The rain in London didn’t fall so much as it drifted, a miserable grey mist that clung to your eyelashes and ruined the expensive blowout you’d treated yourself to after finishing the final proofs for the upcoming book thriller.
Your feet were screaming. Those pointed-toe stilettos had seemed like a power move at nine in the morning, but now, at seven in the evening, they felt like medieval torture devices. You shifted the heavy leather tote on your shoulder, the weight of a dozen manuscripts and a half-eaten salad pressing into your collarbone.
As an editor at a small, boutique publishing house, your life was usually measured in word counts, dangling modifiers, and the polite neuroses of eccentric authors. You were smart, you were kind to a fault, and you had a sense of humor that usually acted as a shield against the drudgery of the corporate grind. You were also, by all accounts, beautiful, cause confidence baby, though in this moment, with your hair frizzing and your feet throbbing, you felt more like a drowned rat.
You were only two blocks from your flat, just about to take the sharp turn into the narrow cobblestone alley that served as a shortcut, when the world decided to break its own rules.
It happened in a blur of wet fabric and heavy footfalls. A man, wiry and wild-eyed, bolted around the corner, nearly knocking you off your feet. He smelled of old sweat and panic. Before you could even offer a choice piece of your mind, his hands were on you. He spun you around, his fingers digging into the fabric of your trench coat with a bruising grip.
Then came the cold, unmistakable press of metal against your temple.
“Don't move! Don't you fucking move!” the man screamed into your ear, his voice cracking with desperation.
You froze, the breath hitching in your throat. Your editor’s brain, usually so quick to find the right word, suddenly went blank. All you could focus on was the rhythmic thumping of footsteps approaching from the shadows of the alley.
Out of the mist emerged a mountain.
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.
Attn: Revisiting this thought because apparently it’s horny hours.
Word Count: 1,251
Pairing: August Walker x Reader
Summary: August has been gone too long and it puts you in a foul mood.
Warnings: 18+, brat taming, bit of Dom!August, spanking, choking, p in v sex, orgasm denial, angst, creampie, cum eating?, oral (female receiving), fingering, squirting, aftercare, bit of Soft!August too
August has been away on a mission for the longest time. It’s been maybe two, two and a half months and you are fed up. Usually you’re such a good girl for him, being his sweet, perfect little princess, but his absence is bringing out the worst in you. He’s texted you, updating you on his whereabouts and has gotten a simple, “Ok,” in reply from you. “Okay?,” he questions. “Yeah,” you reply shortly.
“What the fuck,” he grumbles to himself. He calls, only for you to forward him to voicemail. That just won’t do. He isn’t far so you should be happy he’s getting closer to being back in your arms but instead he’s getting these curt little replies and you’re hitting the “fuck you” button on him? “Little brat,” he huffs before packing up his stuff. He knows he’s been gone a long time, but that’s no excuse for the attitude. You need to be reminded of your place… and more importantly of how he feels about you.
You come in late, having stopped for a few drinks with the girls at work before going home. You sigh heavily as you kick your shoes off and place your purse and keys on the table in the entryway. You don’t even bother with trying to figure out dinner, instead you head to your room, ready for a shower and bed. You click on the light and begin digging through your dresser for some sleepwear when you get the fright of a life time.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” August says from the chair in the corner of the room. “What the hell?,” you ask as you angrily spin around. “Where were you?,” August demands. “Out for some drinks with the girls, but what do you care? I’ve been waiting for you for two and a half months now. Hardly any communication, no care for me—,” you begin when August cups your jaw between his hand harshly. “You know that’s not true,” he tells you, blue eyes alight with anger. How dare you even let that cross your mind, let alone let it fall from your lips.
“August—,” you gasp, very familiar with what’s going to come next. “No, no. None of that now Princess,” he growls as he begins to rip your clothes off. “I’m sorry,” you wail. “I don’t think you are… not yet,” he tells you as he pushes you into position on the bed. Your ass is pushed out, face in the pillows as he undresses. When he gets on the bed, he smacks your ass harshly, three licks to each cheek before grabbing you up by your throat. He uses his free hand to rub his cock through your slit.
“My Princess isn’t a brat, is she?,” he asks as he smacks his cock against your ass. “N— no sir,” you hiccup as he begins rubbing his cock against your clit. “Then why the fuck are you acting like one?,” he questions before slamming into you. He pushes your head back into the pillows before grabbing your arms and bending them behind your back. He holds them there, leaving you completely to his mercy.
He sets a brutal pace, intent on fucking the brat right out of you, on fucking every stupid little worry out of your head. You cry loudly, the sounds muffled by your pillows. August watches as the tears roll down your face. He fucking loves it. He plows into you harder, cock kissing your cervix with each thrust. He adjusts your hands so they cross and he can hold both wrists in one hand. He starts smacking your ass again, making you whine louder. Once your ass is nice and red he kneads at the tender flesh.
“G— gonna,” you stammer out. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he growls. “But August,” you say, nearly hysterical. He stills, pressing his front over your back. He kisses the tears off your cheek. “Tell me you still love me,” he whispers. “Of course I do,” you sniffle. “You can never leave me Princess. Please don’t shut me out like that again,” he pleads. “I’m sorry August. I’m so sorry,” you whimper. Without a word, he leans back and begins fucking you with renewed vigor.
Your desperate sobs return as he fucks you only how he can. “Cum on my cock. Be good for me Princess. Give it to me,” he says before he starts to grunt loudly, signaling he’s close. He’s fucking you so hard it feels like he could snap you in half, but damn does it feel good. Your pussy starts to tense, and his groans grow louder. “My perfect Princess,” he breathes, and that’s all it takes for you to shatter. “August,” you scream with your release. The sound of his name falling from your lips has him exploding inside of you, and he fucks his cum into you until he can’t take the stimulation anymore.
He pulls out slowly before letting your hands go. He rubs your body soothingly before turning you to your back. He looks down at the mess he’s made of you, and he can’t help himself. He leans down and begins lapping at your sodden pussy, both wanting to clean you up and give you more to chase away your doubts.
“Ahhh,” you cry out as he licks your cunt clean. His mustache prickles at your clit as he makes his way up. “Mmm,” he groans as he sucks it into his mouth. He shoves two fingers into you and begins thrusting into your gspot. “Please… fuck. C-can’t,” you babble just before you gush everywhere. He then laps that up as well before making his way up your body and capturing your lips with his. The combined taste of the two of your lingers on his tongue, as he pushes it past your lips for you to have a taste. You let out a mewl of satisfaction into his mouth.
When he finally pulls back his ocean eyes soften. “There won’t be a next time,” he says, confusing you. “A next time?,” you ask. “Of you feeling neglected. Princess… I am so sorry. I should’ve done better I—,” he begins before you place a few fingers over his lips. “I should’ve just told you instead of acting the way I did,” you say embarrassedly. “Yeah well.. maybe that’s true, but I shouldn’t have given you a reason to act that way. I can’t make you My Princess and not expect a little spoiled behavior from time to time,” he smiles, making you giggle.
“Just don’t get too crazy. I’ll have to punish you again,” he says darkly. “Don’t give me any ideas,” you tease. He shakes his head before kissing you again. “I love you,” he then says. “I love you too August,” you reply. You run your fingers through his curls, wondering how you could ever be mad at him in the first place before pulling him down for another kiss. “You rest right here. I’ll run us a bath,” he says with one more quick kiss.
After a nice long soak and a set of clean sheets he gets into the bed. “What about your mission?,” you ask. “Fuck it. I’m where I want to be. Someone else can deal with it,” he says as he pulls you into the bed with him. He kisses you deeply before maneuvering you so that he can spoon you. “Goodnight Princess,” he says with a kiss to your cheek.
Hey, regarding your Henry Cavill fics, could you write about August Walker as a husband or a father? I've never read anything related to that about August. The idea of August being this evil man but with a secret family. He's an evil antagonist and I love him like that, but soft August would be nice for a change.
hello, I do apologise for taking so long to get to this and the shortness. I hope you enjoy it either way.
summary - your married to august walker, and he finally comes home and greets you and your kids.
the gif I use isn't mine, divider by @newlips
“Honey, I’m home!” August walks through the door tiredly. He puts his bags down and kneels, hearing little feet running toward him. August smiles, opening his arms as his daughter and son run into them.
“Daddy!!!” They launch into his arms, wrapping their tiny arms around him. “Missed you so much!” They giggle, snuggling close to him.
“I missed you munchkins too! Were you good for mummy?” August asks, stroking their backs and hair. They nod, grinning up at him.
You smile, leaning against the wall and watching your husband with your children. “Hey, baby.” He looks up before standing, lifting your kids into his arms and walking over to you. August smiles, leaning close and placing a soft kiss on your lips. Your hand comes up and strokes his cheek, noticing the tiny cut.
summary⁀➷ you get shot by the men that want Ethan in Paris. What no one knows is that you and Walker have a past together and he would do quite literally anything for you.
warnings⁀➷ use of y/n, spoilers obvs, soft!august (just for the reader), violence (people getting shot including the reader), angst, no mentions of gender or physical appearance, use of nickname (angel)
a/n ⁀➷ tell me if I missed a warning pls! And I’ve got some requests for a part 2 so if you have any wishes that I should add, let me know x
You felt like going on a walk today. Normally you would just stroll around the neighbourhood but today you felt like changing things up a little. You haven't been to this part of town, it was just a feeling that dragged you towards it.
Apparently, this part wasn't as crowded as the other places, which was quite nice. Ever since you moved to Paris, your mind didn't really settle. There was always something going on, not quite as romantic as some would think the city was. So to find a place this quiet, even if it wasn't the most beautiful, you enjoyed it.
As you walked across the street, a large garage was being opened. You glanced at the door out of pure curiosity. But you didn't look away after you'd seen his face. One that was way too familiar to you.
You stopped in your tracks and inhaled sharply. What on earth was he doing in Paris?
But then, why wouldn't he be in Paris. He did god knows what, things you only knew so much about as to not be endangered by it. You shouldn't be surprised.
You still stood there, visible surprise on your face that mirrored the others faces, as you looked back and forth between them.
How you weren’t even wondering why there was a, most probably, kidnapped man about to be sat on the backseat, you didn't quite know yourself. It just fitted the whole situation.
August stood there, slowly letting go of the door, his eyes fixed on yours. But before he could do anything, you heard a gunshot. You didn’t only hear it, you felt it. What on earth? You thought as you dropped onto the pavement. It felt like someone had punched you in the ribs, and you couldn't comprehend that the bullet actually hit you.
„Walker!" you could hear one of the guys at the car yell.
August was raging with anger, how would they dare to harm you, to harm what's his.
The next thing you heard were more shots. You couldn't see much, but what you saw was August, in front of you, and a gun in his hand. He had shot the men, all three of them. They had said something directed at one of the guys August was with, but you couldn't hear it, for you were groaning in pain.
„Y/N!" August called out name. „Y/N, Angel please…" he repeated your name over and over, turning to you.
As he kneeled down, his large hands cupped your face and his fingers lightly brushed your cheek. The angry expression on his face changed and he looked as if his worst nightmare just happened. „August.." you whispered, panting heavily. You were about to pass out and he knew it. „Stay with me, okay?" he whispered.
His voice was raspy. You could just nod in pain.
August slipped his arms under your knees and your neck, as he lifted you up. Still watched by the others in shock of his actions.
His strong hold made you feel safe. The way he carried you but looked at your face every few seconds to make sure you still had your eyes open.
„You're going to be fine, you hear me? I won't let anything happen to you. I won't leave you ever again." The moment you looked into his eyes, filled with worry and sincerity, you knew he would keep his word this time.
༄ Don't copy, translate or republish any of my works on any app or other platform please. I only post my work on Tumblr and Wattpad.
Reposts are always appreciated, they really make my day🧡
Summary: You and August try something a little different, but it goes too far and affects you negatively. Enough to make you want some space from your boyfriend. When August finds out how bad he hurt you, he does what he can to show you he loves you.
It is dark (at least to me a bit) but it ends fluffy.
Words: 2363
Warnings (PLEASE READ!!!): 18+ Can be very triggering for some people. I don’t want to upset anyone in any way because I know the feeling of reading something and having it trigger trauma, so here is everything: BDSM gone wrong. It is not non-con, but more something that goes too far. Traumatic feelings. Emotional distress. The sense of abuse and confusion. Minor wounds and blood. Reader understanding what they will and will not accept. (The actual whipping is not in the story but parts of it are described). I might be being dramatic, and I don’t actually know if this will cause anyone any issues, but it’s all just in case. Also light 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.”
Summary; Taking place immediately after the end of Mission Impossible Fallout, this is the reader’s journey with her relationship with August.
A sequel to The Hammer and the Screw
Genre: Angst with a happy ending.
Pairing: August Walker x Reader
Fandoms: Henry Cavill, Mission Impossible Fallout
Word count: 1173
I do not run a masterlist or tag list, however if you follow @angryschnauzerwrites and put that blog onto notifications, you’ll then get an alert every time i post new work.
A/N This is specifically written for @nuggsmum because she read between too many lines and thought The Hammer and the Screw was setting reader up for a world of hurt. This is my way of fixing things.
The Screws Turn
The room was quiet apart from the quiet beeping of the machines, of the incubator filling with air and then depressing again. The small motor on the IV machine whirred and added that hour’s dose into the tube, and you watched as it slowly dripped into the reservoir before making its way down the clear line and into the patient who lay unconscious on the bed.
Nurses came and went, checking vitals and fussing over the bed, ensuring none of the tubes had blockages and that the patient was fine. They would always check on you, the hospitality of their culture, one that cared for everyone involved in a situation, not just the patient.
One nurse in particular would always check on you, and as she approached your chair you pushed yourself to stand with some trouble, but greeted her on your feet;
“Chimini, how is he doing?”
“Well, he is doing well. But how are you doing? Did you eat yet?”
You nodded, at that moment your body decided to let a small burp slip from your lips;
“Yes, thank you”
She stepped forwards and pressed a hand to your stomach;
“We will need to scan soon, Binsa”
You smiled at her name for you, it meant ‘A Woman Who Is Fearless’ in Nepali, a language you had to rapidly master after the events of Kashmir.
There had been a few of your camp that had seen what’d happened, three other loyal soldiers dedicated to August’s cause, and the four of you had dragged him from the wreckage at the bottom of the ravine. His body had been burned and crushed, doused in acid from one of the lines in the helicopter rupturing. None of you would ever know what had happened during the firefight mid air, only knowing that Hunt had escaped alive and had left August to die. None of you were going to let that happen.
The route to Nepal had been quick, the resources at your fingertips as the right-hand woman of the man in charge had been a blessing, knowing that once you were over the border and into the Himalayas you were pretty much untraceable. The hospital in Kathmandu, Nepal’s capital city, was a private one, as long as you had the money they could treat anything, and as you landed on their rooftop helipad the trauma team had been on the roof bracing themselves against the snowstorm, ready to work their magic.
That had been six months ago, August arriving unconscious and being put into a medically induced coma to stop the pressure spikes on his brain. He had been through multiple surgeries, repairing his bones and organs, plastic surgery on the side of his face. As the facial injuries and procedures had healed you’d agreed with the Doctors that he could grow his beard and hair out, the daily task of helping to groom him as he lay there unaware of the world around him, it had helped anchor you to the reality, to the hope he would wake, clinging to that hope that your August would return.
Winter had come and gone, and for anyone that had ever experienced a snowstorm, nothing could compare to living in the highest mountain range on earth, in the clouds and surrounded by light or dark, a perpetual softness to the world as the weather cocooned you. As spring had started to arrive the snow had melted. Bright green shoots sprouting in the trees and through the snow on the ground, the promise of the whole spectrum of colours soon to arrive bringing a brightness to the days.
It had been four days since the Doctors had decreased August’s medications that kept him unconscious, monitoring his vitals in the hope he would wake on his own soon. As the day had grown long the night shift clocked on and the day shift said their goodbyes, wishing you both a pleasant evening and well wishes for the next day.
That night you wanted to be close to August. The bed in the corner of the room is a cold stark reminder of the last six months of loneliness. Grabbing the pillow and blanket from the cot you made sure the side was locked into place on August’s much bigger hospital bed, before settling across the foot of the bed. His calf rested against your stomach as you lay on your side, the warmth of his body through the blankets a welcome comfort. The sounds of the room lulled you to sleep, only waking when the child inside of you kicked at your abdomen, your eyes fluttering open as you saw the faint light of dawn starting to glow at the windows. Moving on the bed you sat up, resting your hand on your round belly;
“Shh it's ok little one”
Smoothing your hand over the curve of your stomach you frowned, there were no further kicks, usually once he got started it was a good half hour of wriggles, instead it was just the gentle movement as he turned a little within you and settled. Then you felt the kick again, this time at your hip. It took a moment to realise it was external stimuli rather than from inside you, but as your eyes focused on the crumpled blankets you saw August’s foot move again, tapping against your side. With a gasp your eyes shot up to his face, staring as he stared back through heavily lidded eyes, one pale and cloudy, the other bright blue with that fleck of brown that had always intrigued you. For the longest moment you both just stared at each other, the tears forming and spilling silently down your face as his attention was drawn to your rounded stomach, his eyebrow shooting up above his blue eye.
“He’s looking forward to meeting you” you said quietly, and a single tear slid down August’s cheek.
At that moment the nurses and doctors came rushing in, excitedly talking as they saw that August was awake, one helping you off the bed as they explained in accented English they would remove the breathing tube from his throat. For the moments that followed a nurse stood at your side, holding you up as you sobbed silently, tears of toy spilling from you;
“Mama please, it is joyous but we need you to calm so your Son does not arrive too early”
With a quiet laugh you nodded, and soon you were able to stand at August’s side. The fingers on his hand twitched, as if he was trying to remember how to move his limbs, before you gently captured his hand in yours and settled it on your belly;
“You promised me a new start Hammer, i’m glad you’re back to be part of it” you said softly.
He smiled and nodded as the nurse lifted a small cup of water to his lips, sipping on the straw to soothe his parched throat;
Warnings: August is dead lol, violence, avenging your husband by violence, angst angst angst.
Summary: Ethan is the reason you lost your muse, so you plan to make him suffer.
A/n: I felt depressing, this is the result. Much love but if I'm salty about August's death, you are too. It's short so-
.
"I'LL KILL HIM! I'LL KILL THE FUCK WHO DID THIS!" the siren scream echoed off the marble walls as feminine cries of agony released themselves out of a now sore throat.
The woman held the corpse of her lover to her chest, not caring about the gore that got on her dress due to his marred flesh. His eyes were closed, his body lifeless.
There, Y/N Walker held her husband's corpse close to her chest, rocking herself back and forth as she screamed to the heavens profanities and promises of revenge. Anger wasn't even a word to describe what she was experiencing. Her blood boiled and her heart bled, emotions pouring out like a geyser.
"WHO DID THIS? WHO FUCKING DID THIS?" she screamed at the people who brought her the corpse.
Their gazes were full of pity for her loss as they hung their head down low, "His name is Ethan. Ethan Hunt."
Her soft hands gently took his left hand in hers, her dainty fingers pulling the wedding ring off his, holding it to her chest as the tears continued to flow.
"Take him out of here. Treat him with the utmost respect and get him to a morgue. We'll give him a proper send-off. Also, get me absolutely everything you know on Ethan Hunt."
.
When Ethan came too, the first thing that he noticed was that he couldn't move his hands. He couldn't move anything, in fact, his brain taking in his surroundings. He was no doubt in a warehouse of some kind, in a metal chair, his hands not tied back with rope, but with steel cuffs.
The next thing, he noticed, however, was the melody that seemed to find his ear, a lovely mixture of notes. He recognized the song, Polkadots, and Moonbeams with Frank Sinatra. He shook his head in an attempt to wake himself up more, convinced this was a dream.
"This was our song, you know," a silky voice announced from a dark corner of the warehouse, directly behind a currently inebriated Ethan.
"Every Sunday evening, he would insist we slow danced to it once. A tradition that never seemed to get old," the owner of the voice came into sight, clad in a black dress, a necklace around her neck.
Ethan began to put the pieces together, his eyes narrowing at her as he began to recognize her face.
"You're-"
"His wife."
Her words were filled with venom. The heels on her feet clacked across the concrete floor, making a haunting echo ring through the seemingly empty space.
Ethan then realized she had a hand behind her back, and he was sure it was nothing good.
"They say that love can make people do crazy things. Unluckily for you, August was the one person that I loved most in the world, and it took way too long to find you, you're good at hiding," she began to explain, having to swallow the lump in her throat when mentioning her dead lover's name.
"That's what this is about? He was a madman set on killing thousands upon thousands of innocent people! I did what had to be done," Ethan bit, making her raise a brow.
"Since the death of my husband, I've had this deep... pain in my stomach. He was such a large part of me, you know," she began to approach her prey, a blade being revealed, but before he could react, she gave a firm, hard stab into his abdomen.
He gasped and grunted in pain as he looked her directly in the eyes, horrified when he saw a look of glee spread on her face.
"Now we share the same pain," she insisted, before yanking the blade out of his flesh, "And Ethan, I have so much to tell you about the pain you caused me..."
She paused, before snapping her fingers, two men emerging from another dark corner, his time with a sloo of dangerous, bladed weapon.
"I plan on making you feel every second of it," she confessed.
And as Ethan's eyes widened in terror, her hand drifted to August's ring strung around her neck, her fingers stroking it gently. At that moment, she knew, she would avenge her husband.
