#milky fics

[milknhonies]

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.

#desi!reader #desi reader #henry sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x poc!reader #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes x ofc #sherlock holmes #Sherlock Holmes x desi!reader #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill fic #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x female reader #henry cavill x y/n #henry Cavill x desi! reader #dead dove fic #dead dove do not eat #shtip #milky fics #enola holmes sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes enola holmes

[christinarowie332]

“sit on my fucking face .”

chris sturniolo x reader (smut)

requested !

warnings : language , smut , pov switching .

not proof read

———

“yo y/n are u listening right now?”

i’m snapped out of my trance i was in by matt’s voice , i snap my head towards him on the couch we were sat on . realising i have literally just been staring at chris opposite me .

“yeah sorry , just zoned out , carry on” i reply while turning my body towards him , tucking one leg under the other so i’m half cross legged . i glance back at chris , noticing a small smirk he has on his face , his eye brows twitch before he breaks the eye contact and looks at matt . i follow his gaze .

“as i was saying , imma drive nick to the airport to pick up nate , but the house is a mess so you and chris should stay here and clean it up a bit , we will be gone for a while cause of the traffic so you have plenty of time” matt explains to us , moving his gaze from me and chris . everytime he looks at chris , i also look at chris , his nose and lips are kinda red from the cold , god i want my thighs wrapped-

“Y/N!?”

fuck

“yeah sorry matt ,” i turn my head towards him

“what did i just say?” matt asks while slumping into the couch pillows , rolling his eyes .

“clean the house ? picking up nate , me and chris stay . we have a long time” i reply , a blush creeping to my cheeks as i feel my heart race .

matt shakes his head and gets up from the couch , he says something but honestly i was too busy thinking about chris , how his eyes would look from below me , blown out , rolled back in his head , mouth covering my-

“which rooms do u wanna start on”

chris’s voice booms , snapping me away from my thoughts .

“uh . idk …. the kitchen and your room are the only messy ones , so let’s just start with the kitchen i guess” i reply back , trying to shake away the tremble in my voice .

“you okay ?” he says taking a step forward , face painted with concern , tilting it sideways , crossing the room to stand infront of me .

i take a shakey breath in before speaking, my bestfriend inches away from me , being so sweet but all i can think about is suffocating him with my-

“there is is again.”

“what ? there’s what again?” he fully has my attention now , my face being just as confused as him.

he laughs slightly and searches in my eyes , jumping between them rapidly. “you keep just going somewhere else … what are u thinking about?”

oh idk chris , your face pressed against my-

“i’m not thinking of anything chris , i’m perfectly okay !” i reply instead . laughing awkwardly to try and deminish the growing tension.

“sure” he drags out , taking a step back , “i’m gonna pretend i believe you” he continues , shaking his head and turning around to the kitchen , i exhail once he turns , closing my eyes and relaxing my shoulders .

i follow him to the kitchen , bending down to go in the cubbord, grabbing a bin bag and the rest of the cleaning stuff .

chris’s pov:

i turn around from the fridge i was grabbing drinks from , to see y/n slowly crouch down to the bottom cubbord .as she meets the floor , knees tucked into her chest , i see her thighs flatten , getting squashed slightly between her calves at the pressure . god to have those wrapped around my head , they’re so fucking-

“hey chris?” i remove my eyes from her ass and meet her gaze as she turns to look at me .”do you know where matt put the disinfectant, it’s not in here?”

the light from the window is perfectly hitting her face , making her glow , how the fuck does she do that-

“hellooooo ???” i blink a couple times and scrunch my eyebrows in confusion, “disinfectant chris ? where is it?” she continues.

“oh right . um . idk probably in the garage” i shrug my shoulders and look away from her , turning around and staring to shove the rubbish into a bag she threw over to me .

i hear her leave and turn around , leaning against the counter closing my eyes . i quickly get lost in my own thoughts . she’s been looking at me today , i’m not going crazy right ? so if i just ask? no . she’s my bestfriend, i can’t do that . what if she’s been looking at me because she knows i’ve been looking at her , imagining my face inbetween her legs , i bet she sounds so nice when she moans . fuck.

i look down to see my dick , half hard . FUCK .

y/n pov :

as i reach the garage . i stop in my tracks . he was definitely staring my my ass right ? no what if he was just looking at the floor . i can only ask . but what if he freaks out and gets all weird .

fuck it

i make my way to the kitchen , faster then i’ve ever walked , and freezing when i get there . where the fuck is this kid ?

i turn around and see the bag placed on the top of the stairs , look back at the kitchen and it’s clean , so he probably just went to start on his room .

i start walking towards the stairs to his room , slowly creeping down them , reaching his door and knocking .

“yeah come in”

i hear this and immediately walk in . he meets my eyes and gets up from his bed . i slowly walk towards him anxiously, trying to think of a way to bring up the fact i want to literally ride his face . even thinking it sounds insane .

“bro , what is up with you today ?” he asks and my eyes peel away from the floor .

“i wanna ride your face” my eyes immediately widen , hand slapped over my mouth . why the fuck did i just say that . i bet he hates me . oh my god i just fucked up our entire friendship . what the fuck do i say now-

“all you had to do was ask ma” my eyes meet his again watching a smirk crawl onto his face , he snakes a hand to my waist and pulls me into him , smashing our lips together . i put both hands on his chest and walk him back wards to the bed , not once breaking the now heated makeout .

the moment i feel him hault and meet the end of his bed i pull away and push him down . i take off my tank top and throw it to the side , watching him crawl backwards to the top of his bed .

“you have no idea how much i’ve been wanting this” he says as he watches me , leaning back on his elbows , looking at me while i take off my sweatpants , and walk to the side of his bed .

his eyes trail down my body , and i feel a wave of embarrassment hit me , he is still fully clothed , he notices this and tilts his head “do u want me to take this off baby?” his voice croaky and gruff , making my core grow even wetter .

i nod my head before climbing onto the bed , straddling his lap and helping him peel his top over his head . i can feel a hard object pressing against my pussy , looking down at it and meeting his eyes , him also looking down , noticing it the same time as me , “you really did want this huh?” i tease , tilting my head and smirking , matching his energy.

“shut up” he laughs out before grabbing my face and bringing his lips to mine again , i hold his face , elbows supporting me as i deepen the kiss . his hands run down to my ass , down to my thighs , making me arch my back and hum into his mouth.

we stay like this for a while , our kiss growing more aggressive and needy by the second , tongues battling relentlessly , before he moves his mouth down to my collarbone , biting and leaving open mouthed kisses , for sure leaving some nasty marks

“sit on my fucking face” me whispers into my neck , i pull away , out of breath . his eyes completely blacked out with lust . nose red and lips swollen.

“gladly”

with that sit up and slowly push my underwear down , he watches and helps me pull them down while still on the bed .

i make my way to his face neck , hovering over him , suddenly feeling anxious . he rolls his eyes before grabbing my thighs and pulling me over his jaw . basically suffocating him under my pussy.

his nose immediately hits my clit , drawing out an embarrassingly loud moan from my mouth, grabbing the head board for stability.

he licks a long stripe though me , before landing on my clit and wrapping his wet lips around it . my hand flys to his hair , gripping it tightly , making him grunt , sending vibrations through my core as he continues to explore my pussy with his mouth .

my legs start to shake , as i’m still not putting my whole weight oh him , noticing this he pulls me down by my hips , forcing me to fully sit on his face . i start to move my hips forward and back wards , using his nose and tongue as friction.

“FUCK CHRIS” i scream out as me shoved his tongue deep into my pussy , causing my thighs to close slightly , trapping him inbetween my legs .

“keep talking , i want to hear you ma” he says out of breath , fingers replacing his tongue as he gets his breath before re- attaching his tongue to my clit , flattening it and shaking his head sideways.

“fuck-FUCK CHRIS, i’m gonna FUCK” is all i got out before the knot snaps in my stomach , feeling shocks fill my entire body as i clench around his fingers . coming undone ,all over his face whimpering , eye’s clenched together and my jaw falling slack.

i slow down my movements,grinding against his face as a ride out my high , before i see chris face lift , his nose and chin practically dripping with my arousal . a huge teethy smile plastered on his face as he heaves out breaths . the cold air hitting my wet clit , making my body shudder .

“holy fuck chris” i say before removing my pelvis from his face , throwing my body down to sit next to him , back against the head board my chest rising and falling . i laugh out of breath and look down at him , him allready watching me from below , still smiling while trying to catch his breath.

“i meant what i said when i said i was a munch” is all he manages to say before i throw a pillow at his head rolling my eyes and laughing

“oh shut the fuck up chris”

—————-

me writing this knowing i’m terrified of doing anything in this oneshot ! (including the cleaning, i am not a house wife !)

really hope i did anon proud with this ! love u all

-🍼

—————-

tglst:

@mangosrar @azkabanstar @bluesturniolo333 @urmyslxt @littlebookworm803 @strniohoeee @biimpanicking @parkerssecrets @soursturniolo @lividnity @kenzieiskoolaid @sssturniolofart @cybrrrs1ut @freshlovehacker @f4iry-dvst @sturniololvr12 @tcvazq @lovingsturniolo @def-livv @deatthmatch

#chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo #milkietalks #nicolas sturniolo #milkie is down bad #chris sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fic #matt sturniolo edit #matt sturniolo x you #christopher sturniolo toxic #chris sturniolo oneshot #chris sturniolo x you #sturniolo smut

[asleepyy]

hihi!!! i love ur oopsie omens work so much n not to be weird i may or may not have scrolled through some of ur ao3 bookmarks n read most of them,,,, (hope thats not creepy but oh well)

ANYWAYS u have amazing taste in fics (all the hurt/comfort was SO GOOD) do u have any more good omens fic recs along those lines that u enjoy?? :0

Oh man!! there are so many i wish i could recommend to you without this post getting super long, but here are a few! (anyone with @/ has an account on tumblr, i just didnt want to bother them with the tag!)

You never had a heart by @/hotcrosspigeon

Nearer to Thee by @/canolacrush

Hell Freezes Over by @/CharlieBrown1234 and Turcote (@/Thepaisleyelf)

The Whole Sky Fell by Turcote (@/Thepaisleyelf)

#ask #anon #good omens #fic #fanfic #fic rec #milky talks

[miilkybnn]

"I," Soap pressed their lips together again, chuckling into the kiss, "So I impressed you?"

Roach couldn't help but give a small laugh of his own back into the kiss, pulling back just long enough to say, "Very much so," before his lips were captured by Soap once again.

He’s so in love with him he looks so stupid <33 anyways read “Letters to Love” by @fixfoxnox for clear skin and stupidly in love SoapRoach

#THEYRE ACTUALLY SO STUPIDLY IN LOVE I CANT STAND THEM (pos) #I love them with my whole heart actually #they got me giggling and kicking my feet #gary roach sanderson #john soap mactavish #soaproach #cod soap #cod roach #soap x roach #fic fanart #letters to love #I’ll add the standard tags even tho it’s au #cod #call of duty #cod fanart #milky art #my art #also the drawing is not scene by scene my hand worked faster than my brain and next thing I realized it wasn’t how it exactly played out 😭 #bug and bubbles

[ad0rechuu]

★ MILKY WAY. ━━ (059) milky way

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NOTES. one more chapter… :0

TAGLIST. @bunnystrm @seongwin @aestheticsluut @meginthebuilding27 @gaebestie @stopeatread @pr1ncessm1ng1 @persphonesorchid @se0nghwaswife @seonghwasslytherin @leeknowsnothing @alixnsuperstxr @bluehwale-main @miriamxsworld @tocupid @rieuvie @sunoo-bby @jcngh0-hq @dudufodd @nikisbf @mrowwww @end0rchans @qtdenks @mintgki @dear-dreamie @leo-seonghwa @evilsailorsenshi @seonghwaddict @choichaeyiul @iw4milf @yunstarz @cvberidiot @not2daym8 @tubatu-wari-wari @sunshine1438 @jaehunnyy @brrrkdslek @whippedforbeomgyu @amara-mars @crvzy-fujoshi @hyuk4ngel @atinyinateezverse @nickiminajleftasscheek

#★ milky way — smau #ad0rechuu — works #cromernet #ateez #ateez social media au #ateez x reader #seonghwa #seonghwa x reader #san #san x reader #mingi x reader #san smau #seonghwa smau #ateez smau #mingi smau #ateez au #ateez fic #kpop smau #kpop social media au

[gojos-thot-patrol]

Milky Thoughts TM my dudes. I'm back again. ;) Thinking about Gojo finding out you think he's hot when he's covered in blood, his eyes a little crazed, and the fact that he could kill you gets you warm beneath your collar. You're with him after a mission and he's finished letting off some steam. He helps you up from the ground, when you meet his eyes your face flushes and you can't help but look away trying not to stutter and hide your burning face. - Gojo's Milker

MILKYYYYYYYY MILKY OH MY GOD-

Okay, so maybe Gojo had gone a little too hard on those assholes. The fine red mist around him was a testament to that. Normally he wouldn't dream of losing his temper like that, but when those bastards had the audacity to touch you, he-

he lost himself for a second.

He wiped the blood off his face before going to find you, still on the ground, still trying to catch your breath. You looked up as he towered over you, celestial eyes still darkened with something unfamiliar too you. You felt the heat burn up your face as you realized- he should wear red more.

"Sorry about that Angel," He groaned as he crouched down, reaching a hand out to you, "Got a little carried away there, didn't I?"

He doesn't like that you won't look at him. That your face jerked away from his gaze. Did you see him differently now? Would you still love him? He's more aggressive then he intended to be as he grips your chin, forcing you to look into his crazed eyes.

Ohhhh. Oh Oh Ohhhhh. He took in the way you bit your lip and how your thighs pressed together and realized the reason you wouldn't look at him wasn't because you thought less of him now. quite the contrary.

"Like what you see?" He teased, lifting up his blindfold to wink at you.

"No! W-well, I mean, yes but, n-not like-" You struggled to come up with coherent thoughts. He grinned as he helped you to your feet, then quickly had you in his arms, pressing his growing hard on into your wet, covered core.

"Don't worry Angel, you don't got to explain anything," He hummed with a smirk, "I know exactly what you need."

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #gojo x reader #suggestive #satoru gojo x reader #milky thoughts™️ #milky anon #god this could have been a whole fic....it might become one after kinktober

[cosmica-candy]

Hello and welcome to the first and if it's a chapter of the cookie run au: Love & anguish! The snippet that I posted a few days ago is actually just a draft introductions aside. Please enjoy:

Chapter one:

The Nest he never knew

Deep space, sugar star belt, 12:38 am, Xylitol time.

Xylitol Nova Cookie was walking quietly down a lone and sterile corridor, looking down to a little notepad in his hand. Today, like always, was another busy day on Planet Xylitol, and for its leader it was busier still.

But Nova didn't let it worry him. He was a leader after all, and it was his duty to make life better for his people.

He looks down to the tasks left on the notepad.

"Visit and Assess the Repair Ward." [×]

"Visit and Assess the Ship Docks." [×]

"Visit and Assess the Housing Wing." [×]

"Visit and Assess the Lounge Wing." [×]

Check, check, check… Double check… Checkmate…

He flipped through everything once more, scanning for anything that he hadn't gotten to yet. He was sure that he had at least 86% of his work done but..

"Visit Children's and Infant Hospital Wing" [ ]

An un-checked line..

READ THE REST HERE

⚠️ IMPORTANT NOTICE⚠️

The account linked with the fanfiction has adult content associated with it

Chapters with these symbols mean that these are not safe for work pieces not intended for minors to read.

Chapters with these labels are safe for younger audiences!! For my younger readers please please please stay to the G and T labels

Most of the content on this A03 isent assosiated with L&A, but is instead its own thing. Youre free to read as you wish, but know that if you want strictly L&A content, use this tag!

#milkys art #cookie run #cookie run ovenbreak #xylitol nova cookie #crob fanart #crob fic #Cookie run fic #cookie run kingdom #crk #cookie run oc #croc #crk au #cookie run au

[milky-aeons]

๋࣭ ⋆｡ °✩ i will finish the results section of my thesis today. i will finish the results section of my thesis today. i will finish the results section of my thesis today ๋࣭ ⋆｡ °✩

#manifesting this for myself this evening #send me your strength babies !! #me when my thesis is due on friday and i havent started the discussion weeps #dm me im just destressing on the dash !! #why is it when i need to do things i want to write a 10k fic why #the creative muse isn't fair #🤍 — milky mutters

[skylar-the-twig]

My fic in a nutshell.

(Bonus sketches under read more)

Bonus:

#this is for the people waiting for the next chapter of my fic #it’s in the process of being written #will be out sometime soonish #made this when I was cooking up this fic #milky way forgiveness #kirby #magolor #marx kirby #marxolor #marxolor fanart #magolor fanart #kirby marx #my art

[milkyeudaemonia]

✎ — MY MELODY ; lee jihoon

synopsis. waking up in the middle of a thunderstorm alone is no one’s idea of perfect but your husband provides plenty of heartwarming moments. pairing. jihoon x afab! reader genre. fluff content. idol! au, parent! au, short, established relationship, soppy moments i cherish tons, reader (and child) have a fear of thunderstorms wc. 606 words, 3.4k characters

MILKY’S NOTES . . . sobbing, throwing up, rolling on the floor, you’ll hear from me again in about 5 working business days

—

a deep rumbling smothered seoul as the night sky thundered once more, cracks of static lightning shooting down from oblivion. before you’d gone to bed with your husband at your side, you’d vehemently ignored the weather forecast that spoke of thunderstorms during the night. “are you sure you’ll be okay?” you remember your husband asking, his tone worrisome as his furrowed brows looked across the room in your direction, where you was changing into nightwear. you had laughed, waving him off with your hand as you climbed into your shared bed.

another crack and rumble shook the house momentarily and your eyes shot open, your whole body sitting up quick enough to give you whiplash as your adjusting eyes took in how the illuminated room faded back into routine darkness. blindly, your left hand dragged across the sheets towards jihoon’s side of the bed. the endeavour ended with your fingertips left empty, confusing you. the time on your phone said 1:14am, so where was your husband?

panicking as another rumble echoed above the house, you threw your legs over the side of the bed - not even slipping your feet into your slippers - and hurriedly left the bedroom to seek out your husband’s comfort. your shaking frame stumbled door to door, checking every one of them for signs of life. jihoon’s office? no. your art studio? no. the second floor hallway was lit up by another strike of lightning and your heart lept into your throat, your body instinctively stumbling into your daughter’s room to see if she was okay.

the figure of her body in bed was much larger than usual, as if two people were snuggled up under her disney princess sheets. you blinked the sleep from your eyes, hearing hana’s whimpers followed by the familiar, lulling sound of your husband’s voice, singing one of his songs softly.

“영원한 사랑이 있다면,” you recognised the song to be ‘to you’ which you’d stated multiple times was a favourite of yours, “그건 당신이겠죠.”

you let out a sigh of relief that you’d finally found your husband amongst all of your suffocating panic. the sheets moved and your eyes met with his. your daughter was curled up into his chest, her head barely making it to the crook of his neck. her small hands were gripping his shirt, bunching the material up in fists.

pink lips curved into a gentle smile at the scene, one of jihoon’s hands rubbing hana’s back rhythmically. faintly, you could make out jihoon smiling back at you in the darkness.

“i’ll come back to bed soon.” he murmured out into the cherished silence that had fell between not only the three of you but the entirety of seoul at that moment. your fingers at your sides fiddled with the material of the shirt you was wearing to bed - one of jihoon’s shirts - and you nodded, almost child-like as the state the thunderstorm put you in wore off.

“do i get a song sang to me too?” you joked playfully, eyes glittering as jihoon chuckled softly, his eyes squeezing shut at the gesture, “it’s only fair.”

“you don’t have to ask baby.” jihoon hummed, his hand stilling on hana’s sleeping body as he realised she’d fell asleep in the absence of his voice and the thunderstorm.

taking in the scene once more, your heart swelled. your husband had come to comfort hana in the absence of you being awake, the second most precious female in his life. as you stumbled tiredly back to your bedroom, the smile on your lips stayed ever present at what a wonderful father he’d become.

#— svt: lee jihoon #milky writes ➝ seventeen #seventeen #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #lee jihoon #woozi #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fic #seventeen oneshots #seventeen x reader #x reader #milkyeudaemonia

[milknhonies]

Wails of Wedded Bliss

Chapter 5 || Masterlist || Chapter 7

Chapter Summary: A carriage ride to Groveland parks leaves you and Sherlock in a snippy mood.

Pairing: Sherlock Homes x wife!reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, domestic abuse, No sex, (mentions of past events) .

Word Count: 9k

Author Notes: This took a while. I'll be posting chapter 7 very soon.

Inspiring Song: "Achillies" by Gang of Youth

7:01am Wednesday 7th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England

Early day on the street of London was a thick blanket of fog and horse cabs awaiting their clients. People in uniforms marched the streets, servants and servicemen that did not have lodgings with their employers.

Sherlock and you avoided the mud and horseshit on the cobblestones, stepping carefully. His hand was strong, cupping yours as you lifted your skirts above the stench. The floor path was filthy and the boy who usually scrapped the dung of the road was not to be seen so early in the day.

You shivered slightly at the cold breeze. Your jacket was not as warm as you had believed. You felt a pity for the sight of maids passing you both without even a shawl to protect them, their faces were flushed and pink, they cupped their bare hands and blew hot breath into them. You were grateful for your gloves.

You wondered if anyone down here in the street could’ve heard your shrieking up in the 221B apartment. You weren’t particularly quiet not holding back your screams. Your warm flesh was a fresh reminder that your detective husband walking so nobly and leading you was in fact a sexual deviant.

Sherlock wrinkled his nose and was careful not to plant his walking cane into any muck.

As you stepped closer to a hansom cabriolet, Sherlock pinched your elbow and walked you both closer to a hackney coach behind the latter.

“Jarv! I dare say! Jarvey!” Sherlock called up to the driver sitting on top. The man fixed his uniform cap and peered down at you both from the height.

“Where are you off to sir?” the driver called down.

Your husband smiled and opened his coat, his fingers slid into his pocket as he stated, “To Groveland Park, Southgate.”

Your eyes widened, from baker street it was a feet of travel one normally wouldn’t take. You were sure your own husband had to have been mistaken.

“Sherlock,” you softly informed while gently touching his arm “that’s over an hour away.”

He ignored you. His thumb skated across your back softly.

“Of course sir,” the driver nodded, “that should cost you one crown and a tanner.”

Your lips tightened, it was such a large expense. Now you really started to regret using your dowry to pay of Sherlock’s selfish debts. Why the hell was he taking you both across country side!?

The detective saw your disapproval and smiled, patting your hand he exclaimed, “Fret not wife, the expense is reimbursed by Scotland Yard.”

He gave the driver half the require costs from his pocketbook before he opened the door of the carriage for you. As you climbed inside, you jumped with a noise feeling his hand squeeze your backside.

You hissed as you sat on the leather seat. You tried to maneuverer your body to sit mostly on your hip. As he climbed in and sat across from you after shutting the carriage door, you pinned him down coldly with your gaze.

He returned an expression beaming in smirtle and tapped the roof with his cane, “Drive on Jarvey!”

You felt the carriage move with a jolt and sighed as the horse carried you through London’s different roads and pathways. You looked out the window and sighed as the carriage circled down the Regent Park and past the Zoo. You had never been to a zoo in your life, your grandmother stated it was too filthy and uncouth to stroll in pens merely to gaze at queer animals from different countries.

You tried not to stick your head out the window as you kept your eyes on the entrance gates you passed. Now that you lived so close and were a married woman with free time...you pondered if Sherlock would permit you a visit.

He was watching you the entire time. A soft smile came to his face. He took a glance out the window with you.

“I presume you’ve never been?”

Your eyes flickered between him at the steel zoo fencing and you timidly nodded, “I have always wondered what a lion looks like to the real gaze, my father promised to take me when I was a girl but-” you drifted off into silence and looked away from the window.

But he abandoned you for a cold woman in a opportunistic marriage...you hadn’t seen him for years.

“My grandparents would never approve,” You stuttered.

He nodded slowly with his silent thoughts and did not question you further.

You sighed, if you had known the journey would be to Groveland Park, you would’ve brought a novel with you to read. You cupped your hands and leant your head back.

As the cobblestones turned to soft mud and dewy grasslands you heard Sherlock finally clear his throat.

“Dear wife,” he said leaning back, racing his eyes all over your body, “What do you actually know of the Pennicott case? What details have come to light for you?” He spoke with balance.

You pursed your lips and blowed slowly. You didn’t want this to be another test of Sherlock in which he might insult you. You pinched your gloved finger and stated factually, “I recall hearing the Baron went missing a week or two ago. He took a ride on a horse in the middle of the night from his home and then sighted on a ship in Limehouse headed supposedly to France. That’s what the papers say. Then the information you shared with me this morning. You said he made a profit in his company?”

Sherlock nodded and shut the carriage windows. The light darkened the pair of you. Now your eyes adjusted to watch his face as he retold in secrecy, “Yesterday, while at the New Scotland Yard office building I decided to investigate his warehouse expenses. He was making a profit, he was destined to achieve a beating record.”

Lord Pennicott owned the largest suppliers of metal works and machinery parts, ranging from trains, to ships to food cans, to weapons.

“He partakes business often with the Vanderbilt family, very new money in the past thirty years, yes?” you noted aloud. American royalty.

There was talk of Vanderbilts heirs coming to marry English society members, Pennicott was a frequent mention in business.

Sherlock nodded and huffed, “His consultants were blithering idiots however who had barely any insight to his personal life. He was quoted being a private man...what they knew of him was that he was about to have his sixth child. I believe it is time his wife to be questioned. She has given a small testimony to the police already, but I have been offered to consult in this case by Scotland yard...and it is you that officially provoked my interest.”

Your eyes narrowed, “Me?” you exclaimed with disbelief.

He had been so hot headed the last time the topic was even mentioned. You hadn’t dared ask about it again.

“Yes,” he rubbed his hands together, “you.”

You looked at him with apparent annoyance, “Shall you elaborate how it is I that provoked you?”

He chuckled sheepishly, “because you made a an inquiry and berated me when I told you to pay attention on other matters...” His eyes glanced to the floor of the carriage before meeting yours, “I may have...reflected...and deemed it the necessary duty to follow up on the imbeciles of England’s detective division. You are perhaps not as dim as I took you for originally...”

You felt a strange buzz at the bottom of your spine with a tiny seed of smugness blooming upward.

A flutter of pride filled you from his praise until he snorted, “You’re still rather stupid, but with a value of insight.”

Your spark of light blew out. You tried to not roll your eyes.

With most of your diverse self, you desired to throttle him and argue. Instead you took your turn at observing what you could in the dim carriage.

Sherlock was not like the average gentleman. In fact, he was very abnormal to what you had gotten to know... He was incredibly unorthodox. He didn’t adhere to social norms and behaved in contradictions. Therefore you took a moment to hear his words and accept them as a hidden message. A riddle.

You smugly smiled.

“Was that an attempt to...apologise, Mr Holmes?” you finally mused.

Sherlock smirked, “That would require me to be have a sense of regret my dear wife, and I do not account such a folly.”

You smirked back and said sassily, “The words you seek, are ‘Sorry’ and ‘please forgive me.’”

Your toe nudged his ankle playfully.

He glared reliving the warm humiliation you inflicted to him this morning over Mrs Hudson. His grim look was contagious.

He shot back, “And pray tell, how does your backside feel Mrs Holmes?” he chewed his bottom lip. His brows lifted, "Mayhaps you've forgotten and in need of a firm reminder?"

When your smile fell and his grew. He had won this small battle of wits. You looked away from him, your face felt incredibly warm like your bottom.

“Come now,” he purred and lean forward to pat your knees, “Don’t be so bashful. Deep down, I know you just want to be run through...” Your eyes narrowed as he continued confidently stating, “You put on this coy little show last night.” Your lips parted, your teeth bared, yet he kept running his mouth further, “I have intuition like no other man my dear and you...you are scared I will find out all those lustful secrets inside your mind-“

You didn’t let him finish his words before you ripped off your glove and delivered a sharp ringing blow to his cheek. It was a foul sting that ricocheted into your own delicate palm. You huffed angrily.

“What I did last night was not a show,” you spat, uncontrollably hot tears touched the back of your eyes, “What you did was wrong and cruel. You threatened our marriage unless I debased myself. I did what I had to,” you jabbed his chest with your finger, “and I will continue to as long as you remain faithful...”

‘or I will kill you Sherlock Holmes.’

Your words echoed both in his and your memory. He didn’t really believe you were capable of murder, and yet he also knew not to press his thumb against the sharpened knife.

His rubbed his hand on the pink print you left on his pale cheek. He plucked his cane leaning on the seat beside him and hooked it into your collar, tugging you unceremoniously forward into his lap. You were forced to sit directly over his right thigh from the awkwardness of the carriage size. He curled his walking stick behind you and trapped you on top of him.

You could feel the heat between his legs. Oh how Sherlock really was just a animal.

“I find you may come to regret those words...” he panted and licked the spot under your ear, “You think me cruel now? Just you bloody wait until you feel the thrash of my cane.”

You fluttered your eyes shut, squeezing the tears away as you regained your breath and whispered icily back into his seeking mouth, “I look forward to it.”

He pulled back to gaze at your entire face. His eyes were full of confusion. He looked like he was lost on a foreign road with know knowledge on where to go. His lips twitched, unsure to smile or frown.

“I see,” he swallowed, “You can play martyr all you want then, my future masochist...and then we will see whether you truly are a slut...or a saint...but I doubt you’ll like either result...”

You would never describe yourself as a masochist. You didn’t particularly like pain...but after a period of time when he struck your bare bottom this morning you felt warm and floating. Your belly buzzed like last night. It was wrong and you knew it was. A spanking was a punishment not a entrance for pleasure.

Sherlock set aside his cane and cupped your waist. His thumbs ran up and down your torso. He pressed his nose to yours.

“Definitely stupid,” he whispered over your lips hotly before he gently pushed you back until you sat on your side of the carriage.

You felt a slight dizziness. You couldn’t understand Sherlock no matter how much you tried. You slumped in your seat and rubbed your forehead. You pulled back the curtains and watched as the many houses turned into more trees.

Sherlock in the meantime pulled out his pipe and began stuffing it with tobacco for his pocket tin.

The bright luminous shine of the match flame filled the dark carriage as he lit his pipe and puffed. He stared you down as his gums sucked and smacked the thin mouthpiece. A swirl of grey and white smoke tails snaked from his lips and nose. His eyes held no colour, only darkness. You wondered what urged him so drastically to hate and disrespect you.

His cheek was a huge darker in this lighting.

You shut your eyes and controlled your breathing. You tried to stare at your glove that you’d dropped on the carriage flooring.

You sat both in silence for the rest of the lengthy roads to your destination. You pinched the curtains and opened them.

    8:23am Wednesday 7th May 1890, Grovelands House, The Bourne, London, England. 

The forestry and gardens of Groveland Park were magnificent. Giant trees replaced tall buildings. Bird chirp washed out the gossip and clatter of people.

You sighed as you breathed the clear air hunted with the earthy dew scent on the wind.

Your husband finished his pipe and tucked it back into his pocket.

The carriage rocked and creaked to a stop. You felt the driver climb down and opened the door. Sherlock climbed out first, he cleared his throat and hugged his walking stick to his side. He held out his hand for you.

“Come along Mrs Holmes.”

As you reached for him, the both of you matched eyes. Your hand was trembling.

You stepped down to the gravelled path and Sherlock released your hand to pay the remaining wage of the journey to the driver.

You quickly ducked back through its little door to retrieve your lost glove. And when you grasped it you felt a warmth behind you.

Sherlock’s hands with his cane cupped your waist and pulled you back against him slowly. There was something cruel and intimate about it... He stole your glove from your covered hand and slid your naked palm through the material but not before pressing his lips against the inside of your wrist.

Your eyes flickered and your heart thrashed. What the hell was he doing? The driver saw it all and smirked. He climbed back to the top of the carriage and clicked his tongue, fleeing slowly away. Sherlocks eyes were full of obsession.

You crossed your brows and tore yourself from his arms.

“No,” you whispered. You didn’t truly know what you were saying ‘no’ towards. It wasnt right of your husband to play a angered beast to rise fear in you only to transform into an adoring dove.

His false softness reverted back to his smirking wickedness.

His eyes glance back over your shoulder and he chuckled.

“Good morning Inspector Lestrade,” he purred.

You turned around to take in the sight of a short gentleman who was the owner of a thick black friendly mutton chops.

He wore a happy and surprised expression.

He was also carrying on his forearm a walking stick. He nodded his head and tipped his top hat to the both of you. He wore no gloves and to the private eye you could see the darkened yellowing skin of his knuckles and back of his palm.

“Good morning Detective and-“ he paused glancing you up and down.

“Lestrade,” Sherlock cleared his throat, and turned to wave a hand in regards to your presence, “Meet my wife, Y/N.”

The officers whiskers twitched. He bowed his head briefly, acknowledging, “Mrs Holmes.”

You granted a small polite curtsy, repeating back with a soft tone, “Inspector.”

You graced him with a small smile and he flashed you a nervous grin.

He scratched the back of his head and said with a strain in his voice to your husband, “Sir, this is a matter of professional business, your wife present I fear might be deemed....” he grimaced, “irresponsible?” he shook his head at the thoughts, “I must insist she returns to home,” he waved out his arm to direct you to a buggy and horse besides the entrance gates, his vehicle no doubt, he smiled, “Madam.”

Inspector Lestrade was a clear average man with common decency and a good sense of propriety. Sherlock was bring you into his space of work fit for men, you had no place here...nonetheless you willingly came along...he didn’t need to spank that out of you at least.

But before he could take grasp of your delicate hand, Sherlock reached forward and lowered your reaching wrist with an annoyed sigh, “I invited her. She has valued skills I need. It’s the least you can do after yesterday.”

Sherlock lightly tapped to the dark spot growing along his own jawline.

“Mrs Holmes,” The inspector flushed and nervously smiled, “I apologise greatly for the deformation of your husbands face.”

You looked between the two men. From Sherlock’s jaw to the Inspectors knuckles. The dots connected within seconds.. A light noise mixed with amusement, shock and horror slipped out of your tongue as you exclaimed, “You struck my husband?”

“In my defence Mrs Holmes,” Lestrade leaned against his walking stick and glanced to the gravel unable to meet your eyes, “One might argue he deserved it. And he returned a brightful force himself...”

Sherlock deserving a punch? Noooo surely not! After all the pair of you had experienced these two or three days, you understood entirely. For you wished to do nothing more than the same as Inspector Lestrade.

Sherlock snickered, and you released a bubbling giggle, “That does not surprise me. I’m curious what drove you to such lengths as to strike him.”

It wouldn’t take a lot you suspected, Sherlock already proved his habit on making more than one person uncomfortable and offended.

But instead of a confident man of the law, he was still sheepishly pushing the gravel around with his walking cane.

“Oh yes, Lestrade,” Sherlock barked in amusement, “Regale to my wife what I did to provoke your fist...”

Sherlock slapped his cane against Lestrades forcing the inspector to lose his balance and fall on one knee.

“Blast!” the inspector cried as he wobbled to stand back up.

You smacked a hand against Sherlock’s chest and shook your head at him and for that he discreetly tapped your backside with the head of his cane. You bit back the gasp and clenched your fingers on his coat. You didn’t like witnessing your husband behave so openly as a bully. It was very unsightly.

“Your husband, Mrs Holmes,” Lestrade winced and dusted dirt off his knee, “decided to elude to that which I am incompetent in my work therefore in other things.”

You accusingly turned your attention back to Sherlock, “Other things?”

“I think the inspector has trouble,” he smirked, “getting it up.”

‘Getting it up? What up?...oh!’ your eyes flashed wide

“Sherlock you didn’t!”

Your husband cackled meanly and rubbed soft circles into your back with his thumb.

“I’d rather say he started it,” Sherlock claimed fluttering his eyes at you before he snarled in the inspectors direction, “Go on Lestrade...now, you tell her what you said to me before I insulted your virility?”

You turned your attention back to the officer.

The mutton chop cop sputtered embarrassingly. His hands straightened his jacket and lifted his hat to smooth back his hair.

He licked his dry lips and hastily muttered, “I dare not repeat the words I so indecisively chose especially in front of such a fine and polite lady.”

Sherlocks mouth was close to your ear as he whispered, “I think he’s rather scared.”

“Of what?” you snipped back still crossed with Sherlock’s behaviour.

“What you’ll do to him...after what he called you.”

‘After what he called me? What was said? When was it said?...’

You softly hummed, “Did he insult me?”

“Detective Holmes,” the inspectors face turned a darker shade as he tensely pressed, “This really isn’t professional.”

Your husband moved his hand and lightly guided you to stand behind him as if to be a protective wall between you and the inspector. He stood a full foot above the inspector.

He glared down and sneered, “Then why bother saying it yesterday when you can’t even say it today in front of the woman herself?”

You saw how his hand squeezed his cane furiously. It was that action alone that sent an icy stream of fear down your spine. You weren’t sure of it, but you couldn’t put it passed Sherlock to start a brawl, particularly since the two men had clearly tussled fearsomely yesterday.

You sighed obnoxiously loud and very unladylike. You clapped your hands to snap both their attentions your way.

“Listening to a pair of men bicker is tiresome and leaves my learning brain in wanting,” you rolled your eyes and walked ahead of them both, calling over your shoulder, “Let us put aside what frivolous nonsense occurred yesterday and perform our duty instilled by the righteousness of God and the Queen herself, yes?”

You were stepping towards the main large house where you were confident was the Pennicott Estate. The gravel crunched beneath your striding walk.

Sherlock and Lestrade appeared gobsmacked by the sight of your leading March.

“Very well,” the inspector relented and walked ahead.

Sherlock caught up with both of you and squeezed your elbow, he gestured forward with his cane, “Lead the way Lestrade.”

And as the gentleman walked ahead of you, Sherlock sucked his head back to your ear with a smug tone, “Nicely done, dear wife.”

You rolled your eyes and shook him off, as if he wasn’t the reason you performed such a song and dance if tell them to return to their work over his foul demonstrating behaviour.

    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.

#sherlock holmes x female reader #sherlock holmes x poc!reader #sherlock holmes x y/n #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x ofc #sherlock holmes x reader #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill x ofc #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #henry cavill x female reader #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #milky fics

[christinarowie332]

master list

————

————-

head canons :

stoner chris and reader hc

italian reader x sturniolo hc

———-

individual one shots :

parasite - chris sturniolo

goofy ass smile - chris sturniolo

passenger princess - chris sturniolo

these moments - sturniolo triplets

god i love you - chris sturniolo

cherry lips - matt sturniolo

“you filming matty” - matt sturniolo (smut)

“sit on my fucking face” - chris sturniolo (smut)

coming over or what? - matt sturniolo (angst)

too risky? - chris sturniolo (smut)

who’s on top? - chris sturniolo (smut)

honey i know you . - matt sturniolo (fluff)

where words fail , music speaks - chris sturniolo (suggestive fluff)

hands head between my thighs - matt sturniolo smut

please me. matt sturniolo smut

these people are naughty (suggestive)

———-

series:

“i’d be an idiot/i win/i am his”. -matt sturniolo

“id be a fucking idiot if i said no to that” part 1

“i win” part 2

“i am his” part3

“stupid stupid stupid …”

- chris sturniolo

“stupid horny fucks”- smut , part 1

“stupid fucking kid” - angst , part 2

“stupid kids in love” - smut , part 3

“whatever you say.”

-matt sturniolo

“whatever you say” part 1

“whatever you say” part 2

“life of the party”

life of the party pt 1

life of the party pt 2

———-

snaps from…… :

“snaps from christopher sturniolo”

“snaps from christopher sturniolo” (pt2)

“snaps from matt sturniolo”

“snaps from christopher sturniolo”(pt3)

“snaps from chris sturniolo”(p4)

“snaps from nick sturniolo”

“priv story au”

“priv story au” pt2

“priv story au” pt3

“messages from the sturniolos”

“snaps from matt sturniolo”

————

none sturniolo shorts

tactless

daddy’s girl.

————

@mangosrar @sturnphilia @daddyslilchickenfingers @lividnity @urmyslxt @sssturniolofart @biimpanicking @bluesturniolo333 @soursturniolo @littlebookworm803 @parkerssecrets

————

#chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #milkietalks #milkie is down bad #milkie-masterlist #christopher sturniolo toxic #chris sturniolo oneshot #chris sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo fic #matt sturniolo edit #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo imagines #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut

[padfootastic]

Day 23 - Tea

Written for @prongsfoot-microfic

“Get away from here with that newfangled Western nonsense, Remus!”

Sirius turned, slowly, incredulously, to look at his shouting, shuddering boyfriend.

“Jamie—are you okay?” He certainly didn’t seem like he was. James had his arms raised in front of him, palms out as if warding off evil, face turned away from a bemused Remus.

“No! No, I’m not okay,” James cried dramatically, stumbling backward with hasty steps. Remus mouthed a ‘what the fuck’ in Sirius’ direction, hoping that he’d have a better idea of what was going on. Unfortunately, even with his vast knowledge of everything James Potter, he couldn’t figure out what was going on in that moment.

“James—wha-?”

“Oh, come on, Sirius,” James’ voice came out in a sort of indignant squawk, hands fluttering around. “Don’t tell me you can’t see it. That!” He pointed a finger towards Remus. More specifically, the steaming mug held in his hands.

“That?” Sirius leaned forward, trying to understand what James was going for. The only thing he could see was a milky liquid, with a string poking out of it through the side of the mug. Normal enough for Remus, who needed a cup of tea every three hours if he didn’t want to develop a killer headache. “I don’t get it.”

“The tea, Sirius! That—that abomination!” James finally spelled it out for them, though it didn’t make things any clearer.

“Huh?” Remus finally designed to speak up, peeking into his mug as if it held the answers of the universe. A huge sigh was heaved from the space in front of them, as if James physically couldn’t contain it any longer (not that he was even trying so far).

“I will never understand how you drink that swill when you can have perfectly good chai.”

Ah.

That explained it.

One wouldn’t think so, looking at James Potter, but he was an extreme tea—sorry, chai snob, utterly refusing to put up with anything except his beloved spiced chai. It didn’t matter that most of the time they didn’t want to put in the effort of crushing cardamom, grating ginger, pounding black pepper and waiting for everything to boil in the correct order for just the right amount of time. It didn’t matter that sometimes they just wanted something warm to drink within the minute, and a cup of hot water microwaved on full power with some milk powder and a teabag floating in it was more than good enough to get the job done.

No, for James, if you wanted tea, then you were supposed to have chai.

The moment realisation struck, Remus groaned out loud, all tension seeping out of his shoulders as his entire posture sagged. “James, you—! No. No. Sirius, will you please control your boyfriend while I enjoy my nice, hot cup of English Breakfast TEA without the peanut gallery yammering in the back? Thank you.”

With that, he sent one last scathing look towards an unrepentant James and walked away. They could hear an obnoxiously loud sip and a blissful ‘ah’ as he turned round the corner. James’ left eye twitched and he made a move as if to follow Remus and beat the mug out of his hand. Sirius, of course, couldn’t let that happen.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that, J?” Sirius murmured, wrapping his fingers around James’ wrist and pulling him closer. “Chai, tea, it’s all the same, isn’t it?”

“How dare you—“

Of course, Sirius knew the kind of reaction that would provoke, but swallowing James’ outraged huff with the press of his lips was his favorite past time, after all. How could he resist?

#james potter #sirius black #bambibelle #prongsfoot #prongsfoot microfics #my first micro fic!!!! #it’s horrible but it exists!!! #only took me 23 days lmao #nbd. not at all. #this makes zero sense i just wanted james to be a dramatic little shit #bc i’ve seen some tea purists in my time and uh. yeah. #i’m the kind of person who’ll drink my tea/coffee in literally any way as long as it has some milk and sugar in it #with cardamom in it #altho i love the milky irani chai type #but some people around me my god #they get so intense lol #and that’s the vibe i wanted to capture #remus of course is worse than i am #he has zero standards and he’s perfectly happy about that #he just needs his tongue to be a little burnt and his esophagus to be steaming at all times #(i feel like i didn’t spell that right but errrr ok) #this is barely edited bc i just wrote this in a sprint and now i’m posting it at the weirdest time #but i’ll take it #why r my tags always longer than whatever i post lol #pen’s writing #tumblr works

[miilkybnn]

putting this here because I've talked my friend's ears off about this but when I'm looking for GhostRoach fics and find one that has GhostSoap tagged in there, I don't get mad!!! I love me so good GhostRoachSoap yum yum, what I DO get mad about is when Gary is infact only mentioned AND is only mentioned as the "dead boyfriend" 😭😭 why yall gotta reduce my boy like that 💔💔 why can't you have them ALL alive and happy 💔💔💔

#milky talks #PLEASE tag properly #it'll save us both the heartache 💔 #gary roach sanderson #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #cod #ghostroach #ghostsoap #ghostroachsoap #ghost x soap #ghost x roach #ghost x roach x soap #call of duty #if u need help understanding how to tag fics let me know 💔 i promise its actually not that difficult as it seems #(on Ao3 tho ur not gonna catch me teaching how to tag on FF that would be a whole 2hr lecture 💀)

[ad0rechuu]

★ MILKY WAY. ━━ (005) edible scented candle

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NOTES. don’t blame mingi they smelled like they would taste good! :<

TAGLIST. @bunnystrm @seongwin @aestheticsluut @meginthebuilding27 @gaebestie @stopeatread @pr1ncessm1ng1 @persphonesorchid @se0nghwaswife @seonghwasslytherin @leeknowsnothing @alixnsuperstxr @bluehwale-main @miriamxsworld @tocupid @lvsmeph

#★ MILKY WAY — smau #ateez #ateez smau #ateez social media au #ateez x reader #ateez texts #ateez fic #seonghwa #seonghwa smau #seonghwa x reader #san #san smau #san x reader #mingi #mingi smau #mingi x reader #kpop smau #kpop social media au #kpop x black reader #ad0rechuu — works

[satorhime]

you know…. instead of hounding black writers and asking why they write black-coded readers, why aren’t you asking non-black writers why 90% of reader fics are tailored to exclude black and poc specifically? (´◠ω◠`)

#✰ミ݁ ׅ ࣪ lollynote. #why have i never seen a white writer get asked why they include blushing and milky skin in their fics? #i never see hate for fics that have fair skinned / skinny / straight haired readers #it’s because black people start creating our own content instead of sending hate #literally ‘fuck it i’ll do it myself’ #so it’s giving very much anti black when you send asks like this #anyways. just me rambling.