#donga x reader

The crisp Lyari air fluttered through my hair as I pulled out my clutcher from the side of my kurti, to pin it up. It was one of those rare evenings where the Baloch Haveli was allowed peace of its own, for everyone’s laughter to ring through its corridors and high ceilings. 

The closest circle of Sardaar’s gang, sat huddled around the verandah of the Baloch Haveli each nursing a cup of chai and the famed chaand biscuits of Sikander Bakery. 

The kids, along with Ulfat Baaji had gone on a much-awaited visit for a few days to her parents in Karachi. With a mostly empty haveli left to Uzair and I’s devices, it surely allowed us some time to indulge ourselves, undisturbed.

Rehman Bhai’s presence acted like a constant warning in the back of our minds, but it did not stop the extra time we’d steal before Uzair had to leave and I would have to sneak back out of the Haveli.

This train of thought led my eyes to the man in question, who was already looking at me with a soft smile, but something glinting in those soft brown eyes, mischief? Need?

Before I could even raise a brow to ask Uzair, my reverie was broken with Donga’s boisterous laughter, “NO WAY! HOW DID YOU EVEN CAPTURE THAT MONSTROSITY? YOU WILLINGLY GAVE UP YOUR EYESIGHT JUST TO TAKE THAT PICTURE? WAAH YAAR, MAN’NA PADEGA TUJHE TOH SIYAHI!”

As I looked at the phone in Siyahi’s hand, a particularly disgusting picture of his ex, Shagufta and her current boyfriend, locked in a heated embrace, graced my eyesight, earning a look of pure hatred and disdain at the pair. The former, having cheated on Siyahi, had been on the receiving end of all of our collective side-eyes for the last couple of weeks.

Sure, Siyahi might have been busy with the factory work and running from Balochistan to Lyari constantly, but that didn’t give her an excuse to cheat now, did it?

“Bhai, yeh toh sahi ka downgrade hai, sachme yaar! Kya bakchod pictures leta hai par tu bhi, matlab Donge ko bhi competition de raha hai ab kya?” Hamza chuckled, as he touched upon the very topic Donga received the most criticism or love for, depending on who you asked. His love for photography was a much-debated topic in the youth of Lyari and particularly in our group. It wasn’t the scenery or stills of this city, but rather the strange and frankly, disturbing quirks and situations of people that he liked to capture.

His gallery consisted of people drooling literally, in the middle of spitting out blood after a fight, Akhlaaq mid-sneeze, Sajid’s unfiltered yearning for SP Aslam, whispered conversations between the helpers in the Haveli and so on. It was rarely endearing and mostly unsettling. 

“Nahi yaar, Donge ko koi nahi hara sakta, mai bata raha hu, shayad Y/N ya Faizal bhi nahi” Siyahi stated. That drew everyone’s attention into the conversation. “Kya matlab Y/N ya Faizal nahi hara sakte? Tu yeh bol raha hai ki mere bacche bhi yeh Donge ke sangat me aake aisa ajeeb ajeeb tasveere kheechne lagi hai?!” Rehman Bhai exclaimed comically.

This prompted the current situation, the gang, scrolling through their collections, showing each other pictures and videos we’d taken of the others sleeping, mid-screaming or simply embarrassing themselves.

Hamza sat next to me, looking through the folder in my gallery where I had taken photos of the gang mostly, unlike the other weirdos who shot (a/n: hehe) random people as well. As he scrolled past a particularly insane photo of Donga and Siyahi in a heated argument, that looked like they would kiss at any moment, he landed on a photo of Rehman Bhai staring daggers into the ledgers, trying to make sense of the entirely wrong calculations of one of the boys.

“Arre kya din tha Hamza voh, aisa lag raha tha ki ya toh book inhe kha jayegi, ya fir bhai book ko. Voh jo naya banda rakha tha na aapne, mai sahi bata rahi hu, na credit ka c jaanta hai na debit ka d. Isse achha toh aap Uzair ko hi karne dete bhai, mai bata rahi hu. Unse accha koi nhi karta finances.”

As I continued ranting, consciously trying to fluster Uzair while ensuring I don’t give us away too much, Hamza swiped to the last photo in the folder. A loud squeak left him, “Y/N??!! UZAIR??!!” 

I turned to tell him off for cutting my rant, and shit.

There sat, one of my best works, a picture of Uzair frickin Baloch, manspread, hair mussed, eyes glassy, and his kurta torn. His neck and chest- a true masterpiece from my ministrations from one of our shared evenings. Littered with dark and forming hickeys across the expanse of his shoulders, neck, pecs, and his abs, all prettily arranged, highlighted by the glow of the low lit lightbulbs across his room. 

Every single detail, his hazed lust-filled eyes, the tent of his pants with a dark patch on his thigh, his nose highlighted with remnants of the white powder, my bra hanging over the edge of the bed in the background, was so clearly on display to every single person there and all I heard was the sharp inhale Uzair took.

fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK (a/n: literally. I wish.)

“I- I can explain, I promise-” I squeaked out, turning to Rehman Bhai, “EXPLAIN? I THINK THIS PICTURE SPEAKS LOUD ENOUGH FOR BOTH YOU AND MY DEAR BROTHER DON’T YOU THINK??” He burst out. “Since when, Uzair?”

“Bhai, mai bata raha hu na, humein explain toh karne di jiye, plea-”

“KAB SE UZAIR? HUMEIN KAHA NHI GAYA KYA TUM DONO SE? EK BAAR BHI? ULFAT SE? HAMZE SE?”

“BHAI MAI USSE PYAAR KARTA HU, VOH MUJH SE KARTI HAI, HUM NIKKAH KARENGE BUT ABHI HUME THODA TIME CHAHIYE. HUM EK DUSRE KO JAAN RAHE HAI, PLEASE PARESHAN MAT HOIYE AUR ULFATBHABHISEBACHALENAPLSPLSPLS” He stopped to take a breath, when Hamza burst out laughing. “Chal Donga, paise nikal, mai jeet gaya, bola tha na, iss mahine toh kuch na kuch inke kaand nikal hi aayenge”

My head whipped around so fast, I wanted to smack this stupid ass over the head, “KYA?! TUMNE HUMPE SHART LAGAYI THI? HAMZE KE BACCHE RUK TU AB” as I got up to chase him through the verandah. Just as I was about to cross Uzair, his long arms pulled me flush down on his lap and held me in place with a strong grip around my waist. “Ruk jaao, jaana, isko toh hum saath me dekh lenge, pehle bhai se nipat le, fir bhabhi se bhi toh bachana hai inhe humko.” he whispered as he placed a kiss to the side of my head.

“Hmmph! Theek hai, jaan, magar pehla strike uss par mera” I whisper back with a kiss of my own to his forehead.

“Ho gya tumhara yeh chumma-chaati? Aur kitna jaanoge ek dusre ko ab, Uzair? Bhabhi ko aane do, tum dono ki toh khair nahi!”