#wildfang

Planning a new sibling…?

Later on…

Disclaimer: This is a purely fictional work inspired by the electrifying performances of the actors on screen. It has absolutely nothing to do with real-life terrorists or such individuals.

Part - 2

Part - 1 | Part - 3 | Part - 4 | Part - 5

Rehman × ulfat

Rehman thought the crisis had passed. Ulfat was breathing steadily against his chest, her sobbing reduced to the occasional, adorable sniffle. But then, curiosity that ancient enemy of peace got the better of him.

​He reached for the phone she had dropped on the quilt.

​"Jaan, what exactly is this... 'Fan-Fiction'?" he murmured, his thumb hovering over a link titled 'The Bandit’s Captive: A Night in the Desert Tent with Rehman Baloch.'

​"Don't read it, Rehman! It’s scandalous!" Ulfat squeaked, reaching for the phone, but he lifted it high above his head, his long arm easily keeping it out of her reach.

​"Let’s see what the 'National Crush' is up to in his spare time," he teased, his eyes scanning the first few paragraphs.

​As he read, Rehman’s smirk didn't just fade; it evaporated. His eyebrows shot so high they nearly disappeared into his hairline. His face went from pale to a shade of mahogany usually reserved for antique furniture.

​"Y/N... who is Y/N?" he whispered, his voice trembling.

​"It means 'Your Name,' Rehman! It means thousands of girls are inserting themselves into the story as the woman you've kidnapped!" Ulfat wailed, burying her face in a pillow.

​Rehman’s eyes scanned the text, reading the prose aloud in utter, traumatized disbelief:

"Rehman Baloch let out a low, predatory growl, his fingers tangling in Y/N’s hair as he pinned her against the rough canvas of the tent. 'You shouldn't have crossed into my territory,' he rasped, his breath hot against her neck. He didn't wait for an answer. He lifted her, slamming his weight against her as he began to thrust deep, his movements primal, claiming her like the very land he ruled..."

"SLAMMED?!" Rehman roared, nearly dropping the phone. "Ulfat, if I 'slammed' a woman against a tent pole, the whole tent would collapse! It’s physics! And 'thrusting' on a pile of stolen rugs? Do they know how much sand gets into rugs? It’s unhygienic! I’d have a rash for a week!"

He scrolled down further, his eyes widening until they were the size of saucers. The text became... vividly descriptive.

"He ripped his black vest open, his muscles gleaming under the moonlight. He’s a 'trance-heavy' lover; he’ll thrust deep and slow, his teeth grazing her collarbone as he mutters Baloch curses into her ear because he can't handle how good she feels..."

"BALOCH CURSES?!" Rehman screamed, clutching his own chest. "I would never curse during... during that! It’s disrespectful! And why am I biting her collarbone? Am I a dakait or a cannibal? I have a dental plan, Ulfat! I don't go around grazing people like a goat!"

He looked at Ulfat, his eyes wide and bulging. "And 'thrusting deep and slow'? Ulfat, do these girls think I’m a hydraulic press? I’m a human being! I have a lower back condition from sitting in armored SUVs for ten hours a day! If I tried half of these 'scenarios,' I’d be in a neck brace by morning!"

He grabbed the phone, scrolling frantically now, driven by a morbid, self-destructive curiosity. He hit a section titled 'The Spicy Headcanons: After Dark'.

"Scenario: You’re wearing Rehman’s favorite black silk kurta. It’s huge on you, sliding off your shoulder. He walks in after a raid, covered in dust and blood. His eyes darken. He walks over, fists the fabric, and whispers, 'I told you never to wear my clothes... unless you want me to take them off you myself.'"

"Silk?" Rehman yelped. "Ulfat, I don't even own a silk kurta! It’s too humid for silk in the desert! And why would I want her to take off my clothes? Does she not have her own wardrobe? Is there a cloth shortage in this girl's imagination?!"

Ulfat swiped to a video. It was a fan-made montage of Rehman from his most intense scenes in Dhurandhar. Every time the beat dropped, the video zoomed in on his jawline or the way his hand gripped his pistol.

The top comment had 50,000 likes: "The way he looks at the camera is how I want him to look at me before he ruins my life and my credit score."

"Why her credit score?!" Rehman wailed, sinking onto the bed, his head in his hands. "Why do they want me to ruin their lives? I am a protector! I have a retirement plan! I provide stability!"

"They don't want a retirement plan, Rehman," Ulfat giggled, finally finding the humor in his absolute devastation. "They want the 'Feral Dacoit' who growls and thrusts on stolen maps."

Rehman looked up, his expression one of pure, unadulterated trauma. "Jaan, I’m serious. I can't go outside. What if I’m at the grocery store and some girl starts waiting for me to 'growl' at the checkout counter? I’ll be arrested!"

He crawled toward her, tucking his head into her lap, seeking shelter from a world that had turned him into a "Size Queen's dream."

"Promise me," he muffled into her dupatta. "If you ever see a girl named 'Y/N,' you’ll hide me in the basement. I’m not a dacoit anymore. I’m just a man who wants to drink his tea in peace without being 'primal' on a rug."

it's still a sketch but I had to put it out here

WHAT A MESS ♡⁠(⁠Ӧ⁠ｖ⁠Ӧ⁠｡⁠)

WILDFANG - ThunderClan Protector and Trail-Builder

They/Them

Name Significance: named for their energy and for their upper fangs that stick out

Ranks: Protector/Trail-Builder

Mentor: Goldenflower

Apprentice: Mistlebreeze

Parents: Rosebloom, Patchpelt

Siblings: Longtail

Mate: none

Kits: none

Other Notable Kin: Whitestorm (maternal cousin), Tigerclaw (paternal cousin)