#shaw x greene

[imdonnalynn]

COLTER & REENIE ON TRACKER

Admittedly I wasn't much of a fan of their dynamic in the beginning. Having them right off the bat having already had a fling, a one off, I've never enjoyed that particular trope but I kept going.

Season 2 has changed a bit with their dynamic. Feels like this are a little more tense between them. Colter subtly hints he doesn't want Reenie hooking up with his brother. And that could just be a sibling thing and not necessarily to do with Reenie in particular but Colter also showed an unusual interest in Reenie's recent male friend. He prods about the guy but as always he keeps his distance.

Even though there is already banter and behind the scenes stating these two will not be having a romantic sub plot. But rather a possible love triangle between Reenie and Colter and Russell.

I'm not a fan of Russell and Reenie I don't think Russell genuinely finds interest in her. I feel like he has an angle and if Colter finds out he won't like it even though its his brother. He stayed distant for a long time over their Dad so I don't think he would have much trouble giving Russell the cold shoulder.

I don't care regardless, I love the idea of Colter and Reenie, I'm a shipper.

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Off Limits

Summary: Colter Shaw x Fe!Reader -> Four times Colter told people (mainly his brother) you were off limits, and the one time he proved why.

Disclaimer: Mostly fluff, a little hint of angst towards the end but happy ending. Not Proof Read.

It was safe to say yourself and Colter Shaw had known each other for a long time. 

You had both met on a fishing trip. Well, he had been on a fishing trip. You had been looking for your idiot brother who had decided to just disappear. 

Colter helped you across the rocks to the creek and watched as you tried to find…something. That day he helped you and the rest was history. 

You kept in contact over the years, which meant it wouldn’t be totally uncommon if you ended up speaking to some of his other friends. Even maybe meeting some of them. 

However, it was a few years before you met his family. 

And it started with his brother, Russell. 

You were helping Colter on a case in South Dakota. 

A friend of a friend that you went to college with had gone missing. And, you knew just the man for the job. That man also happened to be lugging around another one of him who was just a little more…rough around the edges. 

“Do you just happen to be friends with all of the beautiful women, Colt?”

Colter got a little awkward. “Meet my brother, Russell.”

“Nice to finally meet you. Colter’s mentioned you a couple of times. Nice to put a face to the name.”

“I’d say the same but…Colter didn’t mention anything about you.”

As the day went on, you could feel Russell’s gaze drop to you often before he’d throw out a flirty line and a dashing smile. 

And Colter caught the whole lot of it. 

“Okay, so what about you and her?” Russell finally got to ask his brother when they were sat down eating and you had headed off to the bathroom. 

“What about me and her?” 

“Are you…is there something? Or do I have a shot?”

Colter sighed with a small smile. “No, we’re just friends.”

“Great.”

Russell went to stand but Colter grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back down. “But she’s off limits.”

“Okay, okay. Mind letting go?”

“Sorry.”

Colter let go quickly and moved back into his seat. “We’ve been friends for years. I’m doing her a service.”

“Colt, I’m your brother. Shouldn’t you be doing me the service?”

Colter just dead-eyed him. “I’m doing her a service.” And then he took a bite of his pie. 

Russell accepted it, but that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy rustling his brother’s feathers every now and then by turning the flirting scale up a tad every now and again. 

The second time Colter said you were off limits was at a charity auction. 

You had been invited per a family friend’s invitation and needed a date. And when you lightly threatened to call his brother instead, Colter agreed. He was already in the area, but at least it stopped him from leaving town so quickly. 

Whilst there, Colter was questioned three times by three different men; all asking if you were with Colter, or with Colter. To which, he answered truthfully, but also made sure that they knew you were off limits when it came to him and that night. 

“Tomorrow, you can ask her what you want, and she will give you an answer, but for tonight gentlemen, I am her date. Excuse me.”

Colter couldn’t help but hold you just a little tighter when on the dance floor, after the constant questions. 

The third time Colter told someone you were off limits was to his brother, again. 

It had been a birthday party for you, thrown together by one of your work colleagues and Reenie. Russell just so happened to be also looking for his brother. And he knew exactly where to find him. 

Like normal, Russell flirted with you. A little more so when Colter was within direct eye-line of you both. 

And you couldn’t help but smile. 

However, once the cake had been cut, Russell came back to his brother. They talked for a moment but when you came back into view, Russell put his cake down. 

“I think I’m gonna go and wish the birthday girl a happy birthday.”

However, Colter forced a small laugh and grabbed his brother by the back of his collar. 

“Okay, just because you’re as tall as me now, doesn’t mean I’m not stronger.”

“She’s off limits.”

“Still?”

“Russell.”

“Colter.”

“Boys.”

From behind them both, Reenie appeared. 

It was the first time in a long time they’d both had the feeling of being caught doing something they shouldn’t. 

The fourth time Colter told someone you were off limits was, once again, to his brother. 

Teddi and Velma were throwing a small dinner party, and had invited you, Colter, Reenie and Bobby to join them. And, since Russell was close by, he was invited to. 

“My god, as I live and breathe.” 

You turned around, balancing the cake you brought on the flat of your palm. 

“Russell,” you smiled, softly. 

“You know, I’m starting to think it’s fate. The birthday party, now this?”

You hummed. “Oh, I’m sure. I’m also sure one of the fates is inside the house plotting your death.”

“Still off limits?”

You nodded. “Colter’s a man of his word.”

“So…you…made yourself off limits?”

“Relax, I like you, Russell. You’re a good man. You’re just not…my man.”

“Ah,” Russell nodded. 

He had an idea about what you meant when you said ‘my man’, but until he saw proof, he couldn’t be certain. 

So he still flirted. Maybe a little less, but he was a big brother after all. Wasn’t it his job to annoy his little brother?

However, the final time Colter told someone (Russell) you were off limits���he didn’t have to say it. Because the fearsome look in his eyes said it for him.

It wasn’t often he managed to get back to the States to see his brother, but when he did, he always made sure to stay close until Colter had left the state he saw him in. 

Only, he didn’t seem to leave as quickly as he had come. 

So, when he went to visit him one morning, he was also there to witness a call that changed everything. 

Reenie had also come to visit and was going to grab lunch with you, except you got called away for a meeting and suddenly everything shut down. Including the backup generators. And then the fire alarm went off. 

There was a fire and Reenie couldn’t get a hold of you. 

So, in a fit of panic after asking thirty different staff members if they had seen you, she called Colter. 

Russell watched as his brother’s heart seemed to stop. Tears of panic and fear grew behind the front he tried to put on. 

“What’s going on?”

“Y/n’s missing and there’s a fire at the school. Reenie’s still trying to find out what’s going on. I need to find her.”

“I’m coming with you.”

Colter might have broken four different road laws, but he couldn’t care. You were worth it. You were worth everything to him. 

By the time he pulled up outside of the school, he was pushing through waves of students and teachers to find Reenie. 

“Colter!”

“Reenie, have you seen her?”

“No, not yet. But she’s still not answering her phone.”

“Why wasn’t she with you?”

“She got called away to a meeting. I was waiting for an hour or so in her office when everything shut down. They’re still trying to get the power back on, but…Colter, I don’t know where she is.”

“We’ll find her. She can’t have gone far, right? She knows these buildings like the back of her hand.”

Reenie nodded. “Only thing is, we don’t.”

“Call Bobby, maybe he can send us something. Anything.”

Russell nodded, pulling out his phone. “I’ll call him.”

“She’ll be okay, right? She’s okay.”

Reenie nodded. “She’s smart. And tough. Hopefully she’s just stuck on the other side of campus and can’t get reception.”

The longer time passed, the more worried Colter became. 

Bobby sent through the blueprints but without knowing where the meeting was, they had no idea where to start. 

“Did she mention what the meeting was about?”

Reenie shook her head. “No. Nothing.”

“What about her desk?” Russell asked. “A post-it, a diary, anything.”

“Reenie?”

“I-Maybe, I don’t know. Something about Kindred or Kinder or…something like that. I can’t really read her handwriting.”

“Kindrich.” Colter said out loud. 

“Maybe? Again, I don’t know.”

“If anyone pulled her in for an emergency meeting it would have been Kindrich. He runs the Life Sciences building. This way.”

Reenie and Russell hurried after Colter, almost losing him in the sea of students along the way. 

However, the closer they got to the life sciences building, the closer the smoke from the fire seemed to get. 

And when it came into clear sight, Colter started running. 

He was calling out your name.

“Reenie! Call her again!”

She was doing so just as Colter thought he heard someone call his name. 

He called out for you again. 

And then there you were. 

“Colter.”

“Y/n.” 

You ran towards him before crashing into him as you lifted your arms to hug him, and he did the same. 

“Are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you? You’re warm. What- were you in the fire?”

“I’m okay. Everyone’s okay.”

Then he kissed you. 

Deeply. Passionately. Desperately. 

And then he hugged you again. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, breathing him in before you remembered;

“Reenie.”

“She’s okay. She’s with Russell.”

Looking around, you finally spotted her and ran towards her, too. 

“Are you okay?” you both asked as you hugged. 

“I was trying to call you but-”

“There’s no reception on this side of campus. And if there is, it’s spotty at best.”

“Next time I’m coming with you. What even happened? The power went down and then there were just fire alarms everywhere.”

“There was a fault with one of the machines in the building. Funnily enough, that was what the meeting was about. Finding something to replace the machines. And when the power went down, something in the labs went up in smoke.”

“But-but you’re okay? You’re not hurt?”

You shook your head. “The medics checked me over. I’m fine.”

“Medics?” Russell asked. 

You looked around nervously. “I might have ran back inside a couple of times to help get students out.”

“You’re not supposed to-”

“I know, I know, I know but they’re just kids. The important thing is no-one got hurt.”

“But you could have.”

“But I didn’t. Colter, look at me.” You took his face in your hands. “I’m okay. I promise.”

“Okay,” Colter finally accepted what you were saying, kissed you quickly before he hugged you again. 

Then Russell cleared his throat. “So, um, how long has this been going on?”

“Russ,”

“No, no. I’m your big brother. I’ve got to look out for you. Did mom ever give you the talk?”

“Okay,” Reenie said, trying to move on. “How about we get some lunch, and maybe some wine?”

You nodded, walking towards her, allowing her to link her arm with yours as you left Colter to fend for himself with his brother. 

“Russell, please don’t.”

“You see, when two people love each other very much…”

[wishchip106]

whenever i post something i end up rambling in the tags that it pretty much turns it into two posts in one

eughh my cats are shedding rn and its making my hayfever act up

anyway imagining cherik whenever i listen to impacto - Enjambre it makes me scream a language i dont even know.

NO ME MIRES CON ESO OJOS

(QUE ME) ME DESLUMBRAS

(QUE ME) ME DERRUMBRAS

it reminds me of first class cherik 😔

i recommended listening to it anyway its a good song

this picture makes me laugh why did they do this 😭

[mrs-jamesbbarnes]

Just wondering if the Russell x Reenie thing is what Justin meant when he said they were going a different direction with Reenie when someone asked him about the Colter x Reenie chemistry

[haunter-geist]

ah yes self indulgent ocxcanon shipping, my beloved

[tavtiers]

hey so could I request a Thief of Rage analysis?

The Thief of Rage [symbols: money bag, tragedy mask]

The Thief class is based on the classic thief trope. An example would be the pirate Blackbeard.

The Rage aspect’s main theme is defiance. You can find its official description here.

A Thief of Rage is among those who use faith in possibility. This is the “classpect group” they belong to. Members include: the Knight, Page, Thief, and Rogue of Hope/Rage. These classes are all opposites or inverses of each other that use the Hope/Rage dichotomy (faith in possibility). A description of classpect groupings can be found here.

The Thief of Rage actively steals the Rage aspect. Active classes tell themselves what to do and do so for their own benefit. They are more likely to stand up for themselves, but more likely to be cruel. Thieves and Rogues steal their aspect and everything it symbolizes to grant it to someone else. Simplified, the Thief of Rage is motivated by themselves to steal defiance.

In personality, the Thief of Rage enjoys feeling powerful and hates complacency. Personality descriptions can be found here.

Their archetype is the Spy Revolutionary, defined by power and defiance. Archetypes are explained here.

Their opposite is the Rogue of Hope, who passively steals assurance.

Their inverse is the Page of Hope, who passively utilizes assurance.

A classpect or “god tier” is an individual’s best self. All classpects go through a journey from unrealized, to struggle, to realized. When a character is unrealized, they neutrally exist as their inverse. On their struggle, they will wildly flip back and forth between their inverse and true classpect. In their worst moments they will act as their inverse, in their best their true classpect. When realized, they will stabilize as their true classpect. They will still have room to grow, but will become happier, more successful people.

This means that the Thief of Rage begins life motivated by others to utilize assurance. When their struggle arrives and they are at their worst, they will continue this behavior in negative extremes. However, when at their best, they will find purpose in instead stealing defiance for themselves. When realized, they will stabilize and continue to steal the Rage aspect actively, in a positive way.

They share their archetype with the Bard of Void, the Revolutionary Spy.

The Thief of Rage would quest on a planet similar to the Land of Valuables [Thief] and Rage [Aspect]. An example would be the Land of Gemstones and Battlefields. An explanation of planet naming conventions can be found here.

A possible god, or denizen, to reign over their planet would be Ares (God of War). Other Rage aspect denizens can be found here.

When the Thief of Rage completes their planet quests and dies on their quest bed, they would rise to ascension on the wings of imps (symbols of the devil). A list of soul animals can be found here.

The characters that I have currently classpected as Thieves of Rage are: Green Goblin from Spider-Man, Cait from Fallout 4, and Sebastian Shaw from X-Men.

If any of the links not connected to my blog break, the content can be found on my Google Drive.

Official Aspect Descriptions

Personality Descriptions

Aspect Denizens

[thebiggerbear]

"What do you see in him?" "Everything you don't." - Soldier Boy Prompt Response

Summary: Hughie and everyone don't understand what you see in Soldier Boy but they also haven't seen what you've seen: Ben.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Female!Supe!Reader

A/N: This is part of the Soldier Boy/Beau Arlen/Dean Winchester/CJ Braxton/Alec McDowell/Jason Teague/Tom Hanniger/Russell Shaw/Boaz Priestly/Jake Gray/Jensen Ackles RPF prompt response project I've been working on the last month (previewed here). This idea immediately popped into my head for it.

All unbeta'd.

Warnings: language; implied past sexual assault (not SB); mentions of implied drug use; mentions of violence; mentions of death

Word Count: 2199

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel; @hobby27; @impala67rollingthroughtown

Soldier Boy Taglist: @birdiellie; @heartlessdelusions; @brightlilith; @muhahaha303; @just-levyy

@solacedthistest; @deansimpala; @foxyjwls007; @onlyangel-444; @faephoria

@believeinthefireflies95

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat; @deansbbyx; @lyarr24; @bts24; @deans-spinster-witch

@rebel-paladin; @nancymcl

You can also read on AO3

Beau Arlen | Dean Winchester | CJ Braxton | Jake Gray | Jason Teague | Boaz Priestly | Russell Shaw | Tom Hanniger | Jensen Ackles RPF | Alec McDowell

Once MM stormed out of the room, followed by a glaring Butcher, Annie, Kimiko, and Hughie descended on you. Frenchie stayed in the corner, beyond shocked — so shocked he forgot to puff away at his still burning cigarette.

“Seriously?” Annie spat angrily.

Hughie looked more disappointed than pissed off at you, and that somehow bothered you more than Annie’s fury ever could have. “Y/N, you’ve got to explain this one to me. I don’t…” He took a deep breath and began again. “The guy’s a fossil. A racist, homicidal, perverted piece of shit fossil.” Hughie placed his hands on his hips. “What do you even see in the guy?”

Kimiko furiously signed a repeat of the question.

You knew Hughie was right. Soldier Boy had done a lot of fucked up shit — shit that wasn’t forgivable in any way, shape, or form. But you also knew Ben, the man underneath all of that asinine machismo and false bravado. You’d seen glimpses of him here and there when no one else had, when Ben himself hadn’t even known you had. It also didn’t hurt that you’d seen memories of his childhood play in his mind or saw flashes of his strained relationship with his father — the man he could never live up to or gain his approval, no matter how hard he tried. There was a lot swimming underneath the surface of that green suit, under that indestructible skin, that had gotten corrupted and then shaped by easy fame, a greedy corporation, and more drugs than any person should have coursing through their system on a daily basis, even a Supe. All of it was certainly no excuse for the things he’d done, but you knew there was more to him than who he’d been, who he was now even — you’d literally seen it.

So you looked your oldest friend in the eye and spoke as honestly as you could. “Everything you don’t,” you told him quietly before walking out of the room in the opposite direction MM and Butcher had gone in. You came to a stop outside the door when you saw Ben standing there, his green eyes watching you sharply. 

He had obviously heard every word and while it wasn’t exactly something you wanted him to find out, you refused to act embarrassed or caught out. So you stuck your chin up a little higher, daring him to say something he would end up regretting should he piss you off.

“You saw a lot more than you let on when they had you do a read on me after pulling me out of the tube.” Not a question but a statement, one that didn’t contain any traces of surprise.

He was right; you had seen plenty — some things you’d rather forget. But you had meant what you said to Hughie just before, to Butcher and the team before that. There was more to him than the green suit, than the America’s Son bullshit facade, and even the horrible things he had done in his time. There was something there worth trying to extricate, to let see the light of day that hadn’t in a very long time. 

You didn’t respond to what he’d said; you had no need to. You only watched him as he watched you.

Ben took a few wary steps forward until he was right in front of you. He carefully reached out a hand to your cheek, laying his fingers along your skin when he saw that you didn’t immediately pull away from him. 

“So,” he started, his voice a little more gravelly than usual as he spoke quietly to you, only for your ears and his. He tenderly ran his thumb near the corner of your mouth. “I matter to you, huh?”

When you thought he was indeed making fun of you as he thought he might, echoing your words back to you, you noticed a small smile forming on his face as his eyes roamed over yours. You had seen plenty of smiles from the man since you’d first seen him a couple of months ago or so — mostly smug smirks or leering grins, usually aimed at everyone but you — but you had never seen this one before. It caught you off guard so much, you were captivated. “You know you do,” you murmured. 

He stared at you for a moment, glancing between you and your mouth, and then slowly leaned in. When his lips gently connected to yours, you felt an immediate electric shock travel through your system. So much so that you started seeing images playing behind your eyelids that weren’t your own. 

…Him listening to you and Hughie bicker in the next room about which Billy Joel song was the best (We Didn’t Start the Fire for you and Pressure for him) and how he smiled to himself when you told Hughie in a playful tone to suck it when the little whiny bitch tried to show you what the critics helmed the better song. 

…Ben getting angry when some piece of shit Supe had the balls to put his hand on your ass at Herogasm — a hand he immediately crushed.

…Him surreptitiously studying each interaction between you and Butcher, noting the hostility but begrudging respect between you, wondering if there was a story there and if there was, how he planned to convince you that he was the better man for you compared to the backstabbing Brit.

…Him rushing to protect you with his shield when one of Homelander’s team of misfits you didn’t see coming nearly killed you with a massive blow. You felt the rage coursing through his veins when he noticed a small trickle of blood coming from a wound near your scalp as you glanced up at him gratefully. Most of the Supes you had engaged had died that day and now you knew exactly why.

…Ben watching you out of the corner of his eye when you stood at the window, arms crossed and ominously silent, after MM had mentioned The Deep while planning on how to take out Homelander. He waited until everyone had cleared out, even Hughie who had squeezed your shoulder as he passed you by, and Ben carefully approached you from behind, torn between wanting to pull you back into his large frame to cage you protectively in his arms or to ask what was the matter. He had ended up going with the latter and you simply said “Kevin’s not a good person” and walked away, your shoulders a little more sunken down than he’d ever seen them. You felt his resolve from that moment and now knew why he had gone after The Deep with such a laser focus before even bothering with Homelander. 

…You reassuring him when he suddenly woke from a sound sleep, gasping and wide-eyed, as his chest began glowing — a result of him not self-medicating nearly as much as he used to. He had wanted you to feel safe around him so he’d cut back on the Bennies, the reefer, the booze, and even the women. He would never admit it out loud but he cared deeply about what you thought. Unbeknownst to you at the time, when you had first seen inside his head, he had gotten a glimpse inside of yours, too. And what he had seen…he wanted to be a man worthy of you. Or at least try his best. You were everything he hadn’t even known he wanted until that moment. So he had made a valiant effort to kick the drug and alcohol habit to the side but it didn’t come without consequences for him. Ben had dreamt he was back in Russia, stuck in a box as they poked and prodded at him, laughing and telling him he would never be free and he would never see anyone again. When he heard your voice telling him he was safe, he grasped for you and you let him, even though he felt you tense up at his greedy touch. “Sorry,” he gruffed out and immediately released you, worried he had either hurt you without meaning to or had made you uncomfortable in his bid to make sure you were real. “It’s okay,” you whispered, picking up his hand and placing it in between both of yours. “I’m right here. You’re safe.” When he felt your thumb tenderly swiping over his knuckles in reassuring strokes, he rasped out, “Did you see?” Instead of answering, you reached up to lay a hand against his cheek. “You’re home now and you’re never going back.” Your words were a fiery promise enforced by the steely resolve in your eyes. “I won’t let you.” He gently held his hand over yours and the glow in his chest receded; he believed you.

…Him watching you as you slept on the opposite end of the couch. You mumbled and sighed a lot in your sleep and it fascinated him. Earlier, when you had found the show he wanted, he had asked you to sit and watch with him, just in case he didn’t understand any of the references. You had obliged and promptly drifted off two episodes in. To Ben, it was a huge ego boost; you felt safe and comfortable enough around him that you could fall asleep near him. As he watched you, hearing your sounds, he really wanted to know what you were dreaming about, especially when your brows knit together and you let out a terrified whimper. He had picked you up without waking you and held you close to him. “You’re okay, doll,” he promised in a soothing murmur to your hairline. “I’ve got you and nothing is going to happen. I won’t let it.” He heard you inhale deeply and then release a contented sigh a moment later. You relaxed in his arms, curling into him, and he stayed like that the entire night: holding you as he watched episode after episode of Friends, something he had only picked because he thought you might like it enough to agree when he planned to ask you to stay. As much as he enjoyed the sound of your voice when you patiently explained things to him, the night turned out even better than he dared to hope, especially when you subconsciously buried your face into his neck and stayed cocooned there. Only when he heard you beginning to stir back into consciousness hours later did he gently place you back in the spot you fell asleep in, pretending not to notice when you fully woke up, opening one sleepy eye to find him in front of you. He shrugged off your apology and glanced over to find you softly smiling at him, causing a strange twinge to happen inside his chest, something reminiscent of when the nuclear reactor inside of him went off but far less dangerous…and much more pleasant.

The images faded as he slowly pulled back a few inches, his green gaze staring deeply into yours. “Was that okay?”

You slowly nodded, still beyond shocked not only at what you had seen or how gentle the kiss had been, but also the sensations it had caused to sweep through you — things you were pretty sure you’d never feel in your lifetime. Hints of desire and a lightness whispered throughout your body as another stronger emotion gained a foothold and blanketed your entire being. Whereas it might have frightened you before, it didn’t now. You knew you were safe, protected, and after this kiss, you now also knew you were cherished to a certain extent.  

Almost as if he knew what you were thinking, fleeting relief gave way to a small smile on his face and he tenderly placed his thumb on your chin. “Good. Because you matter to me, too.”  

You couldn’t help but smile in return, seeing his eyes light up, and you gently framed his face in your hands. You stood on the tips of your toes and pressed your lips to his again, eager to see more as he willingly put his guard down to let you completely in. You also wanted to experience that rush of sensations again with him and this time when he wrapped his arms around you to carefully hold you against him, you buried your fingers into his hair and only deepened the kiss. It wasn’t Soldier Boy who was kissing you back and whose thumb tenderly brushed against your jawline; it was Ben — the very Ben you’d seen hidden underneath all of the layers of toxic masculinity, simmering rage, and the Supe tamping down the man with years of drug use, womanizing, and an overinflated ego. And from the images and thoughts swimming in your mind that didn’t belong to you, your Ben by all accounts. Something that sadly Hughie and the rest would never understand or even be willing to try. But as Ben soundly kissed you, when he broke away to let you catch your breath and placed his forehead against yours, tenderly rubbing strands of your hair that had come loose between his fingertips, you found that part didn’t really bother you all that much.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

[tortureddarkstar]

✩ BUY ME PRESENTS

HE KNOWS WHEN I’M SLEEPING / / AND HE KNOWS WHEN I’M NOT

RUSSELL SHAW X FEM!READER

EXPLICIT CONTENT. MINORS DNI.

✩ BACK TO… NOURA’S CHRISTMAS SPECIAL

summary: russell welcomes himself home

warnings: somnophilia, dubious consent (russell and reader are consenting, but reader doesn’t verbally consent), smut

inspired by: buy me presents- sabrina carpenter

russell shaw didn’t have a ‘home’ by its orthodox standards. to him, ‘home’ was wherever you were. and right now, in the drivers seat of his car, on his way back from some small town in santa monica, you were snug in bed, draped in one of his shirts, drowning in your sheets.

russ loved it when you wore his clothes. especially so when he came home to find you in them. he’d called a few hours ago, telling you he was on his way, divulging in how much he loved you and missed you and wanted to feel you wrapped around him again.

and so, with that all-too-familiar fuzzy feeling inside, you dug out the shirt that smelled the most like him (also his favourite on you) and slipped it on.

you had no intention of going to sleep so early, but waiting all day had worn you out, to the point of you dozing off with your hand between your thighs and your head full of russell.

he’d eventually come home at around two-thirty, tired to no end but equally as eager to see you again and feel you again.

russell traipsed into the bedroom appreciating the smell of vanilla and cedarwood filling his senses before his eyes fell on your sleeping figure.

the sheets had shimmied down to lay on your waist and russell’s shirt had risen, not showing him your chest, but showing him that your hand had stayed between your thighs, despite your apparent moving around.

“oh, sweetheart.” he sighed, lightly clicking his tongue, noting how you’d forgone panties as he recalled the agreement that the two of you had shared- no panties was a bright green light for what he was about to do .

he wasn’t going to punish you, no that would be too mean. nah, he decided to wake you up with the warmest of surprises.

russell started with ridding himself of his pants, then his socks and finally his shirt. smiling and glad that his rustling around hadn’t woken you up just yet.

lifting the sheets on his side, he manoeuvred himself to be behind you, and carefully removed your hand away from yourself. you shifted slightly.

“shh, it’s okay, it’s okay. ‘m gonna make it all better.” you couldn’t even hear him but it was like your body had some subconscious response to his voice when your legs stretched out and apart, welcoming him.

your obvious need egged him on, pushing russell to cup your cunt and let him drive the heel of his palm into you. he worked you open, readying you for him while soft, barely audible sighs left your unconscious throat.

it wasn’t before long that you were wonderfully wet for him, the pitch and reverb of your sighs letting him know you were ready for him. ready for that ache to slowly dissipate as he slipped his dick into you, drawing out new sounds of slick into the room as he thrusted in and out, in and out.

as russell continued to bring you both to climax, he thought of how you might wake up tomorrow, all sticky and tangled up in him, undoubtedly glad that you wonderful boyfriend was home once again.

a/n: second installment! i know that this one is veryyyy loooooosley inspired but this is the one thing that came to mind😭 banner creds: @estrelinha-s

it’s also my birthday!!!

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

He's My Man: That's My Girl Timestamp

Summary: Russell and reader’s casual morning plans turn into anything but when an unexpected visitor appears on their doorstep…

He’s My Man Masterlist

Pairing: Russell Shaw x reader

Word Count: 2,400ish

Warnings: language, gunshot wounds, life-threatening situation

A/N: Welcome back to more Russell Shaw! This story is considered a timestamp to He’s My Man and it’s highly recommended that story be read prior to this one. Please enjoy!…

____________

You stretched your arms overhead as you padded out in your bootie slippers from the bedroom. The smell of something yummy filled your nostrils and there was a faint melody in the air. Russell’s forest green tee clung to his broad shoulders, falling loose around his tapered waist, hitting the top of his charcoal gray sweats.

“Chappell Roan this early?” you teased. 

“It’s grown on me,” he said with his back to you, bopping his head back and forth. You hummed, walking around the kitchen island to spot him making two spanish omelets. 

“God, I love that you know how to cook,” you said, pecking a kiss on his cheek before going to the fridge to get out some orange juice.

“I’ve heard that once or…” he trailed off as he turned his head, jaw dropping slightly. You looked down, OJ in hand. You were wearing your favorite yellow pajama shorts but you had a feeling it was the peach bralette you wore he was stuck on. His lips curled up as you reached over, pushing the pan off the heat before he burned breakfast. “Where’s your shirt?”

“Huh. Must have lost it.” You looked up through your lashes, Russell smirking when you stepped back. “What a shame.”

“I might have to disagree with you there,” he said, pouting when you pointed at the skillet.

“Breakfast first, then dessert.” He grumbled to himself but smiled all the same. You scooted behind him and got out two glasses. “Do you want to eat on the porch?”

“Set us up at the island, qark. I don’t want you to get too cold outside,” he said, sliding an omelet onto a waiting plate. You worked around each other easily, Russell getting the food on the plates and dressing it with a creamy green avocado sauce he’d whipped up with the blender.

You took a seat, Russell taking a bow as he set it on the mat in front of you, kissing your forehead and taking his own seat beside you.

“So what’s on the agenda today?” he asked between bites. You shoveled a large bite in your mouth, a delicious explosion of flavors hitting your taste buds.

“After dessert,” you said, Russell brushing his leg against yours, making sure to touch as he cut off a piece of breakfast, “I was thinking I’d join you out at the brewery. They’re framing the building today, right?”

“Yeah. It’s starting to feel real,” he said, a quiet sigh under his breath. “I’m scared I fucked up. What if I threw all that money away on a pipe dream?”

You set your knife and fork down, frowning at him. “Russ. Your beer tastes amazing. You have investors, remember? They believe in you. If it doesn’t go well, then so what? At least you tried and I will always be proud of you for that. We’ll be okay. Now stop worrying about the money and let me handle the budgets, okay?”

“Alright,” he relented. “To be fair, I probably should let the woman that somehow had hospital grade medical equipment in the backroom of a warehouse run the books.”

“Exactly,” you said, Russell rubbing your leg with his left hand as he picked up his fork and ate again. “To be fair, it wasn’t that hard to get. The whole mob connection thing.”

“This is true. You’ve been running your own business for years.”

“Yes, which is why when I say to chill babe, chill. You have a great business plan,” you said. “Plus an amazing partner.”

“She’s so modest too,” he chuckled, wolfing back the last of his eggs. He clapped his hands together, turning to face you. “Dessert time.”

“Eh, I’m still eating,” you said, pointing at your plate. He faked a pout before he was up, cleaning up the kitchen and saving the leftover sauce in the fridge. You barely had your fork down when he was taking your plate and shoving it in the dishwasher. “Russell.”

He bounced around the island, far too adorable for a forty year old man, hands on your hips and a deep grin on his face. 

“Yes, wonderful?” he teased, pulling you to the edge of the stool. You wrapped your legs around his waist, Russell’s hands under your ass lifting you up as your gripped his shoulders. “New agenda. How about we make out a bit, let our tummies settle, then we can get our exercise in for the day-”

“Russell,” you groaned, pressing your forehead to his.

“Then we’ll pop over to the brewery for a bit, I can help you research your next job this afternoon, you can call Colter and harass him about making sure he’s still doing his stretches-”

“It is not harassment-”

“And then I’ll cook up that salmon in the fridge on the grill for dinner and we can watch X-Files on the back porch under a blankie.” 

“I love that you say blankie,” you teased, kissing the tip of his nose. “Sounds like a great day, Mulder.”

“Hey. I know things about the lizard people, Scully,” he chuckled, carrying you off towards the bedroom.

“Oh yes. I forget you’re such an expert,” you said as tires screeched outside. You shared a look for only a split second, Russell setting you down and grabbing the hidden gun safe from the end table. He had it in his hands in less than two seconds, nodding as you ran back into the bedroom and got yours out of the closet. 

Fists pounded on the front door, Russell’s weapon aimed at it when you returned, yours going towards the garage entrance.

“Russ! Open up!” Russell lowered his gun, scrunching up his face at the voice. “Shaw! Open the fucking door!”

“Stay back,” Russell said quietly. He jogged up to the front of the house, pulling back a curtain. “Jesus fuck.” He tore open the front door, two of Russell’s special ops friends standing there.

Well, standing was a stretch. 

“What the fuck happened, Hank?” said Russell, throwing his arm around Kelly who was very much actively bleeding from the abdomen. 

“I fucked up,” he said, Hank staring at you. “Can you fix her?”

You did a quick survey and spotting four, no five, bullet wounds littering the left side of her body.

“She needs a hospital-” Hank grunted, Kelly nearly passed out in his arms.

“They will find us there. Please. We knew the risk of not going. Please just try,” said Hank. You closed your eyes, setting the gun down on the island.

“She’d have better odds at a hospital,” you said, going to the pantry and grabbing the black bag tucked away at the top. You went to the dining room table, shoving chairs out of the way and ripping open the bag, pulling a blue tarp out and laying it out. “Don’t just stand there, get her down.”

You let the guys get her down, Russell shoving a throw pillow under her head while you washed at the kitchen sink. You snapped on a pair of gloves, digging through your bag and pulling out supplies left and right. Russell ran off into the garage, returning with one of his shop lights and attaching it to the light fixture overhead to give you more visibility.

“Russell,” you said, organizing your tools while tossing an orange box at Hank. “I need you to scrub your hands and put on gloves. Hank, cut off Kelly’s shirt and bra and open that box. Attach the leads to the right side of Kelly’s chest and then turn the box so I can see the numbers on the screen. What’s your blood type?”

“O positive,” he said, fumbling with his hands as she did as asked. “S-She’s A positive.”

“Good,” you said, pulling out tubing and handing it to him. “Tourniquet your arm and call Doug when you’re done. Tell him to break into the nearest blood bank.”

“Blood bank? Why not a clinic?” asked Hank as you got a good look at Kelly’s wounds. Her very, very bad wounds.

“Because I’m not fucking over some patient when a doctor in an emergency goes to their supply and finds it drained. Get it from the bank where odds are less likely it’ll impact someone,” you said, Russell appearing by your side, blood staining his shirt and pants already. He nodded, watching you grab the tubing and shove the needle into the exposed vein on Hank’s arm. “Let’s pray this fucking works.”

Twelve Hours Later

You checked Kelly’s pulse as she stirred awake, her eyes hazy from the strong pain killers you’d given her.

“Hey,” she whispered, glancing around. “Am I on your dining table?”

“Yeah. Sorry about that. Last second decision,” you said, adjusting the sheet over her body. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. “Do you feel cold?”

“Just my feet,” she said. You looked down, smiling to where they were uncovered.

“I’ll get you some of my fuzzy socks. Nothing in your stomach, no chills?” She shook her head barely an inch but it was good enough. “Alright. Sounds like no internal bleeding right now then. I’m going to keeping checking every hour so you’ll probably want to throttle me by morning for not letting you sleep.”

“S’okay,” she mumbled. “How’m alive?”

You rested a hand on her head, stroking it gently. “You have either extremely shitty luck or extremely good luck. You were hit five times. Once in the arm, through and through, non life threatening. Three hit your rib cage and got stuck. A sliver more and that would have been it. The last one was tricky. Gut shot. Thankfully, it missed your digestive tract or you would have been septic or dead by now. Bad news is you no longer have a spleen. But again, in terms of if you have to get shot in an organ, the spleen’s a pretty good one to pick.”

“Thank you.” You hummed, Kelly forcing her eyes open. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” you asked. 

“I told Hank to let us take our chances, that Russ was out of this life. We should never have brought this to your front door.” You smiled, leaning down so she could see you better.

“You guys helped me with Owen and you didn’t even know me. I will always help Russell’s friends,” you said. She smiled a smidge, relaxing when you wiped a washcloth over her face. “You don’t have to worry. The boys are dealing with those guys that shot you right now. You’re safe.”

“I’m so sorry to make Russ-”

“Russell’s a big boy. He doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to and trust me, he was more than happy to go fuck up the people that tried to kill you. So you focus on resting and I’ll be right here, okay?” She hummed, her eyes darting down to where dried blood clung to your chest.

“Did you operate on me only wearing a bra?”

“...It’s a long story.” You glanced at the monitor near her head, her heart rate and blood pressure looking good at the moment. “So. When did you and Hank become a thing?”

“Me and Hank?” she asked with a pout. “We’re not…I’d like to be, you know, more but…”

You smiled, Kelly’s brow unfurling. “He has been a nervous wreck all day. You two ought to have that talk. In the meantime, let me walk you through next steps.”

The sun was just starting to break the horizon when the door to the garage opened. You sipped from your cup of coffee, glancing over Kelly’s wounds, no sign of infection by some miracle. She had a long road ahead of her but her making it through the night gave you hope she’d be able to recover.

“Hey,” said Russell quietly, giving you a small smile you returned as Hank trailed in on his heels. Russell nodded as Hank rushed over, taking the chair on the other side of the table and taking Kelly’s hand in his.

“How’s she doing?” asked Hank as you rose to your feet.

“Hanging in there. It’d be better if we could get her in a more sterile environment, had more equipment to monitor her vitals,” you said.

“We have a medical evac on the way now that the…issue’s been dealt with,” he said. You relaxed a bit at that. Her odds were much better if you could get her in an ICU with a dedicated team.

“Good,” you said when faint sirens sounded in the distance. “Let’s help clear a path so they can get her out of her fast.”

Thirty minutes later the house was quiet. You put a hand on your head as you looked around the room. Blood was everywhere. You were thirsty, starving, needed to pee and caked in dried blood that made your skin itch. 

“Come on,” said Russell, taking your hand and leading you back towards your bedroom. 

“I should clean up-”

“Later. You have more than earned a shower and some rest.” Russell tugged you behind himself, lifting you up and carrying you straight into the bathroom. “You didn’t sleep at all.”

“Neither did you,” you said, gently set down on the shower seat. 

“Yeah, well I didn’t perform major surgery in a kitchen yesterday for eight hours,” he said. You rested your head against the tile wall, Russell peeling your clothes away and tossing them in a pile on the floor. “Thank you for saving Kelly.”

“She could still die,” you mumbled.

“You did extraordinary for what we had on hand,” he said, arms around you again. “Now let’s clean you up.”

You peeled open your eyes around lunchtime, the air smelling of disinfectant. Rain was hitting the roof, Russell popping his head in just as you sat up. 

“Hey,” you yawned, holding the covers to your body. 

“Hello my queen of darkness.” He stepped in the room with a sleepy smile, kissing you before taking a seat on the edge of the bed. His long fingers fixed your hair behind your ear, grazing your cheek. “Jammies are on the bench when you’re ready to get up and the house is all set.”

“Russ, I could have helped-” He pressed a finger to your lips, shushing you.

“You did help. My friend is alive because of you. Now are you going to let me take care of you today?” You grumbled but nodded, laying back down in bed. “That’s my girl.”

“...Give me another hour of sleep,” you whispered.

“Whatever you need, sweetie. Anything at all.”

___________

[ginnsbaker]

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (1/?)

“I'm sorry, I'm not sure I understand,” you say, hands retreating into the pockets of your white coat. Leigh takes a deep breath, steeling herself for what she knows will be a difficult conversation.

“I recently found out that my husband was cheating on me,” she says, her green eyes boring into yours. “With you.” Or the one where you fall in love with the widow of an ex-lover you never knew was married.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 6k+ | Warnings: None for now | A/N: I wrote about 30k words of the Succession Wanda but hit a wall in terms of plot progression. So that's on hold. Allow me to apologize with this two-shot. P.S. I've always wanted to write for Leigh, and this idea came out of nowhere. Loosely based on canon.

Masterlist | Next Part

-

Leigh wakes up in a bed that’s not hers for the first time in months, and the unfamiliar scent of freshly cut grass and cedarwood almost immediately overwhelms her senses, suffocating her with its cloying sweetness.

“Jules?” she croaks out, her mind clawing its way through the fog. When it lifts a few seconds later, Leigh realizes where she is and what she’s done.

And how she’s very, very naked underneath the sheets. 

The person lying next to her in the bed starts to move. Right away, she knows it's not her sister, unless she's somehow caught up in a prank she doesn't find amusing at all. And so, she braces herself for her dead husband’s brother's voice to shatter the silence.

But it never comes. Instead, an arm drapes itself across her stomach, pulling her towards warmth. Leigh gets the sudden urge to vomit, except she skipped dinner and there isn’t anything to bring up. Last night, in a desperate attempt to fill the void left by Matt's absence, she had reached out to someone she shouldn't have. Someone Leigh didn’t even like to begin with. A knot tightens further in her stomach as she considers what her husband’s ghost would think. 

Would he approve? Would he feel betrayed or disgusted as she does?

Careful not to disturb Danny, who still sleeps soundly beside her, Leigh slips out of bed with the grace of a cat. She gathers her clothes from the floor and dresses herself with heavy limbs, each garment reminding her of how Danny had taken them off her body. 

As messed up as it sounds, Leigh can't help but draw parallels between him and Matt. They share the same blood, but there's not a single trait in Danny that triggers memories of Matt. With Danny, it's all about his own desires, his movements reflecting his wants. But with Matt, it's like he's always bending to Leigh’s will, submitting to her.

It tears Leigh’s heart anew. 

As she finishes dressing, Leigh glances around searching for her watch. She second-guesses whether she even wore it last night, the disarray of her thoughts mirrored in the disarray of the room. Her eyes scan the bedside table, the floor, and the dresser, but there's no sign of the timepiece.

A sudden sound from Danny startles her, and she freezes in place. She doesn't believe she can prevent herself from literally bolting out of the house if he so much as breathes her name. She’s rooted in her spot however, waiting for his breathing to steady, her heart pounding in her ears. Only when she's certain he's in a deep slumber does she release a pent-up breath, a sigh of relief escaping her lips. In that moment, she mentally curses herself once more, acutely aware of the mess she's created, before tiptoeing towards the bedroom door and abandoning the search for her watch altogether.

As she considers her options, she entertains the idea of escaping town altogether. Maybe if she leaves, she can avoid Danny for the coming days, possibly forever. Leigh wonders if she ever made Matt feel this trapped, inadvertently pushing him to leave in the only way he knew she could never follow.

-

Several days after ignoring Danny’s calls and attempts to talk to her, he retaliates by telling her the most absurd thing about his brother.

He tells Leigh she wasn’t the only one. There had been two others in the last year. 

And the last one, he fell for hard. Or at least that’s what Danny believes.

“I don’t believe you,” she says, her eyes beginning to sting a little. “If you think making me hate Matt would change my mind about us, then—”

“I’m not trying to manipulate you, Leigh,” Danny interrupts calmly, shaking his head. “I just believe you deserve to know the truth. Maybe it'll help you stop blaming yourself and move on.”

“It just seems a little too convenient that this 'truth' works in your favor to tarnish Matt's reputation, doesn't it?” Leigh points out with a humorless smile. She’s always thought the worst of Danny, but she never imagined he’d go as far as fabricating a story just to get her on his side.

“I understand your skepticism, I do. I couldn’t believe it at first either,” he says, his gaze dropping to the ground as if the transgression he’s confessing were his own, not Matt’s. “But think about it. Have you ever walked in on Matt just as he's ending a call? Noticed how he's suddenly started spending more time at work, consistently twice a week? And what about his sudden interest in going to the gym and being conscious about what he eats? These are all signs, Leigh.”

His words push her to think about it, even though she doesn't want to. Leigh starts to reflect on how Matt had stopped leaving his phone unattended during showers, how he had suddenly logged off his social media accounts from her laptop, or the noticeable enhancement of his physique—all juxtaposed against a lingering decrease in his appetite for intimacy with his wife.

“I…” Leigh hesitates, searching for a rebuttal but finding none. Then Danny gives her a look—one of pity and longing that makes her want to crawl out of her skin—and suddenly she finds herself vehemently denying all of it.

“I still don’t believe you,” she says, desperately clinging to the last shreds of the illusion she had crafted around her marriage.

Danny's expression remains unreadable and it drives her further up the wall. “Fine. Believe what you want, Leigh. I'm just trying to look out for you.”

Leigh's jaw tightens. “Regardless of what you say—whether it’s real or not—I know what I want, and it's not to be with you.”

He keeps up the stony facade, opting instead to pull a card out of his wallet and hand it to her. Leigh accepts the card, her fingers quivering, as a solitary tear finally breaks free and trails down her cheek.

Danny begins to reach out, intending to brush away her tear, but hesitates at the last moment, withdrawing his hand. 

“See for yourself. Goodbye, Leigh.”

-

Just two days later, Leigh finds herself in front of the small animal clinic you own, situated a short walk away from Beautiful Beast—the fitness studio her mom owns and where she works. 

Though the sun hangs low in the sky, she's been awake long before it began to rise. She waits for the receptionist to flip the sign from “Sorry, we’re closed” to “Come in, we’re open,” ignoring the curious glance directed her way when the receptionist notices she isn’t accompanied by a furry companion. With a determined smile on her lips, Leigh pushes open the door and steps into the clinic knowing she'll leave it with answers—whatever they might be.

The receptionist looks up from her computer, her expression shifting from curiosity to concern when she sees the look on Leigh's face. “Can I help you?” 

Leigh clears her throat, trying to steady her voice. She tells her she’s looking for you, her words coming out in a rush.

The receptionist furrows her brow. “Do you have an appointment?”

Leigh shakes her head, blinking rapidly as she comes up with an excuse. “No, it's... it's urgent,” she stammers. “I need to speak to her right away.”

The receptionist appears mildly annoyed, but it doesn’t faze Leigh in the slightest. “I'll check if she's available. Please take a seat,” she says.

Leigh nods mutely and sinks into one of the chairs. She clasps her hands together tightly in her lap, trying to quell the rising tide of panic threatening to consume her. She imagines Matt’s ghost watching her this very second, frowning at her doubts about their relationship by coming here in the first place. 

And what if she’s wrong? What if Matt wasn’t cheating on her after all? But Leigh had to come here to put the issue to rest. Matt would understand why she needs to do this. He always did. 

A few moments later, the door behind the reception desk opens and the receptionist emerges from it, motioning for Leigh to enter. 

Leigh finds you standing behind your desk, your back to her, arranging a stack of medical records on the shelf.

“Dr. Y/N?” Leigh calls out softly.

You turn around at the sound of her voice, and when she sees you for the first time, Leigh immediately knows.

Danny was telling the truth. It takes everything in her not to break down in front of a stranger her husband fell in love with.

You, however, don’t recognize the woman standing before you, thinking perhaps she's simply one of your past clients. You offer Leigh a contrite smile. “You wanted to see me? Miss…?”

“Leigh Shaw.”

The name doesn’t ring a bell either, but you keep a friendly smile on your face. 

Leigh hesitates for a moment before continuing, her voice sounding fragile. “I need to talk to you about my husband,” she says, studying your clueless face. You're stunning and accomplished—a doctor and a businesswoman. You have a smile that could brighten even the darkest room.

Matt never stood a chance, did he?

“I'm sorry, I'm not sure I understand,” you say, hands retreating into the pockets of your white coat.

Leigh takes a deep breath, steeling herself for what she knows will be a difficult conversation. 

“I recently found out that my husband was cheating on me,” she says, her green eyes boring into yours. “With you.”

-

After leaving your clinic, Leigh heads straight to Matt’s grave, stomping angrily on the sparse sheet of grass that has begun to sprout from his resting place.

“You're such a fucking liar!” she spits out at the unsusceptible headstone, the heat of fury spreading through her veins and to every molecule in her body. The cold wind lashes through her hair as Leigh drops to her knees, feeling like the entire world is bearing down on her. She reaches out to touch the cold marble of the headstone, still seeking solace from the one who caused her so much hurt.

“Why, Matt?”

She knows there will be no answers—only the cold silence of death.

Leigh feels a surge of anger rise within her once more as she recalls the way you looked at her—the pain in your eyes when she revealed to you that Matt had died. What you two had was real, as real as what she had with him. She had been hoping it was at least just a fling, but alas, she couldn’t be further from her assumptions.

“I can't believe I ever loved you,” Leigh mutters bitterly. She wants to scream, to rage against the injustice of it all. But all she can do is clutch at the grass beneath her, her nails digging into the earth as if trying to anchor herself against the torrent of pain crippling her chest. Tears stream down her face as she finally collapses to the ground, assuming a fetal position, whispering, “I can't believe I still do.”

-

You continue to stare at the space that Leigh previously occupied for a good ten minutes, not moving an inch from where you stood—shocked, hurt, confused. Matt, the man you had been seeing, was dead. And not just dead, but married. Married to someone else, someone named Leigh Shaw, a name so important but he managed to hide from you for weeks. 

Matt had never mentioned a wife, never wore a ring, never hinted at the existence of someone waiting for him at home. If he had, you would never have let him get as close to you like he did. You've always respected boundaries and families—and now you've discovered that unwittingly, you've destroyed one.

Leigh's departure was swift, just as soon as you confessed to having feelings for her husband and how Matt reciprocated those same feelings. Leigh, ruthless in her questioning, demanded to know if you had slept with Matt. You swore you never did, detailing how Matt abruptly ghosted you after your first kiss, leaving you with nothing but unanswered texts and missed calls. 

You wanted so badly for Leigh to believe you, and you think she did. However, none of it mattered in the end. He cheated all the same. He hurt the woman he made a promise to love and stay faithful to. 

Because of you.

You feel sickened by your own naivety; by the way you have allowed yourself to be fooled by his lies. And yet, amidst the anger and self-recrimination, there is a profound sense of loss. Despite the circumstances of your relationship, you had cared for Matt deeply. Maybe even loved him.

But how much of it was real? How much of it was not about him running from his problems with his wife and using you as a distraction? The ease with which he slipped out of your life suddenly fits into place.

While his passing deeply rattled you, it's now largely overshadowed by thoughts of his widow.

Leigh Shaw.

Earlier, even though you said sorry over and over, it felt like it wasn't enough, and you wanted to do more to make her feel better. What stopped you was the realization that you're likely the last person she would want comfort from. A sense of helplessness washes over you as you come to the conclusion that there's nothing you can do to undo the damage that's been done. Matt is gone, and Leigh's world has been shattered in ways you can't even begin to imagine. 

Moving on from Matt is something you know you could do. He wasn’t the first person to break your heart, be it through deceit or demise. But the situation with Leigh is unfamiliar territory.

How do you fix this for her? 

Will she even let you?

-

When Leigh tells Jules about Matt’s infidelity, her sister fixates on the detail that she slept with Danny. It’s not the response Leigh expected. She anticipated shock, and maybe even a bit of outrage on her behalf. But instead, Jules latches onto the one detail that seems to pale in comparison to the enormity of Matt's betrayal.

“But how could you?” Jules asks, her voice incredulous as she chews on a dumpling. “How could you sleep with Danny?”

Faced with her sister's disapproval, Leigh finds herself clamming up. “Are you kidding? I just told you that Matt was cheating on me, and your response is to judge me for hooking up with a single guy while I'm single?” Leigh retorts, hastily wiping her lips with a napkin.

Jules just shakes her head, putting down her chopsticks. “Leigh, I get it. Matt’s betrayal is awful, and you have every right to be angry. But the ‘single guy’ you hooked up with isn't just any guy, and you know it. You don't think it's weird? What would people think? That all this time, sleeping with your husband’s brother has always been an option?”

Leigh's eyes widen in shock, and for a moment, she's speechless. She hadn't—didn't want to entertain the idea of what sleeping with Danny would imply. She was chasing a feeling; any feeling that wasn’t emptiness. And with Danny, she did feel something, even if it was regret and shame. At least it proved she was still capable of feeling at all.

“It… just happened,” Leigh murmurs, rubbing her temples. Hollowness and migraines, she's almost forgotten.

“And? Is it going to be a ‘thing’?” Jules probes, eyebrows raised.

Leigh lifts her gaze, biting back a defensive retort. Instead she simply says, “Absolutely not.”

Jules seems satisfied with that, knocking back the rest of her beer. “Good.”

But as Jules moves on, Leigh’s left stewing in her own thoughts. Telling Jules felt like yelling into a void—exhausting and utterly pointless. Now she’s dreading the thought of breaking the news to Drew. If Jules’ reaction was any indication, she’s in for another round of disappointment. 

Being a young widow already sets her apart, but nothing makes her feel more alone than her family's inability to truly grasp her grief. She guesses she's been feeling alone for years, long before Matt came into her life and subsequently left it.

Jules, catching the tail end of Leigh's distant look, leans in and asks, “So, what's the plan now? You still going to that grief counseling group? Danny's been showing up there, right?”

Leigh's gaze sharpens, a bit taken aback by the sudden shift back to practicalities. “Are you asking about my plans with Danny? Because I already told you, that's over. I'm never seeing him again.”

Jules raises her hands in a placating gesture, mindful that one wrong move could tip Leigh over the edge for good. “Not really, no. I'm asking if you're still keen on processing your grief. Now that it turns out Matt was... well, a snake.”

Jules calling Matt a snake doesn't sit well with Leigh even with his cheating coming to light. But she supposes it's Jules' way of being on her side every once in a while. It's a clumsy attempt, but an attempt nonetheless.

“Yeah, I'm still going,” Leigh finally says, her gaze dropping to her lap before meeting Jules' eyes again. “Not for Danny, not for anyone else, but for me. Turns out, finding out your rotting husband was living a double life does a number on you. Who knew, right?”

Jules cracks a small, rueful smile at that and says, “Who knew indeed.”

Leigh thinks back to the time when she believed she knew Matt inside and out, a belief so deeply ingrained it felt like a cornerstone of her identity as his wife. She prided herself on their connection, convinced that they shared everything—every thought, every fear, every dream. It was a pride rooted in the belief that she knew him better than anyone else could, and he, her, in the same intimate manner.

It was the kind of recognition that’s not only about knowing his favorite color or the way he took his coffee. It’s deeper and more layered. She knew the exact tone of voice he'd use when he was about to apologize, the look in his eyes when he was holding back tears, the subtle shift in his posture when he was trying to be braver than he felt. And she thought he knew her just as intricately—the silent language of her sighs, the meaning behind her quietest smiles, the small, everyday details that they believed only they could understand about each other.

“It's hard, you know? Feeling like you're mourning someone who never really existed,” Leigh mumbles after a long pause.

“Yeah, I can't even imagine,” Jules responds, reaching across the table to give Leigh's hand a brief squeeze. “But I'm here, okay? Even if I don't always get it right.”

Jules, Drew, Danny, her mom—all of them—rarely get it right. It has always been Matt. 

He has always been all she has and needed. 

Even if Leigh wasn't aware that she was probably just getting his scraps.

-

Maybe it was me, Leigh keeps thinking over the next several days. Maybe I pushed him to it.

It doesn’t help that there’s a new member who has also been widowed, and she’s sharing about her late husband who had quite a number of mistresses throughout their eighteen years of marriage.

Leigh listens, her fingers twisted together in her lap, as the woman talks about the signs she missed, the lies she believed.

“I just keep thinking,” the woman's voice breaks, “if I'd been more attentive, more... I don't know, less demanding, maybe things would've been different.”

Maybe it was me, Leigh keeps screaming inside. Maybe I pushed him to it.

-

It took Leigh a long time to return to the apartment she shared with Matt after his passing. 

Mostly, it's because Leigh found it difficult to confront the scattered remnants of him that would remain untouched in his absence. No longer would he be picking up his favorite shirt or completing another page of his crossword puzzle book. Yet, these belongings would remain his, just as Leigh felt she still belonged to him.

So it’s ironic that now, surrounded by the same belongings in her bedroom at her mother’s home, she's being overwhelmed by the impulse to turn them all into ashes. In a sudden frenzy, Leigh grabs a box and begins to throw everything inside. The sound of her ragged breathing fills the room, only matched by the soft thuds of objects landing in the cardboard. 

“Stupid fucking toys!” she shouts, tossing a figurine with more force than necessary.

“And this shirt—what were you thinking?” She grabs a garishly patterned fabric, shaking it at the empty air as if expecting an answer.

Her voice cracks, “You're not even here, and you're driving me crazy!”

As Leigh's wrath burns through the remnants of Matt’s life, her thoughts take a dark turn. The things he owned, the pieces of his life flying from her hand—it all leads her back to the one person who had a piece of him, a piece that was never hers.

The thought of your face, the one that belonged to him too at one point, flashes in her mind, and she's on the edge of losing all control. 

If only Leigh could throw you into the box too.

Finally, she finds the book he gave her for her last birthday, the one she never read, and for a moment, her movements pause. Then, with a cry of anguish, she tosses it in as well. When the box is full, she kicks it. Once, twice, thrice—each kick releasing a burst of pent-up fury until she's gasping for breath.

A knock at the door startles her. It's soft but persistent, making it obvious that whoever is outside has heard the commotion in her room. “Leigh, honey, are you done in there?” Amy's voice seeps through the wood.

Leigh wipes at her eyes. “Almost. I, uh… just give me a minute,” she calls back. She’s not done—not really. But she’ll probably set the house on fire if she doesn’t stop here.

Pushing herself up, Leigh opens the door. She knows the sight she presents isn't pretty—eyes swollen red, nose a mess, and those dark circles. But her mom has seen this look more times than either would care to count.

“You okay?” her mom asks, though the answer's written all over Leigh's face.

Leigh shakes her head, no energy to pretend.

“Want some breakfast?”

Again, “No,” slips out.

Then, “Need a ride to the studio?” her mom tries again.

“Yes,” Leigh finds herself saying, clinging to the offer like a lifeline, a small acknowledgment that life, somehow, must go on.

-

The following day, Leigh looks at the box, then at everything around her. She mutters, “Screw this,” and starts pulling everything out of the box, putting it all back where it came from.

-

Leigh's back at running, not because she loves it, but because the sun insists on poking her awake before the rest of the world stirs. It's an old hobby, dusted off to fill the gaping mornings before her first yoga class. 

It’s easy to do because she realizes she’s good at it. Leigh’s only been at it for just a couple of weeks and already she's feeling fitter, faster. She likes the pain too, not being aware before that there are different kinds of pain, and some of them do feel good—addicting even. 

Mid-thought, her routine jog takes a wild left turn: stranded in the middle of the bustling traffic is a French Bulldog, looking decidedly out of place. Ignoring the honks and the near misses, Leigh bolts across the street. It's a bit of a mad dash, dodging cars that are swerving and braking hard. She scoops him up in her arms and doesn’t stop to think about the close calls. 

It hits her then—she's surprised at her own gutsiness, not even pausing to think that she could've been clipped by a car not paying attention. Maybe all this time spent wrestling with thoughts of death has brought her to a strange peace with it and is no longer scared of it. It's like she's danced with death so much, it's just another shadow she passes by—not something that paralyzes her in place anymore.

Leigh’s not sure if being this fearless is actually a good thing though.

After cooling her heels on the sidewalk for half an hour, with no owner in sight, she shrugs and decides he’s coming home with her.

Jules gives her a scrutinizing look the moment she walks in. “What, you went out for a run and decided to get a dog?”

“Rescue mission,” Leigh shoots back, setting the dog down. “Found him in the middle of Second Street. Seems he’s lost.”

Jules doesn't miss a beat, heading straight for the newcomer. She kneels, her hands gently petting the dog, her eyes softening in a way that Leigh rarely sees. The dog, clearly pleased with the attention, wags its tail vigorously. Her eyes are practically giving her away, so it sounds almost funny when she looks up at Leigh and says, “Just don't get too attached, okay?”

“I won’t, which is why I named him Visitor. It’s temporary,” Leigh says with a smile, looking very proud of the name she came up with.

Jules chuckles, standing up and brushing off her knees. “Nerd. Matt would've gotten a kick out of that.”

The room just freezes at the mention of his name. Talking about Matt is like walking into a glass door you didn't see.

Jules tries to backpedal, “Hey, sorry, I—” But Leigh's quick to brush it off with a shrug. 

“Don't worry about it. Let's just figure out where Visitor here belongs, okay?”

As they refocus on Visitor, Jules can't help but notice the way the dog favors one leg as he trots over to sit snugly between Leigh's legs, looking up at her with those big, trusting eyes. “Looks like he's got a bit of a limp,” Jules points out.

Leigh frowns and leans down to get a closer look, her fingers gently probing around Visitor's leg until she finds a tender spot. The moment she applies a little pressure, Visitor yelps, pulling away sharply and retreating a few steps.

Jules winces at the reaction. “Yeah, that's not good. Maybe we should take him to a vet?”

Leigh can barely hold back a grimace as her brain immediately links you to the situation.

“What's wrong?” Jules notices the sudden shift in Leigh’s mood. “There's St. Mary's Animal Clinic nearby. I heard they're great.”

That's your clinic. Leigh's throat tightens at the thought, the memories of her visit flooding back. “Are there others around here?”

Jules looks puzzled at the question. “I mean, I can look it up, but what's wrong with St. Mary's?”

Leigh considers whether she should tell Jules about meeting you. Part of her really knows it’s unfair to dislike you, especially if you genuinely didn't know Matt was married. But she knows Jules too well—tell her, and it'll turn into a whole thing. Leigh's not sure she's up for that drama.

Despite her reservations, Leigh decides to bite the bullet, her curiosity getting the better of her. Besides, if she can’t be brave enough to talk about this in her counseling group, she should probably at least tell Jules.

“Actually, Jules,” Leigh begins, “St. Mary's Animal Clinic is where... where she works.”

Jules's eyes widen in shock, her hand flying to her mouth. “Wait, you mean... you mean her, as in…?” she stammers, disbelief written all over her face.

“Yup,” Leigh confirms, smacking her lips forcefully. 

“Oh my god—that bitch,” Jules spits out, her voice dripping with disdain before Leigh can even brace for impact.

“She didn’t know Matt’s married,” Leigh clarifies quickly.

“And you bought that?”

“I had a feeling she was telling the truth. Besides, I can’t imagine Matt being that brazen to pursue someone while married. He can be a little self-righteous sometimes,” Leigh says, only half-sure of her statement. Recently, she has to remind herself that maybe she never really knew him at all.

Then, an idea sparks in Jules's mind. “You know what?” she says, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Maybe this is a good opportunity. After all, she owes you one, right? Maybe she'll treat Visitor for free, to make up for being... well, you know.”

Leigh rubs her nose, skeptical of the idea. “I don't know, Jules. I don't want to impose…”

Jules leans in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “I mean, if she's the reason you're hurting, maybe she should make it right?”

She isn't hurting because of you, not directly. That's why Jules’ suggestion hangs in the air, unappealing. Leigh remembers the pity in your eyes from that morning, and she doesn't want it. She doesn't want anything from you at all. Her resolve instantly hardens like ice. 

“No,” Leigh finally says. “I don't want her charity. I'll pay for Visitor's bills myself. And I'll keep the receipts for when his real owners show up.” It's a decision that feels surprisingly empowering, a small reclaiming of control in a world that's felt off-kilter for too long.

Jules merely sighs; she knows better than to push Leigh when her mind’s made up. 

“Have it your way.”

-

Leigh brings Visitor to St. Mary’s the very next day.

There's a certain set to her jaw, a readiness for something less than pleasant. She doesn’t need to go through reception this time because she spots you right away, escorting a client to the door, cradling their puppy in your arms. Seeing you with a pet makes Leigh realize why you’ve chosen this profession. You fit right in among the animals, she muses bitterly.

It's with a sense of satisfaction that she watches your smile dissipate as soon as your eyes land on hers. 

She strides confidently towards you, dog in arms, forcing you to quickly hand off the puppy back to its owner. Yet, you recover with a swiftness that's begrudgingly admirable as you give her a look that’s equal parts professional and friendly—like you were actually looking forward to seeing her again.

“Good morning, Leigh. How can I help you?”

Without a word, Leigh extends the dog she’s carrying towards you, a silent transfer of trust, or perhaps, necessity. You gesture towards the consultation room, an invitation she accepts with a terse nod, following you into the space where you effortlessly shift into doctor mode.

As you begin to charm her dog, she can't help but narrow her eyes. It irks her, watching Visitor take to you instantly, as if you were old friends. “What's his name?” you ask, looking up at Leigh.

“Visitor.”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the name, just in time for your irises to capture the light seeping through the office blinds. They glow a hazel-brown, disarmingly so. Leigh forces herself to focus back on the purpose of her visit. 

Leigh continues, “He’s limping on his left hind leg. I’d appreciate it if you can prescribe him something. I'll try not to take up too much of your time.”

Ignoring the undercurrent of Leigh's insinuation, your attention remains undividedly on Visitor. The well-being of the dog before you eclipses any personal sentiments, as it always does. 

“I'm sorry, but before we can consider any medication, I need to examine him thoroughly. It's possible he might require some lab tests to rule out anything serious,” you tell her. Despite sounding apologetic, Leigh interprets it as your polite way of telling her to fuck off and let you do your job.

As you palpate the dog's leg carefully, you begin your routine questions. “Can you tell me his birthday? Any vaccination history?”

They’re basic, but they seem to catch Leigh off guard anyway. “He’s not mine. I found him on the street yesterday,” she reveals with a reluctant sigh.

The news prompts a more detailed response from you. 

“I see. In that case, we should definitely line up some tests for Visitor. We need to ensure he doesn't have distemper or any other airborne virus that could be affecting his mobility,” you suggest, already mentally cataloging the necessary procedures.

You start detailing the tests you intend to perform, explaining their purposes and associated costs. Leigh is clearly deluged by it all and you decide to take pity on the poor woman by adding that it’s still up to her which tests to proceed with, if any at all.

“Your call, Leigh,” you tell her.

Leigh can't shake off the vibe that you're throwing a gauntlet down in front of her. It's like her inner competitor wakes up, refusing to back down. “Do all of them,” she declares, tipping her chin up towards you. “Whatever you think is best.”

“That’s a good decision. We’ll take care of it right away,” you say, already picking up the phone to call the reception for assistance. 

Leigh's still trying to get a read on you. Was her arm twisted into this choice, or did you genuinely have Visitor's best interest at heart? She's not about to hand out trust like free samples, especially when she could end up misjudging you. It’s a tricky spot, especially because she’s clearly been wrong before.

-

The tests take their time, roughly an hour, after which Leigh finds herself pacing the lobby. An additional quarter-hour trickles by before the receptionist finally calls her back into the consultation room.

“Good news,” you start, making sure to catch her eye. She meets your look briefly before her attention shifts to Visitor. “It's only a sprain. The X-ray revealed no breaks or other issues. But,” you pause, checking to see if she's still fully engaged, “his blood tests indicated a low platelet count and evidence of an infection.”

Leigh listens intently, nodding along.

You explain what this means in a clear, concise manner, avoiding medical jargon as much as possible. “It's something we can manage with medication. I'll prescribe some antibiotics for the infection and pain medication to help with his discomfort. It's important that he completes the course of antibiotics to clear the infection completely.”

You watch Leigh closely, gauging her reaction and ready to answer any questions she might have. “We'll need to keep an eye on his platelet count, so I'd like to schedule a follow-up visit next week. This will also give us a chance to check how his leg is healing.”

“Will he be okay?” she asks without looking up from Visitor, busy scratching behind his ears.

“He'll be just fine,” you reassure her, adding, “Any questions about what we discussed?”

Leigh stays silent and you take it as your cue that she doesn’t have any thoughts on the matter. As she wraps up without saying much more, you realize it's time to wrap things up too. But there's something niggling at you, something that's been on your mind since the last time she was here. You're about to let her go, but then, out of nowhere, you feel this urge to clear the air about that whole mess with Matt. 

“So, uhm, about the other week when you…” you trail off, suddenly feeling like you're balancing on a tightrope without a net. You’re not so easily spooked by confrontations, but Leigh makes you nervous in a way you can’t explain. “I guess I just wanted to say sorry… for your loss, and for—”

“Does he really need to take pain medication for seven days?” Leigh cuts you off suddenly. It’s sharp enough for you to shut your mouth and abandon your attempt to get personal.

“Yes, the full course is important to ensure he's comfortable and that the inflammation goes down properly. It's just as crucial as the antibiotics for his recovery…”

Leigh nods, carefully scooping Visitor into her arms, preparing to leave.

You try one last time. “Leigh, I really am sorry–”

“I’ll see you next week, Dr. Y/L/N,” she says dismissively and then she’s gone.

[pamwritessometimes]

Tuesday’s Gone — Chapter 2

Russell Shaw x reader

Summary: When the police does little to no help to find your missing daughter, you are forced to contact Colter Shaw. What you don’t expect is how his investigation will reveal secrets about both your past and your daughter’s, in ways you never imagined.

Warnings: missing child trope, description of murder, very light smut.

Title’s based on Tuesday’s Gone by Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Read Chapter 1 here

Tuesday’s Gone masterlist

━━━━━━━━━━✦✧✦━━━━━━━━━━━

The October wind chilled through Colter’s jacket as he made his way inside Mitchell’s. Meeting up in a diner–he certainly felt a sense of deja vu. Though, this time, they opted for one with roof. It was fall, for god’s sake.

Once he stepped inside, he scanned the area for the familiar chestnut-haired face he was looking for. It didnt take long to find it–in fact, it found him, waving at him with a nod. 

Russell looked pretty much the same as he last saw him a couple of months ago. Maybe his hair got slightly longer.

Colter approached the table and slid into the booth across from him. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“Didn’t leave me much of a choice” Russell chuckled as he munched on the burger in front of him. “You said it was important. What’s this about? Not that I’m complaining. Working together from time to time. Kind of like a family business” he mused.

Without addressing his last words, Colter reached into his jacket and pulled out a manila folder. He placed it on the table between them, pushing it toward Russell. “You need to see this.”

Russell eyed the file, a slight suspicion crossing his face as he put his burger down. He then flipped the folder open. As he started to skim through its contents, his brows furrowed. The file contained pictures, reports, details…everything about a missing girl.

“Who is she?”

“Her name’s Emma. She’s been missing since yesterday. Abducted from her house. No leads yet.” Colter said and then after a few moments of silence, he added. “I think the people responsible are connected to something you were involved in years ago.”

Russell froze mid-page turn. “What the hell are you talking about? I haven’t been involved in anything for a while. You know that.”

“I’m talking about The Horizon Group, Russell.”

At the mention of the name, Russell’s face hardened. “What does this have to do with them? I told you, I cut ties. I can’t give you intel or anything like that on them.”

“Look closer.” Colter said and nodded towards the file.

Russell frowned but flipped through the file again, but this time even more carefully. It was when he hit a particular page that he stopped cold. His eyes locked onto a name he hadn’t seen in years.

Y/N Y/L/N.

The file listed Emma’s mother as Y/N. Russell’s heartbeat quickened, his mind racing through memories that rushed back to him about the woman he’d left behind long ago. 

“What’s this about?” Russell asked, still trying to sound neutral. “Y/N. I, uh… Yeah, I knew her. A long time ago.” he admitted. “This— uh, this is her daughter?”

Colter nodded slowly, watching as the realization began to hit Russell. “Yeah. Emma’s her daughter.”

Russell’s hand shook slightly as he flipped through the file again, looking more closely at the girl’s picture this time. She was small. Had wide, innocent eyes and an undeniable resemblance to Y/N. Her eyes were shaped just like her mother’s, same with her lips… But her iris–pale green–and her nose… It wasn’t her. They seemed eerily familiar, though.

“She’s… four?” Russell asked, doing the math in his head, suspicion rising in his mind.

“Yeah” Colter confirmed. He could see the wheels turning in his brother’s head. 

Russell leaned back in his seat, his face paler than usual. “Colter, why the hell are you showing me this? Why does this have anything to do with me?” he asked, but he already knew the answer.

“Because I think you need to ask yourself if there’s a chance… that you’re Emma’s father.”

The words hit Russell like a punch to the gut, leaving him reeling. His mind scrambled to piece together the timeline. 

The last time he’d seen Y/N. It wasn’t a peaceful break-up, not in the slightest.

“Are you saying—” Russell’s voice cracked, but he forced himself to stay calm. “Are you saying that I might be her father?”

“I don’t know” Colter said, but in fact, according to your own words, it was more than a possibility. “But the timing fits. And if you are, this isn’t just about a missing kid anymore, Russell. They didn’t just take any girl…they took your daughter.”

Russell stared at Colter, the weight of his heavy words sinking in. He had spent years running from his past, trying to bury it. But now, it was staring back at him right in the face in the form of a little girl he hadn’t even known existed.

His hands gripped the table, knuckles going white. “I… didn’t know” he said quietly. “I didn’t know she existed.”

“I believe you” Colter said. “But if Horizon took Emma, there’s a chance they’re using her to get to you.”

Russell’s heart almost skipped a beat. “They’re using her…because of me?”

Colter nodded. “It’s possible. It’s leverage. You were involved with them once, Russell. You know how they operate. They think they can use Emma to force your hand. And if they’ve gone this far….”

“...they’re not going to stop until they get what they want” Russell finished his sentence. He leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. It was too much, all at once. The realization that he had a daughter, that she had been taken because of his past…he had never felt so powerless. “I–I have a daughter” he whispered.

After a few moments of silence, he spoke up again “I never wanted this” he added, his voice laced with emotion. “I left so Y/N could be safe.”

Colter reached across the table. “I know. But now we need to focus on finding Emma. This isn’t just about the past anymore. It’s about finding her.”

Russell lifted his head, his eyes as determined as ever. “What do I do?”

“We start by figuring out what Horizon wants” Colter said. “You need to think. Are there any old connections, anyone from that time who might have known you were still around? Anyone who could’ve tipped them off?”

Russell thought back, his mind racing through the faces and names of people he had cut ties with long ago. “I don’t know. I kept my distance. I thought I was careful.”

“Well, someone wasn’t” Colter said. “They found Y/N and Emma, and now they’re making their move. We need to be one step ahead of them.”

Russell nodded, the knot in his chest tightening. “We’ll find her. We have to.”

Colter stood, signaling to the waitress for the check. “We will. But it’s going to take everything we’ve got.”

As they left the diner together, Russell couldn’t shake the image of Emma’s face from his mind. He didn’t know her, didn’t even know if he had the right to call himself her father.

But one thing was clear: he was the reason she was in danger. 

And that meant he would do whatever it took to bring her home.

━━━━━━━━━━✦✧✦━━━━━━━━━━━

“Fuck, Russ” you murmured against his shoulder while he relentlessly pounded into your deepest parts. His thick, veiny arms held you steady, his soft grunts and curses going from your ears straight to your core.

The bedroom was a mess, sheets tangled and clothes scattered around the floor. You were lost in the moment, completely. But then, the bliss was shattered.

A loud crash echoed through the house, making you both freeze. Your heart raced as the sound of shattering glass filled the air, and a surge of adrenaline shot through you.

“Russ!” you gasped almost in a whisper, pulling away to look at him. Panic flickered in his eyes, and in an instant, he was off the bed, putting on his pajamas in record time. You never saw him like this before, this…focused.

“Stay here” he commanded, his voice low and serious.Where did this tone come from? 

You nodded, but fear gripped you. You couldn’t just sit back and wait.

You slipped out of bed, instinctively grabbing one of his discarded shirts and pulling it on as quickly as your trembling hands allowed. You peered into the hallway, your heart pounding as you heard footsteps echoing through the house.

“Russ!” you called softly, straining to hear him over the rush of blood in your ears.

Then you heard it— a loud bang followed by a deafening silence. The next moment, you saw him move down the hallway, his expression set and focused, a stark contrast to the intimacy you’d just shared.

“Get back!” he shouted as he rushed toward the sound, and you felt a chill run over you. 

Something was terribly wrong.

You stepped into the hallway, heart racing as hell, when suddenly, you saw the flash of a figure moving quickly toward him. Instinct kicked in, and you were about to scream when Russell pivoted, drawing a weapon you never knew he had.

In a split second, he fired. The sound of the gunshot echoed like thunder in the small space, making you jump. 

The intruder stumbled, and then collapsed to the floor in a heap.

You stood frozen, eyes wide, as the realization of what just happened hit you. YOu just witnessed a murder. There’s a dead body. In your house. 

The body of the intruder lay motionless, and a knot of horror tightened in your stomach.

“Russ…” you breathed, struggling to process what you’d just witnessed. He turned to you, his face pale but his eyes dark, filled with an intensity that was absolutely foreign to you and terrifying.

“I’m sorry” he said, breathless. “I–” he stammered. “I didn’t want you to see that.”

“Who was he?” you asked, voice, hands, body, trembling. “W–Why did you shoot him? We could just... we should have just called the cops!”

Russell stepped toward you, his gun still in hand, his breath coming in quick bursts. He contemplated what to say. But the months of keeping you in the dark… it was enough. It was time to finally tell the truth. Even if it hurt like a son of a bitch.

“He… He was here to kill me. Kill us.”

Your heart sank, and the pieces began to fall into place. You had known Russell had a past, but this? You had never imagined he was mixed up in something this dangerous.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this. I wanted to keep you safe.”

“Safe?” you echoed. "From what?"

“From Horizon... From... all of this." he said motioned to the now blood-soaked carpet. "I didn’t choose this life” he sighed, frustration creeping into his voice. “I wanted to leave it behind. But they won’t let me. They never will.”

The gravity of the situation pressed down on you, and you felt your world tilt on its axis. You couldn’t comprehend the reality of what was unfolding before you.

The man you loved, the man who had shown you such tenderness, was also a part of something dark and deadly. The man you thought you knew— he killed a man. He shot a man right in front of your very eyes. And he did it precision. Without any hesitance. And it scared you. No, it terrified you.

And… what the hell was Horizon?

“We need to go” Russell said urgently, glancing at the still body on the floor. “They’ll come looking for him, and we can’t be here when they do.”

“What? Where?” you asked, feeling the panic rise in your chest.

“Anywhere but here” he said, taking your hand and leading you toward the back door. “Trust me, Y/N. I’ll keep you safe.”

“No” you said stopping in your tracks as you pulled your hand out of his hold. “Why would I trust you? I– I won't go anywhere with you.”

“What?” Russell stopped in his tracks to turn around and face you. “Y/N, we don’t have time to argue right now, I–”

“No, Russell. You fucking lied to me, kept secrets from me. I won’t go anywhere with you. I–” you trailed off. “Get the hell out of here.”

“Y/N”

“I said get the hell out of here!” you shouted.

“There’s a body in your house. I won't leave you here like this. At least– fuck, at least let me take care of it” he said frustratedly. Though her words stung, he knew he deserved it all. Still, he got her in this mess… the least he can do is to try to get her out of it. “Then… I’ll take you to your sister’s” he added reluctantly.

━━━━━━━━━━✦✧✦━━━━━━━━━━━

You were in the middle of scrolling through social media on your couch. All of your friends, mutuals and family members had shared the news of Emma’s disappearance. It was desperate, you knew, but all means necessary to find your daughter. You were about to share the post in another Missing Persons Facebook group when the doorbell rang.

You opened the door, expecting only Colter standing there. But he wasn’t alone. It was the man behind him that made your heart skip a beat. 

Russell. 

━━━━━━━━━━✦✧✦━━━━━━━━━━━

Next on Tuesday’s Gone (Sneak peek from Chapter 3):

“Why are you here?” You spat, your voice trembling with anger. “Are you actually worried about her… or are you just feeling guilty?”

“Because I didn’t know” Russell replied, his expression softening. “I didn’t know what I was missing until Colter called. He told me about Emma, about how scared you must be. And hell yes, I feel guilty. I— I wish I knew about her” he sighed. “Maybe I could have protected her from all of this.”

Just as you were about to answer him, to tell him another wave of fuck yous, Colter marched into the house. “I think you should see this.”

Both you and Russell turned to the younger Shaw, and you eyed him warily. “What?” you asked, still heated from the argument you and his brother had.

“There are new footprints on the front porch.” Colter said and motioned for you to follow him outside.

━━━━━━━━━━✦✧✦━━━━━━━━━━━

Aaand the plot thickens.

Thank you for reading Chapter 2 of Tuesday's Gone, I hope you liked it!

Read Chapter 3 here

Xx Pam

[jjmbbg]

"Such a good girl"

cw: russell shaw x fem!reader, domestic little intro, oral sex (m!receiving), hair pulling, slight degradation, pubic hair ?? (in case someone whines about it lol)

(pics from pinterest)

Russell always has rough days, going around doing his own thing, helping people, sometimes annoying his not-so-little brother and such. Deal with the bills and such is also a problem —or rather, a pain in the ass.

But at least you were there to ease all of his problems. A light touch on his hand, a kiss on the cheek or your pretty ass on his lap were enough to make all his tensions fade away, at least momentarily.

Today, more than ever, he needed what only you knew how to give him. He dropped the keys of his car on the hall table, hanging his jacket on the coat rack by the door. With a heavy sigh, he walked into the living room, seeing you sitting on the couch with a steaming cup of green tea in your hands.

"Is that my t-shirt?" he asked you, walking towards you and sitting next to you. Then, he gathered you carefully on his arms and made you sit on his lap, kissing your cheek briefly.

"Yeah" you replied, adjusting yourself on his lap, taking a sip of your tea, then you brought the cup to Russell's lips.

"Y'know I ain't a tea fan" he chuckled, caressing your thigh with his calloused hand, leaving a tingly feeling on your skin.

"I'm in your lap, the least you can do is drink some of my tea" you protested, smiling as he gave in and took a sip of it, making a face of disgust. "It has sugar"

"I see"

Russell turned his head towards the TV, wondering what the hell were you watching, but all he saw was just naked people, then a little bit of violence and stuff.

"What's this?" he decided to ask, but when you murmured you didn't know he chuckled. "That's what was on TV, huh?"

You two stayed like that for a while, you sipping your tea, comforting him from his rough day with a small talk and a few kisses. He kept a hand on your thigh, drawing lazy patterns on your bare skin. At some point, you turned your head and looked at him affectionately, your hand leaving the cup on the coffee table and you turned at him to look at his face better.

Silently, your finger traced gently the lines of his face, the outline of his features: forehead, nose, lips and his beard. He smiled at you, leaning to give you a small kiss, his beard tickling your lips and chin, making you smile. Then you gave him another small kiss, and he gave another one.

But what was just little pecks, turned into hungry kisses, his hands cupping your face roughly, lips and teeth crashing into the heated dance of the kiss. He broke apart the kiss, both of you gasping for air. With choked in pleasure, he whispered, his hot breath fanning your face

"On your knees, sweetheart"

A thrill ran down your spine, it wasn't a question but an order. You felt yourself throb in your panties as you got on your knees between his thighs, your hands reaching the button and zipper of his jeans, undoing them and sliding them along his boxers to his ankles. His thick, hard cock sprang free, standing at attention, making you lick your lips in anticipation.

"Go on, baby. I know you want it. Put it deep in that pretty mouth of yours" Russell instructed, seeing you eagerly lean on his crotch, lips hovering the hard-rock length. "Don't be shy, honey. We know you wanna be my little cocksleve, or am I wrong?"

You nodded, your hands reaching out, fingers wrapping around the base of Russell's shaft. It's hot and hard, pulsing against your palm. Eagerly, you parted your soft, pink lips opening your mouth. You extended your tongue, giving the tip a teasing lick, moaning at the salty-sweetness of his pre-cum. You looked up through your lashes, straight at his face, and smiled coyly.

"I'll make you feel good, Russ" you said to him, almost a soft purr from your throat.

Then, you leaned further and wrapped your lips around the head of Russell's pink cock, sealing your mouth on it, your lips forming a tight seal as you started to slid it deeper into your mouth. You can feel the hard length gliding over your tongue, filling your warm mouth in the way you loved like crazy. Your throat relaxed, taking Russell even deeper and feelinf the head hitting the back of your throat, and you swallowed around it, the muscles of your throat fluttering and massaging the sensitive flesh.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair, humming in approval. He didn't pushed your head and didn't guide you, he just kept his hand there, enjoying the feel of your warm mouth bobbing up and down.

"That's my good little slut, huh? You're doing it so fucking well" he growled lowly, his hand twitching with the urge to push your head down and make you choke on him, but he held back.* "Don't stop. Mhm, just like that, babygirl"

You moaned against his cock, a mix of drool and his pre-cum sliding down your throat as you pumped his dick with your mouth. You took him deep, your nose brushing against the wiry hair at the base of his shaft. The musky scent of his arousal fills your nostrils, making your head spin with desire, making your cunt dampening your panties.

"Fuck, you're doing it amazing, honey. You were made to take my cock in that pretty mouth" he groaned, fingers tightening in your hair. "My good little girl, taking me so well like a slut, gagging on me"

Your tongue swirled around the head, tracing the thick vein on the underside, teasing the sensitive spot just below the crown. His moans and the slurpy sound of your mouth made his cock twitch with need of release, the sight of your cheeks hollowing... God, he was gonna bust right here and there if you kept using your mouth like that.

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you don't let up. You want his hot seed flooding your mouth, swallow every last drop of his cum.

You glanced up at Russell, his cock deep in your abused throat. The heat of his green gaze sends shivers down your body, redoubling your efforts, determined to make him come undone. You want to be the reason for his pleasure, the cause of his ectasy.

"Yeah, keep sucking me like that. I'm so close, baby" his voice was thick with pleasure, his lips parted letting his precious moans and head on the backrest of the couch, enjoying the way your mouth engulfed him, the wet heat enveloping his dick like a vice. "Take it all, baby. Love to see you choking on my cock"

Then again, Russell listened to the slurping sounds filling the room, mingling with his harsh breaths and your muffled moans and his choked ones. It was filthy, it was good, so fucking good.

His balls drew up tight as your tongue worked over and over the sensitive spot under the head. The pressure building, the coil pleasure winding tighter and tighter in his gut.

"Gonna cum," he warned, voice strained. "Gonna fucking come down your tight throat, and you're gonna swallow it like the good little slut you are"

You nodded as you bobbed your head up and down, moaning on his length, wanting him to finish in your mouth, needing him to. You shut your eyes close tightly as Russell held your head against his throbbing cock, a hoarse cry from the deep of his throat as he flooded your mouth and throat. His orgasm ripping through him like a tidal wave.

Russell's body shuddered with the force of his release, his grip on your hair almost painful. He rode out the waves of pleasure, grinding against your face until he was spent, until he had nothing left to give.

You slipped his cock out from your mouth with a wet pop, a thread of saliva and cum still joining you two. He smiled at you as you swallowed his cum and hummed with need, rubbing your thighs each other, seeking some kind of relief.

"Looks like someone needs a little bit of touch, huh?" Russell teased you, pulling you into his lap. "Huh? What's this?" he teased, palming your clothed pussy, feeling the dampness of your panties. "Uh oh, looks like we have some problem here"

And with a guttural force, he teared off your panties.

"Russell!" you yelped amused and surprised, feeling his fingers sank into you.

"We ain't done yet"

[winchesterwild78]

On the Fourth Day of Christmas

Master List

Characters: Russell Shaw x Reader

Warnings: Language, a little Angst, Fluff

A/N: Day 4 of my holiday fics. I hope you enjoy this short series. I’m really excited about it. All work is my own, please don’t take it. Reblogs and likes are welcomed. 

I do not own the rights to the characters I use, these will not follow the story lines of the series the character appeared in. This is a work of fiction.

Minors DNI 18+

“Russell?” I opened my front door to see the man who broke my heart standing on my porch. His green eyes full of love and regret.

“Hey, sweetheart.” His voice is like whiskey, but soft and unsure. 

“Don’t sweetheart me! What are you doing here Russell?!” My voice dripped with anger and sadness. He broke my heart and I haven’t seen or heard from him in over five years. 

“I was in town and wanted to see you.” He said softly, shifting his weight. The cold air from the winter day swirled around him and covered us. I shivered, took a deep breath and stepped to the side to let him in. 

He walked past me and I inhaled his scent. It was distinctively Russell, woodsy, sweet like vanilla, and a little spice. I swallowed hard. 

I motioned for him to sit at the table, “Would you like some coffee? I was about to make some.” His green eyes met mine, “Yes, please.”

I nodded and put the coffee on. I busied myself in the kitchen while I waited for the coffee to finish. I felt his eyes on me, but I couldn’t look at him. The pain I thought I had dealt with, came bubbling up and felt just as fresh as the day he left. 

When the coffee was ready I got two cups out and poured. I made his coffee, two creams and a sugar and handed it to him. His fingers brushed against mine and I softly gasped. 

He smirked when he took a sip, “You remembered how I like my coffee?” I nodded, “Of course I do. I remember more than you think.” His smile faltered a little.

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t mean much, but I am. Being with you was the best time of my life and I got scared. I wasn’t ready for what I felt, and how fast I was falling. So like a coward, I ran and I’ve been running ever since.” 

I sat across from him and listened. Flashes of our time together, of our passion. All of it playing in my head like an old movie. Then came the moment I realized he was gone. 

I reached for him early in the morning, my hand hitting the cold bed. I got up and as I walked through the house my heart broke more. His clothes, his belongings, he, was gone. The only thing I was left with was the hole in my heart, and the tiny life growing inside me I didn’t know was there. 

Before I could say anything to Russell, my son came into the kitchen. 

“Mama, are we baking..” His voice abruptly stopped at the sight of the man at the table. Russell’s eyes looked at my son and then at me. I looked away, looking at my son, who as fate would have it looked just like his father, right down to the piercing green eyes. “Who’s he?”

“He’s just someone mama knew a long time ago. He just stopped by to say hello. He won’t be staying long and we can bake the cookies.” My son nodded. “Does he know my daddy?” 

I swallowed hard, “No,” I said softly. My gaze never meeting Russell’s. I couldn’t look at him. When I found out I was pregnant I never tried to reach out to him. I honestly didn’t want to hear him reject our son too. I didn’t think I could handle knowing he rejected me and then our baby. 

Our son, Jacob walked up to Russell. “Do you know my daddy? Mommy said he left before she knew I was in her tummy.” Russell looked at him and smiled softly, “I’m not sure kiddo, what’s your name?” “Oh my name is Jacob Andrew Shaw, I’m 5 years old. What’s your name?” 

Russell looked at me and I finally met his gaze. Tears pricked my eyes when I saw the realization hit him, this was his son.

“I’m Russell, it’s nice to meet you Jacob. Are you excited for Christmas?” He asked, pointing to the decorations. Jacob jumped up and down and started talking about his Christmas list and how he’s been trying to be good so Santa will visit. 

Russell smiled and looked over at me. I looked at Jacob and saw the excitement on his face, then a wave of guilt washed over me. My sweet baby boy was face to face with his father, the man he longed to have in his life and I was the coward now. 

“Jacob, honey, go play in your room for a little bit so Russell and I can have adult conversations.” “Okay mommy. I love you.” I smiled and ruffled his hair, “I love you too little bit.” “Bye Mr. Russell.” He waved as he turned to go to his room. Russell smiled and said bye. 

I swallowed hard before looking at him. I knew what was coming. 

I met his gaze, his eyes full of questions. “Is he mine?” Russell’s voice is soft but shaky. I couldn’t speak, my voice caught in my throat. All I could do was nod yes. 

Russell stood and walked over to the empty seat beside me. Sitting down he took my hands in his, “Y/N, I’m sorry. If I hadn’t left I would have known about him. You had every right to keep him from me.”

Tears started to fall heavy and fast, his thumb reached up and wiped them away, “Shh, darlin’, don’t cry.” “Russ, I’m so sorry. I was scared. Scared you’d reject him like you did me. I couldn’t do that to him. I wanted to tell you. I was so scared when I found out I was pregnant. I didn’t know what to do.”

He wrapped his arms around me and held me tight. I just weeped. His arms still felt like home and his smell just as intoxicating. “I’m sorry I left you. I was in love with you and I walked away from you. I know sorry doesn’t make up for five years of being gone, but I am.”

I lifted my head, tears staining my face, “I still love you too, Russ. I couldn’t move on and once I found out about Jacob I didn’t want anyone else. I prayed every night you’d come back to me, to us.”

He lifted my chin up more, our eyes meeting and all the pain from the past five years melting away as he pressed his lips softly to mine. The kiss was gentle at first, then he licked my lips. I parted them and his hands went into my hair, pulling me in for a passionate kiss. The guilt, anguish, sorrow, and love between us pouring into each other’s mouths. 

I pulled away, trying to get some air. I looked into Russell’s eyes, they were full of love and regret. “God, you’re still so beautiful. I was a fool to leave you.” I blushed and smiled, “Yes you were.” I placed a quick kiss on his lips and walked towards the couch. 

I turned and looked at him, “Are you going to stand there or come over here?” He smirked and walked over to the couch and sat down, pulling me down with him. 

I straddled his lap and kissed him again. His hands rested on my hips. I heard Jacob laughing and playing and it snapped me back to reality. I climbed off of Russell’s lap and took a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. This isn’t just about us anymore. Everything I do now directly affects that little boy in there and I refuse to let you break his heart.” 

Russell’s eyes looked up at me, so full of hurt, “I know. I’m sorry. Please give me another chance. I lied earlier. I wasn’t in town. I came here hoping to beg for your forgiveness and see if you’d take me back. I love you and I’ve always loved you. I’ve spent the last five years loving you. I can’t see a future with anyone but you. You’re it for me, Y/N. You always have been and you always will be. God. I know I fucked up, but please give me another chance. I want you and our son to be in my life. I want to help you raise him, I want to be there with you supporting both of you.”

Before I could say anything I heard a small gasp. My head spun and standing in the doorway was Jacob, his green eyes wide. “Mommy, is he my daddy?” 

My heart beat wildly in my chest, and my mouth went dry. I looked at Russell and back at Jacob. I didn’t know what to say. Then Jacob walked over and took my hand, “Mommy, is he?” I looked down at my son and just started crying. 

I fell to the floor and pulled him into my lap, “I’m so sorry, Jacob. This is all my fault. Yes, he’s your daddy. I’m so sorry baby. I never told him about you because I was scared.” 

Russell’s heart broke at the sight in front of him. He got on the floor and put his strong arms around us. “Shh, it’s okay baby. This isn’t your fault.” Jacob looked at Russell and then back at me. “Mommy, don’t cry. It’s okay. He’s here now. He can be my daddy now, right Mr Daddy Russell.” 

Russell chuckled at the name Jacob called him, “Right little man. If it’s okay with mommy I plan on being here and helping with you.” 

Jacob got up, threw his arms around Russell’s neck and hugged him tightly. “I’m glad you’re here daddy.” “Me too, Jacob.” 

I wiped the tears away and looked at Russell and Jacob. My heart filled with so much love for him. Jacob climbed out of his lap and ran back to play. Leaving Russell and I sitting on the floor. 

I looked up at Russell, meeting his green eyes. “Please don’t hurt us again. I can’t survive you breaking my heart and his.” “I swear I’m here for as long as you want me.”

I leaned in close to him, inches from his lips, “How does forever sound?” He leaned closer, our lips almost touching, “Perfect”. Then he kissed me.

A few weeks later was Christmas. Russell had been true to his word and so far he was there every day, helping with Jacob and spending time with us as a family. 

Christmas Eve Jacob insisted he stay the night. After a few too many drinks Russell and I made a little Christmas magic ourselves. We woke up tangled in each other’s arms to the sound of Jacob’s excitement about Santa leaving so many presents. 

We got up, got dressed and walked out into the living room to watch Jacob open gifts. Russell and I sat on the couch, beside each other. I was taking pictures and watching Jacob’s face light up with excitement. 

Jacob climbed on the couch between Russell and I and hugged both of us. “Did you have a good Christmas, baby?” I asked as he snuggled close to me. “Yes mommy.” “Good. What was your favorite part?” 

Jacob looked at me and then at Russell, “Daddy.” I smiled and hugged him, “Yeah, I think so too, baby.” Russell looked at the two of us and smiled, “I think my favorite part was you two. I love you both so much. Merry Christmas, darlin’.” He placed a soft kiss on my lips and one on Jacob’s head. “Merry Christmas, Russell.” 

Tags are open, if you want to be added or removed, let me know.  

Tags: 

@nescaveckwriter @kr804573 

@k-slla @jackles010378 

@jawritter @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx 

@roseblue373 @cheynovak 

@jassackles  @chriszgirl92

@suckitands33 @arcannaa 

@n-o-p-e-never @ladysparkles78 

@smoothdogsgirl @hobby27 

@manicjk @stoneyggirl2 

@deans-spinster-witch @snowayumi 

@shadowqueen1318 @shanimallina87

@muhahaha303 @fitxgrld

@nancymcl @baby19sthings

@cheekygirl2309 @oceean

@kindollss @foxyjwls007

@lmg14 @cevansbaby-dove

@spxideyver @reignsboy19

@deans-baby-momma @deansimpalababy

@ladykitana90 @quietgirll75 

@superrey @kamisobsessed

@obliviousap @ninii-winchester

@mischiefnevermanaged89-blog @whimsyfinny

@bobbdylan @star-yawnznn

@reignsboy19 @monkey-d-hoshizora98

@depressionbarbie2023 @livingdeadblondequeen

@mandee7 @barnes70stark

[read-alert]

December 1 is World AIDS Day!

Where We Go From Here by Lucas Rocha translated to English by Larissa Helena

Full Disclosure by Camryn Garrett

The 2001 run of Green Arrow comics by various contributors

And the Band Played On: Politics, People, and the AIDS Epidemic by Randy Shilts

Love is the Cure On Life, Loss, and the End of AIDS by Elton John

Illness as Metaphor and AIDS and Its Metaphors by Susan Sontag

My Government Means to Kill Me by Rasheed Newson

On my TBR:

Olga Dies Dreaming by Xochitl Gonzalez

How to Survive a Plague: The Inside Story of How Citizens and Science Tamed AIDS by David France

When You Call My Name by Tucker Shaw

Breaking the Walls of Silence: AIDS and Women in New York State Maximum Security Prison by members of the AIDS Counseling and Education Program

The Quilt: Stories from the Names Project by Cindy Ruskin

The Prettiest Star by Carter Sickles

Red X by David Demchuk

The House of Impossible Beauties by Joseph Cassara

Never Silent: ACT UP and My Life in Activism by Peter Staley

Let the Record Show: A Political History of ACT UP New York, 1987-1993 by Sarah Schulman

It Was Vulgar and It Was Beautiful: How AIDS Activists Used Art to Fight a Pandemic by Jack Lowery

Love Your Asian Body: AIDS Activism in Los Angeles Eric C Wat

[minefield-of-a-ninja]

*image of Jensen Ackles is used with permission of the photographer Mandi Lea Photogtaphy.

Summary: After a significant career shift and subsequent break-up, Brandy Miller moves to Wayne County, Pennsylvania, to be closer to family. She invests in a small, sight-unseen condo in a “quiet, charming neighborhood with views of the Poconos and neighbors you can count on.” One particular neighbor seems to have a unique interpretation of what that means.

Characters: Brandy Miller x Soldier Boy, Serge Bernard, Kimiko Miyashiro (mentioned), Maggie Shaw, Annie January, Hughie Campbell, MM (mentioned), John James Davis (AKA Homelander but just as SB’s 21yo son), Butcher (mentioned)

Warnings/tags in this chapter: 18+ ONLY, sexual tension, sexual objectification, rough and degrading sex dream, alcohol, Soldier Boy is a terrible father, explicit sexual content

Words in this chapter: 3,500

Author’s notes: Soldier Boy will be referred to by many names in this fic. The full name I’ve given him is Benjamin James Davis III.

Thank you to @brrose-apothecary @stusbunker and @talltalesandbedtimestories for pre-reads and green lights!

This fills my #Inconsiderate Neighbor square for @jacklesversebingo

CHAPTER ONE

The last five years have been wild. A global pandemic impacted our life choices and decisions more than any other event in the previous 50 years. Career shifts, resettling in vastly different communities, honest declarations of who we are as people and who we love — these things I’ve witnessed first-hand.

I was an executive for a nationally renowned advertising agency. My partner of six years was a successful stock trader. About three weeks into our second lockdown, I realized I couldn’t stand the guy. I went through every reason why I’d have stayed for so long if he was so horrible. I wondered if he hated me too. Then one day, he told me.

“Brandy, I can’t do this anymore.”

He didn’t hate me; he just didn’t love me. He wasn’t horrible; he just wasn’t for me. 

Working remotely gave me a similarly renewed perspective on my career choice. I worked 12 hours a day from my home office overlooking Central Park, drank a bottle of wine to go to sleep, then got up the next morning to do it all over again. Meanwhile, everyone in America was tightening their purse strings on ad spend.

Now, I’m in the Honesdale borough of Wayne County, Pennsylvania, working as a freelance document review specialist. I’m single, own my two-bedroom condo outright, and spend Sundays with my sister Amber and her two teenagers over in Damascus. 

These changes introduced me to a set of concepts that I had previously denied. I thought I was happy, successful, content. 

But I’m told that a constant desire for more hinders contentment. Comparison is the thief of joy, as they say. A sense of entitlement will always bite you in the ass. A lack of gratitude prevents you from appreciating what you already have and fosters a need for something beyond.

As it happens, I have a prospective client meeting in Scranton this afternoon, and my brand-new Jeep won’t start. I guess they don’t make them like they used to. 

“Brandy, mon amie, where are you?” my friend Serge answers my call with worry in his voice.

“My truck won’t start,” I whine.

Last month, I complained to Serge and his partner-in-all-things Kimiko that government work was beginning to bore me. I like new things, which is a bummer, considering desire hinders contentment. Kimiko offered to introduce me to her brother, who works with one of the largest healthcare companies in the country. 

“Oh, cher...” Serge laments in sympathy.

“I know, I know. And this fucking podunk town’s got like two cabs and one Lyft serving the entire county.”

I roll my neck and eyes in frustration, and in my periphery, I glimpse a man inside a single garage stall working on a motorcycle. I’ve never seen him before, but judging by the military-themed tattoos, evident dexterity with the tools he’s wielding, and his proportions, he’s the ‘asshole military contractor’ my next-door neighbor, Maggie, told me about when I moved in. 

Serge frets in Frenglish on the other end of the line before returning to the point. “On se’n occupe. We will handle it.”

I watch my newly discovered neighbor deftly flex and twist and wonder if he’s as adept with other motor vehicles. “Please tell Kimiko I’m sorry and understand if this opportunity’s off the table now.”

My words are meant for Serge, but the man not 10 yards away sends me a subtle, knowing look. There’s an enduring facet of competence and perception in every flick of his eyes and wrist, every shrug of his thick, broad shoulders, and the taunting slant of his jaw. He knows I’m watching him and knows I’m in a bind. 

He pities me.

I tell Serge that I’ll let him know how things go with the car before ending the call then tentatively head toward my neighbor’s garage stall.

“Hey there, I’m Brandy.” I thumb over my shoulder, indicating the general area of my condo. “Are you BJ?”

He smirks at his greasy wrench before answering, “BJ, Soldier Boy, Captain,” then pauses as he drags his eyes from his task to pin me in place. “Take your pick, sweetheart.”

He looks me down and up, slow and heavy, licking his lips. His demeanor would be comical at best and frightening at worst if I weren’t so stunned by the sheer audacity. As he unfolds from a squat, his muscles shift and grind under his sweat-slicked skin. He wipes his filthy hands on a filthier rag and saunters toward me. I have never in my life been so blatantly objectified right to my face.

“Need a ride?” he asks, meeting my eyes again. The rounded toes of his grungy work boots tap the points of my Jimmy Choos.

“I-” I attempt to speak but don’t know what to say. I should be outraged. I should tell him he can’t just look at people like that. He can’t just invade my space.

He tilts his head, and his eyes drop to my chest. “You're all flushed, Brandy. Feeling okay?” He drops his rag to the concrete before ghosting a finger along my collarbone.

Air returns to my lungs and the flush in my chest rises up my throat to my face. I smack his hand away and take a step back. “What the fuck?! Do you always harass and assault women half your size, or is it just me?”

Centuries of gaslighting threaten to drown me from one single look. And then he speaks. “My bad. Didn’t know you were a prude.”

He raises his hands in feigned surrender before returning to his bike.

“I’m a prude because I don’t like being evaluated like a pig going to slaughter?”

He rolls his eyes and sighs. “Listen—no harm, no foul, alright? I thought you were game; you’re not, no big deal.”

“Man, I came over here as a neighbor to introduce myself. You clearly heard part of my call and know my car isn’t starting. I thought, since you’re in here working on a motorcycle, you might also know something about cars.”

He nods. “Got it. Is that where we’re at right now? You want me to take a look at your car?”

“Jesus- what?! Are you for real?”

“No? Okay, then.” He turns his back, and I stare at him for a moment.

Thoughts swirl through my mind. Where is your spine, Brandy? Show him what you’re made of. This isn’t over until you say it is.

A slave to my guts and ego, I’m determined to re-engage. “Yes.” 

He slowly faces me again, eyebrows raised and head tilted in question. “Yes?”

“Yes. I’d appreciate it if you’d take a look at my Jeep.”

His expression shifts—softens, some might say, but his eyes remain hard and cold. “‘Course. What kinda neighbor would I be if I didn’t?”

He strides toward my two-car stall across from his, and I follow with no other excuse than my competitive spirit and morbid fascination with opposition. 

“You pay extra for two stalls?” he asks, glancing at the gym area I’ve set up beside my Jeep before rounding its hood.

From what I’ve gathered in this brief and bracing interaction, Captain BJ Benjamin Soldier Boy isn’t a small-talk kind of person, but I’m not sure yet why he’s asking a simple question like that. I decide to answer as simply.

“Yeah.”

He nods and gestures to the driver’s seat. “Pop the hood.”

I watch through my windshield and the slant of space between the hood and my dash as he quickly pokes and prods at things I know nothing about. Less than two minutes later, he drops the hood shut and walks around to the open driver’s side door.  

“Try it now.” He’s rubbing his hands together and his brow is slightly furrowed like he wishes he hadn’t tossed that rag aside in his garage.

I turn the key in the ignition, and it starts with no issue. 

My morning started with limited knowledge of this man and the inner workings of my Jeep. I had a single goal in mind to expand my client portfolio. I did not grow my business, I have not learned anything new about my vehicle, and my introduction to my neighbor has provided me with very little satisfaction. 

“Coupla loose terminals. It happens with new cars. Gotta break ‘em in.”

I flick my eyes to meet his. He holds my gaze, licks his bottom lip back between his teeth, then backs away before strolling away. 

+

“He’s the fucking poster boy for misogyny.”

Maggie nods as she tops off my glass of wine. “Yeah, calling him an asshole is an insult to assholes, honestly.”

“I felt like I was transported back to the 1950s or something. He’s a caricature of misogyny.”

“The embodiment,” Maggie replies, settling back into her sofa and sipping her wine.

“Does he think that works on women? Like, are there women in his sphere who respond favorably to his behavior? He can’t be rewarded by it. Maybe he’s conducting a social experiment.”

Maggie laughs. “You’re giving him way too much credit.”

“Then why?”

Maggie stares at me for a beat. “The question is, why do you care?”

I’ve thought of nothing else since he left me in my garage yesterday morning. I felt defeated by him. Used, somehow. Inconsequential in the end.

“I hate how he made me feel.”

Maggie remains silent and intent. She’s a great listener, and she never judges.

“I had a dream about him last night.”

She nods. “And how did that make you feel?”

I shake my head and draw a deep breath. It made me feel hot and wild. I was angry and hungry for him. Or for redemption, revenge, or victory. 

“It makes no sense. We interacted for like 10 minutes and I haven’t seen him since. That’s why I care. I can’t get him out of my head. I keep thinking of what I should’ve said or done instead of standing there like a deer in headlights.”

“Don’t let your pride rule you with him. He has no morals, no decency. You won’t win.” 

“You think I’m trying to win something.” 

She’s right. Maggie and I are a lot alike, but she’s smarter and more cautious than I am. Somewhere along the line, she learned a lesson I have yet to let sink in. She learned to resist a challenge and walk away. 

“Aren’t you?”

I shrug. “Maybe.”

“Let’s change the subject,” Maggie suggests. “Did you get that meeting rescheduled, or is it dead?”

I fill her in on my chat with Kimiko. Kimiko’s brother Kenji was gracious enough to reschedule for next week, and I decided it best to go up the night before and spend the night with her and Serge in case I have any other car problems. 

Maggie opens a second bottle of wine and we proceed with our binge of Dead To Me on Netflix. 

+

I’m face down on my weight bench, straddling the padded seat with his fist in my hair and his cock hammering me from behind. He’s saying things to me, violent, hateful words, calling me names.

My wrists are bound, I’m blindfolded, and I am so wet. So wet from his rough hands, the way he slaps my ass and hips and pulls my hair. His voice is deep and rich, and it dominates the atmosphere and my mind. 

He’s had me so many times already, and he wants more. He wants to devour me. He can’t get enough of me.

And I never want him to stop. He treats me like a whore, tells me I’m his whore, and I can’t stop soaking his cock and slicking up the bench. 

“You fucking love my cock.”

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck me.”

I wake up in a sweat after a third night dreaming of him. I feel fractured and unlike myself. I’ve never wanted the kinds of things I’m dreaming about him. I’ve never wanted a man to degrade me or tie me up. 

And this man is a pig of a man. 

But I can’t get him out of my head.

I’m aching and breathless. My sheets are soaked from sweat and my pussy. I reach into my nightstand for my vibrator to soothe the twitching between my legs and rid him from my mind. I think about all the things that usually get me off, but he just keeps coming back around with big, rough hands and dirty words, and teeth that score my tender flesh.

I come silently, arching into my mattress, imagining his hands around my wrists and his cock driving into me hard.

+

When I told the newlyweds who live across the hall from my nemesis that I’d never been to our neighborhood bar, they invited me to join them for burgers and beers. 

“I know it doesn’t look like much, but Butcher’s is an institution. I literally grew up in this bar,” Annie tells me as her husband Hughie distributes sticky menus and napkin roll-ups. 

“I’ll get a pitcher,” Hughie says and heads to the bar.

“I like it. Thanks for bringing me.”

I glance around the space, taking in old pictures and carved sentiments in the wooden beams. It still smells faintly of cigarette smoke after decades of No Smoking laws have been enforced. It reminds me of my favorite New York dive bar.

“Well, I’m glad. I’m sure it can’t be easy to transplant to a place like Honesdale where everybody knows everybody.”

“You know, it hasn’t been too bad. Between you two and Maggie, I’m meeting all the neighbors and learning the ropes like a real local.”

I don’t mention the man who’s rapidly infiltrated every dark corner of my brain since we’re having such a nice time. I don’t want to spoil it, but you don’t always get what you want.

“Ugh, BJ,” Annie gripes, reaching for a menu even though she surely has it memorized. “He is so gross.”

I hazard a glance in the direction of her glare to see the bane of my existence waltzing toward the bar. 

“He better not fuck with Hughie,” Annie says, narrowing her eyes as he brushes shoulders with her groom. 

Hughie gracefully ignores the man’s obvious intention to needle him, gathers three chilled pint glasses and our pitcher, and rounds the crowd away from Captain Creep to return to the table.

“Who’s the kid?” I ask, finally noticing a quiet young man with BJ at the bar.

“That’s his son John. That kid’s been through the wringer with BJ and his mom. I don’t know why he still comes around; he clearly cannot stand the man any more than us.”

John’s smaller than his dad. He’s almost delicate-looking with a thick swath of blonde hair and deep blue eyes. He doesn’t have the swagger of the man next to him, and he seems to wish he were anywhere but here.

“MM, my man, it’s my boy’s 21st birthday! Get him a whiskey and a round for the house on me.”

“Hey.” Hughie settles the pint glasses on the table before filling each one, serving Annie and me first, then sitting down to pour his own. “John’s 21st. This oughtta be an interesting night.”

Annie tells me stories about babysitting John when he was a kid. He was sweet and gentle, quiet but curious, and his dad taunted him for it.

“He called his 6-year-old son a pussy.” She shakes her head. “Who does that?”

John slides into a barstool and idly sips his whiskey. A few of the older patrons wish him Happy Birthday, and MM makes a point to keep his water glass and popcorn bowl full while John’s dad struts around, flirting with every woman and slapping the backs of every man. 

It’s odd to see people react to him positively. Men, no matter their age, appear to admire him, and every woman he smiles at blushes and giggles. 

“They don’t know him like we do,” Hughie says. “Should we order? Butcher’s in the back tonight.”

I decide on the ”Terror,” a half-pound beef burger with taleggio, prosciutto, and peperoncini, medium-well. Annie recommends the cheesy house fries with special sauce as a shared dish, and within 20 minutes, we have our food and a second pitcher.

A soft buzz from light American beer warms and loosens me up. In this state, I’m less critical of my thoughts about the man who’s starred in my most desperate and debased dreams this past week. 

He looks good. He’s agile and powerful, which is a spectacular combination. People laugh at his jokes. They gravitate toward him. They think he’s charming and handsome, and from the background of Annie’s stories, I learn that he’s a war hero. 

It’s nice to feel something other than the overwhelming angst and shame I’ve felt all week. He affects people; it’s okay. I’m not an outlier. I just have to ride this out.

We finish our food, and I excuse myself to the restroom. There’s a vanilla candle burning on a table beside a well-loved armchair, a basket with single-size toiletries, pads and tampons, condoms, hand soap, and lotion. Definite homey vibe.

As I step through the door into the hallway, I’m jolted from my chill by a deep voice.

“Look at you all caszh and relaxed.” 

He’s propped between the men’s and women’s, so close I brush his arm when I whirl around to connect the voice with a face.

“Jesus, you scared me.”

“Hmm.” He pushes off the wall and turns into me, backing me against the closed door.

“There’s that flush,” he murmurs. He does that thing with his finger again that made me smack his hand away earlier this week. This time, I let him.

“Is it because I scared you,” he pauses and catches my eye. “Or something else?”

I close my eyes and let my head fall back to the door, feeling the heat and buzz of a potentially malicious yet certainly pleasurable outcome. He slides a knee between my thighs and skims a heavy hand over my hip, nuzzling against my throat with a low chuckle.

My breath catches in my chest under the hand he has pressed there, holding me in place, keeping me where he wants me. Ire swirls and rises from my gut, and I grip his t-shirt in my fists to yank him into the restroom.

“There she is.” He stumbles backward with a grin as I throw the lock.

“Shut up.” I push him to sit in the chair before climbing astride him and diving in.

His lips are plush and demanding, his beard is soft, and his mouth is superheated and whiskey-wet. He’s hard and hot everywhere I touch as I tug at the button and zipper of his jeans. His hands roam over denim and my cotton t-shirt. He nips at my lips and toys with the button of my jeans.

“Fuck,” I growl, pushing out of his lap to get my pants down.

Before I know it, he’s spun me around, and he’s shimmying my jeans and underwear over my hips and down my thighs. He slumps into the chair and fits a condom over his length, then juts his hips forward to give me a place to rest. One long arm wraps my middle, and he slips two fingers over my wet slit. The wide pads of his fingertips swirl around my clit, and I brace my hands on the arms of the chair. Then he’s teasing me with his hard cock, rutting underneath, making me squirm. 

When he finally pushes inside, I shout and groan from the stretch and insane rhythm he’s keeping on my clit. I go off—ride him, pumping my thighs and elbows, using his arm around my middle for leverage. 

In less than a minute, I’m coming. One second later, he’s on his feet with me on my knees in the chair. He forces me to bend and hold onto the back, grips my bare hips, and pushes inside me again. He’s muttering, grunting, and, god, he’s hitting that spot with every thrust. 

“Come on, Brandy,” he gasps. “Lemme feel that tight little cunt come again. Make me come.”

I reach down between my legs and press over my mound, relishing his measured thrusts. I’m booze and fuck drunk, and my ears are ringing. His hands tighten on my hips, and we both come, swearing and howling.

Chapter Two coming soon...

What did you think? Reblog to share if you liked it! And let me know your thoughts. xox

More Soldier Boy | MJ's Master List

@yvonneeeee @hobby27 @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@lacilou @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @suckitands33

@syrma-sensei @deanwinchesterswitch @deans-baby-momma @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @k-slla @leigh70

@kazsrm67 @hotpeoplesimp1 @crashlyrose @pamhrg @winharry

@barewithme02 @waters-2567 @lolololagrey @goldenmaknaes @deadlydivergentgirl

@bigmouthlass @wingedcatninja @adoptdontshoppets @noeliatr @baddietightpants

@candy-coated-misery0731 @pycobutterpie @littlegreenplasticsoldier @rizlowwritessortof @waynes-multiverse

@skyeasnothere @kenzieloulou17 @lovelyunjinn @starry-dahl @lanassmarty

@sevendevilsinmyimpala @anonymouswall @urfav-human7756 @hoe4lilyrabe @artemys-ackles

@lisah-over18 @jizzmans-world @mariefandom @technicallyeclecticblaze @yo222222

@srtadong @grimtherula @cc00897 @jackles010378 @123passwort

@amanduhjean @w33p1ng @rubberducky999 @monstrousmars @fangirling-instead-of-working

@am222444 @winchester-sinchester @kickingitwithkirk @indecisive30something @deans-psych

@fullwattpadmusictree @panders91 @motherofevee @thoughts-and-funnies @perpetualabsurdity

@iliser @krazykelly @he-touched-the-but @jensenackles-makes-life-better @hotmessmageereads

@cemmia @sofiasommariva @solariklees @ladywinchester1967 @bumbleb10

@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @rainy-darling @rachiem4-blog @nothingtodobutdrink @waywardlass-blog

@idiotdyslexic @muchamusedaboutnothing @cutestdolans @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior @harleysninja

@kdfrqqg @tumbler-tidbits @hoboal87 @ushistorylover1018 @waywardgypsy

@missannwinchester @cosmicspacewitch @readingsins @sammylinda @alwaystiredandconfused

@pascal-rascal424 @likhelbentin @mere-mortifer @mylovelydame21 @squirrelnotsam

@hell0ag0ny @phirephly09 @redbarn1995 @alleiradayne @wayward-and-worn

@anspgene @fallwhisper @socalgem1124 @deanismybaby67 @purpleunicorn166

@brrose-apothecary @stusbunker @mrswhozeewhatsis @talltalesandbedtimestories @sam-is-my-safe-word

@spn-fanfic-reblog-writes

[impala-dreamer]

Don't Mention It

A Tracker Story

Russell Shaw x GN!Reader

590 Words

SFW, Fluff, Kissy Kiss

Requested by @deans-spinster-witch

Cozy Drabbles '24 Masterlist

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

Light plays on his face highlighting every perfect line, every beautiful scar. Deep orange dances from the campfire and lights the flecks of gold in his green eyes and the strands of gray in his thick beard. Lifting a beer to his lips, he catches you staring out of the corner of his eye. Your stomach flips. Butterflies swarm and your cheeks burn.

The fire crackles and he smiles. 

“You warm enough over there?” he asks, voice deep and hushed. 

Nodding, you tug the old wool blanket tighter around your shoulders. “Kinda,” you confess. An unexpected shiver lights your spine and you shake with a laugh. “Maybe not.” 

Russell laughs softly and tips the bottle back, draining his third beer. He stands without an issue and grabs a nearby stick, jabbing it into the center of the fire. The logs shift and sparks fly. A wave of warmth strikes your face and you sigh happily. 

“Better?”

Opening your eyes, you find him above you, standing a little closer than before. He’s blocking the stars overhead but you don’t mind. You’d rather look at him anyway. 

“A bit, yeah.” 

Tossing the stick aside, he sits again, this time next to you on the fallen tree. His bowed legs spread and his knee brushes yours. They’re layers of denim between you but you swear you can feel a shock as if his skin is grazing yours. 

More butterflies. More burning. 

Russell clears his throat as if he’s been considering something deep and has finally made a decision. Without asking, he throws his arm around your shoulders and tugs you close. 

“This OK?” he asks, already settling in. 

Your voice is shaky and you hate the nerves coursing through your system. “Y-yeah. Thanks.” 

How strange to be snuggling up to the man who only hours ago was saving you from a vengeful madman out for blood. Stranger still to feel so safe in his arms, so protected. 

Somewhere in the distance, a branch falls. Animals move through the trees. Dry leaves fall and float on the wind. Time passes but nothing really matters. For a moment, everything is alright. 

“This is kinda nice,” he says suddenly, pulling you out of the peaceful trance of the flames. 

“It is. Especially after today.” 

He stiffens and pulls back to look you over. Concern floods his face and darkens his voice. “Shit. How’s your ankle?”

“It’s fine,” you say with a shrug. “Nothing’s broken.” 

His smile is kind and genuine. “Good.” 

His eyes never leave you and your chest swells. He’s too pretty to be so rugged and tough. Too sweet to be so damaged. 

The blanket falls from your shoulders as you lean in, following your desire for once in your life. 

He gasps in surprise, sucking in a quick breath as your lips hit his, but he soon melts into it. His plump lips part and he tips his head to the side while your tongue presses gently into his mouth. He hums and his hands hover over your hips, nervous to land, afraid the touch will move things too quickly. The slowness, the newness, the full need pulsing in your kiss is more than enough for the moment. He exhales against your cheek and you pull back with a shy grin. 

“Hi.” 

He reels, blinking quickly to find reality between the cracks of his blossoming pornographic thoughts. 

“Hey.” 

“Thanks for saving my life,” you whisper. 

Russell blushes, his cheeks on fire just as sure as his desire. He shrugs coyly. “Don’t mention it…”