birdie

20, literature lover, sunny days and the sea

[lavenderwinkle]

master list

Rehman Baloch

Chosen by the Sun

Family Squabbles

Uzair Baloch

Warm Nights

Violent Devotion

Major Iqbal

The Desire of Want

Pyaar Hua

Secret Dinners

Hamza Ali Mazari

Hair Tales

Character Designs

taglist !

@precioussophia @cakiebleh @mrgrungusthefrog @stoicepochmaw @gulaabjamun08 @qalamband

[lavenderwinkle]

[lavenderwinkle]

Character Analysis

character designs of my original character along with some other fictional characters! all the oc's designs I upload here are in collaboration with @clownoiogy we have both created these characters ourselves and they are our babies!!

Dhurandhar

saba baloch +1

[lavenderwinkle]

character analysis of an oc of mine

( a major major major thank you to @clownoiogy for helping with this, love you bbg this is an oc we both created together )

taglist !

@precioussophia @cakiebleh @stoicepochmaw @mrgrungusthefrog @bobcuts-blog @rosiasthings @gulaabjamun08 @tanneile2

[catssluvr]

glasses, aaron hotchner

aaron hotchner x fem!reader (1k words)

in which aaron sees you with glasses for the first time and his brain can't handle it.

warnings: kissing, hotch is head over heels!

✦ ˑ ִֶ⊹

It's not that your day starts off necessarily bad, because the extra minute in bed comes nicely to you. What isn't as great is having to rush around your apartment to make it to work in time, huffing as you button up your shirt before clumsily throwing a sweater over it.

The only thing reassuring you that you didn't put it on backwards is the scratch of the annoying tag against the back of your neck — you'll have to remember to rip it off later.

You only realize you forgot your contacts when the letters of the ads on the subway blur, relieved when you find the glasses you always keep with yourself just in case inside your bag.

Not much thought comes into it, not used to wearing them if not in the comfort of your home late at night but simply a necessity now. You don't not use them for thinking that they look bad, but because they used to bother you more than help you and now you've simply gotten used to the contacts.

Once you arrive at the bullpen, you're only five minutes late and don't seem to be the last one arriving. You let that be a victory.

With your morning drink close by, you finally start working on the mountain of files pilling up at your desk.

"Good morning." You're only half an hour in when the familiar voice sounds behind you, steps sounding closer as Aaron comes to stand beside your chair.

"Hey." You greet back, leaning your head to look up at him.

"I don't mean to put even more in your plate but i really need you to fill these out." It's only now that he looks away from the papers and at you, eyes widening for one second in surprise.

You try to ignore it, though it settles something in you. It's a strict rule that have to act professional around each other at work — all an atempt to not have Strauss ripping your heads off.

"No problem." You take the files from his hands with a polite smile, setting them in front of you to start working on them.

Aaron lingers on his spot, clearing his throat. "You're wearing glasses."

“I am.” You state carefully, not sure where he’s getting at. Though you find yourself shifting on your seat a little subconsciously.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so dumbfounded.

“Since when?” His eyebrows are furrowed as if wondering if he’s missed this trait, sweet Aaron.

“Always?” You say with confusion, “I just usually wear contacts. Was a bit late today and forgot them.”

Your boyfriend nods at your explanation, eyes still fixated on you with concentration as you feel your skin grow hot under his gaze.

“You look good.” His words are gentle as he speaks after a moment.

His hand comes to tug a little on his tie — something you’ve noticed he does when nervous. It’s hard to believe you’d be the one to make him nervous.

“Thank you.” You answer just as soft, a little like a question.

It didn’t cross your mind that he’d never seen you with your glasses when you put them on earlier. But you suppose his reaction makes up for it.

Aaron’s lips pull into a small, “Anytime, honey.” Even lower than before. And then he’s walking back into his office like he didn’t leave you melting.

You almost forget about it as you distract yourself with work, getting up from your chair once you’re done and knocking on the door to Hotch’s office.

Once you’re given the green light to come in, you slip inside and close the door behind you before heading to his desk.

“Here you go.” You leave the files on it, moving to get back outside.

But before you can reach the door, you feel his hand catch your wrist. A gasp leaves your lips as he turns you around and presses his own to them in a hard kiss.

Aaron’s hand are on your face as he kisses you, a sight escaping his nose as he gets the first taste of you in the day. Instinctively your hands come to rest on his arm, fingers slightly gripping his button up.

He tastes of coffee with a mix of the mints he always has while working. The bump of his nose against the rim of your glasses has him pulling you closer, one hand moving to your waist to help with doing so.

You let your own hand wonder to his shoulder, feeling the muscles relax under your fingers as you softly massage them.

“You’re driving me crazy, sweet girl.” He mumbles after pulling way, lips still dangerously close to yours.

“What?” You giggle with curiosity.

To prove his point, you feel his fingers tap the rim of your glasses with care. “These are the reason.”

Your heart thumps furiously, shy grin on your lips as you keep him close. “You like them?”

“Love them.” Aaron corrects with an arm tightening around your waist, eyes set on every detail of your face.

“Not too nerdy?” You muse, mostly teasing compliments out of him.

“Just enough.” He reassures nevertheless, lips to your cheek for a sweet peck. “So pretty.”

You squeeze his elbow in return, not surprised when his lips chase you for another kiss. Not that you can complain, relished by the attention.

This one is softer, as if he knows you should get back soon and not wanting to get himself worked up.

“Wear them to our date tonight.” He practically begs, lips shiny from you.

“Pervert.” Your joke earns a grin from him.

“Can’t help it when it comes to you.” Aaron says with honesty. His grip loosens, mouth pressed to your temple.

“Pervert and corny. Wow, Hotchner.” You snort, hitting his chest with your pointer finger.

He catches it with ease, bringing it to his lips for a quick kiss there before reaching to adjust your slightly crooked glasses. “There.”

You hum in thanks, fixing his rumbled button up in return before leaving his office with a giddy feeling on your stomach.

[put-a-keep-are-you-foo-dell]

[prahelika-fics]

do you guys also sometimes stare at the wall wondering what rehman's childhood was like before he killed his mother or are you normal

[dhinkaachika]

⌗⤿ BIG BOY

You always wanted to marry a big and tall guy, now that you have one you don't know if you can handle him.

Pairing; Hamza Ali Mazari x Reader

an; 'I need a big boy', this line by sza was the first thing which came to my mind and kept playing throughout the movie, when I saw Ranveer as Hamza in the first movie and obviously I had to pay homage to that thought.

Hamza is a big guy.

Hamza is a big guy but sometimes he forgets that, especially when his soon to be wife is straddling on his lap, her legs around his waist and her hands wrapped around his neck as his cock slides inside her.

He feels losing his senses for a second except the feeling of you, as your inner walls clench around him making you moan as he shifts back to the sofa’s head to accommodate your body better against his.

How beautiful you look, wearing his kurta, your body over his as you let out small, pretty whimpers adjusting yourself around his cock.

“Why you gotta be so….ahh…big, you know?” You ask holding his bicep for support, as you rest your head against his chest, feeling him moving inside you as he shifts again with a huff.

“It's not something I can help with” he replies as he tightens the hold over your waist, “Plus, didn't you say you liked tall and big men?”

“Mhmm”

“Yeah, wanting is not enough you gotta take the big guy like a champ too” with that he moves inside you completely, making you sit on his cock fully. You let out a long moan arching your back, as your nails dug deeper in his biceps for support.

He cups your bare ass with his hands, lifting them up from his thighs “You know you gotta move, right baby?”

[lavenderwinkle]

hehehe

[cloudmast]

I'm obsessed with this idea. We're all delusional here so don't mind.

Rehman sitting on his big armchair, waiting for me to bring him his tea. After I hand the cup over to him I'll sit on his lap and curl up against his chest like he's my own personal bed. He'll just let it be because it's routine for him. He'll wrap his free hand around my body to keep me there and he'll rub circles on my back or brush his fingers through my long hair. Meanwhile I'll unbutton the first few buttons of his kurta and kiss his chest every now and then as I look up at him like he hung the stars in the sky. He'll murmur about some political leaders being insufferable or his men testing his patience while I notice the light grey in his stubble. I'll turn his head towards my face and press my mouth against his in between his talks which makes him pause and stop thinking. We'll sit there for hours, just enjoying each other's presence.

tags: @desigal-26  @angelllk1ssed  @euphorkive  @tere-naal-nachna @wwwjustkidding @marlena-marlena @tojisloft @fleurenoir @mandaakiniii @goldenharrysworld @peonies7002  @gehra-hua @gracelovestars @written-in-ishq @goodnightkatherine @scentedwolfdragon @buchanana00 @bobcuts-blog @harrystyleskiwi9 @fellivra @seasonofthenerd @gulaabjamun08 @granddynamonovajbvgjjj @kusakiguzen @hyade @chaotickittydreamer @mainyahaankyunhoon @goodasaysboo @haseen-pari @y0uneversawmehere @barcelonaaababe @allthingsmythology @ishq-e-rehman @akshayekhannapaglu @cloudyparadoxqueen @roohafterdark @khoonaurkhanjar @kisswithknife @maystella @carbonaramarinara @lessbutliving @riddhi-on-break @avasif @chocolate-and-trouble @sinnoire @torumii @gloriouspurpose01 @anxiousbeeing @dhoodhsoda @theuselessdaydreamingidiot

[connorsui]

You know what's better than fluff? Dark fluff.

The kind where devotion borders on obsession, where love isn't just tender—it's consuming.

"I'd do anything for you, love," he murmurs, voice smooth, unwavering. "Anything you desire, and it's yours."

And the other doesn't hesitate, voice laced with something raw, something desperate.

"I want her to split me open—dig her fingers into my ribs and pry them apart. To hold my heart in her hands, feel the pulse of it against her palms, my blood staining her skin. I want her to pick my bones clean, crack them open, suck the marrow dry. I want to be ruined by her, consumed until there's nothing left of me but the taste of her name on what's left of my tongue."

Because love, when it’s deep enough, is a hunger—one that begs to be fed.

[princessglitter69]

Alvida

The morning sun filtered through the high, arched windows of the Baloch haveli, casting long, sharp beams of gold across the marble floor. The air was thick with the scent of freshly brewed cardamom tea and the lingering coolness of the fading night. In the master bedroom, the atmosphere was a mix of quiet doméstic routine and a subtle, underlying tension.

Rehman stood before the large, dark-wood dresser, meticulously buckling his heavy leather holster around his waist. He was dressed in a black shalwar kameez, the fabric stiff and immaculate. Every movement he made was deliberate, the mark of a man who ruled Lyari with an iron fist and an unyielding sense of discipline.

Aisha stood a few feet away, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, watching him with a prominent pout. Her long, dark hair fell loosely over her shoulders, and her silver bangles clinked softly as she shifted her weight.

"Toh aapne thaan li hai ke aap jayenge?" Aisha asked, her tone carrying a sharp edge of playful defiance. "Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto Dam ki opening ceremony itni zaroori hai ke aapke bagair wahan feeta nahi katega?"

Rehman paused, his fingers resting on the butt of his pistol. He turned around, a slow, amused smirk breaking through his lips. "Aisha, yeh sirf feeta katne ki baat nahi hai.

Is dam ke zariye hamari party, PAP, poore ilaaqe mein paani ka masla hal karegi. Log duaen denge."

"Log duaen denge, aur aapki biwi yahan haveli ke deewaron se baatein karegi," she huffed, standing up and walking toward him, her bangles clinking aggressively with every step. She stopped just inches from his chest, her head tilted back to look into his dark, unreadable eyes. "Aapke paas baaki sab ke liye waqt hai. Uzair ke masle, Hamza ki shadi, Jamali sahab ke jalse... bas is ghar ke liye, mere liye, aapke paas hamesha waqt khatam ho jata hai."

Rehman looked down at her, his expression softening into something so deeply tender it would have shocked the men who feared his name on the streets. He reached out, his large, calloused hands gently catching her by the waist, pulling her flush against him.

"Aisha," he murmured, his voice dropping into that low, husky register reserved only for her ears. "Kyun subah-subah is ziddi dil ko aur ziddi bana rahi ho? Main bas jaunga, wahan dhoop mein khada ho kar do bhashan sununga, aur sham tak wapas aa jaunga. Phir tumhara yeh shikayat karne wala munh main khud band karunga."

Aisha tried to keep her face stern, but under the intense, unwavering heat of his gaze, her defense crumbled. She rested her forehead against his chest, listening to the steady, reassuring thud of his heart against her cheek.

"Aap hamesha aise hi baaton mein phansa lete hain," she whispered, her hands coming up to grip the fabric of his shirt. "Mujhe mazaak nahi sujh raha, Rehman. Pata nahi kyun... aaj subah se dil bohot ghabra raha hai."

Rehman’s gaze softened, his stoic mask completely melting away in her presence. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers, inhaling the familiar scent of jasmine in her hair. "Main hamesha wapas aata hoon na, meri jaan? Aaj bhi aa jaunga. Sham ki chai hum saath peeyenge, waada."

Before Aisha could answer, the heavy wooden door of the bedroom burst open with a loud bang, and the heavy tension evaporated in an instant.

"ABBU!"

Eight-year-old Faizal charged into the room like a miniature whirlwind, his small leather sandals slapping loudly against the marble. Right behind him, trying to look much more dignified but failing, was twelve-year-old Naeim.

Faizal didn't care about the heavy political discussions or the holster wrapped around his father's chest. He dove straight into Rehman’s legs, wrapping his small arms around his knees. Rehman laughed, a rare, boisterous sound that only his sons could pull out of him, and effortlessly bent down, scooping Faizal up with one arm while reaching out to pull Naeim into his side with the other.

"Oye, aaram se! Apne Abbu ki wardi kharab karoge kya?" Aisha scolded playfully, though a warm smile broke across her face.

"Abbu, aap Hub Dam ja rahe hain na? Mujhe Hamza chacha ne bataya ke wahan bohot bada paani ka talaab hai!" Faizal said, his eyes wide with excitement, his tiny hands patting Rehman's cheeks. "Aap jab sham ko wapas aayenge, toh aap mere liye woh bada wala cricket bat laenge? Jo shehar ke bazar mein milta hai?"

"Aur mujhe woh kitaab jo Chakiwara ke bazaar mein milti hai," Naeim added, looking up at his father with a sense of quiet admiration. "Aapne kaha tha ke is baar aap mujhe apne saath nishana lagana sikhayenge."

Rehman felt a strange, heavy warmth in his chest as he looked at his boys. He pressed his face against Faizal’s soft hair and then kissed Naeim’s forehead. "Tumhara bat aur tumhari kitaab dono mere zehan mein hain. Jab main aaj sham ko wapas aunga, toh hum teeno saath lene jayenge."

"Sachi? waada na, Abbu?" Faizal asked, leaning his head against Rehman’s shoulder as his little face lit up.

"Sacchi, Sher-e-Baloch ka waada hai," Rehman murmured , his voice carrying a strange, thick weight that he couldn't quite explain. He set them both down on their feet, gently patting their backs. "Ab jao, Sakina ke paas jao aur nashta khatam karo. Chalo, bhaago."

The two boys cheered and ran out of the room just as quickly as they had entered, their laughter echoing down the corridor.

As the door clicked shut, the silence returned, heavier this time. Aisha hadn't moved from her spot. She was staring at the doorway, her hands trembling slightly. When she turned back to Rehman, there were tears shimmering in the corners of her eyes.

"Rehman... please," she said, her voice dropping into a desperate whisper. She stepped into his space, grabbing his hands, her fingers freezing against his warm skin. "Mat jaiye aaj. Main sach keh rahi hoon, mujhe bohot gandi feeling aa rahi hai. Mera dil achanak se itna bhaari ho gaya hai jaise... jaise koi bohot badi musibat aane wali hai. Kya bohot zaroori hai aapka jana? Uzair aur Hamza akele nahi kar sakte?"

Rehman looked at her, his heart twisting at the sight of her tears. He hated seeing her cry; it was the only thing in the entire world that could make the Sultan of Lyari feel completely powerless. He reached up, his large thumbs gently wiping the stray moisture from her eyelashes.

"Aisha, meri jaan... mat ro. Main tumhare ye aansu nahi dekh sakta," he murmured, his voice laced with a deep, aching tenderness. "Tum toh meri sabse bahadur malka ho. Ek dam ka iftetaah hi toh hai. Wahan bohot security hai,Hamza hai, Uzair hai, poori force hai hamari. Kuch nahi hoga."

"Mujhe kisi security par bharosa nahi hai," she cried softly, leaning her face into his palm. "Mujhe bas aap par bharosa hai. Please, ek baar meri baat maan lijiye."

Rehman closed his eyes for a brief second, fighting the internal urge to just lock the door and stay with her forever. But the weight of Lyari, the responsibilities of the Baloch empire, and the hundreds of people already waiting for him at the Hub Dam site tore him away. He leaned down, pressing his lips firmly against hers in a deep, lingering kiss that tasted of salt, desperation, and a silent promise.

"Mujhe jana hoga, Aisha," he whispered against her lips as he pulled back, his eyes burning with an intense, quiet devotion. "Apna aur bacchon ka khayal rakhna. Main bohot jald wapas aaunga."

Without giving her another chance to beg, Rehman turned on his heel and walked out of the room. Aisha stood frozen by the bed, the cold air hitting her skin where his warmth had just been. She ran to the window, watching his heavy black SUV roll out of the haveli’s iron gates, disappearing into the dust and smoke of the Lyari streets.

The afternoon had dragged on like a slow, painful torture. The Karachi heat was suffocating, and the haveli was unusually quiet.

Aisha hadn't been able to eat a single bite. She sat by the courtyard, her eyes fixed on the landline phone sitting on the wooden side table.

Around four in the afternoon, the phone suddenly erupted into a sharp, piercing ring.

Aisha practically lunged across the floor, her fingers scrambling to snatch the receiver. "Rehman?! Rehman, aap theek hain?"

For the first few seconds, there was nothing but static and a chaotic, deafening noise. Then, the distinct, terrifying sound of automatic gunfire ripped through the receiver—rat-tat-tat-tat—followed by the shouting of men and the crashing of glass.

"Aisha..."

Rehman’s voice came through, but it didn't sound like the Sher-e-Baloch. It was breathy, ragged, and shallow, punctuated by a wet, heavy cough.

"Rehman! Rehman, kya ho raha hai wahan?! Yeh firing kaisi hai? Aap kahan hain?!" Aisha screamed into the phone, her heart dropping into a bottomless abyss of terror. She gripped the wire so tight her knuckles turned white.

"Aisha... shh... suno meri baat... ghabrana nahi," Rehman tried to console her, his voice carrying a strange, forced calmness that made her stomach churn. In the background, another explosion roared, followed by more frantic gunfire.

Aisha collapsed onto her knees by the side of the bed, her entire body shaking with violent sobs. "Aapka gala… aapki awaz aisi kyun hai? Rehman, aapne waada kiya tha! Aapne bacchon se waada kiya tha."

"Aisha… meri baat suno," Rehman interrupted, his breathing coming in ragged, painful gasps. On the other side of the line, leaning against the shattered wheel of his upturned SUV, his black shalwar kameez now soaked in crimson, a massive wound torn into his side. His fingers were slippery with his own blood as he held the satellite phone to his ear. He looked up at the burning Karachi sky, a faint, sad smile touching his lips. He knew the bleeding was too heavy. He knew his legs couldn't support him fully anymore.

"Waada... waada toot gaya, meri jaan," Rehman whispered, his voice cracking with an emotion he had never shown to anyone in his life. "Tum toh jaanti ho na... tumhara shohar kitna ziddi hai. Magar aaj... aaj lagta hai maut mujhse zyada ziddi nikli."

"Nahi! Rehman, jhoot mat boliye! Mujhe dar lag raha hai, please aisi baatein mat karein!" Aisha sobbed hysterically, sliding down the wall onto the cold floor, the receiver pressed so hard against her ear that it hurt. "Aap meri zindagi hain, Rehman! Agar aapko kuch ho gaya... main aapke bagair kaise jiyungi? Main mar jaungi, Rehman!"

"Rona mat, Aisha… main tumhare aansu nahi bardasht kar sakta, wahan se bhi nahi" Rehman whispered, a single tear cutting through the dust and blood on his cheek. He tried to clear his throat, but the taste of copper was overwhelming."Tum toh... tum toh Sultan-e-Lyari ki sabse bahadur malka ho na? Meri sherni..."

"Main nahi hoon bahadur! Main bohot kamzor hoon, Rehman! Mujhe aapki zaroorat hai...N-naeim aur faizal ko aapki zaroorat hai.....main unhe kya kahungi jab woh aapke baare mein puchenge?" Aisha sobbed.

"Naeim aur Faizal..." Rehman’s voice softened, becoming incredibly distant. Another burst of gunfire erupted nearby, but it felt like a background noise to him now. His world had shrunk to the sound of her voice. "Unhe... unhe bat mil jayega. Uzair lakar de dega. Aur Naeim... woh bilkul meri tarah ziddi hai. Aisha... main hamesha tumhare paas rahoongi. Un dono ke zariye... Naeim ki aankhon mein dekhna, main wahan hunga. Faizal ki hansi mein sunna... main wahan hunga..."

"Mujhe woh nahi chahiye! Mujhe aap chahiye hain, Rehman! Mujhe mera shohar chahiye!" Aisha’s voice broke into a desperate, agonizing wail. The sheer helplessness of the moment crushing her. "Aap toh Sher-e-Baloch hain... toh apni malka ke paas wapas aaiye na! Please..."

Rehman’s vision was starting to blur, the edges of the afternoon light turning into a dark, peaceful shadow. He felt the coldness spreading from his fingertips up to his arms. He knew he only had a few breaths left before the blackness took him.

"Aisha..." he whispered, his voice barely a murmur now, but filled with a depth of love that could move mountains. "Ek aakhri baar... apna naam tumhare muh se sunna chahta hoon. Keh do na... ek baar."

Aisha choked on her own breath, the agonizing weight of the request tearing her soul apart. She clutched her chest, her voice trembling so violently she could barely form the syllables. "Reh... Rehman... mere Rehman... meri jaan..."

A soft, peaceful sigh came through the receiver, as if her voice was the only medicine his wounds ever needed.

"Shukriya... meri malka," Rehman whispered, his grip on the phone loosening, his body starting to slide further down against the tire. "Agar... agar kabhi meri yaad bohot zyada aaye... agar dil bohot akela ho... toh ghabrana nahi. Apne saaye mein dekhna. Main hamesha tumhare saaye mein chupa hunga... tumhari hifazat karne ke liye."

"Rehman... nahi... please..." Aisha’s voice was fading into a whimper, the reality of the end settling over her like a heavy shroud.

"Iss janam ke liye... alvida, meri mallika," Rehman’s final words came through, soft as a feather, filled with a heartbreaking finality.

"REHMAN?!"

The line went dead.

The sharp, sudden disconnect of the call sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room. Aisha stared at the screen of her phone, her breathing ragged, her eyes wide with a horrific, empty shock. She redialed the number frantically, once, twice, three times, but there was nothing—just the cold, robotic voice of the operator telling her the number was unreachable.

She threw the phone across the room. It hit the marble floor with a thud as she buried her face in her knees and started sobbing loudly.

She sat there, surrounded by the heavy mahogany furniture, the unmade bed, and the crisp morning shadows that had now turned into the cold, long darkness of evening. The silence of the haveli was no longer peaceful. It was the silence of a graveyard.

She numbly looked around the empty courtyard, where just a few hours ago, Rehman had smiled at her, where her children had laughed.

From downstairs, she heard the faint, innocent laughter of Faizal playing with his brother, completely unaware that the world they knew had just collapsed into ash. Aisha covered her mouth with both hands, trying to suppress the scream that was tearing through her throat, but it was no use. She fell forward, her face pressing into the cool wood of the side of the bed, letting out a broken, agonizing wail that echoed through the empty corridors of the havelli....where Rehman's voice would never echo again......his footsteps would never again alert Aisha of his return......

Tags:

@anxiousbeeing

@gulaabjamun08

@pn28

@dollie1111xo5

@st4rmiist

@forbiddenfanaa

@lavenderwinkle

@avasif

@debsreads21

@hereforfanfictionsfr

@cakiebleh

@rosiasthings

A/N: This was just something very random that came to my mind.....owing to all the rehmat headcanons and sad songs that i listen to for absolutely no reason.....anyways moral of the story always listen to your wife.

[lavenderwinkle]

CRIED

[hyade]

dhurandhar (aditya dhar) / the odyssey (homer)

[hyade]

dhurandhar (aditya dhar) // antigonick (anne carson)

[lavenderwinkle]

hey gang

go ahead and send requests if you have any I am feeling like writing a little something

[torumii]

Zayan Ali Mazari Jamali

Headcanons(?)

Older!Zayan who despised the name ali mazari attached to his name to such an extent that he changed it to Jamali as soon as he legally could. He said it meant that he was finally free of his absent father's shadow looming over him. That he'd finally gotten rid of the last thing that reminded him of his father.

Older!Zayan who has an instinctive habit of breathing into his hands—which are usually covered with splotches of ink because of how much he has to write—whenever he's drowsy. It apparently helps him to sleep better?

Older!Zayan who can grow a beard incredibly fast but gets irrationally irritated by it and shaves it off as soon as it's mildly visible. He says it's because he hates the gritty feel of a beard on his face. Although his friends collectively agree that his annoyed reaction to just the implication of having a beard is way too intense for the dislike to be limited to sensory discomfort.

Older!Zayan who hates the sound of drums and claims it sounds like bullets are being shot somewhere nearby.

Older!Zayan who, just like his beard, doesn't like to keep his hair too long. Though, he doesn't chop it off and keeps it at a certain length because his mother has a habit of running her fingers through them at times.

Older!Zayan who has a hard time saying goodbye because a small voice in his head screams at him to stop them and tells him that once they leave, something very bad will happen and they're never coming back. He's easily brushed off as clingy and anxious.

Older!Zayan who is deeply fascinated by Russian ballet. The incredibly controlled and neat movements absolutely enchant him. They carry unbearable weight and still stay composed. It's impressive, that's all he says.

Older!Zayan who decides he will be making a documentary on Russian ballet. It would be his first time travelling alone from Vancouver to somewhere else. Yalina nagged him relentlessly, insisting that she too tags along. Though after much convincing and a promise that he'd bring those fancy Russian perfumes on his way back home, his ammi finally agreed.

Older!Zayan who wakes up to a tap on his shoulder. He opened his eyes groggily to see a man standing above him holding, a passport out to him. His passport. "This fell out of your bag. Thought you'd need it?" Zayan immediately took it out of the man's hand, sitting up straight as he muttered sorries and thank yous while looking down. His hand found his nape and he rubbed it slightly to soothe the neck strain from the airport's metal benches.

The man walked to his side and sat down.

"Canadian passport. Where are you from?"

Zayan looked up at the man, finally taking him in. He looked like he was in his early 50s, a light brown blazer hung over his buff physique and a light beige turban wrapped around his head.

Zayan cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses up by a bit. "Vancouver." He said.

The man's stopped. His brows furrowed just slightly, mouth opened once and closed again. "Vancouver..?" He muttered, voice gruff.

Zayan felt something was wrong. "You okay?" He tilted his head. The man nodded at him, jerking his head once as if to shake any thoughts out of them. The man managed a small smile.

"where are you going from here?" He asked, his voice shook near the end. Zayan chose to ignore it. He wasn't going to start pestering a stranger about if they have a trauma regarding vancouver.

"I'm going to Moscow, russia. I have documentary I want to film." He paused, "Russian ballet"

The man let out a hum. "You're into sophisticated art, I see."

Zayan nodded. "What about you? Where are you going?" He asked.

"Tasmania. There's a hockey tournament going on. A close friend of mine plays hockey professionally, i couldn't be present at the earlier matches so he wanted me to there at the finale." The man explained.

Zayan just nodded. He wasn't really into hockey. Always been more of a football person.

The two men sat in the silence shared among themselves, the random buzzing of airport's chaos played behind them though, as expected. Zayan was already starting to doze off once again. The long layover was clearly not ideal after already travelling 10 hours from Vancouver to Amsterdam. And also, people should really stop taking babies on flights.

After a while, the man in the blazer spoke up. "Hey, i think they said something about your flight." He nudged zayan slightly. "Is that your gate number?" He said pointing at one of the departure boards.

Zayan sat up straight, moving his head to look at the board. He couldn't see the small writing at the board clearly. He squinted his eyes to focus.

"lagta hai chashme ka number barh gaya hai" the man muttered under his breath.

"Haan, lagta hai wahi hoga" Zayan replied instinctively as he took his glasses off and inspected them.

The man looked at him with eyes widened and brows shot right up. "Oh you know Hindi!" His exclaimed.

Zayan let out a light breathy laugh at the reaction, his dimples surfaced on his cheeks, his eyes turning into soft crescents as he looked at the man for about a split second.

The man froze.

His fingers stilled at his and his eyes narrowed down in a conflicted expression. Her brows that were settled up had furrowed just slightly. His eyes flickered over every feature of Zayan's face who had stood up and was searching his gate number.

Those dimples, those dark eyes.

Oh.

"there it is, mere jaane ka wakt agya hai sir. Thank you for the help, I'll leave now" zayan cut in, breaking the man's trance. He passed a smile at the man and began walking.

A few steps in,

"Beta tumhara naam nahi bataya?" A shaky voice uttered from behind him.

Zayan turned his head, looked at the man and spoke,

"Zayan Jamali."

He left.

A teardrop fell, right on the back of the palm, his vision blurred and he closed his eyes.

Hamza Jaskirat the man sighed.

"not mazari, huh?"

"Jamali..." His voice cracked.

"Zayan... Jamali."

His lips curved upwards and he nodded in approval.

His boy.

A/n : this was supposed to be a small headcanon thing but I saw someone answering an ask and the anon said something like this and I was instantly fascinated by the idea. If you're the account who got this ask, and has written something regarding this, please dm me I will give you the rightful credit. I just could not stop myself from writing this 🫶🏽 THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD.

Also, just a headcanon about post-return jaskirat, he would totally be into art and museums. I like to think he was in Amsterdam to visit the Van Gogh museum! Also yes, i referenced my own fic. WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT 😡

Anyway, this is a small project which I wanted to write because I'm still stuck and have a lot left with ZZAZ. so I thought I should post a little something while I work on it ! Hope y'all liked it.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist :

@mainyahaankyunhoon @roses-and-iron @cloudmast @laal-pari @rehmanhatesdosa @desi-brownie @euphorkive @tojisloft @afortoru @whereissanz @nervouscashrascalflowers @dumdumdaisy @goodnightkatherine @kitty-minnieee @rehmandakaitswife @macchiataeee @nerdreader @dreamcatcher-cat @pleasetagmejaaneman @sarcastic-ravenpuff @browniemilkies @forbiddenfanaa @debsreads21 @bittermiseryy @itsnotmai @st4rmiist @sinnoire @sabii5 @cloudyparadoxqueen @noor-archive @kimorna @ninnimouse @anxiousbeeing @warnermeadowsgirl

[tojisloft]

stop! get some help! — a series of tweets where saachi was horny on main [akshaye khanna x oc smau]

disclaimer. this is an AU and a work of fiction it does not resemble real life people or incidences. this is also not meant to hurt any sentiments or disrespect anyone.

ps. rpf has existed for a long time and i only made this out of love and admiration. however if rpf makes you uncomfortable, please scroll away. for the love of god do not waste your time and send anon msgs complaining about this, i won’t be entertaining any.

author’s note. like i said just a bunch of tweets, idk what this is don’t ask me either i’m embarrassed ?? this is for @desigurlie because i keep teasing her w fics i cant seem to complete </3

good night .

taglist: @y0uneversawmehere @kenkozkmg @geometric-circle @bitchy-bi-trash @tessa-bl @dc-reign @shotsyfeather @multifandom-boss-bitch @rini4everdreaming @ashnotashkechum @nerdreader @s4nzt @likewhyareyousoobsessedwithme @ninnimouse @yyappuccin0 @draculauras-stuff @professor-cant-fuck  @warnermeadowsgirl @sanpiece @zahraluvslilies @losraire @sparksfromhell @persistentgremlinrefuge @skiicoreee @cakiebleh @nervouscashrascalflowers @myvarya @roses-and-iron @baddiefication101 @wan2bey-n @sanpiece @twinblueflamee @desigurlie @euphorkive @tanipartner @erenfox @softurns @akinrawsx @yembarzal @finding-chirag @goldenharrysworld @dumbestchaos @vienna-awaits-me @scentedwolfdragon @seasonofthenerd @shadyalpaca13 @pavbhajisupremacist @golgappalicious

(lmk if y’all would like to be added or removed from the taglist!)

[lavenderwinkle]

she's so me

[cloudmast]

Obsessed

Pairing: Husband!Jaskirat × Wife!Reader

Summary: Jaskirat taking care of his pregnant wife.

Warning: contains smut, dom!Jassi, slight dubcon. MDNI.

read my other fics here

Military husband Jaskirat who cannot take his hands off of you after he's got you pregnant.

Jassi was home for the holidays again and ever since he set foot in the place he has not let you out of his sight. At 7 months pregnant, it's not like you were easy to hide anyways, but he insisted that you stay beside him at all times for your health. You weren't allowed to pick up anything — let it be heavy or light, and if it wasn't for his mother telling him that walking is a good exercise, Jassi would've put you on bedrest at all times.

Your husband also made sure that all your needs were met. You want kaju katli at 2 in the morning? He's running to the kitchen to get his secret box of sweets that he managed to hide in one of the shelves.

It's during these times that you find out that Jassi has a thing for seeing you in maternity dresses. The way he grabs at you when he thinks no one is looking makes you think that this will not be the only time you'll get pregnant.

And at night, when you're tired and aching everywhere, he'll take you into his arms, innocently claiming that he'll just massage your joints. But of course, this man had no control when it came to you. One minute he's massaging your feet and the next thing you know, he's bunching up your nightdress and placing himself between your legs. You whine softly and tell him that you're tired, that you're too pregnant for this. But he kisses your cheek, telling you that he missed this so much. He'll pout as he reminds you how he will have to leave for duty soon and how he won't get to do this anytime soon. You melt at his excuse, and the second you nod, he's pushing his length in with a groan. The room fills with the sound of skin meeting skin, and your sleepy moans. He's gentle, but also desperate as he leans down to kiss you and whisper praises into your ear.

"Doing so good for me, wife. You look so pretty like this. Swollen with my child, all spread open for me."

He'll kiss your bump as he finishes, and pat your cheek, silently thanking you before laying down beside you.

There are mornings when you wake up to find him already situated between your legs, eating you out like he's having his favourite breakfast.

And since you're heavily pregnant, his mother insists that you shower with someone's help, and Jassi is more than happy to assist. You tell his mother that it's fine, knowing your husband's true nature, but you can never win with that woman. So now you have the man bathing you while his hands wander all over your body. You'll give him stern looks and pouts, but he'll just kiss them away with a smirk before his fingers find home between your folds. When he's done bathing you, you'll be flushed and gasping for breath.

So yeah, no matter what you say, he'll always find a way to have you, his pretty wife.

And since he's the one bathing you, you better believe that this man will also dress you up. Basically he'll take any opportunity to see you naked. You can't even complain because pregnancy has made you very lazy. So you sit on the bed with a towel wrapped around you while Jassi searches through the cupboard to find a dress. And when he finally finds one and buttons it up on you, don't mind it if his hands linger a bit longer on your now-swollen breasts. That's one part that he loves a lot about pregnancy. You've gotten bigger, everywhere. All your insecurities about the possibility of him not finding you attractive anymore flies out the window when you see the way his eyes darken at your body. So yeah, he'll definitely grope your tits and whisper into your ear about how he loves them. You secretly like the attention, but you'll swat his hands away and call him a pervert (affectionately) for it. He'll just laugh it off with a pat on your ass.

So when he's not busy fucking you, he'll always have his hands on you — your waist, your bump, the small of your back, your ass. You've stopped telling him to keep to himself, knowing that he won't listen.

He loves going on walks around the neighborhood with you. He'll hold out his arm for you to grab while you waddle, earning a lot of "awww"s from the elders. Jassi knows that the bump now acts as a way to tell everyone that you're his and he couldn't be more proud. In conclusion, he loves showing you off too.

Just because he's on holiday does not mean that he will stop working out. Every morning, you'll find him in the courtyard, doing pushups in his cargo pants and tank top, his muscles glistening under the sunlight. Sometimes Jasleen will be standing right next to him, counting his reps and bringing him water in between. And when he catches you staring at his sweaty form? Yeah he'll tease you for it the whole day. He'll flex his muscles in front of you to make you blush (and wet). He'll walk around the house in tank tops all the time, just to get you flustered.

And when you're in the kitchen or literally anywhere, he'll come up from behind and give you a small hug and kiss. He can't hug you normally because of the bump, so it's always a side hug or a back hug. He'll also slowly lift the baby bump when he's hugging from behind to relieve you from the weight and you couldn't be more grateful. You'll let out a breath that felt like you were holding onto for ages and lean back against his chest while he holds your belly for as long as he can.

He's also the type to talk to the bump. Whenever you scold him or snap at him, he'll come back after a while to whine to the unborn baby about how he's 'just a poor guy'. He secretly does it to make you laugh and forgive him but the baby doesn't need to know that. When you're asleep, he'll whisper praises to your bump and tell his baby how he's so proud of his wife. He will also scold the baby if it can't stop kicking you from the inside. It doesn't work but he likes to think it does.

He'll shower you with kisses and praises all the time for carrying his baby. Since he's home, he'll grow out his beard and graze it along your face while kissing you to make you giggle. You love the scratchy feeling and encourage him to grow his hair too, and he does, to a point before his military mindset takes over and he chops it all off. He'll carry that light stubble though. He knows you love it. You'll have scratches from it after a makeout session. And sometimes on your inner thighs too after he's done eating you out.

And if you have long hair, he'll oil it and take care of it for you. He'll brush through it twice a day, and braid it to keep it from falling on your face. (He learnt to braid hair after Jasleen was born).

So yeah, Jaskirat is the best husband you can have when you're pregnant.

I found this pic of Ranveer in a tank top for reference 🤭 Enjoy.

tags: @desigal-26  @angelllk1ssed  @euphorkive  @tere-naal-nachna @wwwjustkidding @marlena-marlena @tojisloft @fleurenoir @mandaakiniii @goldenharrysworld @peonies7002  @gehra-hua @gracelovestars @written-in-ishq @goodnightkatherine @scentedwolfdragon @buchanana00 @bobcuts-blog @harrystyleskiwi9 @fellivra @seasonofthenerd @gulaabjamun08 @granddynamonovajbvgjjj @kusakiguzen @hyade @chaotickittydreamer @mainyahaankyunhoon @goodasaysboo @haseen-pari @y0uneversawmehere @barcelonaaababe @allthingsmythology @ishq-e-rehman @akshayekhannapaglu @cloudyparadoxqueen @roohafterdark @khoonaurkhanjar @kisswithknife @maystella @carbonaramarinara @lessbutliving @riddhi-on-break @avasif @chocolate-and-trouble @sinnoire @torumii @gloriouspurpose01 @anxiousbeeing @dhoodhsoda @theuselessdaydreamingidiot

[lavenderwinkle]