#livesinfantasyland

[livesinfantasyland]

Next up is Napoleon. Such a beautiful man.

[littlefreya]

Ma'am, you're doing God's work. I just wanna kiss you beautiful hands and thank you for posting all the latest Henry Cavill pictures.

Aww baby. I love hand kissies :3 so it's totally worth it. Thank you for showing you care :) I really appreciate it.

[changenameno]

Criminal Offence (One Shot)

(Complete)

Summary: Maybe you shouldn’t have been so cocky this time around? Now you’ve been caught by the two men, you had outsmarted so often, it had become laughable… No need to say they were more than a little smug about finally having you in their clutches.

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Fem. Assassin Reader, Captain Syverson x Fem. Assassin Reader

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, death, murder, cursing, she/her pronouns for reader, degradation, size kink/strength kink, spanking as punishment, teasing, pet names, blowjob, rough sex, p in v, praise kink

Wordcount: 5K

A/N: I’m so so sorry this took so long, were a few very stressful weeks with exams ahead and everything. But at the very least this is a little longer than usually.🙈😅

Btw. this was inspired by one of the mood boards of my lovely friend @livesinfantasyland !This awesome moodboard in particular… Thank you, babe🥰✨

Hope you all enjoy. As always this is not proofread, any mistake is my own. I appreciate every comment and reblog. Thanks❤️✨

!Neither the Captain nor the Detective are mine!

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It was just too damn easy. You had a front row seat to the drama about to take place. Not that you didn’t know what would happen, but still it didn’t take the fun out of it.

The complete and utter psychopath they had in custody, did not deserve to live. He’d butchered hundreds of people with sick pleasure and all he got was a prison sentence. The government decided he was invaluable, had a lot of inside knowledge. Though it wasn’t justice, therefore making him your next target.

You’d done this job for god knows how long, it paid well enough. But only recently had you gained attention from the public eye. As you’d killed three, sick psychopaths just like him, even though they had been under the utmost protection.

It was embarrassing how easy it had been for you, just like today.

For a couple of years now, even before the public knew of you as the ‘psychopath killer’, a special force had become alive to catch you. They could call themselves special all they wanted, they still weren’t even close to catching you.

If it weren’t for two, annoyingly handsome men, they wouldn’t even know that the deaths hadn’t been a coincidence.

Namely one Detective Walter Marshall and one Captain Jaxon Syverson.

You hated them with a passion. Because it had become so much harder to do your job and trick those two.

That’s why you reveled in the show about to take place, binoculars pressed against your face.

Their ‘prisoner’ was seated on a chair, handcuffed and arms behind the backrest. Every person in the room, severely armed. Syverson and Marshall weren’t in the room, they had been posted outside, to make sure no one could enter.

Though there was no need for you to enter anyhow.

Just then the psychopath, began to visibly pale. But he made no attempt to communicate his rising panic.

The other men posted inside the room, hadn’t even noticed anything amiss just yet.

Only when the prisoner suddenly opened his mouth, presumably to groan something incomprehensible. A second later, shocked guards began shouting, as the man had doubled over, not moving any more.

Dead.

Curtesy of yours truly. Aka your favorite poison, that you had managed to administer hours ago.

When the captain and detective stormed inside, alerted by the commotion, you could practically feel their rage rolling of them in hot waves, even though you were more than a safe distance away. Their faces were priceless.

Every. Single. Time. You’d outsmarted the most skillful men in the task force.

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Soon you grew a little bored of the cat and mouse game. That’s why today’s stunt was a bit reckless.

Normally you gleefully watched as the officers failed time and again, from a safe distance.

Today was different. Wearing an officers uniform for one, was definitely something you hadn’t done before.

You had been personally posted within the hotel room by none other than Marshall himself.

Three other officers were in the room with you, which made it a bit more difficult to inject the poison this time. But you had succeeded half an hour ago. Not even the psycho herself had noticed, still calmly sitting on the sofa.

You kept your eyes on her, watching for the first signs that the poison had worked through her system. And sure enough, her eyes widened.

Suddenly the door was ripped open, and an enraged looking Syverson entered, barking loudly, “Fuck! It’s too late. Just found the fuckin’ syringe…Not again…fuck!!”

That surprised you, because you’d thought you’d hid the syringe rather well, but you didn’t let it show on your face. Heart beating just as calmly as ever.

He stormed over to the sofa, tilting her head back but she only whimpered, breathing shallowly.

“Who did this to you? Tell me!!!”

But she was already beyond being able to answer. Syverson wasn’t having it though, shaking her limp body, continuing to yell at her, “Tell me!!!”

Strong arms pulled him back, your gaze shifted upwards, landing on Marshall, as he tried to pull the captain back from the body.

“Officer a little help here!” His stormy eyes betraying his own anger as he growled at you.

You jumped into action, quickly helping him, to pull Syverson away from the sofa.

When you felt all that raw muscle move beneath your hands, you swallowed thickly. It was time you got out of there. Syverson alone could overpower you with just one of those enormous arms of his.

Finally he stopped struggling, grunting out, “Fine. Ya can let go. I’m calm, I’m calm.”

Marshall loosed his grip and stepped back, but you had been so focused on the animalistic display of strength, your hands were still on Syverson’s biceps.

Only when his ocean blue eyes fell on your face, did you notice and let go of his arm as if burned.

He didn’t stop staring at your face though. His fiercer gaze pinning you in place. Making it impossible for you to properly breathe, thus your heart rate briefly dropped before picking up to an unhealthily fast rhythm.

Why was he still staring?!

Marshall’s rough voice broke the silence and with it the intense staring contest you had been caught in, “They’ll be here in a few minutes.”

The captain finally averted his gaze and looked back at Marshall, “Fine. I’ll wait in the car. Can’t stand to witness this shit again.”

“Alright I’ll join you in a bit.”

Syverson nodded, then he turned around again, addressing you to your horror, “Are ya doin’ okay?” When you only stared at him blankly, he added,” You don’t look so good.”

Shit your sheer panic must have shown on your face, you’d have to play it cool now.

Voice a lot less cool than you’d liked you breathed,” Yeah, I’m fine…” Both men fixed you with a glare, until you realised that you’d forgotten something, “I’m fine, Sir. Thank you for asking.”

Marshall tilted his head slightly, mustering you just like his colleague had done before.

“Why don’t you stay with the Captain a while longer? He may not seem like the obvious choice to calm someone down, but he’s rather good at it, believe me.”

Fuck, oh fuck. You were so fucked!

You couldn’t very well refuse, so you simply nodded and followed Syverson out of the room, downstairs and into the waiting car.

Once you’d settled a bit, he tried to get a conversation going, though your rising terror made it hard to get your brain to cooperate.

“Haven’t seen you around before, are ya new?”

“Um, no…I’m not new just…um…new to this whole situation…”

One of his thick eyebrows shot up, “Yeah? No offence, but you don’t strike me as someone with loads of experience in these kinda situations anyway.”

God why, couldn’t your heart calm the fuck down already. You couldn’t think straight. And more importantly you really didn’t want to converse with the humongous man crammed into the car seat beside you.

“Mmh no. I just… I don’t do so well with death…is all…” That was the most outrageous lie you’d ever told anyone, to your relive though, his eyes flickered down to your shaking hands and he seemed to buy your story.

Sooner than you’d expected, the drivers door opened and Marshall sat down. Without another word he started the motor and drove off. It was quite late already, street lamps and neon signs the only light source at this hour.

The drive was uneventful. Though there had been a moment that should have stricken you as odd, but unfortunately it didn’t rouse suspicion.

The moment had been so fleeting. Marshall had stopped at a red light, blue eyes meeting with Syverson’s through the rear-view mirror but a millisecond and then the moment was gone again.

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When you arrived at the precinct, the two men lead you inside. You didn’t know which precinct you’d been brought too, but it was weird that you didn’t see another human being as you walked deeper and deeper into the lion’s den.

Your muscles were so tense, you had to concentrate, to avoid stumbling over your own feet. The sinking feeling in your stomach didn’t help and neither did the looming presence of the grumpy detective behind you.

Syverson suddenly stopped in front of a nearby cell and turned around. His grin was mean, when he asked, “I’ve got a question for ya, officer. Care to tell me your name?”

Heart rabbiting inside your chest as you tried to swallow around the tight feeling in your throat, they knew. And worse yet, this was such a stupid reason to have been caught by. You hadn’t checked the damed name tag on your uniform.

And they knew. Fuck.

Unwilling to admit defeat, you attempted to glance down inconspicuously, but a rough hand quickly curled around your throat, lifting your chin. The detective had stepped forward, leaning in dangerously close, growling lowly against your ear, “Uh-uh. No cheating.”

Your traitorous body decided the perfect moment to be aroused, was now. Wetness forming between your thighs.

They truly revelled in their victory over you, as Syverson urged, “Go on, pet, tell us your name.”

You knew you’d lost, but you whispered the first name, that came to mind, “Al-alexa.”

Marshall’s warm breath against your neck, reminded you of a lion’s maw, playing with its prey before sinking its fangs into their flesh. Then he taunted, “Mmh, yeah Alexa. Alexa who?!”

“Alexa…Alexa Pride…”

Syverson chuckled darkly, “Maybe I need glasses then…because,” he reached out and forcefully ripped the name tag from your uniform,” because I thought this read ‘Eddy Morris’.”

There it was, the smug grin of a lion taunting its prey’s stupidity.

Marshall added sarcastically,” Well as fun as this was. I’m afraid it has to end and now.” He nodded to the cell.

The captain swiftly unlocked it, and Marshall pushed you inside, after he took the pistol out of your holster. Any chance of escape now impossible.

You stumbled into the gloomy looking room and whirled around when the metal door fell loudly shut. To your shock, you weren’t alone as you had expected, no, both men had entered the already small room with you. Blocking the door entirely.

“Do you realise how much trouble you’ve caused us?”

Carful not to provoke them even more, you nodded slowly, biting your lip for good measure.

“Ah admittin’ to it at last, huh?”

You didn’t dare react in any way, as you still had no clue as to why they were in the cell with you. Though your horny brain provided you with enough naughty ideas, it’d make the most stoic Viking blush.

Marshall stepped forward, hand gesturing behind you, “I think a little chat is overdue don’t you?”

“Why don’t ya sit your lil’ arse down, mmh?!”

A minimal tilt of Syverson’s head told you, it wasn’t a question, you had to obey or else.

Reluctantly you sat down on the hard bench, dressed up as bed.

Both men were now leaning against the wall across from you, burly arms crossed in front of their equally broad chests.

Of course that didn’t help calm your raging horniness. If anything looking up at their muscled form, made your pussy pulse with want.

You slowly let your eyes roam over them, resting on Marshall’s hand, which was still clutching ’your’ pistol. His hand dwarfed the weapon, nearly hiding it from view entirely.

He followed your line of sight, having come to the wrong conclusion, he shook his head, tutting, “No, no. You’re not getting that thing back. So quit staring.”

Feeling caught you lowered your head in embarrassment, flinching violently when a hand suddenly tilted your chin upwards once more.

Syverson’s blue eyes crinkling in mirth, as he noticed you couldn’t hold his intense stare.

“Mmh look at ya. All quiet and timid. Where’s all that fire from before, mmh?”

That snapped you out of it, angrily shoving him in the chest as hard as you could. It irked you immensely that he barely seemed to move. He only removed his hand from your face, but out of his own volition rather than your meekly shove.

Marshall squatted down in front of you, “Don’t think the fire is extinguished just yet, Sy.”

“No shit.”

If it weren’t for your miserable predicament, you’d have laughed at their interaction. Instead you scooted back on the stone-like mattress, pulling your knees in, hugging them close to your chest. Trying to understand what was happening.

“Ah no hidin’ away now, pet.”

You spat back, “I’m not your pet!”

Syverson mirrored the detective’s position, squatting down but he reached out and placed his hand on your ankle. Your brain couldn’t keep up, with the movement, unable to react in time. He aggressively pulled you closer until you nearly fell off the bed, luckily Marshall’s hand on your shoulder steadied you.

Your legs hung down, sandwiched between their thick thighs. Breath coming quicker in your startled excitement, you couldn’t help yourself, the display of strength turned you on that much more.

“So.”

Trying to keep your wits about you, you glared at them, hissing, “What was that for? What do you want?!”

Suddenly Marshall’s hand was descending from your shoulder, trailing down, down, down. Stopping dangerously close to your overheating centre. Four of his fingers squeezed the inside of your thigh, while his thumb nearly grazed the place you wanted his touch most.

He whispered, “We are asking the questions here, sweetheart.”

Syverson mirrored Marshall’s position once again, big hand now also resting on your other thigh. Pulling a desperate whimper from you with his next words,” So, tell us pet. What is it, that you want?”

You couldn’t hold back, the words simply tumbled out of your mouth,” Fu-uck. Are you serious?”

He couldn’t mean what you thought he meant, right? Sweet Jesus you were hoping he meant exactly what your mind had conjured up, in great and depraved detail.

You’d sounded so out of breath it was pathetic and yet the detective sounded equally breathy when he confirmed, “The police are always serious. Also, you did a real bad job, hiding your thoughts from us. Lovely display, but surely not a good pokerface.”

“Come on! Spit it out, Walt.”

“Will you be patient?” He glared daggers at the other men, and only continued when Sy didn’t comment anything else.

“As I was saying, before the crude interruption.” Marshall paused again, then finally ‘spat it out’, “ Your eyes betrayed you. Undressing us the second, you knew you were screwed.”

Sy couldn’t contain himself any longer, growling,” Speak of the devil. Screwin’ ya, would be the key words here. Get where I’m goin’ with this, pet?”

His thumb pressed now plainly between your legs, causing you to gasp as more slick escaped your opening. Your hand gripped onto his wrist, causing him to retract his hand, though you pulled him only harder against you.

“Sweetheart?”

Your eyes fell onto Marshall’s concerned face, “Need you to agree, do you want-?”

You didn’t let him finish, before interrupting, “Yes! Please! Want- Need you both. Pl-ease.”

“Atta girl, got some manners after all.”

“Suck.” Marshall’s thumb had left its place and he was now pressing it between your lips. You complied, opening your mouth and promptly began sucking his thumb deeper into your hot cavern.

“Aargh, that’s it. Just like that, sweetheart. Only getting you warmed up for the real deal.”

The captain was clearly more impulsive out of the two of them, impatiently opening your pants, and pulling them roughly down your legs. He didn’t care that he couldn’t remove them completely. The next second, they hung already forgotten around your booted feet.

He kneeled for better access, pushing his nose directly into your wet panties. Your mewl was answered by his animalistic grunt. “Smell just as good as ya look. Need a taste. May I?”

Surprised that they were so considered still, you quickly nodded your head, yes. Nearly biting down on Marshall’s thumb, when the captain ripped your panties off your body. Throwing the irritating material somewhere behind him.

His finger slipped teasingly through your dripping folds, making you suckle harder around the detective’s finger. Syverson meanly tapped against your clit a few times, just to ignite more heat, more desperation, before he moved on to the main event.

When you felt Sy’s tongue swipe between your legs, your teeth accidentally clamped down.

“Aargh. Fuck, relax, relax, darling!”

Marshall sounded more turned on than actually hurt, but you quickly opened your mouth anyway. He slowly retracted his thumb, wiping off the leftover spit on the sheet. Then he unceremoniously pulled the rest of the uniform from your upper body.

“What are sight you are!”

You had forgone a bra today, so you were now utterly on display. But you could barely concentrate on his words, as Syverson’s mouth seemed to devour you whole.

You let yourself fall backwards, hand trying to press his head even closer against your weeping pussy. Unfortunately they chose now, to turn on you, Syverson pulled back, beard soaked with your juices. He grinned condescendingly down at you, when you whimpered at the loss of his tongue.

Marshall cooed, “Ah, ah don’t get greedy now. At the very least you’ve got to make it up to us, don’t you think?”

The captain smacked his lips together, then said, “I’d reckon, a punishment is in order, no?”

You stared at them, exasperated. What? How could they get you all hot and bothered and then talk about a punishment?!

“What? Are you fucking kidding me?!”

Syverson’s hand smacked your thigh, and a deliciously, painful current wound up your leg, making your clit pulse excitedly.

Oh? That kind of punishment.

“Better behave, before your punishment get’s any worse girl.”

You nodded meekly.

“What do ya think Walt, ten?”

‘Walt’, considered the captain’s question for a moment then nodded, “Yeah ten is a good number to start with. We can add to it, if our little pet misbehaves again.”

Your eyes widened, hoping you hadn’t agreed to something you’d regret later. But the pleasant heat constantly tingling through your nether regions, told you enough. You really wanted this.

“Sound’s fair, to me. So little dove, better turn around, to receive your punishment then, huh?”

You felt quite literally, more exposed than ever before, though you still rolled around onto your stomach and got on all fours. Presenting your rear even more, when you lowered your torso to the mattress.

The light, pat on your arse, made you flinch because you hadn’t seen Syverson’s hand.

“Mmh, what a lovely response time. Quite sensitive ain’t ya?”

His hand caressed your skin for a moment, then you heard him step back, “Wanna do the honor, Detective?”

“That’s an offer I can’t refuse.”

And without another warning, he brought down his hand on your left cheek. The harsh crack, sounded incredibly loud to your own ears as did the shriek you let loose at the painful impact.

“Nnmghf.”

“What was that, sweetheart,” Marshall purred meanly.

You huffed, then mumbled a quick, “Nothing.”

“That’s right, nothing. Good girls, take their punishments quietly. Think you can manage?”

Apparently nodding hadn’t been enough as another hard spank landed on your ass, he growled again, “Think you can manage?!”

You cried out, fingers digging into the sheet, “Y-yes.”

Crack.

Pained mewl falling on deaf ears, “Yes, what!?”

Body thrilled with the harsh treatment, you felt how wet your thighs had become in a matter of seconds, as Syverson’s hand smoothed over the area.

“Come on pet, ya can do better than that.”

Pressing your forehead into the mattress your body buzzed with renewed eagerness as you replied, “Sorry. I… Yes I think I can manage…”

“What a good girl. Well done sweetheart, just seven more to go.”

Marshall landed them without mercy and with deadly precision on your behind. One after the other.

The last spank, was by far the hardest and you had to bite your lip to keep quiet.

Sy’s hand patted your head, “Good. Such a good girl for us.”

Then Marshall gently lifted you up and placed you between his thighs, as he sat down on the mattress. The rough fabric of the sheets burned on your skin, but not in an entirely bad way.

He surprised you as he placed a kiss on your temple, whispering,” All done. Did so good, sweetheart.”

You had to giggle, because his bead had ticked your ear.

“What a darlin’ girl ya are.”

He smiled down at you, lifting your chin, so you had to look into his startling, blue eyes, “Who’s gonna get that sweet snatch of yours, mmh? Your decision, pet.”

Slowly you blinked up at him, trying to decide. Sy saw you had difficulty making up your mind, chuckling,” I meant, who’s gonna get you first. Me or Walter?”

“Walter.”

The detective didn’t hesitate, big paws already roaming over your front, tweaking your nipples for good measure, “ Glad to go first, sweetheart.”

He lay one hand against your collarbones pressing you into his firm chest, while his other unmistakably shoved his pants down.

“Spread your legs.”

Sweet humiliation burned through you, as you hadn’t reacted quick enough and Syverson unceremoniously pried them apart. Holding them open, at least as much as your pants, still sitting around your ankles, would allow.

You felt rather than saw the thick cock gliding back and forth between your wetness. Catching once, twice on your twitching hole.

“Fucking hell, you’re so wet. Can just..,”and with that his cock head finally breached your cunt, as he grunted out the rest of the sentence,” go right i-in.”

And he didn’t wait, thrusting upwards, he buried himself to the hilt, cursing again when your walls spasmed around his throbbing cock.

You felt yourself leaking, so turned on, you were literally dripping down onto his jeans. Fingers digging into the detective’s arms, trying to ground yourself.

“Open your eyes pet.”

When you did, you moaned loudly at the sight in front of you.

There he stood, big glistening cock out of his trousers, hand pumping up and down slowly, predatory eyes pinning you in place.

“Like what ya see?”

Instead of answering you only panted desperately.

Walt replied in your stead,” Sweet, little cunt is trying to strangle my cock…that answer your question?”

His pleased groan was followed by a deep seated circle of his hips, grinding his pelvis into your clit. Your pussy was clenching wildly, fingers digging even harder into his arm.

At some point they had apparently switched positions, because now Walt’s strong hands held you open by your knees. While Sy stepped ever closer, his expression had grown completely feral.

He came to a stop between your spread legs, his cock dangling invitingly close to your lips.

“Gonna test your multitasking skills, dove.”

Knowing exactly what he wanted you obediently opened your mouth. He first fed you his cock head then without waiting, inch by girthy inch entered your mouth, until you gagged slightly and he relented. Praising you all the while.

“Oh fuck your mouth was made for this. Such a good girl.”

Walt didn’t want to wait anymore so he started to thrust his hips up, immediately choking you on Syverson’s cock.

It felt electrifying, getting spit roasted between those big guys. You were in heaven.

Every moan around the intrusion in your mouth, made Syverson groan loudly, as the sounds trying to leave your throat, teased his swollen cock head mercilessly.

While you felt Walt hitting you deeper and deeper with every thrust. The knot inside you started to grow tighter and tighter.

The only sounds audible in the small room, where wet slaps of skin against skin, groans and grunts of pleasure.

“Fuck sweetheart, so good. Gonna cum soon.”

Syverson made it impossible to answer, fucking your face in earnest now. But the rhythmic clenching of your cunt let Walt now you where just as close.

Someone’s hand had snuck down, manipulating your little bundle of nerves just right. It was too much, not enough and so good at the same time. You soon toppled over the edge, gurgling unintelligible around the cock booking your airway.

Pussy clenching down so tightly, Walt followed you over the edge, his teeth sinking into your shoulder. Pain mixing with the onslaught of pleasure still wrecking your body.

Syverson suddenly pulled back, barking at the other man,” Pull out, my turn!”

So dazed you didn’t even protest when the detective pulled out, white, hot cum running out of your pussy.

Syverson was so eager for his turn, he ripped you out of Walt’s arms. Swiftly laying you onto your back, pushing your knees to your shoulders and just as swiftly his fat cock entered your cunt with one hard thrust forward.

You keened at the overstimulation, though he just cooed down at you, “Be a good little pet and cum one more time on my cock.”

You wailed as he started pounding into you, rubbing against your sensitive clit. The impact bordering on painful but then a rough thumb tweaked your nipple deliciously and the most intense orgasm swept over you.

Cunt gushing around Syverson’s battering ram, and at last he pushed as deep as he could before coming inside your weeping pussy.

“Did so good…fuck just so perfect for us. Take everything inside just like that. Atta girl.”

All you could do was slowly blink up at him, as he caressed your cheek with such tenderness you could have fallen asleep just like that. Squished beneath this behemoth, filled to the brim and utterly satisfied.

The next few minutes of him pulling out, them wiping you down and getting you dressed, just flew over your head. Still completely boneless, you just let them do their thing. Here and there you heard them murmuring some sweet praises.

“Sweetheart, you took it so well.”

“Just relax, atta girl, let us take care of ya.”

“Sleep well.”

You fell asleep even before they exited the small cell, not even hearing the click of the door being locked.

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When you woke up, you felt a bit disoriented at first but quickly remembered where you were and what had happened.

Smirk growing on your swollen lips, as something small and cold, dug into the palm of your hand.

Maybe getting caught wasn’t as awful as you’d have thought. You got up, on wobbling legs, making your way to the metal door.

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ONE WEEK LATER

Unprompted the door of his office flew open, revealing his partner, who swiftly shut the door once he was inside.

Syverson raised on of his thick eyebrows, as Walter sauntered over and came to a halt in front of his desk.

“So it was a weird little coincidence that we caught her in the first place, wasn’t it?”

“Mmh, why’d ya think that?”

“I certainly didn’t notice the name tag amiss and even then, I probably wouldn’t have paid it any attention. But you? You saw it immediately didn’t you?”

The captain mused about his words for a moment, trying to gauge what Walter knew, before he simply settled on asking, “What are ya getting at Marshall?” A hidden warning in the way he’d addressed him so formally this time.

Walter’s expression was still relaxed, seemingly enjoying the way he got a rise out of him.

“Oh I’m getting there. You wanna know the second, little coincidence I’ve noticed?,” to Sy’s annoyance, he paused for dramatic effects, until he finally continued,” The key wasn’t anywhere near her, when I’ve locked the door on our way out. So how’d she get her hands on it? Weird, wouldn’t you agree?”

He had to hand it to him, Walter was one fine detective, though Sy didn’t yet know where to go from here.

But he had enough of this game, he stood up slowly, menacingly. Hands flat on his desk. Eyes narrowed at the detective in front of him, while his strong jaw was working furiously. One of his many mannerisms, you’d lovingly teased him about before.

His tell.

Patience running thin.

“Don’t like repeating’ myself. Spit it out!”

The answer however, took Sy by surprise, “I. Want. In.”

“Come again?!” He straightened his back, staring at him in disbelief.

“Don’t play dumb Captain, doesn’t suit you. I want in. She’s our pet now. Our’s or nothing.”

Syverson had to suppress his grin. So that’s what Walter wanted, a piece of you.

He should have known, once wouldn’t suffice. After all back then, once hadn’t been enough for him either. From the very beginning of their more than unconventional relationship, she’d weaselled her way right into his heart. Special spot now reserved only for her.

He nodded, but warned Walter, “Alright. Though have to warn ya, lil’ pet still makes up her own mind. And she’s stubborn at that.”

Walter didn’t feel the need to suppress his own, amused expression, when he agreed, “Yes, thought as much. But I think that’s just one of her bewitching characteristics. Gotta love a challenge.”

Syverson’s lips twitched upwards, “Yeah. Bewitching in more than one way, our lil’ pet.”

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[resowrites]

Rabbit, Rabbit - drabble.

Summary: Henry will stop at nothing to find his easter eggs…

Pairings: AU!Henry Cavill x Reader/Wife!OC

Warnings: fluff, banter/British humour, fake message style, language, pet names, dialogue heavy, nondescript reader/OC body type/appearance, hastily written/lightly proofread.

WC: <600

A/N: Happy easter folks, sorry I’m still not back to posting properly I just don’t have the time atm - R x

Remember, this is pure fiction (as in completely made up), and not in any way meant to reflect reality. My work must not be copied, reposted, or translated elsewhere. Gifs/pics not my own. I hope you all enjoy and thanks for visiting.

Rabbit, Rabbit - drabble.

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[witchersmistress]

My little darling

Hello my darlings! here is another kinky prompt request from the lovely @livesinfantasyland,

Summary: Walter the grumpy bear that he is, has to go interview a witness at the last place on earth hed like to be in let alone with a rookie involved

word count: 1.4k

Trigger warning: lap dance, oral male recieveing, bodily fluids, blow jobs, praise kink, daddy kink

  

Walters pov

I am so ready for this fucking night to be over. Slamming my hand on the desk causing my entire desk to rattle. I search for my phone and flip it over, it is a quarter to 11, you're at work by now so i wont have you to go home to. “Marshall” my chief yelled “ My office, now” huffing I pushed back from my desk and stood making my way into his office. “Yes sir, you wanted to see me?” he motioned for me to close the door, shutting the door with my foot. Sitting in the chair in front of me. “ I need your help on the case involving the dead politician. He had a regular spot he liked to frequent and we have evidence that he was there the night he died.” i cocked an eyebrow, “But…” he dropped the folder on his desk with a heavy sigh “You are the only detective i feel comfortable sending here” i grabbed the file and opened it.

Inside was what information we had on the politician, his name was Alex O’Connell age 35. Stuff about his career and how he was next in line to be the senator for Minnesota. I snorted at those as I perused the rest of the file. The lab found some particulate evidence on his lap that they were able to identify as strawberry body glitter, the same type of body glitter that is often used  by the girls at the Showroom. I looked at him “Really sir? Why me?” he let out a loud laugh “Because Marshall you are unfazed by anything. Take Maxwell with you, he could use some entertainment  "I rolled my eyes and stood from my spot “Say no more sir, on my way "I walked out of his office as he continued to laugh. 

Grabbing an empty paper cup i throw it at the back of Ressler’s head, he spun around “What the fuck Marshall” grabbing my coat and phone, “Thats for turning my night into a longer one dickhead. Maxwell with me. Now” he scrambled around at his desk and ran to catch up with me. “Where are we going” he asked when he finally climbed into the car, starting her up “ We are going to the Showroom”  his face blanched and his eyes widened. If he wasn't already seated I'm pretty sure he would have fallen down. Putting the car in drive we took off.

We arrived at the club shortly after 11: 30 pm. Climbing out of the car, and around the side into the building. It was dark and the music was a low thumping beat, the floors rattled with the vibrations of the speakers. Maxwell looked like a deer in headlights as we approached a group of ladies. They were sitting on a stage, there were  4 of them, the redhead in the center of the group, she had her hair pulled back, curled slightly at the end. She had on this beautiful oriental blue lingerie set, with black fishnet thigh highs and black high heels. She tossed her hair back and looked over at us as we approached. She flashed a wicked grin as we showed our badges. “Good evening ladies, I’m detective Walter Marshall and this is my partner Chris Maxwell.” I looked at him, his hands shaking as he held up his badge for them to see. Rolling my eyes i turned back to their leader, “We are looking for the particular girl that uses this stuff” pulling the evidence bag from the folder revealing the small container of strawberry body glitter “ It is called Strawberry Lust Dust” The redhead girl smirked and uncrossed her legs and left them slightly parted “That would be me doll” she stood and sauntered over.

She went to Maxwell first, it was dark here but it wasn't hard to guess that  he was blushing harder than a cherry tomato. “Come with me gentlemen '' she purred as she grabbed Maxwell's tie and pulled him along behind her. I let out at chuckle as we walked down a hallway past a velvet curtain to a private area, she pulled Maxwell to a stop and pushed him back into a chair and summoned me with a come hither gesture and pushed me into the chair before her “That’ll be $60'' maxwell happily handed her the money as she giggled wickedly and began to dance, she straddled my lap, and pushed her breast into my face and giggled “ Ms. I am here to talk about Alex O’Connell.." I trailed off as she climbed off my lap and started swaying her hips to the beat of the music. “ You're not so interested in talking now are you, baby?” she wiggled her eyebrows at me in a seductive manner as she crouched, opening her legs so we could see her run her hands from below the belt up to her neck as she stood and whipped her hair around.

 Clearing my throat, “ Alex O’Connell, he was next in line to be the senator may have been a client of yours ” she turned to face me still swaying her hips “Yea Alex he is a regular what about him?” She put one leg between my thighs and bent over, shaking her ample cleavage in my face, her body shimmering in the low light. Standing back up she continued to dance “We found evidence that you gave him a lap dance the night that he died” i spoke.

“He died? Whoa” she sat down on my thigh and released a heavy breath.”  gave him a couple of dances the Thursday night, he was pretty drunk. He got in a fight and Marcus threw him  both out.” she looked at me to maxwell and back to me “Wait am i a suspect because all i do i gyrate and that has never killed anyone” Maxwell stifled a laugh, i cleared my throat “ Did he get into a fight with the bouncers?” she was tapping her nails on her heel “ No it was another politician, blonde hair, Joey something” Maxwell shot up from his seat “ Joe Evans, he lied to me, we should go talk to him” i nodded and he pointed to the girl on my lap “Then ask her to get up” she smiled wickedly “I think thats going to be kinda awkward isnt it now baby doll” i huffed a laugh “That's my gun” she giggled wickedly “Maxwell wait for me outside” he was hesitant to go “Now Maxwell” he took off without a second glance.

 She stood from my lap and took a few steps back “Amelia” I growled “Come here now” she shook her head at me “Make me Daddy” . She called me from her spot. “Baby girl now” she sauntered towards me, I gripped her by her hips and pulled her onto my lap, grabbing her jaw and forcing her to look at me. “ I should spank you for that stunt you pulled, your lucky Maxwell has no idea who you are” she pouted at me with those blood red lips “ Fuck, your lips would looks so good wrapped around my cock right now” he gave me a shy smile, leaning back, i pulled out my throbbing cock and began to stroke myself “Now dance for me little one and when i tell you, you better suck down every last drop do you understand 2me?” she nodded and began to dance for me again.

She climbed that pole and danced like she owned that room. Just as I could feel my balls tighten, she climbed off the stage and purposefully bent over and showed me her wet panties. “Get over here now” she turned round and took my cock into her mouth. I wrapped her hair around my fist and the other one around her throat. “Such a good fucking girl” she hummed and started working me with her mouth, doing that thing with her tongue, she sent me over the edge. She continued to swallow me down till I dragged her up my body and devoured her mouth with mine. Pulling away, as she caught her breath “ I’m not done with you yet little one, I’ll see you soon” “Yes sir” she giggled and climbed to her feet giving me a quick kiss on my cheek before she sauntered away to fix the lipstick smeared all over her face. Stopping at the gentlemen's room getting off what I could , I made my way to my truck where Maxwell was waiting for me. Starting the truck and getting ready to leave, I looked at the time 12:30 am. Grabbing my phone i sent her a quick text “Be ready my little darling, you have yet to receive proper punishment”

[munstysmind]

I’m preparing to post the first chapter of Veneris Filia. If you’d like to be on the series taglist please let me know.

Tagging everyone who interacted with the first sneak peek post.

@wherethewitchersare @sillyrabbit81 @fanfics-r-us-official @identity2212 @juliaorplI78 @lokislady82 @km-ffluv @livesinfantasyland @supersonic-peach @alexa10partida @the-kanamori @xxxkatxo

[mrs-solo-walker]

Music Tag Game

thanks for tagging @ellethespaceunicorn

Rules: Shuffle your 'on repeat' playlist and list the first 10 songs that play, then tag 10 people.

1.) LP - Muddy Waters

2.) Nina Simone - Take Care Of Your Business

3.) Bishop Briggs - River

4.) Rosenfeld - Do It For Me

5.) Truth Hurts - Addictive

6.) Nick Ross - In Vein

7.) Two Feed - I Feel Like I´m Drowning

8.) Two Feed - I Want It

9.) Two Feed - Lost The Game

10.) LP - When We´re High

no pressure tags @ylva-syverson , @martha-oi , @just-chirpin , @miss-rebel-without-applause, @littlefreya , @cardierreh15 , @identity2212 , @raccoon-eyed-rebel , @livesinfantasyland , @drewharrisonwriter

[sillyrabbit81]

📣 Hey! Hey! Here we go!

Is there a fic you posted that you wish had gotten a bit more attention? Share the fic, please. ❤️

Thanks for the ask Navy!

I'd like to highlight two stories if I can. I don't know about if I wish they had received more attention, because I think they both reached a fair amount of people, but maybe these are two that are less popular than other stories of mine, but these are stories I am just as proud of as more popular fics.

Thanks again for thinking of me and sending the ask!

❤️ Rabbit

[ladylaviniya]

Sir Sherlock Holmes & The Indian Princess

शर्लक बाबू और भारतीय राजकुमारी

Chapter 1 || Masterlist || Chapter 2

Chapter Summary: In England, Sherlock Holmes receives an alarm letter from his dear friend Doctor John Watson. In Delhi, You don't mind being a teacher, but with new building plans, you reflect on your circumstances and opportunities.

Pairing: Sherlock Homes x Desi!reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Slow burn, generational trauma, colonisation, implied murder, death of a parent, classism & caste.

Word Count: 6k

Author Notes:

★ Everything written in bold is being said in Hindustani

★The Reader character goes by the last name Newalkar and is the daughter of Damodar Rao Newalkar → the adopted son of Rani Laxmibai. I must advise this story is pure fiction but based in the occupation of the British Raj that invaded and Colonised India.

★I am a White European/Australian woman, I apologise for any cultural or historical inaccuracies. I am receiving help from online sources and desi Tumblr mutual @livesinfantasyland and I heavily encourage other Indian/South Asian/Desi readers to share their thoughts, constructive criticism and help as I write this story.

Inspiring Song: "Paint it Black" by Ciara

11:35pm Thursday 26th June 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

This story begins and ends with the sound of rain.

Tink!

The roof had begun a leak. And when this leak came to play it had a habit of landing directly on the head of a disgruntled and lonely fellow.  The greatest detective in London who could not find a friend. Granted I must inform you, Mr Sherlock Holmes did in fact have some friends, but by misfortunes, none were presently in the country.

Tink!

He angrily sighed. Another drop of rain hit his head.

He launched from his arm chair and grumbling moved an empty teapot to sit on the cushion he previously sat. The drops thus made a small tinkling as they landed inside the empty pot.

Plonk!

He rubbed his eyes and checked the time on the mantle piece clock. He had lost weeks of his life. Hours squeezed down to into unknown days or months, he could not tell. It did not help how he consistently drew the curtains closed to design total darkness other than the fireplace and his candles to light up his home.

A light shiver ran up his spine. The weather was dangerously cold today. His fingertips upon inspection grew from pale white to a dark pink.

Plonk!

He wandered if perhaps it was time to have a holiday in sunny Spain.

A knock on his door broke his imagined vacation like a hammer to glass.

His pesky landlady Mrs Hudson intruded on his stuffy dust filled space. She grumbled nonsense about the filth of her apartment she’s rented out to the famous Detective before handing him a thick envelope.

Plonk!

And the moment he could see and recognised the handwriting he snatched the Letter from her wrinkly fingers and banished her with a bellowing shout. The woman fluttered out and muttered her further disgusts of his treatment.

Plonk!

But Sherlock did not care for her opinion or rather anyone’s for that matter, Sherlock only cares about the stamp he tore opened the parchment he eagerly unfolded.

John Watson. Doctor, soldier and dear friend. He was Sherlock’s greatest companion to note. He had never felt such brotherly love until he met the very man seeking a roommate here in baker street.

Doctor and detective used to comb London for clues to solve crimes and very noticeably took an interest at the sports of pleasure. The luxurious brothels of London welcomed him and his friend with open arms and spread legs. Doctor Watson was the easy victim of sex while Sherlock was one to enjoy his opium pipe and watch his friend succumb to the mouths of half-pound harlots.

And among these adventures of interesting women did the doctor find himself in a savage tussle with another jealous male patron...

Sherlock recalled the evening with mirth. His dear friend, brother in arms had been pummelled to a pulp and drunk as a daisy. So when Sherlock escorted him to a hospital, the imbecile had declared that he was doctor of the ward and did not need any stitches. It is a grand thing perhaps Doctor Watson could not fathom the memory of yelling too proudly that his medicine could be only found in the elixir of a woman’s warm cunny.

His nurse, a dirty bird at heart had giggled at this...that nurses name was Mary Mortenson. And she became the very enamoured Mrs Mary Watson.

Sherlock was not fond of his friend becoming so besotted with his bride. He tolerated the woman’s presences at best. Unspokenly, the detective saw competition to gain the doctors attention and it was becoming far too obvious that Mrs Watson would win. Every. Single. Time.

After a month of young love the married pair had decided their honey-moon should be experienced back in John’s birth land...Delhi, a city in India. Mary was to meet the senior Mr and Mrs Watson. Coincidently, the English rose was not averse to the foreign lands…she so happened to have been born in Agra. Happy and married, they boarded and sailed across the sea.

Sherlock had high hopes their ship would run scarce of supplies so they might return quickly. He missed his dear friend and even his annoying wife.

The letter in between if thumbs and fingers were the first words from them he had gotten in nearly three months. The letter read as followed...

“Dear Sherlock,

Mary and I have come to my home I grew up in as a boy. I was blessed with my parents merry welcome. However, unfortunate circumstances have designed two coffins. For merely a week into our visit my beloved parents have passed. I have yet to decide whether to bury them in the English tradition or burn them in the Hindi ritual. My predicted return back to Baker Street may appear futile and non-existent. Please. Come visit us as soon as it is convenient.

13, 25, 27, 16, 1, 18, 5, 14, 20, 19, 27, 8, 23, 5, 27, 2, 5, 5, 14, 27, 13, 21, 18, 4, 5, 18, 5, 4.

Your sincere faithful friend, Doctor John H. Watson.”

Plonk!

Sherlock’s eyes raced over the page, and cupped his mouth staring at the plethora of numbers. They were not any numbers. John was a simple man, he wasn’t the smartest being but Sherlock appreciated his humble attitudes, he liked the doctor admitting he wasn’t a world genius, just a man who knew his medicines.

So when an enigmatic set of numbers was written at random Sherlock thought of the most simplistic cypher.

For every number was a letter. 1 being A and 26 being Z, leaving 27 to be a space between a word.

His brows lifted. The message was clear and alarming.

Plonk!

“My Parents Have Been Murdered.”

He determined his dear doctor had written this cryptic message under the desire of secrecy. His eyes lit up. It meant John needed Sherlock’s help. A case. Something was amiss. John did not know the killers name. If he did, he would’ve written it or not bothered to write asking Sherlock to visit at all.

He couldn’t have run faster to his rooms to start backing as soon as possible.

Plonk!

Sherlock Holmes had know idea what he was going to find in a land he had only heard stories from Watson’s childhood. He was eager to see his friend, to help him and to finally have an adventure.

01:35pm Friday 11th July 1890, Anglo Arabic Secondary School, Desh Bandhu Gupta Rd, Ajmeri Gate, Delhi.

You dragged the piece of white chalk across a black board and sketched a simple phrase in the English language. You smiled to the young faces that filled the room, sitting in long benches and desks. Their eyes wide and curious, eager to learn.

You waved your hands, “Now, clean your chalk slates students, you are going to learn how to spell good afternoon in English.”

They wipe them down with their small damp clothes and tucked them away in the groove at the top of their slanted desk. You waited patiently until they all sat with their hands resting flat on the wooden desks, mouths shut, eyes seeking knowledge.

You underlined each letter of the first word, “Gee, ouw, ouw, dee, this spells ‘Good’ and now ‘Afternoon’ is Aya, eff, tee, Ee, Ara, eynnn, ouw, ouw, eynn.”

The young boys sounded it out with you. Their sweet pubescent voices unionised. You smiled. They were so advanced at such a young age, most of the boys had come from average and wealthy families that could afford them to come to such a fine school. Many were Muslim, others Hindu, it was a good sign of peace. The youth coming together despite their differences. And on odd days you would teach the white children, boys and girls of British and French families who wanted their children to learn Hindi, Arabic and Urdu.

You didn’t mind teaching white children, some of the boys could be very disrespectful but you gathered it was behaviour picked up from their arrogant fathers. It wasn’t the young boys who had pillaged these lands, it was their fathers and grandfathers.

“The gee,” you circled the G, “Remember in English is also pronounced like Guh and,” you tapped the double o’s, “Ouw ouw in english together when two is said ‘oooowa’. Followed by dee being said as Dah. So, let’s say it together?”

You dragged a white line under the word and sounded it out with your students.

“Guh-oooow-dah.”

You smiled.

You repeated, “Good.”

“Now let’s look at the word ‘afternoon’,” you announced.

You cleaned the board and looked back at your students. One of the little boys who sat in the front was rubbing his eyes. You smiled softly. He was only six years old. His older brother, a young man now would most likely be the one to collect his brother from school and carry him sleeping back home. You looked at the bell tower just outside the window. It was nearly time for your students to go home and you to return back to your lodgings.

“Aye and eff is said as AAaff, then tee is a quick Tuh! And what is Ee and Arrra sound together children?”

“Errr,” they all purred.

You sounded out half of the word with them, “Aafftuherrr.”

You rubbed your chalk dust covered fingers together and further explained as you pointed to each important letter, “eynnn makes a Na, sound. And we just practiced double ouw, so sound it out.”

Like a symphony of speech, you all said together, “Guh-oooow-dah Aafftuherrr, Na-ooow-na. Good Afternoon.”

The deep bowing clang of the bells outside rang through the yard and open window shutters. The children looked eager to leave. Their hands were readily holding their slates, ready to put them inside the empty wooden box in the corner of the classroom where they kept all their slates and dusters and the bucket for where they kept their chalk.

“Good afternoon students,” You bided.

“Good afternoon Teacher Madam,” They called back.

“You may go back home now. Practise your English alphabet song.”

The boys were fast as rabbits, leaping from their desks and fleeing the classroom out the hall and down the stairs. But some at least saluted you as they left. It was a habit they’d picked up from the white boys who saluted their male teachers. You smiled to yourself as you waved them out. Each left with beaming smiles and playful chatter among themselves.

As you went about sweeping the floor after wiping the chalk from the board, you wondered if you should go to the temple and pray for your students successful education or if you should consider washing your clothing today. It had been very dry today, any moment and you knew the wet season and humid rain would arrive to flood the streets clean of dust and fill the forests with life of green goodness.

As you put away the English education books on the small shelves by the door, a familiar face came rushing in, flushed and excited

If it wasn’t her jingling anklet and bangle that announced her To your classroom, it was her shrill cry of your name that did.  

“Y/N! Quick!” Miss Anjuli Paraiyars exclaimed, “You need to come with me.”

Her dark ink hair was peaking out from her sun patterned veil. The wispy curls stuck to her sweaty forehead and framed her dazzling walnut eyes. They were flooded with mischief that matched her biting lip. Her brows wriggled lightly.

Placing the last book onto the shelf you turned to acknowledge your dear friend.

“Anjuli,” you happily sighed, “Whatever is the matter?”

She waved her hands about, hoping to quicken you along and out the door, “It is the Watson son, Doctor Watson, he wants to speak with you with important news.”

Your eyes widened. ‘What on earth does that poor soul wish to say to me? After the death of the good Mr and Mrs Watson, I would assume he was still in mourning, why would he call upon me?’

Following your friend outside into the scorching sun, you lifted your saree over your head. She had her family Ox and cart waiting outside the school gates.

“What important news Anjuli?” You said a little standoffishly.

“He’s offering you a job,” She said giddily. She climbed up into the cart and leant down offering her hand to you.  Once in the cart side by side she sighed, “That’s all he would tell me,” She grabbed the reigns and cane and tapped the Ox to start moving out onto the dirt road, “But we all know how very generous he can be like his dear parents.”

Anjuli was right. The late Victoria and Hamish Watson’s were angelic to the local community. Victoria had been the very soul to teach your late mother English and she was the one to encourage you to attain education enough to become one of the very few first female Indian teachers. She was a well known philanthropist, often aiding the sick and homeless and funding the Indian hospitals. Hamish was a local accountant, financial advisor and lawyer. He was known to be good to the children particularly. He would often hand out sweets as he walked down the street with his briefcase bag. He often aided the locals find new homes when the British planned to evict them and replace white families in their place. The English couple had lived in the country for many decades, long before you were even born. They spoke fluently enough and mimicked the culture so well that you could’ve believed they were born here themselves.

You sat back and nodded, “May their souls attain moksha.”

02:45pm Friday 11th July 1890, Willingdon Crescent, Central Ridge Forest, Delhi, India.

The sun baked down on the streets of Dehli. The Ox cart rolled along, it’s tail flicking the flies circling it’s flank every so often.

You pinches your saree scarf and covered your face before a bug could fly into your mouth.

Anjuli had to hold the reigns and cane, she leant closer to you and giggled as she nodded to the khaki covered soldiers. Walking by in many small groups.

Anjuli had a terrible habit, she fell in love too easily. For some ungodly reason Anjuli admired the foreigners that had come so long ago and invaded your beautiful country. Maybe she liked how different they looked. The flaxen hair and ice blue gazes in the faces of pale freaks were so opposite to the raven manes and hairy russet warmth of Indian men. It was erotic for her. You just didn't understand how she could so easily find infatuation with the people you considered an enemy, and so should she.

“Oh look at them,” she giggled girlishly.

You rolled your eyes, “I’m looking.” There was a timid strain in your voice. You had no real interest to entertain Anjuli’s fascination.

When Anjuli noticed how you in fact we’re not looking but rather looking ahead on the road path she playfully smacked your arm.

“Look!” She sucked her teeth and teasingly scolded, “Do you not know delight at the sight of men?” She reached forward and abruptly touched the front of your blouse, squeezing around for the softness of your breasts, “Are you sure you’re a full grown woman?” she smiled wickedly and prodded her finger in between your legs covered by your top petticoat.

You squeaked loudly and batted her hand. She howled with laughter and kept giggling even as you scowled at her beneath your veil.

You turned your head away from her and scoffed, “I am not as easily swayed by British soldiers. They look so sickly as pale as they are,” your nose wrinkled, “How could I righteously take a husband in front of beloved Lakshmi and her Vishnu when they look like they tempt Yama too take them at any moment?”

Your friend rolled her eyes, “Oh nonsense,” she tapped your hand and waved her fingers into a crowd of soldiers, “See there that one, his hair the colour of wheat, he is a handsome man. He would make a fine husband.”

And as the cart rolled passed, you couldn’t help gag at the smell of the same man Anjuli proclaimed would make a fine husband.

‘A fine swine perhaps. Many sow in heat could come trotting to him from miles with such a putrid scent.’

Your head wobbled and your flat palm waved at her, “A husbands good qualities are not to stand on his appearance alone. One day he will grow old, fat, bald and ugly.”

A long dragging sigh came out from the woman beside you. She managed to move both reigns into one hand and playfully tugged your saree away from your face

“You’re no fun, come on,” she jerked her chin out to the same street as the ox was about to pass another group, “Tell me you don’t find any of them a little attractive?”

You stared at the oncoming group and now sucked your teeth. You crudely stated, “They’d be far more attractive if they left. Went back to their lands, leave our villages and the people of Bharat in peace.”

Anjuli stared blankly at you. Before she could pinch and prod you again you relented and noticed one of the men in the crowd so different from the others.

He was tall, his hair a dark chestnut that matched the shade of his suit. His face was bare and clean in comparison to the soldiers who all adorned moustaches and muttonchop beards on their faces. He was carrying a rather large brief case and walking stick.

“Fine...that one,” you nodded, “In the brown English clothes.”

“The one wearing a suit?” Anjuli snickered, “He’s not a soldier though?”

You giggled,“And it is for such a reason I find he is most handsome among them.”

You both gazed at him as the ox fully passed by. Anjuli smiled at you.

“He is rather tall. Strong. What do you think he does?” She asked, “Maybe he is a farmer, or a bricklayer?”

You shook your head. ‘No. He couldn’t be.’

“He dresses too finely. It is not their Christian Sunday Sabbath today. He probably is a rich businessman, with a wife and children.”

You looked back to the path as the dusty road became thicker in trees and travel further away from the street. You thought about that strangers wife, what she might look like, probably some English rose with a house full of servants at her command, surrounded by maids and wet nurses for her children. She would live in a grand house and hold soiree’s, welcoming guests from all around to celebrate life. She would have a massive library and a place of worship. It was the life you should’ve had, the life you were owed and denied merely by the changing events of history and the extinguish of your father’s birthright.

Your soft smile faded; you felt a twinge of repulsion mixed with a hint of anger. You’d think after all these years you would’ve chosen to forget this, ignore this, let go and accept your circumstances in this life.... You didn’t live with your father anymore who would remind you practically daily why not to trust the English or any white man, as if you didn’t witness their subjecting abuse and consistent disrespect.

Your eyes fluttered shut, you reached to your side and touched Anjuli’s wrist. She was your truest friend despite her differences and low status. Anjuli came from a Shudra family, and you? You were the daughter, the descendant of Brahims and Kshatriyas...now lowered to the Shudra caste class…You never knew the lavish life of the Jhansi palace, nor tasted the rich foods served on golden plates and surrounded by pretty creatures of the palace menagerie. You would never know the joys of running through the gardens with other children in the royal family.

Everyone was gone, everything was gone. All that was left was your father who scarcely remembered that life but shared all he remembered so his memories would live on through you and bring you hope that one day it would be yours. It was a cruel false hope…

Eighteen years ago, you had been born inside of a nice house in Indore to the daughter of a prestige painter Vasudeoraobhau Bhatavdekar. As far as you knew, your father loved your mother very much for the incredibly brief time that they were married. A rare jewel in beauty is how he described her often. A marriage of love and choice. Your father said she was softly spoken and obedient, but it was her unconditional love for him and his dreams that held his heart in appreciation.

It was by unfortunate command that she would fall ill to childbed fevers after you were born. After you…a girl...not a son. You were nothing in the eyes of the British raj and had no chance of being installed as an heir for any restoration…you were the last hope and failed before your first breath. And that was something you’d never forget.

For a small time, you were raised in that home and then it was decided by your father that you would learn English. His tutors were not available, so he cut your hair short and shipped you off to Delhi with your young uncle Save to the Anglo Arabic Secondary School…It did not take the teachers and headmaster long to discover you were a girl. Before you were to receive the beating of a lifetime it was Mr Hamish Watson who so happened to be accounting the school costs to save you. He took you to his wife who taught you English and then set you to live with his maid servants, Anjuli’s mother.

Your friend spoke after some time of silence, “Oh, I’m meant to tell you- My cousin Vijay sent word this morning, he’s seeking a wife. My mother wants me to ask if you’d like to meet him, a prospective match.”

Your lips curled into a sneer, “Isn’t he the one that use to tie our braids together in a knot during Diwali and chase us around the street making animal noises?”

You recalled a young teenage boy about five years your senior with a tooth gap and ruffled hair. He was so annoying, calling you names and bullying you by calling you fat and ugly. He was spoilt and rude. He mocked you when you told him you were a princess. He said you were a princess of pimple pox and nothing more. Oh how you remembered the way your blood boiled.

“We were children, he was playing, only a boy,” she smiled, “He’s a man now, studying to be a barrister in Bombay but he will be visiting in a few weeks to help us move.”

Ah yes, the dilemma you needed to find a solution too soon. It was a month ago that a letter had been nailed to the house door, it was an eviction commandment made by the British military and government. The Paraiyars family and you had to leave the home in Raisina hill, why? Because the British do what they like…building concrete monstrosities over beautiful land and demolishing the history of your people like it was worthless dust. Rumours spread about a grand governors palace was to be built there, but they couldn’t burn the village to ash with people living inside...well....at least not on their "morally good Christian conscious."

“Vijay I believe owns a cottage near the seaside. You could be his bride and live with him instead of moving back to Indore to your father.”

Moving back was not possible...not after his most recent letter.

“Father has…felt it improper for me to move back to Indore. He believes that my existence would cause me more harm than good under his jailers’ eyes…His pension he shares I give mostly to your mother for board. I have saved my wages, I am considering…moving to a boarding workhouse in Jhansi or Agra, but tell your mother I would like to greet Vijay when he arrives…”

You smirked looking down at your fingernails, “Lakshmi forbid I run out of money and need to resort to the ‘charity’ of Christians or to prostitution.”

Anjuli made a face, shaking her head and brushed her shoulder into yours, “You wrinkle your nose at every man, white, black or bronze,” she smiled cheekily, “I doubt you’d make a good prostitute.”

“Anjuli!” You shrieked.

Both you and her erupted into a large happy shrill of giggles enough to gain head turns from passing public. You and her playfully poked your elbows into each other. Anjuli was right, there was no chance that you could make a suitable prostitute…you hadn’t had sex and didn’t know how to please a man, most men you barely liked. They could be selfish. Anjuli on the other hand, she was a frisky thing. She had kissed a hundred men and given her ‘precious flower’ to a boy back when she was thirteen. She had no shame. Anjuli had shared her sordid tales of lust to you many times. You knew her boyfriends that snuck her out at night and returned her by morning. You promised never to tell her mother or father who surely would’ve disowned her if they knew how promiscuous she was. It was best if they believed she made money with her parents in the markets selling dyed clothes and wooden jewellery boxes.

03:04pm Friday 11th July 1890, 5 Bistdari Road, Central Ridge Forest, Delhi, India.

Arriving to the Watson Bungalow was simple enough, the ox cart rolled and bumped over the rock and sandy grooves of the path. Anjuli pulled the reigns of her beast and helped you both down. She tied her ox to the outside gate posts, the precious creature lowered its head and munched on dry grass that still was hinted in green. The ox would be glad as soon the wet season would hit and all the food delight lush and green would return.

You and Anjuli stepped inside and removed your sandals, Anjuli then led you through the house. It had been some time since you had been here. Anjuli’s mother was dismissed as Mrs Victoria Watson’s maid when the new Watson bride had arrived.

Doctor Watson, their son was a short ferrety man. His face was covered in a long mutton mustache like a snake of hair slithering along his face. He was a grown man from the teenager you had met many years ago. His parents had sent him to Europe to school, as far as you were aware he had join the army and fought in some notorious war battles like The of Battle of Abu Klea.

As you entered the bureau office, you found him hunched over some paperwork, his brows scrunched. His eyes lifted up and brightened his face on seeing you both.

“Oh Miss Paraiyars, Anjuli dear,” he said clapping his hands and opening a drawer in his desk, “Thank you so much dear for bringing darling Miss Newalkar here. Here,” he handed Anjuli a small bag and slipped four rupees into her hand, “and take these sweets back to your Mataji, Mrs Paraiyars.”

Anjuli put her hands together and smiled, wobbling her head before leaving you alone to return outside back to her ox cart.

You had your hands pressed together peacefully while the doctor hobbled over to you from around the desk. He was smiling brightly and nodded his head to you, offering you a chair in front of the desk.

“Y/N thankyou for coming on such short notice. I requested your presence in person to offer you a job position.”

Your smile fell, you sheepishly explained to the man, “I am currently employed at the Anglo school Doctor, Babu.”

The doctor nodded, “Yes…Anjuli tells me you are still teaching the children English and Hindi?”

“Yes Doctor Babu,” you confirmed.

“How much are you paid per month?” he asked quickly, touching his lips lightly in thought.

“Twenty five rupees,” you said softly, you didn’t dare try to sound prideful.

The doctor smiled and pulled out a piece paper contract, he then stated, “I will pay you a hundred per month.”

Your eyes widened, and then narrowed. It was too spectacular to be true, it sounded Impossible. Your fathers pension was only a hundred and fifty rupees a year, for the doctor to give you a hundred per month was unfathomable wealth. What on earth was he wanting from you!?

“What is the position,” you swallowed breathlessly, “Doctor Babu?”

“Housekeeper and…a carer,” he sighed, “I need you to live here, and watch over one of my friends. He is from England and I am afraid he might not understand the customs here.”

He leant against the desk cocking his head and looking down at his feet awkwardly. “Please,” he begged, “he is different to other men. He is particular and perhaps rather spoilt. I need you to make sure he doesn’t get lost, harmed or too upset. It is pressing that I should return to my wife in Agra. I would have hired Mrs Paraiyars, in fact I did offer this role to her, but I have been informed she will be moving and her English is not as it once was…and my English friend is rather…particular and impatient with broken speech...”

He wrote a signature across the bottom of the document and held it out for you to read. It was real…your mouth watered. You could save more than your regular wage and easily move back to Indore without burdening your father or mother’s family.  

“If you accept my offer, you may live here as a free lodging, you recall where the servant quarters are I am sure? You will also receive a handsome budget for food. And-” he paused looking up and pocketing the cheque, he gasped, “Sherlock! Dear god man! Did you walk here from the train station?!”

You turned around in the chair and took in the sight of a familiar looking soul.

He was the gentleman from the road. The supposed businessman with his briefcase. He was taller standing here with you then when you sat above in the ox cart. He was standing in the doorway to the office. He stepped inside and lowered his walking stick and briefcase.

“My friend,” the handsome stranger gleefully called, “My dear John Watson, I came the moment I read your message. One of the khaki coated lads pointed me here.”

Up close now you could observe his features on a better judgement. Sherlock Holmes was well known in the British gazette for his distinct physical appearance. With his broad angular frame, sharp hard features, and mighty frame, he exuded a striking and intimidating aura that commanded respect. He reminded you of warriors you imagined before bed in story's of battles your father described at Jhansi Fort.

His face was marked by a strong, sharp pointed nose and intense, deep-set sapphire eyes. His hair was kept combed and short below his ears short and slicked back, revealing his angular eyebrows, and his pink lips that were tightly pursed. He wore a grand brown suit coat with a crisp white shirt, and woolen sweater vest beneath it. And at the base of his throat was a dark burgundy tie. Something about the time reminded you of blood. A cut throat. You felt cold.

His eyes smoothly shifted to you and your presence, his lips parted softly, he glanced back at John, “A patient of yours Doctor?”

The moustached man bristled and shook his head, he stuttered and leant his hand out to you. you carefully chose to take it and rise from the chair as he introduced you.

“Oh- I- Sherlock…um, Sherlock Holmes, I would like you to meet Miss Y/N Newalkar.”

“Miss Newalkar,” the doctor waved his hand over the figure of the giant stock of a man, “This is the very gentleman I was informing you about. This is my friend Detective Sherlock Holmes.”

You pressed your hands together and nodded in greeting. One of Sherlock’s brows raised and his lips hardened in a straight line.

Doctor Watson explained back to the detective, “I was in the middle of discussing whether this dear lady would like to accept a role of housekeeping during your stay here.”

“Whatever for?” Sherlock snickered, “Is your lady wife not up to par with her duties?” he shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked on his leather shoes while his eyes scanned all the way down to your bare feet. It was a crude look of judgement. The westerner seemed to forget not everyone shared the same styles and habits here. You tried not to roll your eyes at him as he scanned your arms and the parts of your belly that the saree did not cover.  Those dark blue orbs crawled up and settled over your faux sweetened smiling face.

“Some…plans have come up unexpectedly. Mary is back in Agra, staying safe with her family,” John stated, his fingers rubbed together, “I need to be with her. And the hospitals are in desire of my services as a surgeon. I ask that you will look around, see if you can find anything here…” he leant in closer and whispered to the man, “I will visit every couple of days, to check up on you and see if there is truth to be founded in my suspicions.”

'Suspicions?'

“John…” the detective pat his friends shoulder, “I am happy to see you. I promise I will do my very best.”

“Thankyou,” said the doctor.

Sherlock jerked his chin to your direction, “How much does the dear girl here know?”

“Well, I…not much,” the doctor blushed and looked back to you, “Miss Newalkar, your thoughts on the job position role?”

You swallowed and nodded slowly, “I accept the conditions, thankyou for your most gracious offering, Doctor Babu.”

The doctor smiled and carefully touched your back, leading you to the exist of his office as he happily stated.

“Splendid! Please, this is the contract. Sign it and return with your belongings later on a few hours while I converse with my friend and guest.”

You looked back at the mysterious Sherlock Holmes and back to the contract. You wobbled your head in goodbye and went on your way. The way you could feel his eyes over your body walking away made you shiver. He was a intimidateding looking man. You left the home and slipped your sandals on.

You thought about how you would now be the housekeeper of a prestigious British family in the community. A wave of relief to your stability washed over you. You didn’t need to crawl to your father and your mother’s family. You started smiling ear to ear. All you needed to do was take care of a house and baby-sit an Englishman who was vulnerable to these new lands.

“Did you see him go in?” Anjuli smirked from the ox cart, waving you over, “The British man you fancied?”

You jerked your chin up proudly exclaiming, “I met him.”

Your friend gasped with a wide smile, “What is he like?”

“I don’t really know,” you shrugged before waving the contract in front of your friends face, “but I am going to be his housekeeper, I need to inform the school of my resignation.”

Anjuli looked at the contract, she couldn't read english but made a light sad sound and sucked her teeth before sighing, “Oh, those children will miss you dearly.”

And that you could both agree. You grabbed the ox reigns and tapped its flank with the cane rolling back to the school again quickly to collect your last wage.

Helplines:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

[changenameno]

My Own (Chapter 1)

Summary:

Geralt finds himself once more on the path, gloomily looking at what lies ahead. And you? You had no one, no home and certainly no coin. Well that’d be something you had in common. No coin. You two are surely off to a great start… Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Fem. Nymph Reader

Warnings: 18+, death, blood, cursing, angst, MDNI (there may be smut in the future)

Word count: 1.5K A/N: This is my first attempt writing something that I’d actually post. Have been afraid to do so, for a very, very long time. It’s not proofread, any mistakes are my own. Please be kind, comments/rebblogs are very appreciated…Thank you❤️✨

Shout-out to the lovely @livesinfantasyland not only for her beautiful crafted moodboards (which you should totally check out!) but also her kind words of encouragement! One moodboard of yours especially sparked my writing muse, called “Bathing with the Witcher”. Thank you soooo much! You truly are a sweetheart, and I hope you will like this…

!The Witcher characters and world are not mine!

🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻 CHAPTER 1 Looking back you saw the castle ablaze with fire. Smoke spirals rising into the dark sky, only adding to the clouds above. Your home was burning to the ground before your very eyes and you could do nothing to save it.

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He grunted, reproachfully opening his yellow eyes. A new day was only just breaking, not even fully light yet. It had been another night on the road, without a job, without coin… Yesterday Geralt had tried selling the Kikimora to the alderman, who in turn had promised their mage would buy the beast. Turns out, Stregobor was just another weird wizard, talking nonsense about lesser evils. Then there had been Renfri, he didn’t actually think she’d leave Balviken but he wasn’t very prepared for the market fiasco either. Now he squinted at where his swords lay next to him. With the addition of a brooch attached to one them, it should serve as a reminder that something like that would never happen again. He slowly sat up, sore and still bloody. His thigh throbbed, there was a deep gash in his black breeches where Renfri had stabbed him. Vesemir would have scolded him for not taking care of his wound right away. Grunting once more, he got up and walked to where Roach was standing near a tree. She tried to nuzzle him and he let her, petting her sturdy neck then reaching into his saddlebags and grabbing a cloth and his least favourite potion. He didn’t bother sitting down, Geralt simply poured the liquid over the wound. “Rrgg f-fuck,” he grimaced. Once the excruciating pain had subsided a little, he wrapped the white cloth around his thigh, all the while breathing through his clenched teeth. Roach nickered softly, he turned his yellow eyes toward her and lifted one of his brows “Hey don’t be mean… I know I should’ve done that yesterday.” Suddenly his head whipped to the right, he had heard something on the other side of the clearing. Though he didn’t see anything yet, Geralt was sure that there was something or more likely someone behind that huge oak tree.  

                                                               Slowly and without making a sound he made his way over to his swords, picking the one closets to him and readying his fighting stance. His nostrils flared, the reason why he picked up the sword in the first place. That smell. Unnatural. A tinge of blood but also another very pleasant scent nearly overpowering his senses. He couldn’t pinpoint what exactly that scent was, but he’d never smelled anything like it. Though now that he was thinking about it more clearly, he remembered that he had smelled it before. It had been in the air, only a whiff but still the reason he woke up so early. That must mean whoever was hiding, had been there for some time now. Geralt lowered his sword, staring at the oak tree. Too tired and angry to come up with a refined plan he simply roared, “Show yourself!” With his luck, obviously nothing happened. Waiting a few more frustrating minutes, he finally made his way over to the oak tree. The dewy grass making his boots wet. As he reached the end of the clearing, he took step by soundless step around the thick tree trunk, once more sword at the ready. It was like watching a cat stalking its prey. Or so he thought. Before he could even lift his sword, a branch hit him square in the face and with such force, he stumbled backwards.

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It felt like your lungs were drowning, drowning in thick smoke. Even though the castle was dozens of miles behind you by now, it still felt like you couldn’t breathe. The cool night air doing nothing in aiding the battle of your burning lungs against your panic stricken system. They couldn’t get you. They couldn’t… Your mind supplied very unhelpfully, that they indeed could get you, because they had horses and were therefore a lot quicker than you. But you couldn’t stop. You had to get away, so you continued to stumble through the night. Then you heard it, the rumbling thunder of the rapidly approaching horses. “There she is! Quick, we’ve got her!” “Over here!!” The voices rang through the night. Before you could run any further, the riders of doom had circled you. Wide eyed and breathing heavily you looked around. Tall horses surrounding you, all of which were ridden by deadly armed men. There was no escape. Looking at the ground you saw a branch, so you swiftly picked it up. It was barely longer than your forearm, but still better than nothing. One of the man dismounted his horse chuckling, “Aaaw that’s adorable, we’ve got ourselves a fighter. But Princess don’t bother, we shall deliver you unharmed. Isn’t that right?” He laughed darkly and the other surrounding men joined in. Yet you refused to lower the branch, so he kept talking as if you were a scared little girl. Technically you were scared but surely you were no little girl.

His first mistake, dismounting his horse. His second, nearing you without drawing his weapon. And thirdly underestimating you. He couldn’t finish his next demeaning sentence before you hit him over the head with all the strength you could muster. A truly horrid scream and cracking sound followed, then his body hit the ground. Unmoving. One of the other men screamed: “That damned idiot, get her!!” You let yourself fall onto your knees, releasing the branch and putting both your palms on the ground. Digging your fingers into the dirt, you began to murmur, the only thing that could save you now. The men grew uneasy, as did the horses. “What is she doing?” “How should I know?” “Make her stop!!” Suddenly a piercing pain exploded on your right shoulder. An arrow had struck you. You whimpered but didn’t stop whispering. Then finally the ground began to shake. “What’s happening!?” The horses panicked and reared up, just as the first root shot up and knocked the three men closest to you off, of the back of their horses. The resounding thud as they hit nearby trees, let chaos further explode around you. Screams, shying horses, roots continuing to shoot from the ground, pain. It was deafening. And yet you didn’t hear anything, besides your own racing heart. Quickly you got up on wobbly feet, trying to breathe through the pain. With your left hand you struggled to get a hold of the arrow sticking out of your shoulder, but you only succeeded in breaking the shaft off. The resounding pain, made you howl loudly. “F-uck…”, you pressed out. Oddly enough right then everything had come to a halt. Spooked by what’d happed, all the horses had either run off on their own, or with more or less conscious riders still in the saddle. The remaining men strewn on the ground unmoving.

The roots now, nowhere to be seen, as if they hadn’t just been beating dozens of armed men unconscious. Only weirdly shaped holes in the ground, pointing to an unnatural maybe magically induced battle. You didn’t really care about that though. The most pressing matter was, getting away, so you steadied yourself and started walking as fast as you could manage. Because your shoulder blade throbbed with every step, you weren’t going very fast at all.

Still you soldiered on. And on… and on. Through the night. Numbed by exhaustion and the horror that came with your escape, you weren’t very aware of your surroundings. Just enough that you’d picked up the branch before you left, as a last defence against who knows what.

As you continued to stumble through the woods, the first ray of light penetrated the thick foliage overhead. So you came to a halt at the edge of a clearing, leaning against a huge oak tree and sinking to your knees. The exhaustion catching up, made you lay down on your left side to not further antagonize your injured shoulder.

You lay completely still, eyes closed, for about ten minutes only concentrating on your breath. Seconds before you could finally welcome the blessed unconsciousness of dreamland, a roar nearly made you jump out of your skin: “Show yourself!”

CHAPTER 2

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Taglist:

If you're interested in being on my taglist, please let me know! And if you want to be taken off (my taglist), feel free to tell me! ❤️✨

[changenameno]

Once more sooo pretty😍

I can picture them so well. Maybe they can’t spent so much time together during the day, because of their duties as King and Queen. So they sneak out of the caste, and love horseback-riding together through the night, when everything is more intimate and peaceful!!

Stunning as always👏👏❤️❤️✨

King Geralt of Rivia x Queen Reader

More Mood Boards

[resowrites]

Houndstooth - drabble request.

Summary: Henry asks for feedback regarding his latest role…

Pairings: AU!Henry Cavill x Reader/Wife!OC

Warnings: fluff, banter/British humour, fake message style, language, pet names, dialogue heavy, nondescript reader/OC body type/appearance, hastily written/lightly proofread.

WC: <1000

A/N: Remember, this is pure fiction (as in completely made up), and not in any way meant to reflect reality. My work must not be copied, reposted, or translated elsewhere. Gifs/pics not my own. I hope you all enjoy and thanks for visiting.

Houndstooth - drabble request.

To be updated on when I post please follow @resowrites and turn on post notifications.

@fanfictionaddiction99 @luclittlepond @caffeinatedfestivalsheep @summersong69 @ushijimbo @livesinfantasyland @jackjanira

[witchersmistress]

Little Lamb for Slaughter

Hello my darlings, reality pulled me away for some time and this dude almost ended up in my punish room.. little shit.. this was another request by @livesinfantasyland

Summary: its is a spring evening in 1884, Sherlock has taken on a rather difficult case. one that makes him question everything he though he knew about the Hudson Family.

Triggers warnings: loss of virginity, both male and female, illegal gambling, auctioning off of people, blood, tooth ache endusing sweetness. mentions of fire arm, after care.

Word count: 3.4 K

80. Sex as a performance/third person watches.

Sherlock’s POV

50 minutes south of London, we arrived at this gentlemen’s club in Reading. It was a seedy underground gentlemen’s club to which the man in question I am looking for happens to be there. With a reluctant sigh, I climb out of my carriage into the dimly lit streets.

Walking into the club, looking around as I made my way down the stairs, passed the illegal gambling tables, the long stage in the middle of the room, that men flock to as the women fly back and forth on the trapeze as men holler from the balconies above. Looking in the crowds for the unscrupulous character I was looking for, I found him indeed  Mr. Hudson, married to one Mrs. Hudson, the landlords of 221b Baker street.

Taking a glass of brandy, I sit in the corner, observing the room but watching him from the corner of my eye. Mrs. Hudson admitted her worry for her daughter, she was afraid that he was putting their daughter in harm's way, she was coming home with unexplained bruises and could barely look at her father, let alone be in the same room as him. So I've followed him for weeks and learned his schedule. He had a rather large gambling debt but yet he was still able to play at the tables. A rather large gentleman  came up to him and pulled him in my direction  “She is refusing to cooperate, make her” he hissed at him before shoving him off. He stumbled into a group of men and one helped him to his feet.

He pushed past men, and made his way for the stage. Getting up slowly I followed him to the stage and behind the curtain. “Go, leave” he yelled at the other women as they scattered away leaving just one. Pulling her crinkled picture from my pocket, I've looked at it countless times. She was a strong willed girl as her mother told me, with her chin held high, her beautiful hair coming down in waves on one side of her neck, she was indeed a beautiful woman. 

But the girl I see before me is not the girl  her mother described. Her body is hunched trying to make herself small and meek, her skin is red and blotchy from crying. My heart beats rapidly in my chest at the sight of this poor girl in distress. She has always been a sweet and shy thing, her cheeks always flushed pink whenever I caught her staring. She didn't realize that I was always watching her. 

Mr. Hudson grabbed her by her shoulders and pulled her to her feet “ you will do this child, we will be out of debt and your mother won't ever have to work a day in her life again” she sneered at him. “But my chances of a good marriage and my reputation will have gone out the window because you are selling my innocence to settle your gambling debts” she wrenched her shoulders from his grip and stood back from him. Her delicate hands balled up in fists at her side. She reached out and slapped him across the face.

She had a slight smirk on her face as he seethed at her. “Fine” he snarled “ I'll go and get your little sister, she’d fetch me a higher price than you” her face blanched at that comment. I knew of his other daughter, his illegitimate one. She was only 14 years of age. Unlike Evelyn, who is 10 years younger than I. My grip on my cane tightened as I took a step forward. “I'll do it, you leave her out of this” he nodded at her and “I'll let Mr Carnahan know” he strided away as her knees began to falter and she dropped to her knees. I desperately wanted to go pick her up and take her home but her father would go use his young daughter. Grabbing a black mask from a table. I put it on my face and turned away from her. I was off to find Mr. Carnahan.

I found him, he was at the gambling tables, he clapped Mr. Hudson on the shoulder as he walked away. I pursued him on the way to his office. Pushing my hair back and dawning on my half mask, I gave three sharp wraps to his office door before I proceeded in. He was sitting at his desk. “ I'd like to make a deal with you” he picked his head up and cocked a brow “ Come in, sit down my friend” sitting in front of his desk, he leaned back in his chair with a lit cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth. “ Who are you making a deal for?” I gave him a wicked smile “ Evelyn Hudson” he smiled back showing all his teeth. “Let's make a deal”

*few hours later* 

Sitting in the private room in the corner, only select men were allowed back here. The women came out and performed, Evelyn is the last one to perform. Sitting back letting the dark conceal my face. I watched as she made her way to the stage in a tight corset that enhanced her curves. Little shorts underneath it, and silk stockings held in place by straps attached to her waist. If she was afraid she didn't let it show. Her face remained blank as she took her place on that stage. Giving a slow spin to show off her figure as men yelled at her, my blood was boiling, as I watched her father sit in the corner of the room with a smug smile on his face that scheming bastard.

Adjusting myself in my chair to settle back in as men approached her and looked her over like she was nothing more than a piece of meat. Rubbing their hands over her body, I expected flinching and twitching but nothing. She was set in stone, unwavering and unmoving.  One man went to undo the strings of her corset but Mr. Carnahan stepped in “ Sorry gentlemen, she is for viewing only, she has been bought for the evening. Her eyes widened in fear as one of his men escorted her off the stage. Mr. Carnahan stood in front of the stage and clapped his hands together “Well gentlemen thank you all for coming, proceed down stairs to collect your winnings” Mr. Hudson was enraged “We had a deal damn it '' Mr. Carnahan just shrugged him off, “Someone came to me with a better offer, don't worry old boy you'll get a small fee for bringing her to me” her father threw an empty brandy glass across the room. Before storming out.

“Mr. Holmes” he drawled before he left the room “Stay here and one of my men will escort you down shortly "I stood rooted in my place as I watched him walk out that door. I was certainly going to hell for this but I had to protect her, I promised I would. 

Evelyn’s POV

I was waiting at my makeup table  just waiting to be summoned, fixing my makeup for the third time that night when one of his goonies came back for me. Looking at myself one last time, I put on my brave face and followed him. We went up the back staircase past the rooms that were used for when men collected their prices. You could hear the sounds of men and women grunting and groaning, a few women sobbing and begging for them to stop but no one ever helped them, that's just not how it worked here. We came to the last door at the end  of the hallway. The goon knocked three times before opening the door. This was his private room, it was lavished with deep reds and gold trim. Not my taste, I just had to bear  it long enough to get this over with. “Hello my darling” Mr. Carnahan drawled, my feet grounded to the floor, the blood running through my veins turning ice cold. 

No no no this couldn't be happening, this cant be the man my father sold me to, one of his guards grabbed my arm, and tried to pull me from my spot but I fought back. Scratching at the goon and trying to pry his hands off my arms. “That is enough '' a loud voice rang out “ I did not pay for a damaged girl. Mr. Carnahan this really can't be how you allow your men to treat them?” the sound of a cane thumbing against the floor as the footsteps drew closer. “No sir i can assure you that this won't happen again, it will be handled” the goon finally moved, allowing me to get a look at the man in question who had purchased me. His back was to me, he was tall, all dressed in black with a mop of curly hair on top of his head. He turned on his heels slowly, those mismatched eyes, both blue but one had some brown in it, which startled people. He was an extremely well known and respected man that stood before me, it was no other than Sherlock Holmes. My breathing hitched, my heart felt like it was in my throat, my palms began to sweat as he approached me. 

Dropping my gaze to the floor as I wiggled my toes in my satin slippers. A coarse knuckle that smelt of tobacco and some type of oil, followed the lines of my jaw before resting at my  chin and bringing it up so I could look at him. I narrowed my focus on the floor “My she is defiant isn't she?” he mused out loud. Mr. Carnahan laughed in the background as he continued to examine me. To anyone who wasn't personally familiar with Mr. Holmes would just assume that he was indulging in my appearance, he had to appropriate reactions, the slight lick of his lips, the hum of approval, the slight touching of my skin and clothes, but in all reality, he was scanning me for any marks or injuries. 

Mother has something to do with him beginning here no doubt. “Look at me” he ordered, I lifted my eyes up his frame, and resting on his tense gaze, his eyes softened  slightly. “She is perfect Mr. Carnahan, you may leave” Mr. Carnahan huffed “Gents hit the road” the goonies let me go and walked out of the room. “You too, Mr. Carnahan” the sounds of his footsteps getting closer “Did you really think that I was going to leave Mr. Holmes? You'd just wait till we were gone, take the girl and leave” His posture stiffened as he bit back “ I paid for her, you've received your money, what does it matter what I do with her” sherlock locked eyes with me and gave a gentle squeeze to my hip, i heard the familiar sound of a revolver cocking. My eyes widened in panic, but Sherlock remained calm. “ Do it Holmes or  your little lamb will be slaughtered” 

Sherlock’s POV

Her eyes widened when he threatened to shoot her, before I could say “I’ll do it Mr. Carnahan "I looked down at that girl, there she was, that fiery little thing. She grabbed my wrist and held fast. Reluctantly I relaxed my posture and let her lead me. “Excellent dear girl..” she spun and looked at him “ Not another word from you” he closed his mouth so fast you could hear the audible click of his teeth. She led me to the edge of the bed and pointed for me to sit. Toeing off my shoes as  she pushed my coat off my shoulders, grabbing her wrist to stop her. She spoke in a soft tone “ C'est bon, laisse-moi faire ça” It’s ok let me do this.  I narrowed my eyes at her as i glanced over at Mr. Carnahan, she smiled softly and carrassed my check  “ l'imbécile ne parle pas français, il disait que c'était une perte de temps d'apprendre une telle langue” the imbecile does not speak french, said it was a waste of time to learn such a language 

I let out a short laugh as I gazed over to her shoulder to wear while he sat, sipping his drink, watching us with a suspicious look. I looked back at her as she began to work on the buttons of my waist coat. Grabbing her right arm, I leave a trail of kisses up to her elbow, her cheeks turning a beautiful shade of pink “ Me fais-tu confiance?” Do you trust me? She looked at me absorbing the words before she responded “ Avec ma vie, M. Holmes” with my life, Mr. Holmes

Releasing her wrist, I move my hands down her waist down to her stocking covered thighs. Wrapping my hands around the back of her lush thighs, i pulled her up into my lap, she squealed and wrapped her arms around my neck to steady herself, letting out a soft chuckle, she leaned back her hands stilled laced together behind my neck, she smiled gently but there was an aspect of fear in them. “qu'est-ce qui ne va pas petit agneau?” what's wrong little lamb?

I question, as my eyes trailed up her delicious frame, settling on her ample chest. Settling one arm around her back, i reached up with my other hand as i started to undo the lace corset work 

“ Après ça, je serai ruiné pour tous les autres hommes, personne ne voudra jamais de moi, mais je garde ma petite sœur en sécurité” I'll be ruined after this for all other men, no one will ever want me, but I'm keeping my little sister safe" her shoulders dropped with a small sigh, her brown eyes looking straight into mine “ Je suis reconnaissant que ce soit toi Sherlock” I'm grateful that it is you Sherlock. She continued to undo the lace of her corset as i watched her, i picked her head up and really looked at her “Le plaisir est pour moi, je ne l'aurais de toute façon pour aucun de nous” The pleasure is mine, i would not have it either way for either of us” her eyes widened as i stood up with her, ripping the covers off the bed  and placed her higher up on it as i crawled up her body and devoured her mouth. 

A sharp wolf whistle came from behind us, and she froze. “Les yeux sur moi petit agneau” Eyes on me little lamb. She looked at me as I opened up her corset and pushed it off her shoulders. Lowering my head to her stomach, I started a trail up her body, paying close attention to her ample cleavage and neck before capturing her lips again. She reached up, ripping off my tie and tearing the buttons of my shirt. It went flying to the floor with her corset and stockings, I began to undo my trousers and slide them down my legs and discard them on the floor with the rest of my belongings, hesitating on her knickers, she gave me a sharp nod and I pulled them off. I took a moment to take her in, she was absolutely breathtaking. “tu es belle” You are beautiful 

Her cheeks tinged pink, i drew the blanket up around my back to cover her exposed body from Mr. Carnahan. He scoffed but I ignored him and just focused on her. Lining my cock with her wet entrance i looked at her “Je suis vraiment désolé mon agneau, ça va faire mal” I'm so sorry lamb, this is going to hurt  “C'est bon, je suis en sécurité avec toi” It's ok, I am safe with you.

I leaned down and kissed her as I thrusted my hips forward, she let out a cry against my lips. I froze in place as her inner walls squeezed and clenched around me. A few tears rolled down her face. I kissed them away and kept apologizing to her. “ respire petit agneau,Je vais déménager maintenant. Restez avec moi ” Breathe little lamb, I am going to move now stay with me”  rocking my hips back and forth in a gentle motion, she hissed out her discomfort, pulling up her right leg so it was bent at her knee, i wrapped it around my back and continued to move. Her pained whimpers, slowly turned into breathy moans. “ Plus?” More as I watched her body flushed with heat and excitement “ oui s'il te plaît plus” Yes please more. She dropped her leg from my back and opened them wider for me as I picked up my pace. Her small arms came up my back at my waist and she dug her nails in.

 she chanted my name like it was an endless prayer. Her walls were like a vice, i could barely pull in and out of her anymore, she changed betweening chanting my name to say oh my god in french. Her hips met mine, thrust for thrust and she never let up. Arching her back off the bed as her eyes rolled in the back of her head, I could feel a rush of wet heat cover my aching cock, thrusting faster as she rode out the waves of her orgasm, the pressure was building at the base of my spine and my balls tightened.the thread of tension snapped as i came inside her, my movements slowing down and becoming jerky, i withdrew from her wet heat gently as possible, looking down as i pulled out, i saw the blood that was on my cock, her inner thighs and the bed sheets. Moving gentle off the bed, with my back to Mr. Carnahan, I drew the covers up to her chin. “Stay, do not move,” she nodded as I placed a kiss on her forehead and moved to step into my trousers. Turning to face him “You are done here” he sighed and unfolded his hands “I suppose you are right” he stood to take his leave from the room “Send in a girl with some warm water and towels and the rest of her things” he looked back and nodded at me “ Of course sir right away, enjoy your evening Mr. Holmes.”

Moving back to the bed, I grabbed my discarded shirt off the floor and offered it to my little lamb “Are you alright?” I asked as I helped her sit up, her lower lip trembled and she let out a shuddering breath. “What happens now?” she looked at me unshed tears clinging to her lashes

“Do i become some common whore that roams the streets at night to just barely get by” my face fell as i pulled her into my bare chest and let her sob. Three sharp knocks and the door opened “ Excuse me Mr. Holmes but Mr. Carnahan sent me with the rest of the items and her belongings. "She placed the bowl of warm water on the bedside table and her clothing on the chair. Is there anything else that I can get you?” I looked at her from over my shoulder. “Yes, have a carriage waiting here in 15 minutes”  She curtsied and left the room, the door shut with an audible click.

 “Lay back little lamb and let's get you cleaned up” I stood and dipped the rags into the water before it began to cool. She laid back down and spread her legs for me. I ran the cloth down both her thighs and rinsed it before I started on her sensitive area, she hissed at the contact. “A warm bath will do wonders for those sore muscles of yours” she nodded and just watched me as i dried her off then was the blood off myself. She didn't speak as I helped her into her dress and covered her with my coat.

We made our way down from the private rooms, through the gambling room where her father was, being arrested along with a handful of men. Mr. Carnahan wasnt amongst them as we walked up the stairs to our waiting carriage. Putting her bags in the back and opening the door “Where are you taking me?” she asked in a small voice, holding the door open for her i extended my hand to her  “Home, we are going home” she looked at me with confusion “Into the carriage, it's a long ride back to London'' she climbed in and i climbed in after her. The carriage pulled away from the building and started on our journey home “ the deal that i made with your mother in exchange for bringing down your father i got something in return, she looked up at me and cocked her brow, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear “ you little lamb, i get you” 

[munstysmind]

MADDISON

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YOUR WEAKNESS

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STEPPING UP

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[ladylaviniya]

Sir Sherlock Holmes & The Indian Princess MasterList

शर्लक बाबू और भारतीय राजकुमारी

Story Summary: It's 1890 in the height of the British Raj occupation of India you are unexpectedly hired as the housekeeping attendant of Detective Sherlock Holmes. The mystery he must solve is the death of his best friend's parents. Cultural differences might bring you closer than ever before.

Pairing: Sherlock Homes x Newalkar!reader

Story Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Dark!Content, Kama Sutra, Religion, Religious Icons, Murder, Poison, Death, implied Genocide, Racial Discrimination, Loss of Virginity, Loss of Innocence, Rough Sex, Humiliation, Kink, Sword fights, Outdoor Sex, Age Gap, Royalty, Generational Trauma, Daddy Issues, Internalised Misogyny, Sexism, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Spanking.

Author Notes:

★The Reader character goes by the last name Newalkar and is the daughter of Damodar Rao Newalkar → the adopted son of Rani Laxmibai. I must advise this story is pure fiction but based in the occupation of the British Raj that invaded and Colonised India.

★This story may contain scenes that provide a "White Saviour" theme. The reader is a strong character but Sherlock does have white privilege.

★I am a White European/Australian woman, I apologise for any cultural or historical inaccuracies. I am receiving help from online sources and desi Tumblr mutual @livesinfantasyland and I heavily encourage other Indian/South Asian/Desi readers to share their thoughts, constructive criticism and help as I write this story.

★I would like to express the knowledge that I do not approve or perform of any of the actions the characters of this fanficition demonstrate.

★This story is not fit for every viewers eyes and it will be glorifying acts of trauma and of characters that shouldn't be in reality.

★If you do not wish to see this content please block #SHTIP (scroll and you'll find it is the first tag.)

★This story might be alarming and severely upsetting for people who have had experiences with racial discrimination, misgonistic sexism, religious trauma and sexual coercion.

★If you'd like to be included in or removed from the Taglist, please comment below

★Chapter List★

Chapter 1 - Word Count: 6k

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★Helplines★:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

[witchersmistress]

@livesinfantasyland