#august walker

[anastasiaf-05]

[hitchell-mope]

Oh so this is where that gif is from.

[thezombieprostitute]

Working Late

A/N: Written for the June Jukebox Scribbles. Prompt: Play That Funky Music - Wild Cherry / “Til you die?”

Word Count: 206

"Another late night?" you sigh over the phone, already knowing the answer.

"I'm afraid so," August confirms. "We just got a breakthrough in the Jimmy Ford case."

"I can't remember the last time you were home for dinner," you whine.

You know it's unfair. As a CIA agent, August warned you there would be a large number of nights away from home. National security took precedence over your relationship. But you also warned him you would be pouting, at least on occasion.

For his part, August actually appreciates the pouting. It means you care about him. You want to be with him. If you ever stopped, he'd worry.

"I've made sure my calendar is clear for our anniversary next month," he promises. "If things go well, maybe we can get a day or two extra for it."

"I'll plan for the one day," you giggle. "Don't want to have to cancel plans."

"If we do get that extra day or two we'll be spending it in bed."

"Dirty man," you tease. "Just promise me you won't overwork yourself in the meantime? No sense in working 'til you die. Especially when you could be coming home to a fox like me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," August smiles.

Tagging: @agustdboyoongie; @alicedopey; @alphabetically-deranged; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness; @iwudbutnah; @kmc1989; @lokislady82; @peaches1958; @ronearoundblindly; @stellar-solar-flare

[catierambles]

Once in a Blue Moon Ch. 31

August became almost overbearing since she and Napoleon mated, even though he had pushed Napoleon towards admitting what she was to him to begin with. Well...more overbearing than usual. She knew it wasn't jealousy, at least she thought it wasn't, but he was...needier than usual. Stopping her in rooms or pulling her into his to kiss her breathless, his large, strong hands grabbing at her, pulling her against him, almost tearing her clothes from her body in his rush to get her under him. Not that she was complaining, mind you. She never refused him, never rebuked his advances, always met him in his desperation. Clinging to him as he drove her to the peaks of pleasure and over, tangling her fingers with his when he held her hands above her head.

It was...intense.

Her phone chimed at her early one morning, August grumbling behind her, and she reached for it, bringing up the app for the front door camera and seeing a few people she only vaguely recognize on the doorstep. Squinting, she saw the media van from the company Jonathan liked to use in the driveway.

“Why are they here?” She asked.

“Princess?” August asked and looked over her shoulder at her phone, his hand sliding over her stomach. The door chime came through her phone again right before the notification banner appeared on the screen.

Leon: I’ll handle it.

They watched through the security camera in the entryway as Napoleon went down the stairs at a decent speed while buttoning his suit jacket closed and fixing the cuffs, running his fingers through his hair briefly before opening the door.

The smile on his face was pleasant, but controlled, as he looked out at the media team that had taken them by surprise.

“Olivia Rogers, yes? With Dayglow Media?” He already knew the answer, but inwardly delighted in the surprised look he received.

“Um...yes.” She said, “Mister...”

“Napoleon Solo,” He said, extending a hand, “Head of Public and Media Relations for the Pack Council. We’ve never met professionally or personally, but I figured it was only a matter of time.” She hesitated, but reached out to shake his hand. He didn’t fail to notice the way she wiped it against her pant leg when it fell back to her side. “How may I help you this morning, Ms. Rogers?”

“We were hoping to speak with Mrs. Graves.” She said, “Her husband arranged for an interview to assuage the concerns of the congregation. There have been rumors circulating about a possible divorce and the affliction she’s been struck with.”

“I bet he did.” Napoleon said, “However, he failed to notify her of that arrangement so she is, unfortunately, unprepared. Also unavailable. I would be happy to schedule something at a later date, however.”

“I mean, we’re here now, and—”

“As I said, she’s unavailable.” The small smile never left his face.

“Mister...Solo, was it?” She asked and he gave a nod, “Is there a reason why you’re keeping us from talking to her? Among others, there have been rumors that she’s being held captive by multiple wolves. That they evicted the Pastor from his home in order to control her.” His eyes went to the small camera trained on him and his smile widened a touch.

“Ms. Rogers, if you had done your due diligence as reporter, you would found that legally, the house belongs entirely to Samantha—pardon, Mrs. Graves. Jonathan Graves was not unceremoniously booted onto the street with nothing but the clothes on his back; he was given ample opportunity to grab essentials before leaving. Divorces are messy. Or, they can be, and Mrs. Graves had every legal right to ask Pastor Graves to leave the marital home until the divorce was finalized. As it is hers, as I’ve said, and as you would have found...again, had you done your research.” Napoleon said.

“So there is a divorce pending.”

“I am comfortable in telling you: unequivocally, yes. The paperwork has been filed and believe me when I say, there is no hope for reconciliation. She has expressed to me quite plainly that she wants nothing more to do with him or their marriage.”

“And the rumor that she’s being held captive by—”

“A rumor, nothing else, and an unsubstantiated one at that. She’s not “being held captive” by...anyone. She’s well aware that she can leave at any time and go wherever she pleases. Mrs. Graves is exactly where she wants to be and who she wants to be with.”

“It would be better if we could hear this from her.”

“And for the third time, Ms. Rogers, she was not made aware of this appointment beforehand so she is unavailable at this time. Again, I would be more than happy to schedule a formal sit-down at a later date. Please have someone from your scheduling department contact me and we will go over a day and time that would work best for both parties.” He reached into his breast pocket as he spoke, pulling out a slim case and sliding a business card from it, holding it out to her between his fingers. She stared at it a moment before taking it, giving a tight signal to the cameraman who lowered camera with a glower. “Have a wonderful day, Ms. Rogers.” With that, he closed the door in their faces, throwing the lock a little harder than was strictly necessary so they could hear it and it’s tone of finality. Hearing steps behind him, he held up a halting hand until he heard the van pull from the driveway and fade away.

Turning, he pulled Samantha into his arms as she went to him, holding her close and catching how she trembled slightly.

“Thank you for handling that.” She said, looking up at him and he gave her a gentle smile, leaning down to kiss her softly. “Why were they here?”

“Jonathan sent them. After seeding the idea that you’re being held captive.” Napoleon said, “Unsurprising. Dayglow Media is basically a tabloid with a holier-than-thou coat of paint.”

“Maybe I should have talked to them.”

“It’s better this way, trust me.” Napoleon said, “The fact that they were here with no warning was planned, I promise you. Trying to catch us off guard.”

“But we’re not doing anything wrong.” A pause, “Are we?”

“Not in the slightest.” He reassured her, “But they were probably hoping you and the others would be acting like the “demons” they think wolves are and they’d have a better story than “Pastors wife divorces him”.”

“Do you think he’ll come here?” She asked and he saw the flash of fear that passed over her eyes at the thought.

“He may.” Napoleon admitted, “But he won’t be allowed anywhere near you and you will always have at least one of us around if he is here. You’ll never be alone with him.”

“I know.” She said and her eyes closed, deflating in a sigh. “I know. You’ll all protect me. He can’t hurt me.”

“Ever again.” Napoleon said, “Samantha, August shared with me that you were...young when Jonathan married you.” She just nodded. “I did ask, he didn’t give the information unprompted, and I would have asked you, but I didn’t want to pull up any potentially painful memories until I was sure. I had my suspicions.”

“Thank you.” She said, her eyes still closed, and he leaned in, pressing his lips to her forehead.

[anastasiaf-05]

[sleepydumpling]

[societyfolklore]

Loaded Weapon

Title: Loaded Weapon

Pairing: August Walker x Female Reader

Warnings: Weapons deal, threat/intimidation, dark flirting, dangerous tension Words: 270 words A/N: Entry for June Jukebox Scribbles over @societynsoelsscribbles Prompt: June 8th - Living La Vida Loca - Ricky Martin/  “Like a bullet to your brain.”

The warehouse smelled like oil, saltwater..

You had brought August Walker for one reason.

Not to negotiate. Not to charm.

He was there to stand behind you and make your words heavier.

Instead, he stepped forward.

“The price doubled,” he announced loudly

Every head turned.

Your smile stayed fixed, but something cold slid neatly into place behind your ribs.

Across the warehouse, the broker stilled. His men did too. August remained calm, broad and silent now, like he had not just taken a knife to weeks of careful work.

You let the quiet stretch until it became painful.

Then you looked up at him.

“Did I ask you to speak?”

His gaze cut to yours. “I’m handling it.”

“No,” your voice soft enough that others couldn’t hear. “You’re failing at the one job I brought you here to do.”

A muscle jumped in August’s jaw.

“Back off,” he murmured, not looking away. “Unless you want to burn every bridge in this room.”

You smiled then, slow and sharp.

“If I have to do your job for you, Walker, will be messy, like a bullet to your brain messy.”

The threat settled between you.

His eyes darkened, not with fear. You would have been disappointed if it were fear.

No, August looked at you like he was deciding whether to kill you or kiss you.

One of the broker’s men shifted.

August’s hand moved first, barely lifting his jacket to reveal the gun at his ribs.

The room froze.

You did not look away from him, this was the moment. You weren’t backing down.

“Original price,” you called, done with male bullshit.

August’s mouth curved, tilting his head.

“As the lady said.”

[anastasiaf-05]