Rehman Dakait request where their first kiss happens during an argument about one of their safety and then Uzair and Donga exchanging money because they bet on it, pretty please?
Sher e Baloch ki Chaand
Here we go! First request! Made this maybe a lil angsty. I hope you like it. I am thodu sa dramatic okie toh i wrote it this way. Warnings: blood mention?? minor violence like gangster fight vali maar dhad stuff?
Red.
That was all he saw.
Her beautiful red suit now bore a darker stain as her blood pooled in his palm, warm and slick, while she gasped — part shock, part terror.
Everything turned into a blur.
People screamed as gunshots rang out incessantly. Guests, draped in expensive finery, ran in every direction, leaving behind a dizzying vision of shimmery colours and chaos.
“Rehman ki biwi ko goli lag gayi,” someone shouted.
Rehman barely registered the voice. His arms had frozen around her, his mind refusing to catch up with what his eyes were seeing.
A chair screeched beside him.
He turned frantically, relief flooding him when he saw Uzair crouching next to them.
“Bhai, jaldi chaliye,” Uzair urged. “Gadi piche le aaye hain. Hospital le jayenge bhabhi ko. Donga aur baaki log idhar dekh lenge. Aap bas bhabhi ko le jaiye.”
Rehman nodded.
A gunshot whizzed past them, making Rehman clutch Y/n tighter in his arms.
Uzair sprang to his feet, grunting as he fired back at the attacker, ushering Rehman and Y/N toward the backdoor of the hall.
The car door banged shut as Uzair started the engine.
Rehman’s fingers trembled as he brushed Y/N’s hair away from her face; her moon-like features now pale, her eyes fluttering shut.
This was the first time the gangster’s hands had trembled.
They had been steady when he picked up his first gun. Steady when he fired his first shot. Blood had never frightened him. Wounds, bruises, death — this was the world he lived in.
Until she came along.
His moon.
His life.
His jaan — a word he whispered to himself whenever he looked at her.
The car screeched to a sudden halt. Instinctively, Rehman held Y/N's bleeding body close to him to avoid any further discomfort due to the sudden jerk.
Y/N was rushed inside, wheeled straight into the operation theatre to remove the damned bullet from her body.
Throughout it all, Rehman remained silent.
His body was tense, taut — like a storm coiled tightly inside him, threatening to break free at any moment.
Uzair placed a hand on Rehman’s rigid shoulder.
“Kuch nahi hoga bhabhi ko, bhai,” he said softly. Gesturing toward an empty chair, he added, “Aap baith jaiye. Vaqt lagega. Kab tak khade rahenge?”
That was it.
Rehman turned sharply, making Uzair step back quickly.
His eyes were red, not with tears, but with fury.
“Meri biwi pe goli chalayi,” Rehman growled. Tears pooled in his eyes, but he didn’t let them fall. His hands shook as he held them up, stained crimson.
“Kitnon ke khoon se yeh haath rang chuke hain…” he said hoarsely.
“Aur aaj- apni biwi ka khoon baha diya. Apni biwi ka.”
Uzair swallowed hard.
This was the first time he had ever seen his cousin like this — raw, unguarded, broken.
He looked at Rehman’s hands, still bearing Y/N’s blood. Rehman stared at them too, his eyes filled with something far more dangerous than rage — disappointment.
Uzair clenched his fists and moved forward, stopping in front of the operation theatre.
In this moment, Rehman didn’t need words. He needed silence.
Looking up at the ceiling, Uzair prayed for Y/N’s safety. She wasn’t just his sister-in-law; she had become a friend, a sister.
A memory surfaced, and Uzair smiled faintly.
Their marriage had not been born from love. It was a calculated business arrangement bound by matrimony.
Y/N’s father, Rashid Jan, owned one of Lyari’s most important port; crucial for the passage of Rehman’s goods in and out of Pakistan. He had two daughters. Y/N was the eldest.
For Rashid, an alliance with Rehman meant security. Stability. Control. And a shared Balochi heritage made the bond easier to justify.
After all, no business was done without a transaction.
What better way to secure protection, profit, and power than by marrying one’s daughter to Lyari’s most feared man?
Y/N.
Sweet and kind, like a lamb, but one would be foolish to mistake her innocence for ignorance and naivety.
Her eyes held quiet wisdom, restraint, and responsibility.
She had not been a typical shy bride when she entered Rehman’s haveli.
Uzair remembered how Y/N had taken in every corner of the house, her gaze sharp and observant — like a queen assessing her kingdom.
Despite being seven years younger than her husband, she stood beside him as his equal. She walked with grace, spoke gently yet firmly, and earned respect without demanding it.
Within a month, Rehman’s men regarded her with reverence.
By the second, Uzair found himself discussing Lyari’s affairs with her.
She balanced everything perfectly.
With Rehman, she stood like a queen.
With Uzair and Donga, she laughed like an old friend.
And on rare, quiet evenings, they noticed something else — small, tender moments between the newlyweds.
Y/N could meet any gaze, even of men who entered their home bloodied and bruised.
But Rehman’s eyes?
Those made her look away, a soft blush dusting her cheeks.
And today, she had been shot.
Rehman’s men never targeted women. Not ever.
This was a fatal mistake on Babu Dakait’s part.
Uzair turned toward Rehman.
He was staring at the operation theatre door now, his eyes burning with vengeance. Slowly, Rehman’s gaze lifted, locking onto Uzair’s.
Uzair understood.
Blood would be answered with blood.
Attacking the king was one thing.
Harming the queen—
That was war.
--**--
Y/N rolled her eyes as she watched Rehman head to the washbasin for the fifth time in the last ten minutes. A month had passed since the almost fatal incident — since Babu’s men had shot her.
She had been recovering well. The sting was worst in the mornings, right after waking up, but by afternoon it dulled into a constant ache in her shoulder.
As she sat up on the bed, Y/N winced, biting her lip when sharp pain flared at the wound site.
Rehman hurried towards her, wiping his hands on his kurta.
“Aahista uthiye… neend ke baad dard zyada lagta hai.”
Y/N pursed her lips, huffing as she felt Rehman’s cold hands on her shoulders, his arm steadying her on the bed. “Aur aapko apne haath itni baar dhona band karna chahiye.”
Her voice was gentle, but firm, as her gaze fell on his damp hands.
Ever since her eyes had fluttered open after the bullet was removed, she had seen him washing his hands near her — touching her only after wiping them, as if they were perpetually unclean.
She knew why.
Uzair had told her.
It was her blood on his hands that night
Though it wasn’t Rehman’s gun that had wounded her, his life — his mafia world — had spilled her blood onto his palms.
[FLASHBACK]
One warm Sunday, Rehman had gone out with Donga to ship a large consignment of guns through Rashid’s port. He left Uzair behind with Y/N, knowing how close they were. Uzair’s lighthearted nature always brought a soft smile to her lips.
They were of the same age — unlike Rehman and Y/N. He believed friendships bloomed easiest between equals.
Uzair leaned against a pillar while Y/N sat on a stool, her shawl slipping from her right shoulder.
“Tumhare bhai mujhe koi nazuk phool ki tarah dekhte hain,” she said, her eyes drifting towards the haveli gates. Dust still bore the marks of Rehman’s vehicle that had passed through moments ago.
Humming, Uzair replied, “Unhe lagta hai ke aapko chhoona bhi gunaah jaisa hai. Bhai ke haath kisi ke saath itne naram ho sakte hain— kabhi socha nahi tha. Jo chaha hai, usse mutthi mein qaid rakha hai… par pehli baar aapko chhoone se unki ungliyan ruk jaati hain, jaise aap par daag lag jaayega.”
Y/N nodded.
Sighing, she watched the afternoon sun sink into the horizon, her thumb circling her wedding ring.
“Kya aapko bhai se ishq hai?” Uzair asked softly, his gaze lingering on the ring. Curiosity flickered in his eyes.
A breathy chuckle escaped her lips as she tilted her head.
“Kya aapke Rehman bhai ko humse ishq hai? Aap unhe humse zyada qareeb se jaante hain.”
“Par aap biwi hain unki. Biwiyon ko pata hota hai na?” Uzair tilted his head, confusion etched across his face like a child seeking answers.
Y/N laughed, but the sudden movement made her gasp as pain shot through her shoulder.
Uzair’s amusement vanished instantly, concern replacing it. He stepped forward to help, stopping only when Y/N raised her palm.
“Aapko kabhi ishq hua hai?”
If it were possible for a grown, bearded man to blush — Uzair did exactly that.
Teasing him, Y/N stood up slowly.
“Kabhi batayiyega kise apne dil mein chhupaya hai, Uzair bhai.”
“Aapne sawal ka jawab nahi diya, bhabhi!” he protested with a smile.
“Aap us haseena ka naam batayiyega kabhi, hum aapka jawab de denge,” she replied, meeting his gaze.
She turned away, barely four steps in, when Uzair spoke again.
“Dil ki baat bhai aasaani se batate nahi… par jitna dekha hai, aap unke dil ke liye khaas toh hain. Yeh sirf farz nahi.”
Y/N froze.
Drawing in a steady breath to calm the flutter in her chest, she turned back, nodded with a small smile, and walked away — towards the familiar warmth of her chamber.
--**--
“Kidhar khoyi hain aap?”
Y/N blinked as Rehman’s voice pulled her back to the present.
Before her lay a plate of rich, aromatic Balochi khagina, kaak broken into manageable pieces. She noticed the crumbs on Rehman’s fingers and smiled faintly.
He had broken the hard bread so she wouldn’t strain her arm.
“Shukriya…” she murmured, lowering her gaze when she caught him watching her too intently.
Pushing the plate closer, he stood and dusted his hands.
“Hum shaam ko aate hain.”
Y/N froze mid-bite.
“Kidhar jaa rahe hain? Uzair ne kuch bataya nahi humein.”
Her eyes traced him — sky-blue pathani suit, kada glinting at his wrist.
“Pareshan hone ki zarurat nahi. Chhota sa kaam baaki hai.”
He didn’t meet her eyes.
Rehman never looked away from his wife.
He kept toying with his kada, making Y/N realize that something is fishy. Her stomach tightened.
She placed the bread back onto the plate.
“Aap humse aankhein churaate nahi. Koi baat humse chhupaate nahi. Toh aaj—”
“Gaadi bahar khadi hai. Babu ka pata lag gaya hai, kidhar chhupa hai saala—”
Donga’s voice cut in as he appeared at the door. He stopped abruptly at Y/N’s raised brows and looked at Rehman.
“Aaiye.”
With a rough breath, Rehman turned away with a shake of his head.
His fingers curled around the door handle, until Y/N spoke.
“Usse maarne jaa rahe hain na?”
“Agar aap samajh chuki hain, toh sawal kyun pooch rahi hain? Itminaan se naashta kijiye.”
His back was rigid. His grip tightened around the knob.
“Yeh badla lena zaroori hai? Mujhe kuch nahi hua hai.” She muttered, pointedly.
He turned. Slow.
Each step towards her was measured.
Pushing the plate away, Y/N sat up straight as Rehman cupped her face — careful, reverent, calloused palm against her soft skin.
“Qismat se aapko zyada nuksaan nahi hua,” he murmured.
“Lekin agar aap yeh samajhti hain ke meri biwi par haath uthane ke baad main usey chhor dunga — toh aap galat hain. Main pehle hi chala jaata, magar main chahta tha ke aapka zakhm theek se bhar jaaye.”
His voice was soft, his words a mere whisper against her cheek, but his eyes?
His eyes burned, fire of revenge alight in those dark orbs.
Realisation struck her hard.
He was going to destroy Babu Dakait.
His fingers brushed her cheek, light as a feather.
“Khoon ke badle khoon chalta hai meri duniya mein. Yeh aap jaanti hain. Hamla aap par hua hai — humari jaan par.”
Her breath hitched. “Hum aapki jaan hain?”
“Uzair ne yeh nahi bataya?” he smirked, his finger tracing her cheekbone.
A tingling warmth bloomed in her chest.
She looked away, eyes gazing at the bedsheet. “Hum nahi chahte aapka khoon bahe.”
Rehman tutted, locking his eyes with hers. Tracing her jawline with his knuckle, gently as ever, he lifted her chin gently. “Aap humari jaan maangegi toh woh bhi de denge. Ek boond khoon nahi bahega —yeh Rehman ka vaada hai.”
For a fleeting moment, his gaze dipped to her lips before pulling away.
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head — soft, sealing his promise —then left without looking back.
Y/N touched her cheek, still feeling the warm caress of his lips.
“Woh kadar karte hain humari… ya humein khaas samajhte hain?
Hum farz hain unka ya mohabbat?” She muttered to herself before dipping her kaak into the thick, warm khagina.
--**--
The swing creaked softly under her weight.
Y/N pressed her toes into the ground before pushing herself forward, letting the swing rise higher. Her gaze kept drifting toward the gate, anticipation and worry coiled tightly in her chest.
Her moving figure cast a wavering shadow on the ground. The warm breeze offered no relief. It wouldn’t — not until she saw Rehman walk through the gates.
Was it love, or concern, that gnawed at her heart in his absence?
As she waited for Rehman and his men to return victorious, Y/N allowed her thoughts to slip into a chain of memories from her recent life.
Her marriage was still new. Four months had passed since her wedding night. A few moons before her wedding discussions even begun, she had been informed of her betrothal to Rehman.
Though she had always known she would have to marry him anyway, she had convinced her parents to allow one meeting before seeing him on her wedding day.
A faint smile curved her lips at the memory.
It had been evening. Rehman had arrived dressed in a signature black silk kurta, a gold brooch and chain tucked neatly into his pocket — his taste in fashion unexpectedly refined.
A gangster with a signature look that turned heads?
Impressive, she mused.
She had been nervous. Everyone knew how Rehman Baloch was—cold, sharp, ruthless.
But that evening, she had met a charming man, not a violent gang leader.
He had kissed her knuckles in greeting and maintained a respectful distance throughout the meeting, careful not to unsettle her.
She had been undeniably impressed, yet cautious. She wanted to understand the man behind the blood and power.
Would he be a companion, or keep me as a trophy wife?
Those questions lingered through the early days of her marriage.
Sipping another cup of chai, her thoughts drifted to those first weeks.
Rehman never hid his life from her. On their wedding night, he had told her plainly that she would see him return bruised, sometimes bloodied.
He had joked, asking her not to grow squeamish at the sight. She had merely curled her lips in amusement.
Days later, he did come home with bleeding knuckles. Without a word, she had cleaned the wounds and wrapped gauze around his fists.
Once, while shopping together, her eyes had lingered on a beautiful swing. She had murmured how much she missed the one from her childhood balcony.
The next morning, she found that very swing tied to the verandah ceiling.
Slowly, she adjusted to dangerous men entering and leaving her home. Rehman made sure they never crossed beyond the verandah.
On quiet, wind-laced nights, she often felt his gaze on her face. Pretending to sleep, she kept her breaths steady while his eyes lingered.
One night, he brushed her hair—slowly, reverently.
“Tum toh chand ho meri andheri duniya mein,” he murmured.
For the next fifteen minutes, only Y/N knew how fiercely she fought her smile.
Rehman let his moon shine in his dark world—but always kept the darkness away from her. After scuffles, he would change immediately, spray his signature oud over clean clothes, and only then come near her.
She saw his bloodstained garments. He never let her touch him while stained with violence.
The moon, after all, must not be tainted.
There were evenings filled with conversation—Rehman listening as she spoke of her childhood. His eyes softened then, glowing with something almost wistful.
She had been raised in love, comfort, and abundance.
He had been raised in betrayal, fire, and blood.
Yet he had never touched her like a lover. His kisses were rare —always on her forehead or the crown of her head. Their fingers had only ever entwined once that too only by the fingertips, not the full hand.
She wondered whether this restraint was patience or distance.
Sometimes, he asked her to light his cigarette. That was the closest she ever came to his face, his lips.
As she held the flame steady, his hooded eyes stayed fixed on her. She always stepped away quickly, her heart rattling beneath her ribs as she would walk head to her chamber again quietly with heavy steps.
Once, Rehman came home tipsy and had asked for a cigarette. Y/N caught his hooded eyes watch her with an intense but unreadable weight. She felt her skin tingle with something she didn’t want to name.
The ember flared orange as he inhaled.
Her shawl brushed his fingers as she turned away. She never saw his hand clench as the strands of her shawl escaped his fingers.
Then —
Rehman’s black car tore through the iron gates of the haveli at full speed, tyres screaming against the gravel as dust rose in a choking cloud.
Y/N stopped the swing at once and hurried down the steps, halting near the doorway.
Seconds stretched endlessly.
She with bated breath caught sight of his blue sleeve by the car door. He stepped out and slammed it shut, the sound sharp enough to make her flinch.
In a blink, he stood before her.
Blood spattered across his face. His cuffs were soaked darker than blue. His light kurta bore brownish stains.
Rehman quietly stared at her, his chest heaving heavily as if trying to tame the storm within — his feet rooted on the spot.
Y/N rushed forward, closer — eyes scanning him desperately to check for wounds.
There were none.
He had kept his word.
The gangster watched his wife approach, breath stalling as if the air around her was too pure for him.
The faint scent of rose and musk surrounded her, grounding him away from the violence and bloodshed earlier.
He observed the concerned furrow between her eyebrows fade away as she looked at his face. Only then did he speak.
“Lyari ka bas ek hi badshah hai, meri jaan.”
She saw it all—the hoarseness in his voice, his clenched hands, the storm barely contained.
She grabbed his collar and brushed her lips against his. Her other hand moved at the back of his neck, tugging at his hair.
That was all it took.
Rehman abandoned all restraint. If his moon wished to step into his world, he would not stop her.
He let himself wrap his arms around her waist, cradling her body in his arms, kissing her fiercely — vengeance, rage, devotion melting into one.
Breathless, she pulled back, their faces barely apart. Rehman's rough hands on her body made heat travel through her skin.
Now that she wanted to enter fully into his life, he wasn’t going to easily let go.
“Kya aapko humse sach mein ishq hai?” she whispered, her warm breath grazing his lips.
Rehman threw his head back and laughed. For the first time, Y/N saw the dimples blooming on his cheeks. His arms still stayed around her waist, fingers brushing over her hip bone as he cheerfully looked at her, something mischievous glinting in his eyes.
“Aaj jashn ke baad batate hain,” he said lightly. "Chalega?"
With that he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead and turned to face his men.
“Jashn ki taiyari shuru ho!”
Uzair fired his gun in the air to celebrate while passing his left palm to Donga.
With a reluctant sigh, Donga passed a note to a smug Uzair. “Zyada udo mat. Tumhari ishq ki kahani shuru nahi huyi hai — bhabhi ki behen abhi-”
“Muh band saale, aaj ka jashn bhai bhabhi ke naam” Uzair cheered firing another three celebratory shots in the air.
The couple quietly headed inside as Rehman’s men celebrated outside. The afternoon sun glowed with a soft warmth, cascading Rehman’s haveli in a golden glow of victory, tenderness and the beginning of new love.
--**--
WHOOHF Finally my first Rehman x reader fic is here. I am not someone who gives hindi/urdu dialogues but I kept imagining Rehman and i was like usse angrezi nahi bulwa rahi but whatever.
I don't think this fic is that up to the mark. But okay, well sometimes not all hits hit. Mujhe neend aarhi hai guys so i will go sleep. Hope you all enjoyed and um yeah if you have any requests, send
Baki i heavily deviated from the requested ask. But yeah this was fun. It took me three road trips to form the plot and agle fic mein i will try to research thoda lyari and pak ka culture, history and geography. this one delved into emotional part which i feel i still haven't done much good work lekin i desperateky wanted to write and post.
Taglist: @hum-suffer @feministmenlover @roses-and-iron @maraudersbitchesassemble @nazmnotes @dearrosary @wwwjustkidding (anybody else who want to be tagged, pls comment/dm hehe mwah <3