𝑛𝑖𝑔𝑎ℎ-𝑒-𝑛𝑎𝑧

𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪 𝘢𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘩𝘰𝘯 𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘢 𝘥𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘺𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘪 𝘳𝘢𝘬𝘩𝘢 𝘩𝘪 𝘬𝘺𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘪

[ishq-e-rehman]

𝕴𝖇𝖙𝖎𝖉𝖆- 𝖊- 𝕾𝖚𝖐𝖔𝖔𝖓

𝖎𝖓𝖆𝖗𝖆

𝖋𝖊𝖍𝖗𝖎𝖘𝖙- 𝖊- 𝖗𝖆𝖆𝖟 (masterlist)

𝖙𝖊𝖍𝖗𝖊𝖊𝖗-𝖊-𝖚𝖘𝖔𝖔𝖑 (rules and boundaries)

𝖉𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖔𝖗-𝖊-𝖎𝖑𝖙𝖎𝖏𝖆 (request guidelines)

[keshkanti]

Summary : Childhood friendship with Uzair blossoming into love.

a/n : Omg bhai thnku smmm for the love on the previous one 😭🫶🏻🫶🏻 ye lo ek aur 😈

Ehsas (part 2)

Three years had passed since then in familiar rhythm of Lyari.

​While you had cleared your exams and enrolled in a university, Uzair had taken a completely different path. College was never in the cards for him, instead, he had stepped right into his brothers business, tucked deep in the back alleys of the city, making replica firearms. The quiet boy who used to sit on the boundary wall had turned into a broad, solid man with oil stained fingers and the permanent scent of tobacco and grease clinging to his jackets.

​Your worlds were starting to look completely different on paper, but in reality, your mornings were still tied to his.

​"Uzair roz subah factor ke liye nikalta toh hai, wo drop kar diya karega. Humari bachi kyun akele bus ke dhakke khaye?" Ulfat had declared to your mother one morning, handing over a plate of hot parathas

​"Lekin bhabhi, uski apni masroofiyat hoti hai..." your mother had hesitated, wiping her hands on her dupatta.

​"Arey, kya masroofiyat?" Rehman’s voice cut through from the courtyard behind her. "Uzair gaadi nikalega, usse chhodkar factory chala jayega. Baat khatam."

​And so, every morning became a routine. You sitting in the passenger seat of his heavy jeep, chatting endlessly about your professors and assignments, while he quietly listened, navigating the lanes of Lyari, his hands steady on the steering wheel.

​Until today.

​Uzair was never late. He had never made you wait a single extra minute outside those university gates.

​He was already on his way, turning onto the main road just ten minutes before your classes were scheduled to end. The jeep was rumbling smoothly, his arm resting casually on the open window frame, when the engine suddenly gave a harsh, metallic sound. The steering wheel jerked under his hands, and with a loud clunk, the car died right in the middle of the road.

​"Abhi hona tha isse bhi ?" He muttered under his breath, slamming his palm against the steering wheel.

​He opened the heavy hood and stepped out into the afternoon heat. For fifteen long, frustrating minutes, he stood by the open engine, his hands diving into the machinery, fixing the plugs and adjusting the fuel line. His hands turned black with grease, sweat dripping down his temple, until the engine finally roared back to life with a rumble.

​He slammed the hood shut, wiped his forehead with the back of his arm, and slammed his foot on the gas, speeding down the road toward your campus, racing with an urgency.

​Meanwhile, you were standing near the university's main gate, holding your heavy binder and checking your phone.

​"Abhi tak yhi ho?" a smooth, familiar voice asked from behind you.

​You turned around to see Sameer. A guy from your department who had been lingering around your desk a little too often lately, walking up with an easy smile.

​"Nahi," you said, adjusting the strap of your heavy bag. "Wo mera padosi lene aata hi hoga. Pata nahi kahan reh gya."

What else could you call him other than a neighbour ?

​"Arey chhodna, dhoop kitni tez hai. Chalo, saamne se chai peeke aate hai, tab tak wo bhi aa jayega. Aur nahi aaya toh main drop kar doonga."

​"Nahi, Sameer, wo aata hi hoga-"

​"Ek chai hi toh hai," Sameer interrupted. He reached out, his hand resting near your shoulder to guide you through the crowd.

​You went with him in your usual oblivious way, failing to recognise the flirtatious edge in his posture.

​Just then, the familiar, low rumble of Uzair’s jeep echoed down the street. The heavy vehicle pulled up at the curb right in front of the gate, tires screeching softly.

​Uzair stepped out of the driver's side, shutting the heavy door behind him.

​Standing amidst the polished university students in his dark, grease-stained kurta and dusty boots, Uzair looked entirely out of place. But his eyes locked onto Sameer’s hand hovering near your shoulder, and a sudden wave of realization hit him right in the chest.

​You weren't a child anymore. You were growing up, stepping into a world he had no part in, and other men were starting to notice you. The way Sameer was looking at you was for sure not how normal friends do.

​A sharp, burning possessiveness surged through Uzair's veins. The voice in his head screamed that he was supposed to be the one who was supposed to walk beside you, hold your heavy bags, and keep you safe, just as he had done all these years.

​Uzair didn't hesitate. He cut through the crowd with heavy urgency.

​"Ghar chalein?" His low voice sliced straight through the chatter.

​You turned around in surprise. "Uzair! Tum... tum kahan the itni der ?"

​Sameer frowned at the sudden interruption, giving Uzair a glance before turning to you. "Ye kaun hai?"

​Uzair gave a threating glance to Sameer, stepping directly into the space between you two, his tall, broad frame completely blocking Sameer’s view of you, forcing him to take a step back

​Uzair reached out with his hand and firmly took your heavy binder and bag straight out of Sameer's grip.

"Uzair.. ye tum-" before you could finish pointing out his rude behaviour, Uzair immediately wrapped his warm, rough fingers around your wrist, firm, possessive, leaving no room for argument, and pulled you toward the passenger side of the jeep, opening the door for you.

​The drive back through the narrow alleys of Lyari was suffocating.

​Uzair kept both hands locked on the steering wheel, staring straight at the road, his jaw clenched tight.

​"Uzair, masla kya hai tumhara?" you finally snapped, turning to face him as he pulled the jeep into the narrow lane right between your two houses. "Tumne Sameer se us tarah baat kyun ki? Dost hai wo mera!"

​Uzair cut the engine, pushed the door open, and stepped out into the dusty heat.

​"Uzair, main tumse baat kar rahi hoon!" you shouted, stepping out right after him, slamming the car door shut.

​Uzair stopped dead in his tracks under the flickering streetlamp. He turned around to face you, his dark eyes burning with a raw intensity that made your breath hitch.

​"Wo tumhara sirf dost nahi ban raha tha!" Uzair spat out, his voice rough and laced with frustration.

​"Wo mera classmate hai!" you argued, taking a step closer, your heart starting to thump wildly against your ribs. "Tumhe kyun itna farq padta hai? Bolo na! Padosi hone ke naate? Ya kuch aur hai?"

You secretly hoped the latter would be true.

​Uzair stepped closer, leaning down slightly so his face was inches from yours. In the dim yellow light, his dark eyes looked heavy, exhausted, and completely exposed.

​"Tumhe waqai samajh nahi aata?" Uzair whispered, his voice trembling just a fraction as he gestured back toward the road. "Tumhe uski neeyat samajh nhi aati?"

​Uzair swallowed hard, his throat working as he stared down at you. For one terrifying second, the truth sat right on the tip of his tongue. He was in love with you, and seeing another man in your space was driving him insane.

​Then, the familiar wall slammed right back up.

​His insecurity about his violent life, his fear of ruining your bond, and his quiet hesitation pulled him right back into his shell.

​When he looked back at you, his expression had gone completely flat, cold, and fake.

​"Mujhe koi farq nahi padta wo kaun tha," Uzair said, his voice dropping into an emotionless tone. "Main tumhara padosi hoon... tumhara khayal rakhna mera kaam hai. Rehman bhai ne kaha tha tumhare sath rehne ko. Bas wahi kar raha hoon."

​You blinked, frozen in place, a sudden ache blooming behind your ribs. "Kya?"

​"Ghar jao," he muttered softly, refusing to .make eye contact.

​Uzair turned on his heel, walked up the steps of the Baloch Haveli, and went inside, shutting the door behind him.

​You were left standing alone in the dark alleyway, your chest aching, your mind a chaotic storm of confusion and anger. You scoffed at yourself realising how stupid you'd been to hope his possessiveness was a hint of his love....

Agle chapter mein fluff pakka 😇🫶🏻

Found this on Pinterest 😭😭

taglist : @abolitionistlawpluscoffee @spicywalagluabjamun @sahaar @goodnightkatherine @rutvii @mujhekoimarsbhejdo

[castielscaplan]

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updated August 9 2026. i am currently (very slowly, i mean) resorting the fluffy dialogue prompts into their respective lists.

PLEASE reblog if you use any of these/wanna share with your writer friends!!

No credit is necessary, just have fun!

[rehmanhatesdosa]

hey guys i dunno who cud use these prompts up so im just reblogging this and tagging a few writers i know @pavbhajisupremacist @prahelika-fics @mehfil-e-random @ishq-e-rehman @tojisloft @dilfconisuer

[ishq-e-rehman]

thank u for the tag hehe im highly flattered

[ishq-e-rehman]

Hey 👋 ishq e rooh is about which character?

hi hi thank u for the ask

its about rehman balochh and saira aziz dono boht cutu h(ill update masterlist so u can see the prologue)

[ishq-e-rehman]

ishq e rooh ka ch 1 soon yayy(maarna matt)

[ishq-e-rehman]

kkay i wanna start earning for basic purposes like idk college and going out and clothes and there isn't really an issue but i wanna stop depending on my parents for money. im not asking to earn ALOT but like 5-6k a month would be nice. i can do canva and stuff and obviously content and copy writing hehe so is there any way i can earn money? and if you suggest freelancing please do lmk where i can get clients coz ive been hard at it for a while noww tagging my loviess: (sorry for the random ass tag) @precioussophia @malekathesimp68 @carmenred28 @seasonofthenerd @kamalkafool @mainyahaankyunhoon @goodasaysboo @hereforfanfictionsfr @gulaabjamun08 @bobcuts-blog @stoicepochmaw @goodnightkatherine @mrgrungusthefrog @debsreads21 @obeythebutler @marvelfamily3000 @cloudmast @written-in-ishq @kisswithknife @carmenred28 @tojisloft @cloudmast @girllostinfictionworld @buchanana00 @sea-breeze-in-my-hair @judespoision @gehra-hua @main-apni-favorite-nahi-hoon @why-am-i-like-this-blog@desigurlie @ppinkitten @allthingsmythology @kitty-minnieee @fluffycheesecakey @work-of-procrastination @rosesandpeoniesthings@oinswiftie @mujhekoimarsbhejdo @itstiaofficial @mehfil-e-random

[ishq-e-rehman]

@pavbhajisupremacist @vakalatnelagadiye @willowsgoldenhour @nevereversaygoodbye @rutvii @rabbdaradio @peonies7002 @mysticalnightingale @abolitionistlawpluscoffee @itsrebexxa @gloriouspurpose01 @chai-ke-sath-parleg @sunf1over @heavenlit-34 @sarcastic-ravenpuff @maladaptive-anxiety @filmy-totoro @prahelika-fics @wtafananya @riddhi-on-break @pinkuuhibiscus @whereissanz @itsnotmai @immortalconfluxmuse @adityami @sheeulie @flwryyysh @maroonphase @carbonaramarinara @rini4everdreaming @rehmanhatesdosa @sahaar

[ishq-e-rehman]

kkay i wanna start earning for basic purposes like idk college and going out and clothes and there isn't really an issue but i wanna stop depending on my parents for money. im not asking to earn ALOT but like 5-6k a month would be nice. i can do canva and stuff and obviously content and copy writing hehe so is there any way i can earn money? and if you suggest freelancing please do lmk where i can get clients coz ive been hard at it for a while noww tagging my loviess: (sorry for the random ass tag) @precioussophia @malekathesimp68 @carmenred28 @seasonofthenerd @kamalkafool @mainyahaankyunhoon @goodasaysboo @hereforfanfictionsfr @gulaabjamun08 @bobcuts-blog @stoicepochmaw @goodnightkatherine @mrgrungusthefrog @debsreads21 @obeythebutler @marvelfamily3000 @cloudmast @written-in-ishq @kisswithknife @carmenred28 @tojisloft @cloudmast @girllostinfictionworld @buchanana00 @sea-breeze-in-my-hair @judespoision @gehra-hua @main-apni-favorite-nahi-hoon @why-am-i-like-this-blog@desigurlie @ppinkitten @allthingsmythology @kitty-minnieee @fluffycheesecakey @work-of-procrastination @rosesandpeoniesthings@oinswiftie @mujhekoimarsbhejdo @itstiaofficial @mehfil-e-random

[ishq-e-rehman]

delhi ki baarish thodi der hi romanticise ho skti h before u start drowning in it(literally)

[gloriouspurpose01]

Waapsi- (Pehla Pyaar)

(Part II)

This fic is in the same universe as my 1st fic, Pehla Pyaar. It was an angst fic, and I had left the ending sad. Recently, I started writing this fic to give my darling Jassi a happy ending (like he deserves). So this fic is for @hajmola-vs-aamchaska, who convinced me to write this with her sweet comments. This started as a one-shot, but this became too big (like most of my one-shots); thus, this is now a miniseries. This is part 2 of the series. Constructive criticism appreciated. This is not beta read, so if you guys find some typos/ errors, please feel free to correct me. Warnings: angst, fluff, identity crisis, multiple identities, unhealed trauma, pain and suffering, first love, second chance at first love, unsaid feelings.

PS: In this universe Zayan doesnot exist. Yalina came to know Hamza's truth a few months into their wedding and Hamza came clean to her. He later sent her to Canada for her medical studies. They were separated officially

Happy reading...

(Author's note: this is a long chapter sorry.. ahh)

(part i)

PART II

Shaurya moved quietly through the corridors; it was one of those nights when sleep did not come. A month had passed since she had come to the academy, and Shaurya had done everything he could to avoid meeting her. It was not like he had to work too closely with her; she was a doctor, so she was mostly present in the medical wing, but he made sure he kept their meetings limited. Never once did they cross paths leisurely. Shaurya had calculated all her movements.

Jassi was bothered. It was quite difficult for him to keep his distance, but he knew he had to draw a line; he had to be far from her presence. She was very perceptive; she had always been, and one slip in his actions would expose his identity, and he could not afford to do that. He was Shaurya, and he had to continue being Shaurya. That was for the good of all. He had seen it in her eyes, how she looked at him when she thought he did not notice. How it often flickered to his green eyes, how she noticed the way he held his pen or how he tucked his shirt. She knew Jassi to his core, but Shaurya, she knew nothing about him. He was a different man; only his eye colour matched Jassi’s, but the darkness in him was far removed from Jassi’s innocence, yet he feared that in a slip of a fraction she might find her Jaskirat somewhere in those darker green orbs of Shaurya Bharadwaj.

It would be a lie if Jassi Shaurya said he did not keep tabs on her. he knew her routine to the core: when she woke up, sent her son to school, sat in the medic wing, had lunch, everything was written like a holy scribe in his mind. Sometimes, when the wildness of Hamza took over, he wanted to take her away to the woods of Uttarakhand, elope from these harsh duties, forget everything and live with her. He wanted her close; his territorial vision spiked whenever he felt her around, but he remembered she had a child. A baby, she named after his real dead identity. A family she built. He had no right; however much he loved her, he had no right to be away from her. He had left her alone for twenty years, and now, suddenly, he wanted to take the family she had created. It was unfair, unjust, and completely deranged, but Hamza seldom did anything fair. He was born to live amongst the dirty to do the dirty. Maybe if not for Shaurya’s voice of reason, he might have gone deranged.

The confused thoughts clouded his mind when he heard soft repeated thuds on the ground. Someone was jumping- maybe an animal, but it sounded like a two-legged jump, but it was too light to be an adult. Shaurya’s instincts spiked as he silently moved towards the corridor overlooking the gardens.

There was a boy, her boy. He was jumping softly from the open area at the edge of the corridor to probably pluck a flower from a creeper which was hanging from the top. It was too high for him, yet he continued.

“What are you doing, son?”

The boy let out a silent scream. He was terrified and almost fell, but Shaurya got hold of his little body.

“Aap itni raat to yahan kya kar rahe hain? Kya main jaan sakta hu?” Shaurya asked as he made little Jassi stand steady in the corridor.

“Sir. Sorry, Sir.” The boy stood straight, like a soldier responding to his commanding officer. His eyes were downcast.

“I did not ask for your apology. I asked for the reason.” Shaurya asked with the softness he seldom used now.

“Woh sir, kal nahi, abhi to aj, Mumma ka birthday hai. So, I wanted flowers for her.” He answered honestly.

Shaurya Jassi knew this; this was the reason he could not sleep. He knew it was her birthday; she was turning 38. Oh, how beautiful she looked; the way age had caressed her gracefully made him breathless. Her eyes were softer now, her face more mature; a motherly vibe had enveloped her presence. She looked more beautiful than what Hamza had even imagined in his dreams. He had once imagined growing older with her, marrying her, having kids with her. In Pakistan, for Hamza, it was a distant dream far removed from the reality he lived in to dull the pain of solitude. It was his fantasy, but now with her so close, that dream spiked again and again. Shaurya knew it was wrong.

Seeing her son trying to get flowers for her reminded him of the time he would search for sunflowers in the fields, secretly and gift them to her. He remembered the glow in her eyes, how she accepted them with a wide smile. Jassi felt his heart ache again. Did she still like sunflowers? Did she still remember him gifting her that?

He looked at little Jassi and asked, “Woh to aap subah bhi le sakte hain?”

“Per phir to Mumma ko pata chal jata. Unke sone ke baad main chup-chup ke aya, it’s a surprise.” Jassi answered in a very low voice.

“I see. But itni raat ko yahan aana sahi nahi hai. Aur aap garden se bhi to flowers le sakte the apni Mumma ke liye. Yahan pe it’s risky, you might have fallen and hurt yourself.” Shaurya patted his head. The boy loved his mother; it put his heart at ease.

“Actually uncle, I mean Sir, Mumma ko sunflowers pasand hain aur yahan pe to sunflowers hain hi nahi, bas yehi flower hain yellow colour ka. To mujhe laga yehi de dunga”

That hit Shaurya Jaskirat. She still loved sunflowers, the same flowers he brought for her twenty years back. Did she still love him? Shaurya’s heart pained for her. His sacrifice for the nation was his greatest duty, but he had no right to leave his loved ones like this, unanswered.

Shaurya cleared his throat and said, “I see. Let me get it for you.”

He raised his hand and plucked a bunch of bright yellow flowers from the creeper and handed them to little Jassi, whose smile grew brighter. His green eyes glowed in innocence, the innocence that he had once.

“Thank you so much. Aap kitne ache ho. Mumma kitni khush hongi”

“You are welcome, brave boy. But aapne sahi nahi kiya yaha akele ake. It is not right.” Shaurya knelt in front of him and said.

“I am sorry, Unc-Sir”

“You can call me uncle”

“Per aap to sabke sir ho. Mumma bhi apko Sir bulati hain. Shaurya sir.”

“Aapko mere bare mein pata hai?” Jassi Shaurya’s heartbeat picked up when he heard this. She talked about him, about Shaurya. What was this feeling? Jassi was already in love with her, but was Shaurya starting to fall for her?

“Hain mumma to bolti hai, Jassi agar tumne ache se padhai ki tum bhi in soldiers ki tarha Shaurya sir ke under train ho paoge. Aap train karoge mujhe?" little Jassi asked. He looked with such wonder in his eyes; Jassi Shaurya could not believe he was talking to his own younger self.

“Aapko soldier banna hain?” He asked, patting. A strange fatherly feeling took form in his heart.

“Yes Sir. Indian Army, sir.” Little Jassi stood in attention position, saluting Shaurya with a discipline one can never expect from a 7-year-old.

The salute made Shaurya stand up and return it. “Wow, great form. Apne ye salute kisse sikha, son?”

“Mumma ne sikhaya.” He claimed proudly.

“I see. And why do you want to serve in the army?” Shaurya asked in the tone of a commanding officer.

“To protect my nation, sir. Balidan Parmo Dharma”

Those words, those exact words, were his life. Shaurya’s eyes got a little moist. This little boy, he reminded Jassi of the greatest sacrifices made. He felt like he looked at his own reflection from years ago. Balidan Parmo Dharma- sacrifice is the greatest virtue; the reality of the soldiers here and this boy was stating this with such understanding that it made his heart fill with pride. He was surprised by the strength she possessed, the strength his mother possessed, the strength the mothers and family of all these soldiers possessed. She had lost her lover to this; her mother had lost his son to the nation, yet they continue to teach this value. He realised the strength of sacrifice in him was not his own; it was of his loved ones who had enriched him with the values of patriotism which did not fade even after the system had failed him. He realised the fact that the sacrifice he so bravely accepted was not his own but of his loved ones who enriched his mind with these. What was he even without those values of patriotism?

“I am proud of you, Son” Shaurya held the little boy. He felt like he really was talking to little Jassi.

The moment suddenly broke when they heard a concerned voice from the corridor. She was here. She looked at her son and let out a deep breath.

“Jassi. Kaha tha tu? Mumma ki chinta nahi hain tujhe?”

Shaurya shielded the little child from his mother’s wrath and said, “Dr he is fine; he was with me. We went to take some flowers for you. Right, Mr Jaskirat?”

“Yes, Sir.” Little Jassi agreed and held out the bunch of yellow flowers towards her, “Happy birthday Mumma”

She instantly melted and pulled the little boy into a hug and kissed his face frantically. “Kyu karta hain tu aisa bacha? Tu nahi hoga to kya karungi main? Bol ke to ja sakta tha na.”

“I am sorry Mumma phir se nahi hoga. Promise” Jassi looked really sorry for the stress he had caused his mother.

“Yes, young man, remember this promise. Varna mujhe apko army wala punishment dena parega.” Shaurya said with the seriousness of a commanding officer.

“Yes, sir.” Little Jassi replied like the rightful soldier.

They talked as she felt little Jassi slowly fall asleep in her arms.

“Sorry, Sir. Isne tang to nahi kiya?” She asked, still carrying Jassi in her arms, who had fallen asleep.

Shaurya took sleeping Jassi in his arms and said, “No. He is a sweet child. Apne bohot ache values diye hain ise” They continued walking to her quarters.

“Thank you, sir. He is the light of my life, pata nahi iske bagair kaise jeeti main. He came into my life like a blessing. Usne mujhe phir se jeena sikhaya” She soothed the little boy's hair.

The scene felt oddly domestic. This was the life Jaskirat had wanted. To marry her, have a family with her. He wanted to believe this small walk to the quarters was his reality. He was living happily with her and his son; maybe he could remember this moment and die peacefully. Maybe in another life Jassi could have a family like this.

“He is a bright child, Dr. Also, happy birthday.”

She smiled, “Oh, thank you, sir. Isne aapko bhi yesab mein shamil kiya?”

“Well, I helped willingly. He insisted on these flowers. He was saying aapke favourite hain sunflowers, and since these are yellow, he wanted these.” He said pleasantly, the mention of sunflowers making him remember the past again.

“I love sunflowers, but these flowers are more special now. They are my favourite now.”  She looked at the bunch of yellow flowers she held in her hands.

These words hurt Shaurya Jassi somewhere: “Itni jaldi pasand badal jate hain?”

“Time ke sath insaan badal jate hain. Per pasand woh hamare yaadein hoti hain. Sunflowers ke sath meri yaadein hain, jo kabhi nahi jayenge, per aj Jassi ne is phoolon se nayi yaadein banai hain. Samay ke sath nayi yaadein naye pasand ate hain, per hum purane yaado ko apne dil ke pitare mein rakhte hain.” She told him, looking at his eyes, as she took the little boy back in her arms. They had reached her quarters. Shaurya’s journey had ended.

“Main chalta hu. Happy birthday again.”

“Thank you, sir. Good night”

“Good night.”

The next day, when she reached her chamber, there was a bouquet- those yellow flowers which Jassi gave her and sunflowers. And a small note which said, Happy Birthday, doctor.

“Kaise ho Shaurya?” Sanyal sir said. He had come for a visit to the academy. He just wanted to see how things were going.

“Good sir,” Shaurya responded.

“How are things going on here?”

“Great. The soldiers are good. They are hardworking; just a little more polishing and it will be done,” Shaurya explained.

“Aur Dr.?”

Shaurya looked at Sanyal sir with a shocked expression. He was not surprised he knew about her, but his asking about her was a surprise. Shaurya Jassi had distanced himself from his past, his family and suddenly Sanyal sir asked him this. Suddenly he realised Sanyal sir had known about her transfer here, yet he approved. What was going on?

“Sir?”

“Tum Shaurya ho, Jaskirat nahi; aur tumhe bhi life ko jeene ka haq hai. You are an asset, Jaskirat. You have done the unthinkable as Hamza; you are still doing the best as Shaurya, making sure our next line of soldiers are as perfect. Try to live a little.” Sanyal sir said, getting in his car.

“I will try, sir.”

Shaurya understood what he meant. Jassi was dead, for Shaurya was alive, and he deserved to live a life. He was increasingly drawn to her, but he was scared to go near her. Maybe this is the push he needed.

“Aur Mr Jaskirat? How are you today?” Shaurya asked little Jassi, who was walking in the tracks near the resident quarters. It was evening.

“Great, sir. Aj maine sara homework karliya, so Mumma allowed me to walk here alone.” He said proudly.

“Wow. Waise, how is your new school and life here?” Shaurya asked as they sat on a small bench.

“Bohot acha hain. Mujhe to yahan ka weather and greenery bohot pasand hain, Delhi mein bohot building hain, mujhe pasand nahi. School bhi bohot acha hai, mere seven friends huye hain. Uper se mujhe soldiers ke sath rehne ka chance mil raha hai.” Jassi replied with a fulfilled joy.

“I see. Tum pehle Delhi mein rehte the?” Shaurya was curious. He could get information out easily, but he had stopped himself. Yet this conversation suddenly sparked his curiosity. Shaurya wanted to know about his father.

“Yes. Mumma aur main. Kabhi kabhi nanu aur nani bhi aate the. Aur Jasleen bua, Harman bhaiya aur Akshu ke sath”

Those names made his brain freeze. What did he say? Did he say Jasleen bua? Did he mean his sister Jasleen? But why did he call her bua?

“Jasleen bua?” Jaskirat Shaurya asked, his throat feeling dry.

“Hain, Jasleen bua aur dadi to Punjab mein rehte hain. Mujhe Punjab bhi bohot pasand hai. Wahan kitne khet hain. Mumma mujhe waha par water tank dikhane le gai thi. Kitne sare bare se khet hain Dadi ke. Wahe pe to mitti se khelne se bhi Mumma mujhe nahi danti kyuki dadi mujhe bacha leti hain.” Little Jassi said with a mischievous smile.

Punjab- dadi- jasleen. Shaurya Jaskirat could not comprehend it. Was he talking about his family? The family he had abandoned for his duty, and she had accepted as hers? He did not even marry her; hell, he did not even get the chance to love her as she deserved. He felt guilty; his heart ached; it felt more painful than all the torture he experienced in Pakistan. Did she take little Jassi to the same tank he confessed his love to her? Her son played with his mother, called her dadi. How much did she love him to actually do this? Did he even deserve this love? He was a worthless lover; he had abandoned her for his duty, and she lived like this. Took care of all the things he should have. His throat constricted. He wanted to curse himself. He was a perfect soldier, a perfect spy, but he was a cruel man; he felt shame. He was such a cruel lover to leave his love in such a miserable situation; he abandoned her, and this realisation made his knees weak.

“Jassi. Aap phir se Sir ko tang kar rahe ho.” Her soft voice came to his ears.

Little Jassi ran to his mumma and said, “Main thang nahi kar raha tha Mumma. Unse baat kar raha tha. Jasleen bua air dadi ke bare mein.”

“Acha. Aap unko miss kar rahe ho? Chalo humlog unko kal call kar lenge. Now go and pack your bags for school.” She kissed her little forehead. He ran to the quarters.

“I hope he did not disturb you, sir.” She sat beside him.

“Aap Punjab se hain?” He asked her, trying to make his voice as normal as possible.

“I lived in Punjab for a long time. Pathankot. Waha ki baat kar raha tha.” She looked at Shaurya. She saw a flicker of someone, of someone she loved.

“So, your in-laws live there?” Jaskirat Shaurya wanted to believe she had a family; he did not want to think that she had sacrificed even her married life for her love of him, Jassi.

“I am a single mother, sir. I hope I am not asked any questions about it.” She stood up and walked away.

Shaurya does not remember how he reached his room. He finally went and looked up her information, something he had avoided. Her past twenty years came in front of his eyes. His guilt knew no bounds now. He raised a child alone; she named him Jassi. She looked after his family, cared enough to make her son call them dadi and bua.  He was the reason she did not marry; hell, he was the reason for all his sorrows. Yet this gave Jassi a sick pleasure; it made him both pained and happy that there was no man in her life. The happiness part gave Shaurya an ick.  Maybe he was not as good as he thought. The darkness of Hamza had seeped into him. What even was Shaurya without Jassi and Hamza? A thought came to his mind; maybe, maybe he could try to give her a fraction of the happiness she deserved.

The air was chilly. She walked into the small bakery to pick some muffins for her son. She sat there with a cup of hot chocolate and a sandwich when she felt his presence.

“Dr.” Shaurya’s voice was clear when he called her.

“Sir.” She stood up.

He looked extremely guilty. His eyes looked so much like Jaskirat’s that she was taken aback for a moment. He started, “I am sorry. I had no intention to hurt you. I was just having a conversation with Jaskirat, and usne dadi and bua mention kiya to I thought… Anyways, I had no right; I am extremely sorry about the unsolicited questions.”

“Let’s sit, sir.” She asked him to sit on the empty chair in front of her.

“I am used to these questions. Single mother hona is quite a surprise for many. Ab adat ho gai hain. Per professional sphere mein apne pucha to main weary hogai.” She answered, but there was something in her voice that unnerved Jaskirat Shaurya.

“Still, it was a mistake from my side.”

“How many years have you been posted here, Sir?” She asked him, looking straight into his eyes as if trying to pierce through his mask of multiple personalities.

“Just a year and a half. Call me Shaurya here. We are off duty.” He tried to answer as easily as possible.

“Okay. Shaurya. Aap muffins khayenge?” She asked him as the staff handed her the bag of muffins she had ordered for her son.

“Sure.”

She handed him a muffin and stood up to move, gesturing to him to follow. As they continued walking through the almost empty road, she asked, “Usse phele aap kaha the?”

“North East. Myanmar border, 7 years, usse phele Rajasthan-Pakistan border and before that J&K.” Shaurya answered with trained precision.

“Aap special forces mein the?” Each question she asked seemed harder and sharper. Her eyes were studying his every move.

“Yes. We were trained specially for intelligence and security. Different from regular army.” He was a trained spy; he knew how to handle it, yet Jassi was screaming from within.

“I see. Aur apki family?”

“I am an orphan. Was raised by my grandmother in Madhya Pradesh. She passed away when I was 19; I joined the army then.”

“Madhya Pradesh?” She looked at him standing still.

The road was empty now, the street lights flickering. She looked at him with accusing eyes. It was asking him questions, questions Jassi knew yet Shaurya refused to answer, to bend.  

“Yes. Aapko kuch puchna hain.” Shaurya asked.

“Kya tum Jassi ho?” Her eyes were moist now.

“Dr?” Shaurya could feel his mask breaking, but he could not; a spy's identity was his biggest asset, and once his identity was revealed, she would also be in danger.

“Kya tum mere Jassi ho?” She asked again, louder and clearer.

“I do not understand you. Apka beta Jassi hai. Main Shaurya hu. Shaurya Bharadwaj. Commanding officer.” He said, trying to sound as believable as possible. He was outright denying his identity.

The bag of muffins fell from her hands; her hands shot to the collar of his coat. “Tum jhoot bol rahe ho. Tum mere Jassi ho, tumhari akhein, ye Jassi wali akhein hain. Tumhe pata bhi hain tumhare bina kaise jiya maine.” She held him; her eyes had tears.

Shaurya did not know what to do. He wanted to scream; he wanted to hold her in his arms and say, yes, yes, she was her Jassi. But alas, he did not even have the right to accept this. He could live, but he was an asset.

“Dr, please, what are you doing?” Shaurya held her hand, trying to stop her from jerking his coat, which he held by his collar. She broke down into weeps. Into tears she had had for years now. After her son had come, she had stopped crying for her lover, but Shaurya’s presence made her wounds appear again. Her Jassi would have never denied this. Shaurya sir was surely himself; her Jassi was dead, she had to accept it. This made the last hope she had disappear; thus she broke down in front of him.

“Dr?” Shaurya held her in his arms.

“I am sorry, sir. I am very sorry. I don't know what happened. Mujhe aisa behave nahi karna chahiye tha. It’s just that. I am sorry.” She felt ashamed of her behaviour.

“Hey hey. Sit down. Tell me what happened?” Shaurya asked, as if he did not know what she felt. It pained him, but he was helpless; Jassi had died; he was Shaurya now. He had to remain Shaurya for himself, for her, for the nation. Shaurya was another chance for him to live, another chance to possibly be near her; he had to take it. He held her face in his hands and wiped her eyes.

She looked at him and took out her purse; there was a photo of him. The photo was cropped from the last family photo he took. “Jaskirat. Jaskirat Singh Rangi. The man I love.”

She spilt her story of how she loved him. How he went missing and how she was now fulfilling his dream. How baby Jassi came into her life. How when she saw Shaurya, his resemblance to Jassi made her believe he was alive. Shaurya listened like he had never heard those things. To be frank, he never knew the depth of her love until this day. He believed he loved more than anyone ever could, but he was wrong. He felt more and more guilty, heartbroken and angry that he had to leave her. His stomach twisted in rage. He never wanted her to live like this. The more he heard, the more he fell in love with her. He couldn't stay away.

But what she said next made his world pause "I am sorry, sir, but seeing you, I was slowly drawn towards you. The way you treated my son. The way you respected me. I started to believe you were Jassi. I know it's deeply unprofessional, but I am sorry. I don't know what to do. I love Jassi, but you..." she whispered the last words. She felt like she was cheating on Jassi if she fell for Shaurya.

Shaurya could not believe his ears; he could not leave her, not now. Not after knowing he had a chance to give her the happiness she deserved. Not after knowing there was a chance that he could live a life with her. He cared for her, and he fell in love with her. She deserved happiness.

“Hey. Tum maafi kyun mang rahi ho? Tumne hi kaha tha na, pasand hamarei yaadein hoti hain. Hum nayi yaadein banate hain. Iska matlab ye thori hain ki hum hamare purane pasand ko bhul gaye?” He held her hand as he said this. "Mere sath naye yaadein banaogi?"

She looked at him with wonder in her eyes. Was this a second chance?

“Yaha ke momo kaafi achhe hain khaogi?” He asked. Maybe this life, as Shaurya, he could live with her.

Tagging my baddies: @lutt-le-gaya @nevereversaygoodbye @hamzakamehroomkurta @mainyahaankyunhoon @precioussophia @aoyamaj3711 @angelicyuna @torumii @sarcastic-ravenpuff @cvclee @miraclejin1204 @diyak11 @sunf1over @hereforfanfictionsfr @tobitoooo @cherryyelixir @saniisinsane @mrgrungusthefrog @sinnoire @opheliasreblog @mujhekoimarsbhejdo @goldenharrysworld @gulaabjamun08 @idonthavechatpateusernamed @rutvii @rhopalocera23 @goldenharrysworld @y0uneversawmehere @ooopssssu @vaari-javaan @royaldreamermonsoon @hajmola-vs-aamchaska @ishq-e-rehman @khoonaurkhanjar @cloudyparadoxqueen @main-apni-favorite-nahi-hoon @prettylady2006 @theanonymousweeb2010 @mysticalnightingale (In case any of you guys wanna be added or removed, please tell me in the comments) For my other fics: My Masterlist

[tojisloft]

my husband’s boyfriend — [rehmat x male!oc]

no spy au, crackfic, author tried to be funny and FAILED.

a/n: i was too tired to come up w last names y’all suggest some in the comments

no one has been waiting for his more than @desigurlie 😭☝️ i’m sorry for whatever this is. also this is smth i wrote until i figure out the plot to my other rehmat x oc fic lmfao.

when hamza noticed the car parked outside, he turned to rehman, confusion evident on his features, which only increased as rehman sighed heavily, as though the worst had happened. and it had.

when rehman got out of the car without a response and slammed the door as if it had been the sole object of his ire, hamza then turned to uzair who shrugged his shoulders and followed after his elder brother.

hamza soon made his way to the haveli, but stopped in his tracks when he noticed rehman just standing in the middle of the entrance.

“who is that?” hamza’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts. the first thing rehman had noticed was the man sitting on the couch, across from ulfat, who had a bashful smile on her face. the vein in his forehead ticked, his jaw clenched.

uzair and hamza shared a look before slowly slipping away, hiding behind the walls not wanting to witness whatever outburst may present itself. rehman tells himself it's the heat, but he knows it’s not, it’s the man. not just any man but this particular man.

rehman rolls his shoulders before making his way inside, interrupting the boisterous laughter bouncing off the walls, he bites the inside of his cheek with a stare that could very well shoot laser beams out of his eyes and leans against the door, crossing his arms and a judgemental brow raised at the two when they finally notice him.

“look who’s back.” he smiles, its forced and it doesn’t reach all the way to his eyes, but this is the best he can do when he’s resisting the urge to reach for his gun and shoot the guy then and there.

rana was ulfat’s ex. they’d only had a short fling before ulfat had met rehman, and rana had been the one to support her, more than her family. even so, after all his help, rehman truly never liked him enough to tolerate him more than five seconds. so when rana moved to another country altogether, none other was happier than rehman himself.

jealousy is a dangerous emotion, and rehman is an even dangerous man, but this man, who has been lounging in his house for god knows how long, parroting stupid jokes to his wife, does not seem to be scared of him at all. its a weird feeling, if he were to be honest, it’s also refreshing in a way, but that’s not what he’s focused on at the moment.

no, he’s definitely not focused on the way the man’s shirt has a few open buttons, giving him a free show. no, he’s not focused on the way ulfat smiles at this stranger, as if she’s known him her whole life, as if they also have inside jokes that rehman doesn’t know about.

“you haven’t aged a day.”

oh how he wanted to bash this guy’s head in the wall.

“you look like shit.” rehman was lying, and he knew it.

hamza and uzair stood in the background, witnessing the scene unfold with utmost curiosity as rehman ignored ulfat’s dissapointed look.

rana all but laughs. laughs in rehman’s face, and his hands are itching to punch rana.

“this is rana, bhabi’s ex.” uzair whispers to hamza, but it was loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, and the silence that followed was deafening as rehman shot him a deadly glare.

hamza’s eyes almost bulged out of their sockets.

rehman strides towards ulfat, shamelessly slotting himself beside her, thighs touching and everything. she rolls her eyes at his attempt to mark his territory. rana stifles a laugh.

hamza and uzair are sure that not even a telenovella could rival the scene unfolding before them.

after all this time, rehman had hoped she’d finally forgotten him. the last thing he imagied was rana into their home and sharing jokes and laughing with her. jealous. jealous. jealous.

rana looked stupidly calm for someone who was probably first on rehman’s list to kill.

rehman squints again, a grim expression covering his face. “did they throw you out?”

“oh, fuck you.” ulfat quips, smacking the back of his head.

“he wishes, don’t you rehman.” the man winked. ulfat stilfled her laugh and an irritated look descended on rehman’s face.

“i’ll see you around then.” but rehman could say anything, rana took this as a sign to leave, earlier than he intended.

rehman didn’t not sleep that night, afraid that he might dream of someone he absolutely does not want to see. he tells himself that it was jealousy and nothing else, nothing more.

—

it begins slowly, rana starts visiting more. and though rehman pretends to tolerate his presence for ulfat, he can’t lie that he’s not intrigued by the man and his magnetic presence. at times, rehman finds himself staring at rana, he doesn’t even realise it until rana sends him a flirtatious wink. rehman always scowls at that.

ulfat knew rehman didn’t have many friends—uzair and hamza didn’t count because they were practically his children—all of his so-called friends consisted of politicians or men who wanted rehman’s power, his sharp intellect, rather than his company. loneliness had been a constant in his life, but with rana’s return, she thought she could push them together. though rehman had been very keen on rejecting the very idea of it. couldn’t she see how weird it would be to be friends with my wife’s ex?

he knew he was being a bit unreasonable, and it’s not like he had many choices, and he was tired of slumming with the people he bloodied his hands for, or politicians that never respected him behind his back.

rehman was sitting on the floor, by ulfat's feet as she combed her fingers through his hair. alas, his happiness did not last long.

because he was here again, smiling bashfully, and rehman would never admit it out loud, but rana did look handsome with his messy black hair that looked like he had just rolled out of bed, how his shirt buttons were always open that gave rehman more than a nice view of his chest, and not to forget his cheeky smiles and winks, those were the worst. the worst.

rana didn’t cook often, and whenever he did, he cooked enough to feed an entire army. so, there he was, sauntering there into the baloch haveli—as if he belonged there, as if he wasn’t interrupting rehman’s quite intimate time with his wife—carrying multiple containers filled to the brim with his mother’s recipe, the one that ulfat had stolen a long ago. still, he made it better.

rehman scowled again, his eyes narrowing in suspicion, despite the familiar flutter rising in his stomach again. he was pretty, rehman couldn’t deny it, rather wouldn’t.

he hated that the mutton curry was delicious and he hated that he wanted seconds (that he stole from ulfat’s plate), hated that he has licked his plate and fingers clean. he hated it even more when he saw uzair and hamza asking for more, and praising the rana for his delicious cooking.

rehman glared at the him, and ignored the disapproving look ulfat sent him. she had been trying to get them to bond, and rehman refused.

insecurity and admiration blended into one, he couldn’t stop the thoughts plaguing his mind. whenever his eyes stayed on rana for a moment too long, thoughts invaded his mind, thoughts that suffocated him. ulfat would’ve been better off marrying him. she made a mistake with me. so he tried to ignore rana altogether.

it was hard for him to not acknowledge the fundamental differences between them, rehman noticed how rana was a little soft around the edges, he was more eloquent and articulate than rehman ever could be, and how his language, though sharp as a knife, was still polished. he was in a totally different league than rehman.

rehman learnt early on though, that his man was not interested in stealing his wife, no, he showed more interest in rehman. a flirtatious remark thrown here and there, subtly slipped in between conversations. the way his eyes lingered on rehma’s retreating figure, and rehman who resisted the urge to look back every time.

—

“why is he here?” rehman grumbled in ulfat’s ear, nudging her shoulder, whining like a child.

“i invited him.” she glared at him. “he’s all alone, and don’t you dare say you don’t like him, i've seen you sharing your drinks.”

rehman pressed his lips together, it was eid, and he was there again, in his space, in their space. but it had been true, rehman had tried to establish peace, however bitter he may be. he had invited the man over for drinks a few times when rana had just dropped out of nowhere, but they had talked… and rana didn’t seem that bad, even so, rehman hadn’t brought out his expensive bottles yet.

that night rehman had finally allowed himself to look at this man, the black mop of hair sitting on his head was always sort of fluffy, and god forbid, one of these days he might just run his hands through them. his lips had been the worst though, plump and pink and rehman could barely hold back himself when drunk. his eyes were dark. once again, rehman found it difficult to sleep that night.

even though rehman was not all that happy to see this man barging in again, he supposed it would be fine because it didn’t seem like he had a family, he was always alone, and if rehman could relate to one thing, it was that. rehman wasn’t alone now but he had been, once, before ulfat had entered his life. he wanted to ask rana why he left, why he would leave someone like ulfat, but rehman kept his thoughts to himself, he didn’t think it was his place to do so.

what surprised him the most was that rana had brought gifts, for everyone, even rehman, and well, rehman hadn’t gotten him anything. but rana didn’t care, he brushed rehman off with a light gesture, that felt softer than it was supposed to be.

—

“why are you looking at him like that?”

“i’m not.” rehman looked away, as if he was a child being caught something he shouldn’t.

“tum toh usse aise dekh rahe ho jaise uzair hamza ko dekhta hai.”

“matlab?”

ulfat kissed his cheek, squeezing his shoulder with a teasing laugh because she knew that rehman was aware of what she meant.

uzair was always looking at hamza as if he has something to devour, to consume whole, and now rehman had been looking at rana the same way.

as he thought about it, he didn’t think rana was serious. despite all his flirtatious remarks, winks and innuendos here and there, rehman thought it was all just a game. why would he want rehman of all people.

over the next few days, rana had gotten touchy. a brush of his hands against rehman’s when they passed each other, his finegrs lingering a beat longer when rehman would hand him a drink.

a hunger that had only grown as time passed slowly, and rehman tried to ignore it, he did. but ulfat had been pulling at his leg too much, whenever she’d notice him she would scoot a little closer to rana, touch his biceps. god, his bicpes, how rehman wished he could—nevermind.

it was almost midnight. one of the politician's son was getting married and they rehman had to keep up appearances. rana had also been invited, he was, after all, a member of high society.

today of all days, his car wouldn’t start. it was fine when he drove to the venue, but right now it turned on for a second with a whirry sound and then shut off.

“i’ll drop you.” rehman had offered when he noticed rana’s car had been giving him troubles.

“my, my, who are you and what have you done to my grumpy husband?” ulfat giggled, her hand wrapped around his arm as she exchanged looks with rana.

“tsk, let’s go, before i change my mind.” before rana could reply, rehman had already made the decision as he chose to ignore ulfat’s comment, pulling her along. she sent a wink to the man following them behind.

“whatever you say, sardar.”

ulfat didn’t miss the way rehman’s throat bobbed at the use of title and bit her lip.

the ride was pretty silent, rehman had learnt to… appreciate rana’s presence, more so than anything. he was not so subtly stealing glances at him in the back seat. the stubble he’d grown was really making rehman want to caress it, but he forced himself to focus on the road.

it wasn’t long before rehman’s car started sputtering and gave up with a disgruntled noise. the three of them sat dumbfounded in their seats having no clue of what to do.

rana was the first one to step out, he knew enough about cars. ulfat nudged him, and rehman got out next.

the two men stood with the bonnet pulled above and arms crossed against their chest, staring at the engine bay meticulously, and then at themselves, with narrowed eyes, before they started speaking at the same time.

“its the carburetor."

“it’s the transistor.”

both opened their mouth to say something but closed their mouths.

“look, i know about cars–” rana started to explain, hands up in surrender.

“how would you know about cars?” there it was again, the vein in his forehead was ticking again.

“given that it’s literally my business.”

“its your what?”

“i sell cars.” he sighed, leaning against the car.

“well, i didn’t know.” rehman admitted, suddenly not meeting his eyes.

“you’d know if you talked to me instead of just staring at me.” he snapped. “fancy a picture?”

“don’t act like i don’t know what you’re doing.”

“what am i doing?” he stepped closer to rehman, one footstep at a time.

“you know, what?”

rehman had pulled him in a kiss, pressing his lips to rana’s in a whirlwind of anger and annoyance.

rana was taken aback, he didn’t expect rehman to bite first but he did. as soon as he realised what was happening, he moved his lips in sync with rehman’s.

the moment rehman began to pull away, rana pulled him closer with a demanding hand at his waist, and rehman all but melted in the kiss. teeth clashing and tongues exploring each other’s mouth.

it isn’t until ulfat slams the bonet that the two of them pull away.

“finally.”

as usual, some memes from my side

some other memes from my other rehmat x oc fic, where zehra (the loml is the oc, i just couldn't wait okay)

once again, sorry for this nothingburger oneshot

taglist: @y0uneversawmehere @geometric-circle @bitchy-bi-trash @rini4everdreaming @ashnotashkechum @nerdreader @likewhyareyousoobsessedwithme @ninnimouse @professor-cant-fuck  @warnermeadowsgirl @sanpiece @losraire @sparksfromhell @persistentgremlinrefuge @skiicoreee @cakiebleh @nervouscashrascalflowers @baddiefication101 @sanpiece @twinblueflamee @desigurlie @euphorkive @tanipartner @erenfox @akinrawsx @yembarzal @finding-chirag @goldenharrysworld @scentedwolfdragon @seasonofthenerd @shadyalpaca13 @pavbhajisupremacist @golgappalicious @cherryyelixir @obsessedwidskincare @yearnerray @layinglowkey @between-smoke-and-roses @cloudmast @harrystyleskiwi9 @chaotickittydreamer @averypretentiousreader @shadylovedhurandhar @lutt-le-gaya @kitty-minnieee

© tojisloft 2026. All rights reserved.

[tojisloft]

contd taglist. @mehfil-e-random @ishq-e-rehman @torumii @bobcuts-blog @gulaabjamun08 @idcbru @majoriqbalkibiwi @carbonaramarinara @hamzair-is-my-otp @dhurandhar-archives @s4nzt @obeythebutler @bxtchyrose

[mehfil-e-random]

Dil-e-barbaad

Masterlist

Disclaimer : This is a purely fictional work inspired by the electrifying performances of the actors on screen. It has absolutely nothing to do with real-life terrorists or such individuals.

Word count: 5.7 K

A/N : This one-shot is based on a heartbreaking, soul-crushing idea that my sweetheart @mcdreamyshepherd shared with me.

"Grief built a tomb around my heart and called it devotion, until your living eyes reminded me that staying broken is a cruelty to those who still need my warmth."

The silence in the room had a weight to it, heavy and suffocating, like damp earth settled over a fresh grave.

Ulfat lay coiled on the edge of the mattress, her knees pulled tightly against her chest, a fragile cocoon of linen and grief. Her fingers were still locked around the cold plastic of her phone, her knuckles stark and white. The sudden, agonizing termination of Rehman’s call echoed in her ears— a long, jagged screech of static that had shredded the line mid-sentence before dropping into absolute silence.

She knew the geography of his absence. She knew that the jagged terrain of Balochistan swallowed cellular signals whole, that weak towers and barren valleys routinely severed connections without warning. But grief does not listen to logic. A heart already shattered by the unimaginable refuses to accept simple explanations.

Since the day they buried Naieem, her mind had ceased to calculate probability, it calculated only catastrophe. Every tick of the clock felt like a deliberate threat, every passing hour a cruel countdown to the next disaster. Time was no longer a gentle progression of daylight and dark; it was a predator, swift and ruthless, capable of ripping away her entire existence in a single, unannounced second. Being separated from the people she loved, even for an afternoon, felt like standing on a crumbling ledge. Her chest would tighten, her stomach dropping into a dark, bottomless void, leaving her broken long before any bad news actually arrived.

When Rehman’s call had cut out after that horrifying electronic shriek, her mind had instantly spiraled. It was what trauma did, it dragged her down into the deep, suffocating waters of worst-case scenarios. She saw flipped vehicles, armed shadows on desolate highways, blood on red dirt. The terror surged so violently through her veins that her breath hitched, her sight blurred, and her brain simply shut down.

She did not remember falling asleep. It was not sleep, truly, but the heavy, dark collapse of exhaustion, a temporary unconsciousness forced upon a body that could no longer sustain such intense terror.

When consciousness slowly crept back into her limbs, the atmosphere in the room had shifted. The cold, stagnant air of her isolation was gone, replaced by a subtle, steady warmth. She was no longer curled on her side of the bed, she had been shifted gently toward Rehman’s side.

A heavy, familiar weight rested over her waist. A firm rhythm pulsed against her shoulder — a heartbeat, strong and deliberate, slowly forcing her own panicked, erratic pulse to match its tempo.

Ulfat’s eyelashes fluttered open, dark shadows pooling beneath her eyes.

Rehman was there.

He was leaning over her, his broad frame curved around her fragile body like a fortress, his arms wrapping tightly around her to shut out the cold. He was trying to offer her heat, completely aware of the violent shivering that was currently racking her small frame, a tremor she hadn't even realized had taken hold of her.

For a terrifying heartbeat, she froze. She couldn't breathe. Was this real?

Her eyes were deceptive these days. Memory played cruel tricks on a mourning mother. Lately, she had been seeing Naieem everywhere. He would stand in the doorway of his old bedroom, or sit at the edge of the dining table in the dim light of dusk, looking so impossibly whole, so vivid, that her mind would temporarily erase the memory of his funeral. She would smile, speak his name, and reach out to gather her eldest boy into her arms, only for her hands to pass through empty air as his image dissolved into dust. Each phantom illusion left her heart fractured into a thousand more jagged pieces.

"Rehman...?" her voice was a hoarse, fractured whisper, barely carrying across the pillow.

She didn't wait for his answer. Driven by a desperate, instinctual panic, she flung her arms around his neck and pulled him down onto her. She gripped the fabric of his shirt with a strength born of pure terror, clinging to him so tightly she was almost squeezing the breath from his lungs.

He was solid. He was warm. He smelled of rain, tobacco, and the familiar, grounding scent of his cedar cologne. He was alive.

Rehman did not complain about the suffocating intensity of her hold. He simply shifted his weight, burying his face into the crook of her neck, his large hand gently cradling the back of her head. His fingers threaded through her matted hair, stroking down the long strands in a steady, rhythmic motion, absorbing her violent tremors against his chest.

As her silent, wracking sobs soaked into his collar, a wave of dark, agonizing guilt washed over Rehman, drowning him completely.

It was all him. Every drop of blood spilt, every tear shed , traced its roots back to his door.

It was his power struggles. His feuds. His ruthless past and the ruthless men who wore his name like a target. It was his sins that the universe had decided to punish, but instead of striking him down, the blow had landed square on their innocent son. Naieem had paid the ultimate price for his father's empire.

Because of Rehman's life, Naieem was six feet under cold earth.

Because of him, Faizal, their younger son, woke up every single night bathed in a cold sweat, screaming into the dark from the exact same nightmare that had haunted him since the day his elder brother was carried away in a shroud.

And because of him, Ulfat— the vibrant woman who used to fill this house with warmth was now a hollow shell, shivering in terror, slowly being consumed by a fire he had set.

His entire life was disintegrating, peeling away layer by layer with every passing day.

Rehman closed his eyes tightly, his jaw clenching so hard his teeth throbbed. All he had ever wanted was to be a wall between his family and the world. He wanted to stand as an unwavering shield, to absorb every bullet, every threat, every drop of malice so that his wife and children could live in the light. Instead, his shadow had only brought the storm right into their bedroom.

He had thought signing that contract with Major Iqbal would fix things, that playing ball with military intelligence would buy his family permanent immunity and clear his slate. But it had done the exact opposite. It had dragged him deeper into a tangled web of higher-stakes danger. The air around him was growing thicker with the unknown threat.

I don't want it, he thought wildly, the pulse in his temple beating like a war drum. I don't want any of it anymore.

He would break the contract. He would tear up the deal, pay whatever exorbitant penalty they demanded, run to the ends of the earth, or surrender everything he owned. He could not watch his world burn down to satisfy his own pride.

And then there was Uzair. Rehman’s gut twisted into knots at the mere thought of him. He would not let Uzair get swallowed by this darkness. He would not allow the darkness of his past to drag another piece of his life down into the grave.

A pair of soft, trembling hands suddenly cupped his cheeks, breaking his descent into the dark spiral of his thoughts.

Ulfat was leaning back, her tear-stained face inches from his. Her thumb pressed firmly against his cheekbone, tracing the line of his jaw, searching wildly in his dark eyes for any sign that he, too, was about to fade away like Naieem’s ghost.

Seeing her search his face with such desperate, heartbreaking doubt shattered whatever remained of Rehman’s composure. The fact that his wife had to physically verify his existence because her trauma was so profound broke him open completely.

Rehman lifted his own hands, placing them over hers, cupping her cheeks with immense tenderness. He leaned forward until their foreheads rested against one another, his warm breath fanning across her lips.

"Ulfat…Ulfat, look at me," he whispered, his voice thick with unexpressed tears, pouring every ounce of love and devotion he possessed into those words. "Relax, meri jaan. Everything is fine. I am right here."

Ulfat’s lips quivered, a fresh tear spilling over her lashes and running onto his thumb.

"Rehman..." she choked out, her voice barely a thread, desperate for a promise the world had already broken once. "You're here, right? You're really here?"

"Haan, jaan," Rehman murmured, kissing her forehead, her eyelids, and finally pressing his lips against her temple as he pulled her back against his chest, wrapping his arms around her like an impenetrable fortress. "I am here. I will always be here. I'm not going anywhere.”

The quiet after a catastrophe is never truly silent. It hums with the phantom echoes of what used to be, vibrating in the walls, settling thick and heavy in the corners of every room.

In the high-ceilinged bedrooms of the haveli, time did not move in hours or minutes; it moved in the slow, agonizing decay of memory. Exactly thirty days had passed since Rehman had held Ulfat in his arms, stroking her hair, whispering promises into the dark that he would never be allowed to keep.

Rehman had known the risks. He was not a naive man, nor had he ever been blind to the machinery of power he was dealing with. Major Iqbal was not the kind of man who accepted a polite refusal, nor was the ISI an organization that simply allowed assets to walk away with classified leverage still lingering in their minds. But Rehman’s love for his surviving family had finally eclipsed his instinct for survival. He had driven out with a single purpose: to tear up the contract, pay whatever price was demanded, and strip the target off his remaining boys' backs.

He had handed over the files. He had surrendered his network, his logistics, and his influence, asking for nothing in return except to be left alone in the shadows with his grief. Major Iqbal had sat across from him in the dimly lit, remote safe house, stirring a cup of bitter black tea, listening with a cold, terrifying calm. Iqbal didn't hate Rehman; hatred required emotion.

The ambush occurred on the winding, desolate stretch of highway three hours outside the outpost. It was a cold, surgical execution designed to look like another local feud. Rehman had fought— his hands raw, his body battered, trying with every fading breath to navigate out of the kill zone, to get back to the haveli, to get back to Ulfat. But the area offered no cover, and the men Iqbal sent were thorough. Rehman’s car was forced off the embankment, tumbling into the rocky ravine. He tried everything, crawling through the shattered glass, reaching for his gun, trying to pull air into his crushed lungs with her name on his lips but he could not make it out alive. He died in the dirt, miles from home, his blood sinking silently into the arid soil.

When the news reached the haveli, the universe collapsed entirely.

The initial days were a blur of absolute sensory overload for Ulfat. Grief was not merely an emotional weight; it was a physical poison. The hardest part of every day was the bedroom. For the first two weeks, whenever Ulfat so much as crossed the threshold of their room, the sudden wave of Rehman’s lingering scent — sandalwood, dark tobacco, and the crisp, starched cotton of his clothes would strike her like a physical blow. Her knees would buckle, her vision would narrow into a pinpoint of dark light, and her body would simply give out. The servants would find her sprawled across the wooden floorboards near the door, unconscious, her body choosing blackness over the agony of breathing air that he no longer shared.

As the days bled into one another, she developed a desperate, heartbreaking ritual. When the evening shadows deepened, she would drag herself to his carved wooden wardrobe with trembling hands. She would bypass her own clothes and pull down one of his unwashed, heavy cotton kurtas. Slipping her fragile, thin arms into the oversized sleeves, she swallowed herself in his fabric, needing to feel surrounded by him. She would crawl onto his side of the bed— the right side, where the mattress still bore the slight, ghost-like indentation of his body and bury her face deeply into his pillow, breathing in frantically, trying to memorize every lingering molecule of his scent before time washed it away forever.

On a cold, silent night, as she lay there shivering in his kurta, the boundary between her fragile sanity and her crushing grief finally dissolved.

It began with a subtle shift in the temperature of the room. The biting chill that had settled into her bones seemed to recoil. She felt a sudden, profound wave of warmth radiating against her back — a steady, enveloping heat that felt impossibly solid. Then came the pressure. It was the unmistakable feeling of a heavy, broad arm sliding over her waist, pulling her back against a broad, solid chest.

And then, pressed firm and flat against her ear where it rested on the mattress, she heard it.

It was a slow, deep, resonant pulse. A heartbeat. It reverberated through the mattress, vibrating through her skull, settling into her collarbone, forcing her own chaotic, fluttering pulse to slow down, to align, to synchronize perfectly with its steady rhythm.

A wave of dizzying, euphoric relief swept through her veins, so intense it made her sob without sound. Her entire body relaxed out of its rigid curve. Her mind, desperate to escape the nightmare of the last month, immediately seized upon the sensation and rewound reality.

He’s here, her soul screamed into the dark. He didn't die in the desert. The long, agonizing funeral, the heavy wooden casket, the thousands of hands offering quiet condolences, the sight of her sons weeping over an open grave — it was all a fever dream. A horrible, twisted hallucination born of her fragile mind. He came back to me.

"Rehman..." she breathed out, the word a shattered, loving prayer against the pillow.

She squeezed her eyes shut tighter for a fraction of a second, savoring the warmth, feeling the heavy rhythm of his heart beating right behind her shoulder blades. It was the same rhythm that had anchored her through decades of marriage, through storms and feuds, through the unbearable loss of their eldest son Naieem.

"Rehman, you're here...you stayed..." she whispered, a desperate smile attempting to form on her dry, cracked lips.

Slowly, tenderly, she began to turn her body around in the embrace. She moved with deliberate slowness, terrified that a sudden movement might shatter the fragile reality. She reached her thin, trembling arm out into the space beside her, her palm opening, fingers stretching out to cup his cheek, to feel the familiar jawline, to look into his dark, fierce, devoted eyes and hear him call her ‘meri jaan’ one more time.

Her hand swept through empty, freezing air.

Ulfat’s eyes snapped wide open.

The other side of the bed was completely, utterly empty.

There was no Rehman. There was no broad chest resting behind her. There was no heavy arm wrapped around her waist.

The suffocating warmth that she had felt wrapping around her shoulders was nothing more than the heavy, lifeless wool of the winter quilt she had pulled over herself. And the deep, steady heartbeat that had echoed so loudly against her ear...

She pressed her own hand flat against her chest, right over her ribcage.

It was her own heart. The sound had been her own blood roaring in her ears, amplified by the heavy silence of the room and her own desperate insanity. The rhythm hadn't belonged to Rehman; it belonged to her own living, agonizing body, forcing her to stay alive when every piece of her soul wanted to die.

He didn't exist in the room. He didn't exist in the house. He existed only as a phantom echo trapped inside her own beating chest, mocking her with every pulse that refused to stop.

A low, primal sound tore from her throat— a strangled gasp of horror. The illusion ripped her open, exposing her raw nerves to the brutal, unyielding truth. The grief returned not as a slow sadness, but as a violent physical crash. She pulled her hand back from the empty space as if she had touched red-hot iron, curling back into a tight knot, her face buried in her hands as her body shook with silent, terrifying spasms of agony.

The realization shattered something fundamental inside Ulfat. If her own mind was going to construct such cruel, agonizing illusions on that bed, then she would abandon the bed entirely. She would abandon the warmth. She would punish her body for daring to keep beating when Rehman’s heart had stopped in the soil.

For the next seven days, Ulfat refused to touch the bed. She refused the kurta. She refused the warmth. She moved entirely to the hard, narrow leather couch sitting in the corner of the cold drawing-room near the veranda. She abandoned all blankets, lying motionless in her thin cotton clothes, letting the icy night wind that blew through the open lattice windows settle deep into her bones. She wanted the cold to settle deep into her bones. She wanted to feel frozen, numb, hollowed out.

To destroy the torment of her own heartbeat ,the sound that constantly reminded her of her survival she dragged a heavy, old brass transistor radio to the floor beside the couch. She turned the dial to a local station, cranked the volume knob as far as it would go, and let the harsh, static-heavy music and loud, distorted voices fill the room.

Day and night, the radio blared. The sound echoed off the high ceilings and marble floors, a deafening wall of noise that drowned out the quiet murmurings of the haveli. She lay on that hard couch, staring with unblinking, glassy eyes at a fixed spot on the ceiling, her face drained of all color, her cheekbones sharp and protruding, dark purplish hollows carved deep around her eyes. She stopped eating. She stopped speaking. She became a living corpse, letting the cold wind bite her skin and the loud music numb her brain, waiting patiently for her heart to finally catch up with her dead soul.

On the seventh day of this torture, the music was blaring so loudly it rattled the glass panes of the veranda doors.

Faizal stood in the threshold, watching her.

He was seventeen years old, but in the span of two months, his childhood had been completely obliterated. First, his elder brother Naieem-his hero, his protector had been buried in a shallow grave. Then, thirty days later, his father- the invincible, towering mountain of a man who had held their world together was brought home wrapped in a blood-stained sheet.

And now, as Faizal stood in the drafty hall, his teeth chattering from the cold, he realized he was watching his mother commit suicide in slow motion.

A terrible, furious agony burst open in Faizal’s chest. He couldn't breathe. The sound of the blaring radio felt like sharp needles scraping against his raw nerves. His hands curled into tight, trembling fists at his sides, his knuckles turning white. His eyes, swollen and red-rimmed from weeks of crying alone in his dark bedroom, burned with a terrifying mixture of grief, despair, and sudden, explosive anger.

He marched across the cold floorboards, his heavy boots making no sound against the roar of the music, and violently slammed his fist down on the radio’s power button.

The sudden, absolute silence that crashed over was deafening. The wind outside seemed to drop. The silence hummed with a heavy, dangerous tension.

Ulfat did not react. She didn't startle, she didn't jump, she didn't even blink. She remained motionless on the leather couch, her sunken, colorless face turned toward the ceiling, her breath barely registering as a faint frost in the cold air.

Faizal’s breath hitched, a ragged, pathetic sound. The sight of her complete detachment broke something fundamental in him. He dropped to his knees on the hard stone floor beside the couch, his knees slamming into the floorboards. He reached out and grabbed her limp, ice-cold hands, squeezing them with desperate force.

"Ammi..." he choked out, his voice cracking, tearing down the middle under the weight of his terror. "Ammi, please... look at me. Look at me, Ammi!"

Ulfat didn't move. She was far away, drifting in a dark ocean where no voice could reach her.

"Ammi, you have to stop this!" Faizal’s voice rose, a sharp, hysterical edge cutting through the quiet room. Tears welled up in his bloodshot eyes, spilling over his lashes and running down his pale, drawn cheeks. "You have to stop doing this to yourself! You...you need to forget Abbu! You have to let him go!"

The 'Abbu' hit Ulfat like a physical blow.

Slowly, painfully, as if her neck were made of rusted iron, Ulfat turned her head on the flat leather pillow. Her sunken, dark eyes locked onto Faizal’s face.

There was no tenderness in her gaze. There was no recognition of her youngest child, no motherly warmth, no instinct to comfort his weeping face. Her eyes were completely hollow, flat, and dark as a dried well. She looked at him not as her son, but as a cruel intruder who had dared to speak a sacred name, an stranger trying to tear away the only thing she had left: her misery.

"Stop," she whispered.

The word did not sound like her voice. It was a dry, raspy hiss, scraping out of her parched throat like dead leaves blowing across concrete. "Stop talking."

Faizal stared at her, his lips quivering, his chest heaving up and down in rapid, panicked breaths. The sheer coldness in her voice didn't scare him away— it ignited the powder keg of agony that had been building inside his chest for weeks.

"No!" Faizal screamed, the dam breaking completely. He shook her cold hands violently, his tears flowing in thick, hot streams down his face. "No, I won't stop! Look at you! Look at what you're doing! Main already phele Bhai phir Abbu ko kho chuka hu, ab aapko nahi khona chahta! Why don't you understand, Ammi? Aap samjhti kyu nahi hai! I am still alive! Mujhe aapki zaroorat hai!"

Ulfat’s face remained frozen, a mask of stone, her eyes wide and unblinking, absorbing his screams without a single flicker of emotion.

Faizal let go of her hands and stood up abruptly, stumbling back a step, his chest working like a bellows as he gasped for air through his sobs. The sight of her absolute indifference, her refusal to be a mother to him, transformed his grief into a terrifying, wild desperation.

"Why are you being so selfish?" he screamed at her, his voice shattering against the tall walls of the haveli, echoing down the empty corridors. "Aap itni khudgarz kyu hai? If you want to die so badly, if you hate being here so much... Isse acha yehi hota ke uss din meri bhi maut ho jati!"

The sentence hit the room with the terrifying force of a lightning strike.

Ulfat’s pupils dilated slightly, a tiny, involuntary tremor passing through her lower lip, but Faizal was too far gone in his storm of pain to notice. He wiped his face furiously with the sleeve of his kurta, his whole body shaking as if he had a fever.

"Already itna kuch mujhse chhoot chuka hai!" he wept, his voice breaking into a raw, painful shriek. "Naieem Bhai went away! Abbu went away! Everyone left me! And now... now you are leaving too! You are lying here dying on purpose! Mujhe bataiye main kaise jiyu aise? Ammi, main ye sab aur nahi bardasht kar sakta!"

He couldn't stand the sight of her empty, pale face for another second. It was killing him. With a choked sob, Faizal turned on his heel and fled. His heavy footsteps slammed violently against the floorboards as he ran , sprinting down the dark, long corridor toward the interior of the haveli, his heart-wrenching sobs echoing back until a heavy oak door slammed shut in the distance.

Silence returned to the drawing-room.

But it was no longer the quiet, numb silence Ulfat had cultivated for a week. The room was ringing with the violent, agonizing vibration of her son’s words.

Khudgarz. Selfish.

Main abhi Zinda hu. I am still alive.

Isse acha yehi hota ke meri maut ho jati. It would have been better if I had died.

The words circled her head like jagged blades, cutting through the dense, thick fog of her self-absorbed grief. They tore down the walls of her private hell, dragging her kicking and screaming back into the brutal light of reality.

Ulfat lay on the couch, her chest heaving as if she had been plunged into freezing water. A violent, gasping breath hitched in her throat, rattling in her chest.

What have you done, Ulfat?

The thought burst into her brain like a flash of fire, blinding her with sheer horror. What have you done?

She had buried herself so deeply in the grave of her dead husband and her lost son that she had completely abandoned the living child who was standing right in front of her. She had wrapped her grief around herself like a armor, nursing her broken heart as if she were the only person in the house who was bleeding.

Faizal was seventeen. He had held his elder brother's cold body. He had carried his father’s wooden casket to the graveyard. He had suffered from the exact same nightmares that haunted them all. And for days, while he was drowning in his own terrifying loneliness, he had come home, to her every day to watch his mother slowly, deliberately kill herself in front of his eyes. She had made him feel invisible. She had made him feel like his survival was a disappointment, like his presence wasn't enough to make her want to live.

And then, like a physical strike to her stomach, her mind shifted to Uzair.

God, Uzair.

A wave of suffocating shame washed over her, so intense it made her physically sick. When Rehman died, there had been no time for Uzair to lie on a couch and let the cold set into his bones. There had been no time for him to listen to loud music and fade away.

Overnight, the terrifying weight of Rehman's entire empire— the blood feuds, the land disputes, the dangerous men knocking at the gates, the security of the haveli, the financial debts had been dumped squarely onto Uzair’s shoulders. He had been forced to put on his brother's coat, step into his brother's shoes, and stand at the front gates like a wall, protecting the family while his heart was tearing apart.

He had lost his elder brother— his only family. And instead of finding a mother to lean on, he had been forced to step around her unconscious body in the hallway, carrying the entire house alone in the dark.

He was standing against the storm all by himself without Rehman and without her.

When did I become so weak? Ulfat thought, a sharp, agonizing sob finally bursting through her lips. Tears— hot, scalding, heavy tears of profound regret flooded her eyes, running down her hollow cheeks into her hair. When did I become a mother who lets her surviving children bleed to death because she is too coward to face the light?

She didn't care about the cold anymore. She didn't care about her dead heart.

A ragged, desperate cry ripped from her throat , a sound so raw — tearing through the paralysis of depression.

She scrambled off the leather couch. Her legs, weak and undernourished, gave out instantly, and she crashed onto her knees on the cold floorboards. She didn't stop. She pushed herself up, her hands scrambling against the wall for balance, her breath coming in ragged, painful gasps as she forced her trembling body to move, staggering out of the drawing-room and into the main corridor of the haveli.

"Faizal!" she called out, her voice cracked, broken, wet with tears, but full of a desperate, terrified power it hadn't possessed in months. "Faizal!"

She moved through the cavernous house, her bare feet slapping against the cold marble, her eyes searching the dark doorways. She didn't stop until she reached the heavy oak door of Rehman’s old study at the far end of the grand hall.

She pushed the door open with all her remaining strength.

The study was dim, lit only by a single desk lamp. Sitting in the massive, high-backed leather chair that used to belong to Rehman was Faizal. He was curled into a ball, his face buried in his knees, his entire body shaking violently as he wept into the dark.

Standing beside the heavy mahogany desk was Uzair.

Uzair looked exhausted beyond human measure. His hair was messy, his dark eyes bloodshot and sunken, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Spread across the desk were dozens of estate ledgers, legal documents, and security reports. He had been standing there, trying to figure out how to pay the estate taxes and keep other rivalry men away from their land, all while listening to Faizal scream in the hallway. He looked pale, hollowed out, carrying the weight of his brother's world — that Rehman never wanted him to carry.

When the heavy door slammed open, both of them froze.

Ulfat stood in the doorway. Her hair was messy, hanging in dark strands around her face. Her cotton clothes were rumpled, her face was wet with tears, and her body was shaking. But her eyes were no longer hollow. She was looking at them—really looking at them with a fierce, devastating love.

She didn't say a word. She crossed the room in swift, desperate steps, her weakness forgotten, and collapsed onto her knees right in front of Faizal’s chair.

She reached up, her trembling, warm hands grabbing Faizal’s wrists, pulling his face out of his knees, forcing him to look at her.

"No, no, no..." she wept openly, her voice breaking into tears as she pulled his head toward her chest, pressing her face against his wet hair, kissing his forehead, his cheeks, his eyes over and over again. "Don't ever say that, Faizal! Don't you ever say those words again, meri jaan! Forgive me...oh God, forgive your mother! Main andhi ho gayi thi, Faizal! Main khudgarz ho gayi thi!"

Faizal froze, his body stiffening in shock, his breath catching in his throat as the familiar, forgotten warmth of his mother’s arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

"I am so sorry, my child," Ulfat sobbed, holding his head against her beating heart — the heart that was no longer a curse, but a promise to stay alive for him. "I am so sorry I left you alone. I am so sorry I made you feel like you didn't matter. You are my life, Faizal! You and Uzair you both are everything I have left in this world!"

She turned her tear-stained face toward the desk, looking up at Uzair, who was standing frozen, staring at her with wide, disbelieving eyes.

"Uzair..." she choked out, stretching one trembling hand toward him. "Uzair... come here. Come to your mother."

Uzair, who had spent thirty days being the unbreakable man, who had buried his grief under endless ledgers and security threats, felt something shatter inside his chest. The heavy papers he was holding slipped from his fingers, fluttering like white leaves onto the floorboards.

He took one trembling step forward, then another, before his knees simply gave out. He dropped to the floor beside Faizal’s chair, his tough, rigid posture collapsing entirely as he buried his face into his Ulfat's shoulder.

"Bhabhi..." Uzair gasped out, a small, broken sound that sounded like someone he used to be before his brother died.

Ulfat wrapped her arms around both of her surviving sons, pulling them into a tight, desperate embrace on the floor of Rehman’s study. She held them with all the strength left in her broken body, shielding them, covering them with her love, leaving no room for the cold air or the shadows to touch them.

They sat together in the dim light of the study, three broken survivors clinging to one another in the dark, their shared sobs filling the room. For the first time in two terrible months, they were not weeping alone in cold, isolated corners of the haveli. They were bleeding together, holding each other's weight, sharing the burden of an unbearable loss.

The grief did not disappear. Naieem was still gone, buried under the earth. Rehman’s chair would remain empty, and the dangerous shadows would still knock at their gates. But as Ulfat held her remaining world against her chest, feeling their rapid, warm heartbeats pulsing in unison with her own, she knew the ghost had left the house.

They were going to survive. They were going to fight, to rebuild, and to heal-not by escaping into the quiet comfort of death, but by choosing, with every agonizing breath, to live for the ones who were still here.

Tags : @shippingtheshippers @pavbhajisupremacist @tanipartner @sparksfromhell @harrystyleskiwi9 @desigurlie @delusionpromaxxsubhu-99 @vakalatnelagadiye @erenfox @rini4everdreaming @scentedwolfdragon @sanpiece @pleasetagmejaaneman @chunkychocosblog @cloudmast @obsessedwidskincare @gulaabjamun08 @tere-naal-nachna @lakshana-ke-lakshan @layinglowkey @shadylovedhurandhar @geometric-circle @ch3rrycok3s @dukh-dard-peeda @cholebhaturesupremacy @rehmanhatesdosa @debsreads21 @snihrayy @akshayes @moonxinthesky @neverkhushialwaysgham @maroonphase @unicornxkeep @faebutterflygayaf @rosiasthings @theuselessdaydreamingidiot @mainyahaankyunhoon @lilymodernfamily @thandicoffee @heavenlit-34 @itstiaofficial @sunxister21 @prahelika @mcdreamyshepherd @ishq-e-rehman @pearls456 @dearlaharii @writrsblu @staticshadowblaze

[winterisfortaehyung]

Case Closed 🔞

Everybody knows that Im a good girl, officer..

Dev Verma × Assistant!Reader

Summery: Nine months. One murder. Two detectives who spent longer looking at each other than the evidence they were supposed to be examining. One night and too many drinks changed everything.

Warning: Porn, just straight up porn, 18+, Mature Themes, Explicit Sexual Content, Strong Language, Alcohol Consumption, Workplace Romance, Consensual Relationship, smut, p in v, protected sex, choking, making out, kinda voyeurism?, spanking, dominant! Dev, drunk sex, fucking from the back.

Words ≈ 2.7k

Nine months earlier the file landed on Dev’s desk with a thud. A businessman found dead in his own flat in Bandra. The in-charge didn’t waste time.

“Verma, yeh case tum dono handle karo. Assistant ke saath. Time waste mat karna.”

That was it. No discussion. You and Dev were paired.

You and Dev have been working together fir years, but this was the first intense case. The first few weeks stayed strictly professional. Long hours in the crime branch, you sat through interviews, cross-checked statements, went through CCTV from three different locations.

The case stretched. New leads appeared, old ones mysteriously died, witnesses changed stories. One important number on the victim’s call list belonged to someone who had left the city. You both had to travel. Hotels with separate rooms at first. Then, when the budget lessened and the stay stretched longer than planned, the same room with one bed.

Neither of you commented on it.

Late nights with papers spread across the small table, tea, the theories which until stopped making sense. Sometimes Dev would lean back, stare at the ceiling, and say something completely serious that somehow sounded ridiculous.

“Agar yeh aadmi sach me suicide kiya hota... toh usne agle din ka thailand ticket cancel kyu nahi kiya...?”

You almost laughed.

You started noticing the small things. The way he rolled his sleeves the same way every morning. Mutual respect stayed intact. Conversation stayed easy.

Somewhere around the 6th month the case shifted. A name that had seemed unimportant kept comin up. The next three months were rough.

By the ninth month the pieces locked. The evidence clicked. You both stood in the interrogation room after it ended, exhausted and quiet. Dev looked at you once, then looked away.

“Kaam ho gaya.”

...

The in-charge was pleased. Very pleased. A party was announced for the next evening for them. You and Dev stood through the billon congratulations. The courtyard was filled with voices that all said the same thing. ''Congratulations". "Good wor"k. "You both handled it well". Hands on shoulders, forced smiles, people who barely spoke to you during the nine months now acting like friends. It got repetitive fast.

You caught Dev’s eye across the small circle of officers. A slight tilt of your head toward the far end of the courtyard. He gave the smallest nod, finished whatever half-assed conversation he was stuck in, and stepped back without a word.

You both moved away from the crowd. The bar was set up under a string of lights with a few high stools and a long table. You adjusted the pallu of your saree as you sat.

He ordered for both of you. Two glasses appeared. You drank slowly at first, talking about nothing important, the in-charge’s speech, how long the case had dragged, the usual post-file exhaustion and how fake these hoes are. The alcohol settled in steady. Enough that the edges of the night softened. Enough that your shoulders dropped just a fraction.

Conversation slowed. Voices dropped. A comment here, a quiet laugh there. His knee brushed yours under the table and stayed. You didn’t move away. His voice stayed low when he spoke next. Your foot caressed his leg under the table.

Your fingers tracing the rim of your glass. He grabbed the bottom of your chair pulling your chair closer to him. The space between you two disappeared. His hand rested on the back of your chair first, then slid lower. Fingers found the bare strip of skin at your waist where the blouse ended. He stroked your skin slowly, while he sipped his drink.

You felt the heat rush through you immediately. It wasn’t even a sexual touch. Just the implication of it, the audacity he had in the way he did it without checking if anyone was watching too closely. Your pulse picked up. You stayed still, glass halfway to your mouth. You tried to keep your breathing even.

His thumb moved again, a slow drag across your skin. Your eyes immediate went towards the crowd. This was not in the privacy of a hotel room. Here, one wrong movr and the entire branch would have something to gossip about by morning.

You set the glass down carefully, fingers a little shaky. The touch at your waist didn’t stop right away. You swallowed, then pushed the stool back just enough to stand.

“Main… thodi der ke liye andar jaati hoon."

You didn’t know where else to go. The stairs felt never ending. His office was empty, the lights dimmed, the desk still covered with the usual files. You leaned against the edge of it, hands flat on the wood, and just breathed. In. Out. Trying to steady whatever the alcohol and his hand had done.

She heard footsteps in the corridor. Before you could turn fully, an arm locked around your waist and pulled you back. You gasped.

Dev’s face dropped straight into the side of your neck. He breathed in like the scent of your skin was stronger than whiskey neat.

“Dev—”

“Hmm?”

The sound was low against your skin. Then his mouth found your jawline. You felt yourself smile despite everything, scandalised, half-drunk, and completely unable to stop.

Your eyes flicked to the wide open door. Anyone could walk past.

Your hands covered his on your waist too pull them.off of you. Instead they curled into his forearms pulled him closer. His mouth moved lower. Teeth bit the junction of your shoulder and neck. Your eyes fluttered shut.

“Darwaza—” you managed, voice unsteady.

Dev stilled. He lifted his head, glanced back at the open doorway, then looked at you. A familiar smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Smart girl.”

He stepped back just enough to give himself space.

The lock clicked into place. Dev didn’t waste a second. His hands found your waist again and he pulled you flush against him. His mouth latched onto the side of your neck immediately, teeth scraping lightly before his lips closed over the same spot he had bitten earlier.

“Wanted this so bad.” he whispered against her skin.

One of your hands slid up his back, feeling the muscle shift under the white shirt. The other traced over his shoulder, down his bicep that held you tight, then up again to the back of his neck. When he bit down a little harder near the hollow of your throat, your nails dug in without meaning to.

“Dev…”A breathless little laugh escaped you.

“Seriously? Yahan yeh sab..” you trailed off.

Dev chuckled. He lifted his head just enough to look at you.

“Itna mehnat kiya tumne case pe. Reward ke naam pe toh ek bekar party hi mili tumhe.” He paused, thumb still moving against your side. “Main dunga tumhe… reward.”

You giggled before you could stop it. You wrapped both arms around his neck, pulling his face back down to yours.

Your mouths met messily. Months of shared hotel rooms and late-night silences and the constant low burn of wanting something you weren’t supposed to have, had already been enough. This was just the release. His moustache scratched lightly against your upper lip. His tongue pushed into your mouth, tasting of the alcohol you had been nursing. You answered the same way, fingers tightening at his shoulders.

He pressed you harder against the desk until you were half-sitting on the edge. Papers shifted under you. Something clattered to the floor. His hand stayed at your waist, holding you exactly where he wanted. The other slid higher under the blouse, his thumb brushed the underside of your breast, your breath hitched against his mouth.

He broke the kiss only long enough to drag his lips back down the side of your neck, finding the spot that made your head tip back. His voice was a low rumble against your skin.

“Hotel mein bhi control kiya tha. Idhar nahi karunga, if you want to stop.. abhi bol de.”

"Don't stop.." Your legs had parted so he could step between them. The saree bunched between your bodies. His hips pressed forward and you felt exactly how serious he was about the "reward".

Dev pulled away a bit, a smirk one his face. He grabbed a heavy paper weight from his desk and threw it at the CCTV camera in his office. The device broke and the glass paper weight also shattered. You flinched at the noise. "Dev..?" You asked, a little shocked.

"Kya? Privacy, baby.." he smirked.

Hot.

Your fingers found the top button of his shirt and popped it open, he made a low sound of approval before going back to your collarbone. Another button. Then another. The fabric fell open enough for your palms to slide over the warm skin of his chest, the scatter of hair, the hard plane of muscle.

Dev’s tugged the pallu of the saree further down your shoulder, exposing more of the blouse and the skin beneath. Open kisses along the line of your collarbone, teeth grazing the soft swell of your breast above the neckline.

His other hand traced up her leg, to your thigh, your saree bunched up and messy.

Your legs tightened around his hips almost without thinking, drawing him in. His hard cock pressed more firmly against you. The friction made both of you still for a second. Dev’s breath left him in a rough exhale against your throat.

“Fuck,” he muttered, “Kitna control kiya maine. Ab nahi.”

His one hand still high on your thigh, the other sliding up your back under the blouse to find the hook. The clasp gave with a soft click. You felt the fabric loosen and his palm immediately take its place. When his thumb brushed over your nipple the sound you made was louder than before. He swallowed it with another kiss.

His hand on your breast squeezed gently, thumb stroking in slow circles. The other hand stayed high on your thigh, fingers tracing the edge of your underwear.

His hand finally slipped fully under the last barrier of fabric. Fingers found your already wet and aching cunt. He groaned.

You reached for his open shirt and shoved it off his shoulders, fabric catching for a second on his arms before it hit the floor. His hands were already at the drape of your saree, unravelling the long length of cloth. The fabric pooled at your feet. Both of you were left in underwear for only a few more seconds before those disappeared too.

Dev turned you around. Your palms landed flat on his desk for balance, papers shifting under your fingers. He stepped in behind you, his hands settling on your hips.

He reached past you and pulled open the top drawer of the desk. His wallet came out. He flipped it open with one hand and held it in front of you.

“Nikaal. Jo flavour chahiye.”

You took the wallet. Your fingers found the small condom inside. You chose one without thinking too hard. He gave you a short, almost absent peck on the side of your mouth.

He didn’t rush putting it on. While he slid the condom on, his mouth started at the top of your spine and moved down, open kisses along the line of your back, lower, until his lips brushed you ass cheeks. The slow drag of his mouth made your fingers curl against the desk. Frustration built fast.

“Jaldi karo na—”

The tone came out bratty without you fully meaning it. A sharp slap across one cheek of your ass. You yelped, the sting blooming under your skin.

You bit your lip and felt the corner of your mouth curve up anyway. Something reckless and playful filled your brain. You shifted your weight, pushing your hips back against him a little more deliberately than necessary. Dev made a low sound of amusement. He understood exactly what you were doing.

His hand came up and wrapped around the front of your throat, your breath hitched. He used the grip to tip your head back until the back of your skull rested against his cheek. His mouth found the shell of your ear. Then bit down just hard enough to make you whimper. The position forced your back into a deep arch, chest forward, ass pressed tight against his hips, throat under his palm.

He spanked you again, same spot, sharper this time. Then the head of his cock dragged slowly along your slit, up and down, coating itself, but not pushing in. Pure torture.

“Dev… please. Abhi.”

You felt him smirk against the your face. His grip on your throat tightened a fraction, just enough to remind you who was setting the pace, and he kept rubbing against you. He finally pushed in.

The head of his cock stretched you open. Your head fell back against his shoulder. The sudden fullness was almost too much. Your fingers dug into the edge of the desk.

Dev’s breath turned into a groan against the side of your neck.

He stayed still for a few seconds, letting you adjust, hips pressed flush to your ass. Then he started moving, slow at first, long strokes of his hips that pulled out all the way before driving back in. You hummed low in your throat

God. Finally.

The alcohol dulled your brain. You stopped trying to stay quiet. Every time he bottomed out a loud moan left your mouth. Then louder. The desk creaked under your palms.

Dev hissed through his teeth at the wet heat of you. "Tight...”

But the volume of your sounds was getting too high. And he knew he was about to fasten his pace, his free hand left your hip, came up, and two thick fingers pressed past your lips into your mouth laid on the back of your mouth. You gagged lightly around them, eyes rolling back and fluttering shut as he pushed them deeper against the back of your throat. The muffled, nasty sounds you made around his fingers only seemed to turn him on.

His rhythm changed.

He started fucking into you hard and deep. The wet, heavy slap of his skin against your ass filled the office. Each thrust shoved you forward gainst the desk.

You moaned around his fingers. Spit gathered at the corners of your mouth. Your eyes stayed half lidded and unfocused. The hand at your throat tightened just enough to keep your head tilted back against him while he fucked you in long, punishing strokes.

He pulled his fingers from your mouth to let you breath, then pushed them back in when another loud moan started to escape. You gagged softly again. He let out a irritated groan of pleasure, like the way you felt was personally offending him.

“Chup… nahi toh pura floor sun lega.” he hushed.

He kept slamming into you hard enough to keep your g spot feel sore the next day. Your body took every thrust greedily.

He shifted the angle slightly, one hand gripping your thigh and placing your leg on the desk. The angle helped him penetrate better, and made your eyes roll back again. A broken sound tore out of you around his fingers. Dev’s answering groan was low and rough, almost gritted out between his teeth.

“kitne shanti se bathi hai tu, good girl.. ”

You were gone, the alcohol, the pleasure, the way his body felt behind yours. Every hard snap of his hips dragged another broken sound from your throat. He kept you exactly where he wanted, taking everything he gave.

Your hand reached back blindly, fingers finding the solid muscle of his hip and gripping hard, trying to pull him even deeper as the pressure inside you coiled tighter and tighter. The orgasm was right there. A helpless whine slipped out of your throat.

Dev’s voice was almost amused at how close you were.

“Pata hai, i know, baby.”

You whined louder in response, the sound breaking. He answered with another sharp slap across your ass.

His hand left your hip and slid around to the front. Thick fingers found your clit and started rubbing in circles while he kept drilling into you.

Your whole body locked up. A broken, muffled cry tore out of you as the orgasm hit hard. You came, spraying around him, walls clenching and fluttering around his cock. The desk creaked as your arms nearly gave out.

Dev’s rhythm stuttered. He slammed in one last time and groaned as he came. His hips jerked as he emptied himself, hand still pressed firm against your clit, riding you through the aftershocks of your orgasm.

"Aacha laga reward?" Dev smirked.

"Isse kehte hai work motivation." She giggled, tired.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

YOOOOOOOOO i know i was supposed to upload this on my birthday BUT I HAD TOO MUCH FUN YALL AND I WAS TIRED. So here it is today 💋

Like i said.. some of the smut i write is from my personal experiences.. and this is one of them 😛😛

Anywyyyyy have fun reading this lemme know if you have any suggestions u want me to write, headcanons, maybe even short one shots or anything really. I dont really care if it's freaky, im freakier. I got yall.

I was busy but now i got some time.

@mynotesapptbh @prettylady2006 @goodasaysboo @ishq-e-rehman @maroonphase @gulaabjamun08 @rini4everdreaming @anxiousbeeing @calmlyillustriousoasis @alyislost @layinglowkey @moonysscar @flwryyysh @miaaaow @rosesandpeoniesthings @goldenharrysworld @rosiasthings @heavenlit-34 @work-of-procrastination @rehmanhatesdosa

[mainhuchullubullu]

Suroor

a/n : Main blog is @mujhekoimarsbhejdo PEHLI BAAR KHUDSE MOST OF THE PART LIKHA HAI rehem karo mere par pilis. And ofc A BIG PAPPI AND THANK YOU TO @rutvii because i love her and she madat me alot bro wrote the saxy part but mostly because i love her😍🫶🏼

Warnings : uzair ig, idk myself, sad stuff with happy ending because 😛, not proof read so spelling mistakes as a warning, married people stuff guys and mild sax sux

Summary : Uzair forgets your anniversary (thats it)

Word count : 3830 words

@ishq-e-rehman i hope i did justice to your request dont slime me 💋

And the drunk reader part was from this

You had never expected to fall in love. Having a very different perception of marriage throughout her life, you were left stunned when you married Uzair because there was a stark contrast in your relationship with him and your views on marriage and it was slowly making all your worries vanish away. Growing up in an environment where there was a constant state of tension between relationships and marriage feeling more like a transaction where even the smallest and most basic acts of service required some sort of repayment and even minute errors caused serious altercations. This always kept you in a state of apprehension about marriage but at present you would not change your relationship with your husband for anything in the world.

He was quite dense at times but that was what attracted you to him in the first place.

The method by which you had confessed your love to Uzair was not at all romantic, you frankly did not want to confess, you did not even know if you feelings for him were romantic or if you just admired him as a person.

You thought Uzair had the patience of a saint since he dealt with you because you could be difficult at times due to growing up in a completely different environment. He eased all your worries, no matter how insignificant they sounded, he even got you your favourite flowers just because you had mentioned never having received flowers before.

As if this was not enough to prove that he was fond of you, he had climbed a tree when he was in balochistan to have enough network to speak to you (yes gois balochistan me jhad hai, pura thodi banjar hoga), yes you had your doubts if he really loved you. There was a point where everyone knew you two loved each other except the two of you

So the confession was amusing to say the least, you and Uzair were attending one of his friends birthday party and obviously there was alcohol involved. It was your first time going with him to a party and meeting his friends other than the gang members so you were stuck to his side the whole night.

The grave mistake you had committed that night was overestimating yourself thinking you could handle alcohol and took a drink for yourself despite Uzair’s warning which lead to you feeling lightheaded and dizzy in the first few sips yet you continued, by the end you were drunk out of your mind looking up at Uzair with glassy eyes and the fondest smile on your face and basically hanging off his arm. You squeezed his bicep and he asked,

“Kya hua?”

“Aapse pyaar” You mumbled out wiping your grubby hands at his sleeves

“K-kya?” He sounded as if he was told the world was ending in two minutes and 8 seconds, Shock emanating from his voice

“Sach bol rahi hu, pyaar ho gaya hai aapse,” there was slight slurring in your voice which was a result of the alcohol you failed you tolerate

“Tumne pi rkahi hai..”

“Agar pi rakhi hai toh aapse pyaar nahi kar sakti?” You tip toe-ed trying to meet his eyes with yours with much effort, because the alcohol kept them heavy and lidded

“Mera matlab-”

“Kya haseen chehra hai aapka, Mashallah,” you spoke about him, the desperation dripping off of you. If you were sober even a whiff of these words would have you dying with shame, but you kept blabbering comically

You continued talking about him as if you were some Victorian young lad seeing an ankle for the first time in your life.

“Aap kitne lambe ho, aapke baal, aapki ankhe, sab pasand hai mujhe,” you beamed at him, eyes crinkling at the corners because of your ear to ear smile

“Ye kya bol rahi ho?” He looked mildly mortified not expecting you to say all that

“Sirf mohobbat karti hu vahi toh bola..” your voice grew quieter ,even in your drunken haze you were afraid of saying the wrong thing(you already had)

“Nahi nahi mera vo matlab nahi tha. Ghar chalo, tumbe pi rakhi hai, so jao hum kal baat karenge”

“Nahiiii mujhe aapko raat bhar dekhte rehna hai…mujhe nahi sona, mujhe nahi sonaaaaaaaa” You whined, wrapping both your arms around his bicep ,dropping your intoxicated face on the firm muscle.

Uzairs ears had turned pink listening to your words, he didn’t think he could handle your bluntness and outward desire to stare at him all night anymore but he would not trade this confession of yours with any other romantic confession in the world.

He stood still as stone, feeling your hot breaths graze at his skin gently. He swore he could keep his heart’s inkling to himself, for days he had seen your stolen gazes from behind the door, lingering for too long when he was about to leave, but he never once tried to conclude anything from it because he did not want to put you in awkward situation with his feelings. But here he was, in a situation he could have never imagined from his reserved wife.

He was consumed by his train of thoughts when he felt the fabric of his sleeves get wetter and the small prickly sensation, he looked down to find you nibbling on his bicep, your legs threatening to give out.

Driving was a hard task for him when you had made your whole life purpose to smother him with kisses refusing to stay put in place, he had fastened your seatbelt yet you found your way to way his face, peppering his jaw with kisses, your hands running down the span of his chest.

He had carried you up the stairs while you whined about how you could have walked just fine yourself before breaking into giggles about nothing, he placed you gently into the mattress. His world stopped for a moment, watching your flushed face, glassy eyes starting up at him with such a definite expression of love. He had always admired you, when you spent weekends on the couch with him, snuggled into his chest watching movies, he would never admit to it but he doesnt remember a second from those damn movies because all he did was watch you, watch how your eyes crinkled when you laugh, how the closeness with him always kept your cheeks pink.

But he had never an expression this raw on your face, it was drawing him in ferociously .You traced one finger down the back of his neck urging him closer and for a second he did, pressing his lips against yours before pulling back with the sense of responsibility that you may not want this tomorrow and that you barely knew what you were doing.

Inevitably you fussed, trying to pull him back in but he just shushed you till you fell asleep, which really did not take long

Uzair was high on nerves the following morning, he woke up way before, he kept tossing and turning, his eyes occasionally landing on you, taking in your blissful expression, the sun was casting its rays through the window, your eyelashes forming shadows over your choice which just emphasised their length and fullness, your dark waves all over the pillow like a halo, lips parted slightly which determined that you were in deep sleep and beyond waking up

So that's how it started.

It took you a long time to decode your husband, he was not exactly mysterious because every flicker of emotion would be immediately evident on his face but there was this air of unpredictability he carried around him which always intrigued you.

Uzair being called selfless was an understatement, he was always there for Rehman Bhai at any given time and he loved to take every burden upon his shoulders. You admired his sense of responsibility and respect for his brother but there were times when this tendency of his irritated you infinitely because he was present for everyone but you. Although it had not been a major topic of altercation between the two of you but it was certainly one of the many reasons as to why things got tense when he came home late or suddenly left in the morning to do someone else’s bidding

Uzair remembered stuff atleast that's what you thought seeing him blabber about some random deal which he and Rehman Bhai had made years ago. Hence, you naturally expected him to remember your anniversary but apparently not.

The night before the anniversary you were the only excited one, stood in the kitchen sweltering heat for hours on end, working efficiently to make everything he had ever mentioned loving. There was no better way to show your devotion in your mind.

Uzair had come home early and he did not even bat an eye at you, his replies short and cold carried exhaustion, stress and anger radiating from his body.

He slept without having dinner which you had spent hours making and also without changing his clothes which carried the stench of tobacco and gunpowder along with them.

The food grew cold at the decorated table,stinging a strange pain in your heart. Isnt that what you had always expected from a marriage? Quiet nights with no explanation, watching hours of hard work fall dull to what the man did outside the house, you had seen your mother do this a hundred times, it was supposed to be a natural occurrence wasn't it?- to live without praise.

You felt a tad bit of disappointment but you could surely forgive him for it, he was weary due to the affairs at the factory and he must remember your anniversary…right? It was not mandatory that both of you had to celebrate when the clock struck twelve, he would surely wish tomorrow or so you thought.

Perhaps you had expected too much from him, you woke up expecting to be bombarded with affection, maybe even a gift, all of your hopes were shattered when you saw the other side of the bed empty when you woke up- empty and cold, signaling his early leaving.

Your displeasure was rising now, did he really forget it? At least he should have remembered it for the first year! You could feel your heart clench and a strange feeling had built up in the pit of your stomach. With a heavy heart you got out of bed to carry on with your daily chores.

You even tried to call him in the afternoon but he did not pick up. Was he really that busy? He always picked your call up in the first few rings, what was wrong with him. Your brain spiralled into unwelcomed thoughts, it was quite unlikely but you very obviously started assuming he was cheating on you, you had faith in him but you were being betrayed by your own mind. Every minute spent thinking about him made you feel hopeless and angry at him. He had been acting quite distant lately, coming home late, leaving early, all of this was aggravating you now.

Despite the anger building in your heart you dressed up for him, adorning yourself in a fine suit- the green one you wore at your mehendi, who silk fabric reflect in the light, and the pair of jhumkas he had gifted you on your first eid together, maybe now it would click him and maybe the day would end on a good note but he just came walking through the door looking completely numb, just threw his bed on the phone and sat down, holding his face in his hands.

You looked at his distressed state and decided to keep all your assumptions and worries aside for a few seconds and maybe ask him what's bothering him right now, you sat beside him, he felt the mattress dip in weight. You had kept your hand on his shoulder when he snapped,

“Kya hai?!”

“Awas mat uthao mujh par!!!” You snapped back, his eyes widened with panic before he apologised,

“Maaf karna…voh..”

“Vo kya vo? Tum bhool gaye aaj kya hai?”

“Kya hai aaj? Aaj sunday hai aur kya”

“Aap sacch mei bhul gaye? Anniversary hai humaari aaj Uzair!”

Realisation set in, he quickly glanced down at his watch which showed today's date, panic set in that he tried to gulp down with a forced coolness

“ Haan..voh. Toh? Kaam tha mujhe bahut dimaag se nikal gaya yaar” he mumbled, barely able to get the cruel sounding words out, but it was all that came to his mind now

“DIMAAG SE NIKAL GAYA? Kaam kaam.. Itna hi kaam tha toh shaadi hi kyu ki?”

‘Shaadi hi kyu ki?’ As if he had a choice himself, the sentence alone made the weariness of his day worse and he said something he never meant to say, not like this atleast

“Mar nahi raha tha mai shaadi karne ke liye,bhai ke vajah se ki thi” he snarled, shrugging off

Tears were quick to come to your eyes, you couldn’t bear to look at him, not wanting to make him feel that you were weak, but you couldn’t ignore the clenching of your heart. Your voice threatened to crack at each syllable but you cleared your thrashing before speaking,

“Theek hai…”

You were hurt but you already felt oddly numb, maybe it was the fact that everything was falling into place and how your previous suspicions, the ones which you always had growing up that every relationship gets strained after its sweet moments came true. All the clashes you had witnessed at home coming back to you, maybe that's how it is and always will be.

The enormity of the situation dawned upon Uzair, the strong sense of contrition had taken over him, he was almost desperate to apologise to you because what he said was completely opposite of what he meant

“Jaana-”

“Nahi..jaane dijiye aap…”

“ Jaan mera matlab voh nahi tha”

“Toh kya matlab tha Uzair?” You looked up at him eyes glassy with unshed tears, you were holding back from letting out crushed sobs but looking at him was more difficult than whatever you were trying to do

“Please ro mat” his large palms enveloping both of yours in his, the pleading in his voice evident “ Galti se kuch bhi bol diya..maaf kardo jaana”

“KYA MAAF KARU? Mujhe samajh nahi aa raha aap kya kar rahe ho! Ek hafte se theek se mujh se baat nahi kar rahe! Itni der se ghar aate ho uske baad chup hoke baith jaate hoo, thak gayi hoon mai akele reh kar ke. Ek baar ko toh shaadi maine yahi man mana ki kai thi baaki sab ki tarah,..apni ammi ki tarah chup reh kar nikaal lungi saari zindagi”

“Fir aap mile, jaise socha tha usse lakh gunna accha parivaar mila aur ek baar ke liye laga ki mujhe galat fehmi thi..aapki har kamiyon ko nazarandaaz kiya, kyunki mujhe lagta tha aapko bas pyaar jaatane nahi aata.. Par nahi aapki jindagi mei kaam ke liye kisi aur cheez ke liye jagah nahi hai. Aapko humaari anniversary tak nahi yaad thi Uzair? Mai paaglo ki tarah kal raat se aapke kuch bolna ka inteezar kar rahi hoon”

“Jaanu-”

“ Par aapko toh pyaar karna hi nahi aata, ya shayad aapko mujhse pyaar nahi karna aata kyunki aapko toh bahut ‘kaam’ hota hai na factory pe, yeh kaam Rehman bhai ko kyu nahi hota hai Uzair?”

“ Nahi nahi vaise kuch bhi nahi hai y/n-”

“ Kitni befkoof thi mai ki aapse..aapse mohabbat kar baithi, ek aise aadmi se pyaar kar baithi jise apni hi shaadi majboori lagti hai”

“ Mujhe pata thi kitni excited thi tum..peechle mahine se hi shopping kare jaa rahi thi aaj ke liye, mai kuch bolta nahi hoon par mera saara dhyaan sirf tum pe hi rehta hai y/n. Mujhe tumhe dekhne ke liye kaun kaha raha hai? Koi nahi, koi nahi mere alawa. Jab tak tumhaari pasand na pasand na pata ho tab tak mujhe tasali nahi milti, tumhe hastien hue na dekh lo sukoon nahi milta”

“ Mujhe kuch nahi sunana”

“ Par mujhe batana hai”

“ Rehman bhai waali baat…mera matlab voh nahi tha..y/n, mujhe shuru se pata tha meri jindagi ka koi thikana nahi hai , aaj hai kal nahi aise mei mai kisi ladki se shaadi karke use apne saath barbaad nahi kar sakta. Yeh sach hai mujhe yeh shaadi nahi karni thi par..mere liye tum sirf ek zimmedari nahi hoo.Pata hai mujhe kitni ghinn aati hai khud par ki yeh jaante hue ki kaise zindagi hai meri mai tumhe fir bhi chata hoon”

You could not utter a single word, you shifted closer to him slightly, your hand tightened around his, offering as much comfort as you could from this gesture.

“Tum nahi dekhti joh mai dekhta hoon roz kisi naye insaan ka khoon mere haathon mei hota hai, kitni laashien dekhi hai maine bachpan se aaj tak, jis tarah tumhe dar lagta hai y/n mujhe bhi dar lagta hai, bahut darr lagta hai par mai nahi dikha sakta, meri kamzoori dikhaane se sirf tumhien nuksaan hoga”

“ Abhi voh Irfan ki shaadi hui thi’” describe his panik :P “2 mahine bhi nahi hue the aur mere aakhon ke saamne usse goli maar di, voh mai bhi ho sakta tha y/n. Kabse dimaag mei bas yahi baat chal rahi hai, ki kya haq hai mujhe tumse pyaar karne ka jab mere paas tumhein dene ke liye kuch hai nahi, mai toh tumhe yeh vaada bhi nahi kar sakta ki mai kal vaapis jinda aaunga”

“Sabne tumhe sirf apne matlab ke liye istmaal kiya hai y/n, tumharein baap ke liye tum bas siyaasi mohra thi aur kuch had tak bhaiya ne bhi meri shaadi mei bhi bas apna matlab dekha aur maine bhi sirf apna matlab dekha, sir bhai ki baat maan ne ke liye haan kar diya ek baar yeh bhi nahi socha ki tum joh chati hoon voh mai tumhe kabhi de bhi paunga ki nahi.. Par ab mujhse nahi jhela jaata..khud se nafrat hogayi hai. Peechle ek hafte se ghar aata hoon bas ek ladki ki shakal dikhti hai jiski mai jindagi barbaad kar raha hoon.. Mar mai abhi bhi utna khudgarz hoon tumhein jaane nahi de sakta, tumhare liye behtar banana chata hoon y/n”

"Aisa nahi hai ke main anniversary ki date bhool gaya tha... baat yeh hai ke main darr gaya tha, darr ke alawa dimaag mei kuch tha hi nahi.. Maaf kardo meri jaan"

You were too stunned to speak, your throat feeling heavy as every syllable which threatened to pour out choking your throat. You did not say anything just leaned forward and wrapped your arms around his neck, hoping he would reciprocate the hug which he certainly did

Uzair let out an involuntarily choked sigh and wrapped his arms around your waist, and hid his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent which always calmed his nerves. You could feel him physically melting against you and going limp. You kept your chin on his shoulder as you gently scratched the back of his head. Uzair felt as if he was ascending to heaven after long overdue.

You reluctantly pulled away from his embrace, his palms still on your hips, you were embarrassed now, for your earlier assumptions, unable to meet his gaze, he shot you a puzzled look

“Kya hua?”

“Voh… mai toh kuch aur hu samajh bethi” you felt utterly humiliated and frankly wanted to laugh at yourself for overthinking

“Aur mohotarma kya samajh bethi?”

“Mujhe laga apko kisi aur ladki se dusra nikaah karna tha” you just wished the ground would swallow you as a whole

“KYA?!” was all Uzair could exclaim because he was marveled at the absurdity of it because he would never in his worst nightmares think of doing that to you.

“Mere defense me! Mera ye sochna jayaz tha! Sirf aap kaam par jate the, ghar der se aate the aur bhai toh kaam nahi hota tha itna..toh voh…ha”

“Meri jaan, ek biwi sambhali nahi jaa rahi dusri ko kaise sambhalu”

You smacked his arm and he yelped rubbing he spot where you slapped him.

“Mai aapko bojh lagti hu? Maar khaoge aap”

“Chalo theek hai, tumse maar bhi kha lunga” you would have visibly cringed if someone would have uttered the same words to you but he was your dear husband so you would gladly allow it

“Aapko me badme dikhati hu pehle khana kha lo”

“Abhi dikha do, jaana” his voice deepened, losing some it of its playfulness turning into something slightly sultry but enough for you to catch the change in his tone, and understand his intentions

“Aapko toh sirf ulti seedhi baate karne aati hai” you tried to diffuse the situation with a half smile, but he was determined to ‘apologise’ to you.

His face dropped into the crook of your neck once again making your breath hitch, before you could overcome the sensation of his beard prickling at your sensitive skin,he had pulled you close. He laid back on the mattress, taking you down with him till your face hovered inches away from his.

His breath warm at your skin, goosebumps rise at your arms as you stare breathlessly “ Humaari begum ko lagta hai hum use pyaar nahi karte? Yeh galat fehmi toh dur karni padegi”

After a year of waiting and longing you both had finally given into your desires,and Uzair was really dead set on making up to you, he had spent a painfully long time preparing yourself for his thickness, diving his face into your most intimate place like it was nothing but elixir of life for him to devour till your thighs were trembling, body was burning with the delirious pleasure that had been long denied from you

Fuck why didnt you do this sooner?

He was not going to let his meal go to waste, so after you were done and gushing on his handsome face he still didn't budge till he had sucked everything clean with embarrassingly loud slurps and hums that vibrated through your whole body, second he made sure to stretch you out with his fingers before finally apologising with his throbbing hardness.

Each thrust was designed for your pleasure, it was a selfless devotion till it wasn't. His pace quickened with the urge to fuck the idea out of your head, that he could ever so look at a women that wasnt you, that he could ever love someone that wasnt you. You both came at the same time, clinging and intertwining your limbs together, there was nothing left of both of you other than panting breaths and thrumming hearts.

( After that Uzair of course had to do damage control and take you shopping and you spend to your heart’s content)

Tagging my lovelies :-

@rutvii @ishq-e-rehman @gloriouspurpose01 @ppinkitten @chai-ke-sath-parleg @maroonphase @willowsgoldenhour @precioussophia @crimsontraditiongolem @itsrebexxa @itstiaofficial @sarcastic-ravenpuff @oinswiftie @sanpiece @sunf1over

(Bata dena if you want to be added or removed)

Sorry for late update but exams bhi hai me trying 🥲🫶🏼

Likes, reblogs and constituents criticism (yeh dm me lekin😰) is highly appreciated

[spduuuu]

Where Is My Husband? - 1

Uzair Baloch x OC

Disclaimer: This story is purely a work of fiction. It is based on Aditya Dhar's duology, Dhurandhar. I do not own the rights to any characters or public figures, only my OC/s and the specific fictional plotlines, dialogue, and creative work written here. I do not represent any real life political party, and the story does NOT depict or glorify real-life gangsters, events or people. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Most of the written work of religion, culture, information and Urdu language is referred to from Google. I do not mean to offend or disrespect any culture or persons.

Trigger Warnings: None tbh, age gap (OC is 21, Uzair is 26)

A/N: Hellooo lovely people!!! My first ever official chapter is here. Yalina is younger than Aliyah(OC), and Hamza n Aliyah are almost the same age, Uzair is eldest of the four. So nervous n excited to post this oml. Pls do lmk if there's any errors and constructive feedback is always welcome. Enjoyyy xoxo

Masterlist

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Aliyah was seated in her small rented apartment- cozy- as she liked to tell herself. It was an old flat, her bedroom had off white walls, adorned with photos and paintings- mostly hers. On the ceiling hung an old, brown fan with golden coloured designs at the edge of the blades. 

She sat on the bed, which was a mattress resting against the wall with the window. The fan creaked with each rotation as she flipped through her textbook- Ammunition & Explosive Safety, when the doorbell rang.

Aliyah walked over to the door, tucking her dark brown hair behind her ears. She opened the door to reveal her best friend of five years, Yalina Jamali, daughter of politician Jameel Jamali. The girl stepped in, brown paper bags in hand.

“Khaana laayi hoon,” she smiled, walking to the kitchen.

“Hello to you, too” Aliyah rolled her eyes while closing the door. She made her way back to her room where her books lay open, pages fluttering under the fan.

“Hear me,” Yalina yelled dramatically as she entered her bestfriend’s room, “and rejoice!”

She threw a sparkly black halter neck top on top of the books, “Club tonight,”

Aliyah snorted at her antics, holding up the top to look at it, "I don't think so,”

“Chalo naa” The curly haired girl whined, “ maza aayega!” 

“Mujhe thirdwheeling karne mein koi dilchaspi nahi hai,” Aliyah laughed, throwing the black top back, which landed onto the younger girl's face. 

As much as she was happy for Yalina and her new boyfriend, Hamza, she didn't exactly enjoy awkwardly standing as they chewed each other's faces off.

“I'll ask him to bring a friend?” Yalina said, desperate to get her friend to accompany her.

“Yalina, I have a test-” She began

"I'll pay for your drinks too!” Now this, Yalina knew would work.

Aliyah smiled, shaking her head in defeat as she got up from the mattress. How could she refuse free drinks? She took the black article of clothing from yalina and pointed a threatening finger at her face “He better be cute,” she said, and walked to the bathroom to try on the top.

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The two girls giggled, moving to the music, the sound of their heels clicking on the dancefloor and laughing drowned by the loud music. The lights flashed, blinking every few seconds according to the music beats as the girls mouthed the scandalous lyrics, almost as if flirting with each other. They were a few drinks in, slightly tipsy as they moved.

 Aliyah was dressed in Yalina’s black halter top and a denim miniskirt, paired with silver hoops and black boots that reached just past her knees, while Yalina was dressed in a short blue spaghetti strap dress which reached just up to the top of her knees, and a big jacket, which undoubtedly belonged to her boyfriend.

“This is so fun!” Yalina yelled over the music as the girls exited the dancefloor to get drinks. Aliyah nodded in agreement, but decided to tease her friend, “I can't believe Hamza is gonna drop in any moment and steal you from me,”

Yalina rolled her eyes dramatically, “nobody can steal me from you,” but the blush on her face made them both laugh.

As their conversation continued, Hamza walked up behind Yalina. When Aliyah smiled in acknowledgement, he gestured her to be quiet, and surprised her by placing his hands on her waist. The elder girl let out a laugh as Yalina’s eyes widened in surprise and she turned around. 

“Eww,” Aliyah said loudly with a scrunched nose but still smiling as the couple kissed. This made them step away. “Hi Aliyah,” Hamza said, and the girl gave a nod. 

“Meet my friend,” He straightened as he looked behind himself, “uh… yahi kahi hoga Uzair,”

“Uzair?” Aliyah’s smile dropped. “Haan, Uzair Baloch.” Hamza replied, before turning to his girlfriend.

Uzair Baloch?

Aliyah knew Hamza worked for Rehman Baloch, but she didn't expect for them to introduce her to a literal gangster. Rehman’s brother, at that. She'd never met him, but she knew of him. If you live in Lyari, you knew who he was- unless you're living under a rock.

Uzair had a reputation to say the least. People respected him out of fear, their eyes turning away as soon as he entered the space. He was the right hand of the Sher-e-Baloch, and next in line for the takt. The unofficial -yet, official- Prince of Lyari.

The guy soon appeared, his wide frame, in addition to his identity, making his presence known. He walked over, slinging an arm around Hamza.

Yalina leaned over to her friend, “So… is he cute?” 

And Aliyah turned to look at the guy- no, man.

He was tall, broad shoulders carried with a confidence that made her giddy. His vacant eyes glinted with familiarity as he laughed with his friend, high sculpted cheekbones defining as he smiled. His long  beard was neatly trimmed, and a long muscular neck emerged from it. He wore a black shirt, the sleeves were rolled up to reveal toned forearms. 

Oh

Oh.

He wasn't just cute- he was hot.

Aliyah’s eyes traced the way his forearms flexed as he crossed his arms, following his biceps, then the muscles of his shoulders, and the collar of his shirt, where he left the top buttons opened, his sculpted collar bones peeked from under-

Her thoughts were broken by Yalina as she handed her a shot she ordered. She smiled teasingly at Aliyah, and the older girl blushed in embarrassment at being caught.

She shook off the feeling- the fluttering in her stomach.

He was a killer for God's sake- a murderer. She thought.

The girl took the shot to clear her thoughts, and as she gulped it, Uzair introduced himself.

“I'm Aliyah,” the girl replied, forcing a smile despite being flustered.

“May I buy you a drink?” The man asked, lowering his head near her ear, but still standing a respectful distance apart. There was a softness in his gaze as he spoke to her, the kind you wouldn’t expect to see with a gangster. 

Aliyah blushed, heat climbing up her neck and pooling in the bottom of her stomach while she nodded.

Why am I blushing? She cursed herself before clearing her throat.

“Kya piyengi aap?” He yelled over the music, though his voice carried no actual heat.

“Jo aap pilaye,” she managed to at least try to be bold, although the flush on her cheeks was adamant to stay.

Yalina and Hamza shared a look, “We're gonna go dance,” Hamza announced before passing a smirk to his friend. He dragged Yalina to the dancefloor while she winked, mouthing a subtle “Enjoy” to her friend.

Aliyah turned to Uzair, only to find his eyes dancing along her body. Realizing he'd been caught, his eyes widened and his gaze faltered as he looked away and blushed in embarrassment. The girl smiled at this.

He turned to her when the bartender handed him drinks, handing a pink cocktail to her with a hopeful look on his face.

His eyes were locked onto her lips- especially when she sipped from the straw. He watched in anticipation, waiting to see her reaction.

His smile faltered when she cringed. Looking at this expression on his face, she laughed, “It's too sweet,”

Uzair could only nod like a bashful child. Aliyah couldn't help but smile.

Cute

She blinked 

No. She was just drunk.

“Drinks exchange karengi?” 

Aliyah almost laughed in his face. He was willing to exchange his glass of rum for a pink cocktail? Because she didn't like that one?

“Nahi, it's fine-” She was cut off when Uzair took the glass from her hand, replacing it with his. “Try kariye,” he insisted. She couldn’t say no when he looked like that.

She took a sip, the peppery taste filling her mouth. She closed her eyes at the familiar warm burn of the drink, sighing.

Aliyah opened her eyes to find him already looking into hers. She blushed, laughing shyly, “It's good,” she said, embarrassed that she liked it even though she didn't want to.

Uzair looked at the pink drink, then back to the girl. The girl nodded toward the drink, urging him to try it. He sighed in defeat, smiling as he took the straw between his lips. The smile was wiped off his face as the drink danced on his tongue. He cringed, nodding while he looked to Aliyah.

“Too sweet,” he said, agreeing with her previous claim.

She handed him his glass, surprised when he returned it to her after taking a sip.

Uzair sat up straight, “Toh… aap kya karti hain?” He asked her as he regained composure. 

“Main Yalina ke college mein padhti hoon,” she said “I'm studying Ammunitions”

The man nodded. He looked impressed with her answer, gaze swiping over her features. He admired how beautiful she was, her long dark brown hair falling in waves as it reached just below her bust, her defined jawline made him want to caress it gently. Her sharp, siren eyes drew him in, mesmerizing him, and he felt as if he was at their mercy, because in a way, he was- even if he didn't know it yet.

She awkwardly cleared her throat, pulling him out of his thoughts. Noticing that his sight clearly made her shift nervously in her spot, he looked away.

“What do you do?” she regretted the question as soon as it left her lips

Uzair blinked, not expecting that. It was the first time someone had asked him this question. He was sure she knew what he did- everyone just knew. He didn't know how to answer this question.

 “I… help my brother with his business.” He said, carefully picking out words.

“Right,” she squeezed her eyes shut, an embarrassed smile making its way to her face “So Hamza is your coworker?” she joked.

He liked that joke, no, he loved it. It made him feel normal; like he didn't kill people on a daily basis, like he didn't deal with guns, like the danger of his work didn't seep into his personal life. It made him feel normal; like he was just a guy. “Yeah,” he laughed, “He's a friend from work,”

She opened her mouth to talk when Yalina came next to her, giggling. Hamza had his hand on her waist as he followed her. He gave Uzair a suspicious look when he spotted the ridiculous pink drink in his hand, earning a glare. 

“Donga ka message aaya hai,” Hamza began, telling him about some shipments that were to be received tomorrow.  Just like that, that moment of normal was gone

Uzair watched as Aliyah gave him a small smile before she was getting dragged to the dancefloor by her friend.

His eyes followed her. The black sparkly top shimmered against the club lights, the thin material showing off her natural curves. He watched as she danced, denim miniskirt threatening to reveal more of her soft, plush thigh with each shift in her hips. He silently admired the way she looked genuinely happy, enjoying herself as she moved to the rhythm with her friend.

His friend's words fell deaf on his ears. He could watch her forever-

He was broken out of this trance-like state when he felt a hand slap his shoulder. He turned to Hamza, irritated, “kya hai?” 

Hamza cooked a brow, “Tune suna bhi, Jo maine kaha?” He said, and Uzair clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“Vaise, Teri drink toh badi pyari hai,” he teasee, looking at the pink liquid in his glass. It was a contrasting sight; Prince of Lyari with a pink cocktail.

Uzair only glanced at her.

“Main aaj Yalina ko mere ghar leke jaa raha hoon. Aliyah ko uske ghar drop kar dena.” Hamza said, walking over to the girls to steal Aliyah’s friend away. He didn't wait for Uzair to protest- because he knew he wouldn't. 

Because he may not know everything about his friend, but he knew this; 

Uzair Baloch never shared drinks.

Taglist: @khoonaurkhanjar @abolitionistlawpluscoffee @mujhekoimarsbhejdo @crimsontraditiongolem

Comment if I wanna be added to the taglist <333

Masterlist

[cloudmast]

um since everyone is asking so a beewbs obsessed rehman pretty plewseee aaamiii<3 :(

Husband!Rehman who is absolutely shameless when it comes to you. He tries to be a gentleman, he really does, but it's so difficult to control himself when your boobs are literally right there in front of his face. You'd be pouring tea into his cup while he sits and he'll openly stare at your cleavage as you bend forward. He loves to play with them and buys you pretty low cut sundresses to wear around the house so he can have a good look at you whenever he likes. Whenever you're both cuddling, he'll be the big spoon, but after a while, he'll scoot down and bury his nose in your valley to place open-mouthed kisses on your skin. You always have love bites on your breasts from him because he just can't stop himself. You like to buy tight tops on purpose for this particular reason. He loses his shit when you walk around the house wearing clothes that look like your tits might spill out any moment and he can't even complain because he loves the view. And when you're riding him? He won't take his eyes off of your boobs and bounces you harder on his cock before taking one into his mouth.

[ishq-e-rehman]

i was getting bored and hadn't really had any interaction w men who're not my friends for a while and then i did and then i was reminded why i wasn't having any interaction w men

[gloriouspurpose01]

Shokh

(transl. lively, playful, flirtatiously mischievous)

This is completely based on Danish's fantastic portrayal of Uzair and is completely fictional. Here, they are businessmen turned politicians, and it's an AU. Constructive criticism appreciated. This is not beta read, so if you guys find some typos/ errors, please feel free to correct me. Warnings: fluff, teasing, implied smut, loads of sexual tension, Uzair being teased by his wife, chaotic, shy Uzair (he is the warning), established relationship, arranged marriage. Uzair x reader/oc Happy reading....

This is for my dear girlfriends of Dhurandhar fandom. Happy Girlfriend's day babygirls.. Muahhhh..

Uzair woke up feeling engulf in a sweet scent. It was not long when he realized where he was sleeping. He was sleeping on his wife, his face was on her neck, he panicked and sat up. Also, where was his shirt? He frantically searched for it, he remembered somewhere in the middle of the night he felt too hot and removed it. At that moment, his wife turned to her side, the neck of her kurta giving him a generous view of her soft chest. Uzair turned red that very moment. Her face was so peaceful as she slept, clueless abut the agony her dear husband was in. Uzair quickly stood up from the bed and almost ran to the bathroom.

She heard his swift footsteps and the bathroom door shut and sat up on the bed. She pressed her palm to her mouth, trying her best to cover her bubbling laughter. She had successfully teased him ever before they had properly woke up. It was so much fun.

Her husband, Uzair Baloch, Lyari ka prince, the right hand of Sher-e-Baloch was such a shy man. While the world saw the man who did business with an iron hand, handled the dirty politics, she knew how respectful and sweet he was. Well he was too respectful and sweet if she was to be honest. He refused to even touch her in an intimate way. He was caring, he gave her forehead kisses, hugged her when she needed reassurance but it never lingered. It had bothered her a lot, she thought that he was not attracted to her, but a few days back she had woke up from the sound of his muffled voice from the bathroom, it sounded too much like a moan, calling her name. He had come out red faced, her doubts were clear, he was attracted towards her. After that, she had made it her absolute mission to tease him to his tipping point.

She sat thinking about her next move when, Uzair came out of the bathroom after a quick shower and saw her sitting on the bed, her hair messed up. He felt the time stop. She looked so beautiful, so adorable that he wanted to kiss her, but he did not want her to be uncomfortable. She looked at him and smiled a sleepy smile. “Good morning Uzair".

She slowly walked towards him, her payals making a soft chime with each step. She came close to him, and took the towel from his hands and pulled him a little down. He bend his head and she wiped his wet hair with utmost care. Uzair felt his breath quicken. She smiled at him sweetly after her task was done and hugged him, pressing herself to him. He could feel her softness against him, his throat was dry now. “Aap kab uthe?” She asked with the same care.

“Bas kuch time pehel.” Uzair's voice came out rougher than usual.

“Mujhe uthaya kyu nahi?” She laced her fingers with his making him sit on the soft cushioned seat near the dressing table. Uzair looked at their reflection. They did make a very beautiful couple. She closed her eyes again resting her head on his shoulder.

“woh tum so rahi thi.” Uzair mumbled, his mind focused on her face, the way her hair moved due to the air of the fan.

“Kaal raat neend kaisi ai?” She asked him her chin now on her shoulder, her lips near his ear. She was completely pressed against him. Their thighs touching. She could feel the heat of Uzair's body.

Uzair felt dizzy, he wanted to engulf himself in her soft tantalizing scent, feel her but he was unsure, they were married for just 2 months, she was younger than him by about 6-7 years, surely she would not be comfortable. He reprimanded himself, she was caring for him and all he could think was that. He shivered and suddenly stood up. “Main chalta hu shayad Rehman bhai bula rahe hain.” He almost ran out of the room.

She sat there for a few seconds and then burst out in a fit of giggled. How fun was this game of teasing. She, the innocent daughter of a businessman made Uzair Baloch run. The world would never believe how easy was to fluster her husband.

“Aj phir se subha subha bechare to tang kiya tune. Pura laal hua tha jab neeche aya” Ulfat Bhabhi commented at she entered the kitchen. She was like a second mother to her, a friend and also a secret keeper.

“Bhabhi ab kya karu ye itne cute hain. Maine bas hug kiya aur ye sharma gaye. Pata nahi kaun hi darta hain inse.” She smiled innocently.

Ulfat knew the reality behind that innocent smile. She knew that her sister-in-law was the naughtiest girl and she loved it about her. “Main bol rahi hu, yesab zaada maat kar. In Balocho ko main ache se janti hu, ek baar inki haad par hogai to mujhe maat khena.” Ulfat was married to Rehman for more than a decade she knew how the men of the family were and even though Uzair and Rehman looked quite different, they were brothers and their inherent personalities were quite similar.

“Bhabhi ye itne sharma te hain ki ab main chahti hu haad par ho.” She laughed remembering how he ran. She was done by the distance between them, she wanted to be loved like the heroines of the romance novels.

“Jo bhi bol soch samajh ke bol.” Ulfat gave her a suggestive smile.

“Aap bhi na Bhabhi.” This made her finally blush.

“Ye kheer to ekdam lajawab bani hain, banana wale ke hath chum lene chahiye.” Uzair commented while devouring his second katori of kheer.

“Ye lo.” She raised her hands towards him across the table.

“Hein?” Uzair was confused.

“Hain Uzair aj ye tumhari begam ne banaya hain. Chalo jaldi jaldi uske hath chum lo.” Ulfat had joined her in teasing Uzair.

“Bhabhi aap bhi na. Bhai hain yaha.” Uzair scratched his neck.

“Teri hi biwi hain main kuch nahi kahunga” Rehman looked at him with a sly smile.

“Bhai" Uzair was unsure what to say, the whole family was now teasing him. 8 year old Faizal suddenly sat up from his chair, walked his and took his Chachi's hand and placed an exaggerated wet kiss. "Ye lo chachi aapki kissi. Chachu aapse nahi hone wala."

"Ruke beta teri to. Der foot ka tu aur mujhe baatein sunata hain." Faizal ran quickly as Uzair followed. The whole family's laugh boomed at the table.

Uzair was standing on the varanda outside his room, smoking a cigarette. They had just returned from a political party and it had left him exhauted. Rehman bhai and Ulfat bhabhi were out of town with their sons for a trip, leaving him to attend these pretentious politicians all alone.

“Suniye.” He heard her soft voice calling him from the room.

As he entered he saw her half undressed and took a step back.“Kya hua.”

“Ye hook khol denge mera hath nahi ja raha.” She turned her back, her bra hook was struck to the zip of her top.

“Kya?” Uzair was so entranced by the view of her bare back that he almost missed it.

“Bhabhi nahi hain gar pe. Aur main kisse kahu? Aap mere sohar ho.” She looked at him with her innocent doe eyes.

“Hain ruko.” Uzair agreed but his hands were shivering. He moved to the hook and his fingers touched the skin of her back, he was feeling lighter again. His wife was so beautiful, so soft, his palm moved to feel her bare back completely forgetting the task he was appointed to do.

“Neeche hain. Aap ko dikh nahi raha kya?” She commented after a minute past. She knew exactly what happened, she wanted to continue but the embroidery of the kurti was stabbing her.

“Hain woh.” uzair quickly focused back to his work and after a few tries successfully opened it.

“Hoagaya” He breath in relief only to realise the kurti has come open and her shoulders and entire back was now visible to him. He could not stand here for a moment and quickly moved out of the room much to her disappointment.

“Uzair, mere liye ice cream leke aiyega ga please.” She tugged at his sleeve.

“Nahi jaan, kuch din pehele hi tum khas rahi thi. Tabiyat bigar jayegi”

“Nahi mujhe khana hain.”

“Aise zidd nahi karte hain”

“Please na, baby. Please” She wrapped her arms around him and pressed himself against him. Looking at him with puppy eyes which she knew would work.

“Acha thikhain.” He finally agreed and she placed a kiss on his chest and ran happily, leaving his cheeks on fire.

“Tune phirse use chirhaya?” Ulfat who had just seen Uzair leave on his jeep with a shy smile asked her.

“Woh kitne cute lagte hain ekdam laal laal galo ke sath.”

“Jis din lene ke dene pargaye na, usdin samjhe gi.”

“Ab to padh hi jaye Bhabhi. Aapko to pata hi hoga.” She hugged Ulfat now making her the recipient of her teasing.

“Hat badmash kahikhi.”

“Maine kitni baar mana kiya hain. Bachi ho tum? Agar chot lag jati kuch hojata to.” Uzair was scolding the three musketeers, Naeim, Faizal and his wife.

“Sorry.” She said, her eyes lowered. She knew he was angry because she hurt herself.

“Bas ye sorry boldo aur khatam. Tum inki chachi lagti ho. Ye dono to hain hi badmash. Kaha inko tum line pe laogi.”

“Sorry chachu.” Naiem had said. He knew his chachi was not at fault. It was them who had insisted (begged) their chachi to take to the terrace of the west wing, as it had the best sunset view. She had saved them from the broken boundary and got her herself.

“Uzair usko kyu dant raha hain. Usko thori pata hain waha ki area toota hua hain. Au uski wajah se hi to Faizal aur Naiem ko chot nahi ai.” Ulfat said finally patting her head.

Uzair sat on the bed smoking. he was angry, scared even. what would he do if something happened to her. He loved her too much. He heard the soft chimes of her anklets and looked at the door. She stood there sheepishly, looking guilty.

“Sorry na Uzair. Please, maaf kardo. Dubara nahi hoga." She moved near him and sat beside him, her hands on her ears.

“Sorry sorry.” She continued. Uzair looked away. She stood up and sat on his lap. "Sorry" she placed a kiss on his cheek. "Sorry" another kiss on his chin.

“Ye kya kar rahi ho.” Uzair asked breathless as she places another kiss with a sorry on his adam's apple.

“Maine suna hain aise maafi mangne se jaldi miljata hain maafi. Please” This time she kissed on the corner of her mouth.

“Hain aise maat karo dekho”

“Please maaf kar dijiye.” She said again placing a kiss on her nose. He had enough, he caught hold of her neck and kissed her, deep. He tasted dark like something she wanted. She wrapped her arms around him and suddenly she felt the pain on her elbow.

"Laga kya jaan" Uzair pulled back at that instance, looking at her wound. He moved her from his lap and searched for the first aid kit. He softly replied the medicine with so much love that she almost teared up. "Sorry Uzair"

“Thik hain jaan.”

“Ye kya kar rahi thi tum?” Uzair asked her as they sat in his jeep. They were returning from the walima of her cousin, Fareeda.

“Kya kar rahi thi?” She asked confused as she looked at the rear view mirror to check her appearance.

“Us admi ke sath?”

Oh so he was jealous. It would be so fun, she finally got another chance to tease him. “Oh Shaheed, woh to mera cousin, Yashmin ke husband ka bhai hain.”

“Wahi wala na jiska rista aya tha tumhare liye.” Oh so he remembered that detail too.

“Hain. Aapko yaad hain?” She said casually. She saw his hands clasp at the steering wheel.“Kuch nahi. Usko pata nahi tha mera nikaah hogaya isiliye congratulations bol raha tha.” Uzair was quite. They reached home and he opened the door for her.

She got down and asked,“Kya hua aap jealous ho?” He did not answer but his face gave all the answers.

As they reached their room, she closed the door and moved towards him. She finally cornered him and wrapped his arms on his neck. She looked at him with her eyes full of love and passion. Both of them were breathing quicker.

“Ye kya kar rahi ho” Uzair said as she places a soft kiss on his jaw.

“Kya, apne shohar se pyaar. Aap itna sharmate ho mujhe hi ab kuch karna parega.” She said as she continued kisses his jaw.

Uzair let out a soft grunt. “Kya bol rahi ho? Main?”

She traced her mehendi strained finger on his cheeks with soft seduction and said, “Hain dekhiye na kaise laal huye pare hain aapke gal. Kaun kahega aap Lyari ke Prince ho”

“Jo bolrahi ho soch samajh ke bol rahi ho na” Uzair had enough. His patience was on a thin line. Her touch was making him crazy.

“Isme samajh ne wala kya hain” She said.

Uzair suddenly caught hold of her finger and pulled her tight. She looked at his eyes, oh no, gone was the soft shyness of love, it was now dark, with passion and hunger that she had never seen before. Uzair bend down to bite on the finger and she pulled back with a soft ahh sound. Uzair looked at her with a smirk. She knew, she was moved passed his tipping point.

“Kyu? Bolti bandh hogai” Uzair slowly move forwards and she stepped back. He softly raised her by her hips and places her on the bed, flat on her back.

“Uzair aap?” She mumbled as he places kisses on her neckline, pulling the top of her kurta lower to let more of her bare skin out so that he could kiss it.

“Kya Uzair." Uzair held her shoulders to the bed, "Bohot time se dekh raha hu, bas badmashi sujti hain na tumhe? Socha tha umar mein choti ho, arrange marriage hain dheere dheere adjust karenge per tumhe to hamesha mujhe satna hain na. Kya lagta tha mujhe kuch samajh nahi ata?”

Uzair looked at her with hunger in her eyes that made her understand all of Ulfat bhabhi's warnings. She should have been careful.

“Woh Uzair”

“Chup. Hamesha bolti rehti ho aj suno. Aj Uzair ke alawa koi aur lafz nikani nahi chaiye.” Uzair commanded and she let out a whimper. She had waited for this but now she was both excited and nervous.

“Uzair bas” she whimpered. Her bare body was now covered with a layer of sweat, she was running hot, her heart was beating so fast she could hear it. Her husband's stamina was something she could not match, she was sure of that.

“Nahi baby. Abhi kaha.” He taunted, continuing his sweet torture as he put all his weight on her. Oh it would be a long night.

“Kya hua?” Ulfat asked as she saw her limping slighting in the kitchen. It was already late, the family had already had the breakfast other than her and Uzair. Ulfat knew they had returned late from the walima and thought they might have been tired and let them sleep. But seeing her condition it seemed something else altogether.

“Kuch nahi Bhabhi.” She answered too quickly and wrapped her duppatta around her neck as if trying to cover herself.

“Bhuk lagi hain jaan.” They heard Uzair's voice boom from the dining area.

“Ji abhi ai.” She quickly took the plate she had arranged for her husband and moved.

Ulfat observed her move, the way she went to Uzair. To her surprise Uzair looked too smug, and she was shy. A strange change. Even yesterday she had teased him. Uzair tore a piece of paratha and fed her, touching her cheek as she shyly had a bite. Uzair finally whispered something in her ear which made her push his chest and she ran towards the kitchen as Uzair smirked.

“Tu sharma rahi hain?” Ulfat asked her, though she knew.

“Woh bhabhi.” She lowered her eyes, her cheeks burning bright red, and unusual sight as she was the one who teased everyone and never became shy.

“Maine bola tha in balocho se panga maat le. Ruk tere liye garam dudh lati hu acha lagega. Aur aur garam pani se ek baar nahalena acha lagega” Ulfat said setting up milk to boil.

“Aap bhi na bhabhi.” She stood fiddling with her dupatta.

“Jaan” Uzair called her, the night was already here. He could feel the need in his body buzzing. The whole day he wanted her close.

She heard the need in his voice too. She was not better off herself. The whole day, all she could feel his touch on her, as if her body was on fire, she could not concentrate on anything. Ulfat bhabhi had noticed and teased her before sending her away to rest.

“Aii” She swiftly moved to through the stairs, her anklets creating the familiar chime.

As she reached the varanda outside the room where Uzair was waiting for her she stopped. He came up and cupped her face placing a soft kiss on her forehead. “Tabyat to sahi hain na?”

“Hain.” She was breathless already. The anticipation buzzing in her body.

“Achaa.” He lifted her in his arms and closed the door. Only the chimes of her anklets and their combined moans.

PS: Mera halat kharab hogaya ye likhte huye.. kudos to the smut writers..

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