#august walker fluff

That was the only way to describe him. He was massive, his broad shoulders filling the width of the narrow passage. He wore a dark, perfectly tailored suit that looked entirely too expensive for a man engaged in a foot chase. His hair was neat, despite the rain, but it was his face that commanded the space. He had a thick, dark chevron moustache that gave him an air of rigid, old-world authority. His eyes were like chips of flint, cold, analytical, and entirely devoid of empathy.

“Let her go.” the man said. His voice was a deep, gravelly rumble that seemed to vibrate in your very marrow. It wasn't a plea, it was a cold statement of fact.

“Stay back! I'll blow her head off, I swear to God!” your captor shrieked, pressing the gun harder against your skin.

You felt a spark of indignant heat flare through your terror. You weren't a character in one of your thrillers, you were a real person with a pile of laundry waiting and a very expensive pair of shoes that were currently being scuffed.

“Look, honey…” you said, your voice trembling but sharp, “you’re shaking so hard you’re going to give me a migraine before you even pull the trigger. Why don’t you put the gun down and talk to the… to the mysterious moustache man over there? He looks like he’s actually in charge of whatever mess you’ve made.”

The massive man in the suit, shifted his weight. His gaze flicked to you for a fraction of a second. It was a glare so intense it felt like a physical blow. He clearly didn't appreciate your commentary.

“Shut up!” August snapped, his eyes returning to the gunman.

“Don't tell me to shut up!” you shot back, the adrenaline finally overriding your common sense. “I'm the one with a barrel in my ear! And you! You’re getting your grimy fingerprints all over my coat. Just let me go so you two can have your little testosterone-fueled standoff in peace!”

The gunman was losing it. He looked between you and the wall of a man standing ten feet away. The pressure in the alley was mounting, the air thick with the smell of wet pavement and impending violence.

“I can't... I'm not going back!” the gunman yelled. He was overwhelmed, his mind snapping under the weight of August’s predatory stare.

In a fit of panicked, jagged movement, the man reached into his pocket with his free hand. He pulled out a pair of heavy-duty, blackened steel handcuffs, something that looked far more advanced than anything a standard beat cop would carry.

“Get over here!” the gunman barked at August. “Drop the weapon and get over here or she dies!”

August didn't drop his gun. He didn't even blink. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his presence so imposing it felt like he was sucking the oxygen out of the alley.

“You're not going to shoot her…” August said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “Because the second you do, I will pull your spine out through your throat.”

The gunman lost his mind. He let out a strangled cry, pointed his gun toward the sky, and fired a deafening shot that echoed off the brick walls. You flinched, your hands flying up to cover your ears. In the chaos of the noise and the smoke, the man lunged.

He didn't shoot you. Instead, he grabbed your left wrist with a strength born of pure hysteria. With a sickening clack-hiss, one side of the cuffs snapped shut around your wrist.

Before you could scream, August was on him. It was like watching a freight train hit a car. August didn't move like a normal man, he moved with a brutal, economic violence. He slammed into the gunman, his fist connecting with the man's jaw in a sound like a breaking branch.

But as the gunman fell back, he managed one last act of spiteful desperation. He grabbed August’s right hand and, with a final, frantic shove, snapped the other end of the cuffs onto August’s wrist.

The gunman scrambled away, disappearing into the darkness of the main street, leaving his gun behind in the puddle. August started to give chase, his body coiling to spring, but he was jerked back with a violent snap.

You were yanked off your feet, stumbling into his side. It was like hitting a brick wall made of muscle and expensive wool.

“Ow! Dammit!” you yelled, clutching your arm.

August stopped. He looked down at his right wrist, then followed the dark, high-tech chain to your left wrist. He tried to pull away, testing the strength of the bond. The chain between the cuffs began to hum softly, extending from its housing in the cuff itself. It grew longer about three to four feet of reinforced, shimmering wire but as soon as August stopped pulling, it retracted slightly, keeping the tension firm.

He reached into his pockets, his movements stiff and furious. He searched the ground where the gunman had been. Nothing.

“He doesn't have the key!” August growled, the words sounding like they were being ground between stones.

“The key? Use your own! Aren't you a cop? A spy? A giant, angry lumberjack in a suit?” You were panting, your heart hammering against your ribs. “Get this thing off me!”

August turned his full attention to you. Up close, he was even more terrifying. His face was inches from yours, and you could see the fine lines of irritation around his eyes. “These aren't standard issue. They're magnetic-lock prototypes. There is no keyhole, Y/n.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “How do you know my name?”

He reached into the open flap of your tote bag, which was still dangling from your shoulder, and pulled out your ID badge from the publishing house. He glanced at it and shoved it back in. “I know everything I need to know. And right now, what I know is that you’re an anchor I don't fucking need.”

“An anchor?” You let out a sharp, hysterical laugh. “You're the one who let the guy cuff us! You're the professional! I was just trying to go home and eat some mediocre pasta!”

“Shut your mouth and move!” he commanded, giving the chain a sharp tug. It didn't hurt, thanks to the extension mechanism, but the sheer force of his movement forced you to follow.

“Where are we going? We need to find a locksmith! Or a welder! Or a priest!”

August didn't slow down. He began walking toward the mouth of the alley, his stride long and relentless. You had to practically jog to keep up, your heels clicking unevenly on the wet stones.

“We're going to my extraction point.” he said, not looking back. “And if you say one more word about my moustache or a locksmith, I’m going to make you regret having a tongue.”

“Oh, we are well past the point of me being intimidated, Moustache Man!” you snapped, though your voice lacked its usual bite. You were exhausted, cold, and tethered to a man who looked like he could kill a person with a stern look. “You've got a gun, a very expensive suit, and zero people skills. I’ve spent ten years editing the egos of narcissistic novelists. You don’t scare me.”

August stopped so abruptly you ran into his back again. He turned, his towering frame casting a shadow over you. He grabbed the chain between you, winding it around his hand until you were pulled flush against his chest. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the scent of rain, gun oil, and something distinctly masculine and sharp.

“Listen to me, darling…” he whispered, his voice low and dangerous, his face inches from yours. “I am in the middle of a high-level retrieval. The man who just ran off has information that could burn half of Europe. I don’t have time for your 'smart' commentary, and I certainly don't have time to be 'kind.' You are going to keep your head down, you are going to walk where I tell you to walk, and you are going to stay out of my way. If you don't, I will carry you like a sack of flour. Am I clear?”

You stared up at him, your breath hitching. He was brutal, he was arrogant, and he was undeniably the most imposing man you had ever encountered. But you weren't going to let him see you crumble.

“Crystal,” you whispered back, your eyes defiant. “But if I lose a shoe because you’re walking too fast, you’re buying me a new pair. And they’re Louboutins.”

August stared at you for a long beat, his jaw tightening. For a second, you thought he might actually crack a smile, or break your neck. Instead, he just let out a sharp exhaling grunt of annoyance and turned back toward the street.

“Fine.” he muttered. “Keep moving.”

“Listen you didn't ask me if I want to come with you!” “ We are past that and now not word!”

As you stepped out into the neon-lit street, tethered to a man who was a different species of human altogether, you realized your quiet life of manuscripts and coffee was officially over. You were chained to a storm, and there was no way out but through.

The rain continued to fall, the silver chain between your wrists shimmering under the streetlights, a constant, unbreakable reminder that your worlds had not just collided, they were now inextricably fused.

Part 2

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Gia did so well, the hospital releases both her and baby V the next day. “Easy,” August says as he takes her by the hands and helps her into their suv. “Are you sure you’re not in too much pain?,” he then asks. “I’m sore, but honestly it’s not as bad as I thought it would be,” Gia replies as he starts the car. “We’re still going by the pharmacy for your pain meds just in case,” he tells her. “I’d expect nothing less,” she says, smiling at him affectionately.

After he returns to the car, Gia’s stomach growls loudly. “Don’t worry Princess, Mom’s got dinner ready and waiting for us at home. “She didn’t have to. Something from town would’ve been fine,” Gia says. “I know but you need good, home cooked food right now to help you heal, and she’s more than glad to do it,” he replies. Gia smiles to herself, happy to have such a good mother-in-law.

When they arrive home August helps Gia from the car before gathering Valentina and giving her to her mother. “Let’s go introduce her to Fiona,” he smiles. When they enter, they hear tiny feet barreling towards them. “Mama! Mama!,” she Fiona squeals. “Easy,” August says, as he quickly scoops her up before she can run into Gia. “Mama’s healing. We have to be careful,” August tells her. “Careful. Where baby sister?,” she then asks. “Right here. Do you want to go sit down and see her?,” August asks.

“Yes!,” Fiona replies, clapping her little hands. Nancy joins them on the couch as Gia shows Fiona her sister. “Ooooh,” Fiona says in fascination. Just then Valentina stirs, opening her eyes. “Baby sister wookin at me,” she giggles. “She is. The two of you are going to be the best of friends,” Gia tells her. “Mmhm. I hold baby sister?,”

Fiona asks. “Okay but only when Mama, Dada, or Nana are close by to help, understand?,” August tells her. “Yep,” Fiona nods.

“Good girl,” Nancy praises as Fiona holds her sister. August steps back and snaps a picture of the four of them, heart bursting with such fierce love it takes his breath. Gia looks to him and smiles softly, her sentiment the same as her husband’s. Valentina’s hungry cries break through the quiet moment. Fiona looks to Gia, little eyes frantic and filling with tears.

“Oh no Fifi, it’s okay. Valentina is probably just hungry,” she assures her as she takes the baby. “Need a nack,” Fiona says before rushing to the kitchen and coming back with an applesauce pack. Her little face scrunches with confusion as she sees Gia nursing. “Baby sister can only have Mama’s milk right now Sweet Pea, but thank you for wanting to share,” August says as she climbs up into his lap. “Mama’s milk in the boobies?,” she asks. “That’s right,” Gia tells her.

After getting V fed, Nancy takes her so Gia can have a little time with Fiona and to grab something to eat. The next few weeks go as such. Nancy is a constant. There cooking, cleaning, and helping wherever she can, all the while August and Gia are adjusting to having two baby girls now. “I’ve never been so tired but so happy before,” Gia says sleepily one night. Her head is laid on August’s chest as he gently caresses her arm soothingly. “Neither have I,” he says softly.

Of course during the postpartum period, August is making sure Gia is well fed, cared for, and rested as much as possible. Fiona adjusts even better than expected for a toddler. She just adores her baby sister and tries to help in her own little ways.

Before they realize six weeks have absolutely flown by, and Gia is due for her checkup. “Everything has healed up great. Do we need to discuss birth control? I know you never cared for it much,” Gia’s doctor asks. “I don’t, but…”, she says nervously. “We don’t need it,” August says. “Okay but typically we recommend pregnancies being at least eighteen to two years apart, just for the sake of the mother so I’d definitely suggest alternate forms of birth control until then,” she says.

Once in the car Gia and August begin to speak at the same time. “You first,” Gia chuckles. “I think it would be wise to wait a few more weeks before we start having sex again. Just to let you heal up some more,” he tells her. “Oh…,” Gia trails off, looking down. “What? What’s the matter,” August says, tilting her face to meet his eye. “I was just going to say we definitely better buy those condoms we never got on the way home,” Gia says a bit sadly.

“Princess what—,” August starts. “If you don’t want me anymore August I— I know my body might be a bit—,” she says before he pulls her into a searing kiss. “Never think I don’t want you Gia. I always want you, and your body is beautiful, just as it’s always been. I just don’t want to push you before your body is ready,” he tells her. “It feels ready to me,” she replies, chest heaving. “Damn it,” he huffs before pulling her in for another kiss.

In the midst of their kiss, August slides his hand into the top of Gia’s pants. “Mmmm,” she shudders as his deft fingers find her clit. Soon she does the same, taking his heavy cock into her hand. He groans into her mouth, hips thrusting into her hand of their own volition. It doesn’t take long until Gia begins whimpering into the kiss and August’s cock starts to swell. “August,” she gasps as her orgasm wracks through her. She feels his hot sticky cum coating her hand and uses it to stroke him further. “P— Princess you’ve got to stop,” he tells her. “You need one more,” she says sultrily, and how can he argue with that.

Before it’s over, his pants are absolutely coated with cum, the entire car smells of it, and August’s cock starts to twitch again at the sight of Gia licking the bit that’s covering her fingers, humming satisfyingly at the taste. “If you go in, I’ll stop by a store for condoms,” he pants as he starts the car. “Perfect,” Gia says happily as the back out.

They arrive home, August discreetly heading to the bedroom to place the condoms in the nightstand, and to shower off, while Gia heads to find Nancy and the girls. “Everything okay?,” she asks. “All good,” Gia replies. “So I suppose should be expecting another grandbaby soon then?,” she teases. “The doctor said to waiting eighteen months to two years would be best. I can’t wait,” Gia tells her. “Motherhood does suit you well, dear,” she agrees. “Thank you,” she replies.

August and Gia do as they’re told, being careful up until the eighteen month mark. Nancy has the girl’s for the night, the two of them having some much needed alone time. Gia pulls the condoms out of the dresser drawer as August enthusiastically rips her clothes off. “Fuck those,” he growls as he tosses them to the side. “This is it? You’re going to give me another baby?,” she smiles. “That’s right Princess. I’m going to put my cum deep inside this tight little cunt of yours again and again, until you’re full of me,” he husks.

He positions Gia on all fours before arching her back. He’s rewarded with the sight of her glistening pussy and can hardly contain himself. He slides in hard and fast, coming after a few strokes, but he’s far from done. He makes her gush over him before pulling her chest to his back. He pinches her nipple and clit in tandem until she squeezes another load out of him.

He lets her back down, putting a pillow beneath her hips and into prone position where he keeps riding her frantically. Drunk from the feeling of her, no barrier between them, and at the thought of getting her pregnant again. Gia cries loudly into the mattress while August grunts against her neck. “Can’t wait to have you pregnant. Not going to stop fucking you until it takes,” he slurs, sending a shiver through her he doesn’t miss. “You fucking love that. Tell me you want my baby,” he huffs.

“I want it. D— don’t stop. Please do— Ahhhh,” she keens as she sees stars. August leans down and wraps his arms around her, hips never stopping. “Faster,” Gia squeaks out. August somehow picks up his frantic pace, throttling her. As promised, August fucks her well into the night. When they’re both nearly spent, August spoons up behind Gia. He rubs at her clit in rhythm with his thrusts. “I c— can’t,” Gia whimpers. “One more… for me. Please Gia. I need it,” he says as he grabs a handful of her breast. “One more,” she murmurs.

“Daddy, come on, it’s just a date!”

“Princess, you’re too young to date.”

“Oh my god! Mom!” She stormed out of the kitchen, and you foolishly thought you could pick up the paper again. “Please talk some sense into dad!”

And there she was again. Both of them, even. You sighed and put the paper back down.

“August, for the love of God, she’s sixteen! She can date!” Your wife put her hands on her hips — you hated it when she did that.

“Not with that...” You struggled to find the words without letting the entire house in on why exactly you didn’t approve of this boy. Other than him wanting to do unspeakable things to your daughter, of course.

“He’s a sweet kid,” your wife said, rolling her eyes — you hated it when she did that, too.

“He’s a Syverson!” you blurted out. “She’s not going out with the son of that sleazy, good-for-nothing son of a—”

“Only if you can say it in church, August!” You didn’t even go to church! Neither did your wife, but it was her go-to way of keeping you from swearing, and as much as you hated to admit it, it worked.

“Junior can forget it,” you hissed through gritted teeth.

“Go get ready, sweetie,” your wife said to your daughter. Your blood was boiling. Did you have absolutely no authority in your own damn house? Not usually, no... “I’ll have a chat with your father.”

“So, you want to take my daughter out?” You took pleasure in staring the boy in front of you down, and you were pleased to report he was scared to death. Or at least he had the decency to fake it.

“Yes, sir,” he said, swallowing audibly, “we’re going to see a movie. I’ll have her home by eleven.”

“Ten,” you replied brusquely.

“Dad!” your daughter squealed as she came down the stairs. “Can you be normal for like... Five seconds? Mom! He’s doing it again; he’s ruining my life!”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, princess!” you scoffed.

“August, that’s enough!” You glared at your wife, who turned to the boy in front of you.

“You two have fun,” she said. “Bring her back in one piece, James.”

“Eh, it’s Mike, ma’am.” He didn’t look at her as he said it.

“I’m sorry?”

“My middle name is Michael. I’m not overly fond of the whole ‘Junior’ thing,” he admitted. “Anyway. When is her curfew, exactly? I really don’t want to get her in trouble.”

“Then leave—ow!” Maybe you deserved that kick in the shins.

“She’s late,” you grumbled. “And I mean he brought her home late.”

“Oh, August, please! They’re right outside, you can hear them!” She rolled her eyes at you again.

“There’s too much giggling if you ask me,” you sneered. And right when you said it, the giggling stopped — which was far more disconcerting, as far as you were concerned.

“August, don’t,” your wife sighed as you got off the couch and walked towards the front door.

“That’s quite enough, young man,” you snapped when you pulled the door open and were met with the unpleasant sight of the Syverson boy harassing your precious little girl. That had to be it, right?

“Dad, oh my god! Stop embarrassing me!” She let out a frustrated scream and turned to Mike. “I’m so sorry, Mike... I’ll see you Monday, okay?”

As soon as the door closed behind her, you knew you were in for it.

“Dad, you are certifiably insane, okay? It was just a kiss, for fuck’s sake!”

“Language, young lady!” you tried, but you were fairly sure you’d find no backup in this case. Your wife was staring you down from the couch in the living room.

“No, dad,” she yelled. “You’re nuts. That’s it. Why can’t you just be normal? Why do you have to be crazy? You just totally humiliated me, like...”

“Princess, I’m just trying to protect you,” you said as you reached out to pull her into a hug, but she pushed you away.

“Daddy, I’m serious! We went to the movies, we had a really nice time and then he drove me home and so what if he kissed me? Like, you didn’t have to show up like that, acting like a complete psycho. It was beyond cringe! I’m literally mortified, like what were you even thinking?” She sighed dramatically and threw her hands up. “Whatever. I’m going to my room. Stay out of my business!”

“Well, that went... Well,” you said as you sat down on the couch, with the — admittedly false — hope of getting some sympathy from your lovely wife.

“No, August, it did not.”

“Ok, so, we’ll be in my room,” she said, already tugging Mike along towards the stairs, and before you could say anything, they were gone.

“Hold on—” you started, but your wife grabbed your elbow, calming you down slightly. But only slightly.

“Let them,” she sighed, the sound cutting through you like a knife, “remember when we were young?” She wrapped her arms around your neck and kissed you, and it took everything to not push her away, knowing where her mind was — with her sixteen-year-old self, in her bedroom, fooling around with her high school sweetheart: none other than James Syverson.

Yes, James Syverson senior, the father of the boy who was upstairs with your daughter right now... The man who had beat you for captain of the football team. Twice. The man who had made a pass at your then-girlfriend when you were years into dating her and she was wearing your ring and your jacket with your name on it. Twice. Was it really so weird that you trusted his son about as far as you could throw him?

Soft lips on your neck pulled you away from your thoughts. “Try to remember that I married you?”

You smiled at her before leaning in for a kiss, wrapping her up in a tight embrace. “I’m a lucky man.”

“Ew, gross. Can you, like, not?”

A devilish smile played at your wife’s lips for a moment before she kissed you again a tad too theatrically.

“Oh my god, stop it! You’re old!” The look of disgust on your daughter’s face was absolutely priceless. “This is a kitchen! It’s a communal space!”

“So is the porch, princess,” you replied.

“How many times do I have to tell you two; this door stays open—oh for the love of God! I don’t need to see that!”

“Then by all means, dad, leave the door closed!” You caught the pillow she threw at you, and Mike made a point of moving as far away from her as the bed would allow while mumbling an apology.

Your wife had been right — which you were never telling her, which didn’t even matter because she already knew, anyway — and Mike really wasn’t a bad kid. That didn’t mean you were okay with him feeling up your daughter, though. Or worse.

“We’re not doing that, princess. Nice try though.”

On your way downstairs, you were fairly sure you heard the bedroom door close again and you sighed.

“It’s okay, love,” your wife said as she wrapped her arms around you.

“It’s not,” you sighed. “I wish that boy would keep his filthy paws off our daughter.” Was it genuinely too much to ask for her to find a nice, non-hormonal boy her age who only wanted to sit next to her on the couch and hold her hand under strict parental supervision?

“Yes, August, that’s entirely too much to ask,” your wife snickered. You hadn’t even realized you’d actually voiced your thoughts. “Boys like that don’t exist. I remember you when you were eighteen… We were doing much worse things than they are.”

“But we were in college. Can’t we just… ban him from the house?” You slumped down on the couch and took the cup of coffee your wife was now holding out to you.

“We could,” she said, and for the first time, a smile appeared on your face that she managed to wipe off immediately: “But I’ve seen the inside of that car he drives.”

It had been an interesting phone call, at one o’clock in the morning, from your daughter’s best friend’s mother, asking if her daughter had come home yet.

“How would I know that?” you had snapped at her. Surely, she didn’t expect you to know who was in her house in the middle of the night? It was her house…

“Because she’s staying with you,” the concerned mother had answered.

“Ah,” you answered, grabbing your wife’s shoulder and shaking her until she was awake. “We were under the impression that our daughter was staying with you.”

Your wife had called Mike’s parents, who had also established that their son was not where he was supposed to be.

Long story short: Everyone was in serious trouble.

And now you were on your way to some club, your knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel so hard, and you barely managed to stifle a yawn. In the passenger seat, your wife threatened to drift off to sleep. The only reason you had taken her with you was so you wouldn’t make a gigantic scene — no matter how much that was exactly what you wanted to do.

Syverson and his wife were already there, attempting to convince the bouncer to let them into the club without paying some ridiculous entrance fee, while your daughter’s friend’s parents stood off to the side, looking more and more nervous by the minute.

Your wife walked to the door. “Now you listen to me, pal,” she snapped. “My daughter is in there and if you don’t want me to get everyone here fired and then sue this place to high heavens for letting minors in, then you let us go in there and look for her right now, or so help me God!” She could be impressively scary, you noted as a smile slowly grew on your face.

She paced back to you and scowled at you when you kissed her on the forehead. “What the hell was that for?”

“You’re beautiful when you’re angry,” you said.

Your kids were, indeed, inside. They — your daughter and Mike, at least — were unlucky enough that you were the one to find them. Dancing. If you could call it that — and you quickly decided that you absolutely couldn’t call it that.

The music — again; if you could call it that — was incredibly loud, giving you a headache on top of your already particularly murderous mood, and you held on to your last shred of self-restraint with all your might to make sure you wouldn’t genuinely murder your daughter’s… boyfriend. Even just thinking the word made you want to punch something. Him, preferably.

Mike spotted you first, and you felt an overwhelming sense of pride when his face morphed into an expression of complete and utter terror. He also had the common sense to step away from your daughter immediately, who looked up around at him when she felt Mike suddenly disappear from behind her. He pointed at you, and she turned around again. Her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open. Good.

With a single finger, you beckoned them both to come over, and when they were standing in front of you, you dragged them both outside.

“What were you thinking?” your wife snapped at your daughter, who looked up at you.

“Daddy, I…” You just shook your head and let your wife handle this.

When she was done — your daughter was now grounded for a month — you turned to Mike: “And your involvement in this was…?”

“They wanted to see the DJ, and I… I told them I could sneak them in. It was stupid and irresponsible—”

“Not to mention illegal.”

“—yes, that too. I’m sorry.” Mike looked down, clearly doing his best not to tremble visibly. He failed. Good.

“How’d you even swing this, James?” Mike’s dad wanted to know, his wife standing behind him, clearly trying very hard to keep her mouth shut to prevent herself from saying something she’d regret.

“It’s Mike,” Mike corrected.

“Not when I’m this goddamn mad at you it isn’t, son.”

“Hello, mrs. Walker,” Mike greeted your wife while handing her a bouquet of flowers. You rolled your eyes, even though you had no reason to. He handed a second bouquet — it was just a handful of daisies — to your daughter. “Thank you for the invitation.”

It wasn’t exactly n invitation you’d been all too excited to extend, but alas. Here he was again. Maybe grounding them hadn’t been such a good idea (even though you’d laughed at Syverson’s idea to have Mike’s punishment start two weeks later than your daughter’s, so that they’d have to go without each other for longer), because now they were just unnecessarily and inappropriately touchy.

“Thank you, Mike, these are lovely,” your wife said as she handed you the flowers. “August, darling, could you put these in a vase, please?”

You were glad to have something to do. “Of course, my angel.”

“Gross,” your daughter said while rolling her eyes, and you glared at her, biting your tongue to keep yourself from making your sarcastic remark.

“Eh,” Mike shrugged, “my parents are worse. I think it’s sweet.”

You watched over the edge of the newspaper while Mike helped your daughter set the table, while your wife continuously glanced at you in her signature ‘I told you so’ kind of way. You had already tentatively agreed with her that he wasn’t a bad kid! What more did she want?

Dinner was unbearable, and your wife had to warn you more than once to stop cutting your food so hard you nearly sawed your way through your plate on more than one occasion, and you gritted your teeth as you tried to focus on your dinner instead of watching the two lovebirds. At least they were trying to keep it decent, which was much appreciated, but it didn’t necessarily make things much easier for you.

“What did you tell her?” you asked your wife — calmly, you hoped — when your daughter slammed the door behind her after an unusually quick escape from the house.

“Not much,” she answered. You knew for a fact she’d been pretty on top of the sex ed stuff for years now. “A reminder that she shouldn’t do things she isn’t ready for. And to use protection.”

“Hmm.” Whether you were finally getting used to the idea of your daughter going out with Michael Syverson, or your wife and her relentless support of their relationship had finally worn you down, you didn’t exactly know.

“August,” she said as she sat down next to you and leaned into your side, “I know you’re trying to protect her, but you can’t stop this. It’ll happen sooner or later. Sooner, rather than—”

“I know,” you growled.

“You were sixteen when—”

“I know.” It hurt to clench your teeth the way you did, but it was all you could do to stop yourself from screaming. “If he hurts her…”

“She takes after you, dear,” your wife chuckled. “He doesn’t stand a chance.”

“He asked you to where now?” Your eyebrows shot up a mile and at least a month’s worth of acceptance disappeared like snow in the desert when your daughter told you the news that Mike had asked her to prom.

“Prom, dad. You kn—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But you don’t have—”

“Senior prom, dad. His prom.”

“You’re a sophomore,” you grumbled, your eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Yes, dad, Mike asked me, a sophomore, to go with him, a senior, to his senior prom, which I wouldn’t be able to go to unless I was invited by a senior. Like him. Can you exit psycho dad-mode for three seconds? Can I please go?” Your wife had been right when she said your daughter took after you in many ways, but damn if she didn’t have her eyes. And you were powerless against those.

“Yes, princess,” you sighed softly. “You can go.”

She wrapped her arms around your neck, and for the first time in months you saw a little more of your princess and a little less of the teenage monstrosity she’d grown into over the past few years. Apart from the horrible shrieking in your ear, that was.

“Can you do me one favor, please?”

“Tell me you’re not asking to approve my dress, or whatever?” Ah, there she was again. The monstrosity.

“Take your mother shopping for it. She’d like that.” And, hopefully, she’d come home with something halfway presentable, at least.

The doorbell rang at seven o’clock on the dot. At least Syverson had bothered to teach his boy some manners. He handed another stunning bouquet to your wife — which might have been more impressive if his mother hadn’t owned the flower shop in town — and nervously fidgeted with the box that held a rather beautiful corsage. No doubt also a courtesy of his mom.

“That’s a very nice tux, Mike,” your wife said with a smile in an attempt to diffuse the ever-growing tension in the hallway while you waited for your daughter to finally finish getting ready.

“Thanks, it’s mine,” he answered. “Dad has a ridiculously big family; I have a million cousins… lots of weddings.”

“Hey.” You all turned to the source of the sound; the voice of your daughter standing at the top of the stairs.

“Holy sh—” Mike cleared his throat — smart move. “Wow. You look… wow.” He rushed towards her to help her down the last few steps of the stairs.

“You look good too,” she said shyly.

“Not next to you, I don’t,” he managed — but barely.

As you watched Mike awkwardly trying to help your daughter with the corsage, memories of your own prom came flooding back to you, and you couldn’t fight a smile off your face. It wasn’t for lack of trying, of course, but the sight of them was simply too… adorable to stay mad about. Next to you, your wife grabbed your hand and squeezed it. She had tears in her eyes, you noticed, when she rushed past you to get the camera.

“Mom. Mom, stop. You took like four thousand pictures already, it’s enough. Enough! Please, let us leave, we’re going to miss the whole thing… Mom! Dad, tell mom she’s being insane!” Finally, you weren’t the one who was considered insane!

“I think that’s plenty, darling,” you said as you pulled your wife back and put a hand on the camera to get her to lower it. “Get out, you two, I only have so much to say around here. Have fun… but not too much fun.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” your wife added.

You rolled your eyes. “Like that narrows it down.”

“Dad!” your daughter shrieked before pulling Mike towards the door.

Your wife had successfully convinced you that going to bed early would be best. You needed a distraction, after all, and if she was so kind to offer to provide you with one, who were you to refuse her?

It was nearly midnight when you woke up with her curled up next to you, to the sound of footsteps on the stairs. A set of footsteps too many, that was.

“August, don’t,” you heard next to you when you attempted to get out of bed to put a stop to these shenanigans immediately. What did she mean ‘don’t’? You were just supposed to let them… “If it weren’t for you, I’d have let him stay over the first time she asked. Going in there, guns blazing, is not going to make this go away. They’ll find another place. Another time. And I meant what I said about the backseat of that car… If you have any faith in the way we raised our daughter, then trust her.”

Falling asleep again was hard, but nowhere near as hard as not throwing Mike down the stairs when you ran into him a few hours later, when he was on his way to the bathroom.

“I’m dead, aren’t I?’

You took a deep, shaky breath to steady yourself before speaking. “We’ll talk about that over breakfast. I can and will promise you right now, that you’ll be in some real trouble if you sneak out before then.”

“Coffee?” you grumbled when your daughter appeared in the kitchen the following morning, freshly showered, with Mike walking a step behind her.

“Yeah. Thanks,” she whispered as she sat down as far away from you as possible. You looked at the two trembling teens in front of you and realized your wife had been right — yet again — when she had said that if you handled this wrong, they’d never come to you if they were in trouble. Ever.

“It’s been brought to my attention that I may have been a bit… overbearing,” you said, ignoring the eyerolls from both your wife and your daughter. Mike just stared at the table. “And I’m sorry.”

You sighed as three jaws dropped in complete and utter bewilderment. “That being said… The two of you still broke the rules, and he stayed here without permission, which means you, young lady, will be grounded for a week,” you said, watching your daughter grab Mike’s arm. She looked hurt… “Starting tomorrow.” The two exchanged a surprised look and finally smiled.

“Does he have to leave?” she asked carefully.

“No, princess,” you said softly, “he doesn’t.”

“Where’s that ruthless jerk I married?” Your wife wrapped her arms around you and pulled you close while you let out a deep sigh.

“He said ‘I do’,” you grumbled. “And he had a daughter.”

“Daddy?” Your daughter’s voice was soft and small. The hurt in it crushed you, although you had to admit you were relieved to have confirmation that Mike was upstairs in your shower all by himself, if you were honest. “Are you mad at me?”

You reached for her, and she hugged you — almost like she used to. “No, princess, I could never be mad at you.”

“I’m still your—”

“I know,” you whispered.

“Are you mad at Mike?” Her voice got even lower than before, and she avoided your eyes.

“No,” you answered truthfully. “Unless he hurt you in any kind of way, in which case he’s a dead man.”

“Did you forget you forced self defense classes on me until I was a black belt?” she laughed, wiping away the single tear that had escaped her eye.

“That’s my girl.” You couldn’t have fought back the grin if you’d tried.

Your daughter wrestled herself out of your embrace and made her way towards the hallway again, turning around in the doorway. “Ehm, does the door still have to stay open?” she asked innocently.

“I think we’re past that point,” your wife answered, ignoring your exasperated sigh.

“I’m proud of you,” she whispered as your daughter sprinted up the stairs.

“Does she know you’re here?” It didn’t take you two guesses to figure out why he was at your door. You actually remembered the moment you knocked on the door of your then-hopefully-soon-to-be-in-laws all too well.

“She does,” he answered, thanking you quickly as you impatiently gestured at him to come in. It was cold out, and money didn’t grow on trees…

“Does she know why?” You raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not here to ask for your permission, if that’s what you’re getting at,” he said with a smirk that brought out some residual feelings of wanting to smack him. “I’m actually looking for Mrs. Walker.”

“You’re right not to,” you admitted. “She’d kill you.”

“It’s a bit of a catch-22.” He laughed. “My dad will kill me if I don’t ask, so…”

“So it’s a matter of who you’d rather be murdered by.”

“I think I’ll take my chances with my old man,” he said. “At least he’s not related to you.”

Smart man.

You followed him into the living room, where you found your wife with her nose in the book she hadn’t put down for hours. As soon as Mike walked in, she slammed it shut and put it away.

“Michael, can I help you?” she said in an unusually quirky tone, with an unusually happy smile on her face.

“I think so, yeah,” he stammered. Those nerves were finally kicking in, huh? Good. “I… Eh… She told me something about a ring… eh… her, eh…”

“Her grandmother’s engagement ring?” she helped him along gently.

He nodded furiously. “Yeah. She said that, eh… When the time came, she’d eh… She’d like to wear it. If that’s alright with you, of course.”

“God, Mike, I think I’ve never seen you more scared of me than of August,” she laughed, and you gladly joined her, leaving the poor boy standing there with bright red ears and an uneasy smile.

“First time for everything, right?”

Over the years, you’d been subjected to many a feminist lecture on outdated patriarchal values and whatnot, so it had come as quite the surprise to you when your daughter had come to you, asking you if you’d walk her down the aisle. Now that you were standing here, with her to your left, squeezing your arm so tight you feared it would result in lasting damage, you wished you’d declined, so that you’d just have been able to sit quietly next to your wife, instead of being here with no prayer of getting a handle on your own nerves.

“You’re nervous, aren’t you?” she asked, her voice taunting but with an obvious shakiness to it.

“You’re one to talk, princess,” you retorted, “I can barely feel my fingers.”

She relaxed her grip on your arm a bit, chuckling softly. “Will you behave?”

“Me? Always.”

As far as you were concerned, the walk could have lasted forever. You knew it had to end, and it did — way too soon — and all that was left for you to do was…

“I love you, daddy,” she whispered before you managed to move.

“And I love you, princess,” you replied softly. “Always.”

°• @sillyrabbit81 •°

Dangle the carrot

Rebuild

The piper

Later

Cold

°• @littlefreya •° my favorite for August tbh°•

Burbon and candy

Destroyer of angels

Autumn blood

Jerk - Easy prey

Violent delights

Daddy's girl

Velvet chains

Elevator ride

Late hours

Pink umbrella

His princess

Nasty

Crimson

Monster

Shelter

Angel can you hold me?

August and the maiden

Neptune's snare

Kiss it better

Gentle Monsters

°• @mayloma •°

Behind the curtain

°• @delicate-moon-princess •°

Little dove

°• @wolvesandhoundshowltogether •°

Piercing blues

A night in Paris

Burning love

Spit kink

°• @nashibirne •°

I need you to hate me

°• @princess-of-riviaa •°

A light in the darkness

Primal

A little too much

°• @zealoushound •°

Rainy days

°• @cavill83 •°

Sleepy

°• @geralts-yenn •°

Your Majesty

°• @hope-to-hell •°

August smut

It hurt so bad. Far worse than any other time. The skin on your back and bottom was deeply flushed and spattered with multiple thin, inch-long slashes. Blood seeped from the marks after you had tried to stretch out your stiff back. The fresh droplets trickled like dark red rivers down the plains and valleys of your body. They matched the tears you’d failed to keep from shedding as you scanned yourself up and down in the bathroom mirror.

You looked like a victim of torture, but it was elective torture and you felt you had no one to blame but yourself. You could dig but knew you wouldn’t find what was so wrong in your head that you let it get to this point; that you let this man hurt you while he had a hard cock tenting his pants.

It had gone too far. Bit by bit he had become rougher and rougher, but it was slow, methodical, until your brain could no longer see the difference between the natural tone of your skin and pinkish streaks, or the blue and black fingerprints adorning it. You wore those marks easily before. You’d never cared, because you and August had always had a tendency to venture into what some people would refer to a little “out there.” But now there was red on your body, and red was too bright to ignore.

August slept like a baby in the next room, sated after getting everything he asked of you for the night. But your eyes wouldn’t close the way his so easily had. He’d pulled your body close to his, tucking his thick, toned arm around you as if nothing was wrong, but sleep wouldn’t come while your muscles ached so terribly and your blood stained his white sheets. So, delicately as you could, you had slipped out of his grasp and tiptoed down the hall to assess the damage.

You washed and applied ointment to the areas you could reach, your hands trembling the entire time, as you made perhaps the scariest decision during your time with August. You were going to take a break from this—him--regardless of how the thought made your heart ache. Maybe only for a few days, maybe longer, but you’d worry about it later. You just craved some space, and the want flooded your senses.

Slipping on your clothes and trying to pack some necessities in an overnight bag was about as easy as sneaking around in a lion’s den. The slightest sound—a breath exhaled a little too shakily—could wake the beast in your bed. And that worry kept you so tense you were surprised you made it out of the bedroom and down to the foyer without knocking into furniture or creaking the floorboards. You were almost proud even, until your body was jerked around by your arm.

“What are you doing?” August asked. His voice was not as harsh as you imagined it would be if he caught you. You knew August inside and out, the way he did you, and that knowledge granted you the ability to see his weaknesses when others could not. And there was weakness in his tone, faint as it was. There was desperation that he tried so hard to mask but failed. “Where are you going?”

The look in his eyes made you want to collapse onto the floor. He was so irritatingly beautiful, and on the rare occasions his emotions bared against his will, he turned into something that far surpassed his beauty; he became absolutely devastating, in all ways. But you didn’t wish to give in to him. Not now. The blood was still wet on your back, seeping into the fabric of your shirt as a consistent reminder of August’s capabilities.

Almost as if he could hear your thoughts, August whipped you around until you faced away from him. He placed his hands on your shoulders to steady you, then lifted a finger to lightly trace over the small splotches dyeing your t-shirt. When you winced, he immediately stepped back.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you so bad,” He whispered, and you turned to him.

“I let you do it.” You replied, your eyes darting away from his for a moment as you swallowed hard. “It didn’t even occur to me to stop you.”

“Y/N…” He tried to reach for your hand, but you pulled it back and he frowned at your rejection.

”I let you whack your belt against my body, harder than I should have.” Your voice grew stronger, each word spoken pushing you harder to defend your self-worth. But it was difficult with the night still fresh, the degradation not fully worn off. “Maybe I’ve fallen too far into this. If this is how it’s going to be now, I won’t be able to take it. I can’t be loved by you one minute and hurt the next.”

He was silent, perhaps searching for the right words. Outside of the four walls of your bedroom you were stubborn as hell, and he knew it. He knew that you would leave if you really wanted to; that a kiss on your lips or a lick to your clit wouldn’t change your mind. He knew if he tried to stop you that you’d bolt the minute he turned his back. And he was scared because you were his weak spot. If you chose to walk away from him, he wouldn’t find the will to lock you in a cage. His strength would be reduced to crawling on his hands and knees like a child, clutching at the hem of your skirt as he begged you to stay.

‘I need you more than you need me,” he’d whisper in your ear or between kisses or when he thought you were asleep as he softly brushed the hair from your face. Sometimes, when ready to kill one another during some argument, he would scream it your way at the top of his lungs.

That admission was proof of your power over him. It was proof that he loved you. But it wasn’t about that now. It wasn’t about the two of you together or how he felt. This was about you, solely, searching for a way to cope with how you let yourself be treated tonight.

“You…Y/N, you can’t just leave me. You can’t.” He said as he looked at the small bag gripped in your hand before meeting your eyes. “Is that what you’re doing?”

“I…” Pinching your eyebrows together, you too, looked at the bag.

“Please, don’t.” He was one step away from a whimper. “Just give me a chance.” Part of you wanted to give him that chance, to let him redeem himself. You hadn’t expected him to sound so desperate for you, but you didn’t know why.

You didn’t respond, so he carefully reached down and wrapped his fingers around the handle of your bag, then took it out of your hand and dropped it on the floor when you withheld from jerking away.

“Come with me,” He said, ducking his head to meet your eyes straight on. He weaved your fingers together.

You sighed when you stared into the blue of his gaze. He could control you with those eyes of his, if he really wanted, but you never kid yourself in to thinking you tried hard to resist. He was your weak spot too. “August—”

“Please.”

Taking a breath, you nodded, and he gave you an uneasy smile before leading you back to the bathroom. He asked you to sit on the wide rim of the tub, and as you did, he ran to the kitchen to grab a bowl. When he came back, he picked out a washcloth from the linen closet and began to fill the bowl with warm water.

You watched him in silence as the water frothed with bubbles from the soap he added, then he walked over and swung a leg over the bathtub edge to sit behind you, and set the bowl down in the base of the tub to dip the cloth in.

Delicately, August pulled the shirt off over your head and began to dab and run the cloth over the cuts, washing each one gently. You didn’t speak for minutes, just sat patiently, trying not to cry as he kissed along the small slashes.

“I never want to hurt you,” August began. “I know tonight it seemed—” He exhaled loudly and rubbed a hand over his face. “Just try to be believe me.” You didn’t know how to form the words to say anything to him, and you didn’t find them in time, so he continued. “You’re not…scared of me now, are you?”

The fist that had been wrapped about your heart all night, clenching and unclenching in a torturous cycle of teasing to keep you on the brink of a breakdown, finally squeezed hard enough to make the organ burst in your chest.

August always took care of you. He worshiped you, all of you. And with exception of how it felt a few hours ago, he respected everything you let him see: your body, your emotions, your heart. He took it all in his hands and cradled it close, which was why this night in particular shook you so intensely you nearly fell to your knees. But that he thought he had destroyed your trust entirely and was clearly dying inside because of it, killed you just as much.

Wanting space for a couple days, to you, did not mean anything other than that. You wouldn’t leave him. You would come back with your head on straight and talk it through, but you should’ve known he wouldn’t see it that way. You should’ve known you wouldn’t be able to sneak out without him sensing the loss in his bed.

“I’m scared of how you were,” you said honestly. “I’m scared of how I let you treat me tonight.”

You felt his forehead rest against your back between your shoulder blades, his breath fanning against the skin there as he said, “I don’t want to treat you any other way than you want to be treated. I thought—”

“I know.”

He peppered a few more kisses around your body, then tapped the sides of your arms, silently asking you to twist and face him. “Y/N…you deserve all the respect in the world.” He brushed his fingers over your cheek and settled them at the back of your neck, pressing a digit gently but firm at the spot just below your hairline that always gave you a feeling of comfort and security. “I would never have suggested this if I knew. I didn’t realize how harmful I was being.”

“But you like this sometimes. I mean, I usually I like it too, but--”

“I don’t like it if you don’t like it.” August inched his head down and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “I like loving you,” he said. “Baby, this is such a small part of our relationship.”

You looked down and fiddled with your fingernails. “I didn’t realize the impact it could have, August.”

“Then we don’t do it,” he said, tucking a thumb under your chin and lifting until you looked at him. “You think I don’t love just getting to be inside you? Fuck all that other stuff.”

The tension in his body visibly released when you placed your hands at the back of his neck. “That’s not what I’m saying. I do like the other stuff, I swear. I like you rough sometimes and sweet others. But this was just…”

“Too much.”

You nodded.

“Y/N, why were you going to leave? You weren’t even going to tell me or explain.”

You shrugged, but it clearly wasn’t casual. Your shoulders were tight, tense. “Something in my brain couldn’t process what happened. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I had a hard time see you as…you. My brain screamed to get away. But then I saw your face and, I don’t know…you still looked like my boyfriend. You still looked like the man I love.”

“…This is my fault,” he whispered, and it broke your heart. To think he’d come so far from the man he once was—the man he was before you met him—and was punishing himself again…you couldn’t accept it.

“No, baby.” You stood and stretched your hand out to him until he took it. “Come on.”

He followed behind, his hand tucked in yours, as you walked back to your bedroom and began to slide his boxers down.

“What are you doing?” He asked, almost nervously.

You took his cock in your hand and stroked him up and down. He growled, the fire in his eyes returning as he watched you, and you smiled up at him. “Replacing the bad with some good,” you said and nudged him backwards until he fell back on the bed.

You took no time to undress, joining him and swinging a leg over his hips. His hands settled on your waist as you eased yourself down onto him, taking his length fully inside of you.

“You’re the best goddamn thing that ever happened to me,” he said, moaning as you began to grind your hips back and forth, but then he sat up and pressed a kiss between your breasts before looking to meet your eyes. “Do you know that?”

You inched your face forward and kissed him, a small smile on your lips.

“I love you,” he mumbled into the kiss, then pulled back and rested his forehead between your breasts again as you moved up and down on his cock. He tightened his arms around you, careful to avoid the marks of pain it killed him to know he inflicted. “I’ll never hurt you again--Believe me. Please believe me.”

You stilled your movements and placed both hands on his cheeks to tilt his face up to yours, then met your lips with his in a long kiss that ended with a nibble on his bottom lip, and said, “I believe you.”