Dhurandhar Reactions: Reacting to you crying as they return home wounded
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Note: MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. This content is intended for audiences 18+ only.
A/N: Hiya~ a little surprise for you my loves before we get all dark and crazy in Aetbaar-e-Zulm and all smutty and sexy in Sultan ka Moti, heres some fluffy wholsome, maybe a bit sad little stories for you guys<3 enjoyyyy
1. Hamza:
Hamza stumbled through the door at 2:00 AM, his hand pressed firmly against a jagged tear in his side that had soaked his white shirt in a deep, terrifying crimson. His usual tall, impressive aura was shattered; his hair was flat and messy, and his breath hitched with every step. When he saw you standing in the hallway, your eyes wide and already brimming with tears, his first instinct wasn't to ask for help—it was to apologize for the pain he was causing you just by existing in this state.
You had waited for him so long, walking up and down the halls of your shared home worried. He didn't pick up calls before, he didn't call and tell you it might be late today like usual.. you had a horrible feeling- and upon seeing him, your worst imaginations became reality.
As you rushed to him, your small hands trembling as you tried to help him to the sofa, a sob broke from your throat. Your frame looked so fragile next to his buff, bloodied form. He hissed as he sat, but his eyes never left your face.
"Meri jaan, rona band karo, please..." He reached out with his clean hand, cupping your cheek. His thumb wiped away a stray tear, even as his own face paled from blood loss. "Mujhe maaf kar do.. Tumhe is haal mein nahi dekhna chahiye tha.."
As you knelt between his knees to tend to the wound, your hands shaking so hard you could barely hold the antiseptic, he leaned his forehead against yours. He felt like a mountain crumbling onto you. "Shukriya meri jaan... Tumhare bina main kuch nahi hoon." He let out a ragged breath, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Tumhara gham mere zakhm se zyada dard deta hai. Bas thoda muskura do, mere liye?" He spent the rest of the night thanking you for every stitch, every bandage, his heart breaking because he knew his dangerous life was the reason of your tears.
Your vision was blurred by constant, hot tears, and your hands were shaking so violently that the needle dipped dangerously close to his skin.
A choked, jagged sob escaped you, and you started to talk in anger with tears falling from your cheeks
"I’ll kill them.." you hissed, your voice cracking. "I’ll kill Rehman and that entire damn gang one day.. It’s all their fault...! letting you get hurt like this.. They were supposed to watch your back!"
Hamza, who had been gritting his teeth against the pain, let out a soft, huffed breath that was almost a laugh. He looked down at you—this tiny, trembling creature threatening the most dangerous men in the city—and felt a wave of possessive adoration so strong it rivaled the sting of his wound.
He reached out, his large, warm hand cupping the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair to pull you gently forward until your forehead rested against his collarbone.
"Meri jaan, thoda sukoon rakho..." He murmured, his voice a low, honeyed rumble that vibrated against your skin. "Rehman aur un bado ko main sambhal loonga. Wo mera kaam hai.."
He used his other hand to lift your chin, forcing you to look into his dark, hooded eyes. He wasn't looking at you like a victim; he was looking at you like you were his entire world. A slow, devastating smirk played on his lips despite the blood loss.
"Tumhe ye sab karne ki zaroorat nahi hai. Tumhe sirf mere paas rehna hai taake main sukoon se saans le sakoon..hmm?"
He leaned down, his nose brushing yours. "Jab main ghar aata hoon aur tumhe dekhta hoon, toh sara dard khatam ho jata hai. Bas mere liye yahan raho. Baaki dunya se main nipat loonga."
2. Rehman:
Rehman didn’t make a sound when he entered. He was stoic, his jaw set in a hard line, a deep bruise forming on his cheekbone and a heavy limp in his walk, his leg bleeding from a wound that seemed to be a hole in his leg. He found you in the kitchen, cooking while your youngest was watching, and the moment you saw him, you came rushed to him, panicked, scared. You asked a million questions, tears forming in your eyes as you told your Son to leave the kitchen in a hurry.
He didn't panic. He didn't rush. He walked over with the steady, heavy presence of a man who had survived a thousand storms. He didn't say a word at first; he simply placed his large, calloused hand on the back of your neck and pulled you into his chest.
"Sshh... Khamosh. Main yahan hoon.." he rumbled, his voice a low, grounding vibration that seemed to settle the frantic beating of your heart. He forced you to look at him, his thumb hooking under your chin. "Meri taraf dekho. Zinda hoon na? Phir ye aansu kyun?"
You let out another deep breath, the tears did not stop, not yet. No matter how often you had already seen this- with worse and less concerning injuries- it hurt you deeply. To know your Husband, the man you loved most, was in constant danger.
He sat you on the counter, his hands resting heavily on your thighs to keep you still. He was authoritative. He needed you to be as steady as he was. "Rone se masla hal nahi hota.. Gehra saans lo." As you cleaned the cut on his face, he watched you with a dark, intense devotion. "Tum meri taqat ho, kamzori nahi. Sambhalo apne aap ko." Even in pain, he was your anchor, refusing to let your emotions drown you.
You sat there, washing off the blood from his wounds with a deep frown on your face.
"Why..?" you whispered, your voice thick with worry. "Rehman... why are you still enduring all of this? The blood, the gang...you did so much for our community already.." you sobbed, tired from seeing your love coming home hurt for years, tired from expecting the worst-case scenario every day, that he would not return home one day, killed by another gang, the S.P, or some u grateful bastard you had cared for and given food at your Table, a Traitor you accepted in the family that might ruin your entire life, and the life of your children.
Rehman didn’t answer immediately. He reached out, his large, heavy hand settling on your waist, his fingers almost meeting around the small of your back. He pulled you flush against him. He let out a long, weary sigh that seemed to rattle his entire ribcage.
He took the cloth from your hand and set it aside, then took both of your small hands in his, rubbing his calloused thumbs over your knuckles. He looked at your hands—so clean, so soft—and then at his own, which were built for violence.
"Ye dunya.. bohot zalim hai," he muttered, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Agar main ye bohot.. bohot mushkil kaam nahi karoonga, toh tum jaise masoom logon ka kya hoga?"
He looked back up at you, his thumb catching a tear before it could fall. There was no apology in his eyes, only a terrifyingly deep sense of purpose.
"Main ye sab isliye bardasht karta hoon taake tum chain se so sako. Taake tumhe kabhi ye sab na dekhna pade jo main dekhta hoon."
He pulled you closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his scruff grazing your sensitive skin. You felt the sheer mass of him, the protector who stood between you and the dark.
"Tum mera sukoon ho, meri Humsafar. Jab tak tum mere paas ho, main har zakhm seh loonga.."
He stayed there for a long time, his heavy arms acting like a fortress around your frame, grounding both of you in the only truth he had left: that he would bleed a thousand times over just to keep your world quiet.
3. Uzair:
Uzair came home with a grin that didn't match the heavy bandage wrapped around his forearm or the split lip that was still sluggishly bleeding. He saw you ,sitting on the bed, clutching a pillow, your face red and puffy from hours of worrying.. he had left early, like so often, but it was different this time, your gut feeling told you something happened, so the moment you saw the blood on his sleeve, you let out a fresh wail of despair.
"Oho! Itna bura lag raha hoon kya?" He joked, throwing his keys on the dresser and walking toward you with a swagger that hid his pain. He dropped to his knees in front of you, looking up at your small, tear-streaked face. "Pyari, itna mat ro. Meri sari 'hero' wali feeling khatam ho rahi hai."
You were sobbing, annoyed by this, angrily hitting his chest, making him chuckle and scoff a little "Outsch" but you didnt care.
"How dare you laugh at me?! You've been gone all day and now you return home with these wounds and you are laughing?! You are such an idiot Uzair! Stop joking!"
He grabbed your small hands and kissed your palms, his eyes dancing with mischief despite the exhaustion behind them. "Sirf ek kharash hai, Pari. Dekho, main abhi bhi tumhara wahi purana Uzair hoon." When you tried to keep scolding him through your hiccups, he just laughed, pulling you into a lopsided hug.
"Tumhare aansu dekh kar toh mera zakhm aur gehra ho jayega~" he teased, nipping at your earlobe to make you jump. "Chalo, ab rona band karo aur mujhe ek chuma do.. Doctor ne kaha hai wahi asli ilaaj hai..~"
You turned and balled your small fists, hitting him right in the center of his buff chest. Thump. It was like hitting a brick wall.
"I hate you!" you cried, your voice cracking as a fresh wave of tears blurred your vision. "I hate you so much, Uzair! You’re bleeding, you almost didn't come back, and you’re sitting here being... this. Why are you so unserious? This isn't a joke! You could have died tonight!"
You hit him again, but this time he caught your wrists. His hands were massive, his fingers easily circling your thin bones, but his grip was as light as a feather. He didn't stop smiling, though the playfulness in his eyes softened into something more liquid, more focused.
"Bas, bas... itna ghussa?" He chuckled, pulling you closer until you were standing between his knees.
You pouted, trying to pull your hands away. "You're a reckless idiot."
Uzair let out a theatrical sigh, leaning his head back so he could look up at your face. "Acha, maan liya. Main idiot hoon. Lekin itna pyaara idiot toh koi aur nahi milega na?" He pulled your hands to his lips, kissing your knuckles one by one, his eyes never leaving yours.
"Lekin sach bataoon? Agar tum mujhe ye 'ilaaj' nahi dogi, toh main waqai mar jaoonga. Khoon se nahi... tumhare is gham se."
He tugged on your wrists, pulling you onto his lap. You felt tiny against his frame, like a doll being gathered into a giant's embrace. He wrapped his uninjured arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest so you could feel the steady, rhythmic thud of his heart.
You tried to keep your face stern, but as he started making "sad puppy" faces and gently tickling your side, you couldn't help the small, watery laugh that escaped you.
"Wahi toh! Wahi muskurahat chahiye thi~" he beamed, leaning in until his lips were a breath away from yours. "Ab jaldi karo... maut kareeb hai!~"
4. Iqbal:
Iqbal’s wounds were deep. He walked in like a ghost, his face a mask of cold stone, his shirt torn and his knuckles raw and bloody, worst was the huge shot wound. He didn't look at you at first, he hoped you were long asleep. He went straight to the liquor cabinet, poured a drink, and downed it in one go. You stood by the door, you heard him return but when he didnt come to see you , you knew something was wrong. You stood there, trembling, the height difference between you making him look like an untouchable, terrifying giant.
When the first sob escaped you, he stiffened. He hated tears. To him, they were a sign of a world out of control. He turned toward you, his eyes tired. "Bas karo. Ye rona dhona mujhe pasand nahi.." he said, his voice clipped and cold.
But as you approached him, reaching out to touch the blood on his wound with a terrified, "Jaan, please...", his expression flickered. The coldness didn't leave his eyes, but his touch became unexpectedly gentle. He caught your wrists, his large hands dwarfing yours. He led you to the chair and sat you down, his movements precise and clinical.
"Maine kaha tha na? Is zindagi mein khatra hai.." he muttered, his voice dropping to a low, rough rasp. He knelt before you—a rare sight for a man of his stature—and rested his head in your lap for a brief, fleeting second. "Tumhara rona mujhe kamzor karta hai, aur main kamzor nahi ho sakta."
He looked up at you, his thumb tracing your lower lip. "Meri Begum ko bahadur hona chahiye. Apne aansu poncho.." He let you clean his knuckles, remaining silent and stoic, but he didn't pull away. "Jab tak main zinda laut raha hoon, tumhe rone ki ijazat nahi hai.."
You nodded...it got silent inside the room. Now you stood before him, your frame looking painfully small in the vastness of the room. You weren’t sobbing like you had wanted to, Instead, your jaw was clamped shut, your small hands balled into white-knuckled fists at your sides whenever your hands weren't tending to his wounds. Your eyes were swimming, huge and glassy, but you refused to let a single drop fall. You were trying to be "brave" for him.
But the sight of you—trembling, silent, and physically vibrating with the effort of holding back your grief—did what no enemy had ever managed to do. It shattered him.
Iqbal’s cold, stony expression didn’t just crack; it dissolved. He reached out, his large, scarred hand trembling slightly as he cupped your face. His thumb traced the line of your lower lip, which was bleeding where you had bitten it to stay quiet.
"Mat ro... meri Begum, khuda ke liye mat ro.." he rasped, his voice breaking in a way you had never heard before.
"..Im trying-" you said, you really did, it took all your strength, especially since this was not the first time you had to endure this situation- but this time..this time you simply couldn't.
A whine escaped your throat, tears streaming down your face as you cursed. You couldn't hold up that brave facade, it shattered into a million pieces infront of him for the first time.
As he looked into your eyes, a single, tear escaped his own—a rare, devastating sight, the first and last time you had seen it.
He took your small hands in his and kissed them with a ferocity that made your heart skip. The protector was no longer just guarding you; he was declaring war for you.
"Suno meri baat.." he growled, his voice dropping to a low, lethal frequency. "Aaj ke baad... agar mujhe dobara is haal mein ghar aana pada, agar meri wajah se tumhari aankh mein ek bhi aansu aaya... toh main wapas nahi aaoonga."
He gripped your waist, his fingers digging in just enough to anchor you. "Main apne saare dushmano ka khoon baha doonga. Main unhe mitti mein mila doonga taake tumhe kabhi darna na pade."
He leaned in, his presence suddenly overwhelming. He wrapped his arms around you, tucking your head under his chin, his buff chest a solid wall against your face, it felt like you could breathe again finally.
"Jab tak main zinda hoon, tumhe rone ki ijazat nahi hai. Kyunki ab se, jo bhi tumhe rulayega... wo kal ka sooraj nahi dekhega. Ye mera waada hai."
He held you there in the silence, a man who had finally decided that the world could burn, as long as your eyes stayed dry. Instead of asking you to not be weak, he decided he had to become even more lethal to protect whats most important to him..your peace and happiness.
Nazm.
