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flametrashiraarchive · 8 months

Text

So, since @desi-the-blue-eyed-kakushi fed me real real good with her Muzan smut I wanted to write something in exchange, and as per usual I got carried away and the Giyuu "blurb" I promised became nearly 3k words of smut and feelings.

Stay With Me

Giyuu Tomioka x F!Reader. Childhood friends to lovers. A lot of handholding.

NSFW below the cut. MDNI

It began innocently.

You and Giyuu were just kids, given barely enough time to catch your breath and begin processing your grief after final selection when you were sent on your first mission together. The fight was messy and hard. Other slayers died. You survived, and that was a burden you both would always carry.

By the end of the fight, the pair of you were so exhausted you could barely stand. Giyuu's sapphire eyes stared at the snow-covered ground as the demon's body crumbled to ash and was lost to the wind. Your comrade’s bodies remained along with the guilt. The weight of everything sat atop you both, crushing and relentless; the loss and responsibility far too great for hearts so young to bear.

You were hurting but so was he. Giyuu’s heart has been hurting since the day he emerged from that accursed mountain and stood unblinking in the wisteria grove. Back then you hadn’t known how to comfort that scared, silent boy, but as he sat beside you on that first mission, you reached out and offered him simple solace. You held his hand.

“Giyuu,” you said, “stay with me. It’ll be okay.”

His hand was small and trembling back then, calluses barely formed and skin peeling where the hilt of his blade had rubbed away the top layers. The skinned peaks of his little knuckles broke your heart, even though your hands were just as small and battered.

His hand just hung loosely in yours as you curled your fingers around it. But he didn’t try to pull away. He simply let it be.

You kept a hold of his hand all the way back home.

“Thank you,” he said solemnly as you finally parted ways at a fork in the road. Those were the first words he had ever spoken to you.

As he walked down the road toward his village, your hand flexed around empty air. You missed the warmth.

The next mission you were sent on together ended in much the same way. And the next. And the next.

It became a habit. He would come to your side when the fight drew to a close, his hand nudging yours, inviting you to take it. He never spoke much– which you didn't mind at all; his presence was comforting enough for you. Some said he was weird. Others that he was too haughty to speak. You quickly silenced those whispers.

Giyuu was just quiet and sad, carrying so much on his shoulders. And though you barely knew a thing about him, he was your friend. So, after every mission you found yourselves on together, after every death, you held Giyuu’s hand.

But the years passed and he climbed the ranks faster than you did. The silent boy became a stoic man; his hand feeling larger, rougher, and heavier after every mission. Before long your fingers couldn't surround his fully, but you still tried. And despite the strength of his grip on the hilt of his blade, he remained passive in the gesture, his fingers never once curling to squeeze yours.

Then, Giyuu became a Hashira, tasked with eradicating demons far stronger than you could even attempt to fight. Your missions together grew fewer and farther between.

You missed him; missed the weight of his hand in yours, the constant comfort of his presence, the deep blue shade of his eyes. A hollow, almost painful feeling surged in your chest wherever you thought of him, but there wasn’t time to dwell. There were demons to kill, lives to save. You took the ache and pushed it down, burying it beneath your responsibility.

And then the time came when you were charged with leading a squad of lower rank slayers on a mission. Your quiet friend was engaged elsewhere, and at that point you hadn't seen him for months. Perhaps you never would again.

You tried not to think about him.

The mission went badly. Your entire group was wiped out. All of them, even the kids you'd silently sworn to protect from harm. The grief and the guilt were crushing. If only you'd been a split-second faster, if only you'd stood an inch the the left, if only your instincts hadn't told you to duck.

You sent your crow to fetch help, and tortured yourself with what-ifs, sitting on the earth in that forsaken forest. Waiting… surrounded by shrouded little figures. Two days later a troop of kakushi arrived to clean up and recover the bodies as you stood numb, staring… lost.

You were so close to disassociating entirely that you almost missed the glimpse of Giyuu's haori in the corner of your eye. Even when you registered what you had seen, you doubted your senses. Why would he be there? There was no need for a hashira; the demons were all gone. But no… your grief-stricken mind hadn't lied. He was there. For you.

He approached you silently, standing by your side, his knuckles brushing against the back of your hand. A moment later he curled his fingers around yours, firm, reassuring, but so gentle.

"I heard what happened and came as soon as I could,” he said.

"I should have protected them." Your voice trembled.

"I know it hurts. You can't blame yourself." His hold on you tightened. "Not even for a moment."

"Giyuu–"

His lips parted for a moment at the sound of his name coming from your lips, but he quickly recovered his composure. "Come with me."

Down the mountain he led you, away from the horrors, his hand cradling yours the entire way. His grip never once faltered. Even when you reached a village tucked away among the foothills. He brought you to a house whose door was painted with a wisteria seal.

He had the mistress of the house fetch a doctor to check over your injuries, which were miraculously minor, and told her that yes, you would require food and tea when you couldn't summon the words yourself. To your surprise, he knew exactly how you liked your tea brewed and what foods you liked, even though you had never talked about it. It seemed he had paid close attention to your preferences over the years.

He stayed by your side, guiding you gently through that difficult day. When the time came for you to rest, your hands remained linked across the space between your futons.

The sounds of his soft, slumbering breaths lulled you to sleep. And for the first time you could remember, you slept well.

When morning came, you awoke to the warm, comforting security of his embrace, your face pressed to his shoulder, and his fingers still entwined with yours. Sometime during the night you had rolled across to his futon and burrowed into his arms.

With a gentle murmur he began to wake and opened his eyes a little; a sliver of deep blue appeared half-concealed beneath his thick black eyelashes.

His breath audibly caught in his chest at the sight of you curled against him, but he didn't move. Neither did you.

Giyuu's shallow breaths fanned across your brow as you gazed into his eyes, caught in the duality of wondering if you had unintentionally crossed a boundary and feeling as though you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

"Is this okay?" you whispered.

He nodded once, and his hand gently tightened around yours. "Please… stay with me."

Heart thrumming against your ribs, you raised your interlocked hands to your lips and pressed a slow, tender kiss to each of his scarred knuckles. “Always.”

A sharp exhale blew across your forehead. You heard him swallow before he mirrored the gesture, his lips brushing against your aching hands, as soft and tender as new leaves warmed by morning sun. And when he had kissed each knuckle, he pressed a long, slow kiss to the pulsepoint of your wrist, closing his eyes, pulling in a deep breath.

Outside the world carried on as normal; birds sang, people chattered, carts rolled down the streets, but in your shared sanctuary everything changed. You repaid the kiss to your wrist with a kiss to his shoulder. He gave you an achingly soft kiss to your temple. You pressed your lips to his cheek, and he exchanged it for a kiss to the very corner of your lips which curved into a smile to mirror his own.

You were both breathless, pink-cheeked and dizzy with trepidation as the space between you closed and he touched the very tip of your nose with his. The warmth of his breath against your lips stirred up butterflies in your stomach. The hazy, almost drunk look in his eyes made your chest tighten.

Bringing up his palm to cup your cheek, he stroked his thumb along its curve. He closed his eyes and kissed your lips; softer and lighter than mist at first, then deeper, and deeper. You might have missed the quiet moan which escaped him if not for the vibration against your fingertips which pressed lightly to the hollow of his throat.

Kisses cascaded between you, each deeper than the last. Giyuu moaned again as you slid your tongue over his bottom lip, opening his mouth to permit your entry. With every new sensation he grew bolder, pressing his body against yours, sliding his hand down to your thigh to hitch it over his hip, rolling you onto your back with his weight and pressing you down, once more interlocking his fingers with yours.

The soft smile Giyuu had given you as you exchanged kisses faded, replaced by a silent intensity as he rocked his hips against you, shivering at the sensation. Both of you were clad in thin pajamas, and the shape of his body, as well as the heavy swell of his erection were unmistakable. He groaned as he felt the intoxicating heat of your pussy through your nightclothes, both of you desperately craving closeness in any form.

“Please…” he whispered, the only word his mind could summon as he pressed his forehead to your shoulder, fighting with the compulsion to keep rubbing his cock against you.

Heat tingled on your cheeks as you nodded in consent. “Yes.”

You were no less desperate, wetness soaking through the fabric of your pajamas as he grinded against you again.

You were both functioning on instinct as you pulled off your shirts, and Giyuu’s lips closed around your nipple, lapping at it with his tongue. He lifted his hips and the pair of you pulled down his pajama pants, freeing his erection. It wasn’t the first you’d seen, but it was by far the prettiest– gently curved toward his belly, crowned with a sweetly blushing tip and adorned with serpentine veins. It was also the largest you’d seen. By a long way.

He must’ve noticed the widening of your eyes, or the trepidation written across your face at the sight of it, because he released your nipple and glanced down with a worried expression which made your heart ache.

“You’re big,” you explained, wrapping your hand around it and giving him an exploratory stroke.

A choked cry burst from Giyuu’s lips as his cock twitched against your palm and a white rope of cum shot from the tip, spraying over your stomach. He hurried to clean it up with his pajama shirt and collapsed into you, burying his face against your neck, red with shame and arousal. “Sorry, I’m so sorry. Oh, Gods, I didn’t mean t–I’ve never felt anyone touch–”

“Giyuu…” You placed your hand on the back of his head and stroked his hair, gently and shushing him. “Stay with me, it’s okay.”

His breaths blew hot and heavy against your collarbone, each one accompanied by a ragged whimper until the sensation of your fingers threading through his hair calmed him. “I don’t think I’m done,” he said, lifting himself up and glancing down at his cock. He was still erect, a pearl of cum dripping from the tip. “I…don’t want to stop… please…”

“Are you sure?”

“Very sure. Please don’t stop.”

You smiled and spread the cum over the blushing head with your thumb, arousal flushing your chest as his face darkened and his eyes fluttered shut. As much as you craved his touch, watching Giyuu fall apart was the most beautiful and delicious thing you had ever witnessed, and a part of you wanted that again and again.

But Giyuu’s fingers gave yours a reassuring squeeze and then let go. He drew back away from your hands to kneel between your thighs. Inch by inch, he removed your pajama bottoms, kissing every bit of skin he exposed; your lower belly, your hips, your thighs, down to your knees. He removed the garment completely and glanced at your rosy face before his gaze fell reverently to your pussy.

His lips were maddeningly soft as he kissed your cunt slowly, his tongue delving into your entrance as his groan curled your toes. His eyes flicked up to you, gaging your reaction before he traced the shape of your pussy lips, with his tongue. After each experimental caress his eyes returned to your face, so desperate to please, to give you everything he could.

He lapped his tongue against your clit and your hips bucked toward him. “Fuck, Giyuu– that... Gods, yes–!”

Oh, there was nothing of the shy, quiet boy in his eyes then. Seeing your reaction, knowing he was pleasuring you well, tilted his lips into a smirk before they returned to their newfound purpose of driving you to absolute ecstasy. The blush on his cheeks spread as he licked at your clit, breaking away to breathe and circle it with the tip of his nose before continuing his kisses. His hot, wet mouth against your slick skin applying such divine pressure you couldn’t help but place your hand on the back of his head and sink your fingers into his thick, black hair, silently encouraging him to go on.

His name tumbled from your lips as you fell apart, grinding against his mouth. He savored every drop of your essence. Everything was new and fascinating to him; the way your thighs tensed and trembled, the powerful throb of your muscles as you rode the waves of your orgasm. He adored it. He wanted to give you more. More pleasure, more kisses, more love. He needed it.

As you came back down to earth, Giyuu kissed your pussy with such affection and tenderness your heart ached. He desired you, deeply and truly.

“I want–” he began, losing his voice to his shaking breath. “I want to be closer to you… can I…?”

You sat up, still trembling, anchoring your hands on his shoulders as you kissed him. The taste of you remained on his lips, mingled with the comforting scent of him. You wanted it too. You needed to be closer, to feel him inside you.

Pulling him back down, you stroked a hand up the back of his neck as the other pressed his cock between your folds, coating the tip of it in your slick before pushing it into you.

Despite the fact he had already cum, he was entirely unprepared for sensation of fucking you. His back arched, pressing his pelvis firmly against yours, bottoming out in you suddenly and eliciting a cry from both of you as his feet slipped against the futon for purchase.

“F—fuuuck,” he gasped, lowering his head and gritting his teeth as his arms trembled beneath him. It was all too much.

His body pressed to yours entirely, craving intimacy and closeness. He didn’t thrust–he couldn’t– he simply ground his hips against yours, the base of his cock rubbing against your clit as he gasped and the crease in his brow grew deeper. He was hanging on by a thread, overwhelmed and desperate to hold on, to make it last, to–

“Giyuu,” you whispered, placing your hand on his, “stay with me.”

He nodded, intertwining his fingers with yours and pulling in a breath. “Always… always.”

You held each other’s hand; that simple, innocent gesture of love and comfort, now more meaningful than ever. For years you had shared grief and guilt, loss and loneliness and the sweet comfort and solace you found in each other. And now you shared this.

Giyuu Tomioka, that quiet boy whose hand once trembled in yours, now held firm and just as securely as you did him.

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mamayan · 6 months

Note

Dear Yanny,

I am desperately humbly requesting a yandere Giyuu being yandere, very very yandere, with a relatively willing darling AFAB/fem reader and a side dish of bedroom spice.

I am in tears.

Sincerely, Desi <3

Let’s do a yandere profile then for Giyuu! I’ve been wanting to try out this format for a minute now.

☆Giyuu Tomioka★

YANDERE PROFILE || OPEN TEMPLATE!

cw: NSFW • Obsessive/Possessive Themes • Implied kidnapping/imprisonment • Yandere • AFAB! Darling

Type

Overprotective!

This yandere type is obsessive and possessive of their darling, but they believe that their actions are justified in the name of protecting their darling. This yandere type may infantilize or cross boundaries their darling lays down. They intentionally or unintentionally take away their darling’s independence.

Giyuu is constantly in a state of worry for you, he’s thinking of you at nearly every second of the day and when you don’t consume his every waking moment, you appear in his dreams. Did you sleep well? Have you eaten? Did you eat enough? Have you gotten sick? Was someone rude to you? What if you’re hurt?

This type of obsession leads to tailing/stalking/monitoring. He watches you at any and every moment he can, and when he can’t then someone he trusts is. Giyuu learns all your habits, likes and dislikes, fears and dreams, and will insert himself into your life. He doesn’t need to be loud or boisterous, in fact his calm demeanor and presence allow him to seamlessly blend into your world without raising any alarms.

This leads to possessiveness forming. His attachment deepens over time and a sort of ownership forms. It stems from his detailed knowledge of you and even your private life which you’ve never shared with him personally. He sees himself as someone who knows you completely, thus making him the most important character in your life.

He doesn’t understand why you’d spend time with anyone else but him. Those “friends” don’t know you hate that food, but they ignore your indirect ways of steering away from eating it. He knows you dislike it, and he’s happy to eat your favorite food with you, even if he doesn’t love it personally. He’s unafraid of stealing you away too, pretending nonchalantly to have been just passing through with a bag full of your most adored goodies, inviting you away from whatever situation you find yourself uncomfortable in.

Giyuu is a gentleman, even in his most unhinged state of watching you sleep at night in your home you were sure you locked up tightly before bed. He’s not going to be mean or hurtful, his yandere tendencies stem from lack of control in life and deep loss.

Breaking Point

Once “danger” threatens their darling.

Giyuu’s instability would worsen over time, not immediately. It would coincide with his feelings for you. The more he falls in love, the more he begins to stress about that love being taken away in some tragic accident. He’s lost his best friend and sister, how can he lose you too? He’s always being protected by those he cared about, shouldn’t he be the one to protect you then?

Giyuu would ponder and even be consumed by guilt once he realized how powerless he truly is to keep you completely safe. You had a life to live, how could he be so selfish as to tie you to him by a short chain and never let you go?

He won’t take action until a threat is posed… even if that threat is only within his own mind.

It could be a demon nearly harming you, a person that is mean towards you, or even you being clumsy and hurting yourself which could set this trigger off. The longer he waits, the more the line of danger becomes skewed. In the end, he’s giving in to his own paranoia. There’s no way to truly escape this break.

Lucidity

Giyuu is actually fairly aware of how wrong his feelings for you have become. What was once innocent and pure has become warped and twisted into something entirely off. He shouldn’t think of you 24/7 nor should he be keeping such a detailed account of your life. It’s completely wrong of him, illegal, invasive towards you, and he feels immense guilt for it.

At first.

At first, he’s consumed with anger and disgust towards himself. He’s one hundred percent lucid at this point and fighting back against his urges and desires. He loves you, how can he be thinking and doing these things?

As time goes on however, his fight with himself becomes a losing battle. He wants you, needs you, has to keep you close. It’s more than he can take really, and in the end, isn’t he pitiful? Won’t you stop struggling? He adores you, he truly only desires your happiness and safety…

In his arms, of course.

Perception of Darling

Complete adoration!

Giyuu is not the sort of man to worship his darling in a religious sense, because humans are flawed and he wouldn’t truly love you if he ignored your flaws right? He loves those too, so Giyuu falls under the category of adoration.

With complete adoration is how Giyuu views you, his beloved darling.

He struggles not to constantly pamper and even mildly infantilize you, though he doesn’t view you as incapable. It’s the opposite in fact, shouldn’t someone as capable and smart as you be spoiled more? He thinks so at least. He wants to take away all your worries and struggles, all of them, because he wants to keep you safe from more than just outside threats.

He wants to protect you from the ones inside too. He knows what depression and anxiety feel like, how they can destroy you from the inside out, and he doesn’t want you suffering from the same thing.

These feelings are pure but his actions can reflect something different.

In his quest to rid you of all troubles, he can unintentionally make himself a trouble, one which he can sadly not rid you of. His simple solutions may even complicate things, like telling you to quit your job and rely on him financially when you complain of a co-worker. He struggles to listen at times, in his desperation to keep you happy at all points in time, and this can be frustrating.

Whether you are screaming at him in rage, crying in fear, or trembling with anxiety… he still thinks there’s no one more adorable and lovely than you. It’s difficult for him to feel anything but love and patience for you, even if he’s the cause of your outbursts.

It’s not that he believes you can do no wrong, it’s just that he could simply care less. As long as you don’t harm yourself, or try harming him (though he understands that much more), then there’s really not much that would cause his perception to waver.

Love Language

Words of affirmation

Giyuu enjoys words of affirmation the most from you. He enjoys all other love languages too, but in a way he somewhat forces quality time (stalking or kidnapping), acts of service (you breathing), receiving gifts (your presence). Physical touch would be a close second, but Giyuu can actually go without it should you not like it.

It’s your words though he cannot receive without you willingly giving it to him.

What he wouldn’t pay or do to hear you tell him “I love you” or “I forgive you” because he does feel guilty taking you. The guilt just doesn’t outweigh his overprotective instincts which drove him to take you in the first place.

Tell him he’s wonderful, compliment his hair or eyes, or tell him you’re grateful for his presence in your life. All will make him melt, his heart softening into silken tofu by your sweet words.

He also loves your voice, so you speaking at all makes his heart flutter. When you decide to utter kind words with that voice?

He’s gone.

Ability/Danger Level

Giyuu is as dangerous as he is pretty. Not to you of course, but to any and all who may or may not pose a threat to you. This includes family and friends too. He’s not above harming or even killing for the sake of protecting you, though he’d never reveal his actions out of his own volition.

He likely will get blood on his hands, especially since it becomes easier to take people out without you noticing once he’s kidnapped you. How can he allow someone who has harmed you to continue living and breathing? Even if the damage was only psychological, he views it as a trespass against his own and it will be met with violence or some similar horror.

He really doesn’t feel any guilt either, though he does have a strong moral code, especially for children. But that weird man who tried sexually harassing you?

The world can go without that sort of scum.

Punishment

Light/Non-scarring

Giyuu is likely one of the most patient yanderes out there, but he’s not without some temper. The quickest way to find yourself over his lap with your ass in the air is to try escaping or harming yourself.

His punishments, even when he’s in the worst of moods, will never be anything terrible. The worst you can expect is isolation.

This will seem fine at first, even enjoyable if you truly wish to get away from him, but over time it will wear you down to a sort of fragility you wouldn’t expect. It’s horrible being alone, maddening to a point you may break down and beg. He’s not able to bear hearing it, so he’d either lift the punishment as you having learnt your lesson or hide away.

A lesser punishment he might use is spanking or privilege revoking. He might ban you from the garden or walks you enjoy or put you over his knee and make your poor bum burn for a little. He’d never hit you anywhere else though, and of course, never use anywhere near his full strength in spanking you. It’s honestly little taps to him, but you might disagree when it hurts to sit later.

Giyuu may even be inclined to deny you sexually/or an orgasm if you are sexually intimate.

Reward

Constantly

How can he not? He wants to spoil you rotten, so much you can’t even fathom living without him and all he provides.

Giyuu absolutely rewards you with freedoms as his darling too, and you’ll learn to truly appreciate them as time goes on in captivity. The more accepting and loving you are towards him, the more freely he takes you out and allows you to do things. He doesn’t think you incapable as a human, which means he doesn’t mind TV, books, or entertainment as long as you aren’t using them to escape.

He’s not stupid and proves rather difficult to manipulate. He may let you play your game to let his guard down, but know once you make a move he’s showing you how futile the act is.

He’s happy to spend money on you though, whatever you like too. He’s a simple man and doesn’t really spend much on himself besides the basics and necessity, so he’s actually happy he gets to use his money for something besides collecting interest. Let him decorate you, or get all the fancy tools for your hobby you’ve always wanted. It’s not hard to get him to “reward” you. In fact, it’s harder to make him stop.

Style

Kidnap!

Try as he might to resist it, he wants nothing more to chain you to his side. That’s not possible though, he’s got obligations to attend to, but he can lock you in a gilded cage.

Treatment

A delicate flower~♡

He’s actually a bit hard to read when you first meet him, but he melts like ice on a hot summer day in your presence. Others may complain about his personality, or lack thereof, but you wonder if they’re talking about the same Giyuu that you know.

He never shuts up? He’s always bringing you fresh bouquets, sweets and snacks, any and all items that catch his eye which he thinks you’ll like. He’s detailed and incredibly considerate, and this doesn’t change when you’re taken captive either.

Though he won’t allow you to leave him, he can still give you… space. Your own room if you request it, a little garden, your space, as long as it doesn’t involve straying too far from him.

He’s not controlling in a sense of depriving you of basic human abilities, like cooking or using tools. He knows you are capable of taking care of yourself, and he’s careful not to make you feel otherwise.

He really tries. It’s not always perfect though. When you’re cooperative and willing, he has an easier time letting go of the reigns, but when you aren’t? He’ll lock doors and drawers like one might with a small toddler, his mistrust will show through his actions.

Intimacy

Sexually attracted~

Giyuu’s feelings for you are pure in a sense, but he’s a man with wants and desires…that just happen to all be directed at you.

He craves to hold and caress you, and he’s a bit embarrassed to admit he’s done so while you’ve slept. Your defenseless sleeping expression invokes both envy and adoration. He wishes he slept like that and also wishes you’d never sleep any other way. It’s intimate to him, cradling your slumbering form in his arms, pliant and sweet for him to gaze at until the sun rises. His anxiety for you is quenched when he holds you like so, and he enjoys the peace it brings him emotionally.

If you reject his physical affection, Giyuu is surprisingly one of the few yandere types to respect that boundary.

Don’t be mistaken though, he’s not above manipulating your feelings if there is a chance you’re only rejecting him due to the circumstances you’re in. It’s understandable to be frightened in the beginning, he’s not pushy in asking for anything from you that you aren’t willing to give to him.

But he knows he’s an attractive man, and feels nothing walking shirtless before you, or training while you can see. He’s seductive in how he’ll speak to you, lowering his tone and softening it, making you lean in closer to hear him. That’s when you’ll smell him, a clean and masculine scent that will confuse your mind and body because how can someone evil smell so good?

It won’t be hard to succumb to his advances if you’ve been intimate before you’d been taken. He’s detailed, remember? Confident he knows you inside and out, and that includes your weak points. Where to whisper or breathe to make you melt, where to touch to have you gasping, and how to deep he needs to thrust to make you scream. He’s well aware of how much pressure and time he needs to spend between your legs, how to lick your drooling cunt to have you shake and spasm, where to curl his fingers to make you tear at his locks.

No, Giyuu would never force any sort of intimacy on you. He makes it terribly difficult not crave it in fact.

Freedom

Minimal to none—

While in his presence, feel free to ask for walks, dates, or shopping sprees. He’s fine with taking you out so long as you act normally too.

Otherwise expect nothing. No freedom. Your cage may be luxurious and beautiful but you will never leave it, not without his supervision. He won’t budge either, there’s no convincing him something is safe or acceptable. It’s one of the few times you will see him stern and unbending with you, nothing you do will make him cave.

Begging and pleading may even irritate him enough to punish you as well. Why do you want to leave so badly? Is he so terrible to you?

Habits

Sleep watching

Giyuu spends an abnormal amount of time watching you sleep, even at the expense of his own rest. This won’t ever actually affect you, as he never outright tells you he does this, but if you figure it out or wake up unexpectedly to catch him… it may make you nervous to fall asleep.

Sexual Kinks (for non-platonic yandere)

Marking/Praise/Edging&Overstimulation

Giyuu felt these urges mildly before he met you. He’s aware he likes being told how well he’s performing, holding off an orgasm for him or his partner, or making both himself and his partner a mess with overstimulation.

It’s so much worse now though. He can’t help how desperate he becomes with you, how needy and near feral it makes him to just think of filling your pretty pussy up with his cum. It’s sad almost how you turn him into such a pathetic man. He wants to brand himself on you, it wars with his need to never hurt you too, so he settles by sucking bruises into your skin and occasionally biting you. He’s vocal when you’re both intimate, he tells you how much he adores you, what he adores about you (everything), and how good you are for him. His precious pearl, his ocean and entire heart, he’s not the least bit ashamed as he grits his teeth and cries your name as he comes apart. Giyuu loves teasing you and himself too, working you both so close to the edge before stopping, leaving you both whiny and desperate for one another. He needs you to cling to him, to beg for more, to take it too.

His kinks aren’t one sided. He wants you to mark him up, in the way he wishes he could bring himself to do to you. So drag your nails across his skin, make him wear a collar of your bites and kisses around his neck, pull his hair and bruise him. Anyway you show ownership of him is welcomed, though the amount of dominance he’ll accept from you is dependent on your acceptance of your new life with him. He’s less inclined to release the reigns of control when you’re still adapting, cautious and fearful it may be a ruse to trick him and escape. He’ll relax eventually, and even begin to crave the times you tie him up and torment him like he does to you. Deny his poor aching cock again and again, make him beg for you and worship your sweet cunt as you ride his face, and then deny him again just because. He’d even accept if you just stopped there, leaving him painted red and panting, exhausted but not finished. He’d be entirely grateful if you took mercy too, rode his pretty thick cock until he became delirious and keep going even after he’s cum, moving your hips like a goddess on his lap while he pleads for rest and mercy. He can cum multiple times, but it borders on painful after the third, he won’t complain much though if you test his limits.

He’s happy to return the favor, but Giyuu’s favorite way to overstimulate you both is deep hard sex, holding your gaze as he fills you over and over, your pussy oozing his white hot load each time he pulls out to put you in a new position, before he plugs you right back up. Giyuu likes to cum pressed as firmly against your womb as he can, and he likes when you cum around his cock. It feels to most complete to him, and he cherishes the pleasured look on your face.

If it ever becomes too much, a quick way to make him finish is to praise him too. Tell him how good he makes you feel, how beautiful he is, how you like what he’s doing. His hips will always stutter in surprise, blue eyes widening as he gasps and tenses, cock twitching and threatening to spill just from your lovely voice complimenting him.

Boundaries

The front door—

How can he protect you if you run away? He draws a solid line at the doorway. You will not be crossing it without him or else.

Leniency

Strict

Unsurprisingly for an overprotective yandere, Giyuu is incredibly strict.

You’re health and safety are top priority for him, so from when you wake up to when you fall asleep, he’s got all of it tracked.

Your daily needs are monitored like your exact location in his home. He likes having eyes on you at all times. He won’t enforce specific meal plans, but he makes sure you are eating enough, you’re getting enough vitamins and nutrients, and doctor visits are regular. He even knows your menstrual cycle.

You will be asking him for any and all things, he keeps that under tight control. If you want to bake bread or grow a garden, it will all be done through his means.

Overall Rating

89/100

Giyuu Tomioka is an incredibly dangerous yandere!

While he poses minimal threat to you as his darling, he’s a risk to the outside world and your surroundings. He’s sure in his carnage in the name of protecting you, and he’s lucid about it too, which makes him quite threatening.

You’re chance of escape is little to none, and the punishment following it will surely make your teeth ache.

Snippet

“You’re trying to leave?” His tone is soft, no true indication of his mood to those unfamiliar with him.

You were familiar with him though, and his words made your blood run cold. You weren’t trying to leave, you had only wanted fresh air in fact, but the position you were in now made that difficult to believe even to your own eyes. Balanced on the flat surface of the kitchen counter, you were struggling to open the window due to the cold having frozen it outside. Once you had gotten it open, like an animal you’d stuck your head out immediately. It was an instinctive reaction in all honestly, you just wanted the cool air on your skin.

You should’ve gotten him to do it though, he would’ve, you knew, but you’d wanted to do it yourself. To have the little moment all to your own. A foolish goal in the end, as this was where it took you now. He’s not looking at you, just leaned against the entryway with his arms crossed and a cool expression painting his features, head tilted slightly down.

“I’m not!” It’s too quick a denial to absolve you of suspicion, especially as you scramble down with a face appearing impossibly guilty. “I just wanted to open the window,” you explain, but the nervous rise of your voice and the way you look frightened only make his eyes narrow a fraction. He doesn’t believe you. You need him to believe you, because your punishment for escape is always his silence. It’s damning to your senses that crave company and interaction, his patience greater than your own.

“My love, I swear, I really, truly wasn’t,” you stepped closer, heart rate picking up as anxiety tickled your senses. “I would never leave you,” you whisper, coming up to him even as he gazes down at you with eyes pooling with disbelief and suspicion.

He’s unable to resist pulling you into his arms though, wrapping you up close to him and appreciating your softness in his grasp. It helps as you wrap your arms around his neck, press yourself impossibly closer, and whimper in his ear. His grip increases a fraction, a shiver going down his spine while one hand slips further down to cup your ass and lift you.

His strength amazed you at times, and terrified you at others.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, whispering promises of never leaving his side and loving him forever against his lips before he silences you with a kiss. His soft lips warm and coaxing as he takes you out of the kitchen and towards your shared room in the house. His hold becomes a bit too harsh as you’re laid on the bed, his weight blanketing you. His eyes are darker than usual, deeper pools of blue you worry might drown you as he slips his hands beneath your skirt, calloused fingers running along the soft flesh of your thigh as he spreads them. A burning need deep in his gut to remind you where you belong.

“Who do you belong to?” It’s so light against your lips you nearly miss it.

Until he tears your underwear off, a yelp elicited from you at the sting on your flesh from where he tugged and tore them.

“You!”

He easily slips between your legs, fingers sliding through your folds, finding your puffy nub and applying pressure until you’re moaning.

“G-Giyuu…”

“That’s right. You belong to me, don’t you pearl? All mine,” he’s pressing into you, two fingers opening you up despite your entrance weeping for all of him. Still mostly clothed you grip his sleeves, whining because it’s not enough, his lips hushing you again. He swallows all the little noises you make, tongue invading and stealing your ability to think as he fucks you with his fingers. Each shlick of your pussy has you heating further, the lewd wet noises he elicits making your legs tremble around his waist.

He breaks the kiss, rubbing and stretching your gummy walls before curling his fingers and vigorously attacking your poor g-spot, his lips tugging into a smile as you shatter for him.

You’re left limp beneath him, the orgasm he tore from you too quickly made you dizzy as you pant and gather your mind again. Giyuu is already sliding the tip of his cock through your slick before you can recover, pressing forward once he’s lubricated enough to slip past the tight first ring of muscle into your warmth. His cock spreads you perfectly, opening you up and leaving you gasping for air due to the sensitive inner walls being stimulated further.

It’s desperate and messy how he fucks you, intertwining your fingers and pressing them beside your head, kissing and marking your neck up while repeating under his breath how you’re his.

“Mine too—!” Your airy cry has him sinking even deeper, a groan coming out at your own claiming of him.

“Giyuu—,” he wants nothing more than to brand your soul with himself.

“Yours,” he nods, looking into your eyes as he bullies his cock against your poor cervix, using his thighs to press you up further, almost in half while he fucks you.

“All yours,” he moans, burying his face in your neck while he stuffs you full, the room heating as you did, your core tightening around him while your body edges on the beginning of another orgasm.

He stops just before you can cum. His weight and warmth immediately leaving you as you cry out in denial. Your wide gaze on his cooling expression, his jaw taunt with tension.

“Giyuu…?”

“Not till you learn.” Your confusion must show on your face.

“That you’ll never be safe unless you’re by side.”

He didn’t believe you.

“But I—,”

“Shh… I know, my sweet pearl.” He’s blanketing you again, warmth returning to your body but his eyes remain cool.

“You’ll learn eventually.”

Something dark swirls in those depths, your gut telling you to run but…

There’s no where to go.

Dividers hand drawn by @benkeibear !

#Yan answers #not proof read lol #Giyuu Tomioka #Giyuu Tomioka x reader #Giyuu Tomioka x reader smut #yandere Giyuu Tomioka #yandere Giyuu #yandere Giyuu smut #Giyuu Tomioka smut #yandere kny #yandere kny smut #kny smut #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #yan loves her mooties #yandere profile #yandere profile Giyuu Tomioka

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happypopcornprincess · 3 months

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Tangled Fates

Part 2

A Phaya x Tharn fic about their past life as Sapuna and Wansarut.

GIF by @25shadesoffebruary || Original Post by creator is here

a/n - As a desi, this series has captured my heart with the mythology and storytelling! So I wrote this fic as I believe this backstory was one of the best in BL! This happens right after Sapuna is saved by Wansarut and left on the riverside. All of this is my imagination this is not from the book as i haven't read it yet. A lot of this is inspired from indian and thai mythological stories that my grandparents would tell me (shakuntala, nala-damyanti, radha-krishna, etc)Some terms might be difficult to understand so I have underlined them and provided a guide at the end for them.

The Sign series spoilers ahead!

---/---/---

Leaning back on the tree bark under the night sky, Sapuna winced as he tried to calm down. He took shallow breaths while pain coursed through his body. Within a single day, he had been bitten by Prince Chalothorn, thrown from the skies, almost died from Naga venom, and saved by a Nagini.

He was experiencing the after effects of detoxification. His eyesight was weakened, he couldn’t see the infinite like he used to. Is this what human vision is like? How do they manage to live like this?

He closed his eyes in frustration, trying to get some rest so he could gain strength to go back to the battlefield. He was worried that his brothers and sisters were searching for him. But the image of Prince Chalothorn flying towards his army in his serpent form worried him more. He wasn’t even in Garuda Lok. Everywhere he looked he found huge trees and dense forests. The shallow river on whose bank he sat was clear and cold, he craved for the warmth that was native to his kingdom.

This was Naga Lok, or somewhere near it. Nagas were territorial. They would never wander far from their home.

The Nagini earlier was proof of it.

“You will not be safe here.” Her eyebrows scrunched, she gazed at him with a blend of curiosity and caution.

“And why should I believe you?” Garuda retaliated with anger, looking at her legs that were still in the water, her territory, ready to run in case he attacked.

“I extracted all the venom but I can’t help with the after effects. You should return to your kingdom and let the vaidyas heal you.” She pleaded, looking around. “You will be killed if you stay here.”

The Lady turned away from him to face the water, and he flinched in habit when she turned into a serpent and dived into the water.

Did she go away to warn him? Will she be back? Why did she help him?

He could now hear the rumble in his stomach as if it were the roar of a lion. He remembered the lavish banquet he had shared with his clan before the war. In spite of his best efforts, Sapuna couldn't help but think about the delicacies he had been served just a day earlier.

Another sound echoed through the forest at the moment, the simmering sound of bangles. Sapuna sat up abruptly, on alert. He looked around but saw no one.

Was the Nagini back to finish me off?

Something brushed against his hand. Without his divine vision it took him a while to see what was in front of him in the moonlight.

It was a lotus leaf filled with berries, fruits, and edible flowers from the wild. His hunger only grew as he smelled the freshly picked mangoes, and throwing all caution to the wind, he dived in. Halfway through, his eyes caught a movement in the water.

He lifted his head to see a blur of green and gold; the same as the Nagini's clothes.

---/---/---

The sound of Wansarut’s bangles echoed through the plains as she picked the fruit. She chose the mangoes carefully for the injured Garuda. She saw how he ate the mangoes happily yesterday, they seemed to be of his liking. What do Garudas eat anyway? She has heard about them eating serpents since she was young. It sent a shiver down her spine. She will simply leave the food like she did yesterday and won’t talk to him. The quicker his health improves, the sooner he will leave.

She gained her composure, and took off her anklets and bangles and kept them by the riverside. She almost got caught yesterday. She saw a fawn and its mother drinking water by her side. Smiling, she said in their tongue, "Keep them safe for me now, will you?” The fawn nodded, standing guard over her jewels with its tiny form.

She got into the water, smiling back at the fawn. Spending time with wild animals in this forest has always been her joy. This place was the divide between Naga Lok and the human world, a place she accidentally stumbled upon while wandering in the woods. It felt like a hidden haven, known only to her; a sanctuary where she felt safe.

She surfaced by the bank where she had left the Garuda, quietly approaching the tree where he had fallen. There, she delicately placed the lotus leaf, ready to run away the second she placed it on the ground.

"Why are you here?"

Wansarut screamed as the heavy voice echoed behind her, causing the food to fly from her hands and land on the ground. Startled, she turned to find the Garuda staring at her with an unpleasant expression. Although color had returned to his skin, and he no longer appeared pale, his armor was still stained with blood. Other than that, he seemed to be in good health.

“Do you often save your enemies and treat them with mangoes?" Sapuna inquired, a strange sensation in his chest as he observed her green attire and flowing hair.

---/---/---

"Do you make a habit of lurking in the shadows to frighten others?" the Nagini screamed once more, eyeing the scattered food on the ground.

His gaze remained steady as she gathered the fallen fruits, placing them on a lotus leaf and gently allowing the stream to cleanse the mud. Garuda found himself unable to look away, his attention fixed on her delicate wrists and the fluidity of her hands in the water, reminiscent of the mudras of Kohn.

Sapuna snapped back to reality. "Why are you here again?" he asked, approaching her as she handed him the food.

"Because I want you gone," she declared, scrutinizing him from head to toe.

"Is this a farewell lunch, then?" he inquired, taking a seat under the tree where he had fallen. Diving into the mangoes, he saw the Nagini looking at him, puzzled.

"You need to regain your strength to fly. Mangoes help," she explained, turning to leave. "I hope you leave this place by tomorrow."

Sapuna quickly swallowed his food and shouted, "Wait." She halted, looking back at him, one foot in the water and the other on the stones near the bank.

"Thank you. The Garudas will never forget your kindness and hospitality," he expressed.

The Nagini locked eyes with him. "I hope you don't forget to repay me." Sapuna recalled her asking for this war to end, for peace among her kind and his.

“I will do what I can," Sapuna replied.

The Nagini nods, stepping into the water to go away when the Garuda shouts again, “What is your name?”

She pauses yet again, but doesn’t turn.

"Wansarut." After saying so, she shifts into her Nagini form and dives into the water.

“Wansarut.” Sapuna smiles, whispering her name as he looked at the half-eaten food with a smile on his face.

---/---/---

Sleep didn’t come easy for Wansarut that night. The image of the Garuda's face lingered in her thoughts.

There was an unusual aura about him; something she had never witnessed before. His presence seemed to glow, and his features were perfectly sculpted. In his human form, he could easily be mistaken for a heavenly demigod. Truly divine.

She thought about the possibilities if he was a Naga like her. She could have asked him for courtship. They could have had the blessings from the elders and…

Wansarut sat up, shaking her head to dispel the fantasy.

He was a Garuda, her enemy. She could be in grave danger if discovered that she helped a Garuda. She didn’t even know his name and she wanted to do what? Ask him to court her? Love her?

Attempting to push these thoughts aside, she tried to sleep, resisting the image of him standing by the stream where he fell, waiting for her.

But she made a firm decision - she wouldn't go back. It wasn't just for her safety but for his as well.

---/---/---

More to come soon...

---/---/---

Guide

Sapuna - Phaya's name in past life as a Garuda

Wansarut - Tharn's name in past life as a Nagini

Naga - A creature from Hindu and Thai mythology who has magical powers and can shapeshift into a Serpant

Nagini - Females of Naga clan.

Garuda Lok - The realm of Lord Garuda

Naga Lok - Realm of the Nagas

Vaidyas - healers

Smiling, she said in their tongue - Naginis have magical abilities to talk in any language (be it human or animals)

Mudras of Khon - Khon is a classical dance in thailand and mudras are different types of hand movements in classical dances like odissi, khon, bharatnatyam, manipuri etc.

#the sign the series #fic #the sign bl #bl drama #bl series #thai bl #thai drama #phaya x tharn #phayatharn #au fanfiction #thai series #asianlgbtqdramas #bl fanfic #happypopcornprincess writes #forbidden romance

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the-scooby-gang · 3 months

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Velma by Me!

A question for the Desi Scooby Fans

Hi guys! In my quest to rewrite the horror show that was HBO Velma, I decide to also redesign the characters, making some changes, mostly to their wardrobe, sometimes to their appearance. I will be keeping the changes in ethnicities while adding accordingly to the demands (my demands. I’m the one demanding) like making Shaggy Afro-Brazilian.

Now this brings me to my current query:

Is this design correct for Velma

I wanted to bring more influence from India into her design, but I’m also not Desi myself (I’m Brazilian) and India is a very big place with vastly different habits and traditions depending on where you are. Being half American would also add in ways I can’t even fathom.

If you guys could send me information (or direct me to somewhere where I can learn more) about how a Desi-American Lesbian girl would act, dress in her day to day, also reliable information about what religion she would practice and how it all would shape how she sees, interprets and interacts with the world I would be eternally grateful

Yours Truly,

The Scooby Gang (Gih. That’s me)

#scooby gang #velma by me #velma dinkley #gih asks #velma hbo #hbo velma #desi #desi girl #desi teen #desi culture #India culture #rewrite #desi tumblr

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milknhonies · 3 months

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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.

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