#august walker

Your heart races looking at August. He’s still the man ordering you around and yelling at you, but now, you feel grounded and safe with him.

“Don’t leave me waiting,” he warns. His hands grip your hips a little tighter to press your bare sex against the rough fabric of his slacks. A reminder that he’s in charge.

“Yes, Sir,” you shakily reply.

“Start slow,” his voice is so low and commanding that you are about to cum right there and then. “I want to see every spark I ignite. If you want to stop, say red. That should do for now.”

“Red,” you reply, earning a low growl from August. “Understood, Sir.”

You bite your lip, hesitating for another heartbeat before you begin to move. You’re grinding against the solid muscle beneath you, moaning loudly as you feel your clit start to thrum.

Your orgasm builds quickly, and you can already feel the familiar warmth spread through your abdomen. August watches your every move, eyes locked on your face.  

Right when you pick up the pace to chase your orgasm, he tightens his hold on your hips again, holding you still. “You won’t get to cum so fast. Do it slower.”

You whine but obediently nod. August is in charge, and if you want this relationship to work out, you must show him how good you can be for him.

August loosens his hold on your hips, allowing you to ride his thigh harder. The pressure is just right. Your breath is coming in short bursts. You close your eyes, whimpering as the high you were chasing was taken away from you again.

His hand comes up to your face to cup your cheek. He only looks at you, smirking as you slow down again.

“Good girl,” he praises, his voice softening for only a moment. You fall against his chest, frustrated and aching for release, but the praise makes you feel warm.

He doesn’t stop, though. August gave you a moment to calm, only for him to tell you to keep grinding. Again. And again. And again.

He wants you to break; you don’t cum without permission. August just stares at you, calculating, waiting for you to break. But you don’t.

“That’s a good girl for me,” he murmurs, gently stroking your sides as you are so close to your orgasm it almost hurts.

“Please, August... I need it.”

You are about to say red when he looks you in the eyes and tells you, “Come for me.”

You surge forward, riding with abandon, until your orgasm finally shatters you. Weak and exhausted, you fall against his chest again, crying silently.

August held you close, his hands gently stroking your back and hair. “You did so well,” he whispers, pressing soft kisses to the top of your head. He waits for you to come down and listens to your breathing.

You sigh against him, allowing yourself to bask in his warmth and care. “I did well?” You murmur, wondering if he tries to tease you again. “Really?”

“Very well, Y/N. No other woman was so good for me. Ever,” he says, reassuringly. “Now, let’s get you to bed. It was a long and exhausting day for you.”

August ran a warm bath for you. He helped you eat and rehydrate before carrying you inside his bedroom. You’re the first sub allowed to stay with him. August usually brings them home after a session.

“You’ll stay with me,” he simply states. There’s no room for arguments. August found his perfect submissive and won’t give up on you. “Tomorrow, we will get more of your things. I’ll handle your lease and everything.”

“You want me to move in here…permanently. I thought this was just…” You don’t know what to think. August is the dominant you were looking for, but he’s still the man who hated you the most not so long ago.

“I need to know you’re safe all the time. At work, I can keep an eye on you. After work, it’d be difficult if you are not near me. I can’t have anything happen to you,” he says, joining you on the bed. August possessively wraps himself around your body. He buries his face in your neck, teasing your soft spot with his lips. “No man can even lay his eyes on you…”

That’s one thing he knows- if something seems off, it’s hidden for a reason. He releases a breath and adjusts his tie, quickly attaching credentials to his chest as he easily steps out and uses the fake keycard to enter the building. While this business is supposedly nothing important, he does know the man killed by the White Wolf worked high up in this company; any fool who is worth killing must have something to hide, and there’s only one person who can make someone suddenly pass of “natural causes”.

“Can I help you?” A sweet voice asks, catching his attention. August turns, immediately noticing a woman sitting at a desk, seeming to be on the defense as soon as her eyes moved from her computer to land on him. He can’t help but smirk, only slightly irritated when it seems to have no effect. Usually his charm helps women cave into his needs easier, but this is the first time it hasn’t proven… effective.

“Hello,” He smiles, politely stepping closer to the desk. “I’m here for the random audit of the facility.”

Her eyes narrow, her hands moving as she checks the computer anyway. “We just had that audit last week. Are you sure you’re in the right place?”

“Well, they wanted to make sure they didn’t miss anything.” He hums, curious as she seems to tense up even more.

“I’m sorry, you can’t come in.” She says firmly, finally stopping to meet his eyes. “No exceptions.”

He hums, trying to hide his frustration. “This isn’t a voluntary audit, sweetheart.”

“I’m not your sweetheart.” She resumes tapping on the computer, back to ignoring him. “Have a good day.”

Swallowing a growl, August moves back to his car, immediately grabbing his phone. “The damn receptionist isn’t letting me in. How much do you really need me to behave?”

Steve’s laugh echoes in the sleek car, making August glower. “Of course not. We need to find out about those weapons and why the White Wolf is involved in our business.” He hears the sound of cloth brushing along leather, a typical sign of Steve relaxing back into his chair. “Do some digging. See what can get past the receptionist. Play nice.”

“I am nice.” August hangs up, growling a bit as he watches the desk. He notices her tensing up as he inserts the headpiece, his secret bug smoothly under the corner of her desk from before.

“Who was that?” A deep voice demands, making August glance up in time to see a man storming into the room. The receptionist doesn’t even flinch, continuing to type as she doesn’t look up.

“Just someone asking too many personal questions. I figured it was a wannabe thief.” The lie rolls smoothly off her tongue, and August can’t help but smirk. Someone who can easily lie is always a more entertaining target. The man immediately get defensive before storming off again with a stream of curses, and August grabs a pen and scribbles the name down as he smirks to herself. He glances up to see the receptionist grab a notebook from her desk, frantically scribbling something down as August chuckles darkly, seeing her immediately hide the notebook again.

Time to play.

…

“She’s a mole.” August tosses a file on Steve’s desk, cracking his neck as he settles into the leather couch. “A smart one, too. Reporting every little finding to the police as if they’ll help stop them.”

Steve hums, flipping through August’s work. “A good one. Embezzlement, fraud approvals, fake deals with large deposits… She thinks it’s drug money, if the police responses are correct.”

“It isn’t wrong,” Lloyd pipes up, not looking up from his phone and ignoring August’s glare. “Just missing some key details.”

“Keep up with her.” Steve shuts the folder with a firm smack. “See if we can make an arrangement. You’re the one with M16 ties, maybe see if you can play an angle.”

“She’s certainly done her research.” August sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Fine. I’ll see what I can get from her.”

“Good boy,” Lloyd mocks, yelping when Steve chucks the folder at him. “Alright, alright!”

“Get back to your target, Hansen.” Steve nods to the door, ignoring the man’s grumbling as he retreats from the office. “You sure you can get in from her?”

“That or take her information from her.” August pinches the bridge of his nose, frustrated. “I need her to cooperate. With as minimal damage as possible.”

“Then get to work. We need to figure out what made the White Wolf eliminate our competition. If we can get there… Maybe we can work out a deal.”

“Fine.” August snatches the folder back, rising as he grabs his phone.

“I know.” She said with a sigh, reaching for him under the blanket and finding his hand with her own, his fingers tightening around hers. Taking his hand from hers, he reached up, holding the side of her jaw and turning her face towards him so he could kiss her, her eyes closing at the slide of his lips against hers. She held his wrist gently as she returned his affections.

Sy walked to the front door the next day as the doorbell tone rang through the house, tugging his sleeves straight before opening it. He already knew the jacket would probably get ditched before the day was out and the sleeves rolled up his forearms, Napoleon would just have to deal.

“Mornin’.” He said, looking at the camera crew outside. “Why don’t y’all come in and we’ll get this kicked off.”

“And you are?” The woman in front asked as he stepped aside to let them in.

“Bryan Syverson.” He said, “Call me Sy, everyone does.”

“Where is Mrs. Graves?” She asked, looking around cautiously.

“Out back.” He said, leading them through the house towards the kitchen, “She was feelin’ a bit restless, so she and Mikey are throwin’ a ball around.” They emerged from the kitchen and out into the expansive backyard. Samantha was on the patio by the pool, a lever in her hand that she raised over her head, flinging it forward, a bright tennis ball flying a considerable distance through the air. A sleek black wolf took off full speed after it, kicking up grass and skidding slightly as he came to a stop, grabbing the ball in his mouth and running back.

“I didn’t know she had a dog.”

“Oh, no.” Sy said with a snort, “That’s my brother, Mike.”

“That’s your...brother.” A cameraman said, his small camera already out and filming and Sy nodded.

“My baby brother, yeah.” He said and gave a shrill whistle through his teeth. “Company’s here! Wrap it up!” He saw Samantha’s eyes move to the crew, her smile faltering slightly before coming back, but far more controlled this time instead of genuine. Mike ran past her at a decent pace before jumping into the pool with a splash, disappearing under the water before emerging again at the edge, pushing himself up out of the pool and shaking his head to get water out of his hair, having shifted back while under the water.

“Wish you wouldn’t do that.” Samantha said, “You got grass and sticks in the pool.”

“I’ll run the skimmer later.” He said, wrapping the towel that had been on a lounge chair around his hips.

“Go get dressed, Fido.” Sy said and Mike stuck his tongue out at him as he jogged past them into the house after pressing a kiss to Samantha’s cheek.

“I didn’t know wolves played fetch.” The cameraman said.

“Oh, we don’t.” Sy said, “I keep tellin’ him it ain’t dignified, but fuck it if that boy listens to a damn thing I say.”

“How old is he?”

“He’ll be twenty-five in the summer.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-six in the fall.” Sy said and Samantha stepped into her shoes after putting away the ball and toy. Going over to him, her arm slid over his waist and he looked down at her fondly as he held her shoulder. “Feel a bit better?”

“A bit.” She admitted. “Should we get started? We can do this out here or inside. I don’t mind either way.”

“We’re setting up in the living room.” The cameraman said and she nodded before looking back at Sy.

“Are the others ready?” She asked.

“August, Walt, and Napoleon should be and —here’s Geralt.” They looked over as he emerged from the pool house, straightening his tie, Samantha going to him and running her hands over his suit jacket.

“You look handsome.” She said and he gave her a soft smile.

“What about me?” Sy asked and she gave him a look that made him snort in amusement.

“And this is?” The woman asked.

“Geralt Rivian.” He said simply. “You’re Olivia Rogers?”

“Yes, how—”

“Solo told us you’d be conducting the interview.” He said, “Let’s go inside.”

“What do you do, Mr. Rivian?” Olivia asked as they walked back into the house and Geralt blinked at her.

“I kill things.” He said with about as much tact as a brick.

“Geralt is a Tracker with the Pack Council.” Samantha clarified, “He works with law enforcement to hunt down Feral wolves.”

“I—I see.” Olivia said, having gone a bit pale under Geralt’s steady amber gaze. “Sounds like dangerous work.”

“It is.” He said, “But that’s not why you’re here.”

“You kill your own kind?” A cameraman asked.

“Ferals are not “my own kind”. They’re dangerous and should be dealt with quickly.” Geralt said.

“Again, Geralt works with law enforcement, both local and federal to hunt down these wolves and make sure they can’t hurt anyone else, human or wolf.” Samantha said. “He protects people.”

“He just said he kills other wolves for a living.” Olivia said, “A wolf is a wolf.”

“They’re not—” He stopped as Samantha’s hand curled around his fingers, his jaw clenching.

“Geralt isn’t why you’re here.” She said, “I am. You will direct any and all questions towards me. It was already agreed upon that the questions would only pertain to my impending divorce from Pastor Graves.”

You go to bed with the forgotten container on your mind. Did he forget or does he just not care? Each night you sleep alone and feel further and further from your own husband. You don’t know him anymore.

When you married, he told you what he wanted and you became that. Because you love him. You kept a clean house, you learned how to cook the things he likes; healthy things. Salads, pesto, consomme, all the fancy things from scratch, never from a box or a bag. Now he doesn’t even touch those things.

Or you.

You roll over and sigh. You close your eyes. You’re almost through the week. That’s something you can be proud of. Maybe even he will when you get your first cheque and let him know you can help with repair on the garage door.

Andy’s snoring beside you when your alarm goes off. Your head swirls with drowsiness as your unconsciousness sticks like sludge. He nudges you meanly with his knuckles.

You slap your hand over on the nightstand and silence the alarm. You sit up and bobble. You rub your eyes with the heels of your hand.

“I’ll get coffee going…” you speak through the frog in your throat.

You slide off the bed as he pulls his pillow over his head. His clothes from the night before are on the floor. You pick them up and put them in the hamper before you go.

You brew a pot of coffee. You hesitate by the counter. You won’t bother with breakfast. You’re not very hungry and you’ve wasted enough food.

You take a cup of coffee and drink it as you get ready for the day. Dusty grey trousers with an elastic band, a plain white blouse, and a knit vest over it in a similar shade to your bottoms. You step into your orthotic black flats and stare into the mirror.

More than Andy has changed. You’re older. A few new lines. Bigger. You have to wear the vest to hide how the blouse tugs around the buttons. Maybe with the extra money you can sign up for a gym membership. Working out at home never worked well for you.

You go back to the kitchen. Andy is drinking coffee and rubbing his head. He quickly drops his hand and blacks out the screen of his phone on the counter. He grumbles above his mug.

“How’s work?” You ask since he offers nothing.

“It’s work.” He says.

“Yeah.” You pause and watch him. He doesn’t look at you. “I think my job’s going okay.”

“Oh…? That’s good.” He intones dully. He checks his phone again. “I should get ready.”

You let him go. How are things so awkward with your own husband? You swear, your boss is easier to handle. Mr. Walker at least is blunt and direct.

Andy doesn’t take the food. Again. You take it with you. You’ll figure something out.

You get to headquarters and check in with your credentials. You continue up the elevator and shove your lunch into the fridge. You take the time as the coffee machine churns to get yourself focused.

You knock at Mr. Walker’s door before you enter. He’s inside, already scowling. He has a tablet in his hands, tapping at it in frustration. You put his coffee down. He doesn’t look up but he does thank you. His grizzled tone crawls into your ears. Did Andy even thank you for the coffee?

You go to the chair still against the wall and sit. You check the calendar in the secured phone app.

“Mr. Walker,” you pipe up cautiously as you lower the phone.

His eyes flick up.

“Is there anything you need for your meeting?” You ask.

His eyes cling to you and the corner of his lips twitch. “Nothing…” he looks back down. He sits up straight and you notice his shoulder is still off kilter. “Thank you.”

Footsteps echo from further down the hall. You listen through the wall as Walker sighs at his tablet. There’s an out of key whistling that grows closer with the slap of soles. Someone knocks at the door.

“August. Toodaloo.”

You recognise the voice. It’s the agent you dealt with the first day. Fowler. Walker growls and rubs his cheek.

“Damnit,” he growls.

You stand up and he watches you with a furrow. You don’t know what you’re doing either. You go to the door and open it only a little.

“Agent Fowler, is it?” You greet.

“Hey, there she is. You made it past the first day,” he puts his hand on the door frame and leans on one foot, trying to see past you. “Where’s Walker?”

“Busy.” You say. “I can pencil you in for later.

Fowler scoffs and eyes you up and down. “Excuse me?”

“He’s busy preparing for a meeting.” You insist. “Does one work for you?”

“Wow…” he whistles again. “Doll, I’m in that meeting too. Let me in.”

“I can’t. He’ll see you in the meeting.” Your heart pounds.

His eyes narrow and he pokes his tongue in his cheek. He rocks on his feet and drags his hand off the door frame. He nods.

“Hard ass,” he clucks. “Just like him.”

You don’t budge. You wait until he saunters away. You exhale and slowly shut the door. You turn back and sit down in the swivel chair. Walker is watching you.

“Sir, I…”

“Great job.” He says flatly and sits back, easing as he puts his gaze back to the tablet. “Guy’s unbearable.” He reaches for his cup. “Even when I have my coffee.”

You swallow and hold back a smile. You know that from someone like him, that’s a big deal. Hell, even from your husband, those words would make your day. Or any sort of acknowledgement or praise.

You wince. Don’t compare them. That’s home, this is work. Keep it separate. This is your thing. Your time away.

The tailor came back a couple days before the interview was scheduled with their clothes, all of them getting changed into them for the final fitting. Sy even said he would neaten his beard the day of.

“I look dapper as fuck.” Mike said, turning to look at himself in the full length mirror, the crisp white shirt tucked into black slacks. A simple waistcoat sans jacket would go over it and Napoleon already agreed to let him roll the sleeves up his forearms as a more relaxed appearance would fit his youthful looks.

“How do the shoulders feel?” The tailor asked as he was working on Sy and he shrugged, rolling his shoulders.

“Feels great. Don’t feel like I’m gonna pop a seam like I usually do in this type of getup.” Looking over, he gave a low whistle as Samantha emerged in her outfit, a black dress shirt and black pencil skirt that hugged her hips and thighs. “God damn.”

“You look amazing.” Napoleon said, going over to her, “Much better than those formless clothes you had already.”

“A Pastors wife has to look a certain way. Demure and plain.” She said with a shrug, not looking at him. “You all clean up very nice, by the way.”

“Right?” Mike said, still admiring himself in the mirror but stopped when he saw her in the reflection, turning around to look at her. “Uh, sweetcheeks? Do you have black framed glasses?”

“I’ve never needed glasses.” She responded, more than a little confused. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I’m getting naughty CEO vibes from you right now and I wanna be your intern who’s shit at his job and needs a performance review.” He said and Walter snorted so hard it sounded painful. Samantha just gave a small amused huff, her cheeks tinting slightly.

“Geralt, do you want me to braid your hair for it?” She asked, looking over at him as he adjusted the sleeves of the black suit coat with delicate silver pin-striping.

“I was going to keep it down.” He said simply but then seemed to think it over. “Can you trim the undercut?”

“Absolutely.” She said and went to him, running her fingers through the growth at the back of his head. “It is getting a bit long and you should look your intimidating best.” Going up on her toes, she pressed a kiss to his cheek, making a corner of his lips perk up slightly.

“August, you should—”

“I’m not getting rid of the mustache.” August said, cutting Napoleon off, “And I’m not shaving the beard.”

“You’re impossible.” Napoleon said, rolling his eyes.

“You’ve been trying to get me to get rid of the mustache since we met.” August said, “It’s not happening.”

“If you want to keep looking like a 1970’s adult film actor, that’s your prerogative.” Napoleon said.

“Said the James Bond wannabe.” August retorted.

“Boys,” Samantha said, “Behave.”

“He—” Napoleon started but she cut him off.

“Behave.” She said again, her voice taking a slightly deeper timbre and Geralt shuddered, Sy blinking heavily and shaking his head quickly. Napoleon’s brows raised slightly as he looked at her and she just stared right back until his eyes slid away.

“It’s been a while. I forgot how...strong female Alphas are.” He remarked and looked up at her when she approached him, that edge gone from her eyes and warmth bloomed in his chest, the urge to pull her into his arms taking him over quickly and he gave in, pulling her against his chest. He didn’t fail to notice how Augusts’ jaw tightened slightly, the other man stretching his neck with a tilt of his head.

“Shall I charge this to your account, Mr. Solo?” The tailor asked and Napoleon looked at him with a nod.

“Amazing work, as always.” He said, “I’ll contact you should any mishaps happen.” The tailor packed up and left after making closing pleasantries, Samantha thanking him as well on his way out the door, closing and locking it behind him.

“August, we need to talk.” She said, turning on him and he arched a brow at her.

“About?” He asked.

“Your...tenseness about Napoleon and I.” She said but he didn’t say anything.

“You’ve been broody.” Sy pointed out and August leveled a look at him that would have made a lesser wolf back up a step. Sy just stared right back unflinchingly.

“August, it was your pushing that made Napoleon tell me that I was his Mate,” Samantha pointed out, “So this...undercurrent of jealousy makes no sense. He told me that if you hadn’t pushed him to tell me, he wouldn’t have, so he’s only here because of you.”

“I didn’t want you to get hurt.” August said, “If you had realized that he was your Mate, but he never acknowledged it, it would have hurt you in the long run. Seeing him, knowing what he was to you, but him acting indifferent about it. Leon has...history when it comes to women, and I see him doing with you what he did with them.”

“Explain.” Samantha said.

“I wasn’t the best partner.” Napoleon admitted, “While infidelity has nothing to do with being a wolf, the fact that my previous lovers weren’t my Mate made it easier to go elsewhere. Sometimes those women were already with others when I did.”

“I see.” Samantha said, her eyes going to the floor.

“But you are my Mate, Samantha.” Napoleon said, going to her and holding her arms gently, “The thought of being with any woman but you disgusts me. It’s a repulsive idea that I will spare no energy entertaining. I wasn’t the best with them, but I will be with you.”

“Because I’m your Mate.”

“Exactly.”

“So if I wasn’t your Mate, would you have tried to—”

“No.” Napoleon said, cutting off that train of thought. “Because you are Augusts’ and the others. You are a beautiful woman, Samantha, but I would not have tried to seduce you away from them. It would have been futile anyway. You have your Mates, you won’t need or want anyone else. Besides, two of your Mates hunt and kill wolves for the Council and the other two were Special Forces for their respective militaries. Not only would it not look like murder, but I doubt my body would have even been found.”

“You ain’t wrong.” Sy said with a shrug.

“I just didn’t want you in pain, Sam.” August said, “I didn’t want him to hurt you.”

“And I won’t.” Napoleon said, “Ever.”

“This will probably come as no surprise to anyone, but Jonathan wasn’t faithful to me.” Samantha said, “He stopped hiding it from me after my second miscarriage, not that he really tried to begin with. I knew. When I asked him about it, he said that if I refused to fulfill my wifely duties and give him children, he would find someone who would, but divorce is still a sin, so...”

“But murder ain’t?” Sy asked, an edge to his voice.

“Murder?” Napoleon asked and with a nod from Samantha, Sy told him what Jonathan had done when she had tried to file for divorce the first time. “That bastard.”

“I can’t prove it.” She said, “But I know he did it. Or had it done.”

“Yeah I don’t see’im gettin’ his hands dirty.” Sy said, clicking his tongue against his teeth. “Probably hired someone.”

“Now I have even more incentive to crack the encryption on those files.” Napoleon said, “If he kept records, which I have a feeling he did as the man is too arrogant to believe he’d ever get caught, then I’ll have something to bury him with. The murder of an entire family will get him the needle.”

“I wonder if they’ll let one of us do it.” August mused.