Ink Aur Ishq

Masterlist 🩷

my stories, my chaos and my favorite men ♡

Uzair Baloch

Thora sa gussa

Tum Aa Rahe Ho Na (series)

Part-I ✧ Part-II ✧ Part-III

Tum chaiye

It’s just a cut

Hamza Ali Mazari

Padosi (series)

Part-I ✧ Part-II ✧ Part-III ✧ Part-IV ✧ Part-V

The one thing he couldn’t protect

Ammi Soo Rahi Hai…. Shhhh

Major Iqbal

The night he almost lost you

Come home

Rehman Baloch

Adhoori Raat

Adhoori Raat ki Puri Subha

Khud kar lugi

Tum dono mere favourite ho

Uske baad

Pairing : Rehman x Ulfat

Summary : Three months after losing their eldest son, grief has turned their home into a place of silence. Ulfat mourns the child she lost. Rehman mourns them both. And one sleepless night changes everything.

The house had become too quiet.

Not the peaceful kind.

The unbearable kind.

The kind that settled into walls and refused to leave.

Three months.

Three months since they buried their son.

Three months since Rehman had stood beside a grave that should never have existed.

Three months since he had watched Ulfat's entire world collapse.

And somehow—

She had stopped crying.

That should have been a good thing.

It wasn't.

Not even close.

Because before, she cried.

Before, she screamed.

Before, she threw things.

Before, she would sit on the floor of their son's room clutching his clothes and sob until she couldn't breathe.

Now?

Nothing.

Just silence.

And Rehman hated it.

God, he hated it.

He hated the way she smiled when relatives visited.

He hated the way she said she was fine.

He hated the way she sat through dinner without tasting a single bite.

He hated the way she no longer argued with him.

No longer laughed.

No longer reached for his hand absentmindedly.

No longer looked at him the same way.

As though some part of her had been buried with their son.

And he couldn't do a damn thing about it.

That was the worst part.

Not the grief.

Not the guilt.

The helplessness.

Because every problem in his life had always had a solution.

A target.

A plan.

A way forward.

But this?

How was he supposed to fix this?

How was he supposed to bring back a child who was gone?

How was he supposed to put his wife back together?

That evening, Uzair found him standing outside the study.

Staring at nothing.

"Bhai."

Rehman looked up.

"Hm."

He hesitated but then quietly asked—

"Bhabhi ne kuch khaya?"

The question alone was enough.

Because it wasn't unusual anymore.

It had become routine.

Checking.

Watching.

Worrying.

Rehman looked away.

"Aadha."

Uzair cursed softly under his breath.

Rehman heart broke every time he closed his eyes, he saw his son's face.

And remembered exactly why he was dead.

The enemy had wanted him.

Not the child.

Him.

And somehow his son had paid the price.

How was that not his fault?

Later that night, Ulfat was already in bed when he entered their room.

The lamp beside her was switched off.

The room dark.

Quiet.

She was lying on her side.

Facing away from him.

Just as she had every night for weeks.

Rehman stood there for a moment.

Watching.

Waiting.

Hoping.

For what, he wasn't sure anymore.

Maybe for her to turn around.

Maybe for her to say something.

Anything.

Instead—

Nothing.

The same silence.

The same distance.

The same invisible wall between them.

His chest ached.

Slowly, he climbed into bed.

Careful not to disturb her.

The mattress shifted slightly.

Ulfat didn't react.

Didn't move.

Didn't acknowledge him.

And somehow that hurt more than anger ever could.

Hours passed.

Sleep refused to come.

Rehman stared at the ceiling.

Listening to the darkness.

Listening to the house.

Listening to his own thoughts.

Then—

A sound.

Tiny.

Barely audible.

A shaky breath.

His head turned immediately.

Ulfat's shoulders trembled.

Once.

Twice.

A third time.

For a second, he froze.

Because he knew that sound.

Knew it far too well.

His heart sank.

Slowly, he sat up.

"Ulfat."

No response.

Only another trembling breath.

As though she was desperately trying not to make a sound.

As though she didn't want him to hear.

That broke something inside him.

"Ulfat."

His voice was softer this time.

Gentler.

Still she didn't answer.

And when he carefully reached for her shoulder—

He felt her flinch.

Not away from him.

Just...

Breaking.

Finally breaking.

The dam giving way after months of holding everything inside.

And suddenly Rehman realized that the thing he'd been dreading all these weeks had finally arrived.

Not her tears.

Not her grief.

But the moment she could no longer carry it alone.

And neither could he.

For a moment, neither of them moves.

The room is dark.

Silent except for the sound of Ulfat trying and failing to steady her breathing.

Rehman's hand remains on her shoulder.

Gentle.

Careful.

As though she's something fragile.

As though one wrong touch might shatter her completely.

Maybe she already had.

Maybe they both had.

"Ulfat."

The name leaves him quietly.

Almost pleading.

And that is what does it.

Not the touch.

Not the darkness.

Not the months of grief.

His voice.

The way it breaks around her name.

The way it sounds just as lost as she feels.

Slowly

Painfully

She turns.

And Rehman's breath catches.

Because she's crying.

Not the silent tears she's hidden from him before.

Not the tears she quickly wiped away when she thought no one was looking.

This is different.

Her entire face is crumpled.

Eyes swollen.

Lips trembling.

As though she's been holding herself together with sheer force for months and finally run out of strength.

For a second, neither of them speaks.

They simply look at one another.

Two people standing in the wreckage of the same loss.

And neither knowing how to survive it.

Then—

"Mujhe uski bhout yaad ati hai ."

The words come out broken.

Barely audible.

Yet they hit harder than anything else.

Rehman's eyes close.

Immediately.

Because there it is.

The truth neither of them has been able to say aloud.

Not properly.

Not like this.

When he opens his eyes again, Ulfat is crying harder.

"Woh har subah mujhe uthata tha”

A sob catches in her throat.

"Yaad hai tumhe?"

Rehman nods once.

Unable to speak.

Woh bed par chadh jaata tha."

A shaky laugh escapes her.

You could barely call it a laugh.

"And phir aap jaan-boojh kar gussa hone ka natak karte the."

Rehman's chest caves inward.

Because he remembers.

God.

He remembers everything.

The little feet running through the house.

The endless questions.

The way his son would hide behind Ulfat whenever Rehman pretended to be strict.

As if his mother could save him from anything.

As if mothers could save their children from everything.

"He thought I could protect him."

Ulfat whispers.

The sentence isn't directed at Rehman.

It's directed at herself.

At her own grief.

At her own guilt.

"And I couldn't."

Rehman freezes.

Immediately.

Because he knows that feeling.

Knows it far too well.

His voice is rough as he looks away.

His vision burning.

His chest feels too tight.

Too small.

As though it can no longer contain everything inside it.

"Bacha tha voh ."

Ulfat whispers it.

Not to him.

Not to anyone.

Just into the darkness.

As though she's trying to understand something impossible.

"Voh siraf ek bacha tha Rehman."

That does it.

God.

That does it.

Because she isn't asking why.

She isn't blaming anyone.

She isn't screaming.

She's simply heartbroken.

And somehow that hurts far more.

Rehman reaches for her.

Without thinking.

Without hesitation.

Pulling her into his arms.

The second he does, she breaks.

Completely.

The sob that leaves her is raw.

Painful.

The kind that comes from somewhere deep.

Somewhere no one can reach.

She buries her face against his chest.

Fists clutching desperately at his shirt.

As though she's drowning.

As though he's the only thing stopping her from sinking completely.

And Rehman holds her.

Tighter.

Tighter than ever before.

Like if he lets go for even a second, he'll lose her too.

"I'm sorry."

The words leave him before he can stop them.

Ulfat freezes.

Only for a moment.

Then pulls back just enough to look at him.

Tears shining in her eyes.

Kya?"

Rehman's gaze drops.

He can't look at her.

Not while saying this.

Not while admitting what he's been carrying for months.

"I'm sorry."

His voice cracks.

For the first time since the funeral.

Actually cracks.

"Meri wajah se hua."

Ulfat immediately shakes her head.

"Nahi."

"Hua."

"Rehman—"

"Hua."

His breathing becomes uneven.

His hands begin to shake.

Violently.

"Main wahan hona chahiye tha."

His voice breaks.

"Main."

Another breath.

Shaky.

Unsteady.

Ulfat's eyes fill instantly.

Because now she understands.

Not just his grief.

His punishment.

Every day since their son died, Rehman had been sentencing himself for it.

Alone.

Believing he deserved every second of pain.

Believing this was his fault.

Believing he failed both of them.

The child he couldn't protect.

The wife he couldn't save from heartbreak.

For months he had watched her become quieter.

More distant.

More hollow.

And every time she looked away from him, a part of him wondered if she blamed him too.

Even if she never said it.

Even if she never would.

"I lost him."

His voice crumbles.

"And phir main tumhe bhi khoo taa gaya."

The room falls silent.

Ulfat's heart shatters.

Because that is the truth.

While she was grieving her son—

Rehman was grieving both of them.

Their child.

And the woman his wife used to be.

Slowly, she lifts her hands.

Holding his face.

Forcing him to look at her.

"Tumne mujhe nahi khoya."

A tear slips down her cheek.

"Tumne suna?"

Rehman shakes his head.

Unable.

"Tumne mujhe nahi khoya."

Her voice trembles.

"Main yahin hoon ."

And suddenly both of them are crying.

Not separately.

Not alone.

Together.

The way they should have been since the beginning.

Forehead pressed against forehead.

Hands holding on like lifelines.

Grieving the same little boy.

Loving him with the same unbearable ache.

Slowly, she reaches up.

Cupping his face.

Forcing him to look at her.

"Suno Mujhe ."

Rehman shakes his head.

Refusing.

Unable.

"Sunoo ."

Her voice trembles.

But doesn't break.

"Tum is se bhout pyaar karte the."

Tears slip down her cheeks.

"Sabse zyaada."

Another shake of his head.

Another attempt to look away.

She doesn't let him.

"Usse voh pata tha."

The room falls silent.

Only their breathing remains.

Uneven.

Broken.

Human.

"He adored you."

A small smile flickers through her tears.

"He wanted to be exactly like you."

That nearly destroys him all over again.

Because it's true.

God.

It's true.

One hand tangled in her hair.

The other holding her so tightly she's almost afraid he'll never let go.

Maybe he won't.

Neither says another word.

There is nothing left to say.

No miracle.

No solution.

No way to fix what has happened.

Their son is still gone.

The grief is still there.

The empty room down the hall still exists.

Tomorrow will still hurt.

Next week will hurt.

Next month too.

But for the first time in months

Neither of them is carrying it alone.

And somehow, lying there in the darkness, wrapped around one another, crying for the boy they both loved beyond reason—

That makes the weight just a little easier to bear.

Author's Note: I know I am a bit late to this idea but I had been wanting to write on this since forever. So now I finally did. And this is the first time I’ve written for the character rather than the reader so I hope you liked it!!

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Pairing : Uzair x reader

Summary : A package. A utility blade. A cut that definitely looked worse than it was. Reader insists she's fine. Uzair disagrees.

based on a request <3

The doorbell rings just as you're sprawled across the couch, halfway through scrolling on your phone.

Your head snaps up immediately.

"AA GAYA."

Across the room, Uzair doesn't bother looking up.

He's seated at the dining table with a cleaning mat spread out before him, pieces of his disassembled pistol laid out with military precision.

The faint smell of gun oil hangs in the air.

"Hmm?"

"Mera package."

That gets the slightest reaction.

"Jiski tum roz tracking check kar rahi thi?"

You grin shamelessly.

"Haan."

A quiet huff escapes him.

Whether it's amusement or judgment, you're never quite sure.

You hurry to the door anyway.

The box isn't huge.

Nothing exciting to anybody else.

But to you, it's enough.

You drop it onto the coffee table with unnecessary enthusiasm before settling cross-legged on the floor.

"Dekho?"

Uzair glances up briefly.

"Ji. dekh liya."

"Aapko excitement naam ki cheez nahi hoti?"

"Hoti hai par apse kam."

You roll your eyes.

The package is covered in tape.

Far more tape than should legally be allowed.

You peel at one corner.

Nothing.

Try another.

Still nothing.

A minute later you're fighting with cardboard like it's a personal enemy.

From the table comes a dry voice.

"Haar maan lo."

You glare over your shoulder.

"Maine abhi properly shuru bhi nahi kiya."

"Haan. Dikh raha hai."

The cloth in his hand moves over a metal slide, wiping away dark grease.

His fingers are stained black from gun oil.

A little rough around the knuckles.

The sleeves of his kurta are pushed up to his forearms.

You look away before he catches you staring.

The box, unfortunately, remains impossible.

"Tch."

Your gaze lands on the utility blade sitting near his stationery tray.

Perfect.

You grab it.

Immediately—

"Dhyaan se."

You don't even look at him.

"Main bachchi nahi hoon."

"Acha ji”

You snort.

"Aap bohot funny hain."

"Mujhe pata hai."

The confidence in his voice makes you scoff.

You carefully slide the blade beneath the tape.

The first strip comes away.

Then another.

Success.

"Dekho?"

You throw him a victorious look.

He barely glances up.

"Congratulations."

"Jalan ho rahi hai?"

"Bilkul."

The sarcasm is so effortless you can't help laughing.

The next layer is more stubborn.

You lean forward.

Trying to wedge the blade underneath.

The cardboard shifts.

The tape refuses to cooperate.

You mutter something under your breath.

"Tum us box se lar kyun rahi ho?"

"Mujh se thori na jeete ga ."

"Haar maan lo."

"Kabhi Nahi ."

Uzair shakes his head slightly and goes back to cleaning.

A tiny smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

You attack the tape again.

This time applying a little more pressure.

The blade catches.

Stops.

You frown.

Push harder.

At the exact moment the tape gives way the blade slips.

A sharp sting slices across your palm.

You suck in a breath.

The cutter drops from your fingers onto the floor with a clatter.

For a second you simply stare.

Confused.

More surprised than hurt.

A thin red line appears across your palm.

"Oh."

The word leaves you before you can stop it.

Across the room, Uzair's head lifts immediately.

"Kya hua?"

"Kuch Nahi ."

You say it automatically.

Then blood wells up from the cut.

One drop.

Then another.

Sliding across your skin.

Your stomach drops a little.

"...shyaad kuch hua thora sa."

The chair scrapes sharply against the floor.

You look up.

Uzair is already standing.

The cloth falls from his hand.

His expression changes the moment he sees the blood spreading across your palm.

And suddenly the package is the last thing either of you cares about.

The distance between you disappears before you can properly process what happened.

One second you're staring at your hand.

The next, Uzair is kneeling in front of you.

"Haath dikhao."

You blink.

"Uzair, theek hai —"

"Haath."

The tone leaves very little room for argument.

You hold it out.

His fingers move automatically toward yours.

Then stop.

A curse slips under his breath.

"Shit."

His hands.

They're covered in grease.

Black smudges of gun oil staining his fingers and palms.

Without thinking, he wipes both hands down the front of his kurta.

Once.

Twice.

And then again a third time.

Leaving dark streaks across the fabric.

You stare.

Absolutely horrified.

"UZAIR!"

He doesn't even look up.

"Kya hai?"

"Aap kya kar rahe hain?!"

His entire focus remains on your hand.

"Haath seedha rakho."

You point accusingly at his chest.

"Aapne apni kurte pe haath saaf kar diye."

"Toh?"

"TOH?"

Finally, he glances down.

Then back at you.

"Tumhara haath kat gaya hai."

"And aapka kurta barbaad ho gaya hai!"

"Allah."

The word leaves him in complete disbelief.

"Tum serious ho?"

"Woh naya kurta hai."

"Tumhare haath se khoon beh raha hai."

"Woh naya kurta tha."

He closes his eyes briefly.

Like he's reconsidering every life choice that brought him here.

You continue staring at the grease marks.

Honestly.

They look awful.

Uzair notices exactly where you're looking.

"If you keep staring at my kurta—"

You immediately look at it again.

The glare you receive is magnificent.

For some reason that makes you grin.

Which lasts approximately three seconds.

Because the second his thumb shifts against your palm

Pain shoots through your hand.

Your smile vanishes.

"Aah."

The sound escapes before you can stop it.

Instantly his expression changes.

The irritation disappears.

Gone.

Just like that.

"Kya hua?"

You blink.

"What do you mean kya hua?"

"Dard hua?"

You stare at him.

"Kitna dard ho raha hai?"

The concern in his voice catches you off guard.

A little too direct.

A little too soft.

You immediately look away.

"Theek hoon main."

"Hm."

The hum tells you he doesn't believe a word.

He lifts your hand slightly.

Examining the cut.

The blood wells up again almost immediately.

Both of you watch it happen.

You swallow.

Okay.

That is a little more blood than you'd like.

Internally, you're beginning to panic.

Just a tiny bit.

Externally—

"It's literally ek chhota sa cut."

Uzair says nothing.

Which is somehow worse.

You glance up.

His jaw is tight.

Eyes fixed on your palm.

Not blinking.

Not moving.

The sight sends a strange little ripple through your stomach.

Not because of the injury.

Because he's acting like this.

"Uzair."

No response.

"Uzair."

His eyes finally lift.

"Hm?"

"Main theek hoon."

The look he gives you is so unimpressed you almost laugh.

"Tumhare haath se abhi tak khoon Nikal raha hai."

"Band ho jayega."

"Kab?"

"...Thodi der mein."

"Kab?"

You sigh dramatically.

"Aap bohot tang karte hain."

"Aur tum bohot laparwah ho."

"Ek baar cut lag gaya toh main laparwah ho gayi?"

"Ek baar?"

His eyebrow lifts.

"Tumhe list sunaun?"

You groan.

"Nahi."

"Haan."

"Nahi."

"Haan."

The blood begins soaking through your fingers again.

The argument dies immediately.

Both of you watch it happen.

You suddenly become very interested in the wall behind him.

Because if you keep looking at the cut, you're going to freak yourself out.

And that is not happening.

Absolutely not.

Unfortunately, Uzair notices.

Of course he notices.

He notices everything.

He stands up and your eyes follow him.

"Kya?"

"Chalo."

You blink.

"Kahan?"

"Hospital."

You actually laugh.

"Uzair Nahi. Itna bhi serious nahi hai."

"Itna serious hai ke khoon ruk nahi raha."

"Ruk jayega."

"Abhi tak toh nahi ruka."

You wave your uninjured hand.

"Aap overreact kar rahe hain."

The look he gives you could freeze water.

"Overreact?"

"Haan."

"Tumhara haath khula hua hai."

"Itna bhi nahi."

"Tum mujhe dikhana band karo."

"Toh mat dekhiye."

His jaw clenches.

You know that look.

The one that means he's already made up his mind.

You hate that look.

"Main kahin nahi ja rahi."

"Tum ja rahi ho."

"Nahi."

"Haan."

"Uzair—"

"Bas."

The word isn't loud.

But it ends the argument immediately.

He reaches for your wrist again.

Much gentler this time.

Careful not to touch the wound.

Not to hurt you.

His other arm snakes around your waist pulling you up.

Despite all the annoyance.

All the eye-rolling.

All the bickering.

His grip never loosens.

Not even for a second.

And that's when it hits you.

He's actually scared.

Genuinely scared.

Over a stupid package.

A stupid blade.

A stupid cut.

And somehow that realization makes your own heart beat a little faster too.

The ride to the hospital is unbearable.

Not because of the pain.

Not because of the cut.

Because Uzair keeps glancing over every thirty seconds.

First at the road.

Then at your hand.

Then back at the road.

Then at your hand again.

You shift in your seat.

"Main bhaag nahi jaaungi."

His grip tightens on the steering wheel.

"Kisne kaha tum bhaag jaaogi?"

"Aap har do second baad mujhe dekh rahe hain."

"Main road dekh raha hoon."

You stare.

He stares back for exactly one second.

Then returns his attention to driving.

"Jhoote ."

His jaw clenches.

You smile despite yourself.

The towel wrapped around your hand is starting to feel damp.

You try not to think about it.

Unfortunately, Uzair notices you adjusting it.

Immediately.

"Dikhao."

You groan.

"Hospital pohanchne dein."

"Dikhao."

"Uzair."

"Dikhao."

You hate that tone.

Mostly because it usually works.

With a dramatic sigh, you hold your hand up.

He glances at it briefly.

His expression darkens.

The towel has bled through.

Only slightly.

But enough.

You instantly regret showing him.

"See?"

He says nothing.

Which somehow makes everything worse.

By the time you're sitting in the examination room, you've started feeling a little foolish.

The bleeding has slowed.

The panic has worn off.

The whole thing suddenly feels ridiculous.

You shift on the bed.

"Iski zaroorat Nahi thi."

Uzair is standing beside the wall.

Arms folded.

Expression unreadable.

"Hm."

You narrow your eyes.

"Aap maan rahe ho?"

"Nahi."

"Fir?"

"Tum chup raho ."

You gasp.

"Rude."

For the first time since leaving the house, something almost resembling amusement appears in his eyes.

Almost.

Then the doctor walks in.

And everything becomes very real again.

The doctor unwraps the towel.

Examines the wound.

You immediately look away.

The ceiling is fascinating.

Very interesting ceiling.

Wonderful ceiling.

Anything except your hand.

"Hmm."

Your stomach drops.

"Hmm acha wala ya hmm bura wala?"

The doctor smiles.

"Hmm stitches wala."

Your head snaps around.

"Kya?"

Beside you, Uzair closes his eyes.

Briefly.

Like he's just been proven right.

The traitor.

You point at him.

"Is expression ki wajah se hi mujhe yahan nahi aana tha."

The doctor laughs.

Uzair remains completely serious.

"Kitne stitches?"

"Thore se."

You immediately look offended.

"Thore matlab?"

"Three. Maybe four."

Your soul leaves your body.

"FOUR?"

The doctor blinks.

Uzair blinks.

You blink.

Then—

"Main ghar jaana chahti hoon."

"Tum kahin nahi ja rahi."

You glare at Uzair.

"Meine tumko Nahi bola."

"Phir bhi jawab wahi hai."

The local anaesthetic hurts more than your pride will ever admit.

You hiss softly.

Instinctively grabbing the edge of the bed.

Your other hand clenches.

Searching for something.

Anything.

Uzair comes to stand near you.

You grab his wrist.

Hard.

Very hard.

The room goes quiet.

You freeze.

The doctor pauses.

You look down.

Then up.

Slowly.

Your eyes meet Uzair's.

His eyes seemed calm.

Almost relieved.

A little while later, the bandage is finally wrapped around your hand.

Everything is done.

No more blood.

No more stitches.

No more doctors.

You immediately feel lighter.

Victorious, even.

"See?"

Uzair looks up.

You wave your bandaged hand.

"Zinda hoon."

The look he gives you could flatten mountains.

"Haath neeche."

You lower it.

Immediately.

Then realize what you've done.

And glare.

He ignores you.

The drive home is much quieter.

Not because you're tired.

Though you are.

Not because your hand hurts.

Though it definitely does.

It's because Uzair hasn't relaxed.

Not really.

The stitches are done.

The bleeding has stopped.

The doctor practically shooed both of you out of the room.

And yet—

His jaw is still tight.

His grip on the steering wheel still a little too firm.

You glance at him.

Then at your bandaged hand.

Then back at him.

"Uzair."

"Hm."

"Main theek hu."

"Hmm janta hu."

The answer comes immediately.

Too immediately.

You look out the window.

Somehow that doesn't sound convincing.

Back at home, you're curled up on the sofa.

One cushion behind your back.

Another beneath your arm.

A blanket over your legs.

You didn't arrange any of it.

Uzair did.

Which you're absolutely not acknowledging.

Because the painkillers are beginning to kick in.

Everything feels slower.

Softer.

Distant.

The day has officially exhausted you.

For a few minutes, neither of you says anything.

The evening sun spills through the windows.

The house remains silent.

Peaceful.

Your eyes begin to drift shut.

Sleep tugging at the edges of your consciousness.

Just before you fall asleep, you feel it.

The lightest touch.

Uzair's fingers carefully wrapping around your uninjured hand.

Warm.

Steady.

There for only a second.

As though he's checking.

Making sure.

You don't open your eyes.

Don't tease him.

Don't ruin it.

You simply let your fingers curl around his in return.

And for the first time since seeing blood on your hand—

His grip finally loosens.

The last of his worry easing away.

Because you're here.

Safe.

At home.

Beside him.

Exactly where you're supposed to be.

Author's Note: Sorry couldn’t post for while but now I’m back. I hope you liked this one !!

Let me know if you wanna be tagged or have any request!!!!

Taglist: @peonies7002 @seasonofthenerd @cloudmast @pleasetagmejaaneman

@scentedwolfdragon @velisa003 @harrystyleskiwi9

@goodnightkatherine @dc-reign @layinglowkey

@curiousbutbored @gulaabjamun08

@goldenharrysworld

@obsessedwidskincare @cakiebleh @obeythebutler

Pairing - Rehman x reader

Summary - Pregnancy made you clingy, emotional, and completely without shame when it came to Rehman. Luckily for you, your husband is hopelessly in love with both you and the baby.

based on a request <3

Steam still lingered in the bedroom when Rehman walked out of the bathroom, rubbing a towel through his damp hair.

You looked up immediately.

And suddenly forgot how to breathe.

Maybe this had been a bad idea.

Maybe you should’ve waited.
Maybe you should’ve told him differently.
Maybe—

“Tum soyi nahi abhi tak?” he asked casually, moving toward the dresser.

Your fingers tightened around the pregnancy test hidden behind your back.

“Rehman…”

Something in your voice made him stop instantly.

He turned toward you fully now, towel lowering slowly from his shoulders.

“Kya hua?”

You swallowed hard.

“I… mujhe aapko kuch batana tha.”

The nervousness in your tone made his expression change immediately.

Within seconds, all traces of relaxation disappeared from his face.

“Kya hua?” he asked again, more serious this time. “Sab theek hai na?”

“Haan,” you nodded quickly. “Sab theek hai.”

But your eyes were already glossy.

And now he looked genuinely worried.

“Tum ro kyun rahi ho?” He crossed the room quickly, hands instinctively reaching for your arms. “Doctor ko bullau kya? Tabiyat kharab hai? Baat kya hai?”

“Rehman,” you laughed nervously, “aap panic mat karo pehle.”

“Tum mujhe dara kyun rahi ho phir?”

His brows were furrowed now, concern written all over his face as he searched yours desperately for answers.

Your heart pounded painfully against your ribs.

Then slowly, without saying anything, you brought your hand forward and placed the pregnancy test into his palm.

Silence.

Complete silence.

He frowned slightly at first, confused.

Then his eyes focused properly on it.

And the second realization hit him, he froze.

Actually froze.

You watched his gaze flick between the test and your face like his mind physically could not process what he was seeing.

“…Yeh…”

His voice failed halfway through.

Your throat tightened instantly.

“Aap…” you whispered softly, already tearing up, “aabu banne wale hain.”

For a moment, Rehman just stared at you.

Speechless.

Completely speechless.

Then:
“…Sach?”

The way he said it nearly broke your heart.

So quiet.
So careful.

Like he was scared to believe it too quickly.

You nodded slowly.

“Haan.”

And suddenly you saw it happen.

The shock melted first.

Then came disbelief.

Then something softer.

Warmer.

Until finally a helpless smile spread across his face.

The kind you had to earn from him.

The kind that made his eyes shine.

“Tum pregnant ho?” he whispered, almost laughing from shock.

You let out a tiny teary laugh.
“Haan.”

“Humara bacha?”

That did it.

Fresh tears slipped down your cheeks immediately.

Rehman looked at you like you’d handed him the entire world.

“Ya Allah…” he breathed out shakily, one hand dragging down his face before he started laughing softly to himself in disbelief. “Main… main abbu banne wala hoon.”

You had never seen him like this before.

So undone.

So openly emotional.

Then suddenly his eyes snapped back to yours.

Before you could react, his hands cupped your face carefully.

Almost reverently.

“Tum serious ho na?” he asked again quietly.

You nodded against his palms.

And Rehman actually closed his eyes for a second like he was overwhelmed.

When he opened them again, they were glossy.

“Tum mujhe meri duniya de rahi ho?” he whispered.

The tenderness in his voice shattered you completely.

A broken laugh escaped your lips as you cried harder.

Immediately his expression turned alarmed again.

“Arrey!” he pulled you against him instantly. “Pagal ho, ab kyun ro rahi ho?”

“Pata nahi !” you cried into his chest. “Hormones probably!”

He laughed softly above you, wrapping his arms around you tighter.

One hand slid protectively to your stomach without him even realizing it.

Instinct.

Pure instinct.

And when you noticed, your chest ached painfully with love.

After a long moment, he pulled back just enough to look at you again.

Still smiling.
Still stunned.

Then slowly, carefully, he crouched down in front of you.

Your breath caught.

Rehman’s gaze dropped to your stomach, expression softening so much it almost hurt to look at.

He rested his hand there gently.

Like something precious already existed beneath his fingertips.

Then he looked up at you with the most overwhelming tenderness you had ever seen in your life.

“Hello,mere bache,” he whispered softly, smiling through glossy eyes. “Main aapka aabu hoon.”

And you completely fell apart after that.

The first few weeks after finding out you were pregnant taught Rehman one very important thing:

You had completely lost your shame.

Not partially.

Completely.

And somehow, pregnancy had made you even more attached to him than before.

Which meant Rehman was now suffering daily.

Quietly.

Hopelessly.

“Yeh file sign kar dijiye, bhai.”

Rehman nodded absentmindedly, eyes scanning the papers in front of him while Uzair and Hamza stood across the dining table discussing something work-related.

You entered the room quietly.

All three men looked up immediately.

And there you were.

Wearing one of Rehman’s hoodies, hair messy from sleep, holding a cup of chai in one hand.

Rehman’s entire expression softened instantly.

“Tum uth gayi?” he asked.

You ignored the question completely and walked straight toward him.

Uzair exchanged a knowing glance with Hamza already.

Because ever since the pregnancy news, the both of them had been forced to witness far too much marital affection.

You stopped beside Rehman’s chair, one hand automatically sliding into his hair for a second before leaning down to kiss his cheek lazily.

“Apki chai ,” you mumbled.

“Thank you, jaan.”

Hamza immediately looked away.

Uzair suddenly became very interested in the ceiling.

Rehman took the chai from your hand with the calmness of a man pretending his wife didn’t affect him terribly.

Then unfortunately—

your eyes dropped to him.

To the rolled sleeves.
The watch on his wrist.
The slight stubble.

And because pregnancy hormones had apparently removed every sensible thought from your brain, the words left your mouth before you could stop them.

“Bhout hot lag rahe ho tum.”

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Uzair choked violently.

Hamza looked one second away from jumping out the window.

Rehman slowly looked up at you.

“…Kya?”

You blinked innocently.
“Kya? Main apne husband ko compliment bhi nahi kar sakti?”

“Yahan?” he muttered quietly.

“Haan .”

Then your gaze narrowed thoughtfully at him.

“Actually wait—”

That tone immediately made Rehman suspicious.

Before he could react, your hand came down lightly against his ass.

A sharp smack.

Hamza dropped the file in his hand.

Uzair physically turned around.

Rehman froze.

Completely froze.

You sighed dramatically.
“Kal raat toh tum ….uffffff.”

Dead silence.

Utter dead silence.

Uzair covered his face instantly.
“Bhabhi please.”

Hamza looked spiritually exhausted.

And Rehman—

Rehman looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

Slowly, very slowly, he turned his head toward you.

“Tumhara dimag kharab hogya hai.”

You smiled sweetly.
“Pregnancy.”

“Yeh thori na koi bahana hua.”

“Hua. Kyu nahi hua.”

Uzair muttered from the corner,
“Bhai hum baad mein aajate hain.”

“Nahi,” Rehman said immediately.

“Haan ,” Hamza said immediately after.

You burst into laughter at their miserable expressions while Rehman grabbed your wrist before you could escape.

“Tum idhar aao zara.”

The dangerous calmness in his voice only made you grin harder.

“Oho.”

He pulled you closer to his chair, eyes narrowed slightly though you could still see the amusement he was desperately hiding.

“Tumhe bhout hasi aa rahi hai?”

“Bhout .”

“Tumhari filtering system kharab ho gayi hai.”

“Aapki wajah se.”

Hamza whispered to Uzair,
“Main resign kar raha hoon.”

Rehman ignored them completely, attention fixed only on you now.

Then quietly—
so quietly only you heard it—

he leaned closer and murmured:
“Akele mei chalo. Phir batata hoon kitna funny hai.”

Heat rushed to your face instantly.

And the idiot finally smiled because he’d won.

You had been unbearable all day.

Not angry.
Not dramatic.

Just extremely clingy.

The moment Rehman came home and saw you curled up on the couch in his hoodie, staring at him like he’d hung the moon himself, he already knew something was coming.

The second he sat down beside you, you climbed straight into his lap without a word.

He barely even reacted anymore.

One arm wrapped around your waist automatically as the other loosened his watch.

“Hello,” he muttered.

You smiled against his neck.
“Hellooo.”

Then immediately cuddled closer.

Rehman sighed softly, though there was amusement hidden in it.

“Khana khaya?”

You shook your head.

“Nahi.”

His brows furrowed instantly.
“Kyuuun?”

“Dil nahi kiya.”

“Subah se properly kuch nahi khaya tumne.”

You shrugged lazily.

“Mera kuch aur khane ka dil kar raha tha.”

That made him pause.

Slowly, suspiciously, he looked down at you.

“…Kya?”

You blinked innocently before mumbling against his throat:

“Aap.”

Silence.

Complete silence.

Rehman stared ahead for a full second like he was reconsidering every life decision that brought him here.

Then he looked back at you slowly.

“Tumhe mujhe craving ki tarah treat kar rahi ho?”

“Hm.”

“Khane ki jagah?”

“Hm.”

A quiet laugh escaped him despite himself.

“Pagal ho tum.”

You grinned immediately, tightening your arms around his neck.

“Mujhe aap chahiye.”

“Theek se ek mahina huye hain pregnancy ko.”

“Toh kya hua .”

Rehman shook his head softly, but his hand still rubbed slow circles against your back.

Which only encouraged you further.

After a few minutes he tried getting up.

Instantly your grip tightened.

“Nahi.”

“Mujhe change karna hai.”

“Theek hai. Main bhi chalungi.”

He blinked.
“…Kahan?”

“Aapke saath.”

“Bathroom tak?”

“Yes.”

“Kyun?”

You looked at him seriously.
“Emotional support.”

That finally broke him.

Rehman laughed properly, head dropping back against the couch for a second.

“Ya Allah… meri biwi .”

Later that night, the room was quiet except for the soft hum of the AC.

Rehman was nearly asleep when he felt you move beside him again.

And again.

Then he heard you sigh quietly.

His eyes opened immediately.

“Kya hua?”

You stayed quiet.

Too quiet.

Rehman turned properly toward you now, concern instantly replacing the sleepiness in his face.

“Jaan?”

You stared at the blanket for a few seconds before speaking softly.

“Main zyada ho gayi hoon na?”

His brows pulled together immediately.
“Kis cheez mein?”

You looked embarrassed now.

“Bas…” you laughed weakly at yourself, “bohot chipakne lagi hoon aapse.”

He kept staring at you silently.

“I know main weird behave kar rahi hoon,” you continued quietly. “Har waqt aapke peeche peeche ghoomti rehti hoon… subha mein bhi jo bakwaas ki maine—”

“Bas.”

His voice was soft but firm.

You finally looked up at him.

Rehman had already shifted closer, eyes fixed only on your face now.

“Idhar aao.”

The second you moved toward him, his arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you flush against his chest.

Safe.

Warm.

His fingers moved slowly through your hair while he looked down at you with quiet disbelief.

“Tumhe lagta hai tum zyada ho mere liye?”

You shrugged slightly.

“Thodi si.”

A soft exhale left him.

Then he leaned down and kissed your forehead gently.

“Tum mera bacha carry kar rahi ho,” he whispered. “Tumhe jitna mann kare utna mujhe tang karne ka haq hai.”

Your chest tightened painfully.

“And waise bhi…” he murmured softly, thumb brushing beneath your eye, “mujhe acha lagta hai.”

“Acha lagta hai?” you repeated quietly.

“Hm.”

A faint smile finally appeared on his lips.

“Tumhara har waqt mere paas rehna. Har dus minute baad lap mein aake baith jaana. Sab ko uncomfortable karna.”

A horrified laugh escaped you instantly.
“Rehman!”

“Kya?” he smiled properly now. “Jhoot bola?”

You buried your face into his chest immediately in embarrassment while he laughed quietly above you.

Then slowly, his hand slid down to your stomach.

And the softness in his expression after that nearly made you emotional again.

“Tum dono mere favourite ho,” he whispered.

You and the baby.

Just like that.

Simple.

Certain.

The tears hit instantly after that.

Rehman groaned softly.
“Lo ji. Ab phir ro rahi ho.”

“Tumhari galti hai”

“Haan meri hi galti hoti hai har baar.”

But he still wiped your tears carefully with his thumb before pulling you impossibly closer.

And much later, when you were half asleep against him, you felt his lips brush softly against your hair.

“Zyada hoti,” he whispered quietly, “toh itna pyaar nahi karta.”

Author's Note: I tried writing it as soft as I could!! I hope you like it!!

Let me know if you wanna be tagged or have any request!!!!

Taglist: @peonies7002 @seasonofthenerd @cloudmast @pleasetagmejaaneman

@scentedwolfdragon @velisa003 @harrystyleskiwi9

@goodnightkatherine @dc-reign @layinglowkey

@curiousbutbored @gulaabjamun08

@goldenharrysworld

@obsessedwidskincare @cakiebleh @obeythebutler

Pairing - Uzair x reader

Summary - He comes home drunk and can’t stay away from you.

SMUT MDNI!!!

The door clicks open far past midnight.

You’re still awake—half-reading, half-waiting without admitting it.

The sound makes you look up.

Uzair stands at the entrance for a second longer than usual, one hand braced against the wall like he needs it. His shirt’s slightly open at the collar, sleeves rolled unevenly, hair a mess that doesn’t look accidental.

Your eyes narrow immediately.

“Tum peeke aaye ho.”

He exhales something that might be a quiet laugh.

“Thoda.”

It’s in the way he says it—looser, softer—that tells you it’s more than thoda.

You sigh, setting your book aside. “Idhar aao.”

He walks toward you, steps steady enough but there’s a slight drag to them, like his body’s a second behind his mind.

When he stops in front of you, he doesn’t say anything.

Just… looks at you.

Too long.

“Sit,” you tell him, nudging his arm toward the edge of the bed.

He obeys, dropping down with a quiet exhale, elbows resting on his knees.

You crouch in front of him, reaching for his shoes.

“Khud kar lunga,” he mutters automatically.

“Haan, dekh rahi hoon,” you reply dryly, already undoing them.

He doesn’t stop you this time.

Instead, his gaze stays on you—heavy, unblinking.

You can feel it.

“Uzair,” you glance up briefly, “stop staring.”

“Mat dekhu?”

There’s something in his voice that makes you pause.

You ignore it.

Pull off his shoes, set them aside, then stand back up. “Lie down.”

He leans back slowly, stretching out across the bed—but as you move to step away—

his hand catches your wrist.

Not tight.

Just… there.

You freeze for a second.

“Uzair.”

“Haan…” he hums, but doesn’t let go.

His thumb brushes absently over your wrist, like he’s not even fully aware he’s doing it.

“Tum jaa kyun rahi ho…?” he murmurs.

You blink.

“I’m not. Paani la rahi hoon.”

“Yahin reh jao.”

The words come out soft.

Unfiltered.

You stare at him for a second.

He doesn’t look embarrassed.

Doesn’t take it back.

Just watches you like it makes complete sense.

You exhale quietly. “Tumhe paani chahiye.”

“Tum chahiye,” he says without thinking.

That—

makes your breath hitch.

You turn away before he can see it, bringing him water anyway.

Sit beside him as he drinks, your hand instinctively coming up to steady the glass when it tilts a little too much.

“Slow,” you murmur.

His fingers brush yours again.

Linger.

When he’s done, you take the glass from him and set it aside.

“Ab so jao.”

He doesn’t.

Instead, as you shift to stand—

his hand finds your waist.

This time, firmer.

You inhale sharply. “Uzair—”

“Ruko na,” he murmurs, pulling you just enough that you lose balance and end up sitting beside him again.

Not rough.

Just… unwilling to let you go.

You turn to look at him properly now.

His eyes are softer than you’ve ever seen them.

Guard down.

Walls gone.

“Tum aise kyun ho aaj…?” you ask quietly.

A faint, tired smile touches his lips.

“Roz hota hoon.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Nahi hote.”

“Hota hoon,” he insists softly, gaze not leaving yours. “Bas… dikhata nahi.”

That lands deeper than you expect.

Your hand moves instinctively to his collar, fixing it, smoothing it down.

He watches your fingers like they matter too much.

Then—

his hand comes up.

Slow.

Careful.

He brushes your hair back from your face, fingers lingering near your cheek.

You still.

“Uzair…” you whisper, warning—but not quite.

He doesn’t stop.

His thumb traces lightly along your jaw, almost hesitant for a second—

then he leans in.

The first kiss isn’t rushed.

It’s soft.

Almost like he’s checking if you’ll pull away.

You don’t.

That’s all it takes.

His hand slides to the back of your neck, not forcing—just holding you there as the kiss deepens slightly, slower but heavier, like everything he doesn’t say is pressing into it.

Your breath catches.

“Uzair…” you murmur against his lips, barely a protest.

“Haan…” he breathes back, not moving far—just enough to look at you, eyes darker now, searching.

Then he leans in again.

This time, less hesitant.

Still not rough—but more certain, like he’s allowed himself this now.

His grip at your waist tightens pulling you closer until there’s barely space left between you.

Your hands grip his arms trying to hold yourself to him

He pushes you back onto the mattress with his weight as the kiss deepens

It’s not messy.

Not rushed.

Just… wanting.

Real.

When he finally pulls back, it’s not far.

His forehead rests against yours, breath uneven.

For a moment neither of you move.

The room feels too warm now.
Too quiet.

Then his hand at your waist slides slowly under your top upward, fingers spreading against your side like he can’t seem to stop touching you.

“Tum…” he exhales softly against your lips, eyes half-lidded, “bohot khoobsurat ho.”

The words hit harder in that state.
Loose.
Honest.

Your fingers tighten slightly around his arms.

“You’re drunk,” you whisper weakly.

A faint smile touches his mouth.
“Haan.”

“But you mean it?”

His gaze lifts to yours instantly at that.

Like that question alone sobered him a little.

“Har waqt.”

Something in your chest twists painfully.

Before you can answer, he leans down again, kissing you slower this time—deeper, more lingering, like he has nowhere else to be.

Your hand slides up into his hair instinctively, and the quiet sound he makes against your mouth nearly ruins you.

“Uzair…” you breathe.

His kisses shift towards your neck breathing your fragrance in.

Grounding himself.

Holding you closer.

His hands hold the hem of your top pulls it off you in one go.

Leaving your bare chest exposed to the cold air of the room.

A whimper leaves you quietly.

He trails a line of small wet kisses along the centre of your chest.

As you heave heavily.

His hands go lower and pull off your pants along with your panties and throws them across the floor.

He gets down on the floor on his knees and pull you towards the end of the bed as a small screams leaves you.

“Uzair “ you whimper trying to hold him somehow

“Shhh…” he whispers as he kisses your inner thighs.

He sucks lightly at it leaving his mark.

His hand move toward your clit rubbing it making you moan.

“Kitni hassen ho tum Meri jaan” he whisper as buries his face in your sweet leaking nectar.

Lapping your wetness with his tongue.

He sucks you hard with a hungry need.

Your moan echos.

Your hands runs through his hair pulling it and you try to hold yourself together.

Uzair doesn’t stop in fact he becomes more hungry and sucks you deeper adding his two fingers into you.

You scream in pleasure as you feel a tight coil in your stomach.

He feels you tighting around his fingers.

His finger pump harder in and out of you at a brutal pace.

His tongue laps at your clit flicking it.

You come hard screaming leaking more of your nectar.

Uzair stops instantly as he feels your body tightening.

You lay there breathing heavily and trying take in all of your release.

Uzair pulls himself away from you.

He takes of all his clothes one by one breaking free from his restraint.

His hard cocks spring up as he takes of his pants.

You look at him in an awe.

His solid hard chest showing his battle scars.

His precum leaking from the top of his cock.

He come up and lays in between your legs as you pull him closer over you.

He smiles quietly looking at you in adoration.

“Kya hua” you ask him quietly finding his smile funny

“Tum mera sabse nayab hissa ho” he whispers

Your face turns bright red as a small giggle leaves you.

His lips meets your again in a deep kiss.

“Ruko mat Uzair” you whimper against his lips

Your words light up a new fire inside him.

He lines up his hard leaking cock at your entrance.

“Thora dheere aaram se karna Uzair” your soft voice whispers

Uzair suddenly more aware.

He cups your face and presses a small kiss on your forehead as he hums a yes.

He slowly thrusts his cock slowly into you inch by inch.

Looking into your eyes for an approval and only when you nod he thrusts more deeper.

You feel a fullness of pressure inside you.

A small whimper leaves you.

His hands come up bracing your head

Holding you closer to his face.

When he stays still in you for a while letting you get accustomed to it.

And then he starts to thrust toward in you.

A soft moan slips off of your lips.

Hearing this Uzair starts to thrust deeper.

Your arms snake around his shoulder pulling him closer.

His thrusts get quicker.

Almost like a need for the both of you.

His buries his face in your neck.

Your emotions and feelings come over you.

You cling onto him tighter.

“ Tum theek hoo na” he asks breathing heavily

You simply nod

“Ruko mat Uzair please”

His energy renewed

He begins claiming you harder.

Your soft moans mix with his heavy grunts echoing in the room.

Your body felt like one with him.

Full of love and devotion.

You both feel a coil in your stomach as you feel your peaks coming in together.

His thrusts become erratic.

You scratch his back as the pleasure build.

With a loud scream you come hard.

He follows along.

Breaking.

Claiming.

Being one.

He falls on top of you.

Claiming your weak body under him.

With heavy breaths he covers your body holding you.

For a moment, neither of you speaks.

The only sound left in the room is your uneven breathing.

Uzair stays exactly where he is.

Heavy against you.
Warm.

Like he can’t quite bring himself to move away yet.

Your fingers drift slowly through his damp hair while he keeps his face buried near your neck, breathing you in quietly.

Then you feel it.

A soft kiss against your shoulder.

Another against your collarbone.

Unhurried.
Sleepy.

You smile weakly, voice hoarse.
“Uzair…”

“Hm?”

“You’re crushing me.”

A tired laugh leaves him instantly, muffled against your skin.

But even then he only shifts enough to take his weight off you slightly—not enough to actually let go.

As if distance isn’t an option tonight.

His hand slides lazily up your waist pulling the blanket.

Just feeling you there.

Grounding himself.

You watch him quietly for a second before brushing your thumb along his cheek.

“So gaye kya?”

He opens one eye slowly.
“Nahi.”

“Phir itne chup kyun ho?”

For a moment he doesn’t answer.

Just looks at you.

Soft.
Completely wrecked in the prettiest way.

Then finally:
“Bas dekh raha hoon.”

“Kya?”

A faint smile touches his lips.

“Meri jaan ko.”

Your face warms instantly.

“Shut up.”

“Hm,” he murmurs sleepily, pulling you closer again. “Nahi.”

You laugh quietly as he tucks his face back into your neck, arms wrapped tightly around your waist now.

Possessive without even realizing it.

After a while you feel his fingers tracing absent patterns against your skin.

Gentle.
Mindless.

Comforting.

“Theek ho na tum?”

The question is so sincere it makes your chest ache.

You nod slowly, brushing his hair back.

“Haan.”

Only then does he relax completely.

You feel it happen.

The tension leaving his body little by little until all that’s left is warmth and exhaustion and affection too big for words.

Author's Note: This is my first full smut I tried hope you liked it!!! How was it sweet cheeks!!

Let me know if you wanna be tagged or have any request!!!!

Taglist: @peonies7002 @seasonofthenerd @cloudmast @pleasetagmejaaneman

@scentedwolfdragon @velisa003 @harrystyleskiwi9

@goodnightkatherine @dc-reign @layinglowkey

@curiousbutbored @gulaabjamun08

@goldenharrysworld

@obsessedwidskincare @cakiebleh @obeythebutler

Pairing : Rehman x reader

Summary : You asked for help. He didn’t show up so you stopped asking. When you decide to handle it yourself—climbing up, pushing past the strain, proving you don’t need anyone—he finally notices. Too late.

You don’t hear him at first.

Too focused on the stubborn screw above you, on the way the ladder that shifts ever so slightly with every movement. Your fingers are tight around the screwdriver, knuckles pale, breath uneven—but you keep going.

“Bas… bas ho gaya…”

From across the room, he spots you.

And for a split second—his heart drops.

The ladder isn’t stable. You’re too high up. Stretching too far.

Yeh kya kar rahi hai—?

He moves instantly, long strides closing the distance faster than he lets it show on his face. On the outside, he’s composed.

Inside, it’s anything but.

“Tum—” his voice comes out sharper than intended, breath slightly off, “neeche utro. Abhi.”

You freeze for half a second.

Then continue like you didn’t even hear him.

His jaw tightens.

He’s right below you now, one hand already hovering near the ladder, ready to catch, to steady—anything.

“Sun rahi ho? Gir jaogi tum.”

“Ab fikr ho rahi hai?” you mutter, not looking down.

That hits him harder than he expects.

He steadies the ladder anyway, grip firm, eyes flicking over every small shift, every imbalance.

“Yeh sab karne ki zarurat nahi hai,” he says, quieter now—but there’s an edge of urgency he can’t hide. “Mujhe bol deti.”

A humorless laugh leaves you.

“Maine bola tha.”

Silence.

The kind that presses.

You force the screwdriver harder, ignoring the strain shooting up your arm.

“Tab time nahi tha tumhare paas.”

His grip on the ladder tightens.

“Ab hai,” he says, controlled—but there’s something underneath, something strained.

“Zarurat nahi hai.” Your voice is flat now. Final. “Main kar lungi.”

The ladder shifts again—just slightly.

But he notices.

Of course he does.

“Bas. Enough.” This time it’s firmer. Not loud—but leaving no space to argue. “Neeche aao.”

“Mai karta hu choro—”

Your foot slips just a fraction.

Not enough to fall.

Enough for his heart to lurch.

Before you can react, his hand shoots up, gripping your ankle to steady you, the other tightening around the ladder.

“Pagal ho kya tum?” The control cracks—just a little. “Chot lag jayegi tumhe!”

You stiffen at his touch, anger flaring instantly.

“Haath hatao.”

But he doesn’t.

Not immediately.

His grip doesn’t hurt—but it doesn’t leave either.

“Pehle neeche aao,” he says, lower now, breath uneven despite how steady he sounds. “Phir jo bolna hai bolo.”

For a second, you hesitate.

Just a second.

Then you yank your foot back slightly.

“Main Nahi girungi.”

“Risk kyun le rahi ho?” he shoots back, softer but more intense. “Main hoon na—”

“Ab ho,” you cut in, finally looking down at him, eyes sharp. “Jab zarurat thi tab nahi the.”

That stops him.

Completely.

His hand loosens just a fraction—not fully leaving, just… less certain.

You hold his gaze for a beat longer, then look away, turning back to the task.

“Ab main khud kar rahi hoon. Toh please—interfere mat karo.”

The words are colder than the height you’re standing at.

He exhales slowly.

For a moment, it looks like he’ll argue again.

Instead—

He adjusts his grip on the ladder, planting his feet more firmly.

Holding it steady.

Not forcing you down.

Not walking away either.

“Fine,” he says quietly.

A pause.

Then, softer—almost reluctant:

“Par girne nahi dunga.”

Your hand stills for just a second.

Just one.

Then you continue working.

But this time the ladder doesn’t shake.

And neither does your balance.

You tighten the last screw with a little more force than needed, then pull your hand back, flexing your fingers.

“Ho gaya.”

A beat.

Then slowly, carefully, you start climbing down.

You can feel his gaze on you the entire time steady, unblinking, like he doesn’t trust the ground itself until you’re on it.

The moment your feet touch the floor—

“Tum pagal ho kya?” he snaps, the restraint finally slipping. “Itni upar chadh jaati ho bina soche samjhe? Agar gir jaati toh—”

“So what?” you cut him off instantly, turning to face him, anger still burning. “Kar liya na maine. Main kar sakti hoon. I’m capable.”

He stops mid-sentence.

Of course you are.

That was never the point.

“I know,” he says, quieter now—but firm. “Mujhe pata hai tum kar sakti ho.”

“Phir problem kya hai?”

A beat of silence.

He runs a hand over his face, then steps closer before you can react, reaching for your hand.

“Dikhao.”

You instinctively pull back. “Kuch nahi hua—”

“Dikhao,” he repeats, softer this time—but not really asking.

There’s something in his voice that makes you pause.

Reluctantly, you let him.

His fingers close around your wrist, turning your hand slightly under the light. His touch is careful now—thumb brushing over the faint redness, the slight tremble you didn’t even realise was there.

His jaw tightens.

“Yeh ‘kuch nahi’ hai?” he mutters.

“It’s fine,” you try again, quieter.

He doesn’t let go.

Instead, his grip shifts—firmer, grounding—as he looks up at you.

“Problem yeh hai…” his voice drops, steadier now, “...tumhe akela karna nahi chahiye.”

You scoff lightly. “Aur kyun nahi? Har cheez ke liye tumhara wait karun?”

“Wait nahi,” he says, stepping closer, still holding your hand. “Par mujhe chance toh do na.”

You meet his eyes, hurt flashing through again.

“Jab Diya tha tabh tumne liya Nahi.”

That lands.

He doesn’t look away this time.

“Haan,” he admits quietly. “Nahi liya.”

No excuses.

Just truth.

For a second, your grip loosens in his hold.

“I managed,” you say, softer now.

“I know,” he nods. “Aur tum hamesha kar logi.”

A pause.

Then, more gently—almost like it costs him something to say it:

“Par har baar karna pade… yeh bhi zaruri nahi hai.”

Your eyes flicker away.

There’s less fight in you now—but the walls aren’t fully down either.

“Next time,” you mutter, “time pe kar dena.”

For a moment, he just looks at you.

Then his hand tightens around yours—not hurting, just… not letting go.

“Next time,” he agrees softly.

And before you can pull away or overthink it—

he tugs you forward.

Not rough.

Not hesitant either.

Just enough that you stumble a step closer, your free hand instinctively coming up to steady yourself against him.

His other arm comes around you almost immediately, pulling you in properly this time.

You stiffen at first.

“Rehman—”

“Bas,” he murmurs, low, close to your hair. Not shutting you up—just… holding the moment in place.

His hold isn’t crushing.

It’s careful.

Like he’s still half-worried you’ll break, or pull away.

His thumb brushes absently over your knuckles again, like he hasn’t quite moved on from checking them.

“Zyada strong banne ki zarurat nahi hai,” he says quietly.

You huff lightly against him, but don’t move back.

“Main strong hoon.”

A faint exhale—almost a smile you can’t see.

“Pata hai,” he murmurs.

A beat.

Then softer:

“Par mujhe karne diya kro na.”

This time—

you don’t argue.

Author's Note: I hope you like this small one !!!

Let me know if you wanna be tagged or have any request!!!!

Taglist: @peonies7002 @seasonofthenerd @cloudmast @pleasetagmejaaneman

@scentedwolfdragon @velisa003 @harrystyleskiwi9

@goodnightkatherine @dc-reign @layinglowkey

@curiousbutbored @gulaabjamun08

@goldenharrysworld

@obsessedwidskincare @cakiebleh @obeythebutler

Pairing : Rehman x reader

Summary : A week of distance, an interrupted night, and a morning that brings everything back—closer, warmer, and harder to resist. Adhoori Raat

SMUT!! MDNI

Morning comes softer than the night before.

Light filters through the curtains in thin, golden lines, settling quietly across the room.

Rehman stirs slightly, shifting against the pillow and frowns.

Empty.

The space beside him was cold.

His hand moves over the sheets instinctively, like he expects to find you there but there’s nothing.

His eyes open slowly, adjusting to the light, a faint crease forming between his brows.

“Jaan…?” his voice is still rough with sleep.

No answer.

His eyes scanning the room to find any sign of you

Just as he’s about to sit up, the door creaks open.

You step in quietly, already dressed for the day, hair slightly damp, the faint scent of soap and something warm lingering around you.

“Uth jaiye Rehman …” you say softly, walking closer to the bed.

“Aaj Shirani sahb Aa Rahe hai apse Milne”

He watches you.

Silently.

That same unreadable look from last night flickering back for just a second.

You stop beside him, reaching out to shake his shoulder lightly and that’s when his hand moves.

Fast and swift

He catches your wrist and pulls.

You barely have time to react before you lose balance, falling forward right onto him.

A soft gasp escapes you as your hands land against his chest.

“Rehman—!”

But he’s already awake now.

Fully.

His arm wraps around your waist instantly, holding you in place as he shifts, turning just enough to pin you slightly against the mattress.

“Subah subah khahan bhaag gayi thi tum?” his voice is low, still thick with sleep but edged with something else now.

Your heart stumbles.

“Faizal aur Naieem ko tyaar kar Rahi thi fir apko uthane aayi —”

“Hmm,” he hums, not sounding convinced at all.

His grip tightens just slightly at your waist, pulling you closer until there’s barely any space between you.

You try to push yourself up but his other hand comes up, brushing your hair back from your face, slow… deliberate.

“Kal raat ka hisaab…” he murmurs, eyes not leaving yours,
“yaad hai na?”

Your breath catches and a quiet giggle leaves you

“Rehman… please, uth jaiye…woh Shirani sahb —”

His thumb traces lightly along your jaw.

“Faizal aur Naeem kahaan hain?”

You hesitate for half a second.

Then softly—

“Uzair le gaya unhe bahar… aaj ke liye.”

That does something.

You feel it instantly.

The way his expression shifts subtle, but unmistakable.

“Accha…” he exhales, almost under his breath.

His hand at your waist slides slightly higher

“Phir toh…” his voice dips, quieter now, closer,
“jaldi uthne ki koi zaroorat nahi hai.”

“Rehman—” you try again, but it comes out softer this time.

Weaker.

Because you’re not really trying to get away anymore.

He notices.

Of course he does.

His forehead brushes lightly against yours for a second and then he leans in.

The kiss starts slow.

Like he’s testing if you’ll pull away this time.

You don’t.

And that’s all it takes.

His hold tightens, pulling you fully against him as the kiss deepens warmer now, more certain, carrying all the tension from the night before.

Your fingers curl into his shirt again, gripping lightly, and he exhales softly against you, the sound low, almost restrained.

His hand moves along your side under your kurta now, lingering, pressing you closer as if he’s making up for lost time but still controlled and aware.

When he pulls back, it’s only for a second.

Just enough to look at you.

Really look.

“Subah subha itni seedhi kyun bani rahi ho…” he murmurs, thumb brushing lightly along your lips,
“raat ko toh…” he trails off, a faint hint of a smile touching his lips.

Heat rushes to your face.

“Bas… ab uthiye,” you whisper, but there’s no real insistence left in it.

He watches you for a second longer.

Then suddenly—

he shifts again, flipping the position just enough so you’re pressed back against the mattress now.

Your legs spread open as he settles in between them and his arm braced beside you.

Not trapping.

But close enough that you feel it.

“Tum… do bachon ke baap ho,” you murmur, voice soft but laced with shy disbelief,
“sharam nahi aati?”

For a second—

he just looks at you.

And then something shifts in his expression.

Not embarrassed.

Not even slightly.

If anything—

amused.

A faint smirk tugs at his lips as his thumb brushes slowly along your cheek.

“Sharam?” he repeats softly, like the word doesn’t quite belong here.

His gaze drops to your lips and back up again, steady.

“Do hain…” he murmurs, leaning just a little closer,
“par mujhe ek beti bhi chahiye.”

It takes a second for you to register.

And when it does your breath catches.

“Rehman—!” your voice comes out half a whisper, half shock, your face instantly warming as you try to push lightly at his shoulder.

He doesn’t move.

Not even a little.

If anything, his arm around you tightens just slightly, keeping you right where you are.

“Ab sharam aa rahi hai?” he murmurs, voice low, teasing now—but softer underneath.

You look away, unable to hold his gaze anymore, your fingers still clutching at his shirt like you don’t quite want to leave either.

And then-

He trails a line of small kisses down your neck to your chest.

Your hands come up around his shoulder pulling him closer.

His one hand shift lower towards the hem of your pants and the other still bracing you.

“Tum uthao gi… ya main aur late kar doon?” he murmurs.

Your breath falters slightly.

But before you can respond

His hand dips in your panties and spreads your folds .

A small whimper leaves you “Rehman—“

His lips find yours as he claims them again .

Slower.

Deeper.

Like he’s in no rush at all.

And somehow—

that makes it worse.

His fingers enter with you with a sharp thrust.

His pace is slower… deeper… like he has all the time in the world.

Your fingers tighten in his shirt, as a pressure builds up in your belly and when he feels it, his kiss deepens.

His other hand comes up and starts playing with your hard nipples through your kurta.

His hand pump in and out of you in an excruciating pace.

Your back arches trying to hold on to him as you come closer to your own release.

“Rehman” you moan

“Shhhh….. let it happen” he says against your lips

Your legs start to tremble and your grip tightens in his hair as you cum hard screaming in pleasure.

Your orgasm leaves you breathless as your body goes soft and weak under him.

When he finally pulls back taking his fingers out covered in your pleasure he brings them up to his lips licking them in a grin.

His forehead rests lightly against yours, your breathing still uneven.

You don’t look at him for a second.

And then, quietly—

“Tum ko ese dekhne ko nazre taras gyi thi”

As he watches you for a moment.

Your cheeks turn bright red as you try to hide your smile but fail terrible.

You try and hide in his embrace

He pulls you in a hug.

Seeing you all shy and vulnerable makes him laugh loud.

And then his hand lifts, gently turning your face back toward him.

This time, the kiss he presses to your lips is different.

Not rushed.

Not overwhelming.

Just… warm.

Lingering.

His thumb moves slowly along your jaw while his other hand rests steady at your waist, holding you there like something precious instead of something he might lose.

You both lay there still for a while taking in the moments between you.

When he pulls back, he doesn’t go far.

Just enough that his lips brush your temple instead.

But he doesn’t let go immediately.

His hand stays around you for a second longer.

Then another.

Before finally easing away.

You sit up slowly, smoothing your kurta, still avoiding his gaze—but there’s a small, involuntary smile tugging at your lips now.

“Uth jayegi Rehman abh..” you whisper

Behind you, you feel the bed shift as he finally sits up too.

“Waise…” he adds lazily, voice still carrying that hint of amusement,
“Uzair ko bol dena… bachon ko thoda aur der bahar hi rakhe.”

Your head snaps toward him, eyes widening.

“Rehman!”

He just leans back slightly, watching you with that same calm, knowing look like he’s already won something without trying.

And for once—

you don’t argue.

You just shake your head trying to hide your smile as you get up and turn toward the door.

But before you step out his voice stops you again.

Softer this time.

“Acha suno .”

You turn back.

He’s watching you the same way as last night.

Not rushed.

Not distant.

Just… certain.

“Kal raat ka hisaab…” he says quietly,
“main bhoola nahi hoon.”

A pause.

Then, almost gently—

“Shaam ko baat karte hain.”

Your breath catches again—lighter this time.

Warmer.

You don’t answer.

Just give the smallest nod before slipping out of the room.

And somehow the day already feels like it’s waiting for the night again.

Author's Note: This was something new I tried hope you liked it!!! How was it sweet cheeks!!

Let me know if you wanna be tagged or have any request!!!!

Taglist: @peonies7002 @seasonofthenerd @cloudmast @pleasetagmejaaneman

@scentedwolfdragon @velisa003 @harrystyleskiwi9

@goodnightkatherine @dc-reign @layinglowkey

@curiousbutbored @gulaabjamun08

@goldenharrysworld

@obsessedwidskincare @cakiebleh @obeythebutler

Pairing : Rehman x reader

Summary : He comes back like nothing has changed. But the silence between you says otherwise. One week apart, and suddenly even the smallest touch feels like too much or not enough.

The sound of a car stopping outside doesn’t usually mean much to you.

But today you pause and listen.

Like something in you recognizes it before your mind can catch up.

The faint creak of the gate followed by voices loud, overlapping.

And then-

his.

Your heart stutters.

You don’t think.

By the time it registers, you’re already moving already at the door, stepping out into the cool evening air -

and there he is.

Standing beside the car, adjusting his sleeve, like he hasn’t been gone for a week at all.

Like nothing changed.

But something in your chest tightens anyway.

Before you can stop yourself, you walk straight into him and wrap your arms his shoulder tightly.

A little tighter than you meant to.

“Tum aa gaye…”

It slips out, soft.

More of relief than anything else.

For a second—

he stills.

Like he didn’t expect this.

Didn’t expect you like this.

Uzair is somewhere behind him, pulling out bags, pausing mid-step when he sees you

but it barely registers.

Because then—

Rehman’s arms come around you.

Slow.

Certain.

And then they tighten.

Like he’s been holding that back all week.

A quiet breath leaves him, his hand brushing lightly against your hair

“Miss kiya mujhe tumne?”

Low. Close.

You pull back just enough to look at him, warmth rising to your face and then you remember.

You glance past him, softening slightly.

“Assalamualaikum, Bhabhi…” Uzair says quietly grinning

“Waalaikumassalam,Uzair”

Your voice comes out gentler now, a little shy.

“Hum toh soch rahe the aap bhai ko bhool hi gayi hongi.”

A small huff leaves you—half embarrassed, half amused.

You try to step back properly but then you realize.

Rehman hasn’t let go.

Not really.

One of his hands still rests at your waist steady, familiar.

Like it belongs there.

Like you do.

And when you shift his grip only adjusts.

It doesn’t leave.

“Chalo andar,” he says quietly.

Not a suggestion.

Just… natural.

His hand stays where it is as he guides you in.

You walk in together like that.

His hand still at your waist.

Not obvious enough to draw attention but enough that you feel it with every step.

Uzair follows behind, dragging the bags in, already talking about the drive, the chaos, something random his voice filling the space easily.

But your focus keeps slipping.

Because he still hasn’t moved away.

Not even now.

The house feels warmer.

Full again.

Like something that had gone missing has quietly returned to its place.

Uzair drops onto the sofa, stretching out, continuing his story without pause.

You move toward the kitchen out of habit—

but as you do—

his hand finally slips away.

Slowly.

Unhurried.

And for some reason you feel the absence of it instantly.

At the table, everything looks normal.

Uzair talking.

You responding.

Small laughter here and there.

But underneath it something has shifted.

Every time you look up

Rehman already has his eyes on you.

Not staring.

Just… watching.

Like he’s still adjusting to you being here again.

Right in front of him.

“Bhai, aap sun bhi rahe ho?”

Uzair’s voice cuts through suddenly.

You glance toward him.

Rehman blinks once, like he’s been pulled back.

“Haan… sun raha hoon.”

But even as he says it his gaze drifts again.

Back to you.

Just a second longer than necessary.

And this time you don’t look away.

The conversation continues.

Food. Familiar noise. Easy rhythm.

But beneath it there’s something softer.

Unfinished.

Waiting.

Like the night hasn’t reached the part it’s meant to yet.

The house quiets down slowly as the night settles

Uzair leaves with a lazy goodnight, the door clicking shut behind him.

And just like that everything settles.

Quieter.

Still.

You linger downstairs longer than needed, fixing things that don’t really need fixing.

Just to steady yourself.

But it doesn’t help.

Because the moment you step into the room you stop.

He’s already there.

Sitting by the window, sleeves rolled, fingers resting loosely against the armrest.

Waiting.

His gaze lifts the second you enter.

Sharp.

Focused.

Like he’s been counting the seconds.

“Idhar aao.”

Low.

Certain.

You take a step.

Then another.

And the moment you’re close his hand wraps around your wrist.

And he pulls you in.

You barely manage a soft breath before you land on his lap, your hands catching onto his shoulders for balance.

“Rehman—”

But the rest fades as his arms tighten their hold on your waist

Firm.

Unyielding.

Keeping you exactly where he wants you.

“Poora ek hafta main dur tha tum se…”his voice is lower now, roughened at the edges,
“aur tum bas… aise hi milogi mujhe?”

Your heart stumbles at the way he says it.

Not teasing.

Not complaining.

Something deeper. Heavier.

Your fingers curl slightly against his shoulders.

“Main—”

“Jhoot mat bolo.”

Barely a whisper.

His hand slides up from your waist to your back fingers spreading slightly as if grounding himself—pulling you closer, until there’s barely any space left between you.

“Miss kiya tumne?” he murmurs again, softer this time—but more certain.

Your silence answers him.

And something in him gives.

A quiet exhale leaves him, almost like relief “Main toh… bilkul nahi reh paaya.”

The honesty in it lingers for a second before he leans in.

This time, there’s no hesitation.

The first kiss lands soft but it doesn’t stay that way.

It deepens almost immediately, warmer, more certain, like he’s been holding it back all week and doesn’t intend to anymore.

Your breath catches, your grip tightening instinctively on his shoulders and that’s all it takes for you to melt into him.

His hand at your waist pulls you closer, pressing you fully against him, the hold firmer now, more deliberate.

You feel it.

The shift.

The restraint thinning.

A quiet sound escapes you—barely there—but he reacts instantly.

Pulls back just enough, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing slightly uneven now.

“Dekha…?” he murmurs, voice lower, rougher,
“tum kya haal karti ho mera.”

His thumb brushes along your side slowly, absentminded but lingering—

not letting you go.

Your fingers slide into his hair and the other hand gripping tightly into the fabric of his shirt,

his jaw tightens at the contact.

“Bas…” he exhales softly, eyes flickering shut for a second,
“itna paas mat aaya karo…”

A pause.

Then, quieter—

“phir rukna mushkil ho jaata hai.”

But even as he says it his hold tightens again.

“Rukne ki koi zaroorat nahi hai Rehman” your quiet words undoing his restrain

He leans in once more kissing you slower, deeper,

His hand shifting under your kurta at your waist, drawing you closer with quiet insistence.

The kiss lingers longer now, unhurried but heavier, like he’s taking his time, like he finally can.

Your kiss slips slightly towards his shoulder, brushing along his collar, as he exhales softly against you just for a second

His hands began undoing your kurta trying to break you free from your clothing restrain.

But then suddenly you hear the soft creak of the door.

“Ammi…?”

Everything stops.

Instantly.

You pull back, breath uneven, heart racing as reality crashes in.

He stills beneath you, eyes closing briefly, a quiet exhale leaving him—

half frustration, half disbelief.

Abhi nahi…

The door opens wider. Small footsteps and lttle Faizal stood at the doorway rubbing his eyes

You slide off his lap quickly, fixing your kurta and dupatta while trying to control your breath

Rehman straightens, running a hand over his hair in disbelief

Faizal sees Rehman sitting on the chair and comes running with a wide smile on his face

“Abbu..”

He pulls the child into his arms.

Like nothing happened.

Like he wasn’t just —

But when his eyes lift again—

they find yours.

Darker now.

Unreadable.

Unfinished.

.

.

.

.

As Faizal curls sleepily against him, he rests his chin lightly over his head, his hand moving absently along his back—

but his gaze doesn’t leave you.

And under his breath, just enough for you to hear—

““Ek hafta ka hisaab abhi baaki hai.✨”

A slight quiet giggle left you along with a pain of wanting him more.

Author's Note : This was something new I tried🤭 I hope you liked it !!! And should I do a part of what happens the next morning 🫣!!!

Let me know if you wanna be tagged or have any request!!!!

Taglist: @peonies7002 @seasonofthenerd @cloudmast @pleasetagmejaaneman @scentedwolfdragon @velisa003 @harrystyleskiwi9

@goodnightkatherine @dc-reign @layinglowkey

@curiousbutbored @gulaabjamun08

@goldenharrysworld @jadekiddo

Pairing: Major Iqbal x reader

Summary: He comes back from a rough mission to an empty house and realizes that silence is worse than anything he faced out there.

Reminder- It's all fiction and not based on anyone real in this entire universe

based on a request <3

The house is too quiet and Iqbal notices it the moment he steps in.

Not the usual kind of quiet he’s used to, it was the kind that settles after long days and late nights more like a hollow one. One that echoes. One that lingers.

He shuts the door behind him slowly, the click louder than it should be.

“Jaan?” he calls out, voice low, almost out of habit.

Nothing answers.

No soft footsteps from the kitchen.
No absent “haan?” from the other room.
No sign of you

His jaw tightens.

He drops on the couch and runs a tired hand over his face. There’s still dried blood at his knuckles, a dull ache in his shoulder he hasn’t dealt with yet—but that’s not what’s bothering him.

It’s this.

The stillness.

The way everything looks the same but feels so different that it feels wrong.

His eyes fall on the glass you always leave half-filled on the table.

It’s still there.

Untouched.

For a moment, he just stands there.

Then quieter, almost under his breath “Ghar Tumhare bina ghar jesa nahin lagta.”

A house doesn’t feel like this.

He doesn’t remember deciding to leave again.

Only that suddenly he’s outside, keys in hand, engine starting.

The drive feels longer than it should.

Or maybe it’s just that he hasn’t let himself think like this before.

About you.

About the fight.

It wasn’t even that big.

Just words said that felt too flat but hit too sharp.

“Aapko farq hi nahin padta.” You had said

Him, without thinking: “Har baat pe react karna zaroori nahin hota.”

And then silence.

And then you leaving.

That’s all that circles in his mind again and again.

When he reaches your parents’ house, he doesn’t get out immediately.

His hands stay on the steering wheel.

Tight like this isn’t his terrain.

He knows how to walk into gunfire.
Knows how to make decisions that matter in seconds.

But this?

This takes him a full minute longer.

Then another.

Finally, he exhales sharply and steps out.

He knocks the door quietly

You open the door.

For a second, you just stare at him.

“Aap?” your brows knit slightly. “Yahan?”

He nods. Once.

“Baahar aayengi Mujhe apse baat Karni hai?” he says, voice low.

You hesitate—but step out anyway, pulling the door shut behind you.

There’s distance between you.

Not much.

But enough.

“Aapko kuch kaam tha?” you ask, arms folding lightly.

Guarded.

He looks at you properly now.

Like he’s checking if you’re really there.

“Ghar chaliye,” he says.

Simple.

Your expression doesn’t change.

“Aise hi?” you tilt your head. “Jaise kuch hua hi nahin?”

A pause.

“Nahin,” he says.

And that makes you look at him again.

“Phir?” you press.

He exhales, gaze dropping for a second.

“Phir bhi… chaliye.”

You shake your head slightly.

“Main abhi wapas nahin aa rahi. Mujhe time chahiye.”

He nods once.

But when he steps closer you move a step back.

That small movement lands harder than anything.

He stops.

Watches you.

Tries again.

Another step.

And again—you move away.

“Aap please yaha se chale jayiye Mujhe space chaiye ,” you say, a little firmer now.

Something in his face shifts.

He stills.

For a second, it looks like he might just leave.

Turn around.

Walk back to that empty house.

But he doesn’t.

His hand lifts—then drops.

His jaw tightens.

And then—

“Main… galat tha.”

You freeze.

“Mujhe Apki baat sun Leni chahiye thi “he adds, voice rougher now.

You don’t respond immediately.

You’re still taking it in.

“Aur Mujhe esa Nahi bolna chahiye tha,” he continues.

“Aur?” you ask quietly.

Because you need more.

He nods faintly.

Swallows.

And then—

“Tumhare bina… neend nahin aati.”

It slips out.

Bare

Unfiltered.

Quiet

You blink. “Kya?”

Your chest tightens.

He takes a step forward.

You don’t move this time but you don’t move closer either.

That hesitation between you stretches.

He notices it.

His hand reaches out and when you instinctively shift back just a fraction he stops.

Mid-air.

Drops it.

Silence.

Heavy.

Then suddenly he exhales sharply

and lowers himself.

On his knees.

Right in front of you.

“Iqbal—” you start, startled.

But he shakes his head.

“Mujhe maaf kar do,” he says.

Quiet.

Not loud.

Not dramatic.

Just… breaking.

“Please, aise Mujhe se door mat jaiye.”

Your heart stumbles.

“Mujhe maaf kar do,” he says again. “Main galat tha.”

The words come easier now.

“mujhe samajhna chahiye tha…”

His voice falters.

Then steadies.

“Ghar… theek nahin lagta.”

That lands.

You look at him properly now.

Really look.

And that’s when you notice his hand.

Bruised.

Blood dried along his knuckles.

Skin split.

You frown slightly without meaning to.

“Aapko chot lagi hai…” you murmur, your voice softening on instinct.

Before you can think you step closer.

Your hand lifts.

Pauses.

Then gently reaches for his.

“Dikhaiye…”

Your fingers barely brush his skin careful, hesitant and he goes still.

Completely.

Like your touch knocked the air out of him.

You turn his hand slightly, thumb grazing over the dried blood and something in him just… gives.

His other hand comes up suddenly not rough, not forceful just desperate wrapping around your waist.

Pulling you closer.

You gasp softly, caught off guard but before you can react he leans into you.

His forehead pressing against your stomach, then his face turning slightly, breath warm against you.

And he just—

breathes.

Like he’s been holding it in for days.

Your hands hover for a second.

Unsure.

Then slowly—

they settle.

One on his shoulder.

The other still holding his injured hand.

He tightens his hold around your waist.

Not enough to trap you.

Just enough to keep you there.

“Vapis ajaiye…” he murmurs, voice muffled against you.

Your chest tightens.

“Iqbal…” you whisper, softer now.

“Main Tumhare bina Nahi reh sakta,” he says again, quieter this time. “Tumhare bina kuch Nahi hota Mujhe se.”

His grip shifts slightly, like he’s trying to get closer without knowing how.

“Mujhe…” he starts—

stops—

then finally, barely above a breath—

“Mujhe sambhal lo please.”

That breaks you.

Completely.

Your fingers move into his hair, slow, careful.

Your other hand slides more firmly around his shoulder.

And he leans in further Melts into it.

Like he didn’t realize how much he needed this until now.

Your eyes close for a second.

The anger is still there.

The hurt too.

But it’s softer now.

Blurred around the edges by this version of him unguarded.

Real.

You exhale slowly.

You whisper, “…uthiye.”

He doesn’t move at first.

Like he’s making sure you won’t disappear the moment he lets go.

Then slowly—he stands.

But he doesn’t step back.

His arms stay around you.

If anything, they tighten just a little.

Careful.

Uncertain.

Like he’s still asking.

Your hands don’t leave him either.

One rests against his shoulder, the other slipping higher, fingers brushing lightly through his hair without thinking.

He exhales.

You feel it.

Warm against your skin.

For a moment, neither of you says anything.

You just stand there close enough to hear each other breathe.

“Ghar chalte hain…” he murmurs quietly.

Not a demand.

Not even a request.

Just… hope.

You don’t answer.

Not with words.

Your fingers curl slightly into his shirt instead.

Holding.

Staying.

And when he finally loosens his grip just a little like he’s giving you the choice but you don’t step away.

You move closer.

Your forehead resting lightly against his chest.

That’s all it takes.

His hand finds yours again.

This time, he doesn’t hesitate.

And neither do you.

“Iqbal…” you murmur softly.

He hums in response, not pulling away.

You tilt your head back just enough to look at him.

There’s still a trace of that stubbornness in your eyes but it’s softer now.

“Dobara aisa mat kariyega,” you say quietly. “Aise bol ke… phir aise manaane aana.”

He nods immediately.

“Kabhi nahi ,” he says, voice low.

You hold his gaze for a second longer making sure he means it.

Then your expression finally gives way.

Just a little.

You step into him properly this time.

Arms wrapping around him without hesitation.

And that’s what undoes him.

His hold tightens instantly.

Not desperate now.

Just… certain.

His face drops to your shoulder, breathing you in again—but calmer this time.

Like he knows you’re staying.

“Chaliye,” you whisper after a moment, softer now. “Ghar chalte hain.”

He doesn’t answer.

Just nods against you.

But when he pulls back his hand doesn’t leave yours.

And when you start to step away he doesn’t let go.

Not this time.

You glance down at your joined hands.

Then back at him.

And instead of pulling away your fingers tighten around his.

Just slightly.

But enough.

Author's Note: I hope you liked it another softie major Iqbal one !!! Let me know if you wanna be tagged or have any request!!!!

Taglist: @peonies7002 @seasonofthenerd @cloudmast @pleasetagmejaaneman

@scentedwolfdragon @velisa003 @harrystyleskiwi9

@goodnightkatherine @dc-reign @layinglowkey

@curiousbutbored @gulaabjamun08

@goldenharrysworld @jadekiddo

@obsessedwidskincare @cakiebleh @obeythebutler

Pairing: Hamza x reader

Genre : fluff / dad Hamza

Summary : You fall asleep holding your baby after an exhausting day… and wake up to empty arms. The fear, the guilt, and the quiet love that follows—when Hamza steps in without you even asking.

The door opened quietly.

No sound except the soft click behind him.

Hamza stepped in, shoulders still carrying the weight of the day—but it slipped, slowly, the second his eyes adjusted to the room.

A mess.

Not careless just… lived in.

Toys scattered across the floor.
A bottle left on its side.
A tiny shirt draped over the chair.

And in the middle of it

you.

Asleep.

Not properly.

Head proped up against the headboard, your body tilted uncomfortably, your arm wrapped around the baby pressed to your chest like even in sleep, you hadn’t allowed distance.

Like you didn’t trust the world enough to let go.

For a moment

he didn’t move.

Just stood there.

Looking.

Taking it in.

Something in his chest tightening, slow and quiet.

“…tumne khud ko dekha hai?” he murmured under his breath.

No response.

Just your soft breathing.

He closed the door more gently this time.

Careful.

Like even the smallest sound might take away the little rest you’d managed to get.

His steps were slow as he walked in, eyes not leaving you, noticing everything the way your dupatta had slipped from your shoulder
the faint crease between your brows even in sleep the way your fingers were still curled protectively around the baby

Exhaustion.

Worn into you.

And he hadn’t seen it.

Not properly.

Not until now.

He bent down first.

Picking things up quietly, one by one.

Setting the toys aside.
Fixing the blanket.
Straightening what he could.

Small things.

Silent things.

But his movements were slower than usual… more deliberate.

Like each action carried a quiet apology.

Then he moved closer to the bed.

The baby stirred slightly, a soft sound escaping, shifting against you.

You didn’t wake.

Just held on tighter.

Even in sleep.

And that—

that stayed with him.

“Shh…” he whispered instinctively, his hand hovering before gently resting against the baby’s back.

He glanced at you once more.

Still asleep.

Still tired in a way sleep hadn’t fixed.

Then slowly he slid his arm beneath the baby, carefully lifting him, taking the weight off you bit by bit.

Your hand resisted.

Even unconscious.

Still holding on.

His breath softened.

“…shhh,” he murmured, almost like a promise, “main hoon.”

And eventually

your grip loosened.

He held the baby against his chest, adjusting him instinctively, one hand supporting his head, the other resting over his back.

The child blinked sleepily, making a small sound.

Hamza exhaled, rocking him gently.

“Chalo…” he whispered, voice softer than it had been all day, “ammi ko sone dete hain.”

He dimmed the lights further before stepping out.

The room felt emptier without the baby.

Quieter.

Too quiet.

A little while later

You woke up suddenly.

A sharp breath.

Disoriented.

Your arms—empty.

For a second, your mind didn’t understand.

Then—

it did.

You sat up too quickly, ignoring the ache that followed.

“...Zayan?”

Your voice came out small.

Strained.

You looked around—

the crib empty
the blanket shifted
the room… different

Your heartbeat picked up instantly.

“Nahi… Nahi..”

You pushed yourself up, your steps unsteady as panic rose too fast, too sharp.

“Hamza?” your voice broke now, louder, trembling, “Hamza!”

No answer.

Your chest tightened painfully.

“Main so gayi thi…” you whispered to yourself, tears already forming, “main kaise so sakti hoon”

Guilt crashed in before anything else could.

You stepped out of the room in a hurry

and froze.

He was there.

Sitting on the couch.

With little Zayan in his arms.

Safe.

Calm.

He looked up immediately.

“Hey—”

But you didn’t let him finish.

Relief hit so hard it almost hurt.

Your eyes filled instantly.

“Tum—” your voice cracked, breath uneven, “tum le gaye usko…?”

He stood up quickly, concern replacing everything else.

“Haan, woh ro raha tha thoda—tum—”

“Mujhe laga…” your words broke completely now, your hands trembling as they came up to your face, “mujhe laga main kho diya usse…”

That stopped him.

Completely.

The guilt hit him instantly.

Heavy.

Immediate.

He stepped closer.

Careful.

Fast.

“Arre—nahi, nahi…” his voice dropped, softer now, threaded with regret, “main yahin hoon… dekho, bilkul theek hai woh…”

But you were already crying.

Not loud.

But deep.

Your shoulders shaking as the fear didn’t leave your body as easily as it came.

“Mujhe Sona Nahi chaiye tha…” you whispered, broken, “main dhyaan nahi rakh paayi…”

“Hey—” his voice steadied, firmer now but still gentle, “aisa mat bolo.”

You shook your head weakly.

“Nahi… main—”

“Bas.”

Soft.

But it held weight.

He guided you to sit down, one hand steadying you, the other still holding the baby securely.

Then slowly he sat beside you.

Settling the baby nearby around the pillows .

Safe.

Present.

You were still crying.

Quieter now.

But it hadn’t stopped.

And that—

that broke him in a way he hadn’t expected.

“Mujhe ghar jaldi Ana chaiye tha…” he murmured, almost to himself.

You looked up faintly.

“Kya?”

His jaw tightened.

“Mujhe waqt se ajana chaiye tha ghar,” he said more clearly this time, voice low, controlled—but not steady, “tumhari yeh haalat nahi hoti agar main…”

He didn’t finish.

Didn’t need to.

Your fingers curled weakly into his shirt as he pulled you closer in his arms

“…aap bhi toh thak jaate ho…” you whispered, “har cheez aap nahi kar sakte…”

But he shook his head.

Like that wasn’t enough.

Like it didn’t sit right with him.

He adjusted the baby carefully, making sure he was settled properly, then shifted his focus back to you.

His hands came up to your face.

Gentle.

Steady.

Making you look at him.

“Sunno.”

Your eyes met his.

Tired. Red. Vulnerable.

“Tum se koi galti Nahi hui hai,” he said quietly, each word soft but firm, “tum usko safe rakh rahi ho. Pyaar de rahi ho. Bhout hai.”

A tear slipped down your cheek.

He wiped it away.

Then another.

And another.

Your hand came up, holding his wrist.

“…mujhe darr lag gaya tha…” you whispered.

His expression softened instantly.

Something deeper settling in his eyes.

“Janta hoon…” he murmured, pulling you closer carefully, “Maaf kr do.”

You stilled slightly at that.

Looking at him properly now.

And for the first time you saw it.

The guilt in his eyes. 
The exhaustion.
The quiet fear he hadn’t said out loud.

You leaned into him.

Fully.

Letting yourself.

And he held you—

one arm around you, the other resting protectively over zayan

Steady and grounding.

Time passed.

Quietly.

Your breathing slowly evened out.

The tears stopped.

But the heaviness lingered.

After a while, he shifted slightly.

Careful not to disturb either of you.

“Tumne kuch khaya?” he asked softly.

You shook your head faintly.

“Nahi… time nahi mila.”

That—

didn’t sit well with him.

At all.

His jaw tightened slightly.

“Of course nahi mila…” he muttered under his breath.

He helped you lean back properly against the couch, adjusting the cushion behind you so you were comfortable.

“Ruko,” he said quietly.

You didn’t argue.

Didn’t have the energy to.

He came back a minute later.

Plate in hand.

Something simple.

Warm.

Enough.

He sat beside you again, closer this time.

“Utho thoda sa,” he murmured gently.

You shifted slightly, wincing faintly at the movement.

His hand came up instantly to support you, careful, always careful.

“Aram se…”

You settled back.

Tired.

Drained.

He picked up a small bite, bringing it toward you.

“Hamza…” you murmured faintly.

“Haan,” he said simply, like it wasn’t even a question.

“Kholo,” he added softly.

There was no force in it.

Just quiet insistence.

You hesitated for a second.

Then slowly

you did.

He fed you carefully.

Small bites.

Patient.

Watching you like this mattered more than anything else right now.

“Bhook lagi thi tumhe,” he murmured after a moment, almost like he was stating something obvious you had ignored.

You didn’t respond.

Just looked at him.

Softly.

Something in your chest easing.

He continued feeding you slowly.

One bite at a time.

No rush.

No distraction.

Just… there.

With you.

And somewhere between the quiet room
the soft breathing of your baby and the way his hand didn’t shake this time something settled.

Not perfect.

Not fixed.

But held instead.

Authors Note : This one is a bit softer but heavier one I hope you like it 🫶🏻 Let me know if you wanna be tagged or have any request!!!

Taglist: @peonies7002 @seasonofthenerd @cloudmast @pleasetagmejaaneman

@scentedwolfdragon @velisa003 @harrystyleskiwi9

@goodnightkatherine @dc-reign @layinglowkey

@curiousbutbored @gulaabjamun08

@goldenharrysworld @jadekiddo

If you haven’t read the last part it’s link is -

The night he almost lost you

Reminder- It’s all fiction and not based on anyone real in this entire universe

The Night He Almost Lost You - 2

Pairing : Major Iqbal x reader

Genre : angst / emotional / fluff

The door opened again.

Iqbal straightened instantly, his gaze locking onto the doctor.

“Operation successful raha hai.”

For a moment, he didn’t react. The words seemed to hang in the air, like his mind needed a second longer to accept them. Then a breath left him—deep, uneven—his shoulders dropping just slightly, but not fully. Not yet.

“Lekin abhi hosh mein nahi aayi hain,” the doctor continued, calm and measured. “Body ko time lagega recover hone mein. Filhaal stable hain.”

Relief came but it wasn’t complete. Not when you weren’t awake.

“Danger se bahar hain?” he asked quietly.

“Haan.”

A pause.

Then the final blow, softer but heavier—

“Aap abhi mil nahi sakte. Patient ko rest ki zarurat hai. Jaise hi hosh aayega, hum inform kar denge.”

His gaze flickered toward the closed doors.

So close.

And still not enough.

For a second, he stood there like he might argue, like he might say something that would change it—but he didn’t. He just nodded once.

“…theek hai.”

And then he turned away.

The drive back felt longer than it should have.

The city had gone quiet, the roads almost empty, but his mind wasn’t. It kept replaying fragments the sound of the gunshot, your voice breaking, your hand slipping from his.

He didn’t try to stop it.

He didn’t know how to.

The house was dark when he stepped in.

Still. Unmoving.

For a moment, he just stood near the door, his hand still on the handle, like he hadn’t fully arrived yet. Like a part of him was still standing outside that OT.

Then slowly, his gaze shifted toward the bedroom.

The door was slightly open.

A faint light spilled out.

He walked in.

Laiba was asleep, curled up on the bed, the blanket half off her, one small hand still clutching the edge like she had been waiting… and eventually lost to sleep.

Iqbal stopped at the doorway.

Just looked at her.

Something in his chest tightening quietly.

Then he stepped closer and sat beside her, the mattress dipping under his weight. The child stirred faintly.

“Mmm… Abbu…”

Half-asleep. Unaware.

Iqbal’s hand moved instinctively, resting over her head, fingers brushing gently through her hair.

“Haan… so jao,” he whispered, softer than he had spoken all night.

Laiba shifted closer without even opening her eyes, pressing into him, seeking warmth, familiarity—safety.

And that—

that was enough.

Iqbal leaned back slightly, pulling her in, his arm wrapping around her in a way that was almost protective, almost desperate.

For a few moments, he just lay there. Staring at nothing. Breathing steady, controlled.

Then—

“…Ammi…” Laiba murmured in her sleep.

And something inside him gave way.

His breath hitched, sharp and sudden, like it had been caught in his chest for too long. His hand came up to cover his eyes, pressing hard, like he could stop it—but the first tear slipped through anyway.

Then another.

Silent. Heavy.

He didn’t make a sound, but his breathing betrayed him—uneven, breaking despite how hard he tried to hold it together.

He pulled her closer, holding her tighter, his fingers curling into the back of her shirt like he needed something real to anchor himself.

“...kuch nahi hoga usko…” he whispered, voice low, fragile in a way it had never been before, “main hoon na…”

But it didn’t sound certain.

Not this time.

And in the quiet of that room, with his child asleep in his arms, Major Iqbal finally let himself feel it—

the fear he hadn’t allowed himself in the hospital.

Morning came quietly.

Too quietly.

Iqbal hadn’t really slept.

Just lay there for a few hours, eyes closed but mind awake, his arm still around Laiba like he hadn’t trusted himself to let go.

The child was still asleep when he opened his eyes again.

Curled into him. Peaceful. Unaware.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

Just looked at her.

His hand came up, brushing gently through her hair, slower than usual… more careful. Like he was grounding himself before stepping back into everything waiting outside.

Then slowly—

he slipped out of bed.

Careful not to wake her up.

He got ready in silence.

Same routine. Same movements.

But there was something heavier in the way he carried himself now. Quieter. Focused.

Because now—

he wasn’t just going to see you.

He needed to.

Before leaving, he stepped back into the room once more.

Laiba hadn’t moved.

Still asleep, one hand tucked under her cheek.

Iqbal adjusted the blanket over her, tucking it in properly, his hand resting over her head for a brief second.

“…main jaldi aata hoon,” he murmured softly.

Then he left.

The hospital felt different in morning daylight.

Still.

Controlled.

But his steps didn’t slow.

Not even once.

“Room 312?”

The nurse nodded.

“Hosh mein aa gayi hain.”

Something in his chest shifted instantly.

He didn’t wait.

The door opened.

And there you were.

Awake.

Pale. Weak. Barely moving.

But alive.

For a second he froze.

Just at the threshold.

Like the sight of you had stopped everything else from existing.

Your eyes shifted slowly toward the door.

And found him.

A breath caught in your throat.

“Iqbal…”

It was barely a whisper.

Fragile.

But it reached him.

And that was it.

The distance between you didn’t exist anymore.

He crossed it in seconds.

Quick. Uncontrolled in a way he never allowed himself to be.

“Hey—” his voice dropped instantly as he reached you, his hand coming to yours, then your face, then back again like he didn’t know where to hold first, “main yahin hoon… main aa gaya.”

He leaned closer, careful—but unable to stay away, his hand cradling your face gently, his thumb brushing your cheek like he needed to feel you were real.

You tried to move—

even that small effort pulling a quiet wince from you.

His grip tightened immediately.

“Hey—nahi, mat hilao,” he murmured, voice soft but firm, “please… bas rehne do.”

Your fingers found his sleeve instead.

Weak.

But holding.

“Aap… theek ho?” you whispered.

A broken breath left him.

“Mujhe kya hona tha…” he murmured, almost disbelieving, his forehead lowering slightly, close to yours but careful, always careful.

His hand slipped into yours fully now.

Holding it like he hadn’t since last night.

Like he wasn’t letting it go again.

He pulled the chair closer but didn’t sit fully back.

Still leaning toward you.

Still close.

Like distance wasn’t something he trusted anymore.

For a moment—

he just looked at you.

Really looked.

And it showed.

It hurt.

You shifted slightly again and the pain flickered across your face before you could hide it.

His jaw clenched instantly.

His heart ached to see you in pain.

“Dard ho raha hai?” he asked quietly.

“Thoda sa…” you admitted, breath uneven.

His hand came up again, brushing your hair back with a softness that didn’t match the tension in his expression.

“Mat hila karo…” he murmured, almost under his breath, “please.”

You watched him for a second.

Noticed everything he wasn’t saying.

“…aap soye nahi,” you whispered.

He didn’t answer.

Your fingers tightened weakly in his grasp.

“…ghar gaye the?”

A small nod.

“Laiba so rahi thi.”

Relief softened your face.

“Theek hai woh…”

“Haan.”

Silence settled between you.

But it wasn’t empty.

It was full of everything that didn’t need words.

You tried to lift your hand again.

Barely.

It trembled halfway.

He caught it instantly, guiding it back down gently, his hand covering yours.

“Bas…” he murmured, “itna kaafi hai.”

A faint smile touched your lips.

“Iqbal…” you called softly.

“Haan.”

A pause.

Your eyes held his.

“Tum… daar gye the na?”

He stilled.

Just for a second.

Then—

“nahi,” he said automatically.

But it didn’t stay.

Not under your gaze.

“…jhoot,” you whispered.

And that—

was enough.

His control slipped.

Quietly.

Completely.

His grip on your hand tightened, his gaze dropping for a moment before coming back to you—unsteady this time.

“Mujhe laga…” his voice lowered, rough now, stripped of everything steady, “…main tumhe kho deta.”

Your fingers curled weakly around his.

He exhaled shakily, his forehead lowering until it rested lightly against your hand, careful of your injuries.

“Main yahi tha…” he murmured, almost to himself, “phir bhi…”

His voice didn’t finish.

Didn’t need to.

A tear slipped before he could stop it.

Then another.

He didn’t turn away.

Didn’t hide it.

Just stayed there holding your hand breaking quietly in front of you because this was the only place he could.

Your fingers moved slightly.

Brushing against his.

“Iqbal…” you whispered.

Soft. Weak. There.

He inhaled slowly, trying to steady himself, but his grip didn’t loosen.

Didn’t falter.

Because now—

you were here.

Alive.

Looking at him.

And for the first time since last night—

he let himself believe it.

Author’s Note : I hope this was a better ending 🫶🏻 and you liked it !!! Let me know if you wanna be tagged or have any request!!!!

Taglist: @peonies7002 @seasonofthenerd @cloudmast @pleasetagmejaaneman

@scentedwolfdragon @velisa003 @harrystyleskiwi9

@goodnightkatherine @dc-reign @layinglowkey

@curiousbutbored @gulaabjamun08

Pairing : Major Iqbal x reader

Genre : angst / emotional / violence

Summary : A quiet drive home.

A moment of softness.

And then—one second that changes everything.

based on a request <3

The music from the wedding still lingered faintly in the air, even as the doors closed behind you.

Laughter. Lights. Noise.

And then—quiet.

The night outside was cooler, calmer. A sharp contrast to everything you had just stepped out of.

You adjusted your dupatta as you walked beside him, heels clicking softly, your steps slower now—tired, but content.

“Thak gayi?” his voice came low.

You glanced at him, a small smile forming.

“Thodi si… itni der tak khade rehna meri aadat nahi hai.”

He hummed faintly, like he already knew.

His hand came to your back—light, steady—guiding you toward the car.

It was already waiting. Driver in front. Engine running.

“Waise,” you added, a hint of teasing in your tone, “aapko toh bada maza aa raha tha andar.”

He glanced at you, one brow lifting slightly as he opened the door.

“Hmm?”

You paused before getting in.

“Sab se mil rahe the… smile bhi kar rahe the. Kaafi charming ban rahe the aaj aap.”

A faint smirk touched his lips.

“Duty ka hissa hai.”

You scoffed softly, sliding into the seat.

“Ji haan. Duty.”

The door shut.

A second later, he was beside you. The car moved.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

City lights blurred past the window as you leaned back, exhaling quietly, the exhaustion finally settling in.

He noticed.

Of course he did.

“Tangein dard kar rahi hain?” he asked.

You opened your eyes slightly, smiling.

“Thodi si… heels pehen li, galti ho gayi.”

A quiet pause followed.

Gentle.

His gaze flickered to the front—driver focused—then back to you.

“Idhar aao.”

You frowned slightly.

“Kya?”

But before you could finish his hand reached for you.

Slow. Careful.

He guided your legs toward him, lifting them into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Iqbal…” you whispered softly.

“Haan,” he murmured, almost absently, his hand settling around your ankle, “pata hai.”

His thumb pressed gently into your foot.

Slow. Measured.

And the relief made your eyes close for a second.

A soft breath left you as your body eased into the seat.

He didn’t look up.

Just focused—firm, careful, like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Itni der khare hone ki kya zaroorat thi,” he said quietly.

You hummed.

“Shaadi thi…”

A small pause.

Then, softer—

“Aur tum dulhan thi kya?”

A faint smile curved your lips.

“Ho sakta tha…”

That earned the quietest hint of amusement from him.

His other hand came up, supporting your ankle, his thumb moving in slow circles.

Unconscious yet gentle.

You shifted closer, your head tilting—resting lightly against his shoulder.

He didn’t move.

“Aap bhi na…” you murmured, voice fading.

“Hm.”

His fingers slowed, more careful now.

“Bolti bohot ho tum.”

You smiled faintly.

“Sirf aapke saamne…”

His hand paused—just for a second.

Then continued.

Your fingers moved, finding his free hand.

He let you.

Adjusted his grip so yours fit better.

Warmer.

Steady.

“Agli baar itni der rukne ki zarurat nahi hai,” he murmured.

You laced your fingers with his.

“Agli baar aap jaldi le jaoge?”

A brief pause.

Then—

“Hmm bilkul.”

Simple. Certain.

“Waise…” you murmured, eyes half-closed, “aaj aap thode alag lag rahe the.”

“Alag matlab?”

“Zyada… normal.”

A faint huff of amusement left him.

“Main normal hi hoon.”

You turned your head slightly, studying him.

“Nahi… aap sirf mere saath normal hote ho.”

That—

made him go still.

Barely noticeable.

But you felt it in the way his fingers tightened around yours.

His gaze shifted ahead again.

But his thumb brushed lightly over your hand.

Outside

The road had emptied.

Streetlights stretched longer, the city quieter with every passing second.

And Inside the car—

everything was still

Your head rested lightly against his shoulder, your fingers loosely intertwined with his, your feet still in his lap. Your breathing had evened out, soft, steady.

He hadn’t moved.

Didn’t want to.

Then

a sound rang through low, fast and very wrong

His gaze snapped to the mirror.

A bike.

Too close.

Too deliberate.

His hand tightened around yours instantly.

“Seedha chalao,” he said to the driver voice low but firm.

The driver straightened.

The bike came closer.

And then—

Gunfire.

The glass beside you shattered in a sharp, violent crack.

You flinched—

“Iqbal—!”

Before you could react further, his arm came around you, pulling you down, your body pressed into him as he bent over you, shielding you completely.

“Niche raho,” he muttered, one hand cradling the back of your head, forcing you into his chest, “hilna mat.”

Another shot.

Then—

a sharp, burning impact.

You gasped.

“Iqbal—!”

Your voice broke into a cry, your body jerking against him.

His grip tightened instantly.

“Shh—”

But something was wrong.

He felt it.

The way you tensed.

The way your hand gripped his shirt—

then faltered.

His head snapped down.

“...kya hua?”

His voice dropped.

Too quiet.

Another shot rang out, but he barely registered it now.

His hand moved instinctively, pulling you closer, trying to shield you further—

and that’s when he felt it.

Warm.

Wet.

His hand stilled.

Then slowly—

he pulled back just enough to see.

Blood.

Spreading fast from your waist.

For a second—

everything stopped.

“…nahin.”

Barely a whisper.

Then everything moved at once.

He pressed his hand hard against the wound, pulling you up into him, his other hand gripping your face.

“Mujhe dekho—”

Your breathing was uneven now, shallow, your eyes struggling to stay open.

He shook his head slightly, like refusing what he was seeing.

“Nahi… nahi, kuch nahi hua,” he muttered quickly, his voice losing that steady edge, “theek ho tum. Sun rahi ho na?”

Your lips parted slightly, your fingers weakly clutching his shirt.

“Iqbal…” your voice was faint now, trembling.

His grip tightened.

“Haan—haan, main yahin hoon. Dekho mujhe.”

But you were already slipping.

“Apna… khayal rakhna…” you whispered, words breaking between breaths.

His expression changed instantly.

Fear.

Real, unfiltered.

“Chup karo” he cut in, shaking his head, “yeh sab mat bolo. Kuch nahi hoga tumhe.”

“Driver—hospital bhagao!” his voice snapped now, loud, breaking through the car.

The car jerked forward immediately.

But he wasn’t looking anywhere else.

Just you.

But you continued, your hand lifting weakly, barely reaching his collar.

“Hamari.. bachi ka…”

His breath hitched.

“Usko…” you struggled, your voice barely there now, “raat ko… kahani sunana… mat bhool na.. ”

His hand tightened around yours, almost desperate now.

“Bas—” his voice cracked slightly, the control slipping, “baat mat karo. Energy waste mat karo. Hospital paunch rahe hai hum bs..”

But you were already fading.

Your hand slipped against his.

Your head dropping slightly forward.

“Iqbal…” one last whisper.

Then—

nothing.

For a second—

he froze.

Completely.

His hand still against your face.

“…hey.”

No response.

Something inside him broke.

“Jaan—” this time sharper, his hand gripping your face harder, “aankhein kholo. Sun rahi ho?”

Nothing.

His breathing turned uneven, his hand pressing harder against the wound as blood soaked through his fingers.

He pulled you closer, your head pressed tightly against his chest, like he could force life back into you.

“Nahi…” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head, his voice no longer steady, “nahi, aisa nahi—”

His hand moved to your face again, tapping lightly.

“Mujhe dekho,” his voice dropped again, but it was shaking now, “please… aankhein kholo.”

No response.

His grip tightened around you, almost crushing, like letting go wasn’t an option.

“Main yahan hoon…” he whispered, voice breaking despite himself, “main yahan hoon…”

But your body had gone still in his arms.

And for the first time—

Major Iqbal had nothing left to control.

Only the space between your breaths—

and the fear that they weren’t coming back.

The car hadn’t fully stopped before the door was opened.

Iqbal was already out.

You in his arms.

Blood still warm against his hands.

“Doctor!” his voice cut through the corridor, sharp, controlled—but there was something under it now. Something unsteady.

People moved instantly.

Stretcher. Nurses. Hands reaching.

“Sir—humein de dijiye—”

He didn’t.

Not immediately.

His grip tightened just slightly, like letting go wasn’t an option.

“Sir—please.”

A pause.

Just a second.

Then—

slowly—

he lowered you onto the stretcher.

But even then, his hand didn’t leave you.

Not until they started moving.

“Gunshot wound—waist—heavy bleeding,” someone said quickly.

They rushed you through the corridor.

Iqbal walked with them for a few steps

then the doors came in between.

And just like that he was outside.

Still.

The noise faded.

The urgency moved past him.

Leaving behind silence.

His hands were still stained.

Dark.

Unmoved.

For a long moment, he didn’t sit.

Didn’t move.

Just stood there, staring at the closed doors like they might open if he didn’t look away.

Then slowly—

like his body finally registered the weight of what had happened

he sat down.

Elbows on his knees.

Hands still in front of him.

There was blood on his hands not of his enemies this time but yours

The only woman he ever loved was now laying bleeding with no fault of her own.

He looked at them for a second.

Just a second.

Then away.

His jaw tightened.

A breath in—

sharp.

Unsteady.

“Yeh nahin hona chaiye tha…” the words came out low. Barely audible.

No anger.

No rage.

Just facts

His hands came together slowly, pressing against each other like he was trying to ground himself.

“Main wahin tha …” he muttered under his breath, eyes dropping, “mujhe kyu Nahi lag gyi voh goli …” he whimpered with his eyes tearing up

Silence answered him.

Heavy.

Unforgiving.

Time passed.

Or maybe it didn’t.

It was hard to tell.

Footsteps came and went.

Voices blurred.

But none of it reached him.

His gaze stayed fixed on the door.

Unmoving.

Waiting.

Then—

it opened.

A doctor stepped out.

Iqbal stood immediately.

“Doctor.”

One word.

Controlled.

But tight.

“Condition critical hai,” the doctor said, voice professional, steady, “blood loss zyada hua hai. Abhi operation chal raha hai.”

For a moment—

he didn’t respond or react.

Just looked at him.

Taking it in.

Or trying to.

“Bach jayegi?” he asked.

Simple.

Direct.

The doctor paused.

Not long.

But enough.

“We’re trying our best.”

That was answer enough.

Iqbal’s gaze shifted back to the door.

The same door that had just closed again.

And this time—

he didn’t move.

Didn’t sit.

Didn’t speak.

Just stood there.

Still.

His hands at his sides now

For the first time there was nothing he could do.

No orders to give.

No control to hold.

No way to fix it.

Only—

wait.

His eyes didn’t leave the door.

Not for a second.

And under his breath, so low it barely existed—

“Is baar… bacha lo please .” He pleaded to god

But the corridor remained silent

The door stayed closed.

And he kept standing there

waiting

like everything depended on it.

Continued here - part 2

Author’s Note : guys this my first time writing something like this 😭 I hope you don’t hate it 🫶🏻

Let me know if you wanna be tagged or have any request!!!!

Taglist: @peonies7002 @seasonofthenerd @cloudmast @pleasetagmejaaneman

@scentedwolfdragon @velisa003 @harrystyleskiwi9

@goodnightkatherine @dc-reign @layinglowkey

@curiousbutbored @gulaabjamun08

I found something crazy !!!!! I don’t know if you know this but I surely didn’t know this 😭😭

So apparently in the 1st part of dhurandhar towards the end in the car chase sequence of Rehman there was supposed to be a scene in which Rehman basically calls ulfat to tell her that he’ll be coming back without giving her the whole context to what’s happening to which ulfat would somehow realise that he’s not gonna come back alive like he’s never gonna come back to which we all later know that Rehman doesn’t actually make it back alive 😭💔

They deleted this scenes from the movie 💔💔😭😭 I’m heartbroken again 😭😭

Pairing : Humza x reader (pregnant)

Genre: Fluff / Pregnant au / violence mention

Summary: He could protect her from the world... just not from the things he couldn't control

════ ⋆★⋆ ════ ════ ⋆★⋆ ════

The bullet hadn’t touched her.
It didn’t need to.

That day at his rally when the crowd had been loud, restless, and far too close,someone had dared to pull the trigger.

She had been right there.

Too close.

Ever since that moment, something in Hamza had shifted—quietly but dangerously. The kind of change no one else would notice.
Except her.

The office was dimly lit when he sat there, a cigarette burning low between his fingers, left untouched for longer than it should have been. The city moved beyond the glass walls, alive and unaware—
while inside, Hamza sat still.

Focused and deliberate.

Because the man who had dared to fire that shot was already in his hands.

And it still wasn’t enough.

Security had doubled overnight. Routes changed. Faces replaced. Orders given without room for error.

Yet none of it quieted the thought that had been sitting in the back of his mind since that day—

She had been right there.

So he did the only thing he knew how to do.

He kept his distance.

From you.

Telling himself it was the only way to keep you safe.

The door opened quietly, almost hesitantly against the heavy silence of the room.

Hamza didn’t look up at first.

“Bola tha na—abhi kisi ko andar—”

“Main hoon, Hamza.”

The words reached him before he could finish, and just like that—he stilled.

The cigarette between his fingers burned a second too long before he crushed it into the ashtray, a little harsher than needed, like it had no place being there anymore.

His eyes lifted.

And for the first time that night—his focus broke.

“Tum…?” his voice dropped, softer, edged with something unfamiliar.
“Yahan kya kar rahi ho?”

You stood by the door, one hand resting beneath your heavily pregnant belly, the other lightly holding the frame for support, like the walk here had taken more out of you than you’d admit.

For a moment, he just looked at you like taking in the way you stood. The way you held yourself. The distance between you suddenly feeling… wrong.

“Tum thikh hoo na ” his tone shifted instantly, sharper now as he pushed his chair back and walked toward you.

“Haan hamza,” you said softly

He was already in front of you now, too close, his eyes scanning your face, your posture—checking, always checking.

“Tumhe rest karna chahiye tha,” he muttered, jaw tightening.
“Yahan aane ki kya zarurat thi?”

You looked up at him then, and whatever edge was in his voice—it faltered.

Just a little.

“Miss kar rahi thi tumhe,” you said quietly.

Simple, honest but enough.

He didn’t respond immediately.

Nor did he move.

Like the words had caught somewhere deeper than he expected.

You gave a small, tired smile, your fingers adjusting slightly against your belly.

“Tum itne busy ho gaye ho na…” your voice softer now, almost teasing but not quite,
“…lagta hai door hote ja rahe ho Mujhe se .”

Something shifted in his expression.

Not anger.

Not control.

Something heavier and quieter.

“Door nahi hoon,” he said finally, low, steady—but not as certain as he sounded.
“Bas… kaam zyada hai.”

It wasn’t the truth.

And you both knew it.

Because even now—he was already reaching for you, his hand coming up instinctively, settling at your arm to steady you, like he didn’t trust the world enough to hold you safely on its own.

“Chalo,” he murmured, softer this time.

And this time—

there was no distance left between you at all.

Before he could say anything else, you gently pressed a hand to his chest.

“Baitho,” you murmured.

There was no room for argument in your tone.

Hamza paused for half a second but then-

Sank back into his chair, eyes still on you, still studying, still not entirely convinced you should even be here.

But he didn’t stop you

And then—

you stepped closer.

Carefully and slowly

One hand braced against the armrest, the other still resting beneath your belly as you lowered yourself—

right into his lap.

This time—

he didn’t freeze.

Didn’t question it.

His hands came up instantly, like they already knew where to go—one settling securely at your back, the other firm against your waist, steadying you as you adjusted.

“Aaram se,” he muttered under his breath, his grip tightening just enough to make sure you were comfortable.

You shifted slightly, turning into him, your arms sliding around his shoulders as you leaned in, your head resting against him like it was the most natural place in the world.

“Bas…” you whispered softly,
“thodi der aise hi rehna hai please .”

His jaw loosened just a fraction as he noded silently

The tension in him—still there—but quieter now.

“Hamesha zid karti ho tum ,” he murmured, but there was no real complaint in his voice.

Only something softer.

Something that stayed only for you.

One of his hands moved—slow, deliberate—coming to rest over your stomach.

Instinctive and protective.

He adjusted you slightly without asking, making sure you were sitting comfortably, his thumb brushing lightly against the fabric as if checking

“Yahan aane ki zarurat nahi thi,” he said quietly, though his hold on you didn’t loosen even for a second.

You hummed against him, eyes closing, completely unbothered.

“Thi,” you murmured back.
“Tumhare paas aani thi.”

That did something to him.

Something small.

But deep.

His chin lowered slightly, almost brushing against your head as his hand remained over your stomach, firm, grounding—

like the rest of the world could wait,

but this—

this couldn’t.

You shifted slightly in his lap, your arms tightening around him as you leaned in closer, your cheek brushing against his shoulder.

For a moment, you just stayed like that.

Quiet.

Holding him.

Then softly—

“Pata hai mujhe.”

Hamza’s hand stilled against your back.

“...kya?” his voice low, careful.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your fingers still curled into his shirt.

“Tum door reh rahe ho Mujhe se,” you said quietly.
“Dikh raha hai mujhe.”

He didn’t respond immediately.

His jaw tightened, eyes flickering away for a second like he was already deciding what not to say.

“Kaam hai,” he said finally, short, controlled.

You shook your head slightly, a small, tired smile playing on your lips like you weren’t buying it for a second.

“Hamza…” you murmured, softer now, your hand coming up to his face, making him look at you again,
“mujhse jhoot mat bolo.”

That landed.

Harder than anything else.

“I miss you,” you whispered, and this time you didn’t look away,
“itne paas hoke bhi… miss karti hoon tumhe.”

Something in his expression cracked.

Not fully.

But enough.

His grip on you tightened slightly, like letting go wasn’t even an option.

“Door nahi hoon,” he said again, quieter this time—but there was less certainty in it now.

Before you could respond—

you shifted suddenly.

A small, sharp intake of breath leaving you.

His entire body went alert.

“Kya hua?” his hand moved instantly to your stomach, firm, protective, eyes scanning your face.

You blinked at him for a second—

then let out a soft huff of a laugh.

“Relax,” you murmured, your hand covering his,
“tumhara beta hai… chain se thodi na rahega.”

His hand didn’t move.

If anything, it pressed a little more, like he could shield both of you at once.
“Baap pe gaya hai.”he muttered under his breath, gaze fixed where his hand rested.

You smiled faintly, watching him.

His eyes didn’t lift immediately.

When they did—

there was something deeper in them now.

Softer.

But heavier too.

“Sher-e-Baloch ka beta hai,” you said quietly.
“Isliye toofan hai yeh.” He replied quietly

Hearing you say that made him giggle lightly

Your fingers tightened slightly around his shirt again, pulling him back into the moment.

“Baat mat ghumao,” you murmured, searching his face,
“kyun door ho rahe ho mujhse?”

Silence.

His hand remained on your stomach.

Still.

Grounding.

Like the answer was sitting right there beneath his palm—

and he didn’t know how to say it out loud.

“Hamza kya baat hai btao toh Sahi Mujhe” you say holding his hand tightly

Silence stretched between you.

Heavy.

Unavoidable.

His hand remained on your stomach, unmoving, like it grounded him—
or trapped him.

“Us din…” he started, then stopped.

His jaw clenched.

“Jab goli chali thi,” he said finally, voice low, controlled—but not steady,
“tum wahan thi.”

Your breath hitched slightly as you nodded

He let out a quiet, humorless exhale, shaking his head like the memory itself didn’t sit right with him.

“Ek second…” he continued, eyes dropping for a moment,
“sirf ek second ka farq tha.”

His grip on you tightened unconsciously.

“Tumhe lagta hai maine notice nahi kiya?” he muttered, almost to himself now.
“Kitni paas se nikli thi…”

You didn’t interrupt.

Because this—

this wasn’t anger.

This was fear.

“Main sab Sambhal Sakta hoon,” he said, his voice firmer now, like he was reminding himself,
“kisi ko bhi.”

A pause.

Then quieter—

“Par yeh Nahi .”

Your eyes softened instantly.

His hand pressed more firmly against your stomach now, protective, almost desperate.

“Main har jagah nahi ho sakta,” he said, frustration slipping through now,
“aur agar phir se—”

He stopped.

Couldn’t finish it.

And then—

as if the moment itself wasn’t heavy enough—

you shifted suddenly, a sharp breath leaving you.

His head snapped up instantly.

“Kya hua?” his voice was sharper now, alert, already on edge again.

You winced slightly, your hand gripping his sleeve.

“Kuch nahi …” you whispered, trying to ease it,
“bas—kick tha… thoda zyada strong.”

But he wasn’t convinced.

Not even a little.

His hand moved over yours immediately, then back to your stomach, firmer now, like he could take the pain away if he pressed hard enough.

“Dard ho raha hai?” his voice dropped, quieter—but there was something raw in it now.

You gave a small nod despite yourself.

And that—

that broke something in him.

His jaw tightened, his gaze fixed on you like he was searching for something—anything—he could do.

“Main…” he started, then stopped.

For once—

he had nothing.

You watched it happen.

That shift.

That crack in the man who never faltered.

“Tumhe dard ho raha hai…” he said quietly, almost like he was realizing it in real time,
“…aur main kuch nahi kar sakta.”

There it was.

Not fear of enemies.

Not control.

Just—

helplessness.

His hand stayed on your stomach, unmoving now, like leaving it would make it worse.

“I hate this,” he muttered under his breath, frustration laced through every word,
“yeh sab… aur main bas dekh raha hoon.”

Your expression softened immediately.

You reached up, your fingers gently holding his face, forcing him to look at you.

“Hamza,” you whispered, steady, grounding,
“yeh normal hai, main theek hoon”

He shook his head slightly, like that didn’t make it better.

“Tumhe dard ho raha hai,” he repeated, quieter now,
“…aur main—”

“Tum ho,” you cut him off softly.

That made him pause.

“Bas itna hi kaafi hai,” you murmured, your thumb brushing lightly against his cheek,
“har cheez control nahi hoti.”

For a man like him—

that was the hardest thing to accept.

But the way you looked at him—

like he was enough even without control—

did something to him.

Something deeper than anything else that night.

Slowly, his forehead lowered, almost resting against yours, his hand still firm over your stomach.

Protective.

Grounding.

Present.

And for once—

he didn’t try to fight what he couldn’t control.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

The silence wasn’t heavy anymore.

Just… quiet.

Your grip on him loosened slightly as the tension left your body, your head settling back against his shoulder.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t even try to.

“Thak gayi ho?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper now.

You hummed softly in response, eyes already closing.

“Thodi si…”

His hand remained over your stomach, unmoving, his thumb brushing lightly against the fabric in slow, absent circles.

Careful.

Like even this small touch mattered.

Within minutes, your breathing evened out.

Sleep came easily.

Safe.

Because he was there.

Hamza stayed exactly where he was.

Not shifting.

Not adjusting.

Like moving even an inch might disturb something fragile.

His gaze dropped to you—

then to where his hand rested.

And for the first time that night—

his expression softened completely.

“Aaram se…” he murmured under his breath, though you were already asleep.