August Walker X Reader - Tumblr Posts

Take me, sir! 😭✨️🖤

The Big Bad Wolf

Summary: If there is anything August enjoys it’s breaking those who resist him. Now trapped in his little cage, the little bird has no where to fly to.

Prompt:

I always found the idea funny of August breaking a strong girl. similar to Ingvild. but like she is one of his strongest Apostels and fights by his side. She’s unstoppable but August just looks at her and is like ‘yep this girl definitely got some issues lets tell her she’s our good girl and make her kneel’

Pairing: August Walker x Original Female Character (3rd person pov)

Word count: 1.7K

Warnings: 18+, abuse of power, rough cage fucking, hatesex, unprotected sex, hinted breeding, risky creampie, possessive behaviour. On the safe side it’s borderline dub-con.

A/N: Got inspired by the prompt and by watching Mi6 for the 700th time. That scene gave me ideas and look where we are today. Many thanks to my love @agniavateira​ for beating my work.

Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed. Your feedback is my fuel. 🖤

Title: The Big Bad Wolf

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Cause of death? Hammer walker! 💀

Nice day for a White Wedding

Summary:  Even on your wedding day, there is no getting away from August. His grip over you has no boundaries.

Pairing: August Walker x Reader (you)

Word count: 3.3K

Warning: Explicit smutty smut, MaleDom/FemSub, stripping, spanking (rather hardcore this time), slight fingering, bondage, rough sex. Wheeeeee

A/N: So my amazing @agniavateira​ who is also my editor(!) challenged me to a request a while ago and it turned out Ummm more explicit than I thought. So I hope you guys don’t unfollow me after this but not blaming you if you will. Also the name, yes, I am a Billy Idol fan. 

Title: Nice Day for a white wedding

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🔥🔥🔥

Shades of Green

Summary: On the paper, Syverson made for the perfect roommate, mostly due to the fact he was never home and even though he was hotter than hell you doubted anything could ever happen between you. Until one night changes everything...

Pairing: Captain Syverson x female reader (no description of body type or ethnicity)

Words: 6.6k

Warnings: +18, fluff, romance and graphic smut. Jealousy, roommates to lovers, angry sex, vaginal fingering, dirty language, breeding kink, risky creampie, hyperspermia, bodily fluids, machoism.

A/N: This is dedicated to my lovely @wolvesandhoundshowltogether a very belated gift, long-anticipated 🖤. It's been a while since I last wrote an actual story so excuse me now hiding from the world in anxiety. Many thanks to my dear friend @agniavateira for beta'ing.

Shades of green

Two years have passed since you moved into the cosy little apartment in the bowels of the city centre - a humble sun-showered pad with a small terrace where you nourished timid house plants back to life.

Indeed, it was a rare find for a reasonable price. The fact that you had to share it with a boorish military grunt didn’t bother you even by the slightest.

Quite the contrary, Captain Logan Syverson was the ideal flatmate; due to long deployments, he was hardly ever at home. Once returned from active duty, he tended to keep the place clean, fixed whatever broke, and made the kitchen drift of the most delicious aromas.

The only real problem that arose from sharing a flat with the Captain was that despite the buzzcut, scars, and bristly ‘roadkill’ that decorated his jawline, he was otherworldly attractive. Sporting the body of a viking warlord and the confidence of a well-endowed man, Syverson was the type of handsome that made grown men stop on their heels and stare and for teenage girls to cover their mouths in a muffle of shy giggles.

Silly little you were anything but immune to his spell, of course. One glimpse of his sapphire-lustred eyes brought fervid heat to your cheeks, and your knees turned into cotton.

However, the relationship between the two of you remained lukewarm, on terms of nothing other than flatmates. Syverson was a man of a few words and grunts, who mostly kept to himself and spent the nights at the local neighbourhood pub where he would drink with his buddies until the moon itself fell asleep.

Admittedly, you preferred to keep a healthy distance, knowing very well that a man like Syverson would never fall for a woman such as yourself. The ladies Sy brought home were nothing like the timid ocean breeze you were, he only ever bothered speaking to you when it was time to discuss whose turn it was to do the next round of grocery shopping.

October snuck right beneath the nose, carrying amber-tinted leaves on its chill wind along with Captain, who was now back from Iraq for a much longer leave and strolled around the house like a bored house cat in search of trouble.

The more you kept bumping into him around the pad, the thicker the air felt in your apartment despite the temperatures outside dropping lower with each day.

“Whatever,” you sighed, brushing your hair in front of the shower mirror and more so, hoping to brush away any thoughts of Sy as you prepared for your date. It has been years since you've been on one of those.

The man you were supposed to meet, Robert, nagged you for aeons and a day until eventually, you caved in and accepted his courtship. Truth be told, you had scant interest in actually seeing him tonight but a part of you hoped that this would help in making you feel less pathetic for crushing over your roommate who never gave a fuck.

Fumes seeped around you as you stepped out of the shower, wearing nothing but a short towel. With your thoughts as hazy as the mist that engulfed the corridor, you made way toward the bedroom when something hard and sturdy blocked your path, causing you to bounce back with a breathless shriek.

‘Oh no, oh, fuck, no!’

“Careful there, spitfire, you’ll hurt yourself.”

The low, gravelly drawl of his voice sent a spiralling tingle to your pebbled nipples: fully erect, they brushed against the wet cloth barely guarding your virtue as if crying for the attention of that burly bull of a man.

Gawking, Sy stood before you, sipping from a bottle of beer, blocking the corridor in ways that offered no escape.

Instantly, your hand tightened on the towel around your chest, assuming that for whatever reason, the Captain was in a mood to vex you, though it wasn’t just mischief that gleamed upon his pale sapphires—but a feral, shameless intent. Unapologetic, his eyes trailed down your half-naked figure, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Headin’ out tonight, roomie?” Sy questioned with another sip while his eyes stabbed at your chest.

Knuckles stiff around the edge of the towel, you cleared your throat in a failed attempt to prevent your voice from trembling.

“I...yeah, I am.”

“Hot date?” His smirk slanted.

“Actually, yeah.”

Sy remained stoic, tiny specks of foam graced his bushy beard and with the flick of his tongue, he licked his lips and suckled them dry. “Pity,” he grumbled, baritone dropping smoothly low, “thought maybe we can decorate the livin’ room together, ya know?… for Halloween. But I guess I’ll make the webs... by myself.”

Your belly sank and fluttered with the unease one has when shamefully exhilarated by something forbidden, yet not a single twitch appeared below the Captain’s frigid stare, which did nothing but furthermore vex your seething mind.

Embarrassed and bemused, you hoped to hell he didn’t mean what you thought he meant. A small frown formed on your brow; if this was a provocation of some sort, you didn’t have time for it. Harrumphing, you shrugged, almost making the towel slip off your chest, much to Syverson’s silent delight.

“Not much into decorating tonight,” you spat coldly and shot him a sardonic grin.

“Yeah, I bet,” he scoffed.

An awkward stillness crept into the narrow space between you. Gingerly, his glare lingered, the sapphire-coloured shine sparkling as it trailed the little beads of water that loosely hung from your hair and glided down your skin. For a brief moment, he grazed his sharp fangs upon his bottom lip but then shrugged and turned back toward the living room.

Never in your life have you sighed with such intense relief.

By the time you reached the bedroom, your heart was threatening to crush through your bones and escape your ribcage. Typically, the Captain had a certain effect on you - a quiver in your belly, a kiss of heat to crest your cheek. But in that very moment, you couldn’t stop the throbbing in your chest and all of a sudden you were a teenager - pitifully infatuated with the hottest guy in school, heart-singing and every glimpse his sapphires offered filled you with the hope that maybe he liked you too.

Though you had Syverson figured out a long, long while ago, knowing very well he was like one of these boys — sick for attention with no real intention.

“Fuck these guys,” you muttered under your breath as you slipped in the tight little red dress you purchased especially for your date.

The thought that Sy might find you attractive wearing it struck your mind nonetheless; but quickly, you stuffed any notion of him to a dusty nook in the back of your brain and finished prepping for your date.

Sy was still sprawled on the sofa once you emerged from your room; lounging about, watching some dumb horror movie on Netflix while a bottle of cold beer sat loose in his fist. There was no ignoring the weird atmosphere that unfurled through the apartment. The air tensed with every click your heels made upon the cheap parquet flooring, each step soaking you with an unexplained sense of guilt as if going on this date was an act of infidelity.

Sending a brief glimpse at the burly man, you felt an urge to say something but realised you had no reason to make excuses to Sy. Instead, you reached for your black sequin purse and just as your hand touched the door handle...

“Who’s the lucky guy?”

The thunder of his voice shot right through your nerves. Clenching your teeth, you bit back your ire and turned to stare at him.

Sy’s eyes were still glued to the screen.

“Robert, from accounting in my firm, but you don’t know him…”

“Robert… accounting,” Sy repeated the name, the gears in his brain twisting and turning when suddenly, he let out a loud snort and burst into a peal of roaring laughter. Throwing his head over his shoulder, he finally offered you a gander, his joyful eyes briefly running up and down the curves of your body.

“Bobbie? Little Bobbie McPee?”

“Robert McBride,” you corrected with a sulk, your fingers anxiously toying with the metal handle. Had you the nerve, you would have smacked that irritating smile right off his big. stupid. face.

Shaking his head, Sy suddenly shot himself from the sofa, his imposing body flexing beneath the worn black t-shirt that looked as if it was about to surrender and rip under the size of his bulging muscles. Any tendril of rage that wove in your gut briskly dissolved, replaced with a prickling chill that crept between your bones and held you paralysed.

Wide-eyed, you watched Syverson as he sauntered forward, your head chaotic with an onslaught of rapid irrational thoughts.

‘Why the hell is he coming closer? Is he going to...’

“We went to high school together,” he retorted and paused mere inches away from you, entrapping you between the white wooden door and his impossibly large frame. His breath blew hot on your face, while the scent of his spicy beard oil, beer and virile musk caged you in hazy mindlessness.

Suddenly you were weak, your knees shaking at the glint of his sapphire gaze. Up and down he scrutinised you, the tip of his serpentine tongue darting at his upper lip in what seemed like a taunt.

“Well,” he drawled, taking a small pause as he examined your dress, “tell little Bobbie: Logan Syverson says hi.”

You meant to reply with a snide remark, but the flare sparking his eyes had you speechless. Once the words returned to your mind, Sy already turned his back and made his way to the living room while chuckling to himself.

To say that your hatred toward Captain Logan F. Syverson burnt with the fury of thousand blazing suns would have been an understatement. Every passing minute you spent thinking about him during your date made you seeth. Not that Robert was anything other than an atrociously dull human being, but everything would have been peachy if you could stop imagining that the man in front of you was Syverson instead.

‘Motherf…’ you fumed, wondering what did you ever do to Sy to have him mess with your head like that.

Nothing! You did nothing to win such treatment. The provoking, the blunt mockery—Syverson knew exactly what he was doing dancing around you, exhuming his big-dick-energy to toy with you the way a cat toys with a helpless little mouse.

Even when you attempted to give Robert a grain of respect and concentrate on the tedious conversation he was leading, Sy found new ways to bother you by sending an onslaught of random text messages:

“Where do we keep the laundry detergent again?”

“Did we run out of Mayo?”

“Is the iRobot broken again?”

“Do you know if KFC is still open this time of the evening?”

“Why are you looking for detergents?! You have three t-shirts you cycle between! No, no and no, Google it!”

Having zero intentions of seeing Robert again, you decided to finish the night early.

Frail as he might have been, at least by comparison to beastly Syverson, he still insisted on walking you all the way back to your front door which you kindly agreed to.

No matter how ‘safe’ people declared this neighbourhood, walking alone in the dark wasn’t a worthy risk.

“So this is me...” You forced a grin at the lean man, politely trying to hint that there would never be a second date.

A hint that went obliviously unnoticed. Offering you a hazy gaze, he provided what you think he believed to be a seductive smile. His hand then reached to your wrist, and with a light squeeze, opened his mouth. “I had the loveliest evening.”

Hardly able to mask your disdainful flinching, you tried to pull free from his grip.

“Umm, Robert, I…”

Ignoring the apparent awkwardness and your lack of participation, he gingerly began caressing your hand. “Is this it or?...”

“Or?...” You drew more firmly, your back pressing into the door.

“Or maybe you can invite me in? Just to talk.”

“Ah no…” you started saying, but the words died on your tongue as Robert leaned closer in an attempt to steal an undesired kiss.

A loud whoosh reverberated through the dim corridor as the door behind you suddenly flung open, nearly sending you down to the floor.

“Hey, Bobbie.”

Shirtless and covered by a sheer layer of sweat, Sy stood at the door, one arm casually hanging over the door frame, making his bicep appear far more pumped than usual. You hated him still, yet at that very moment, relief struck you, along with the misty lure of Syverson’s musky scent that roped around you like dark silken knots.

'To hell with him!'

Seeing the beast of the man demonstrating his physical assets, Robert’s hand immediately withdrew.

“Logan,” He cleared his throat.

“It’s Captain Syverson,” Sy corrected before flashing you a quick glare. Why did he make you feel like you were in some trouble again? You frowned.

“We were just having a small chat,” Robert explained, to which Sy replied with a sardonic stare and briefly chewed on the inside of his cheek.

“I heard. The lady doesn’t want you in.”

Despite the bewilderment written all over your face, Syverson kept a fierce, warning glare at the other man and tilted his head in a gesture for you to get inside the house.

Almost instantly, you folded your tail between your legs and, with a clenched jaw, snuck below his spread-out arm straight into the apartment.

“Night,” Sy spat and slammed the door shut before Robert had a chance to react.

The walls still trembled with the might of Syverson’s brutal manoeuvre; the little tremors made their way into your bones and stabbed at your muscles until your entire body visibly shook. Sy turned to you with barely veiled anger sparking his blue eyes.

At that point, the heat in your blood peaked to new records.

‘He is pissed?!’

There were so many things you wanted to say to your barbaric jarhead of a roommate right now, none of which would lead to any positive consequences. Swallowing a frustrated growl, you stormed into the kitchen and threw the fridge open in the purpose of occupying one of Sy’s cold bottles of beer - hardly a worthy payment to his obnoxious behaviour, but at least, in that very moment, it held you from a furious outburst.

Right on your steps, Sy followed, silent as he blocked the entire space of the kitchen’s arched pathway. His massive arms rose to fold across his bare chest, his lips smacking together at the sight of you uncorking the bottle before drenching your throat.

All it took was one glance at him, and your anger surged again.

“Logan, what the actual fuck?!”

Sy’s face fell into a frown, appearing just as vexed, if not more.

“Thank you for getting rid of that Schmock, Big Sy,” He answered in a dull falsetto in an attempt to mimic your voice the way a child would taunt.

Instinctively, you rolled your eyes at him, taking another large sip. “I don’t know what has gotten into you tonight, but this is the last time you meddle with my affairs and ruin my dates.”

“Oh please, sugarbutt….”

“Don’t call me sugarbutt!”

“Sweetlin’,” Sy corrected with a sneer and stretched his shoulder even wider, his breadth dwarfing everything within the kitchen, including yourself.

“You are bein’ all ungrateful; that’s what you are. Both you and I here know you weren’t about to sleep with Bobbie McPee. That man is way below your league, and I didn’t like how he was nagging you to let him in, so I went ahead and did you a solid because I believe in a woman’s right to say no, and that guy was downright coercing you.”

Sy did his best to appear calm and indifferent, but his eyes were almost erratic in their scrutiny, promenading across your frame back and forth, like a wild animal preparing for a hunt. The same energy infected you as well; the more you tried to contain yourself, your chest heaved - as if it was a game to play or a competition.

“So you are a feminist now 'big Sy?'” You began to mock, “I saw the skanks you brought over here before and heard the shit that comes out of their mouths.” Pausing, you lifted one arm across the fridge's door and squirmed your hips theatrically.

“How did that go? ‘Ah, yes, yes, yes! Captain, sir, give me that big fat cock, yes, use my body like a fuck hole', are you sure those ladies are not paid actresses? If you know what I mean...”

Beneath his thick beard, his jaw clenched. Unfolding one arm, Syerson pointed a warning finger at you. “First thing first, those were some lovely ladies you speak of, so show ‘em some respect, sugarbutt, and keep that internalised misogyny bullshit out of our apartment. Secondly…”

A wild gust of wind wafted over you with Syverson’s abrupt agile movement, who, in less than a second, stood an inch away from your face, rudely reminding you that this humanoid beast was not a simple man but a trained, glorified military warrior.

It took everything in your power to remain steady on both feet and keep that quivering moan locked deep in your chest. Gaze shredding, he peered down on you, his nostrils flaring with every loud and sharp inhale.

“You’d scream the same thing had I given you my cock…” his voice dropped dangerously low, overtaken by a lustful taunt.

Your eyes flicked to his mouth in time to see his lips part open, making scorching fire rise your throat. Absentmindedly, you slammed the bottle onto the counter, the beer unable to cool nor quench your thirst anymore.

“At least I was always kind to your ‘ladies’ and never got in their way to get your cock!” you snarled.

Sy watched the foam climb up the bottle’s neck, his eyes narrowing as if you violated some military code. Chewing on his lips for a lingering moment, he rummaged in his head for a response, but all that came from him was an irritated mumble, “Too bad, babe, I wish you had...’

Your chest fell, uncertain if the words you heard were correct, you tilted your head and asked sternly, “What did you say?”

Sy’s lips stretched into a thin line, providing no answer, though his gaze now felt like sharp shards of ice.

“What did you say???” you asked again, more urgently this time. “Answer me!”

A frustrated growl boomed between the country-printed kitchen tiles, followed by the sharp gasp that escaped you the moment his hands snapped around your forearm and hauled you so close that his furred chest nearly brushed against your breasts with each puff.

But nothing made your heart sink more than the fierceness of his direct stare.

“I said: I wish you had. At least then I’d know you felt something for me.”

Whether it was the heat of his palms or the scent of sweat that got you light-headed, you couldn't tell, all you knew is that the words fled from your mouth like sneaky little mice.

“What makes you think I don’t?”

Eyeing your mouth, he considered his next steps, the chaotic war inside his head evident through fine cracks of emerald that embellished his blue gaze. One by one, the creases deepened, shattering his iron will, proving that even the strongest of men couldn’t stand in the face of the woman he wanted most.

In a completely lost battle, his hand cradled your jaw.

“Syver….”

The rest of his name was muffled by the passionate kiss that claimed you. With his fingers pressed into your cheeks, he forced your lips to unwrap for an ardent exploration; just like honey, golden and sweet, his silky serpent pervaded your maw and imbuing you with bliss. His growls of prolonged desire delved into your chest until you felt fire ignited within its dark pit, and the blazes spilt molten-hot into your veins.

If this was a joke, a game, or a dream, you hoped to never find out; in unveiled desperation, your arms wrapped around his thick neck and hung onto him, wary that he would change his mind. But Sy had no intentions of doing so; amid the symphony of ecstatic groans, his arms brought you to crash into his broad, hairy chest. Soon the coat of sweat that clung to his skin slapped against your body, defiling the red fabric of your dress and sticking on the bare parts of your flesh.

You wanted to drown in it.

He wanted to drown in you.

Reluctantly though, Sy broke the kiss, halting for a brief gasp of fresh air; the rounded tip of his nose bumped against yours while his mouth ghosted warmly upon your swollen lips.

“Yeah?” he asked amid his laboured breath, desperately seeking sincerity in your bewildered glance, “do you want this, darlin’? Do you want me?”

Unable to speak coherently, you nodded in response, which won you a soft squeeze around the chin. Directing you to stare into his gleaming sapphires, he demanded again, now pressing his wide, muscle-hard thigh between your legs, and dangerously close to your groin.

“Say it, tell me what you want me to do,” Sy urged by pushing his leg higher, the fabric of his jeans brushing over your panties.

Drawn by natural wills, you undulated your hips and shamefully started to ride his thigh whimpering, astonished at the paradox of relief and further yearning swept over your engorged core.

You were stranded south of heaven, helpless, desperate for friction—you needed it, harder, faster, more.

‘Please!’

“I want you!” you managed a pitiful mewl and gave him an equally vulnerable glance, “I want you, Sy, I need you to take me like the animal that you are.”

Per your demand, his kiss was even rougher than before; violent and possessive, he bruised your lips and chin, the sounds emitting from his throat barely human. Feral in his entirety, his kiss and his touch made you feel the air in your lungs replaced with fire.

Unceremoniously, his hands smacked across your rear, fingers squeezing your cheeks in raspy frustration as if his own wanton brought pain. There was a time when you found this treatment degrading—now it made your desperate little slit crave attention.

Sy granted it without you having to beg.

Wandering below your dress, his curious fingers scoured the wet path that tainted the silk of your panties; though you saw him as a savage, his touch was shockingly tender: that of a man well-taught in the secret whims of a woman.

If only his mouth was this eloquent...

“My God, you’re a wet little thing, aren’t you, babygirl?” Slow and sensual, he outlined your entrance, spreading dampness across your petals, pressing into the hollow that twitched for his touch.

“You want ‘big Sy’ inside you, darlin’?” Sy’s lips curled into a triumphant grin, his fingertips provoking the edge of your panty line in featherlike strokes, inching close but not close enough.

“I’d gladly give you all of me, darlin’ but I don’t think you can take it just yet. I think it’s been ages since you took a proper dick in that tight little hole of yours,” his digit lightly shoved into the hot dent in your panties, “I better be a gentleman and stretch you for me so it won’t hurt too much.”

Never in your life had you felt such a needful desire to connect with another person. Your skin seared both from his touch or the lack thereof once his hands slid from one spot to the other. In your despair, you whined and writhed and crashed your body against the wall of his chest.

“I need you inside me.”

Not denying your request, his finger slipped below your panties merely to further taunt and bring you across the edge of your patience. Gingerly, he stroked between your petals, relishing in the dew that dripped all over his knuckle before sliding into your heat.

Too afraid that the nosey neighbour next door will hear the ruckus, you slapped a hand across your mouth and muffled the loud moans that tore from your throat; but Sy had none of your silence. Pushing another finger, he slowly began to pump your drenched cove: in and out, deeper, harder —every tidal sink he made into you pushed you further down a phantasmic spiral.

“Tsk, tsk,” he ticked his tongue, “I want those cries, darlin’, better not deny me of them now, or I’ll find ways to make you scream so loud, Mrs Parker will call the police…”

With that, he brushed a thumb over your clit and curled his digits within your depth, causing your muscles to shudder around his thick fingers. Another smile of arrogant victory cascaded brightly on his eyes, ravelling in the sweet symphony that spurred from your mouth, of the way you danced for him, faster and faster in search of the elysian fields.

Incoherent and irrational, you truly believed the pleasure would kill you.

“Look at you,” Sy gave a hoarse whisper and leaned in to nibble at the shell of your ear. Urgently, you pushed against his hand, trying to steal what was rightfully yours—control—though it was an absurdity for every shift you made against one another only made you lose the grasp over your wits.

“I can feel you getting wetter and tighter, darlin’, and we hardly even began, which makes me wonder…” he paused, preserving you in his glare as if you were a rare sight, “did anyone make you come around his fingers before?”

With whatever scant remnants of wit, you shook your head. Your vulturous slit choked around the girth of his fingers, suckling them until it felt as if there’s no more space within you to fill, and all it took was one slippery strike to throw you across the edge. Snapping your palms at his broad shoulder, you held tight and screamed for all the demons and devils to hear your ascension.

Tears of pleasure beaded your lashes, lightly obscuring your sight, the image of Sy standing before now tad blurry. And yet, you could see how his fingers dove into his mouth.

He licked them one by one, tasting your sugary dew, savouring the taste with vocal approval before he suckled his lips and murmured, “tasty little peach, aren’t you?”

Still trembling from your climax, you bit your lip in response and offered a tender stare, suddenly reduced to a vulnerable little thing. At the same time, Sy took harbour between your wobbly legs, massaging a sore erection with a ravenous storm in his glare.

It’s been so long since someone looked at you that way. Or maybe, you figured, no one looked at you like this before—as if you were desert, a meal for a famished man.

“What’s wrong, babygirl?”

Sy gave a questioning look and knelt between your legs. His hands smoothed upon your knees, gathering sweat in their ascension to your thighs.

“I… oh...” you tried to speak, but words were too tough as the pillowy tips of his fingers left trails of fire across your flesh.

“Words, darlin’, I won’t give you what you want if you don’t say it properly…” A wide, cocky smirk painted his face, beaming at you from below, almost distracting you from the fact that this massive man was peeling your silky panties away and breathing against your cunt.

“I never thought that…oh my god...”

Sy’s bearded kiss teased your inner thigh, the sense of his thick beard brought tingles and burns, while higher and higher, his mouth climbed, licking, tasting, driving you insane.

“You thought that what, darlin’? Hmm?” He kissed across your other thigh, his fist wrapping around the flimsy strap of your panties that now rested around your knees.

“I thought guys like you don’t like girls like me…”

“Oh, darlin’...” He chuckled softly, but then his fist made a sudden snap and tore your panties away.

You hardly had a moment to jolt, let alone realise what the Captain was doing and he already raked your ass into his grip and swept you off the counter. A strong, firm hand carried you in a wild whirlpool and then—thud!—your ass smacked on the dinner table with such might that the pans hanging from the cupboard rattled in shock.

“Don’t really care about guys like me, darlin’. Truth is I wanted you from the moment I first saw you,” Sy breathed, squeezing your rear with one hand while the other urgently fumbled with his belt. Every muscle in your body twitched at the metallic echo of his buckle snapping, your gaze swiftly dropped to his groin, and your spine stiffened with a feverish chill.

His chest puffed as he fisted his cock, sheer pride adorning his face. His thumb was rolling back and forth over the glistening crown, smearing the opaline drops all over his glistening flesh.

“See how badly I want you?” He offered an arrogant smirk and leaned closer to graze his shaft between your drenched petals. Astonished, you wailed for him, anguished by the way he teased your slit, brushing no more than the edge of his girth against your opening but refraining from going inside.

“I want you too!” you piously whined, absentmindedly digging your nails into his nape.

Low growls escaped his hot mouth, while his breath shuddered, a clear signal that he could also neither stall for another moment. Eagerly, he pressed his lips to your temple and panted, ”Forgive me, babygirl. This round I won’t be the southern gentleman I usually am. I promise I’ll eat that sweet juicy peach until you scream, but not before I’ll pump it full of cream.”

Unable to hold much more, he gripped both your thighs and hauled you toward him with the might of a furious bull shredding through silk.

A crescendo of breathless cries soared within the cosy room, vulgar and rough - the Captain filled you, sparing no moment to let you adjust to his impossible size. Deeper he forced through your cavern until you ached and clung to him with a sharp yelp of disbelief. How could he even fit you?

Astonishment painted both your faces as he began to move, prying your mouths agape in a shared breath. Lost but finally found, you felt whole by this union, by him fulfilling the lonely space within you like a puzzle piece falling into place.

“You are just like I imagined." His voice was almost a desperate howl, his eyes veiled with a dream-like haze of pleasure once he pushed into you again. “You feel so good.”

You wished to respond, to say how long you wanted it too, feeling sad and envious every night you heard him taking another girl. But Syverson pounded the air right out of your lungs with every collision his body made into you.

The only thing that spurred from your open maw was the husky wail that rose higher and louder while your womb dutifully squeezed with the pressure of his intrusion; your narrow canal stretched to further welcome him until you felt you will never belong to another man.

A great part of you was thankful you couldn’t articulate a word, afraid you might say something horribly embarrassing and absurd.

Though words weren’t needed. Sy felt it with every inch of him submerged in you. Thumbs dug deep into your muscles to hold you in place, he drove into you further, taking you in a brutal rhythm, yet not without style.

“Don’t! Don’t stop! Fuck me!” You managed to scream. Mrs Parker surely heard you by now and knew exactly what you were doing, but you were far from caring at that point.

There, in the tepid penumbra of the kitchen, surrounded by the storm of your reverent moans, cries, and lustful sweat, you cared nothing of the consequences as your roommate ploughed you on the old wooden table like the obedient soldier he was with no barrier used to protect you.

All you wanted was the width of that ventured through you, the fiery heat that poured into your pit, and the warmth of his chest and shoulders pressing into your body.

Syverson must have needed it just as much, for he snapped one hand to the cleavage of your dress and with an unmannered tug, forced it down to your torso along with your bra.

Taken by your beauty, his eyes briefly drank in the sight of your body before they returned to meet your glare again. It was at that moment when the thick layer of ice that always covered his stare completely dissolved.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful!” Sy rasped and squeezed your breasts, “And all mine. I want you to be mine, darlin’!”

His words riddled you with wild shivers, a sudden whirlpool of sensations assailing your chest. Devout as sea nymph succumbing to the ocean's might, you fell to your elbows and allowed Syverson to take whatever he needed from you.

“Tell me what you want, darlin’.” You heard him utter.

Shrouded in illogical despair that clouded your mind, you squirmed your hips in fervour to meet his thrusts. All could think of was him unloading inside you, the thought of his seed - hot and fertile in your womb - bringing a sequence of quakes and tremors so intense you erupted with ecstasy.

“Logan,” Your voice broke, body tingling as waves of white-hot pleasure submerged you, “I want you to come, I want you to come inside me!”

All hell broke loose. With your walls still clamped around him, Sy snapped with an onslaught of savage ruts, fucking you with such might that the entire table creaked and scratched the floor; the little fruit bowl that sat in the middle tipped over and crashed on the floor, sending apples and peaches to roll freely on the floor.

Still too tight, too pressured, you wailed. The edge of his cock slammed into your cervix, spawning tendrils of both pain and pleasure to weave together. A little more of this pleasure and you would die, you fretted.

But your fear was undone along with your sweet senses, euphoria flowing hot within your tendons once again.

Bathed by golden bliss, you encompassed Sy, embracing him tightly, both legs, arms and your silken walls that suckled around his thickening cock.

Reduced to nothing but carnal need, Sy let out a peal of hoarse moans. No thoughts ran through his head other than the need to paint your womb with his seed. Unrelenting, he grabbed onto your rear and charged with selfish, ruthless intent.

“I’m going to come, oh god.”

One last powerful slam and he came into you in an abundance; hot and rich it pooled inside you, overflowing until no space remained and the milky elixir seeped out of your seams. Still grounding you, Sy’s pace gradually slowed and his eyes fell to stare at his cock as it throbbed and twitched with the final gush of his cum.

“That was amazing… you were amazing,” he panted and swallowed to wet his parched throat.

A dark glint sparked his gaze as he carefully pulled from between your walls and glanced at the generous pond of white cream that dripped from your gaping hole.

For a brief moment, any trace of civility in him faded, leaving nothing but an unwitted caveman who was undoubtedly proud of his handiwork. Peering down at the mess between your thighs, the blood suddenly rushed to your head and the hairs on the back of your neck bristled.

‘Fuck…fuck fuck!’

What have you done?

To say that dozen different thoughts ran in clattering chaos within your head would have been an understatement - every possible ‘what if?’ scenario tormented you at once, while the possibility that you just let your very active-military-duty-roommate knock you up - was the loudest of them all.

And there he was, still buried inside you, a gentle thrum stirring where the two of you remained connected and you didn’t even know what he was to you right now.

‘Future father of my child?’ You jested bitterly while berating yourself over and over again.

'Stupid, stupid, stupid! so fucking stupid. What if this was just him letting off some steam?'

Licking his upper lip, Sy sharply inhaled. As if to quiet your nerves or comfort you, he planted a chaste kiss on your forehead before departing from your cove with a low growl rumbling on his throat.

“Towel… towel…”

It seemed that his mannerism abruptly returned, or perhaps it was the guilt. Scratching the back of his head, he rummaged about the kitchen while motioning you to stay put.

“Over… over... there,” you motioned toward the checkered towel that hung loosely from the oven’s handle.

Sy reached for it, hastily cleaning his semi-hard shaft before moving to stand between your thighs once more. His eyes grew focused and silent as a drowsy summer lake, while he wiped you clean in the tenderness of a long-time lover.

You couldn’t help but stare, you wished you could share his stillness - raw and already sore, you attempted to loosen your clenching throat and heaving chest, abashed by the hiss of your breath and by the visible quake in your bucking arms.

Whatever remaining energy you have in you waned at every passing second.

“Are you okay?”

You flinched at his question, trembling even more.

Noticing your distress, he placed on hand on your leg and caressed you gently, trying to reassure you with a grin and another chaste kiss on the base of your knee.

“Did I fuck the words right outta’ your brain?”

If you hadn’t felt so guilty, ashamed and incredibly stupid, you would have snorted at his poor joke, instead, you swatted a hand over your forehead and shrugged. “I think so…” you lied.

The fear in your voice was not absent to Syverson, whose face fell to unmistakable dread. Discarding the towel, he chewed onto his inner cheeks in what you could only interpret as his nervous habit. With his warm palm wrapped across your knee, he gave a light squeeze.

“Hey, look at me.”

Blue shimmering kindness met your gaze, attempting to disperse over your anxiety.

“I meant what I said, I…” he halted, swallowing a deep gulp of courage.

You meant to open your mouth and retort when Syverson shook his head and sighed as if this was a scene he had already witnessed numerous times before, “you don’t see me this way, do you?”

Within seconds you realised - behind Syverson’s arrogant facade hid a vulnerable schoolboy, standing in front of the girl and waiting for her to say yes.

“Don’t be an idiot, sugarbutt,” you half-whispered and stroked a hand over his furry cheek.

Though he avoided smiling, a glint of joy lit his eyes. He made a quick attempt in fixing your dress, which felt like someone trying to tape together a broken vase and after a short struggle, finally gave up and with a mumbled apology let you off the table and wrapped his hands around your wrists.

Your once-lovely kitchen had seen better days, though you suspected you looked far worse. No matter how many times you tried to keep your dress together, the red straps of your dress continued to slip down your forearms.

'You owe me a dress, Logan...'

"We will clean up this mess, tomorrow?" Sy suggested, surveying the kitchen with a sigh. His eyes met with the shame that stained the table and you both cleared your throat but said nothing more.

Nearly an hour passed. Spent on the couch you munched on hot popcorn and watched a film you could only describe as the most horrendous piece of cinematic trash ever made. But your heart was hardly in it, anyway. Pressed into his chest, your fingers clutched onto his pectoral, trying to force away from the concern that swam heavily in your gut and on occasion gnawed at it like a pesky little fish.

‘What if? What if? What if?’ Your mind screamed along with the actress in the movie who was running toward her doom.

As if sensing your dread, Sy squeezed his hand around your shoulder and nuzzled your cheek, silencing each one of your doubts and fears, at least until sunrise.

Extra credits:

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

I don't own Sand Castle or Captain Syverson

Loved it!!✨️🖤

Based on a prompt:

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

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

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

Word count: 2k (somehow)

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

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

The Prisoner

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

Scounrdles like you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How did he know his name? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If I free you…”

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

“And…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Consider it a done deal.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“As for my reward?”

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

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

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

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

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

“F… fer…”

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

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

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

“Do not fear me,” he demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I would let this man do anything to me.. (Or probably not. Cuz he looks so intimidating.....and hot..😭😭)

Started following you for no rules in breakable heaven it's so fucking good I can't even -

Ohhh! My forgotten child, August Walker 😹 oki, I’m going to post my unedited scene here just bcos u reminded me how much thrilling it was to write him and all his complexities (even tho the interaction in that story was so low that it made me seriously question if what I’m writing is good ahuhu)

NRIBH snippet below 🌸

“Go on, princess,” he drawled, swirling the almost finished and contaminated glass of whiskey in his large hand. The signet ring you gave him twinkling from the light shining on the chandelier. “Ask me your questions.”

“Y-you knew?”

“I do.”

“Then why did you still drink it?”

“Because,” he started before looking at you intensely, “You have my heart at the palm of your hands. And I want you to accept it.”

You frowned as you watched him gulped the remaining liquid as he remained eye contact with you. He smirked at your astonished expression before lowering with a thud the glass on the table.

“Ask me, my princess. You won’t get another chance to poison me.”

“How many times did you try to kill me?”

“Four times.”

Velvet Chains

Summary: For a generous fee, August Walker is yours. A man devout to pleasure, who will worship you for an entire night and make sure your first time is more than memorable. 

Promot:  

 A thought - August as a gigolo who specializes in deflowering. 👌

Pairing: Soft! August Walker x Virgin Reader.  

Word count: 1.6K

Warnings: 18+. August Walker as a sex-worker, sexual intercourse, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, a depiction of bodily fluids, soft!August themes, a tinge of angst and August’s monster c… 

A/N: When I received this prompt, I didn’t think I can actually do it justice, but it was 3am and I started dabbling around. Then in the morning, I took another look at it, and this little drabble turned into a one-shot. I hope you’ll like it, I hope I did well. Many thanks to @agniavateira​ my muse who beta’d my story. 

Please give feedback and reblog if you enjoyed reading. 🖤 DM if you want to be added to my tag squad. 

Title: Velvet Chains

They were all little flowers to him, fresh peonies and flushed roses. Young or mature, it never mattered as long as they were still oh so pure. Undefiled, succulent flesh. Kissed by dew and wrapped by the last remaining petals of their innocence.

Keep reading

Filthy Little Thing

Filthy Little Thing

An August Walker One-shot

Warning: Daddy/Little Girl dynamic, Implied Past SMUT, Future SMUT, Dirty-talking

AN: I’ve never written for August, so I’m a little nervous.

Taglist:

@blakerogue​ @lunedelorient​ @summersong69​ @captainsy-cookiemonster​ @meowpurrbooks​ @zealoushound​ @foodieforthoughts​ @crazybutconfidentaf​ @poledancingdinos

Thanks to @princesscassashoneypot​ for posting the inspiration/prompt.

You had been with August for about a year.  You were his little princess.  He never even tried to hide his Daddy nature from you.  In fact, when you met, he introduced himself with,

“Hello, princess, does your Daddy know you’re here?”

Keep reading

Tennis Skirt

August Walker x female reader

⚠️: smut, oral, fingering, penetration (P in V), dirty talk

*******************

"What are you wearing?" comes a strict voice from behind the newspaper.

You stop in your tracks. "It's a tennis skirt. It's all the rage right now. Thought I'd try one. Why? Don't you like it?" you reply innocently, twirling your hips to show how the fabric moved.

August lowers the newspaper, and glares at you, "No it's nice. Never seen it before, had to ask."

Of course the man knew all your clothes. A towel didn't move in the house without him noticing.

"Okay then," you say and flop on the couch and pull up Netflix on your phone and settle down to watch a show.

An hour passes by as August slowly devours the paper and you, engrossed in the show, slowly dangle your legs off the armrest of the couch and lie back and get comfortable.

And August decides to look up right at that moment to see a flash of white silk between your legs. He takes in your gorgeous legs dangling off the couch, the skirt upturned at the bottom a bit to show your smooth thighs, and that tantalising scrap of fabric covering that sweet cunt.

He felt his joggers tighten a little.

Slowly, he walks over and stands at your feet. Too deep in your show, you don't care to indulge him. Until he slowly starts moving his hand up your thigh.

"Uh...what are you doing?" you ask, not looking up from your show.

"Admiring," comes the reply.

His hand stops at the juncture of your pelvis and one thumbnail gently rubs back and forth against your slit over your panties.

You jerk away from your phone, "August! What are you..." only to have your hand grabbed, a deep blue-eyed stare in your face as he continued to rub circles around your opening.

"August...tell me..please," you plead.

"Shh..baby...let me admire my girl in her new clothes."

His other hand reaches up your skirt and he pulls down your panties and shoves them into his back pocket.

You gulp as he tells you to take off your top and bra. As you reach for the fastener of your skirt, he says, "Leave it on...and lie back"

Pushing your skirt up till it bunched around your waist, he pulls your legs apart to see you sticky sweet and ready for him.

"Sweetheart, reach down and open yourself for daddy."

You nod dumbly and pull your nether lips open, a thin strand of desire across them.

"Look at you, such a slut of daddy, just spreading yourself open for me."

"Yes, daddy."

August kneels down and takes a delicious swipe up your slit that has your toes curling. "Uh ah..keep it open, baby, and daddy will give you so much goodness."

He licks and slurps at your centre as you struggle to keep yourself open. Slowly he bites a hickey into the inner flesh of your thigh. As you mewl, he shushes you gently and licks the pain away softly.

"Daddy, I want...," you stutter.

"What do you want, princess? Tell daddy."

"I want your cock, daddy, please. I need to feel you," you beg.

August takes in a big breath and says, "Alright baby, since you asked so nicely."

He lowers his joggers to pop out his erection. Hard and thick, the head swollen and precum pooling at the tip. He slowly rubs the head against your clit and you remove your hands to cover your mouth lest the neighbours complain.

August lines up against your opening and slowly eases himself in, "No matter how much I fuck you, you're always so tight for me, princess."

Through tears gathering in your eyes, you look at him, "Daddy please let me cum, I need to cum!"

"Okay, honey, let daddy fuck you."

He starts pounding into your tight cunt, each stroke having your back arching and you moaning for more.

"Wrap your legs around me, babe."

You do as told and he easily picks you up and turns to slam against the bookcase nearby and he continues punishing your sweet spot.

You chant his name like a prayer as he fucks you deep and takes a swollen nipple into his mouth to gently bite and drive you insane.

"Daddy if I don't cum now, I'll go mad," you cry, tears pouring down your cheeks.

"Aww sweetheart, come on then."

He carries you both to the couch, sits down and leans back, "Take what you want, sweetheart."

Like a possessed woman, you ride him and he presses his thumb against your clit and starts rubbing in faster circles.

"Ahhhh...August...I'm going to....August....AUGUSTTT!!" you scream as your release hits you and you fall into the crook of his neck.

"Did my sweet girl cum?"

"Yes, daddy," you reply weakly but with a smile that warms Agent August's dark heart.

The Grizzly and the Leopard

Summary: It is a story of a love triangle and an illegal fighting match between the reader’s two love interests. 

Pairing: Captain Syverson x you, August Walker x you

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: explicit, angst, oral (female receiving), unprotected sex, plot twist

A/n: I wrote it as a one shot (you’ll hate me for it). I do not own the characters. Beta’d by @luna-aestas, emotional support by @littlefreya​. Please reblog and comment if you liked it.

***

Title: The Grizzly and the Leopard

Grizzly: (Ursus arctos horribilis) Although most bears are alpha predators in their own habitat, most bear attacks occur when the animal is defending itself against anything it perceives as a threat to itself or its territory. A bear’s muscular structure is highly suited for strength and power. Grizzly bears can bring down prey that outweighs them by several hundred kilograms and can steal kills from entire packs of wolves.

Leopard: The leopard (Panthera pardus) is the most cunning, shrewd, elusive and secretive carnivore. It can climb trees easily and kills preys larger and heavier than itself. When content, it purrs but when angry, it growls, spits and roars furiously.

Keep reading

Caught off-guard (Part One)

Sorry for being so inconsistent with my writing lately, I truly appreciate your support, patience and friendship.

I got inspiration for this from a conversation with the lovely @nashibirne - I almost kept this as a one-shot but I hit a point where I diverted completely from my original idea so I'm splitting it into two parts! Can you guess where this is going? x

It was just as you remembered it. That little house on Lark Lane. Not a single chip in the blue shingles, the wisterias lining the steps swaying gently in the breeze. You could hear it then, the laughter that used to ring through that house. Smell the sweet, warm apple pie that rested on the windowsill every Sunday afternoon. Even Mrs McQuarrie was still here.

The thought of moving out of the city and returning to Oakdale had been daunting at first, but now, surrounded by memories of your old life, you realized just how much you missed it. At first it seemed cliché – absence makes the heart grow fonder - but now, standing on the sidewalk unloading boxes from the U-Haul truck, you only thought of it as home.

"It looks like you're in trouble there. Can I help?"

A deep, sonorous voice called out behind you.

The contents of the box in your hand rattled a little as you pivoted, coming face to face with the man behind the disembodied voice. “It’s fine, thanks.”

Tall and broad, he would have been imposing if it wasn’t for the softness of his face and the kindness in his eyes. A thick stray curl fell across his forehead – the only thing about him that was remotely untidy. He rolled up the sleeves of his plaid shirt and shrugged.

“Well, you know where I am if you ever need anything.”

You reached into your pocket, pulled out the key to your front door and, balancing the box precariously in one hand, turned away again.

“Sure.”

He didn’t give you his name, only a smile and a polite raise of his hand.

While the exterior had been perfectly preserved, inside, it was empty. Every nook and cranny of it. It was different. The small brick fireplace in the living room was now polished marble. The heart of the home was now a bright white farmhouse kitchen. The house was a blank canvas waiting to be painted.

Of course, this is what happens. Time moves on. Life moves on. How many lives had been lived here?

Not enough to erase the traces of yours.

You watched the U-Haul truck drive away and began to unpack. Every so often, you glanced out of the living room’s bay window, catching a glimpse of your neighbor as he worked away in his front yard. There was something familiar about him. Something you couldn’t quite place, but you could feel it. Straightening up a photograph on the wall and surveying it with a shrug, you remembered the words Mrs McQuarrie had greeted your family with all those years ago – there’s no such thing as a stranger in the suburbs. He certainly didn’t want to be a stranger to you.

The next day, he helped you lift your furniture. The next, he offered to check your breaker box – insisting that this was in no way an innuendo. Whenever he spoke to you, he carried himself with the casual confidence of a cowboy, his stance wide with his thumbs through his belt loops. Assertive, but not cocky. He wanted you to trust him. Or at the very least allow him to be kind. And you did. You’d had your share of awful neighbors back in the city, so it seemed foolish to second guess a man with good intentions. Although, every so often, a thought crossed your mind – what if it was too good to be true? This fresh start. This picture perfect life. Nothing in your life had ever been perfect or easy. So each night you lay awake for a little while, wondering when the other shoe was going to drop. But with each day that passed, it never did.

Once you were completely settled, Mrs McQuarrie took it upon herself to organize a not-so-surprise party. She had never been much good at keeping secrets. That was why your mother always had so much to say at the dinner table. News – good or bad – traveled fast on Lark Lane.

It surprised you just how quickly everyone warmed to you. Even the coveted soccer mom circle invited you into their world, in spite of the fact that you didn’t have any children, or, for that matter, any nieces or nephews available for playdates. At the party, however, you suspected they may have only wanted you to be a guinea pig for Chelsea Hart’s gluten free muffins. If that was the case, you couldn’t complain – they were damn good muffins.

With their husbands either at home with the children or out of town on business, the women were free to do and say as they pleased. So, with the wine flowing, the conversation turned from muffins to men – or rather, one man in particular.

“So,” Chelsea swirled the wine in her glass as she spoke “I hear you’ve been spending a lot of time with August Walker.”

You shook your head a little in confusion. “Who?”

“The hunk next door.” She winked.

“Oh!” You leaned against the kitchen island. “Yeah, he’s been helping me settle in. Seems like a nice guy.” A pause. “Unless he isn’t. Anything I should know? Married? Single? A murderer?”

The women laughed. Chelsea took a sip from her glass. “Definitely not married.”

“She only knows that because she flirted shamelessly with him when Alex was away on business and August stripped her floors.”

“I’d let him strip my floors.” Melissa, co-owner of the only pizzeria in town, chimed in.

A chorus of “Who wouldn’t?”

Silently, you agreed. He was witty, helpful and although you were trying hard not to admit it, he was unavoidably attractive. “What exactly does he do? He seems to be in and out of the house at strange hours.” The words reverberated in your head. You stammered. “Not that I’ve been watching him or anything. Just curious.”

Chelsea raised an eyebrow in jest. “Honestly? Not a fucking clue. He definitely works out though.”

“Down, girl!” Mrs McQuarrie cut in, flapping a hand at her.

“Edie! Didn’t see you there.” Chelsea feigned embarrassment.

“Sure. You’re lucky I don’t tell your husbands. Then again, we all know about Nick Banks and his wandering eye – why Lorelai is still with that bastard I don’t know.” She sighed. “To each their own.”

With that, she dissolved back into the crowd.

Maybe it was the wine clouding your judgement, but you could swear she looked exactly the same. She must be in her nineties now, but she sure didn’t look like it. The Mediterranean diet can work wonders – there’s a reason Campodimele has a population with an insanely long lifespan. And Edie McQuarrie had always loved Italy. In that moment, you knew exactly where your next vacation spot would be.

“Speak of the devil.” Chelsea side-eyed and sucked in a breath as Nick and Lorelai appeared in the hallway. “I’ll tell you about it sometime. It’s a lot.”

“Sounds like it.” You attempted to be diplomatic, but couldn’t help a curious glance in their direction. Tossing back the dregs in your glass, you scanned for a path to the patio “I’ll be right back, just gotta get some air.”

Weaving through the chattering crowd, you felt someone’s eyes on you.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

August.

You laughed, but it was an awkward laugh, one you reserved for your boss’s so-called jokes.

“Sorry, that was lame.” He dipped his head in shame. “Looks like you’re all set up here. It’s nice to have someone in this house again.”

“Yeah, I’m glad I came back. You don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone, right?”

“I love that song.” August chuckled.

“Me too.” As you looked up at him, you noticed a splash of brown in his blue eyes. Finally, something imperfect about your perfect neighbor. “How long have you lived here?”

He shifted his weight and sipped his beer. “A few years. Moved here for work.”

His clipped tone piqued your interest. “What do you do?”

August didn’t look quite as uncomfortable now. “What don’t I do? I fix things, I guess that’s the easiest way to put it.”

“Ah, so you’re a freelancer. No wonder all the housewives love you. You’re always available.” You winked, but immediately regretted it, hoping he didn’t think you were implying something salacious.

“Not always, but I do my best to help everyone when I can.”

“That’s very admirable. It’s a nice change to have a decent, friendly neighbor.”

“You’re welcome. I used to work in the city so I know how…interesting the people are.”

“Oh for sure. I could get used to this, though. The quiet. Time moves slower here and honestly I like that. Gives you time to think and just be, y’know?”

“It does. Like I said, my offer still stands – if you need me, you know where I am.”

“Yes I do.”

You left him with a soft, sincere smile.

When the party was over, you caught yourself thinking of August as you washed the dishes. The word was overused, but he really was nice. 1950s handyman husband nice. Not that there was anything wrong with that. Unless…you shook your head and pinched the bridge of your nose with soapy fingers. You’d never been good at accepting gifts, compliments or help from others. And right now, as much as you hated to admit it, you needed help. August’s insistent offer was either motivated by kindness or money, and everything about him so far suggested the former. So why not trust him?

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Okay Freya, I've a question 🙈. We know that Sherlock loves his cane, but August is the ultimate Daddy out there. So between the two, who'll be better with the "cane"?😏

Summary: Sherlock is teaching August how to use a cane.

Pairing: August Walker x Female Reader x Sherlock Holmes

Warning: 18+, Caning, MaleDom, bondage, BDSM, mentioned voyeurism.

A/N: Just a shorty :). Not bet'ad

Cane lessons

Sherlock's long slender fingers twisted around the neck of his wooden cane, his pale gaze darting at your exposed rear while he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

"My my, what a lovely surprise, dear cousin," he uttered with great content, hardly bothering to glimpse at August, who stood at the other side of the bed.

The bewhiskered man frowned slightly, rolling the edge of his moustache between his index and his thumb. "Don't thank me, she will remain mine. I simply ask that you teach me how to use this on her," he explained and then gestured at the gag around your mouth, "she's been a terrible brat and in need of... re-education, as you put it."

Pressing one hand behind his back, Sherlock began to pace around the bed, his leather boots squeaking at each step while he sized you up and inspected the sight of your naked body. Your heart shrivelled in your chest, the binds that held your wrists and legs to the bedposts tightening with every breath you took.

"Marvellous sweet wife you have there, cousin. So precious, so obedient," he observed as he halted next to your rump. With a deep inahle, he leaned down, his breath hot against your presented petals which glistened with dew.

Curious, he reached a finger to stroke between your lips. A moan escaped you at the brush of his pad; instinctively, you arched and moaned, enjoying his touch as if it was the touch of your master.

"Good girl!" he praised, delight bathing his face.

"She is mine." August's voice briefly dropped with a clear warning. "Give me the cane or leave us."

"Ha," the detective exclaimed and then returned to stand beside his younger cousin. It was clear as daylight that August's patience ran dangerously short, but Sherlock was anything but intimidated. Though, he wasn't one for silly games of power. Instead, he stretched his arm forward and offered August the cane.

"I will teach you how to do this right, but not for free."

Both your and August's heart twitched at Sherlock's sly tone, dreading whatever twisted proposal he was about to offer. Wary, you turned your head to stare back at the men. So scarce was the light that showered their face, illuminating their profound cheekbones with a golden hue that made them look godlike.

Or demonic...

"You are not going to fuck my woman." August fisted the cane, his knuckles bone-white around the long stern.

Sherlock chuckled dryly and shook his head.

"I don't mean to."

"Then? What is your price? Speak up, cousin. We don't have all day."

Carefully wrapping his fingers around August's right hand, the older man guided him closer and lowered his arm toward the slope of your behind to demonstrate. You flinched as the cold tip caressed your skin, your hands balling into a fist in anticipation of what was to come.

"Once we are done here, once her ass is terribly raw and sore, I want to remain in this room and watch how you fuck her."

The fabric wrapped around your mouth soaked the piteous gasps that escaped you, muffling them from the vulturous men who together schemed to toy with you the way they would play a marionette. But while you could hide your gasp, the way your little slit twitched and clenched with desire was not absent from their twisted glares.

August's nostrils flared. Wringing his wrist free of Sherlock's grasp, he continued to stroke your flesh with the cane, being gentle as he tended to be each time before he'd spank you.

Deeply you glanced into August soul, giving him a faint nod to motion your agreement to Sherlock's terms. August narrowed his eyes in response, realising immediately that your consent was thickly drenched with arousal; you were just as devious and perverted as them.

Growling he lifted the cane from your ass and smacked a cry of pain and pleasure from you.

A deep sigh left him then, knowing there was simply no punishment his bratty wife wouldn't endure.

Hey guys should I start writing something ??

requests are open!!

Take that as a threat

Summary: Reader is insecure about her body. August makes shure she forgets about it.

Word count: 432

Warnings: SoftDom!August Walker, princess, no smut, just foreplay, body insecurites

August had shown patience. Insane patience. He had waited and earned my trust. I felt all the worse when I noticed how my body twitched when he wanted to pull my shirt over my head. He had waited three long months, reading my every wish from my eyes, until now he was kneeling in front of me, setting me down on the edge of the bed and still towering over me as his hands stroked my stomach under my shirt.

"What's wrong?" asked August with warm severity, pausing in his movement.

I looked up at him with my best puppy eyes. "What's supposed to be wrong?"

"You're stiff as a board. You tell me." he returned dryly.

I shook my head.

August put his big hand around my neck and lifted my jaw with his pointer and index fingers. Forced me to look deep into his eyes. "Don't lie to me princess. I can tell."

My skin crawled. "It's nothing. Really."

He tightened his grip. "No lies." he commanded forcefully.

I exhaled a shaky breath. Taken in by his domineering manner.

"If you want to stop, that's fine." He stroked his thumb along my jawbone more gently now. "Because you should know one thing about me princess. I'm an insanely bad person, but I'm not a rapist."

I shook my head. "I don't want to stop... It's just..." i faltered. It was childish.

"Words princess!"

"I'm not a particularly big fan of how I look." I said hesitantly, looking intently at his cheek so I wouldn't have to look him in the eye.

August's eyebrows drew together. "Why?"

"Well you look like Aphrodite chiseled you as a graduation piece and I'm just me," I muttered as I looked over his shoulder.

August emphatically turned my face back toward him. His eyes bored into my soul. "Who made you think that way?"

"Some people.", I tried to laugh with a shrug, but August's grip tightened again. "I need names." he growled, like the animal he always said he was.

It took my breath away for a moment. "What would that change?", I breathed.

August took a controlled breath in and out before literally flinging me all the way onto the bed, trapping me beneath him. "When I'm done with you, you'll never think like that again." He kissed me so hard and deep it made me dizzy. "Take that as a threat." He said, sliding down my body.

And if one thing was clear in this grotesque world, it was that August Walker was making good on every single one of his threats. 

It’s not often that I want Steve and Bucky to suffer, but in this case, PLEASE MAKE THEM SUFFER!!! Sleeping around with other women? and a new recruit at that? THE AUDACITY!!! 🤬 I seriously can’t wait for chapter 2! Great job!!! This is one of the most exciting fics I’ve read in a while. ❤️ Please add me to the tag list!

Bang Bang (he shot me down) (1)

Pairing: August Walker x Reader, Stucky x Reader

Words: 3.6K

Summary: Destroyed by your break up with Steve and Bucky, you swear that you won’t get your heart broken again. August Walker joins the team and makes you throw a lot of principles out the window.

Warnings: Smut (more so Dirty Talk). Jealousy. You will NOT like Steve/Bucky in this chapter, but I promise I will go into depth about why they left you (spoiler: they’re dumb). Lots of self-hatred. Angst. Natasha being a genuine PIC and scheming. Some violence. Heartbreak. Bad language.

A/N: Alright let’s GO. Hope you guys enjoy this because the plot bunny has sunk its claws into my brain. If you’d like to be tagged, please send me an ask.

There are a few promises that you keep to yourself implicitly:

You will never wear Birkenstocks regardless of how comfortable they are.

You will never watch The Bachelor.

You will always have three weapons on you at all times.  (makeshift counts)

You will never allow another man to break your heart.

Two men doing it at the same time had been enough.

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“I know, Steve. I know all of the excuses you made to make what you did make any sense at all. It doesn’t, and you’ll just have to live with that.” YESSS GO OFF NAT!!! 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼 I love that she gave it straight to Steve and Bucky. But I also hope we get more out of Bucky in the next chapter? On the other hand, can I say how much I adore your version of August? So dark, so sexy, and immediately protective of reader! He sees that they have a lot in common, and I’m so interested to read their backstory in future chapters. This is really one of the most exciting fics out there right now! 🥰

Bang Bang (he shot me down) (2)

Pairing: August Walker x Reader, Stucky x Reader

Words: 5.7K

Summary: Destroyed by your break up with Steve and Bucky, you swear that you won’t get your heart broken again. August Walker joins the team and makes you throw a lot of principles out the window.

Warnings: Smut (masturbation). Jealousy. Self-hatred. Violence. Angst. Natasha scheming and ruining men’s lives. Heartbreak. Bad language. Torture.

A/N: I have no idea how this turned out - wracked my brain and basically spilled this shit on the page so hopefully it works. I will try and add tags tonight but im also tired as fuck so maybe I will tomorrow. If you want the first part, go to my page. I’ll make a masterlist at some point.

August Walker finds beauty in chaos.

Perhaps that is why he is attracted to broken things – enjoys jigsaw puzzles and decoding, and people laced with excruciating sadness.

He likes suffering.

Baptism by fire, darling. Peace at the end of it.

But what does August know of peace? Nothing. That particular blessing has eluded him for years when he has done nothing, but give, give, give…

He remembers therapy - forced into it by the CIA after the incident. He had told Dr. Nichols - who he had later fucked because he simply could - that there was no one who knew him - no one who knew anything about him.

“I am two different people,” he had revealed as she digested the firm lines of his legs, the flex of his forearm. “Maybe more. Maybe whatever fits the scene I need to play.”

“And does that make you sad?”

“No,” he had smiled - baring his teeth as she panted for him. “It makes me feel nothing at all.”

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