touch the spot where it feels good. "Good, really good." 

"I enjoy making you feel good," he murmurs, kissing her as he fingers her, pumping them in and out of her gently for a while before going back to rub her clit. 

In moments, she cums, an influx of her fluids wetting his palm. "Shaurya!" she cries out, trembling. He kisses her deeply, pulling her impossibly close, sweat making their skin stick together. 

"That's it," he assures her, pulling his hand up from between her legs and licking her juices. Salty and sweet. Strokes her hair as she presses her forehead to his. 

"এ দুঃখ কার কাছে রাখবো গো? কাকে বলবো তোমার কথা?" she asks and he does not understand. Where shall I keep this sorrow? To whom shall I speak of you? 

"What?" he asks, looking into her eyes, the splendidly selfish woman nowhere to be found in them anymore. 

"Samajh nahi paoge, Shaurya," she sighs, kissing him gently. You won't understand, Shaurya. 

"Mujhe bhi toh koi nahi samajhta," he says sadly against her lips. "Dad ko bahut dukh pahucha tha, jab Gauri hume chhod ke chali gayi, unke baat pe hi shaadi hua tha." Nobody understands me either. Dad had been devastated when Gauri left us; he had been the one who had gotten us married. 

"Apne Dad se bahut pyar karte ho?" she asks, stroking his slightly damp hair. Do you love your dad a lot? 

"Unko kabhi khush nahi kar paya, Tia, unho ne kabhi mere waja se smile nahi kiya, all I have managed to do is let him down," he says, tears in his eyes now. I could never make him happy, Tia; he never smiled because of me...

"Aparajita," she says after a moment, looking into his eyes. "O-po-ra-ji-ta." 

"Pardon?" he asks. 

"My name. It's Aparajita," she sighs. He strokes her cheek, skin soft under his rough fingers. 

"Like the flower," he smiles, tears spilling from his eyes, and she wipes them. 

"I am sure your dad loves you," she says softly, kissing his forehead. 

"I wouldn't be so sure," he says in a low and shaky voice. 

"You know," she starts, stroking his hair. "Parents see us in almost the same way that God does if a God exists. Their gaze strips us of all our sins; they see us naked and vulnerable, a victim of circumstance, because it is actually everlasting love they feel for their own flesh and blood. When your father looks at you, he does not see an accumulation of your mistakes; he sees his son, his baby. He is always forgiving you, over and over." 

"You really believe that?" he asks, a childish desperation in his voice. He would have cringed at himself had he been an onlooker, but in bed with her, he feels weak. 

"I wouldn't say it to you if I didn't," she smiles, and his lips quirk up too. 

"You feel like a dream," he admits. "Tumhe lagta hoga ki yeh kya bakwas baatein kar raha hai, but really, Aparajita, you are so soft, so gentle, so unbelievably gorgeous. It feels so nice when I am with you; I feel like a fraction of the man my father had expected I would be." You might think I am speaking some nonsense...

She says nothing in response, closing her eyes, her hand warm on his back. Because what is she to say? There are boundaries even prostitutes cannot cross; she cannot be his lover, she knows, she had known since the first day. And she has accepted her fate; she had the moment she had entered this line of work. Unfortunately, Shauryaman Gaur does not possess the skill of compartmentalisation as her.

A/N: this story has three chapters remaining btw hehe

Ofc lmk if you want to be added or removed

I feel like telling you all some stories

My moms side of family is very unusual ngl like actually they tell such random and weird stories so gotta share some with you guys

Before that lemme tell you some actual nicknames my dads side of people have

Tinda

Daadu (frog)

Paad (fart)

Pau (alcohol smth)

Kali mami/mama (because they are black)

Patna (someone said her face looks like patna so they named her patna?)

Fefda

Chiji aali dadi (nobody knows her name she brings chiji everytime she comes we js all call her chiji aali dadi)

I dont remember more

My nani used to curse alot and i mean it like actually curse alot she was very protective of her hair all girls are when my mom was young she saw her mom struggling with long hair every morning while getting ready for job💔 my mom was kid back then she decided to cut her moms hair in her sleep so nani wouldnt have to struggle every morning but my nani woke up when my mom was abt to cut nanis hair and my mom got yelled at💔💔💔

MY MOM IS OPPOSITE OF NANI my mom is sweetest person ever also kind of dumb i mean it but we are related and im alot like her ig because we both cant study sm💔

my youngest mama said a monkey bit him on head when he was a kid and my mom says nothing like this ever happened but my mama was fighting like a lawyer trying to prove that a monkey did bite him on head

My moms youngest chachu got some magical powers from kali mata(or chandi or amba ? Im not sure) because he used to take care of devi mandir and he was with pandit who worshipped her during pandits last moment so pandit gave his powers to her chachu im not sure how it works but almost everyone said he had something like he could do things and he even left family

A family used to live on rent and my mom was a kid at that time so yk how old houses are made big veranda and all that was type of house my nana nani had (still have same house they passed away so mama mami live here now) so on kesh snan day when you are supposed to wash your hair that aunty who lived on rent would bath her boys WITH A STEEL LOOFAH not even a loofah guys it was thing use to clean dished like r y serious

My nani had govt job and nana had his own business thingy my youngest mama and mom have a huge agegap so when nani nana were on work my would take care of him he must be like very tiny winy baby at that time and there was lady living on rent who would call my mom to her place when mama would sleep and ask her to make vermicelli with her like yk how u make it with maida one day mama woke up and mom had to go down to take care of her baby brother SHE IS LAZY SHE IS NOT MY MOM FOR NO REASON so she would always pinch mama when he was sleeping before going to help that lady with making vermicelli so that he would cry and she wouldn’t have to work

Also mom decided to start her own small business back when she was a teen she would send youngest papa because he was easy to manipulate

She would send him to juice shop to get orange, pomegranate etc etc peels so she can dry them and make into some sort of face pack her parents supported but prices were too high nobody brought it

Also mama ji had a jhota 🐂 chase after him while he was getting fruit peels for her ✌🏼

My mom is eldest so mama who is younger than her mama no. 1 also 2nd one is youngest so not much lore about him he is very nonchalant ig

This Sunday. I am free.

Requirements to be my partner:

Good food everyday - no lauki, aloo. Etc.. (I can't and won't cook)

Do house chores with and for me (main kapde nahi dhoungi)

Baki main gareeb hoon abhi toh uss hisab se hi shaadi karna mujhse🥲🥲

Done ho jayega doctor sahiba.

Ji mein bhi amir toh nahi. Uni fees bohot zyada hai 😭..

HEAVY SMUT 18+ MDNI

Masterlist

Chapter 1

The monsoon rain batters against his umbrella as he walks into the cafe. Places said umbrella amongst the others before he scans the place, and there she is, clad in a baby-pink chiffon sari and a sleeveless white blouse, nursing a cup of tea in the far left corner of the place. Gingerly walks to her, scanning her face. He does not know what he had been expecting, but she exceeds it all; something about her pulls him close. 

"Tia?" he asks, standing in front of her, and she looks up with a smile. 

"Yes," she says, and he takes the seat opposite her. 

"I like the sari," he says, watching her take a sip of her tea before he takes the cup from her hand, puts his mouth over where the lipstick stain is and takes a sip, not breaking eye contact. 

"Thanks," she smiles, looking at him intently. "Where are we going then?" she asks. 

"Debating between the Courtyard and the Taj," he hums, putting the empty cup back down. "What's the bill for the tea?" 

"I added it to my fees," she says with a polite smile, picking her bag up. "Now, let's go?" He nods, getting up and offering a hand, which she takes. 

He ends up driving her to the Taj, opening the door for her, watching the elegance in her movement as she steps out and notices the strappy white heels on her bony feet. Closes the door and offers her his arm, and she snakes her own around. 

He walks up to the reception desk; he has been here countless times, and thus he need not say a single word. The receptionist wordlessly books him a private suite for the day, the charge going to his tab. He nods, a smile of mutual understanding on his lips. She follows him wordlessly, a polite smile plastered on her face.

Once in the room, he locks the door behind him and then turns to face her, a predatory smile on his lips. 

"Undress for me. Slowly," he hums. "Then sit yourself pretty on your calves on the carpet at the edge of the bed, facing it." She obeys willingly, the sari coming off pleat by pleat; she is meticulous, folding it neatly and placing it on the sofa. 

She turns around, her back to him, then glances back at him. "Help?" she asks. He steps closer and undoes the tie of her blouse and unhooks the back. She takes it off, his hand ghosting over the straps of her bra before he unhooks it too, his palm flat and warm between her shoulder blades, his fingers brushing against the bone. 

"You have a gorgeous body," he whispers in her ear. She leans back against him a moment, her head going back before she straightens and begins to untie her petticoat, shimmying it down her hips and it pools on the floor. Steps out of it and away from him, sliding her panties down her legs. 

He watches in a trance for a moment before he catches her by the waist, pulling her close. "Scratch the previous instructions," he says, her naked back against his clothed front. "I want you to tell me how much you want me. How much you need me. Can you do that for me, Tia?" She nods, touching his sleeve where his arm is wrapped around her waist, and it pleases him greatly to have this much power over a woman who looks like that. 

"I really need it," she says in a low voice; everything in him aches to give it to her. His stupid, animalistic desire wants her badly. 

"Get on the bed," he breathes out, and she does, lying down. He kneels between her legs, still dressed, looking down at her. 

"You can do whatever you want to me, anything you wish to do, you can," she says breathily, her eyes wanton. Either she is very attracted to him, or she is one hell of an actress. He pushes that thought to the back of his head. 

"You're stunning," he says, tracing her raised cheekbone, unable to resist the smile on his lips. He feels truly desired by her, a beautiful woman underneath him. He reaches between her open legs, her cunt wet and open for him. 

"You can do anything you want to me," she repeats, moaning a little at the intrusion of his fingers in what he thinks is the tightest cunt he has come across. He could do anything, he thinks. Flip her over onto her stomach, push her face into the pillow, hurt her a little, make her take his cock and all his weight, tell him how he is breaking her. Degrade her. Ruin her. But he cannot bring himself to. And it shocks him. Because that is not in his nature at all. 

"I know," he says, fingering her for a moment before he draws away to undress himself. She props herself up on her elbows, waiting and watching. Once he is naked as well, he grabs a condom from the nightstand and rips it open, sliding the rubber onto his hardening cock. 

He gets on top of her, and she opens her mouth to be kissed. He does. Her soft passivity does something to him he cannot exactly understand. She closes her eyes as if she is embarrassed, which is normal; she is new to it all. 

"You can use me, just do whatever you want, you can hurt me, you can," she tells him in a low voice. He breathes out; he had asked for this. 

Does not respond. Instead, pushes his cock inside, slowly, halfway inside before she cries out. The soft sinking feeling of penetrating her is so peaceful; he could stand to fall asleep. Once he is fully inside, he rests a moment, his eyes closed in contentment, the flutter of her breath underneath him doing heaps for his ego. 

"Do you find it okay?" she asks, so docile and yet the anxiety of performance which plagues her is so evident in her eyes. 

He strokes her cheek, moving her hair away from her cheek, and then he kisses her. "You're good, it's good," he assures her, so uncharacteristic of him; he knows. Something about her draws out his charitable side. 

When he begins to move inside her, she cries out again, an almost wailing sound which goes right to his core. "Oh God, oh God!" Her sheer receptivity, her openness, her knees pulled up to her chest as she allows herself to be used like this. Her reactions tell him that she wants it too, to a certain degree. 

He fucks her harder now, his hips moving at a harsh pace now. He feels powerful simply due to the fact that she is underneath him, wanting only to please him, entirely in his power now to play with if he pleases, like a doll. She is frightened but not of him, only of disappointing him. 

"Is it okay?" she asks again. "Do you like it? You can hurt me." Her breaths are shallow, a look of sheer desperation in her big doe eyes. 

He kisses her mouth and then a line down her throat; her neck is ten kisses long, he discovers. "Do you like it?" he asks unexpectedly because why would it matter at all? He is paying for her time and her body; it should not matter what she thinks of the experience at all. But he cares anyway. 

She looks at him with a look of intense gratitude as he properly positions himself on top of her again, beginning to fuck her harder now; her expression alone fills him with a strange sort of intense heat. He is close but wants her closer. 

He reaches down and rubs her clit, a few moments before she finishes, gasping for air. "Fuck," she moans. "I'm sorry." He finishes at that moment as well, the way she clenches around him enough to drive him over the edge, filling the condom before he collapses on top of her. 

"Did you like it?" she asks again, rubbing his back with her soft hand as his breathing returns to normal, his face against her breast. He has not had sex like this in ages; perhaps he has never experienced it, and if he has, he does not remember. 

"It was very nice," he murmurs. "I want to see you more often." 

"That can be arranged," she hums, stroking his hair. 

"What do I owe you?" he asks, looking up at her. Feels strangely vulnerable in doing so. 

"Fifty-five thousand," she says, and he nods. She is expensive; he knows that. But it is also pocket change for him. "But should I charge separately for cuddles?" she adds teasingly. 

He laughs, shaking his head. "I would pay for it if that's what you're asking," he chuckles. 

"Okay, then pay what you think is fair for the cuddles," she laughs, her chest vibrating under his cheek. 

"Mh, yeah, I'll wire you the money," he says. "Awkward dealing in that much cash." He takes his phone out, opening his banking app. "Put your details in." She takes his phone, typing. 

"Why'd you say you only deal in cash?" he asks, and she shrugs, giving his phone back to him. 

"Most clients are married, and wives find paper trails," she says dismissively. "To protect the institution of marriage, I suppose." 

He laughs, shaking his head. "My divorce had been a rather public affair, Tia." 

"I don't know, maybe you have a steady girlfriend," she laughs. 

"I've had enough of commitment and women nagging," he chuckles. She sighs, lying back. Her phone buzzes. The money has been transferred, but she does not check. Lies there with him, letting him use her body for something far more intimate than sex- comfort. 

A/N: So I actually cannot write two stories together, I've tried so I will finish this one before I get back to Losing Streak

Ofc lmk if you want to be added or removed from the taglist

All rights belong to the rightfull onwers.

Reader discretion.

This story deals with grey people. Mature themes are explored in the story. Don't get inspired them and do it in real life. This is a fictional story.

Shauryaman Gaur (25) x Y/n Mehra (19)

Pairing: Pritam Parker x Female Reader

Tropes: Forced Proximity, Protector MMC, Hurt/Comfort, Sudden Romance

Synopsis: When your toxic ex-boyfriend hacks your phone and threatens to delete your unreleased romance manuscript, you go to the Goa Cyber Crime Cell for help. The office is a chaotic mess, but you meet Pritam, a quiet tech genius who instantly takes charge of the situation. With your manuscript on the line, he takes total control of the situation to protect you. What starts as a terrifying, high-stakes race against the clock turns into the unexpected beginning of a real-life romance.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. This fanfiction is based on the character of Pritam Parker, portrayed by Vir Hirani from the web series Pritam & Pedro, created by Rajkumar 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.

Your life was supposed to be about fictional happily-ever-afters, not real-life psychological thrillers. As a successful romance novelist, your entire career—your upcoming manuscript drafts, your social media accounts with thousands of readers, your personal emails, your banking—was tied to your phone.

And right now, it was completely compromised.

Your ex, a bitter, controlling nightmare who couldn't handle the breakup, had somehow installed spyware on your phone. He was currently text-bombing your phone screen-which is completely black, threatening to wipe your unfinished book, leak your private drafts, and tank your reputation by releasing your private photos, before the publisher's deadline if you didn't meet him tonight.

Panic-stricken, you had ended up at the Goa Cyber Crime Cell, which currently felt less like a police station and more like a fish market.

"Arey Pritam! Kahaan mar gaya? Look at this! The mouse is not moving again! Yeh tera modern technology bilkul bakwaas hai!"

Inspector Pedro Gonsalves was currently slamming a perfectly functional computer mouse against his desk like he was trying to tenderize meat.

Sitting a few feet away, practically slumped into a plastic chair, was Pritam Parker. He looked exhausted, his hair a messy bird’s nest, absentmindedly clicking a pen. At this point, he is regretting his entire life decisions that brought him In the radar of Pedro sir.

"Pedro sir, please," Pritam sighed, not even looking up. "If you keep hitting it, obviously it won't work. It’s a mouse, sir, hathoda nahi hai."

"Don't give me attitude, haan? Yahaan pure Cyber Cell ka mazaak bana ke rakha hai," Pedro grumbled, finally noticing you standing by the doorway, trembling slightly as you held out your completely blacked-out phone. "Yes? Bolo, madam. What happened? Someone steal your phone?"

"No," you said, your voice shaking slightly. "My ex... he hacked it. He has everything. My emails, my banking, my pictures, my unreleased manuscript. He’s threatening to delete my entire career and release all my pictures by midnight if I don't meet him."

Pedro blinked and pointed a dramatic finger at Pritam. "Pritam! Uth. Tere vacuum cleaner ki sales chor. Look at this."

Pritam rolled his eyes, adjusting his hair that kept falling on his forehead, muttering under his breath. But the moment his eyes met yours, his sarcastic expression completely faltered. He stopped mid-stride. The absolute vulnerability and fear in your eyes hit him instantly, stirring a protective instinct he didn't even know he had.

"Give it to me," he said gently, taking the phone from your hand. His fingers brushed against yours, sending a sudden, unexpected spark through the tension in the room.

Pritam plugged the phone into his rig. Within ten seconds of typing, his eyes darkened behind his lenses.

"This bastard used a custom stalkerware app," Pritam muttered, a dangerous edge creeping into his voice. "He’s mirroring your screen in real-time. He can see your location, your front camera, everything."

"Kya mirror? English mein bol," Pedro yelled, peering over Pritam’s shoulder. "Can we arrest this badmaash or not?"

"Sir, aap do min shaant baitho na," Pritam snapped mildly, turning his attention entirely to you. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a protective whisper so Pedro wouldn't interrupt. "Listen to me. He thinks he’s smart because he bought a cheap spy script online. Infact, right now he can see us and hear us very well. But he just pissed off the wrong guy."

Pritam looked directly into your eyes, his dark eyes intense and completely focused on you. "He’s tracking this phone's GPS. If you go home, he’ll know. For tonight, you're staying with me-I mean us- where I can monitor the network and secure everything. Main hoon na. Kuch nahi hone dunga."

Before you could reply, a loud notification chimed on Pritam's monitor. Your ex had just sent a new message: I see you're at the police station, darling. Wrong move.

The monitor flickered, showing a new text string popping up directly from your mirrored phone layout: You think these local cops can help you? 10 minutes. Turn around and walk out, or I press delete on the drive. Let's not even forget your pictures. Acting innocent in front of everyone is not going to save you when I release those pictures. Everyone will know who you are, you bitch.

The casual, mocking tone of the threat made your stomach twist. Your entire career, three years of research, drafts, and your upcoming release—everything was sitting on a cloud drive he had compromised. You don't even care about the pictures- they are not even that bad or compromising. Just some selfies you clicked in the mirror wearing your lingerie and some pictures you clicked on the private beach you went with your ex on a vacation, in a bikini. You were more worried about your career than anything else.

Pritam’s hands froze over the keyboard. The bored, sluggish posture he had maintained all afternoon vanished instantly. He didn't crack a joke; his jaw tightened, and he stared at the flashing cursor on the screen with a quiet, sharp focus. No one threatens a woman like that on his watch. Who the fuck does he think he is-Pritam is sure he will find that bastard and bury him 6feet in the ground for talking to you like that.

"Ten minutes," you whispered, the reality hitting you. "He's not waiting until midnight. Pritam, he’s actually going to do it."

Pedro leaned over the desk, squinting at the monitor, his loud demeanor dialing back slightly as he saw the genuine panic on your face. "Yeh toh bohot bada harami hai. Pritam, trace the location immediately. Kahaan baitha hai yeh saala?"

"Sir, phone track nahi kar sakte, he's routing the ping through three different VPN layers," Pritam said, his voice dropping into a tense, rapid monotone. He didn't look up, his fingers moving across the keys with an urgent, rhythmic precision. "If I try a brute-force trace right now, the system will flag the intrusion and trigger the remote wipe automatically. He designed it to delete everything if anyone tries to break the encryption."

You took a step back, pressing the palm of your hand against your forehead. "Then let me just go. I'll talk to him. If I just get him to stop—"

"No," Pritam said, his voice cracking slightly with an unexpected sharpness. He finally looked up from the screen, turning fully toward you. The irritation he usually carried in this office was completely gone, replaced by a raw, protective seriousness. "You going there won't change anything. People like him don't stop just because you ask them to. Aaj tum uske paas wapas jaugi to kaal wo phirse kuch naya tarika dhundega tume harass karne ke liye."

He reached out, his hand hovering over yours for a brief second before he gently caught your wrist to stop you from turning toward the door. His touch was warm, grounding against your cold skin.

"Look at me," he said quietly, ignoring Pedro entirely. "Listen to me. Usse lagta hai ki uske paas control hai because he has a digital lock on your files and pictures. But every lock has a flaw. I just need you to buy me five minutes. Can you do that?"

"How?" your voice was barely a whisper.

"Text him back from my system. Tell him you're leaving the station now, but the police are making you sign a form. Keep him typing. The moment he starts replying, his data packets will sustain a connection, and I can bypass the trigger." He looked straight into your eyes, his gaze steady and intense. "Mujh par bharosa rakho. Ek bhi file delete nahi hone dunga."

Pedro clapped a heavy hand on Pritam’s shoulder, looking between the two of you. "Theek hai, madam, do what he says. Pritam jab seriously kaam karta hai, toh achhe achhon ki bolti bandh ho jaati hai. Start typing, I'll get the vehicle ready."

Your fingers trembled as Pritam pulled up the messaging interface for you, his shoulder brushing against yours as he leaned in to watch the screen, waiting for the countdown to begin.

Your breath hitched as you stared at the blank text box on Pritam’s monitor. The cursor blinked rhythmically, a tiny, digital heartbeat counting down your life.

"What do I even say to him?" you asked, your voice tight. "If he senses I’m stalling, he’ll just do it. That asshole knows me too well."

Pritam leaned down, his face close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek. He smelled faintly of old paper and black coffee. "Type exactly what he expects to hear. He wants to feel powerful right now. Give him that illusion. Tell him you’re terrified, you’re leaving the station, but the inspector is making you sign a property release form for your phone."

You nodded, your fingers hovering over the mechanical keyboard. You typed out the words in Hinglish, the way you used to text him when things were normal: Please don't do anything. I'm leaving. Ek inspector hai yahaan, he's making me sign a stupid form before letting me take my phone back. Baas mujhe 5 minutes do, I'm coming outside.

"Send it," Pritam muttered, his eyes glued to a secondary terminal displaying raw data streams.

You hit enter. The silence in the cramped, dusty office was deafening. Pedro was uncharacteristically quiet, standing by the door, jingling his jeep keys with a tense, low rhythm.

For thirty agonizing seconds, nothing happened. Then, the three dots appeared.

Typing...

"Got you," Pritam whispered under his breath. His eyes were wide, sharp, tracking lines of code like he's on a war mission. "He’s replying. The connection is stable. Keep him going."

A message popped up: You have exactly 4 minutes now. Main gate ke baahar rukh, don't try to be smart.

"Pritam, his typing speed is fast, he's using a laptop, not a phone," you noticed, your writer's instinct picking up on the pacing. "He’s stationary somewhere close."

"Exactly," Pritam said, his fingers flying across the keys so fast the clacking sounded like gunfire in the small room. "He’s using a local cellular tower relay. He’s within a one-kilometer radius of this station. Probably sitting in a car nearby."

He hit a heavy stroke on the enter key. A localized map of the neighborhood bloomed onto his screen, a red circle shrinking rapidly over a grid of streets.

"Pedro sir," Pritam called out, his voice sharp and authoritative. "Corner of 4th Street, near the old bakery. A parked car with a single occupant. He’s routing through the bakery’s open Wi-Fi to mask his IP."

"Saala, mere area mein aake chutiyaapa kar raha hai?" Pedro’s face hardened. He pointed at you, then at Pritam. "Pritam, lock this system down. Madam, you stay right here with him. Main abhi iski khair nikalta hoon."

Pedro slammed the door behind him, his heavy boots echoing down the corridor as he rushed to the police jeep.

The sudden silence in the room felt heavy. The monitor showed a progress bar: Isolating Cloud Server... 74% Complete.

You let out a breath you felt like you’d been holding for months, your shoulders slumping. "Is it... is it working?"

Pritam didn't answer immediately. He reached over, his hand gently covering yours where it still rested on the keyboard. His palm was warm, slightly calloused, and completely steady. He guided your hand away from the keys, locking his fingers with yours for just a second before letting go to hit the final command.

"The remote wipe protocol is completely disabled," Pritam said softly, turning his chair to face you fully. The intense, hardened look in his eyes softened as he looked at your face. "Your manuscript, your accounts... everything is safe. Maine bola tha na, kuch nahi hone dunga."

You looked at him, noticing the faint dark circles under his eyes, the absolute sincerity in his expression. For a guy who looked like he barely managed his own life, he had just saved yours without hesitation.

"Thank you," you said, your voice thick with genuine emotion. "Seriously, Pritam. I don't know what I would have done."

A faint, slightly awkward flush crept up Pritam’s neck. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away for a split second before looking back at you with a small, quiet smile. "It's fine. Mera kaam hai. But... your ex is an idiot. Anyone who knows you and claims to love you will never let you go and even if he does, will never call you such names and threaten to ruin your career."

Before you could process the sudden intimacy of the moment, the walkie-talkie on the desk crackled to life with Pedro's loud, static-filled voice: "Pritam! Saale ko pakad liya hai! He was sitting in the back of a taxi with a laptop. Madaam ko bahar le aa, let's finish the paperwork!"

The tension that had been gripping your chest for the past hour finally dissolved, leaving behind a wave of pure relief. You let out a shaky laugh, burying your face in your hands for a brief second.

Pritam didn't move away. He stayed right there, his shoulder brushing against yours in the small, cramped space of the Cyber Cell desk. He reached out and unplugged your phone from the main terminal, handing it back to you. The screen was no longer black; the familiar, comforting wallpaper of your lock screen- a Taylor Swift collage wallpaper from the Eras tour-was back to normal.

"He's done," Pritam said, his voice quiet and steady against the background noise of the police station. "Ab kuch nahi kar payega woh. Pedro sir will make sure he spends the night—and probably the next few months—explaining himself to a judge."

You took the phone, your fingers lightly brushing against his. "I don't even know how to thank you. If he had deleted that drive... that was literally a year of my life."

Pritam looked down at the keyboard, a small, self-deprecating smile catching the corner of his lips. He shuffled his feet, suddenly looking more like the quiet tech guy who preferred code over people. "It's fine, really. Tumhari stories toh safe hain na? That’s what matters." He paused, looking back up, his dark eyes surprisingly intense. "Though... I did see a few folder names while the data was transferring."

Your heart skipped a beat. "You did?"

"Yeah," he murmured, a faint, teasing glint in his eyes. "'Draft 4', 'Draft Final', 'Draft Final_FINAL' I didn't open it, obviously. But... do your main characters usually get into this much trouble like their writer?"

"Usually, it's just emotional drama and much more romance than one can digest," you admitted, the color rising to your cheeks. "Not high-stakes cyber stalking."

"Good. Because real life has enough of that," he said softly.

Before the conversation could stretch into something deeper, the heavy wooden door of the office swung open. Inspector Pedro walked in, sweating slightly from the Goa heat but looking thoroughly pleased with himself. He tossed a heavy backpack onto the spare table—the ex's laptop bag.

"Chalo, matter closed!" Pedro announced, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. "He was trying to hide the laptop under the car seat, saala. But I told him, 'Beta, Pedro Gonsalves se bhaag nahi sakta.' Shindhe, write the FIR draft. Madam, aapko ek statement sign karni padegi, then you are free to go."

You stood up, smoothing down your clothes, suddenly realizing how exhausted you actually were. "Thank you, Inspector Gonsalves. I really appreciate everything you did."

"Arey, don't thank me, thank this champ," Pedro said, thumping Pritam hard on the back, making him wince and stumble forward a half-step toward you. "If he hadn't tracked the tower relay within two minutes, we would still be searching for that haramkhor. Dimag toh hai iske paas, bas use nahi karta time pe."

Pritam adjusted his sleeves, throwing Pedro a look of mild irritation. "Sir, statement fill up karwao please. She needs to go home and rest."

"Haan, haan, correct," Pedro muttered, rummaging through a drawer for something and asking Shindhe about the forms.

While Pedro was distracted, you turned back to Pritam. He was already leaning against the desk again, the adrenaline fading, returning to his usual slumped posture. But the way he was looking at you hadn't changed.

"So," you said quietly, stepping closer so Pedro wouldn't hear. "Since you saved my entire writing career... do you think you’d ever want to read that draft? The one you didn't open? The final final one?"

Pritam blinked, caught off guard. A genuine, unscripted flush crept up his neck, contrasting sharply with the confident hacker who had just dismantled a network encryption five minutes ago. He rubbed the back of his neck, a small, genuine smile breaking across his face.

"Only if it has a good ending," he said, his voice dropping an octave.

"I'm a romance writer, Pritam," you smiled, feeling a flutter in your chest that had absolutely nothing to do with fear. "They always have a good ending."

"Then yeah," he murmured, his eyes locked onto yours, completely ignoring the chaotic filing sounds Pedro was making behind him. "Mujhe padhna hai. Send it to me. I'll make sure it's the safest file on the internet."

Three months later, the Goa Cyber Crime Cell was exactly the same—dusty monitors, the smell of damp files, and the ambient noise of Inspector Pedro Gonsalves losing his mind over an Excel sheet.

"Pritam! Yeh double click kyun nahi ho raha hai? I am pressing it twice, crashed toh nahi ho gaya system?" Pedro bellowed, slamming his index finger onto the mouse with enough force to break the plastic.

Pritam didn't even look up from his screen. He was sitting in his usual slumped posture, wearing the same faded blue shirt and loose tie, but his expression was entirely different. He was smiling. A quiet, genuine smile that had absolutely nothing to do with code.

"Sir, aap left-click ki jagah right-click kar rahe ho," Pritam said, his tone lazy but affectionate. "And please, mouse par reham kijiye."

"Don't teach me policing, haan! Apna kaam kar!" Pedro grumbled, though he quietly switched his finger and successfully opened the file.

You walked into the office carrying a tray with three cups of cutting chai and a small box of local sweets. The moment the door clicked, Pritam’s eyes snapped toward you. The bored, tired look he usually wore for the world instantly vanished, replaced by a warmth meant only for you.

"Look who is here! Humari star author!" Pedro beamed, instantly pushing his keyboard aside. "Madam, bataiye, how is the new book doing? I saw your post on that Instagram thing. Bohot log tareef kar rahe hain."

"It hit the bestseller list this morning, Pedro sir," you smiled, setting the tray down on the main table. "So I brought celebratory chai."

"Wow! Mithai bhi hai? Perfect!" Pedro grabbed a cup and a sweet, completely content. "Pritam, look at her. Itni badi author ban gayi hai, and look at you—still debugging selling vacuum cleaners and securing phones."

Pritam just rolled his eyes, standing up from his chair. He walked over to you, his eyes locked on yours. He didn't care about Pedro’s teasing; he was just looking at you with that quiet, intense pride that always made your heart skip a beat.

"Bestseller, huh?" he murmured, leaning against the edge of the table next to you. His shoulder brushed against yours, a familiar, grounding contact. "Congratulations. Maine bola tha na, tumne characters ke bichme chemistry ko pura fire likhi ho."

"You only read the drafts because you were checking them for malware," you teased softly, looking up at him through his glasses.

"Hey, after what happened, malware check karna zaruri tha," Pritam replied, a soft smirk playing on his lips. He reached down under the edge of the table, his fingers gently finding yours and locking them together, hidden from Pedro’s direct line of sight. His palm was warm and steady. "But seriously. I’m really happy for you."

"Arey, Pritam," Pedro interrupted, dusting sugar off his hands. "Go down to the main gate, the courier guy has the new security hard drives. Go verify the serial numbers. Jaldi ja."

Pritam sighed, letting go of your hand with evident reluctance. "Sir, two minutes..."

"No two minutes! Duty pe romance nahi chalega, chal uth!" Pedro barked, though there was a massive, knowing grin on his face. He wasn't blind; he’d watched Pritam transform from a cynical, detached kid into someone who fiercely protected your time together over the last three months.

Pritam adjusted his glasses, giving Pedro a look of mild defeat before turning back to you. "Wait for me outside? Ten minutes, max. Phir beachside wale uss cafe chalte hain."

"I'll be by the jeep," you smiled.

Ten minutes later, the humid Goa breeze was rustling the palm trees outside the station. You were leaning against the side of the old police vehicle when Pritam came jog-walking down the steps, his backpack slung over one shoulder, looking completely done with his shift.

The moment he reached you, he didn't hesitate. He stepped right into your space, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close, burying his face into the crook of your neck for a brief second.

"God, Pedro talks too much," he muttered, his voice muffled against your skin, making you laugh.

"He's just happy for us," you said, winding your arms around his neck, fingers tangling in the messy curls at the back of his head.

Pritam pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. The fading evening sun caught his deep brown eyes, making them sparkle, but his gaze was entirely clear, soft, and completely focused on you.

"I still can't believe the guy who fixed your phone ended up in the dedication page of a bestseller," he whispered, a genuine, slightly breathless smile on his lips.

"You didn't just fix my phone, love. You saved my life," you said softly, leaning in closer until your forehead rested against his. "And you're the best boyfriend a romance writer could ask for. Real-life main characters are hard to find."

Pritam chuckled, his hands tightening gently around your waist, pulling you completely against him. "Well, ab toh lock ho gaya hoon. No remote wipe can delete me from your life now."

"Good. Because I'm not planning on hitting delete," you whispered.

Pritam leaned down, his lips meeting yours in a sweet, lingering kiss right there in the quiet courtyard of the station. It was warm, real, and perfectly unscripted—the ultimate happy ending to a story that had started with a hacked screen and ended with the safest, happiest file in his heart.

HEYYYY GUYSSSS-SO MY FIRST TIME WRITING A FIC ON PRITAM ILOVEHIMSOMUCH-I REALLY WANT TO GOBBLE HIM UP- Anywaysssss pls do give a like and comment if you like it XOXO

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Chapter - 1

[The First Stand]

Coming to the present...

Today was no different.

Or so Madhura believed.

Like every other morning, she woke before sunrise. The kitchen lights were the first to glow inside the Banerjee apartment as she moved from one task to another without pause. Breakfast simmered on the stove, lunchboxes were packed, uniforms were ironed, and endless cups of tea disappeared as the household slowly came to life.

"Ditya, hurry up! You'll miss the bus."

Today wasn't an ordinary school day. It was Ditya's annual performance, which meant the school timings had been shifted earlier than usual. Madhura had set her alarm before dawn, hoping she'd somehow manage everything on time.

She didn't.

Between cooking, cleaning, helping Ditya get ready, searching for misplaced ribbons, and reminding her husband about a dozen little things, the morning slipped away faster than expected.

Then came Mumbai.

Packed buses.

Blaring horns.

Traffic that refused to move.

And, of course, Madhura nearly left her office files at home.

By the time she finally stepped into the Public Prosecutor's office, she let out a tired sigh before adjusting the strap of her handbag.

"Good morning, ma'am."

"Morning, ma'am."

Her colleagues and junior lawyers greeted her warmly as they passed by.

"Good morning," she smiled back.

Before she could even reach her desk, her junior, Namit, appeared beside her with a grin.

"Ma'am... late again?"

Madhura looked at him dramatically before dropping her bag onto the desk.

"Oh, don't even ask."

Everyone nearby looked up, already expecting another story.

"Today was Ditya's school performance, so the school timings were earlier. I woke up before sunrise thinking I'd be perfectly on time." She let out an exhausted laugh. "Then there was breakfast, lunch, cooking, cleaning... and just when I thought I had won the battle, Mumbai traffic reminded me who's actually in charge."

The room settled back into its usual rhythm as everyone returned to work.

A soft ripple of laughter passed through the room.

Madhura adjusted her spectacles, opened the stack of files waiting on her desk, and immersed herself in paperwork.

Just another ordinary day.

Or so she thought.

•••

A few hours later...

The afternoon sun hung lazily above the city.

Madhura sat alone at a small roadside café after finishing some paperwork nearby. A steaming cup of tea rested beside a buttered bun on a steel plate.

For a brief moment, the chaos of the day seemed to pause.

Her phone vibrated across the table.

Namit Calling.

She answered.

"Hello?"

"Hello, ma'am."

"Yes, Namit?"

"Ma'am... there's a case."

She took another sip of tea.

"Alright. I'll come after some time."

There was a brief silence before Namit's voice returned, more serious this time.

"Ma'am... I think it's important."

Madhura frowned.

Important?

That wasn't a word Namit usually used.

She wasn't one of the city's celebrated prosecutors. The cases that landed on her desk were mostly routine disputes, thefts, minor assaults, or domestic matters—enough to keep her career moving, but nothing that ever made headlines.

Still...

Something in Namit's voice made her uneasy.

"...Okay," she finally replied, setting the cup down.

"I'll be there in a few minutes."

•••

The Public Prosecutor's Office.

Madhura hurried through the entrance, still carrying the lingering rush of the afternoon.

She walked down the familiar corridor before entering her cabin.

The moment she stepped inside, her pace slowed.

A woman sat quietly in the client's chair opposite her desk.

Madhura offered a polite nod before placing her files on the table and taking her seat.

Just then, Namit walked over.

"Ma'am," he said softly, "she's the client I told you about."

Madhura nodded without taking her eyes off the woman.

She looked to be in her mid-thirties.

Simple clothes.

No jewellery apart from a thin wedding chain.

Her hands rested lifelessly in her lap.

She wasn't crying.

She wasn't angry.

She simply looked... empty.

As though life had drained every emotion from her long before she had entered this room.

For a few silent seconds, the two women simply looked at one another.

Madhura gently folded her hands over the file in front of her.

"Tell me what happened."

And with that...

she said softly.

their conversation began to unfold...............

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