Older!Zayan who despised the name ali mazari attached to his name to such an extent that he changed it to Jamali as soon as he legally could. He said it meant that he was finally free of his absent father's shadow looming over him. That he'd finally gotten rid of the last thing that reminded him of his father.
Older!Zayan who has an instinctive habit of breathing into his hands—which are usually covered with splotches of ink because of how much he has to write—whenever he's drowsy. It apparently helps him to sleep better?
Older!Zayan who can grow a beard incredibly fast but gets irrationally irritated by it and shaves it off as soon as it's mildly visible. He says it's because he hates the gritty feel of a beard on his face. Although his friends collectively agree that his annoyed reaction to just the implication of having a beard is way too intense for the dislike to be limited to sensory discomfort.
Older!Zayan who hates the sound of drums and claims it sounds like bullets are being shot somewhere nearby.
Older!Zayan who, just like his beard, doesn't like to keep his hair too long. Though, he doesn't chop it off and keeps it at a certain length because his mother has a habit of running her fingers through them at times.
Older!Zayan who has a hard time saying goodbye because a small voice in his head screams at him to stop them and tells him that once they leave, something very bad will happen and they're never coming back. He's easily brushed off as clingy and anxious.
Older!Zayan who is deeply fascinated by Russian ballet. The incredibly controlled and neat movements absolutely enchant him. They carry unbearable weight and still stay composed. It's impressive, that's all he says.
Older!Zayan who decides he will be making a documentary on Russian ballet. It would be his first time travelling alone from Vancouver to somewhere else. Yalina nagged him relentlessly, insisting that she too tags along. Though after much convincing and a promise that he'd bring those fancy Russian perfumes on his way back home, his ammi finally agreed.
Older!Zayan who wakes up to a tap on his shoulder. He opened his eyes groggily to see a man standing above him holding, a passport out to him. His passport. "This fell out of your bag. Thought you'd need it?" Zayan immediately took it out of the man's hand, sitting up straight as he muttered sorries and thank yous while looking down. His hand found his nape and he rubbed it slightly to soothe the neck strain from the airport's metal benches.
The man walked to his side and sat down.
"Canadian passport. Where are you from?"
Zayan looked up at the man, finally taking him in. He looked like he was in his early 50s, a light brown blazer hung over his buff physique and a light beige turban wrapped around his head.
Zayan cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses up by a bit. "Vancouver." He said.
The man's stopped. His brows furrowed just slightly, mouth opened once and closed again. "Vancouver..?" He muttered, voice gruff.
Zayan felt something was wrong. "You okay?" He tilted his head. The man nodded at him, jerking his head once as if to shake any thoughts out of them. The man managed a small smile.
"where are you going from here?" He asked, his voice shook near the end. Zayan chose to ignore it. He wasn't going to start pestering a stranger about if they have a trauma regarding vancouver.
"I'm going to Moscow, russia. I have documentary I want to film." He paused, "Russian ballet"
The man let out a hum. "You're into sophisticated art, I see."
Zayan nodded. "What about you? Where are you going?" He asked.
"Tasmania. There's a hockey tournament going on. A close friend of mine plays hockey professionally, i couldn't be present at the earlier matches so he wanted me to there at the finale." The man explained.
Zayan just nodded. He wasn't really into hockey. Always been more of a football person.
The two men sat in the silence shared among themselves, the random buzzing of airport's chaos played behind them though, as expected. Zayan was already starting to doze off once again. The long layover was clearly not ideal after already travelling 10 hours from Vancouver to Amsterdam. And also, people should really stop taking babies on flights.
After a while, the man in the blazer spoke up. "Hey, i think they said something about your flight." He nudged zayan slightly. "Is that your gate number?" He said pointing at one of the departure boards.
Zayan sat up straight, moving his head to look at the board. He couldn't see the small writing at the board clearly. He squinted his eyes to focus.
"lagta hai chashme ka number barh gaya hai" the man muttered under his breath.
"Haan, lagta hai wahi hoga" Zayan replied instinctively as he took his glasses off and inspected them.
The man looked at him with eyes widened and brows shot right up. "Oh you know Hindi!" His exclaimed.
Zayan let out a light breathy laugh at the reaction, his dimples surfaced on his cheeks, his eyes turning into soft crescents as he looked at the man for about a split second.
The man froze.
His fingers stilled at his and his eyes narrowed down in a conflicted expression. Her brows that were settled up had furrowed just slightly. His eyes flickered over every feature of Zayan's face who had stood up and was searching his gate number.
Those dimples, those dark eyes.
Oh.
"there it is, mere jaane ka wakt agya hai sir. Thank you for the help, I'll leave now" zayan cut in, breaking the man's trance. He passed a smile at the man and began walking.
A few steps in,
"Beta tumhara naam nahi bataya?" A shaky voice uttered from behind him.
Zayan turned his head, looked at the man and spoke,
"Zayan Jamali."
He left.
A teardrop fell, right on the back of the palm, his vision blurred and he closed his eyes.
Hamza Jaskirat the man sighed.
"not mazari, huh?"
"Jamali..." His voice cracked.
"Zayan... Jamali."
His lips curved upwards and he nodded in approval.
His boy.
A/n : this was supposed to be a small headcanon thing but I saw someone answering an ask and the anon said something like this and I was instantly fascinated by the idea. If you're the account who got this ask, and has written something regarding this, please dm me I will give you the rightful credit. I just could not stop myself from writing this 🫶🏽 THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD.
Also, just a headcanon about post-return jaskirat, he would totally be into art and museums. I like to think he was in Amsterdam to visit the Van Gogh museum! Also yes, i referenced my own fic. WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT 😡
Anyway, this is a small project which I wanted to write because I'm still stuck and have a lot left with ZZAZ. so I thought I should post a little something while I work on it ! Hope y'all liked it.
Summary: Hamza's promise to you to bring you back to your shared motherland with him.
Pairing: Hamza Ali Mazari x fem!reader
Genre: angst
Warnings: spoilers if you haven't already watched the movie ig, mention of blood (tell me if any)
Word count: 2.5k
A/n: i cried while writing the last part....to my beloved, my muse @hamzaalimazari 💙 ehehehe he got the vn of me sobbing while writing this...to my readers please trust the process and the author. Characters aren't mine, this fic is purely dedicated to the movie based "character" and not anything in reality, IT'S PURELY FICTIONAL.
Part 2
The black jeeps were parked outside the villa. You generally hated this feeling, it's gut wrenching in all ways possible. Hamza, your husband was dressed in his signature black kurta, a vest over it and a long black jacket. He looked neat, his hair fell in cascading waves down his back making him look like a babbar sher.
But the scene holds more than that. You are standing outside, in front of him near his black Hummer jeep. You have already seen that small bundle of files kept over his jeep’s bonnet but for now you ignore it, directing your attention back to the man in front of you. You knew when he was tense, veins visible, jaw tight as if he was holding back something dangerous.
Your eyes met, words weren't enough for what you both were feeling right now. You tried to speak but words couldn't come out so tears did and Hamza didn't waste a second before pulling you into his arms. You're flush against his firm chest. His hands rubbing your back as a reassurance of the promise he made to you, back when you moved in with him in his kabutttarkhana.
“Wada kiya tha tumse meri jaan. Agar aese aasu bahaogi to mujhe lagega ki tumhe mujh par bharosa nhi hai.” His words reminded you of the promise he had made long back then.
“Aap par pura bharosa hai lekin wakht par nhi, kuch bhi ho skta hai. Aap pakka wapis aaoge na?” you asked, looking up at him with dewy eyes.
“Kuch bhi hojaye lekin tum mere sath meri bahon mei rahogi jald hi, mai iss wakht ko bhi hame alag nhi karne dunga. Meri baat yaad rkhna.” he reassured, cupping your face in his palm. He was holding his entire world in his arms right now. He wished so badly he could take those tears away, knowing you'll be anxious until you two reunite but he has to leave. His mission was about to reach its end, the final blow to take down those who have scavenged his country for years and he's going all at it this time.
“Kal jo mai karne ja rha hu uske baad jyada der tak ham Pakistan mei nhi reh payenge.”
Hamza reluctantly let go of you to hand you the passport kept on his car’s bonnet. “Ye London ki tickets hai, kal raat mere wapis aate hi ham rwana ho jayenge.” His words remained firm despite your worries as he handed over the tickets to you.
You looked into his eyes, letting him know you'll be waiting and he gathered you into a hug again. His arms around you have always made you feel safe, you wished you could have them forever.
Pulling away unwillingly, he turned to get into the jeep as you kissed the back of his hand with reverence.
You stood back watching him leave you, only for a while as he promised.
You were like a moth to his flames, knowing it would burn you one day but you still choose to stay until your last breath. You didn't even care about being burned or being saved because how could you think about yourself when the man you love is burning everyday in this hell he has been sent into.
Years ago when you lived with him in his kabutttarkhana, you remember telling him about your past and how you ended up living in Lyari despite being an Indian. Yes, your great grandparents were Indians. In the partition of 1947 they ended up on the other side of the Indian borders, unfortunately. Since then the upcoming two generations have been living here disguised as the locals to survive, just to survive. No malice against anyone around you, you were only taught to survive and if you get lucky enough one day you'll go back to your motherland.
After your father's demise, your mother told you about your ancestral identity. Since then it always bugged you that would you ever earn so much in life to ever find your way out of Lyari? The answer was always a no until you met Hamza. You both fell in love, how? That's something you'd save up for your grandkids to tell.
Originally you thought he was Balochi but when you told him your side of the story and expected him to be mad at you for not telling him that you're a Hindu before dating, he just chuckled and shook his head.
You were scared because this could be the calm before the storm but he just pulled you into his arms.
“Uh, aap mujhse naraz nhi hai?” you still remembered that conversation very well.
“Bilkul bhi nhi. Aapko apne asli ghar wapis jana hai na?” Your eyes widened at his words as you stuttered.
“Hamza aapke bina mai kahi kyu jana chahungi? Kya aap mujhe khud se dur bhej denge?” You were scared that he's being sarcastically sweet but the truth was something entirely different and it was in your favour.
Soon he told you about his real identity and asked you to stay quiet about it, so you did. He didn't tell you everything just so you won't panic but with time you knew what he's up to yet you stayed away from digging in too deep.
At times you would get worried about him and wanted to ask him questions but then his words always held you back.
“Agar mere sath rehna hai to tum mujhse koi sawal nhi karogi. Mujh par sirf tumhara haq rahega hmesa ke liye.”
You remember that day when he said these words. He came back home late, he looked like a mess. That morning you agreed to him and here you are.
He has never disappointed you with his promises and you hoped it would stay like that because one promise breaking can cause the lifetime separation between you two.
A day has passed and that dreadful feeling in your guts still remains. You couldn't sleep since the night he left, you barely wanted to do anything because he's basically your source of energy. Every waking hour you have devoted to him and now you're not even sure when he's gonna be back? And that's dreading you.
While sitting in your shared bedroom your mind wandered to that night when you heard inspector Omar talking about his suspicions on Hamza to Sp Aslam. You did tell your husband about it but you felt like someone else needs to know this too, someone who's close to him and will help him just in case.
Rizwan….no, can't be him because he's already with Hamza.
“Soch aesa kon hai jo Hamza ko back-up de sake. Anyone just anyone…” and then it striked you. Jameel Jamali.
Jameel uncle has been a close associate with your husband. Maybe, just maybe if you tell him without giving him the entire truth of Hamza being an Indian spy then he could provide him with some back-up.
Without thinking much you called Jamali. A few rings later he picked it up.
“Jameel uncle!” Your tone already gave out your worriness.
“Arey mera baccha, tu thik hai? Itni pareshan kyu lag rhi hai?” he questioned in a less worried voice.
“Uncle wo Hamza….aapko pta hai na wo kaha gaye hai.”
“Haa magar…” he hesitated to tell you about Hamza’s whereabouts.
“Inspector Omar unke piche lage hai uncle. Wo unhe giraftaar karne ki baat kar rhe the uss din party mei. Please aap kuch kariye uncle.” You pleaded in a low desperate tone.
“Lekin Omar use giraftaar kyu karega?” He questioned.
“Mujhe nhi pta uncle maine puri baat to nhi suni lekin wo kuch na kuch karne wala hai. Aap Hamza ko please bcha lijiye. I beg you.” You sobbed holding onto the phone in your hand.
On the other end of the call Jameel can only sigh to your pleading. “Mai Puri koshish karunga. Tu chinta maat kar beta. Bacche ho tum dono mere. Thik hai?” he tried reassuring you before the call was cut.
Jamali was quick to draw out his secret cell phone from his drawer as he called the IBI officer in Delhi.
Sanyal was quick to pick up the call from his asset.
“Sanyal sahab, ISI Hamza ko uthane wali hai…please act fast.” there was an urgency in his delivery.
“Mujhe home minister sahab se baat karni padegi. Keep me informed.” now Sanyal also knows what's up.
You placed the phone beside you as silent tears slipped down your cheeks. Somehow you managed to alert Jameel about the consequences that might follow but was it right to tell him? It won't make matters worse for Hamza, right?
Here Hamza struggled against Iqbal after showing the gates of hell to the two of his men. He was roughed up and dusted but he kept fighting and chasing that formidable man.
He chased Iqbal down and every step he took brought him closer to end this threat wrapped in human skin.
Hamza's face was painted in blood, every breath he takes comes out as a roar. A roar ready to tear the man in a million pieces standing in front of him. After losing his legs Iqbal was set up in a freight train carrying fuel. Hamza pulled him up by wrapping a chain around Iqbal.
“Bahut khun baha liya tune. Par ab bss.” He was feral now. If you would see him right now, you won't believe your eyes but you'll definitely be proud of him.
“Ye naya Hindustan hai, ye ghar mei ghusega bhi aur marega bhi.” He roared at the guy as he shook him by his collar. Iqbal groaned in pain but as they say ‘rassi jal gayi lekin bal nhi gaya’, he continued to spat venom against your homeland but Hamza was deaf to his screams now. He got down from a ladder fixed on the train and pulled open the tap, from which the oil started flowing outside on the ground.
Hamza brings out the lighter, setting it a bit far away and letting the fuel flow towards it, as if letting the end of the nemesis of his nation chase itself.
As he walked away, the screams of the man continued from behind him. Iqbal cursed at his fullest but it did not matter because his curses were about to end with him as the fuel reached the lighter and a huge blast happened, causing the chain reaction of blowing up of the freight train.
Hamza on the other hand sat down, tired and bruised and the first thing he did was to take out his cell phone.
Your phone rang and when you reached to pick it up your eyes widened to see the caller’s name, 'Jaan'. It was him, with a trembling hand you picked it up.
The silence stayed between you two, just low breathing from both the sides. You pressed your lips together letting out a choked sob. Hamza let out a shaky breath before saying your name and that broke you down completely. You cried desperately, all the anxiety piled up in you came out at once. He did call you finally.
“Ek aakhri baar tumhare labo se apna naam sunna chahta hu.”
You gathered your voice at his request.
“Hamza…” you let out clearly, fighting back tears.
“Mera asli naam janna chahogi?” He asked and after a few seconds passed, he whispered “Jaskirat.”
“Jaskirat.” You repeated back, proudly. Oh you were so proud of him, even though your heart was breaking but you couldn't bring yourself to say anything.
Taking in a few breaths, soaking your heart in your lover's name. You let it consume you completely. That's all you ever wanted.
Hamza heard you breaking down again and so did he but he can't let you hear it, he needs to let you go. He closed his eyes before he cut the call.
You gasped slightly calling out his name, looking at the empty screen of your phone.
“Hamza…Hamza…please…” your legs gave up as you say on the nearest couch.
You felt like your heart had been ripped out of you, hell even that would hurt less. Clutching the phone near to where he resides, you heart, you cried and cried. He left you no choice. Tears streamed endlessly down your face while desperate sobs tore from your chest hard enough to leave you breathless.
Here Hamza sat back knowing what's about to happen now. He let himself reminisce about you for the time being. His promise, did he break it? Did he ruin the home you dreamed of with him? Going back home? With you?
He wished he could have taken another way out of this in which he could get you safely back home with him.
His mission is completed, he should be satisfied but he wasn't. The only thing he regretted was the hollow promises he made to you, he did mean it but destiny took him somewhere else. He wished he could have ended it some other way, any way in which you would be with him. He swallowed hard, the weight of his own words haunting him. Regret flickered across his face the moment he realized what he’d done.
He broke the one thing he promised to himself in this mission. Hamza heard the siren approaching him, inspector Omar is here to take him, to torture him soon or later and he accepted his faith.
“Maaf karna jaan, ghar wapis nhi leja paya aapko.” He thought to himself as your smiling face and your melodious laughter was the only thing playing in his mind. Before he could open his eyes Omar was already standing with his team with a gun pointed at him. Hamza regained his composure and smirked, coming to terms with it.
You didn't realize how long you had been sobbing before you fell asleep. Rubbing your sore eyes groggily, you winced as your head was hurting like never before. You checked your phone hoping for another call or message or anything for him but there was none.
Realisation dawns on you. You have lost him. Have you lost him? Did he get caught? Or maybe he got to escape? What if he- No.
You gulped as you shook your head waving these dreadful thoughts off. “Unhe kuch nhi hua hai. He's fine. He promised he'll be back…but…how?”
One promise gone wrong can take it all away and now you feel like it did.
You mind wandered to the tickets he gave you of London. Didn't he say he'll come to London with you? But he also said something way before, taking you with him back to India.
Well you guessed all of it is gone now. Washed off with his touch and presence. All you got was his love left behind and you were glad, at least you had something.
Spending the rest of your life without Hamza, even the thought of it feels suffocating but you'd have to. For him.
You slumped back on the couch, confused about what to do with yourself anymore. “Jaan kuch to kaho, madad karo meri. Aapki aadat padh chuki hai mujhe. Ab aapke bina mai jeena bhul chuki hu aur aap….aap mujhe chor kar chale gaye.”
You cried while starving for a touch you could no longer reach. You wept quietly, wrapping your trembling arms around yourself. Yearning clinged to you like a wound that refused to heal.
“Aapka intezar hamesa karungi. Ghar wapis bhi to jana hai na, aapke sath.”
To be continued...
A/n: alright as I said...just lots and lots of yearning... I just word vomited my true feelings lolol... anyways trust me y'all (人 •͈ᴗ•͈)
A/n: Okay this has been in the drafts for wayyy too long. Based on this post. Heavy smut, so viewer discretion is advised! It's an AU where Hamza's not a spy, and there is not terrorism angle! Based on this post I made almost a month ago!
Word Count : 3.1k+
Warnings : Smut, swearing. Reader is lowkey morally complex and toys with feelings (a little bit more than Ricky Bahl) MDNI! Reader discretion is advised! Please skip if you do not like multiple x reader at the same time!
Complete Masterlist
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I DO NOT, ABSOLUTELY NOT, ROMANTICIZE ANY TERRORISTS INVOLVED IN DEVIOUS ACTS AGAINST INDIA. THIS IS FICTION AND IT IS MEANT TO BE TAKEN IN THAT MANNER!
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Lyari.
A town you once called home.
Until Babu Dakait killed your parents, and you were forced to run away to Karachi. Your parents did so much as support Rehman Dakait, Babu's son, and he killed them for it. You despised Babu for killing them, and Rehman for being the reason.
You were left with nothing. No home, no family. So you found a way to survive.
Con men and run away with their money.
You returned to Lyari after you heard about how Rehman was now Sher-E-Baloch. You've passed by his haveli multiple times, and the size of the haveli reflected how rich he was.
And he was a widower.
You needed to survive. One way or another. You chose the path of deceit and lies.
It all began with a brief encounter at the market. You noticed the man walking by, and decided it was time to start your game. You bumped into him deliberately, dropping all your groceries in the process. Rehman, being the gentleman he is, knelt down beside you to help you with it. He turned his head to get a look at your face.
That's when he made his first mistake.
Falling for you.
You averted your gaze. “Ab toh mere boss mujhe zinda nahi chhodenge,” you muttered, trying to appear as a damsel in distress with an abusive boss.
Rehman raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Kaun hai aapke boss?”
You met his gaze. “Babu Dakait.”
Hearing that name, Rehman stiffened. You knew it would work on him. After all, he'd do anything to get back at his father.
Rehman rose to his feet, extending a hand to help you up. You glanced at his hand before looking up at him with that fake, innocent glint in your eyes. You put your hand in his, standing up before brushing off your kurti.
“Agar aap chahti hai toh aap mere saath kaam kar sakti ho. Mujhe pata hai ki Babu aapko paise nahi dega, aur woh auraton ke saath badtameezi karega, toh aap uske saath safe nahi hogi.” (“If you want, you can come work with me. I know Babu won't give you a good paycheck, and he will misbehave with women, so you won't be safe with him.”)
Checkmate.
You tried not to smirk at how easily he fell into your trap. You nodded weakly, adjusting your dupatta while avoiding his gaze. “Aap bohot acche ho.” (“You are very nice.”) You looked up at him briefly before averting your gaze.
Rehman tried hiding his growing smile. “Main toh sirf aapki madat kar raha hoon. Main Rehman, aap?” (“I'm just trying to help you. I'm Rehman, you?”)
You told him your name, and he nodded. “Khoobsurat aurat ko ek khoobsurat naam.” (“A beautiful lady with a beautiful name.”)
That was it.
Since then, unbeknownst to him, he was wrapped around your finger. The truth was, you didn't even work with Babu Dakait. It was a lie just to convince Rehman. You would never work with Babu.
Whenever Rehman made a decision and came to you for advice, if you so much as frowned, he’d reconsider it. That's how big of an effect you were on him.
The paycheck was incredible. All you had to do was stick around with Rehman during his rallies and meetings, maybe do a few chores, and you'd get five thousand per week.
You noticed that his cousin, Uzair, had a soft spot for you too. You'd find flowers left in your room randomly, and a cute sticky note with it.
“Uzair ♡”
At first, you thought it was childish. Then, you found it adorable. You didn't care about Rehman or his feelings, and you were only here for the money, it didn't really matter if you broke his heart. Or Uzair's. Because you were getting real cozy with him too.
You enjoyed it. You didn't feel remorse for toying with their feelings, or lying to them. It was essential for your survival. Maybe not the toying with feelings part.
Until that night when his son, Naieem, was murdered by Babu Dakait's men.
Luckily, Faizal survived. Thanks to a juice stall worker who saved him. But Naieem was dead, and Rehman was driven with rage.
You were left conflicted. No matter how much you wrongly hated Rehman, you believed he didn't deserve this.
That's when your eyes fell upon the juice stall worker who saved Faizal’s life.
He stood by the side, hands in front of him as though he was punished. He didn't dare utter a word until he was spoken to.
It was the first time you felt anything other than greed and grief.
You didn't know what it was but something about him made your chest flutter. You tried brushing it off, but his gaze locking with yours made it impossible.
The two of you looked away at the same time. You shrugged it away, trying to focus on your main goal; using Rehman to kill Babu.
After Naieem's funeral, news started to spread. People started believing that Rehman was a spineless coward who can't avenge his son's murder.
You were chatting with Donga, who was cheering for the other men playing football. Your eyes were on Hamza. You admired him. Your lips curved up into a smile as you saw how happy he was, laughing around, joking with Uzair. Uzair and Hamza pulled each other into a hug as they made a goal.
After the game, you were talking to all of them on how Rehman changed your life. They all shared similar anecdotes. You felt Hamza's eyes on you throughout, and you tried not to blush.
Uzair asked Hamza if he ever smoked. Hamza denied. Uzair asked Hamza to try smoking, and Hamza reluctantly agreed. Hamza coughed, not being used to smoking. Everyone laughed.
Hamza turned to you, extending the cigarette, nodding. You took it, and as soon as you smoked, you began coughing. Hamza chuckled, and you smiled at him.
All of a sudden, everybody stiffened. Rehman walked over, blowing out smoke from his cigarette. He tucked one hand into his pocket, staring at the football goalposts.
“Main yahaan use football sikhaata ta.” (“I used to teach him football here.”) He muttered, and the atmosphere became tense.
He began asking each one of his men whether he should take revenge for his son or not. All of them told him to take it after the elections as it might affect the votes. He turned to you. Whatever your opinion was, it would be his.
“Mujhe lagta hai ki aapko badla lena chahiye.” (“I think you should take revenge.”) You claimed, straightening up.
Rehman raised a brow, silently asking you to continue.
“Naieem… Use aise marna nahi chahiye tha. Use ek poori zindagi jeeni chahiye thi, apna ghar basana chahiye tha, aur sukoon se marna chahiye tha. Aise nahi. Woh uska haq tha. Aur woh haq un haraamzaadon ne cheen liya.” (“Naieem… He shouldn't have died like this. He had to live a long life, make a family of his own, and died in peace. Not like this. It was his right. And that right was stolen by those bastards.”) You explained, trying to make it seem as dramatic as possible.
And it worked.
Not only did Rehman agree, Hamza did too.
And just like that, Babu Dakait's head was smashed like a watermelon at the hands of his own son.
You felt more than relieved. Your job here was done. You got your revenge, and you didn't need to get your hands dirty for it.
But it was way harder than you thought.
When Rehman returned, he came back in bloodstained clothes, a few specks across his face too. Surprisingly, he asked you to help him with it.
You were now in his room, taking a fresh pair of clothes from his closet before setting them beside him on the bed. Rehman's eyes never left your figure. Rehman thanked you before he went to the bathroom to take a shower.
You realized this was your chance to leave, take his money, and run as far as you could. But it wasn't that simple. For some reason, you felt guilty for the first time. You knocked on the old, wooden bathroom door. Once he said “Come in”, you walked in, your eyes raking over his figure, his lower half covered in a simple, thin towel. You averted your gaze.
“Main… Shukriya aada karna chahti hoon. Jo kuch bhi aapne mere liye kiya, aur-” (“I… I wanna thank you. For whatever you've done for me, and-”) You got interrupted by him slamming his lips against yours in a fierce, passionate kiss.
He pushed you against the cold, wet walls of the bathroom before hoisting you up in his arms. You kissed him back with equal fervor, wanting to make as much as you could of this moment.
The next day, Rehman was giddy. You were not. Once your horniness had died down, you realized what you had done. You were supposed to run away, not sleep with him.
And the next day was even worse.
Uzair invited you for dinner. He said he knew a really good place. Deciding you'd give him at least one moment of happiness with you before you flee and break his heart, you reluctantly agreed.
That really good place he knew was a huge hall in Karachi, where it was just the two of you and a DJ. There were neon lights, creating an intimate atmosphere. You looked around in shock, and in awe. He did all this for you. Nobody had ever done such a gesture.
Once the two of you had dinner, Uzair told the DJ to leave. Which left you two alone. Uzair asked you to dance with him, and you did.
Oh, you felt so, so bad for him. He was such a fool to trust you blindly.
One thing led to another, and soon you were making out with him… On a mattress. He arranged that too.
You woke up to Uzair's beard scratching against your bare breasts. He was sound asleep, and he had his arms wrapped around you like you were the only thing that mattered. You caressed his hair gently, looking down at his face. Last night you were guilt stricken about betraying Rehman, and now you worried about Uzair too.
Unknowingly, you had begun caring for them, in ways even you didn't seem to acknowledge. But it wasn't love. You weren't in love with them. Yet something tugged at your heart whenever you thought about leaving them.
And then there was Hamza.
With all the stolen glances and lingering touches. What you felt for Rehman and Uzair was different from what you felt for Hamza. Yes, you cared for Rehman and Uzair, but Hamza wasn't a pawn in your game like they were. He stumbled into your life like a storm, and stole your heart.
The two of you began chatting more, often at Aalam's shop. Hamza would take you on bike rides to beautiful lakes and huge malls. You were always off guard with him. Slowly, you began realizing that what you felt for Hamza wasn't just attraction, it was love.
You walked into Hamza's small, cramped up apartment.
“Sorry, yeh Baloch Haveli jaisa bada nahi hai.” (“Sorry, it's not as big as Baloch Haveli.”)
You chuckled, plopping down on his small bed, wondering how a man so big and muscular like him would even fit on it. “Koi baat nahi, mujhe toh yeh bohot cute lag raha hai.” (“No problem, I think it's pretty cute.”)
He gave you a sheepish smile before sitting down beside you. He turned to face you, taking a deep breath. “Kya hum-”
“Mohabbat karti hoon tumse.”
Your words caught him off guard, but just then, a wide smile graced his lips as he let out a laugh of disbelief. You shoved his shoulder gently with yours. “Kya hua? Zubaan kaha hai?”
He shook his head, unable to contain his smile. You turned his face, staring into his dark, greyish green eyes. “I love you, Hamza.”
Just as those words left your mouth, he claimed your lips in a soft kiss. His hands moved to cup your face as he lowered you onto the mattress. Right before things could go out of hand, Hamza received a call from Rehman.
You walked into the Baloch Haveli, smiling at Rehman and Uzair who waited by the foyer. Hamza's excuse was that he found you by the market and he brought you here with him, skipping the part where the two of you kissed in his house.
Rehman didn't smile back like he usually does, and Uzair was breathing heavily, his gaze never leaving your figure as there was something primal in his eyes.
Hamza walked up to them, confused on why they had called him.
Once Rehman confirmed you were out of sight, he sneered. “Usne hum sabko dhoka dediya.” (“She betrayed all of us.”)
Hamza was about to argue but Uzair interrupted him angrily. “Usne humare feelings ke saath khela!” (“She played with our feelings!”)
Rehman and Uzair began explaining everything to Hamza. Uzair, who was about to leave his usual flowers on your bed, noticed a piece of paper under your pillow. Curious, he picked it up. It was a letter. To… Everyone?
He began reading it, and by the end of it, he was filled with rage and heartbreak.
He showed it to his brother and his brother remained emotionless since then.
Uzair yanked it out of his pockets before shoving it into Hamza's chest. Hamza staggered back before reading the letter.
“Rehman, Uzair, aur Hamza. Main nahi chahti ki meri wajah se aap log ko dard lage. Main yahaan sirf aur sirf badle ke liye aayi thi, lekin pata nahi kaise aap teeno ke beech mein atak gayi. Meri galti hai, shaayad. Laalchi hogayi. Aap log naraaz honge, lekin yeh meri aadat ho chuki hai. Pyaar mein phansao, aur paise lekar bhaago. Pata nahi kyun, aap logon ke saath aisa karne ka mann nahi hai. Par karna hoga. Kyunki jab bhi main aap logon ko dekhti hoon, kuch hota hai mere dil mein. Aur kuch likhungi toh aap mujhe dhoondhne aayenge. Khuda haafiz.”
(“Rehman, Uzair and Hamza. I don't want you guys to be hurt because of me. I came here only for revenge, but I don't know how I got tangled with all of you. Probably my fault. Got too greedy. You guys must be angry, but this has become a habit for me. I don't know why, but I don't feel like doing this to you guys. But I have to. Because whenever I see you guys, something happens in my heart. If I write anything more you will try to find me. Goodbye.”)
Hamza's heart shattered into a million pieces when he read this. You were a conwoman, and you played with three hearts simultaneously.
“Ab… Ab hum kya karein?” (“Now… Now what do we do?”) Hamza asked.
Rehman sighed. “She wants all of us, yeah? We'll give her all three of us.”
You hummed softly as you made some lemonade in the kitchen. You turned, and bumped into Hamza's broad, muscular chest. You looked up at him, smiling. But that smile faded as you noticed the serious look on his face. Behind him, Rehman and Uzair walked in. You glanced between the three men.
“Humein sab kuch pata hai.” (“We know everything.”)
You feigned confusion. “Kya?”
Uzair stepped forward. “Bada maza aaya tujhe? Humein ullu bana kar?” (‘You had a lot of fun? Making us fools?”)
You stiffened. “Aisa nahi hai.” (“It's not like that.”)
“Phir kaise hai?” (“Then how is it like?”) Rehman questioned.
You stammered, unable to answer.
“Tumhe hum teeno chahiye na? Lo, hum teeno aagaye hai.” (“You want all three of us, right? Here, we three are in front of you.”) Hamza muttered, walking over to you before smashing his lips on yours, his hand going to your waist as he lifted you up.
His kiss now was way more rough than the one before. This kiss was now filled with anger and desire.
Uzair and Rehman followed Hamza up to your bedroom. You weren't supposed to feel turned on, but the idea of all three of them was fascinating.
Hamza dropped you onto the bed, huffing. His hair fell around your faces like a curtain, and he barely had his anger controlled. You liked this side of him. You bit your lower lip. Hamza shrugged his shirt off before lifting his tank top over his head, throwing it aside. You sat upright as he began undoing his pants. Rehman sat down behind you on the bed before lifting you up and setting you down on his lap. He was already naked, and his cock pressed against your ass. He began shedding your clothes off, leaving you naked. He spread your legs apart, revealing you for a very hungry looking Hamza. Hamza leaned down, his breath fanning against your pussy as he began eating you out like a starved man.
Uzair shed his clothes before joining Hamza in eating you out. Rehman pulled your hair back roughly, claiming your lips in a kiss as his hands began toying with your nipples.
You moaned into the kiss, your hips arching up as Uzair and Hamza continued their relentless assault on your wet pussy. Rehman lifted your hips up, so that they could eat you out on a better angle. Hamza focused on your clit while Uzair's tongue began thrusting in and out of your cunt.
Before you could reach your climax, the men pulled away, wiping their mouths. Rehman slowly began rubbing the tip of his cock against your asshole, using his precum as a lubricant. He pushed in, and you let out a sound, curling your toes as he buried himself inside your ass. He began thrusting upward, hitting a spot every time he did. Hamza lined his cock against your entrance, before in entered you in a single thrust, making you see stars.
Uzair moved beside you, towering over you as he pushed his cock inside your mouth. You moaned around his cock as the pleasure from all three cocks drove you insane.
Uzair slammed his cock in and out of your mouth, his anger and lust taking a toll on him. The tip of his cock hit the back of your throat each time, making you gag around it.
Rehman's and Hamza's pace increased, making sure that you felt every bit of it. You clenched the sheets, chasing your climax.
“Fuck, I'm about to cum…” Hamza muttered, his thrusts becoming more slow but deep.
“Same,” Rehman breathed out. The two men groaned at the same time as you clenched around them. With a final thrust, Uzair came down your throat as you swallowed it, but some of it leaked out of your mouth and dripped down your jaw.
Hamza pulled out, stroking his cock as he came all over your stomach.
Rehman didn't pull out. Instead, he came in your ass. You moaned, reaching the peak of your orgasm.
The three men switched positions. Uzair was now behind you, Rehman positioned by your pussy, and Hamza's cock pressed gainst your face.
Rehman thrust into your cunt, making you scream out in pleasure. Uzair did the same into your ass. Before you could moan again, Hamza shushed you up by thrusting his girthy cock into your mouth. You gagged around his size.
That night, none of you slept.
⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶
A/n : lowkey hate this cause the smut isn't that delicious and long 🥲✌
Disclaimer - Work of fiction. I do not support any irl terrorists.
Warning - Smut, P in V, Orals (both M & F), Manipulation, virgin worship, showmanship, dubcon, cnc,
Happy Reading~
Rehman didn't come from a background of purity or sunshines, rather he was the king of darkness. Wherever he walked, trailed along the black goo of his wrongdoings.
But quite the juxtaposition is how he had been grown to be known as the Messiah of his people.
Sher-e-Baloch.
The tag which shivered people to the timbers and also comforted the other clan.
He knew where his authority lied and he also knew that the reputation he had build for himself was extremely important for him to maintain.
With the slightest slip up he could lose his comfort, his name, his respect and worst of all... His kingdom, which he had built on thorough blood and tear shed.
He did everything in his power to provide comfort and home to his people. Hospitals, schools, colleges, supplies what not, he provided it all and the people couldn't be happier.
But what most people did not know that the Messiah himself needs some indulgence, some reward, some relief, some pleasure.
Yet he would be rather caught dead that to be found indulging into some dubious relief with the people who were considered scarred by the society. You won't do that your well curated reputation.
He had to be clever. That sharp twisted brain of his came up with an idea so sinful that the humankind would spit on his so-called reputation if they got aware of the intent.
He had convinced Shirani in one of his earlier visits that in order to purify the bloodline of the most elligible balochi woman, the sher himself would need a night with her the very second, she turns 21.
Shirani being already pleased by Rehman's charity, agreed. According to Shirani, if the sher himself chooses to cleanse any woman she would he sacred and anyone would be blessed to have Rehman.
The tradition was simple. Every who had turned 21 were presented to Rehman and he would take his pick to "admire" That girl for the night.
Rehman handpicked the nooks and curves of the tradition to cater to his needs. Though a part of him felt a sting of guilt, he convinced him that this was just his reward.
It started to take place years after years and it changed the perception of pleasure for Rehman through and through.
Young girls began to prepare for this day the second they were old enough. The king needed to be served. It was almost a competition of being chosen.
He was welcomed with warm regards this time around as just like always. He sat on the soft white takht leaning down and resting his side of the soft silk claded cushion.
After the welcome ceremony Shirani approached Rehman.
"Rehman... Aj ka intezam thora khash hai" He smiled and added.
"Apke saare intezaam khash hi hote jan Shirani Sahab.. " He smirked.
"Aj ladkiyon mai meri chotu poti bhi hai" Shirani added with pride.
Rehman quirked his eyebrow and nodded.
Soon the evening dawned in and the spread of exquisite beauty was presented in front of Rehman.
Young and innocent pair of eyes bored through Rehman, competing gazes of the girls were almost amusing to Rehman.
They wore traditional balochi suits, their body covered with heavy jewelries traditional to their land. The clinks reflected their excitement.
He scanned the room with five fine silk adorned women. Of them his landed on the owner of the softest pair of lips and even smoother skin and the naivest eyes.
Rehman walked closer and stood in front of you.
You were prepared and taught about this day ever since you turned 18. Your nanu-jaan always reminded you that your purity and regards towards Rehman is almost a blessing to the community.
You were determined to win him through, after all he saved multiple of your brothers and flourished your land. The least you could do was to serve him how he pleased.
When Rehman stepped in front of you a wave of relief and victory fawned over you.
He carefully took your hand, pecking your knuckles with utmost care, choosing you. You were rather perplexed by his softness. The women previously chosen by him spoke of him as a beast in private. But he seemed so soft and caring... Right?
You addressed him with a soft glazing smile which he reciprocated in a split second.
Soon he was escorted to his suite as you prepped for him. He rested himself on the well decorated luxury pawn of a bed, waiting for his meal to walk inside on two feet.
“Koi Fariyaad” by Jagjit Singh played in it’s beautiful hum in the background of the ruin ground of the room. The room trapped innocence of the girls he had ruined with his very hand.
15 minutes passed and Rehman was growing impatient. Right when he had decided to walk out and ask about you himself, he heard the doorknob twist and you stepped inside the room of your fate.
You wore a white silk attire which symbolized your purity and innocence. Rehman being the beast of innocence found for you to be the perfect meal for him to consume.
“Bada waqt laga diya apne..” Rehman added with a voice which was almost tinged wwith impatience and exasperation.
“woh... mai taiyaar ho rahi thi…” You smiled at him, hoping for him to overlook your underlying nervousness.
His eyes trailed over her figure. Adorned with soft jewelries and softer silk contradicting what she wore during the show off.
He was impatient and his constant tapping of his heel mirrored that emotion quite well. A part of him wanted to admire your beauty and the other wanted to strip you off of your innocence as hastily as possible.
He stood up striding towards you and stopped right infront of your face.
“Tumhe pata hai na ki tumhe kya karna hai?” He enquired, almost testing the waters.
“Apki baat maan ni hai aur muskuraane ka ek wajah deni hai” You added with confidence.
“Mashallah, meri jaan…ap toh badi tez ho” he nodded “Aur khubsurat bhi” he added whilst gently caressing your face.
“Shukriya” You felt pride creeping up your straightened spine and the nervousness subsiding a bit.
He leaned down to take in your intoxicating smell as his hand wrapped around the nape of your neck, pulling you close to plant his face near your neck. His nose touched your soft sensitive skin earning a small gasp from you.
He chuckled at your reaction “awaze ap bohot pyaari nikal te ho… jab jab mai apke kareeb au...aisi awaze nikal te rehna..”
“Apko pasand hai?” You questioned him softly.
“Behad” He growled and his lips immediately found yours in a quick second.
You gasped at the unfamiliarity of the experience and held him close for some support, more emotional than physical.
His hand travelled under your slippery smooth kurti and caressed the dips of your curves.
Before you could roll into the comfort of it, his teeth sank in your lower lip and your kurti was tugged and ripped off of your body in a blink.
You knew better than to cover yourself but the hesitance in your motion was evident.
He stepped back to admire the sculpture he was about to break. Your eyes did not meet his in hesitance.
“Kapde utaaro…” He ordered and lit his cigarette.
You politely obliged and stripped bare Infront of his predatory gaze. Rehman scanned your physique, making a mental note of where bruises awarded by him would look the best.
He led you to the bed pushing you down, before looming over you.
He kissed you again this time with a desperation which almost felt unreal. His lips bruised your as his tongue swiped over and against your inexperienced one.
You whimpered running your hand up his broad back.
He discarded his kurta and salwar with little care. His sculpted physique almost numbed down the seriousness of the situation for you.
Your fingers ran over his toned torso, only for him to smirk up at you. He loved how lost each one your finger tips graze felt like. He was basking in the attention you gave him and vice versa.
His hand spread your thighs open and his veiny fingers dipped in your soaking wet pussy. You moaned out at the touch and tried to scurry away, just for him to click his tongue and smack your thigh to steady you down.
You yelped and let him be, if anything the unfamiliar touch was pleasurable and you unknowingly grinded against his hand.
He whistled at your desperation and the tip of his finger circled your swollen nub. He would usually not bother tasting his rewards. It was not for their pleasure, but for his. But your smell, your touch made it almost impossible for him to not taste you.
He leaned down and you rested up on your forearms confused by why he’s between your legs. You did not know that you could be kissed down there. 21 years of keeping you in the shadow from any sexual explanation did not help.
He took a whiff of your glistening pussy and immediately dove in. His tongue thrusted in your agape as you screamed out at the unfamiliar build up of pleasure. He maintained eye contact with your foggy eyes almost cumming in his pants just at the taste.
Your hand tangled with his hair which only seemed too fuel him further. The overwhelming knot in your stomach was tightening.
He eased a two fingers in your spongy core and you audibly screeched.
“Dard hoga… please d-don’t” you begged, scared of the impact.
You were silenced with your own yelp as he slapped your pussy.
“Mujhe rokogi?” he growled as his ego was ticked off by you.
He shoved yet another finger in you stretching you out. Dismissing your scared screams. His nose nudged your nub too well causing the knot in you to finally let go and gush all over his face. He drank you up with satisfaction.
As you tried to pull away from his face and finger he flipped you on your back, yanking your head up clutching at your scalp.
“Kaha bhag rahi ho..?” he rasped next to your ears and the beast everyone was explaining was flashing through. You were terrified and the waves of tears was the evidence.
Rehman felt bad for scaring you, but he should not care. This was his reward; he told himself now and again. He deserved this. Your tears made his cock throb in a way he could not explain. And if your tears were pleasurable for him, he will make you cry a river. Reward was for him and not for you to negotiate.
You had started to struggle to get out of bis grip and oh did it excite Rehman.
You did not know why you were trying to get away, this was supposed to purify you, but none of this felt any pure or safe at all.
Rehman laid you on your back and placed your soft legs on his shoulder. The anklet twinkled next to his ears.
Till now you had not really got the chance to look at his length. But now that your gaze met with his length a shriek left your throat. You could only imagine how bad it would hurt.
“it will hurt” you stated with fear lacing your demeanor.
“You’ll manage” he patted your cheek and nudged the tip of his cock around your clit and you threw your head back.
He eased just the tip of his cock in your cunt and the delicious stretch almost made you pass out.
He moaned our shuddering as he eased in you inch by inch. His girth stretched your virgin hole and tears spurted out your eyes.
“N-no I can’t” you screamed out clawing at his torso trying to get away.
Rehman was getting sick of your innocent defiance. He needed to fuck you. He had been patient and giving enough. He did not need to be any more mindful. You were his reward and nothing more.
He choked your throat and kept you pinned as he thrusted in you entirely with a single thrust.
You screamed out, your eyes rolling back. Drooling out from your thin soft pink lips you looked at the man who held every ounce of mercy.it was painful, he made the pain worse as if. He looked scary and unforgiving. The senses of you went at alarm as his thrust picked up.
You tried to kick him away when you met with a harsh slap.
“I have done… so fucking much for you and your community and you cannot even present me your pussy well… shame” he spat on your face with pure disappointed.
His disappointed voice brought back waves of every lesson your mother and grandfather had taught you. Rehman was your messiah. He sheltered your brothers, saved them, because of him the kids of Balochistan read and wrote. And you could not please him?
The tears which pooled now were from shame rather than pain. You had brought shame onto yourself and Rehman’s disappointed eyes and words made it so painfully obvious.
“kisi aur ko chun leta..toh shayadd tumse behtar hoti” He added and kept thrusting watching you jerk in pleasure and a mixture of pure shame.
“Nahi nahi nahi…mai..sirf mai..i’ll be good take me please” you sobbed begging for him to take pleasure in the form of you.
Rehman smirked knowing full well that his words had arched properly through you.
“Good girl” he smiled and groped your exposed breast.
“you are so pretty… you should let me admire you well baby” he smirked and you nodded desperately. He leaned down to swirl his tongue over your nipples making you arch your back. He continued the assault on your breast and equally on your sobbing pussy which bled desperation and sucked him in.
He flipped you on your fours and got a hold of his discarded scarf. He wrapped it around your throat in a leash tie. The tie was tight enough to bruise, matching all the bruises he had already left on your body. You were confused but the scent of his arab ittar on the scarf gave a weird amalgamation of comfort and terror which numbed you down.
He tugged at the scarf choking you and pulling your head back forcing you to arch your back as he rutted in you.
Your tongue rolled out at the choke and your eyes crossed. Rehman pecked down your spine as you came again. The familiar wave breaking you.
The room was filled with filthy sounds of skin meeting and graons. Your soft cries danced along the wall like the music playing.
He pulled out watching you crumble under him.
He yanked your languid self up tugging at the scarf which was a leash on you. Your face close to his groin as he shoved his cock down your already parted swollen lips. You gagged and closed your eyes taking whatever he had to give.
The warmth of your mouth and the tears stained face made him lose his mind. He came down your throat.
You gagged at the taste but swallowed anyways maintaining a weak eye contact.
He let go of you as you fell back like a weak bambi. He gathered you in his arms as exhaustion took over you.
The hums of Jagjit Singh had subsided and only the soft breathing of your could be heard.
You looke so broken, so soft and oh so precious. He had to keep you. You were too precious to be just his one time reward. He had to make you his little ruined bride. And he knew full well that Shirani would fawn at the thought of it.
He had already won the second you looked at him and now you are trapped…forever…
Sher-e-Baloch had you and your people conquered. It showed on the smirk of his lips which now smoked his Davidoff with you asleep in his arms.
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Requested by: @heer-toh-badi-sad - Hope you like it!
Prompt: Chosen numbers:
5. A line of dialogue to include: Maan jao na
1. Pairing: Hamza
A/N: Sorry for the delay - life is busy! Thank you again for your patience. As part of my thanks for 300 followers, here's the first requested ficlet.
Disclaimer: This is fiction inspired by the characters portrayed by the actors in Dhurandhar, not the real individuals themselves.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
You pursed your lips and squinted your eyes at the man trailing after Uzair as he entered the haveli.
“Uzair bhai,” you sauntered towards him, “Naya boyfriend?”
“Ek chamaat marunga,” he grumbled.
“Oh? Rehman bhai ko bataungi aap kya bol rahein hain”.
“Main bhi bhai ko bataungu tu kya bakwaas kar rahi hai”.
The two of you looked at each other for a second, before you held a hand out, “Dono kuch nahi kahenge. Truce?”
Uzair sighed and gave you a limp handshake, and then turned to the man behind him, “Hamza, yeh hai Y/N, meri behen. Isse bachke rehna. Humne isse pagal khane mein bharti karne ki bahut koshish ki, par woh isse lene se mana kar-”
You punched his arm as hard as you could, ignoring his yelp. You turned to Hamza, “Conditioner kaunsa use karte hain aap?”
“Ji?” the man in question looked at you in confusion.
“Zulfon mein kaunsa conditioner lagate hain? Bahut hi sundar zulfein hain aapki”.
“Nikal yahaan se. Har baar ehmakhaana baatein karni hoti hai,” Uzair left the room, Hamza followed right after.
He turned back to look at you, immediately looking away when you winked at him.
—
“Kal se Hamza tumhe college le kar jayega,” Rehman said over dinner.
“Kyun?”
“Donga ko aur doosre kaam hain”.
“Oh, toh Hamza farigh hai?”
“Hamza koi farigh nahi hai,” Uzair rushed to his friend's defence, “Woh Babu Dakait aaj kal bahut ghoom raha hai. Tumhari safety ke liye Hamza kal se saath rahega”.
“Oh, toh Donga bhai mujhe mehfooz nahi rakh sakte hain,” you started to bicker when Rehman shut you and Uzair down with a single, withering look.
“Y/N,” Ulfat intervened, “Waqt kharaab hai. Apne bhai ki maan lo, warna college bhi nahi jaane denge”.
You shut up real quick and ate your biryani, kicking Uzair’s foot when he started to snicker.
—
The next morning, Hamza was at the haveli bright and early. To his chagrin, you sauntered out at nine.
“Bibi, aap ko late nahi ho raha hai?” he asked.
“Hamza… Hamzu? Main kya aap ko Hamzu bula sakti hun?” you didn’t wait for an answer, before continuing, “Hamzu aisa hai ki meri classein sirf gyarah baje shuru hoti hain. Agar mere bhai mein thodi akal hoti toh woh aap ko yeh bata deta. Khair, itni ummeed un se rakhni nahi chahiye”.
You pointed to the car, “Ab hum dono jaldi aa hi gayein hain, toh chalein. Main aap ko nashta kara deti hun - meri treat!”
“Bibi-”
“Bibi nahi, Y/N. Bibi bulaya toh gussa ho jaungi,” you stalked off towards the car, Hamza following you.
“Bi- Y/N, aap mujhe nashta na karayein-”
“Arrey, ab aap mujhe batayenge mujhe kya karna chahiye?”
“Nahi nahi, mera woh matlab nahi tha”.
“Theek hai, toh chalo, nashta karne chalein?”
You asked him to drive to Kaybees, citing they had ‘Karachi’s best khageena’. And when Hamza took his first bite, he had to agree.
Seeing his stern expression relax, you smiled a bit, “Achcha hai na? Kabhi bhi kahin achcha khaana khana ho toh mujhe batana. Mujhe nayi nayi cheezein khaanein ka bahut shauq hai. Aap ko achchi jagah ke baare mein bataungi”.
He nodded, concentrating on his food.
“Waise,” you leaned back in your chair, “Bhai bata rahe the ki aap Aalam bhai ki dukaan me kaam karte the?”
At the mention of Aalam, he finally looked up, “Ji”.
“Unke saath kaam kaise pada?”
“Sheher mein naya tha, aur unhonein kaam par rakha”.
You pursed your lips, noticing he didn’t want to speak. You insisted on paying the bill, before heading off to college.
—
It was your daily routine now. Hamza would come by ten, drop you off to college and head to the factory, before returning to pick you up at four.
He started to slowly open up to you, his one sentence answers becoming longer. Soon, he started asking you questions as well.
“Aaj paper kaisa tha?” he asked after a particularly difficult one.
Your lower lip trembled and your eyes welled up, “Hamzu, paper bahut kharaab tha. Main fail ho jaungi”.
You held your head in your hands, “Aur agar main iss baar bhi accounting mein fail hui toh Uzair bhai mera bahut mazaak udayenge. Aur Rehman bhai toh mera nikaah kara denge”. You spun around to look at him, “Aur agar unhonein mera nikaah kisi accountant se kara diya toh? Ya Allah, mujhe zindagi bhar number dekhne padenge”.
Hamza snorted, quickly turning it into a cough when you gave him a dirty look, “Y/N, aap ne bahut mehnat ki. Teen hafte se aap ne toh ice cream ke liye bhi nahi roka,” he teased. “Ab imtehaan ho gaya hai. Jo nateeja aana hai woh aayega. Ab chalte hain, aur raste mein main aapko chai pilaunga”. He winked at you, “Meri treat”.
—
This year for Eid, the whole family went to the factory. As both the brothers and Ulfat were busy distributing sweets, you spotted a small boy, around four years old, sitting in the corner.
You went and sat next to him. He looked at you, before looking down at his hands.
Smiling, you handed him a chocolate. When he looked at you apprehensively, you made a ‘shh’ gesture, before quickly closing his fingers around the chocolate. He looked up at you in surprise, and you giggled, smiling harder when he joined in.
“Mera naam Y/N hai. Aur tumhara?”
“Asif”.
“Asif, tumhe koi achchi games aati hai? Mujhe yahaan bore maar raha hai”.
As you continued to speak with the boy, you failed to notice Hamza standing in the corner, looking at you fondly.
With no care in the world, you simply continued to play with the little boy, making him laugh.
—
When you returned to college after Eid, Hamza returned sharp at four to pick you up.
As he drove out the gate, he stopped for a second looking at a grey van across the road.
“Hamza, sab khairiyat?”
“Hm? Haan, bas soch raha tha kis raste se jaana hai”.
“Cheel Chowk ki taraf se chalein, mujhe doodh soda ka mann hai,” you said, noting the way his eyes were now on the rearview mirror, and a finger on his chin as though he was lost in thought.
—
You’d had a long day of classes and assignments, and just wanted to relax before you got home.
So you and Hamza bought ice cream and stopped by the beach. You were in the car, taking dainty bites of your chocolate cone, while he practically inhaled his orange popsicle and immediately ripped open another.
“Yeh aapka sabse favourite ice cream hai?”
“Nahi,” he said, mouth full, “Pista kulfi sabse best hoti hai. Mere ghar-”. He stopped halfway, and took another bite of his popsicle.
“Ghar ki yaad aati hai?”
He turned to look at you in the unusually bright sunset, “Kabhi kabhi”.
“Kya miss kartein hain?”
He looked down at the ice cream dripping on your fingers, before looking straight at you, “Ammi ke haath ka khana. Sabse behtareen halwa puri banati thi woh”.
“Halwa puri?”
He nodded, “Meri beh-bhai ko bhi-” he sat up straight, “Mere bhai ko bhi bahut pasand tha. Jis din ammi nashte me halwa puri banati thi, hum dono ka din bahut hi behtareen hota tha”.
“Aapke bhai ab kahaan hai?”
“Bade bhai Azaad Baloch army mein mujahid the.” he looked down, “Shaheed ho gaye”.
“I’m so sorry,” you gently placed your hand on his. He stared at it for a long moment, blinking only when you retracted it.
He looked out of the window, “Ek baat poochun?”
“Bilkul”.
“Kya tumhe kabhi darr lagta hai?” He turned towards you, “Tumhare dono bhai itne khatarnak… peshe mein hain?”
You smiled wryly, “Bahut darr lagta hai. Har subah jab Uzair aur Rehman bhai ghar se nikalte hain, main dua maangti hun ki wapis aayein”.
You leaned back into your seat, watching the ice cream drip down your fingers and your wrist, “Par jab unhein mera aur bhabhi ka khauf dikhta hai, woh aur bhi laparwah ho jaate hain, hum dono ki chinta karte hue”.
You shook your head, “Isiliye main humesha unse itni chhed khaani karti hun - so there’s one less thing to stress about”.
—
“Bhai,” you sidled up to Rehman on the couch, giving him the full puppy eyes, “Bin Qasim Park ke paas mela laga hai. Please sab chalein?”
“Koi nahi jayega, hum tere jaise farigh nahi hai,” Uzair yelled from the other room.
You pouted at Rehman, lower lip trembling just the way you knew would melt him, “Aap humesha kaam mein busy hain. Apne bhaiyon ko do hafton se theek se bhi nahi mili”.
He visibly melted, “Ek raat kaam rok lenge. Kal raat hi chalte hain”.
You beamed at him, hugging his arm, “Shukriya bhai! Main abhi bachchon ko bata deti hun!” You rushed past Uzair to tell your nephews, sticking your tongue out at him, grinning when he gave you a soft smile.
—
The mela was a sensory overload.
Bright lights, loud laughter and screams, and a melange of colours surrounded you. As you walked around, the scent of frying oil followed you until you begged Uzair to buy you samosas.
It wasn’t just the six of you that had come. Uzair, hypervigilant about safety, had insisted that Donga, Siyahi, and Hamza accompany you all.
Rehman, Ulfat, and the kids had walked off to the rollercoaster, followed by Donga. Rehman looked queasy already as Ulfat and the boys jumped in excitement.
Uzair and Siyahi made their way towards the edge of the park to sneak in a cigarette.
That left you and Hamza.
“Hamzu, aap ko koi ride try karna hai?”
“Nahi. Aap sab ko mele le aayi hain, aap ko kaunsa ride try karna hai?”
You turned to him, “Aap ko ek raaz batau?” When he nodded, you continued, “Mujhe ye sab rides nahi pasand”.
“Toh hum yahaan kyun aayein hain?” he asked, dumbfounded.
“Bachche Uzair aur Rehman bhai ko bahut miss karte hain. Aur Uzair bhai bhi aaj kal bahut stressed lag rahein hain. Mujhe laga agar hum sab ek baar kahi bahar chalein toh sabka dil bhi behel jayega aur bachche bhi khush ho jayenge”.
His eyes turned soft and just as he took a step towards you, you heard Uzair’s voice, “Y/N! Hamza! Bhai kahan hain?”
Hamza immediately stepped away from you, “Bhai bhabhi aur bachchon ko rollercoaster le gaye hain”.
Uzair smirked, “Bhai ko nafrat hai un rollercoasteron se. Aaj dekhna bhai toh ultiyaan karenge”.
“Chee,” you scrunched your nose, “Uzair bhai, you’re disgusting”.
He shrugged, “Chal, jab tak bhai aatein hain, ek round maar lein mele ka?”
You walked next to your brother, eyeing the fleece-lined jackets at one of the stalls
“Bhai, aap ek naya jacket le lein. Aap ke purane wale mein kitne chhed ho gayein hain”.
“Arrey usme kya hai, kyun fizul me naya jacket lun?”
“Aap ko thand lag jayegi!”
“Baloch hun, ye Karachi ki sardi se kuch nahi hota hai mujhe”.
“Toh jacket pehen na hi bandh kar lo!”
As the two of you argued, your eyes wandered across the mela, before falling on a small stall with silver jewellery. You stopped mid-sentence and walked away, Uzair huffing and following you without any complaints.
“Y/N, aap ko chudiyaan leni hai?” Siyahi asked, as him and Hamza followed the two of you.
“Pata nahi,” you mumbled, looking at the beautiful display. Your fingers gently ran over a pair of filigree jhumkas that gleamed under the moonlight.
“Nahi bhai,” you said, “Par agar aap ko kabhi koi ladki achchi lage toh us ke liye aise jhumke khareed lena. Us hi waqt nikaah ke liye maan jayegi”.
“Chup,” Uzair grumbled, walking off to another stall, ignoring the way you laughed and followed him.
The two of you ended up at a stall that sold good quality shawls. You held up a soft black woollen one, “Shirani saab ke liye ye wali le kar jaayein agli baar”.
“Tujhe lagta hai unhe achcha lagega?” Uzair asked, brows furrowed as he seriously considered it.
“Bahut achcha kapda hai, aur bahut achche daam mein de raha hai. Main sach keh rahi hun, le lein. Shirani saab ko tohfe pasand hai,” you teased.
You then turned to Siyahi, “Kya lagta hai?”
“Achcha hai. Balochistan mein bahut thand padi hai is saal”.
You nodded, turning to Hamza, but finding an empty space there.
“Hamza?” you craned your neck, and your eyes fell on him at the jewellery stall. You saw him take change from the owner and put it in his wallet, before taking a clear packet and stuffing it in his pocket.
The light fell on the packet and your breath hitched as you noticed they were the very same jhumkas you had touched.
Your eyes met his across the ground, and the two of you just stared at each other. The tips of his ears had gone red, but his gaze refused to back down. Your mouth was slightly open as your thoughts ran at the speed of light.
You started to shyly smile, when you noticed Hamza stiffening and starting to yell Uzair’s name. Your brows furrowed, before you felt a large hand come around you and the weight of metal against your temple.
Before you could scream, a palm came and covered your mouth, pulling you against a wall of mass.
“Y/N!” Uzair screamed, unable to do anything but point his gun at the man behind you.
“Ek kadam aage liya toh isse jaan se maar dunga!” the man behind you yelled.
“Babu saale, bachchi ko chhod!” Uzair yelled.
Your heart raced as you noticed Siyahi lowering his gun, “Babu, tujhe hum se problem hai. Bachchi ko chhod aur mard ke tarah baat kar!”
“Mard?” Babu sniggered, “Saale tu mardaangi ki baat karega mujh se?”
“Babu,” you heard Uzair’s voice shake. From the corner of your eye, you noticed another man standing next to Babu and pointing his gun at Uzair.
Dread started to fill you, and your eyes searched for Hamza, who was staring straight ahead at Babu. He met your eyes and gestured for you to stay calm.
You took a deep breath, and stood still. Hamza quietly pulled his gun out.
Just as he started to take aim, the man next to Babu suddenly turned towards him.
A gunshot ripped through the air. You violently jerked at the sound, unused to it. The sudden movement gave Uzair an opening.
You heard two more gunshots behind you. The grip around you loosened, and you heard the thud of Babu’s body meeting the ground.
The man next to Babu fell forward, a hole in the back of his head, Siyahi’s gun having met its mark.
Your brows furrowed, if this gunshot hit him, then the first… You looked up and ran towards Hamza, the boys hot at your heels.
Before you could react, Uzair moved forward, crouching down and taking Hamza in his lap, “Lodu, tu kyun hila?”
“Distraction chahiye-” he said, weakly.
Siyahi called an ambulance in the background, and you heard Rehman and Donga arrive at the scene.
White noise flooded your ears as Uzair explained everything that happened, while gently cradling Hamza in his lap.
“Donge, tu bhabhi, bachchon, aur Y/N ko ghar le ja,” Rehman said.
“Nahi”. The white noise stopped.
“Kya?”
“Nahi bhai,” you looked up at Rehman, eyes moist, “Yeh sab meri galti hai. Main aap ke satah hospital chalungi”.
“Y/N, yeh bakwaas karne ka waqt nahi hai”.
“Bhai,” Uzair was looking at you with an unreadable expression, “Isse aane do”.
—
You sat next between your brothers as Hamza was taken inside the operating theater.
You closed your eyes, but all you could see was red. You opened them with a gasp, before Uzair’s hand covered yours, “Kyun aana tha?”
You bit your lip and closed your eyes again, a tear falling down your face, “Meri wajah se unhein goli lagi hai”.
Rehman lit a cigarette, “Teri koi galti nahi hai. Woh Babu saala-” he turned to Uzair, “Kya hua uska?”
“Khatam kar diya,” Uzair replied with a hardened voice, “Par yeh sab kal dekhenge bhai”.
Rehman nodded, folding his arms.The three of you sat silently for what felt like hours, until the surgeon came out.
Uzair was immediately on his feet. You watched as he spoke to the doctor, his shoulders gradually relaxing, before he sighed in relief.
He returned to your seat, “Sab khairiyat hai. Woh hosh mein hain”.
Rehman stood up and placed his hand on your head, before following Uzair into the room.
Siyahi looked across the room at you knowingly.
—
When your brothers came out, Rehman walked out followed by Siyahi, while Uzair sat next to you.
“Woh theek hai”.
“Hm”.
“Teri galti nahi hai. Babu ki hai”.
“Hm”.
“Tu usse pasand karti hai?”
You paused. That was enough to answer his question.
“Main kuch nahi keh raha hun. Bas pooch raha hun”.
You looked down at your hands.
“Ja,” Uzair said, “Woh tera intezaar kar raha hai”.
—
You entered the room and just the sight of him on the hospital bed made your eyes well up.
“Y/N,” he said, “Kyun ro rahi ho?”
You sat next to him, tears spilling out, “Mujhe maaf kar dein. Meri wajah se-”
“Y/N,” he said firmly, “Uzair aur Rehman bhai ne bhi aap ko kaha hai. Aap ki isme koi galti nahi hai. Babu ki hai”.
The tears continued to roll down your face. He reached his hand out and covered yours, “Aap ne jhumke dekh liye the, na?”
“Aap ko abhi jhumke ki baat karni hain?”
“Babu ki toh nahi karni”.
You sighed, “Aap ne jhumke kyun liye?”
“Aap hi Uzair se keh rahi thi ki agar koi ladki pasand ho toh-”
You gasped, “Aap kya keh rahein hain!”
“Aap janti hain main kya kehna chahta hun”. He winced as he adjusted himself.
“Hamza,” you started crying, “Hum nahi-”
“Kyun?”
“Aap jaante hain kyun! Yeh zindagi itni khatarnaak hai. Main apni zindagi aise nahi guzaar sakti! Agar aaj aap ko kuch ho gaya hota toh? Aap ko koi andaza bhi hai mujh par aaj kya beet ti agar aap- aap-”
“Y/N,” he tightened his hold on your hand, “Main wada karta hun ki main hamesha tumhare paas wapis aaunga. Zinda”.
“Aap aisa wada nahi kar sakte hain. Iss- iss kaam mein nahi”.
“Jaanta hun. Aur yeh sab jaante hue, main yeh wadaa kar raha hun”. He looked straight at you.
“Hamzu, aap samajh nahi-”
“Main jaanta hun tum aaj bahut darr gayi thi. Tumhari aankhon mein maine aaj sachcha khauf dekha. Aur yeh khauf ko main bhaga nahi sakta. Par main wada kar raha hun. Main tumhara hun. Aur har baar, main wapis tumhare paas zinda aaunga,” he said determinedly.
You took a deep breath, “Sach me?”
“Maan jao na”.
You nodded, letting out a long sigh.
“Aap bahut dard mein honge. Main haveli chali jaati hun”.
“Hm,” he started, “Ek favour karogi?”
“Batayein”.
“Woh table par mera samaan hain. Mera wallet mere takiye ke neeche rakh dengi?”
You stood up, confused, but walked over to the table at the edge of the room. As you pulled his wallet out of the mound of clothes, your hands brushed against the pocket of his pants. You turned to him, and he was already looking at you.
“Jhumke hain,” he said, quietly.
You pulled them out, admiring the delicate filigree work.
You went over and helped him up, before placing the wallet under his pillow and helping him lay down.
“Jhumke pehen ke toh dikha do?”
A short, wet laugh escaped you, “Aap ko sona nahi hai?”
“Aap ko ek baar unn jhumke mein dekh lun toh neend badi achchi aayegi”.
You shook your head slightly and grinned. You removed the studs you were wearing and carefully put the jhumkas through your ears. The whole time, your eyes were on him, and his on your ears.
You adjusted the jhumkas and looked at him shyly, “Kaisi lag rahi hun?”
“Bilkul meri”.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
Tag list (If you'd like to be added/removed please let me know!)
Hi all! This is Sudi aka @hamzair-is-my-otp . I have been thinking of somethings that will help out fandom be alive and I'm here to share it.
I'm thinking of starting a discord for this fandom (if there's already one let me know!)
I don't know how many of you are in HP fandom but they regularly conduct writing fests and prompt challenges based on specific tropes. Or based on the month. I was thinking why not do the same to our fandom too. Let me know everyone's thoughts on this.
The prompts won't just be for a specific pairing every time. It would vary. Like if a prompt is given, anyone can use it for any pairing. Because our fandom is small compared to many other fandoms who write fics within themselves for specific pairings and I want everyone to be involved in any way possible, I'm thinking of weekly stuff too.
I want volunteers who would help me do this (if we're doing it). Not just with discord, but also to brainstorm prompt ideas. Anyone can volunteer.
People are leaving this fandom because of personal commitments or less engagement to their fics or due to harassment. We can't do anything about the first one, it's life. But if you're leaving because of the other two, please stay, let's start something new and make this fandom stronger. Let's all write more and make the anons grow tired.
Everyone please reblog and comment on fics that you like. Please don't be silent. Even a heart or two in the comment section would make the author happy.
Prompts would not just be about hamzair, rehmat, hamlina but also the ones with OCs, readers, major Iqbal, SP Aslam, and anything that's posted as a fic. Basically any and every pairing you want to make.
This is not just limited to fics, you can also draw, write poetry, do whatever you want with said prompts but be involved in whatever way you can.
Kindly reblog this. I can only tag a limited amount of people in this. Others also tag everyone on your list. Let this spread to even the smallest writer. We need everyone to keep this fandom's light bright and shining.
Honestly Dhurandhar movies and this fandom has been playing a MAJOR role in helping me through my own personal struggles and depression. I know it's the same for many of you, even if it's not said out loud. That's one of the main reasons I don't want this fandom to die.
I know we have a mix of school students, college students, and working adults here, so please don't worry about deadlines. These events will be completely flexible with long submission windows and short-word, one-shot options, so you can join in whenever life and exams give you a break.
I'm requesting everyone who reads this post to comment their HONEST opinions on this. Even if it's negative, it's welcome because this is an initial discussion, not a forced conclusion. Thankyou ❤️
