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inlovewiththefictionalcharacters · 15 hours

Text

Based on a prompt:

How about writing something with the phrase "If beauty were a crime..."

Summary: Lost in an ancient ruin, you stumble upon a stranger with a tempting offer...

Pairing: August Walker x Reader (no mentions of body type or ethnicity)

Word count: 2k (somehow)

Warnings: supernatural themes, manipulation, mind control, dubious consent, suggestive, hinted breeding, slightly dark themes but nothing explicit.

A/N: Not beta’d. Many thanks to @the-soot-sprite and @notabronte for their support and advice. Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed 🖤

The Prisoner

A lifetime ago, this abandoned ruin was a beautiful underground temple - a place of worship for a god of some sort. Myths have told that the arched ceilings gleamed with emerald and golden chains, so bright no fire was needed to light its chambers. Now? It was yet another desolate graveyard of a fallen civilisation, a place for thieves and scoundrels to pillage its scraps.

Scounrdles like you.

Whatever remained of the once-breathtaking temple was hardly even a ghost of its former structure. Dark tunnels stretched for miles and miles away, dark and slick like the bowels of a beast. Seeking your way out, you ventured through the passages. Your torch burnt faintly, the little blaze threatening to die.

It was foolish to stay behind. You were a fool. The rest of the clan had already stepped outside, and you had more than plenty of good weighing heavy in your sack, yet you decided to linger, believing there were more hidden chambers to pillage.

‘Oh, how greed weakens the best of us…’

The flame of your torch whispered its dying breath as you ventured into yet another dead-end. Looking at the glowing ember, you sighed and threw the torch onto the ground, realising you may have to spend the night lost in a dark chasm when a beam of dim light appeared from a hidden crease.

Was it one of your colleagues who came to collect you? No, surely none of them cared enough to do that. Lured by the light, you followed, gingerly stepping into what appeared to be a rounded chamber filled with empty barred cells.

Well, not entirely empty. Some of them held cheerful skeletons.

‘Great,’ you thought. You were soon to join them. Weary, you slumped against the wall and shut your eyes when a low, gravelly voice caused you to jerk.

“If beauty were a crime, it would be you in this cell rather than me…”

Behind one of the barred brigs, a face peered. A face that, despite the dirt that tainted it, appeared more beautiful than any other face you had seen before. Long rivers of dark hair framed a fine bewhiskered jawline and cheeks that were so chiselled, so sharp, one could cut a finger just by stroking them. Even the soot and grime that covered his skin couldn’t hinder his good looks and only made those glacial eyes stand out like an oasis amidst the desert.

A thick moustache decorated his upper lip, raven-black as his wavy hair and the dust of stubble that kissed his cheeks implied that he’d been in this cell for more than a few days though it was hard to tell exactly how long. The man didn’t appear famished or exhausted, which you found strange considering the empty bowl of food next to his bed.

Patient, he stood, shrouded in ragged clothes. He looked as if he had waited for a while.

The voice in your head urged you to leave and continue looking for the exit or the rest of the crew; to say you had overstayed your welcome in these ruins would be an understatement. Who knew whatever other evils lurked in its depth?

But curiosity whispered in your ears and tingled in your toes, and he was just a man caged in a dungeon cell. Perhaps he could even help you find the way out.

‘Does he look like he is in any position to help?’

Putting down the sack of stolen gems, you took another step to get a better look at him, a frown crinkling your brow. “Smooth,” you mocked his attempt to seduce you, “and you are?”

The man flashed an absurdly white wolfish grin. “I could be a friend, an assistant…a lover,” his timber dropped smoothly, “depends on who you would like me to be.”

His attempt to flirt did nothing but cause you to roll your eyes, yet you couldn’t help but press further. “And what about a foe?”

“Wouldn’t dream of being a foe to such a strong, impressive woman.”

You huffed sardonically and reached for the sack again. Whoever put this man in a cell had their reasons, and besides, you weren’t going to let out someone who just witnessed you desecrate and rob ancient ruins. There were far foolish ways to get caught.

Throwing the sack over your shoulder, you turned to leave when the stranger’s voice snaked behind you once more, “Leroy will betray the group tonight.”

A chill crept up your spine, making your feet freeze in their place.

How did he know his name?

‘No. Surely the stranger heard one of the party members speak it.’

You sighed in small relief as you tried to convince yourself this was a ploy, but still, your legs refused to move.

“He purchased poison on your previous stop in Yernya to slip it into your celebratory wine tonight. It was his plan all along," the stranger continued. "To steal all the loot for himself, and he will do it tonight while you and your party choke on your own blood,” he paused and offered a small grin, “that is… if you can even find your way back out.”

The chill in your spine grew colder and pierced through your gut like a shard of ice. You turned back to face the stranger, the sack slipping from your grip and hitting the dusty ground with a loud thud.

“…how did you know we passed through Yernya?!”

The stranger grinned silently, the light of torches cascaded on his glacial gaze like stars upon the ocean.

Fear seeped between your bones; you tried to snuff it away, yet it had already pitted your confidence into little flakes of ash. Carefully, you crept closer when an abrupt waft of his pungent scent descended around you. It made you woozy; he smelled nothing like you imagined he would; the scent was strongly sweet - a hint of wine and dark succulent roses - romantic yet somehow still distinctly masculine.

It took you a moment to regain your focus. With a sharp inhale, you asked again, “who are you?”

The stranger licked his bottom lip, the smile on his face still apparent, “a deity to some, a god to others. For you, simply Augustus.”

You couldn’t help the snort that followed; obviously, a madman. However, the tingle in your arms persisted.

“If you are a god, how is it that you are chained and begging for my help?”

The stranger, now known as Augustus, clicked his tongue, and a severe wrinkle appeared on his brow. “Gods get captured all the time. Some of us are even killed.”

“That makes being a god a shitty deal, then.”

He ignored your interruption, raising his hands to his chest as he spoke. They were inked, marked by black runes you couldn’t read. “I have been caged here by a man… a fiend of an evil monk who serves no one and nothing but evil itself.”

“That… sounds like a stretch…” you retorted, not buying into any of what he said.

He nodded knowingly, lacing his inked fingers together, “I don’t judge you for not trusting me, but it is the truth. This monk plans to bring darkness to this world, and knowing that I can stop him, he summoned me into this cage. These bars you see…” he unclasped his hands and waved them over the rusty iron bars without touching them, “they are enchanted, I cannot touch them, I cannot break free.”

Curious, you reached for the bars, your gloved fingers toying with the rust. Little reddish specks of dust shorn from the metal and coated the leather on your hands.

“Seems normal to me,” you mumbled, but then you couldn’t ignore the heat that radiated from the bars, nor could you deny the strange sensation that suffused you as you stood close to Augustus. It felt…ethereal; it surrounded you as opaline mist around a mountain, and your mind became uncommonly lax as if it was soothed by Augustus’ presence.

Perhaps this strange, attractive prisoner wasn’t lying. You reached for the lock, your leather-clad fingers sensing its weight. It was an old model, rust ate into the cylinder, so much that the slot was too gritty to pick. Luckily in this state, all it would take was a hit by something solid to break it open.

“If I free you…”

“I will seek for the monk who caged me and put a stop to his reign of terror.”

“And…”

He paused, bemused for a moment when a slanted grin lit his face. “What is it that you wish for, my dear beauty? Riches? Wisdom? Love? The way out, perhaps?”

Heat coiled in your cheeks at the sound of his compliment, but you kept stoic while your hand reached to feel the dagger in your back pocket. If the stranger were a fraud, you would bleed him dry. But if he were indeed a god or a deity, asking for something worthwhile would have been wise. Riches would dissolve eventually. Love faded, and wisdom didn’t seem to get you far...

As for the way out… it seemed like a waste when you could have had more.

You needed something that could guarantee everything. all. at once.

“Power,” you answered, “I want unlimited power.”

A burst of flames soared in the stranger's eyes as he heard your wish. Slyly, his lips twisted into a fanged grin.

“Consider it a done deal.”

You spent another moment staring, hesitant about whether you had made the right decision. Reaching behind, you felt the dagger in your pocket again, just to make sure it still sat in a place where you could easily withdraw it before you finally began looking for something heavy to use on the lock. A task that turned out to be easier than you expected as a pile of bricks that fell from an old piler conveniently laid on the ground next to the exit.

You offered Augustus one last glance before breaking the lock, carefully observing the silent anticipation that burnt on his gaze. His chicks twitched lightly, unable to hide the excitement wrought on his face.

‘You can still end him with the brick if he tried anything.’ You reminded yourself as you lifted your arm.

Thwack! thwack! Two hits, and the lock fell to the ground.

A hoarse whine rang in the room as the barred door swung open, followed by an abrupt gust of wind that blew from the cage. With the brick latched between your dust-sprinkled fingers, you paced back and watched in awe at the unnatural spectacle.

Black rose petals circled the stranger, floating in the air; they clung to him and surrounded him until they formed a long dark cloak that flowed from his shoulders to the dusty floor. His face was no longer grimy but pure and pale as a pile of snow, and his beard had shed from it, leaving only a thick whisker above his succulent lips.

Far more handsome than ever before, you couldn’t help but gawk. Outside his cage, the man appeared taller, and the breadth of his shoulders made the chamber appear smaller.

He smacked them together and groaned while sliding his hands down the velvety garment that covered his chest. “Freedom… at last.”

It seemed he was telling the truth. As Augustus basked in the glory of his newly found freedom, you cleared your throat and reminded him about the bargain you had struck.

“As for my reward?”

Augustus inhaled deeply, releasing a guttural hum. Silent, you watched his adam's apple bobbing up and down before he turned toward you. After a brief inspection, he licked his lips once more.

“Oh, of course, one must always respect their deal.”

Eyes tinted orange by the flames of the torches, he began to saunter toward you.

Something was amiss - the room became duskier, and a sense of fright abruptly pinched your heart. You stepped away, your back hitting the brick wall behind you while Augustus continued to inch closer.

“Funny how fortune works.” His voice dropped lower, sensual like a kiss of velvet on your bare skin. “A hundred or centuries imprisoned, and you are the first one to free me. A woman, beautiful, fertile.”

“F… fer…”

He ignored you, slowly closing the distance between the two of you. “We have much work to do, my love.”

It was as if invisible vines grew from the wall and held you to it. You wanted to reach for your dagger but found that you couldn’t move a muscle while the stranger stood before you, his shadow darkening your sight.

Grunting in effort, you turned your face away, but he reached a hand to your chin and caressed it before tilting it up to his gaze.

“Do not fear me,” he demanded.

“No. I released you!” You called out in meek protest, “please, I…”

“Shush…” he hushed you and clicked his tongue, “there is much work to do, but first, your soul…”

Your last pleas were swallowed by his kiss. Lips bruising, he forced your mouth to open, his tongue rudely penetrating your mouth and stealing your breath. His taste was an instant addiction, sweeter than honey and finer than wine, and even though you vehemently wanted to fight him, you felt your will wane as he deepened the kiss.

Tendrils of black smoke clouded your mind until, finally, you kissed him back.

Sensing your surrender, Augustus smile, and, ever-so-tenderly, broke the kiss with a final soft nibble on your lips.

“My bride?” His glare speared into you, the voice reverberating inside your head as if he was speaking from within it. Deep in the bowels of your mind, you could hear yourself screaming, but the murky tendrils that ensnared you hauled you into the abyss.

“Yes, my Lord,” your lips moved faintly. A voice that resembled yours came from them, but it wasn’t what you wanted to say.

The demon’s face blazed with joy. Stepping away, he offered a hand which you took without question, allowing him to guide you down the stairs of the dungeon.

Step by step, you heard the screams deafening in your mind, but the only sound that echoed through the cold hallways was the squeaking of rats and your soft footsteps following a demon toward your demise.

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inlovewiththefictionalcharacters · 3 days

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Mr. Holmes Maid (3)

Summary: You’re his maid.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Maid!Reader

Warnings: angst, power imbalance, dub-con (just in case cuddling/sharing a bed), master-servant relationship, the reader was an orphan, inappropriate behavior

Mr. Holmes Maid (2)

Mr. Holmes’ maid masterlist

The red dress is even more opulent and expensive than the others. You feel like an imposter standing in front of your master in a dress that shouldn’t cover your body.

“Wonderful,” the needlewoman coos. She clasps her hands together and smiles at you. “She looks so beautiful, doesn’t she, Mr. Holmes.” She wants to hear a compliment for her handiwork, not how you look in the dress.

“Mr. Holmes,” you dare not complain, but you don’t feel comfortable wearing a dress made for a lady, not a peasant. “Isn’t that too much? I can’t clean in this kind of dress.”

“It’s for special occasions,” he hastily says while pushing a few looks out of his face. “If we receive guests and such.” The lie easily rolls off his tongue. He straightens his back and looks at the owner of the shop straight in the eyes. “Right, Mr. Stevenson.”

“Oh, of course, Mr. Holmes,” the man almost cowers in front of your master. If he’d lick Sherlock’s polished shoes, you wouldn’t be surprised. “She will look lovely while serving your guests.”

No one at the shop believes Sherlock wants you to wear this dress for his guests. He wants you to wear them only for you.

“Wonderful,” your master finally says. “We will take them all. Maid,” he sternly looks at you. “You can redress after I paid for everything. I’ll be waiting outside for you. Don’t waste time, we need shoes for you too.”

“Shoes,” you murmur while watching Sherlock with curiosity. He’s so different now. Moments ago, he was all soft on you and placed his hand on the small of your back. And now, he orders you around.

“Yes, shoes, maid,” he grumbles. “Let’s proceed then.”

You wrinkle your forehead. What else does he want to buy for you today?

Sherlock leaves you and the needlewoman alone to talk to the owner about payment, and another order.

“My dear,” the woman whispers so no one can hear her. “He’s charming, smart, and very handsome. But be careful. You’re only a maid. If anyone finds out about your affair,” she looks around the shop, “you will be the one to blame.”

“I—no,” you gasp at her bluntness. “I…we…no. We never... I wouldn’t dare…” You shake your head. “Mr. Holmes never did such a thing, madame.”

“I’m not a madame, my dear,” she chuckles lightly. “I was you not so long ago.” She dips her head to watch her husband and Sherlock talk. “My husband saved me from ending up on the street after my master promised me love and devotion.”

You don’t know what to say, so you remain silent.

“After he stole my innocence, he tossed me out on the street like a stray cat,” she whispers. “If you ever need help,” she grabs your hand, squeezing it, “come back here. We have a spare room.”

You nod and give her a quick smile. Your heart is racing, just like your mind.

Is that what Sherlock wants? Steal your innocence and kick you out. Is this his way to remind you of your place? Maybe he tries to fool you, believing you’re just a dull maid, unable to think for yourself.

“Thank you,” you utter and ask her to help you redress. You need to get the expensive dress off of your body, or you’ll faint imagining all the things Sherlock could do to you if you let him…

“Are you unwell,” Sherlock watches you fidget in your seat at the carriage. “What is it, Y/N?”

“The dresses and all that,” you dare not to meet his gaze, “I can’t wear them. It’s inappropriate. I got my clothes and…guests wouldn’t want to see me in such a dress. It’s too…pretty.”

“I bought them,” he sternly replies. “So, you will wear them.” Sherlock’s features soften when you choke out a sob. “Y/N, you helped me so often while I was lost in a case. You made sure that I ate properly and got dressed. You even brushed my locks. Consider the dresses and coat a gift to thank you for your assistance with my cases.”

“I did my duty, Master Holmes,” your voice trembles when he looks at you with soft blue eyes. “Helping you and taking care of you is my honor.”

He smiles at your words. “You’re so…” Sherlock swallows the sweet words he wanted to say. He cannot say them. This would confuse you even more. “Caring and selfless.” He says instead. “If I offer a gift to you, I expect you to take it.”

“Yes, master.”

Sherlock sighs deeply. His words came out wrong, and now you shy away, believing you did something wrong. He wants to take the words back, but that’s just not him.

“We will be home soon, maid,” he softly says. “We should rest soon. It was a rather long and exhausting day for you.”

“What about dinner? I can still prepare everything,” you try to make things up to Sherlock. He bought all these nice things for you, and you could only think of the things the needlewoman said to you.

Sherlock brushes his hand over yours, gently touching it for a moment. “We have leftovers from last night. You need to rest. Tomorrow, we need to talk about a few things.”

You nod and drop your gaze. “Will you send me away now? Did I anger you?”

“What?” He gasps at your words. “No…I…” Sherlock grabs your hand to hold it tightly. “I would never let you go. And you did not anger me, Y/N.” He murmurs. “It’s late and we should not think of anything but to rest.”

Your heart races feeling his large hand hold yours. He doesn’t let go and interlaces his fingers with yours. Sherlock breaks another rule, but there is no one but you and him in that carriage.

Who shall judge him for wanting to hold your hand?

You pace back and forth in your bedroom. Sherlock said goodnight and tried to read some papers while he sent you to bed.

Now the words of needlewoman echo in your mind. What if she’s right? Maybe he tries to charm his way into your bed. You heard stories from other maids. Their masters did the same.

Sherlock never made any promises. He just came to your bed and slept next to you, seeking your warmth and closeness.

It’s all so confusing and you don’t know if you can resist his advances. Your heart, and maybe your soul too belongs to Sherlock for the longest time.

The moment he took you to his maid, you were lost, and you don’t know if that’s a bad thing…

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