Here’s what I’m currently working on: Current Works In Progress
Fandoms I write for:
🤍 Supernatural
🤍 The Boys
🤍 Tracker
🤍 Walker
🤍 Big Sky
Soldier Boy (The Boys)
1. pov: you make an Instagram profile for Ben (Social Media AU)
2. Part two of making Ben an Instagram account (Social Media AU)
3. Loving Soldier Boy (drabble)
Summary: Just a short n’ (bitter)sweet drabble about what it’s like to love Ben.
Warnings: language, innuendos (c’mon, it’s Ben), mention of violence
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Beau Arlen (Big Sky)
1. Fridays are for beer and heartbreak (Beau Arlen x Reader)
Summary: Your favorite patron’s there to mend your broken heart.
Warnings: none? oh, maybe that English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry for any mistakes.
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Sam Winchester (Supernatural)
1. What he doesn’t know (Sam Winchester x Reader)
Summary: You’re hiding two dangerous secrets from Sam. Little did you know, he’s just uncovered one, but it’s not the one you think.
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Dean Winchester (Supernatural)
1. Roots in my dreamland (Dean Winchester x Forest Spirit!Reader)
Summary: Dean encounters a mysterious forest spirit who’s an enigma.
Loosely based on ivy by Taylor Swift.
Warnings: unprotected SMUT (bring protection with yourself, yes, even to a forest), P in V, being naked in the snow, fingering, crack ending, grammar mistakes galore.
2. The Great Invasion (series in progress) (Dean Winchester x reader)
Summary: In a world turned upside down, where monsters hunt and hunters are the prey, Y/N must choose: follow the new rules to stay alive or join a rogue band of hunters determined to reclaim power and change the game for good.
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Russell Shaw (Tracker)
1. Tuesday’s Gone (series completed) (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.
2. Dig That Crazy Santa Claus (A Tuesday’s Gone Christmas drabble) (Russell Shaw x reader)
Summary: Your daughter may have uncovered her dad's greatest secret ever.
Summary: Russell wants to have a serious conversation with you.
Warnings: mentions of almost losing someone, misunderstandings, fluff and banter, otherwise none🤍
Song inspo: Friday I’m in Love by The Cure
Friday nights were usually your favorite. Emma had a habit of spending the night with either your parents, your sister, Dory, or one of her kindergarten friends, giving you and Russell a few blissful hours just to yourselves. So much so that Russell had even hired two bartenders for brewery duties on those nights, just so you two could have some uninterrupted time together.
You loved those nights. Despite the PG-rated activities, you could talk and spend time together without any distractions or responsibilities breathing down your necks.
This Friday was different, though. It started with a serious conversation. The kind that made your stomach do that awful little flip.
Russell sat across from you at the kitchen table, elbows resting on the worn wood, fingers drumming an uneven rhythm. He was nervous, you could see.
“We need to talk” he said.
Ah. The four words no one ever wants to hear.
Your heart stuttered, but still answered as softly as you could. “Okaaay…?”
Russell exhaled through his nose, gaze flicking to the ceiling like he was searching for words. Not. Good.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about… the future” he started. His tone was so goddamn careful like he was easing into bad news. “About us. About—”
You shot up from your chair, shaking your head. “If you’re about to break up with me, Russ, I swear to God—“
“What?” His head jerked back, eyes wide. “Break up with you? Are you—? No! Jesus— sit down!”
“Then what?” you demanded, heart still hammering. “You’ve got the face.”
“The face?”
“Yeah. The face. The serious face. The ‘I’m about to tell you something that’s gonna make you mad’ face. And I see you’re anxious as hell.”
He blinked. Then sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Y’know, I had this whole speech planned out. Real romantic, all that. But now you’re looking at me like you wanna throw me out the window, so—” Russell pushed his chair back, got up, and dropped to one knee. “—better just jump straight to the main point.”
Your brain short-circuited.
“Are you kidding—”
“Lemme talk” he cut in, smirking now. “Or I really will make you mad.”
Your mouth snapped shut.
He pulled a small velvet box from his pocket and popped it open, revealing a ring — a simple, elegant thing, nothing flashy, nothing overdone. Still, it was perfect.
Russell looked up at you, and there wasn’t a hint of teasing in his expression. Just warmth. Just certainty. Just love.
“You and me… we’ve been through more than most” he started, voice steady yet soft. “And I know I haven’t exactly had the best track record when it comes to sticking around... or tellin’ the truth.” He huffed a quiet laugh. “But somehow, despite all my bullshit, you’re still here. Even though, honestly, I don’t think I deserve it.”
You swallowed hard, your heart caught somewhere between your throat and your ribs. That he was still so hard on himself made your heart clench.
“I thought I lost you once” he continued, his grip tightening slightly on the box. “And then I thought I lost Emma before I even got to know her. And let me tell you, sweetheart, that kind of regret… It’ll eat a man alive.”
Your chest ached at the memory.
Russell shook his head, giving you a small, lopsided smile. “But then… you let me back in. And Emma? She looked at me like I hung the damn moon up there. Like I was hers, no matter what.” He let out a breath. “And you— You make me wanna be better. Not just for you, not just for her. For me.”
He reached for your hand, running his thumb over your fingers.
“So yeah, I’ve been thinking a lot about the future. And I know exactly what I want.” His grin softened. “It’s you, darlin’. It’s always been you.”
Your breath left you in a rush.
“So” he went on, tilting his head. “What do you say? Wanna make it official? Wanna marry the guy who definitely almost gave you a heart attack just now?”
You let out a shaky laugh. “I think I’m gonna fugly cry.”
“That ain’t a no” he teased.
You rolled your eyes, your heart still hammering, your throat still tight. Then, finally, you grinned. “Yeah, Russ. It’s a yes. You seriously thought I’d say no?!”
His face split into that full, heart-melting smile, the one that made you fall for him in the first place back at that goddamn diner.
“Well… your dad gave me hell until he gave me his blessing. Made a man question himself” he admitted.
“You asked Dad?” Your heart skipped a beat.
“‘course. I know what he’d say if I didn’t. And I’m not looking to fall out of his good graces again… once was more than enough, trust me.”
He stood, sliding the ring onto your finger, then tugged you in by the waist, pressing his forehead to yours.
“See?” he murmured. “Not so bad.”
You huffed a laugh. “I really thought you were breaking up with me.”
Russell chuckled against your lips. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. Consider it payback for making me sit through that ridiculously long series with Colin Firth yesterday.”
You gasped. “You said you liked Pride and Prejudice!”
“Sweetheart, I was asleep before the first twenty minutes were up.”
“Unbelievable” you muttered, tugging him in for a kiss anyway.
And just like that, this Friday officially became your favorite.
Hehe, I’d say it was about time, wouldn’t you? Anyway, hope you enjoyed this little detour in the Tuesday’s Gone-verse! 🤍
Summary: Russell wants to have a serious conversation with you.
Warnings: mentions of almost losing someone, misunderstandings, fluff and banter, otherwise none🤍
Song inspo: Friday I’m in Love by The Cure
Friday nights were usually your favorite. Emma had a habit of spending the night with either your parents, your sister, Dory, or one of her kindergarten friends, giving you and Russell a few blissful hours just to yourselves. So much so that Russell had even hired two bartenders for brewery duties on those nights, just so you two could have some uninterrupted time together.
You loved those nights. Despite the PG-rated activities, you could talk and spend time together without any distractions or responsibilities breathing down your necks.
This Friday was different, though. It started with a serious conversation. The kind that made your stomach do that awful little flip.
Russell sat across from you at the kitchen table, elbows resting on the worn wood, fingers drumming an uneven rhythm. He was nervous, you could see.
“We need to talk” he said.
Ah. The four words no one ever wants to hear.
Your heart stuttered, but still answered as softly as you could. “Okaaay…?”
Russell exhaled through his nose, gaze flicking to the ceiling like he was searching for words. Not. Good.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about… the future” he started. His tone was so goddamn careful like he was easing into bad news. “About us. About—”
You shot up from your chair, shaking your head. “If you’re about to break up with me, Russ, I swear to God—“
“What?” His head jerked back, eyes wide. “Break up with you? Are you—? No! Jesus— sit down!”
“Then what?” you demanded, heart still hammering. “You’ve got the face.”
“The face?”
“Yeah. The face. The serious face. The ‘I’m about to tell you something that’s gonna make you mad’ face. And I see you’re anxious as hell.”
He blinked. Then sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Y’know, I had this whole speech planned out. Real romantic, all that. But now you’re looking at me like you wanna throw me out the window, so—” Russell pushed his chair back, got up, and dropped to one knee. “—better just jump straight to the main point.”
Your brain short-circuited.
“Are you kidding—”
“Lemme talk” he cut in, smirking now. “Or I really will make you mad.”
Your mouth snapped shut.
He pulled a small velvet box from his pocket and popped it open, revealing a ring — a simple, elegant thing, nothing flashy, nothing overdone. Still, it was perfect.
Russell looked up at you, and there wasn’t a hint of teasing in his expression. Just warmth. Just certainty. Just love.
“You and me… we’ve been through more than most” he started, voice steady yet soft. “And I know I haven’t exactly had the best track record when it comes to sticking around... or tellin’ the truth.” He huffed a quiet laugh. “But somehow, despite all my bullshit, you’re still here. Even though, honestly, I don’t think I deserve it.”
You swallowed hard, your heart caught somewhere between your throat and your ribs. That he was still so hard on himself made your heart clench.
“I thought I lost you once” he continued, his grip tightening slightly on the box. “And then I thought I lost Emma before I even got to know her. And let me tell you, sweetheart, that kind of regret… It’ll eat a man alive.”
Your chest ached at the memory.
Russell shook his head, giving you a small, lopsided smile. “But then… you let me back in. And Emma? She looked at me like I hung the damn moon up there. Like I was hers, no matter what.” He let out a breath. “And you— You make me wanna be better. Not just for you, not just for her. For me.”
He reached for your hand, running his thumb over your fingers.
“So yeah, I’ve been thinking a lot about the future. And I know exactly what I want.” His grin softened. “It’s you, darlin’. It’s always been you.”
Your breath left you in a rush.
“So” he went on, tilting his head. “What do you say? Wanna make it official? Wanna marry the guy who definitely almost gave you a heart attack just now?”
You let out a shaky laugh. “I think I’m gonna fugly cry.”
“That ain’t a no” he teased.
You rolled your eyes, your heart still hammering, your throat still tight. Then, finally, you grinned. “Yeah, Russ. It’s a yes. You seriously thought I’d say no?!”
His face split into that full, heart-melting smile, the one that made you fall for him in the first place back at that goddamn diner.
“Well… your dad gave me hell until he gave me his blessing. Made a man question himself” he admitted.
“You asked Dad?” Your heart skipped a beat.
“‘course. I know what he’d say if I didn’t. And I’m not looking to fall out of his good graces again… once was more than enough, trust me.”
He stood, sliding the ring onto your finger, then tugged you in by the waist, pressing his forehead to yours.
“See?” he murmured. “Not so bad.”
You huffed a laugh. “I really thought you were breaking up with me.”
Russell chuckled against your lips. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. Consider it payback for making me sit through that ridiculously long series with Colin Firth yesterday.”
You gasped. “You said you liked Pride and Prejudice!”
“Sweetheart, I was asleep before the first twenty minutes were up.”
“Unbelievable” you muttered, tugging him in for a kiss anyway.
And just like that, this Friday officially became your favorite.
Hehe, I’d say it was about time, wouldn’t you? Anyway, hope you enjoyed this little detour in the Tuesday’s Gone-verse! 🤍
Summary: Russell wants to have a serious conversation with you.
Warnings: mentions of almost losing someone, misunderstandings, fluff and banter, otherwise none🤍
Song inspo: Friday I’m in Love by The Cure
Friday nights were usually your favorite. Emma had a habit of spending the night with either your parents, your sister, Dory, or one of her kindergarten friends, giving you and Russell a few blissful hours just to yourselves. So much so that Russell had even hired two bartenders for brewery duties on those nights, just so you two could have some uninterrupted time together.
You loved those nights. Despite the PG-rated activities, you could talk and spend time together without any distractions or responsibilities breathing down your necks.
This Friday was different, though. It started with a serious conversation. The kind that made your stomach do that awful little flip.
Russell sat across from you at the kitchen table, elbows resting on the worn wood, fingers drumming an uneven rhythm. He was nervous, you could see.
“We need to talk” he said.
Ah. The four words no one ever wants to hear.
Your heart stuttered, but still answered as softly as you could. “Okaaay…?”
Russell exhaled through his nose, gaze flicking to the ceiling like he was searching for words. Not. Good.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about… the future” he started. His tone was so goddamn careful like he was easing into bad news. “About us. About—”
You shot up from your chair, shaking your head. “If you’re about to break up with me, Russ, I swear to God—“
“What?” His head jerked back, eyes wide. “Break up with you? Are you—? No! Jesus— sit down!”
“Then what?” you demanded, heart still hammering. “You’ve got the face.”
“The face?”
“Yeah. The face. The serious face. The ‘I’m about to tell you something that’s gonna make you mad’ face. And I see you’re anxious as hell.”
He blinked. Then sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Y’know, I had this whole speech planned out. Real romantic, all that. But now you’re looking at me like you wanna throw me out the window, so—” Russell pushed his chair back, got up, and dropped to one knee. “—better just jump straight to the main point.”
Your brain short-circuited.
“Are you kidding—”
“Lemme talk” he cut in, smirking now. “Or I really will make you mad.”
Your mouth snapped shut.
He pulled a small velvet box from his pocket and popped it open, revealing a ring — a simple, elegant thing, nothing flashy, nothing overdone. Still, it was perfect.
Russell looked up at you, and there wasn’t a hint of teasing in his expression. Just warmth. Just certainty. Just love.
“You and me… we’ve been through more than most” he started, voice steady yet soft. “And I know I haven’t exactly had the best track record when it comes to sticking around... or tellin’ the truth.” He huffed a quiet laugh. “But somehow, despite all my bullshit, you’re still here. Even though, honestly, I don’t think I deserve it.”
You swallowed hard, your heart caught somewhere between your throat and your ribs. That he was still so hard on himself made your heart clench.
“I thought I lost you once” he continued, his grip tightening slightly on the box. “And then I thought I lost Emma before I even got to know her. And let me tell you, sweetheart, that kind of regret… It’ll eat a man alive.”
Your chest ached at the memory.
Russell shook his head, giving you a small, lopsided smile. “But then… you let me back in. And Emma? She looked at me like I hung the damn moon up there. Like I was hers, no matter what.” He let out a breath. “And you— You make me wanna be better. Not just for you, not just for her. For me.”
He reached for your hand, running his thumb over your fingers.
“So yeah, I’ve been thinking a lot about the future. And I know exactly what I want.” His grin softened. “It’s you, darlin’. It’s always been you.”
Your breath left you in a rush.
“So” he went on, tilting his head. “What do you say? Wanna make it official? Wanna marry the guy who definitely almost gave you a heart attack just now?”
You let out a shaky laugh. “I think I’m gonna fugly cry.”
“That ain’t a no” he teased.
You rolled your eyes, your heart still hammering, your throat still tight. Then, finally, you grinned. “Yeah, Russ. It’s a yes. You seriously thought I’d say no?!”
His face split into that full, heart-melting smile, the one that made you fall for him in the first place back at that goddamn diner.
“Well… your dad gave me hell until he gave me his blessing. Made a man question himself” he admitted.
“You asked Dad?” Your heart skipped a beat.
“‘course. I know what he’d say if I didn’t. And I’m not looking to fall out of his good graces again… once was more than enough, trust me.”
He stood, sliding the ring onto your finger, then tugged you in by the waist, pressing his forehead to yours.
“See?” he murmured. “Not so bad.”
You huffed a laugh. “I really thought you were breaking up with me.”
Russell chuckled against your lips. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. Consider it payback for making me sit through that ridiculously long series with Colin Firth yesterday.”
You gasped. “You said you liked Pride and Prejudice!”
“Sweetheart, I was asleep before the first twenty minutes were up.”
“Unbelievable” you muttered, tugging him in for a kiss anyway.
And just like that, this Friday officially became your favorite.
Hehe, I’d say it was about time, wouldn’t you? Anyway, hope you enjoyed this little detour in the Tuesday’s Gone-verse! 🤍
Summary: Russell wants to have a serious conversation with you.
Warnings: mentions of almost losing someone, misunderstandings, fluff and banter, otherwise none🤍
Song inspo: Friday I’m in Love by The Cure
Friday nights were usually your favorite. Emma had a habit of spending the night with either your parents, your sister, Dory, or one of her kindergarten friends, giving you and Russell a few blissful hours just to yourselves. So much so that Russell had even hired two bartenders for brewery duties on those nights, just so you two could have some uninterrupted time together.
You loved those nights. Despite the PG-rated activities, you could talk and spend time together without any distractions or responsibilities breathing down your necks.
This Friday was different, though. It started with a serious conversation. The kind that made your stomach do that awful little flip.
Russell sat across from you at the kitchen table, elbows resting on the worn wood, fingers drumming an uneven rhythm. He was nervous, you could see.
“We need to talk” he said.
Ah. The four words no one ever wants to hear.
Your heart stuttered, but still answered as softly as you could. “Okaaay…?”
Russell exhaled through his nose, gaze flicking to the ceiling like he was searching for words. Not. Good.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about… the future” he started. His tone was so goddamn careful like he was easing into bad news. “About us. About—”
You shot up from your chair, shaking your head. “If you’re about to break up with me, Russ, I swear to God—“
“What?” His head jerked back, eyes wide. “Break up with you? Are you—? No! Jesus— sit down!”
“Then what?” you demanded, heart still hammering. “You’ve got the face.”
“The face?”
“Yeah. The face. The serious face. The ‘I’m about to tell you something that’s gonna make you mad’ face. And I see you’re anxious as hell.”
He blinked. Then sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Y’know, I had this whole speech planned out. Real romantic, all that. But now you’re looking at me like you wanna throw me out the window, so—” Russell pushed his chair back, got up, and dropped to one knee. “—better just jump straight to the main point.”
Your brain short-circuited.
“Are you kidding—”
“Lemme talk” he cut in, smirking now. “Or I really will make you mad.”
Your mouth snapped shut.
He pulled a small velvet box from his pocket and popped it open, revealing a ring — a simple, elegant thing, nothing flashy, nothing overdone. Still, it was perfect.
Russell looked up at you, and there wasn’t a hint of teasing in his expression. Just warmth. Just certainty. Just love.
“You and me… we’ve been through more than most” he started, voice steady yet soft. “And I know I haven’t exactly had the best track record when it comes to sticking around... or tellin’ the truth.” He huffed a quiet laugh. “But somehow, despite all my bullshit, you’re still here. Even though, honestly, I don’t think I deserve it.”
You swallowed hard, your heart caught somewhere between your throat and your ribs. That he was still so hard on himself made your heart clench.
“I thought I lost you once” he continued, his grip tightening slightly on the box. “And then I thought I lost Emma before I even got to know her. And let me tell you, sweetheart, that kind of regret… It’ll eat a man alive.”
Your chest ached at the memory.
Russell shook his head, giving you a small, lopsided smile. “But then… you let me back in. And Emma? She looked at me like I hung the damn moon up there. Like I was hers, no matter what.” He let out a breath. “And you— You make me wanna be better. Not just for you, not just for her. For me.”
He reached for your hand, running his thumb over your fingers.
“So yeah, I’ve been thinking a lot about the future. And I know exactly what I want.” His grin softened. “It’s you, darlin’. It’s always been you.”
Your breath left you in a rush.
“So” he went on, tilting his head. “What do you say? Wanna make it official? Wanna marry the guy who definitely almost gave you a heart attack just now?”
You let out a shaky laugh. “I think I’m gonna fugly cry.”
“That ain’t a no” he teased.
You rolled your eyes, your heart still hammering, your throat still tight. Then, finally, you grinned. “Yeah, Russ. It’s a yes. You seriously thought I’d say no?!”
His face split into that full, heart-melting smile, the one that made you fall for him in the first place back at that goddamn diner.
“Well… your dad gave me hell until he gave me his blessing. Made a man question himself” he admitted.
“You asked Dad?” Your heart skipped a beat.
“‘course. I know what he’d say if I didn’t. And I’m not looking to fall out of his good graces again… once was more than enough, trust me. Even made sure your mom was on board with it. She’s a lot scarier than your dad, y’ know.”
He stood, sliding the ring onto your finger, then tugged you in by the waist, pressing his forehead to yours.
“See?” he murmured. “Not so bad.”
You huffed a laugh. “I really thought you were breaking up with me.”
Russell chuckled against your lips. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. Consider it payback for making me sit through that ridiculously long series with Colin Firth yesterday.”
You gasped. “You said you liked Pride and Prejudice!”
“Sweetheart, I was asleep before the first twenty minutes were up.”
“Unbelievable” you muttered, tugging him in for a kiss anyway.
And just like that, this Friday officially became your favorite.
Hehe, I’d say it was about time, wouldn’t you? Anyway, hope you enjoyed this little detour in the Tuesday’s Gone-verse! 🤍
Hey there! I figured it was time to make a post about what’s currently stealing all my brain cells (aka what I’m working on currently). I’ll be updating it regularly, so you’ll always know what kind of chaos to expect from me next 🤍
What’s next:
🤍 The Great Invasion Chapter 5 (Dean Winchester x reader)
Summary: In a world turned upside down, where monsters are the ones who hunt and hunters are the prey, Y/N must choose: follow the new rules to stay alive or join a rogue band of hunters determined to reclaim power and change the game for good.
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 and mention of murder, language, crawling in a narrow vent (I’m sorry my fellow claustrophobic loves), being held captive, being kidnapped
A/N: While proofreading, I realized my subconscious was probably influenced by @zepskies ’ S.I.N.G. (Beau Arlen x reader) fic — even with the different Jackles character. So, I want to give her credit for the first part of this chapter. 🤍
Title’s based on Tuesday’s Gone by Lynyrd Skynyrd.
Catch up on Chapter 3 here
Tuesday’s Gone masterlist
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You couldn’t stop the giggles, even as Russell held you firm, your back flush against his chest, his hands pinning yours effortlessly. The whole thing was just… well, kind of hot, really.
“Y/N” he sighed for the hundredth time, clearly on the edge of his patience. “You can’t giggle your way out of an actual assault. Try to focus, will you? What would you do if I were someone else?”
“But you’re you” you teased, half-joking, half-distracted. “And anyway, self-defense is kind of pointless. We live in a safe neighborhood. Nobody’s going to lay a hand on me.”
He let out a frustrated sigh, his grip tightening slightly as he paused, clearly choosing his words carefully. “Look, sweetheart… you’re a young, attractive woman” he said finally. “It’d just make me feel better if I knew you could handle yourself if… anything happened when I’m not around.”
At the time, you had no idea what he meant by that.
“Can you hear that?” you whispered, your ears straining in mock suspense. Russell’s brows knit together as he shot you a confused look.
“Hear what?”
“Paranoid by Black Sabbath. Pretty sure it’s coming from over here,” you said, playfully poking your finger at his temple.
He deadpanned as he repeated your name once more. It sounded almost… pleading. You didnt miss that, and though you still thought he was being over-the-top, you decided to give in.
“Fine…” you sighed “show me these life-saving moves, oh, mighty master!”
Russell cracked a grin, but his expression quickly shifted to that serious trainer look he was trying way too hard to pull off.
“Alright. First rule: break their grip. Grab my wrist… Come on, like you mean it.”
You reached out, gripping his wrist, and he showed you how to twist and pull back, making it surprisingly easy to break free. “See? Leverage, not strength” he explained.
“Okay, fine. Not bad” you admitted, trying not to let him see you were actually impressed. It was kind of cool.
He moved on, showing you a move to throw off an attacker.
“Step in close, get low, and drive your shoulder up under their chin” he said, positioning himself as the attacker. You gave it a try, and he stumbled back with a laugh.
“That’s the spirit!” he said, straightening up. You didn’t miss the small glint of pride in his eyes. “Alright, one more. This time, if someone comes at you from behind.”
Before you knew it, his arms were around you from behind, pulling you close. It was very déjà vu to the way he’d started this whole lesson. “Now, if you were actually in danger—”
“Danger, yes” you teased, leaning back into him just a bit and looked up at him through your lashes. “How’s a girl supposed to focus with such a handsome teacher breathing down her neck? I’m kind of having trouble concentrating, you know.”
He shook his head, a grin slipping out as he loosened his grip. “Laugh it up, sweetheart, but I’m serious here. You’ve got this. Just remember what I taught you, alright? What’s the most important rule!”
You smirked, crossing your arms. “When in doubt… aim for the balls.”
Russell chuckled, eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief. “That’s my girl” he said, pulling you into a kiss.
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A sharp throb pulsed through your skull, but it was nothing compared to the hollow ache in your chest. The cold floor beneath you felt like concrete, but you couldn’t be sure. For now, you kept your eyes closed, trying to piece together what the hell had happened.
The last thing you remembered was the warehouse — those two men ambushing you and Russell.
It was a trap. All of it, carefully set to lure Russell back in, and you along with him.
Your thoughts turned to Russell. He had to be here, somewhere… Somewhere close. The thought pushed you to crack one eye open. Dim light filtered through, casting shadows that made everything look warped and surreal.
You sat up slowly, feeling your muscles protest as you took in your surroundings. The room was small, cramped… more like a cell than a room.
The smell of mildew filled the air, mingling with the unmistakable metallic scent of rusted metal and something else. Blood. Your pulse quickened as you took in the details, every instinct screaming that escape wasn’t an option here.
Your gaze drifted to the far corner, where a dark shape slumped against the wall. Heart pounding, you squinted through the low light, hoping beyond hope that it was him. “Russell?” you tried to call out to him, but it was more of a whisper than anything.
A soft groan answered you, and relief mixed with dread flashed through your veins. You crawled forward, ignoring the scrape of the rough floor against your palms and knees.
As you got closer, Russell’s face came into view. It was uncharacteristically pale, smeared with a hint of dried blood. It wasn’t that bad, but still… it looked like his. His breaths were shallow, his eyes half-closed, and a few small bruises bloomed across his face and arms, telling you he hadn’t escaped this unscathed.
“Hey, Russ” you murmured, reaching out to touch his shoulder gently. His nickname felt both foreign and natural falling from your lips. It’s been a while since you called him that.
His skin was cold and clammy, but at your touch, his eyes fluttered open.
“Y/N…” he rasped with a voice that was both hoarse and somewhat defeated. He took a few moments to compose himself, but he quickly took in his surroundings. “I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have brought you with me.”
Your heart twisted, but you forced a small smile. “Not like I gave you a choice.”
He attempted a smile, but it faded rather abruptly, leaving a shadow of worry on his face. “Where’s Colter?”
“He— he’s not here” you replied scanning the cramped cell. “Do you think they’ve added him to their collection of ‘missing persons’?”
“I don’t know. I can only hope he’s busy slapping some sense into our captors while we’re stuck here” he said, as he tried to stand up.
As the weight of the situation settled in, the sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway.
You exchanged wary glances, instinctively stepping closer together.
The door to your cell creaked open, revealing a man in a brown suede jacket, sunglasses — mind you, it was inside a semi-dark room — flanked by two guards. Your heart raced as he stepped in, a self-assured smirk playing on his mischievous lips.
Behind him, a small figure shuffled into view, clutching a foreign stuffed toy anxiously.
Emma.
“Look who’s here” the man said, his voice dripping with mockery.
Emma’s wide eyes scanned the room, filled with confusion and fear. “Mommy?”
You felt your heart stop. “Baby girl”
As those words left your lips, Russell seemed frozen in place, his mind momentarily shutting down. It was the first time he was face-to-face with her, his daughter. He took in her small figure, the way she clutched a stuffed toy she probably got from these men tightly, and the wide green eyes that reflected the fear of the days spent in captivity.
His face shifted from pure shock to something that looked like it hurt, like a dam just burst inside him. For a second, all the chaos, the danger, everything melted away, leaving just the connection he felt for her.
But the moment didn’t last long, quickly swallowed up by the harsh reality. You saw the pain flicker in Russell’s eyes as he processed it all. “You’re okay, sweetheart” you assured Emma, stepping closer —only for Mr Douche’s goons to block your path with a grunt. You shot him a look, then turned back to Emma. “We’re getting you out of here.”
The man in his Aviators chuckled, sounding like a cold, amused cacophony. “Isn’t this all so touching?” he said with a mocking smile. Then, his face turned serious. “Shaw, it’s good to see you. Been what? Five? Six months”
Russell didn’t answer, clearly not falling to his little tricks. The man spoke up again. “But let’s not forget why we’re here. You’ve got a decision to make. And this time, it’s not just about you.”
You shot a glare his way before leaning closer to Russell. “Who the hell is this guy?” you whispered.
Russell’s answer was dry as his eyes stayed fixed on the man. “The greatest jackass of all time.”
This was James Rourke, head honcho at Horizon, the very top of the food chain in the world Russell once belonged to. Rourke looked out of place in his fancy brown suede jacket, like he’d wandered in from some luxury lounge instead of a prison cell. And his mustache — a perfectly trimmed little fucking pornstache, practically begging to be mocked — did nothing to make him look any less ridiculous.
Rourke’s smirk widened, clearly enjoying the tension. He glanced over at Emma, who clutched her stuffed toy tighter, her little eyes darting between you and Russell. “Sweet girl” he said, his voice soaked with fake warmth “you must be wondering what’s going on. Don’t worry, it’ll all make sense soon.”
“Leave her out of this,” you snapped.
Rourke tilted his head, smirking like he found your defiance cute. “Oh, sweetie,” he drawled, flashing that irritatingly smug smile. “I don’t think you’re in any position to make demands.” He glanced at Russell, his eyebrows lifted with mock surprise. “Come on, Russell. Did you actually believe you could just walk away?”
Russell’s jaw tightened. “I’m done playing by your rules, Rourke.”
Rourke’s eyes lit up with that twisted, almost playful glint, like he was savoring every second of Russell’s resistance. “Oh, Russell, you seem confused. There is no choice here. You either come back… or things might get, well, complicated.” His gaze slid over to Emma, who instinctively shrank back, catching the meaning immediately, even if not completely.
Your heart hammered in your chest. “You wouldn’t dare” you hissed.
Rourke laughed, sounding genuinely amused this time. “Oh, wouldn’t I? Let’s just say I believe in incentives.” He shot a dark look at Russell “So, either you get back in line… or your little girl here learns just how persuasive I can be.”
The room went ice-cold. Russell’s fists clenched as he glared at Rourke. “You leave her out of this. She’s got nothing to do with your mess.”
Rourke shrugged like he was discussing the weather. "Then stop pretending you’re free to leave. You knew the fine print when you signed up.” He stepped back, giving the guards a nod like they were his personal fan club. “Think it over, both of you. And just a heads-up… I don’t make empty promises.”
As Rourke strode out — with Emma being pulled by her tiny hand, crying out for wanting to stay with you — he shot a final smug look over his shoulder, and the guards followed, slamming the cell door shut behind them.
You sighed as the lock clicked, trapping you both in again. But Russell wasn’t about to throw in the towel. Staying put? Not a chance. Not with you and Emma tangled in this nightmare, and definitely not with Rourke trying to pull the strings.
His gaze swept the cell, then froze on something up high: an air vent, nearly hidden behind a stack of old crates.
“Perfect” he muttered, a hint of determination lighting up his face.
He grabbed one of the crates and slid it under the vent, then looked at you with that familiar spark in his eye. He hauled one of the crates over and tapped it, motioning for you to step up. “Give me a hand up, sweetheart. If we can get the screws loose, we’re gone.”
The nickname caught you off-guard. It fell so easily from his mouth, yet, it seemed so bittersweet now. “Sweetheart?”
He flashed a quick grin, already reaching for the vent. “Old habits die hard. Now, help me with this, yeah?”
You nodded, steadying him as he climbed up and started working on the vent cover. Using a rusty nail he pried from one of the crates, Russell twisted at the screws, working them free with grunts of effort.
With the last screw finally out, you both heard voices echoing from the hallway. Adrenaline kicked in as you climbed up and squeezed into the narrow vent, praying this actually led somewhere.
You hated this. Your claustrophobic ass was kicking you from the inside. How did you end up in a mess like this?
“How are you holding up?” he asked in a whisper, but the concern in his voice was unmistakable. Right. He remembered.
“Stop talking, continue crawling.” you said hurriedly. The less you acknowledged the suffocating surroundings, the better.
YYou crawled along, knees scraping, until you spotted a grate at the end. Kicking it loose, you dropped into a pitch-black storage room. Quietly, you slipped into the hallway beyond, letting Russell lead — his sure footing somehow both reassuring and a little unnerving.
“You know this place?” you whispered, trying to keep the nerves out of your voice.
“Nah” he muttered, casting a glance around. “Just following my instincts.”
“Oh, good. And what do your instincts say about where Emma is?”
Then, like something straight out of a scripted movie, you heard it: a small voice that was unmistakably hers. “Mommy?”
You turned the corner, and there she was, standing behind a closed door with a small window, clutching her stuffed toy. No guards in sight felt like a miracle. Relief and desperation flooded you all at once. The door was locked tight, and there was no key laying around, for obvious reasons.
You watched with a continuously racing heart as Russell pulled a paperclip from his pocket — of all things — and straightened it. “Can’t believe they missed this little bad boy” he murmured, working it into the lock. His gun and knife hadn’t been as lucky; those were gone in an instant. But the paperclip? Somehow, it had slipped right past their search.
With a quiet click, the lock gave way, and Russell shot you a quick, triumphant grin.
You threw the door wide, scooping Emma into your arms as her tiny hands clung to you like a lifeline. She was trembling. Crying.
“Shh, baby girl” you whispered, holding her close. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
Russell debated to reach out, but decided now was not the time for a great family reunion. His eyes darted down the hall. “Alright, let’s get out of here before Rourke’s even had his morning coffee.”
“What about Colter?”
“I don’t know if he’s here. And the sooner we get her and you out of here, the better chances of… this ending good.”
He knew Colter could be in hot water, but he told himself he could handle it. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself to suppress the guilt. So far, there were no signs of Colter being around, and Rourke hadn’t mentioned him at all, which made him hope his brother was safely hiding somewhere.
And his priority right now was standing in front of him.
With Emma safe in your arms, you took a breath, steeling yourself for the final sprint to freedom.
You three tiptoed down the hallway when you turned a sharp corner and spotted a guy in black standing there. No visible weapons, which was a small victory in itself.
Your heart skipped a beat, but Russell quickly pulled you back next to the wall. He weighed his options, knowing he had to act fast.
“This ain’t going to be pretty. Just—“ he said as he motioned for you to turn around. You knew well what he was planning. And that indeed wasn’t going to be pretty. You nodded with a leaping heart and turned your back to him, clutching Emma’s head close to your chest, desperately trying to muffle any sounds that might come soon.
God, she's going to need a mountain of therapy after this. And maybe that puppy she’s been talking about.
Russell shot you a quick squeeze on the shoulder, a silent promise that everything would be okay. Then he stepped forward, moving with the kind of focus that made you hold your breath. You pulled Emma close with your heart racing as the seconds felt like goddamn hours.
There was a muffled thud.... and then silence. Russell’s hand on your back signaled it was safe, and you turned to see him standing over the guard, dusting off his hands with a grim, almost satisfied look.
“Alrighty” he whispered “no more interruptions, yeah?”
You let out a shaky breath and nodded, tightening your hold on Emma. Step by step, the three of you crept down the hallway, avoiding every echo and shadow, your goal almost within reach.
Then, up ahead, an exit sign cast a faint glow. Freedom was close enough to taste, and you exchanged a quick glance with Russell. You fult that tiny flicker of hope.
You took a deep breath, squeezing Emma a little tighter. Her small arms wrapped around your neck, a reminder of why you were risking everything. You need to stay calm.
Well, seemingly calm, at least.
You and Russell exchanged a look. Words weren’t necessary; you both knew exactly what was on the line here. Funny, you thought, how his combat skills now felt like a strange kind of comfort.
Just a few more steps down the hallway, and you ended up in a large, warehouse-style room, crates stacked high, lights flickering like something straight out of a bad action movie.
“Really? A crate room?” you muttered.
Russell scanned the area, eyeing a side door. “That might be our way out.”
“Oh yeah? Is that your gut talking, or do you actually know?”
Before he could shoot back, footsteps echoed down the hall. Russell hissed a quick curse and signaled for you to duck behind a stack of crates.
You crouched down, holding Emma close as the door creaked open and two guards strolled in, giving the room a once-over like they had it all under control.
“Think they’d make it this far?” one guard muttered.
The other chuckled. “No way. Shaw’s decent, but those two he’s with? Dead weight.”
Russell sized them up and he leaned in close. “Stay low.”
You gave a small nod, clutching Emma tighter.
Russell edged closer to the guards, blending into the shadows like a pro. In one smooth motion, he slammed the first guard into the second, and they both crumpled to the ground like a pair of falling dominoes. Before they could even register what was happening, he struck with quick punches and a perfectly timed knee, leaving them both out cold and wondering what just hit them.
Once they were on the floor, Russell wasted no time. He crouched down, quickly rifling through the guards’ gear. “We’re gonna need these” he muttered, pulling a pistol from one guard’s holster and a knife from the other. With practiced ease, he tucked the pistol into his waistband and handed the knife to you. “Think you can handle it?” he asked, a smirk tugging at his lips as he looked you over.
You raised an eyebrow at the guards' bodies, really, desperately trying to convince yourself they’re just sleeping. As you gripped the knife, you tried to motion your position to cover most of the scene from Emma. It worked, she was only focused on you. And you were only focusing on the difficulty of keeping her close with one hand.
Man, she is getting big.
“Well, my self-defense teacher never covered how to use a knife” you quipped.
Russell chuckled softly, a hint of pride in his eyes. “Just use it on instinct. Don’t hesitate when it counts. And remember to—”
“To aim for the balls” you finished with a smirk.
“I’d really like to meet your teacher. Must be a real pro” he said with a smirk.
You shrugged. “Eh, he was handsome, sure. But turned out he kept secrets.”
“Sounds like a total douche” he muttered, though you caught the guilt in his voice.
“Yep. Was a major douche.”
“Was?”
You gave him a teasing glance. “Well… I’m still trying to figure out what he’s like now.”
With a small smile and a quick glance at the guards, he pocketed extra ammo and anything else that might come in handy. Armed and ready, he led you both to the side door.
With Emma snug in your arms and a renewed sense of determination, you stepped into the night together.
For a second, the three of you standing there almost looked like some offbeat family photo… bittersweet, and about as far from normal as it gets.
But the moment you took in your surroundings, you felt a chilly sensation. This sure as hell didn’t look like Idaho Falls. Nor the rundown warehouse you’d started in.
You had no idea where you were.
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Next on Tuesday’s Gone (Sneak Peak from Chapter 5)
Emma tilted her head while her expression turned adorably thoughtful. “You’re hairy. Like grandpa.”
Russell chuckled as he ran a hand through his beard. “Yeah, I guess I am. It’s my pirate look.”
Her eyes lit up at the word pirate. “Are you a pirate?! Can I be one, too?”
“Absolutely” he replied. “But we have to be sneaky pirates, okay? No one can know we’re here.”
Your heart did a little flip at the sight. The way he talked to your daughter — his daughter — his voice surprisingly soft and sweet, even in this situation. Emma’s reaction wasn’t a shock, though. She had a habit of linking beards (like the one your dad rocked) with safety and familiar love.
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Whoa, we finally got that wonderfully chaotic family reunion! Can’t wait to dive deeper into Emma and Russell’s relationship in the upcoming chapters.
Thank you so much for yet another amazingly sweet feedback! 😭😭
They’re finally and slowly getting closer again. I think she might forgive him once they make it out of this 😉
Well... I gotta admit, the road to forgiveness is gonna be a bumpy one, but you're definitely onto something there 😏
I’m SO glad the aim for the balls line hit just right 😂 ikr? he would totally teach that
And I’m so happy you caught the little moments of his worry in their training. I loved showing that side of him, especially us knowing the true reason behind it!
Yeah, this little reunion about broke me 😭😭😭
I cried writing it too. 🥹
And then that masterful ending?! What-, what is even happening?!?! 👀
Well... this was too easy, wasn't it? Gotta be a catch, right? Well... yeah, there's more chaos coming up, so buckle up!😅😅
Thank you again for your sweet comment!! I’m so glad you’re enjoying the journey!!
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, mentions of being stalked, language
Title’s based on Tuesday’s Gone by Lynyrd Skynyrd.
Catch up on Chapter 2 here
Tuesday’s Gone masterlist
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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.
The past flooded back to you in an instant. Memories of the love you once shared, the betrayal when you found out the truth about him, and the pain of sending him away, and never telling him about the child you were carrying. Not that you knew it at the time or that you ever wanted to contact him again later when you did.
And it wouldn’t have changed a thing.
He lied to you. He kept secrets from you. No matter how much you wanted this to work out… he put you in danger. And now, even without his knowledge, he possibly put Emma in this situation, too.
Colter looked between the two of you, tension and a smudge of guilt in his stance. “I’m sorry. I needed to call him” he said cautiously. “He needed to know. And… he’s the only who can actually help.”
You looked between the two men, your eyes landing on Russell more than you dared to admit. He still looked the same, more or less. A few new scars here and there, maybe his hair and beard got a tiny bit longer– but he barely changed.
It was an undeniable contrast to your appearance. You felt the weight of raising a child alone while keeping your work… And now, your daughter’s missing. You felt it all being soaked in the way you looked. Your joggers were slightly loose now from the weight loss you experienced from it all, dark circles were decorating your concerned face, and your hair was a mess and unfortunately not in a cutesy, pinterest way.
But somehow, Russell didn’t seem to notice all these little things. He was focused only on seeing you again. The mother of his child. The one that got away.
As if sensing the tension in the air between you two, Colter nodded back to the front yard and said “I think you’ve got some things to talk about. I’ll take another look at the scene.”
You nodded, still in shock as you stepped aside to let Colter go. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone with Russell.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Finally, he broke the deafening silence. “Y/N” he said softly, stepping closer. “I have so many things to–”
You swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself as you interrupted whatever he wanted to say. You didn’t have the time or energy for this.
“You shouldn’t be here, Russell.”
He shook his head, his eyes pleading. “I had to come. Colter told me everything. About Emma… about what happened.”
“I swear if this…if it has anything to do with you—“
“I’m sorry, Y/N.” he interrupted. “I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m sorry for everything, how it all ended.”
“Sorry won’t cut it. You” you poked his chest with your finger. “I don’t have time for you. My daughter’s missing and—“
“She’s my daughter, too.”
“No” you shook your head as a few stray tears made themselves visible in the corners of your eyes. “No, you can’t say that. You don’t even know her. Never even met her.”
“Y/N, please” he sighed as he ran his hand through his hair. It was still a nervous habit of his, you noticed. “You have every right to be angry at me. Every goddamn right. But, please, let me— let me help. I want to find her. I want to—“ he trailed off. “I want to meet her. I need to know she’s safe.”
The vulnerability in his voice made your chest tighten. You wanted to believe him, to let go of the anger. But how could you?
“Why are you here, Russell? Are you actually worried about her… or are you just feeling guilty?”
“Because I didn’t know” he 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 out.
Once you were out the door, he crouched down and nodded to Russell and you to do the same. You both compiled and once Russell inspected the new traces, his brow furrowed deeper. “This” he motioned to the dirty print “is new. Like, a couple hours new.”
“Exactly. Whoever was here–“ Colter stood up and once he did, you all could see that he had a great view from the window to the inside of the house. “–was watching you.” Colter looked at you.
Your heart skipped a beat. Someone was in your front yard very recently. Watchin– no, stalking you.
You couldn’t believe this was your life now, not a lousy true crime TV show.
But whoever was here… they might be the key to finding Emma. And that’s good enough for you.
Russell remained crouched, examining the footprint intently. Y/N and Colter were too distracted by the chilling realization that someone had been watching her to notice the thoughts racing through Russell’s mind.
Frankly, he recognised these footprints. The grooves and pattern on the sole were unmistakable.
Ecca Boots. He owned one just like that – it was the unofficial tactical shoewear at Horizon. And they knew he would know that. They knew he would find it. This wasn’t just a trace left behind; it was a message meant specifically for him.
Another wave of guilt and anger rose in his chest. Now he was sure that Emma had been taken because of him. Because he’d left Horizon just months ago.
It was a decision he’d agonized over for more than five years before finally walking away. He’d known it wouldn’t be easy. Nothing ever was with Horizon. But this? Even for them, this was a new low.
“I know these prints.” he spoke up finally as he stood up.
Your heart stopped as you turned from Colter to him. “What do you mean you know them?”
Russell straightened. “It’s someone from Horizon.”
“You sure?” Colter shot him a look as he stepped closer.
“I’m sure. The boots, the pattern – they’re standard issue for field agents” His voice was controlled, but you could see the anger bubbling beneath the surface. “They know I’d recognize them.”
“So were they watching me, us, because of you?” you asked, your voice rising with that familiar anger. “You really are the reason for all of this mess?”
Russell’s eyes flickered with guilt. “I don’t know” he said, though even he didn’t believe it. Deep down, he knew this was all because of his choice to leave Horizon. But he’d rather die than admit that his decision had put his daughter, and you, in danger. “It’s… it’s possible” he added reluctantly. “They could be trying to draw me out.”
“You– “ you hissed. “you not only put me in danger…. but also Emma” you said, taking a step back. Putting you into a life-threatening was one thing. But now it was about your daughter, your little girl…
“I know” he said with a voice soft but firm. “I know, and I hate that I did. I thought I—“ he didn’t finish his sentence. He knew no explanation would make it better. “But I'm gonna make this right.”
You stared at him, torn between the fear that he was right, and the hope that maybe he could help. That maybe he was the only one who could.
Colter’s voice cut through the tense conversation. “We don’t have time to argue about this. If Horizon’s involved, we need to act fast. We can use this to our advantage. If they left a trail, we can follow it.”
Russell nodded, stepping forward. “I know how they operate. I can track them.”
You raised a brow. “And why would they leave you a trail this obvious?”
“They want me to follow it” Russell said. “It’s a trap, I’m certain” he sighed. “…but I’ll spring it if it means finding Emma.”
You crossed your arms, your mind racing a million miles per hour. Every instinct screamed and shouted not to trust him, not after everything he’d done to you and Emma. But at the same time, he was offering to walk straight into danger for her – hell, for you both. You had no idea how far Horizon would go, but Russell seemed to understand their tactics, and right now, that was more than you had. It was your only chance at seeing your daughter again.
“You really think you can find her?” you asked quietly, desperately trying to hold on to that strength that kept you going these last two days.
“I don’t just think it” he said, his gaze locking onto yours. “I know I can. In fact… I believe this is all made for me. They’re leaving just enough crumbs to keep me on their trail. It’s their way of making a point. A warning that nobody walks away from them that easily.”
Colter glanced back to the yard, the tension in his posture hardening to focus. “If Horizon’s watching you and us, they’d leave more than footprints. They must have left something here to know your routine. Or to lead us to them.”
Russell nodded, dropping back down to study the ground, and Colter moved alongside him, checking nearby spots with methodical precision.
You watched them both, your mind racing. Russell’s expression was intense as he was sweeping through the property, and it hit you again just how much he knew about the dark world he’d tried to keep hidden from you.
Colter circled the yard, crouching down to check under the shrubs. He reached beneath one, pulling out a tiny, glinting piece of metal. Just like he expected. He held it up, squinting as he inspected it. “Looks like a tracker” he muttered and looked up at his brother who took the device from Colter.
“They planted a fucking tracker in my yard?” you asked.
Colter nodded. “And they placed it where they could monitor you without getting too close. Plus, this doesn’t look homemade.”
Russell’s gaze fell as he studied the device closely. Those bastards are probably listening even right fucking now. It means they probably already know Russell’s involved. Just how they wanted.
“Yeah, figures. This isn’t just some basic eBay find. It’s high-end, military-grade. They wouldn’t bother with this level of surveillance unless they were planning something… thorough” he said as he destroyed the goddamn tracker with his bare hands.
You shivered at his words, but you couldn’t help and feel a hint of admiration for how easily he could break that thing. “If they had a tracker all along… why would anyone watch me from the window?”
“To leave a message to me. If we didn’t find the footprints we wouldn’t have found the tracker.” Russell replied grimly. “It’s all their scheming.”
You closed your eyes, every little information sinking in, highling the gravity of the situation. “So… they’ve been here, watching us… What else did they leave behind?”
Colter’s eyes scanned the area. “They’ll have had an exit route, somewhere nearby and quick. Russell, think back– where would they go after setting up surveillance here? If you were still on their team… where would you go from here?”
Russell’s eyes narrowed as the gears in his mind were turning hard and fast. “There’s an old warehouse about a mile east, on the edge of town.” he remembered. “It’s been abandoned for years, but it’s got exits to multiple side streets and connects to the main road. If they wanted to avoid detection, that’s where they’d set up. That’s… where I’d set up.”
Colter nodded. “Why does it always have to be a warehouse?” he muttered to himself, already moving to the edge of the yard. “We need to check that out, then. If they’re using the area as a base, there might something that leads us to Emma. Y/N” he turned to you. “I know you don't want to sit here, but coming with us – it’s dangerous.”
You scoffed, your heart rising with frustration of them trying to leave you here again. “Dangerous? What about staying here where they can monitor me however they want? You call that safe?” you asked a little more harshly than you intended to. You sighed and continued. “I can’t just… sit around here and wait when my daughter’s missing. She– she must be so fucking scared… She just needs me. So I’m coming with you, whether you like it or not.”
Colter’s jaw clenched, but before he could respond, Russell stepped in. “She’s right. If they’re watching, they’ll know when we leave. We can’t afford to split up. If Y/N stays, they might see it as an opportunity to–“ he didn’t even finished his sentence. He didn’t dare to even think about what they’d do to her. “We need to move as a unit.”
You kept your face hard as you managed to not roll your eyes at his words. Despite his intentions to help, your mind still struggled to accept his assistance.
Colter hesitated, but after glancing between you and Russell, he nodded reluctantly. “Fine.”
You followed them as they made their way out of the yard, adrenaline coursing through your veins. As you reached the edge of the property you turned back to look at your home, a place that had once felt safe but now felt polluted by uncertainty.
The house wasn’t anything special or modern. It sat comfortably on the edge of Idaho Falls, in a quiet neighborhood where people still waved to each other. The paint was slightly faded, giving it a soft, well-loved look, and the porch had a few creaky wooden steps that somehow added to its charm. Two rocking chairs worn smooth with age, sat under the shade of the front porch. The yard was small but cared for with wildflowers along the path and a weathered birdhouse nestled in a nearby tree. You loved tending the garden and the little oasis you created for yourself and Emma to play in.
It wasn’t much, but you were proud when you managed to afford it with your modest salary - and maybe a little help from your parents.
It wasn’t perfect, but it felt like home.
And at least it wasn’t a place where a murder took place. Not like your previous residence.
“What if they’ve already found out we’re on to them?” you asked with gripping anxiety.
“I’m pretty certain they’re expecting us. If they were listening,” Russell said as you three made your way to his car. ”then they know we’re coming.”
“They’re probably counting on it, using it to draw us out. But we don’t really have any other option here.” Colter added.
You rolled your eyes dramatically, unable to resist. “Great, so we’re the mice in their little cat-and-mouse game? That sounds like a fucking blast.” You couldn’t help it. Humor was the next step in your way of coping, even if it felt absolutely forced.
“Look, I know this isn’t easy” Russell said, trying to keep his tone reassuring, but you couldn’t help but give him the silent treatment with your arms crossed tightly across your chest.
“Yup, definitely not easy. Just a walk in the goddamn park” you shot back sarcastically, shooting him a glance that was soaked with your lingering annoyance.
Russell opened his mouth to respond but thought better of it. Instead, he looked ahead. You could tell he was trying to rein in his frustration, but you weren’t ready to make it easy for him. You still felt raw from everything… betrayal and pain, all mixed up with the fear for Emma.
The car ride to the location was tense. You opted for parking it a few blocks away, trying not to draw any unnecessary attention to yourselves. Not like it made any difference. Horizon was already expecting them. Or so you thought, at least.
Colter led the way down the narrow street, and you two followed closely behind. The tension was palpable, and you couldn't shake the feeling that something was lurking just out of sight. And you hated that most of the time, your gut feeling was absolutely spot-on.
“Why is it always a warehouse?” you muttered, breaking the silence. Colter couldn’t help chuckle silently to himself as he heard you echoing his earlier thoughts. “Isn’t there a law against this? You know, ‘No illegal organizations allowed in abandoned warehouses’?”
After a few moments of tense silence, you finally arrived at the building.
“Okay, time to get serious” Colter said, his demeanor shifting back to focused. “Let’s scout the perimeter first.”
As you approached the entrance of the warehouse, the musty air hit you like a wave. You steeled yourself, feeling the adrenaline spike again. The shadows inside were deep, and you could barely make out the outlines of old crates and scattered debris.
Colter led the way, scanning the dimly lit interior with caution. As you moved deeper into the warehouse, you kept your eyes peeled for anything that might indicate where your daughter could be.
“Let’s split up” Colter suggested, after a few seconds. “We’ll cover more ground that way. Just stay within shouting distance.”
You nodded, but your heart sank. The idea of being alone in this dark, eerie, dusty (and other unsettling adjectives) place made you feel absolutely uneasy. Before you could voice your concerns, Russell stepped in. “No way” he said firmly. “We don’t Scooby-Doo here. I’m not leaving Y/N alone. There’s a reason we brought her with us, Colter.”
Colter raised an eyebrow. “Russell, we need to find Emma quickly. Splitting up is the best way–”
“We’ll go together” Russell interrupted, stepping closer to you and his tone left no room for argument. “I’m not risking Y/N being on her own while we’re in here. If something happens…”
You frowned at Russell. “Really? You think I can’t handle myself? I don’t need you babysitting me.” The truth was, you'd much rather handle this on your own than have him breathing down your neck the entire time.
Russell looked back at you, his expression softening slightly. “It’s not about babysitting. It’s about keeping you safe. I’m not letting you go off alone.”
Colter sighed but nodded, recognizing the tension. “Fine. Just stop arguing, we don’t have the time for this right now.” he hushed the two of you.
And then, you were left alone with Russell.
As you made your way through the maze of crates, the sound of your footsteps echoed eerily in the silence, and every creak of the floor made your heart jump. You felt a mix of gratitude and frustration toward Russell for being so protective, but the tension between you never really faded. It was – ambiguous, to say the least.
“Honestly, Russell, this is ridiculous” you muttered quietly as you walked beside him. “I can take care of myself. I don’t need you keeping an eye on me.”
“I know you can take care of yourself” he replied. “But this is different. We’re dealing with serious threats, and I don’t want to risk anything happening to you. Especially since it’s all… my fault.”
You rolled your eyes, but you could hear the genuine guilt in his voice. But you won’t give him an easy time, not yet. “So, what? You’ll just hover over me the entire time? That’s not going to help.”
Russell shrugged, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips despite the gravity of the situation. “If it keeps you from getting into trouble, then yes. I’m okay with that.”
Just as you were about to fire back with a witty remark, something shiny caught your eye. You stepped closer and brushed off some dust, gasping when you saw it. There, half-hidden under a pile of old boxes, was a Barbie doll. Not just any Barbie –Veterinarian Barbie. Its lab coat was dirty and wrinkled, and her pink stethoscope was missing, but you recognized it instantly. It was Emma's favorite doll.
The one she played with when she was taken.
You would spot this doll anywhere. Emma loved pretending it was curing the plastic cat and dog that came with the set. She often said she wanted to be a vet when she grew up, and it made sense; she adored animals and pets of all kinds. Last Christmas had been especially tough because she asked Santa for a puppy, yet as much as you wanted to get her (and yourself) one, you knew she was too young to handle a dog, and you didn't want to take on that extra responsibility all by yourself.
“Russell, come look at this!” you called as you momentarily forgot how irritated you were with him.
He hurried over, squinting at the doll. “Is it — is it hers?”
“Yeah,” you confirmed, picking up the muddy Barbie and holding it up for him to see. “This is Emma’s favorite. She was just playing with it in the yard before… before everything happened.” Your heart sank as you thought about how scared she must be.
“Then we’re on the good trail. This is definitely a message” he said, a grim expression crossing his face. “They want us to know they have her.”
The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on you. “But we still don’t know where to start” you said, disappointment surging through you again. “This — this doesn’t tell us where she could be.”
Russell nodded, taking the doll from you. “Let’s go find Colter. Maybe he found something to guide us.”
Just as you turned to make your way back to the house, you heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps — heavy of tactical boots. The hair on the back of your neck prickled, and you froze, instinctively gripping Russell’s arm. Holy crap. Had he been working out even more? He was certainly ripped four years ago, but it was like gripping into a Schwarzenegger in his Mr. Olympia days.
If the situation weren’t so fucking serious, you knew that cocky bastard would be smirking, relishing the moment.
“Did you hear that?” you whispered, heart pounding like crazy. You were definitely going to need a solid prescription of happy pills after this.
“Yeah” Russell replied with a hushed voice. “Stay close to me.”
Before you could react, two men in black clothing emerged from the shadows, their faces hidden beneath dark masks. They moved easily with practiced military precision, blocking your path to the way out.
“Going somewhere?” one of them asked.
Fuck. This really was a trap.
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Next on Tuesday’s Gone (Sneak Peek from Chapter 4):
You watched with a continuously racing heart as Russell pulled a paperclip from his pocket — of all things — and straightened it. “Can’t believe they missed this little bad boy” he murmured, working it into the lock. His gun and knife hadn’t been as lucky; those were gone in an instant. But the paperclip? Somehow, it had slipped right past their search.
With a quiet click, the lock gave way, and Russell shot you an annoyingly triumphant grin.
You threw the door wide, scooping Emma into your arms as her tiny hands clung to you fiercely. She was trembling. Crying.
“Shh, baby girl” you whispered, holding her close. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
Russell looked like he wanted to reach out, maybe even say something, but this wasn’t exactly the time for a heartfelt family reunion. His gaze shot down the hall.
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Right? It’s always a warehouse. Guess villains lack imagination. 🤭But we’re so close now… that long-awaited family reunion is just around the corner!
I was on the edge of my seat during this!!! Both during their relentless arguing (the make-up will be wild lmao) and during that intense warehouse scene. Loved how the brothers puzzled all the clues together!
Russell’s protectiveness was so sweet too, but I feel sad for him. He shouldn’t feel this guilty, considering he didn’t know Emma even existed and his only mistake was leaving a corrupt organization 😭💔
I do see a puppy in their future, though 🥰 I totally get why she wouldn’t want that responsibility right now lol 😂
Such a fantastic, action-packed, and emotional chapter! 🩵🩵🩵
Russell’s protectiveness was so sweet too, but I feel sad for him. He shouldn’t feel this guilty, considering he didn’t know Emma even existed and his only mistake was leaving a corrupt organization 😭💔
I honestly felt bad for Russ, too, writing this chapter... He’s been through it and the guilt is eating him up, but like… SIR, you literally DIDN'T even know!!
I do see a puppy in their future, though 🥰
You hit the nail on the head with that one haha!!
Thank you so much for you kind words!! I’m so so SO happy you liked the chapter!!
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
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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.
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“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.
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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.
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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.
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Aaand the plot thickens.
Thank you for reading Chapter 2 of Tuesday's Gone, I hope you liked it!
I feel so bad for Russell. First, he finds out he might have a daughter, then that she’s missing, and that he’s responsible for it. Lots to digest for the poor guy 🙈
Well… yeah, definitely not his best day. 😅 But hey, brighter days are ahead, I promise!!
But I think they might find their way back to each other 😉
What ever gave you that idea? Haha, no clue what you mean. 😏😏
Thank you so much for your lovely comment and tagging along for this journey!! 🤍🤍
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
A/N: Hello, beautiful people! I know most of you are waiting for another part of my Soldier Boy SMAU, but truth to be told, I have NO idea how to continue that story yet. I’m still waiting for the fanfic muse to kiss my face and tell me what to do. In the meantime, please, enjoy this little something that will end up being a mini series.
Title’s based on Tuesday’s Gone by Lynyrd Skynyrd.
Tuesday’s Gone masterlist
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You didn't know how to breathe. It felt just like if your lungs were under a press, making it more and more impossible to get oxygen minute by minute. Never in your thirtysomething of years ever thought you’d have to experience one of the greatest tragedies of life; your daughter, your whole world, just disappeared.
The detective in front of you was muttering some words your brain couldn't really register until now.
“Miss Y/L/N, you hear me?” he asked with a hint of concern. “I need you to tell me how you found out your daughter’s missing. Any detail could be crucial.”
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You stood outside the police station, staring blankly at the pale glow of the streetlights. Inside, the officers had told you to "stay patient", to wait for updates. They’re doing everything they can, they said.
But it wasn’t enough.
Emma was only four, too young to be out of sight for this long.
She had disappeared right from your front yard, where you had only left her alone for a few moments to grab your phone. It had been late afternoon, and the neighborhood was quiet. No strange cars. No unusual noises.
When you came back outside (just mere seconds later) Emma was gone.
The police had checked the neighbors’ cameras, combed through the nearby area, and interviewed everyone around. But there were no leads. No ransom demands. No nothing. They were starting to treat it like a case that could stretch on for weeks or months.
But you couldn’t wait that long.
It was already taking too much time, and your mind went to places it never ever should have. Is she still okay? Is she scared— What a stupid question, of course, she’s scared. Up until now, her world was simple; just her mother and her.
“Miss Y/L/N” a quiet voice came from behind your shoulder. You turned and see a policeman–Lt. Candero, according to his nametag. “I know I’m speaking against ourselves, but you have to understand. We have regulations to follow. Our hands are tied. But–” he started reaching for his back pocket “I might have someone to help you” he said and handed you a card. A name and a phone number.
Colter Shaw.
“He isn’t tied down like us. His methods may be a bit… unorthodox, but he helped to find my wife’s brother a few years back when our station couldn’t. He might be able to help you.” he said quietly, then looked around to see if nobody saw this exchange.
You understood. Recommending a–what was this man again? A tracker? Recommending a tracker, it was probably against everything his profession stood for. You quickly looked down at the card and then back up to say your thank you, but he was already gone.
Colter Shaw. At first, the name didn’t strike you as unusual. Colter Shaw. Shaw. You hadn’t thought about this name for a while. Could this be a coincidence?
Anyway, it wasn't the time to contemplate. You needed to find Emma.
And right now, this Colter Shaw was your best chance.
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The night had settled in by the time he arrived. You watched from the window as he pulled up quietly in front of your house. You opened the door before he could even knock.
"Miss Y/L/N?”
"Y/N” you corrected. “Thank you for coming" you said, stepping aside to let him in.
Colter gave a small nod as he entered, his eyes quickly glancing through the living room, taking in the space as though every detail might offer a clue.
"Tell me again" he said as he sat down on the couch. It was clear he was drawing out details the police may have missed. "Everything you remember from the moment she disappeared."
You sat down on the couch next to him, clasping your hands together in an attempt to keep them from shaking. "It was late afternoon. Emma was playing with her dolls on the porch while I ran inside for just a minute to grab my phone. When I came back out, she was gone. I called for her, searched the yard, but she wasn’t there. The gate was closed. She couldn’t have left on her own." Your voice cracked as you remembered back at the ominous moment. "I searched the whole neighborhood. Cried and screamed even. No one saw her."
Colter listened intently, not interrupting you. There was something in his eyes that made you feel as if he wasn’t just absorbing the details, but he was already a few steps ahead. He was thinking of possibilities you or the police couldn’t see yet.
"There was no one around?" he asked.
You shook your head. "No strangers, no cars I didn’t recognize."
Colter nodded, as though that detail confirmed something in his mind. "This wasn’t random" he finally said. "Whoever took her had been watching. They knew your routine, her routine."
Your heart skipped a beat. Why would anyone stalk you? Or worse, why would anyone stalk Emma? "But why? Why would anyone—"
"People take children for a lot of reasons" Colter interrupted with a careful tone. "But this feels targeted. Whoever did this knew what they were doing. And that means they’ll make mistakes. I’ll find them."
You nodded feeling a flicker of hope at his confident words. "What— what do we do now?"
"We start with the yard" Colter said, standing up. "I need to retrace what happened. Look for signs the police might’ve missed. After that, I’ll want to speak to the neighbors, anyone in the area who might’ve seen something they didn’t realize was important."
You stood, watching as he moved toward the front door. Your mind was racing. How could this be targeted? Who would target you? And why? You were no one special — a single mother living with her four-year-old in the suburbs of Idaho Falls. Had no enemies — except for the occasional work rivalries between you and some of your colleagues, but other than that, your life was plain and simple.
"You really think this wasn’t random?" you asked Colter, following him outside.
He paused by the door, glancing back at you. "I’ve seen this before. This kind of precision. Someone planned this, and that means there’s a reason. We just have to find out what it is."
As you stepped outside, you couldn’t shake the creeping fear that this was bigger than you had imagined. It felt deliberate, like someone had been watching, waiting for the right moment. But why Emma? What did they want?
Colter crouched near the edge of the yard, running his fingers along the ground. You stood nearby, watching as he scanned the area. The yard looked so ordinary, so unchanged. But to Colter, it seemed to hold details you hadn’t noticed, things the police had overlooked.
"So she played here, right?” he asked and then you nodded. “Footprints here" he muttered, pointing to a small section of dirt near the gate. "Different size from the ones around it. Someone stood here recently."
"The police didn’t mention any footprints."
"They wouldn’t" Colter said, standing up. "They’re looking for obvious signs, not subtle ones."
As he moved toward the gate, you felt a heavy weight pressing down on your shoulders. You couldn’t breathe, again. Whoever had taken Emma had planned this. They had been watching her, your daughter, knowing exactly when to strike. But who? And why?
You kept repeating these two questions.
As if reading your thoughts, Colter turned to you. "This isn’t over, Y/N. Whoever did this left a trail. I just have to find them."
You nodded, but deep down, something still gnawed at you. Your guts were telling you that there was more to this.
And for the first time, you wondered if your daughter had been taken not because of who she was, but because of something — or someone — she didn’t know.
“Tell me about her father” Colter said, still scanning the area.
You froze for a moment. You had expected him to ask about Emma’s father. But not yet, at least. You stared at him, trying to figure out how much to say. How much did he know? Or was he just following a hunch?
"Sometimes, the past has a way of catching up to people, even when they’ve left it behind" he added.
"He left" you said. "Before I even knew I was pregnant. I haven’t heard from him since."
It wasn’t a complete lie. Russell had been gone for years, disappearing from your life before you even knew you were pregnant.
Well, maybe he didn’t disappear, maybe you pushed him away. But you had your reasons… reasons you weren’t ready to share with Colter.
He was never part of Emma’s life, never even knew she existed. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that Colter might be right. Maybe this was connected to Russell.
Colter’s expression didn’t change at your revelations, but you could sense his mind was working, putting pieces together. He wasn’t asking for the emotional history; he was looking for facts, details that might explain why someone would take Emma.
"What was he like?" Colter asked, leaning forward slightly. "Did he have enemies? Anything that stands out in your memory?"
“He...” you started. “He never talked about his past. He was… secretive. Once I–” you took a deep breath, contemplating how much to share. “I realized he lied to me. About his job. And… and I told him to get out of my house, my life” you said. It was an insanely outlined version of your story, but you hoped it was enough.
"And…no contact since then?" Colter asked.
You shook your head. "Nothing. Not a single word.”
For a moment, you both fell silent. You could see Colter’s mind turning, sifting through the information, trying to make sense of it. Then, his voice broke the screaming silence.
"Y/N, I need you to think carefully. Is there any chance —any at all — that this could be connected to him?"
You felt a cold shiver run down your spine at the question. You had tried so hard to convince yourself that Russell was just a chapter in your past, that he had nothing to do with the life you had built with Emma. But now, with your daughter missing, the nagging doubt inside you was just impossible to ignore.
"I don’t know" you admitted finally.
Once again, you couldn’t help but think of the name that had been haunting you since this shitstorm began. Shaw. Colter’s last name was the same as Russell’s, and though you hadn’t asked, the possibility plagued your mind. Could Colter be connected to Russell? Could he know more about your past than he was letting on?
You didn’t dare ask. Not yet. Not until you had more answers. But the question stayed in the back of your mind.
And now, the only person who could help you find Emma might be the one with answers you were afraid to uncover.
After taking a deep breath, you said. “He was dealing with… some dangerous people.”
"Who?" Colter asked, his voice low but firm, pushing gently. "What kind of people?"
“It’s– uh, it was some organization, I think. I don't know what they do specifically…” you stammered. “Russell said it was Horizon or something.”
Colter's face tightened. Horizon? The Horizon Group? And Russell?
Something flashed in his eyes. Recognition, most likely. For a brief moment, his usually composed expression fell, and he looked away, as if piecing together a connection.
"Russell..." Colter said, his voice quieter now, almost as if testing the name. He took a step back, his mind clearly working through the sudden flood of new information. "What did you say his last name was?"
This was it. The moment you had been dreading, the one you had skirted around ever since you first heard his name. "Shaw" you said, barely above a whisper. "His last name was Shaw."
Never in your thirtysomething of years ever thought you’d have to experience one of the greatest tragedies of life; your daughter, your whole world, just disappeared.
She had disappeared right from your front yard, where you had only left her alone for a few moments to grab your phone. It had been late afternoon, and the neighborhood was quiet. No strange cars. No unusual noises.
Yes, please put the fear of God in a young mom. Worst nightmare galore 🙈
I legit walked backwards like an idiot recently on the playground while my son was playing in the sand – just so I could still see him 😅
Colter Shaw. At first, the name didn’t strike you as unusual. Colter Shaw. Shaw. You hadn’t thought about this name for a while. Could this be a coincidence?
There’s a lot of Shaws, but I’m guessing not a coincidence 👀
Wait… Is Emma Russell’s kid?!
Colter gave a small nod as he entered, his eyes quickly glancing through the living room, taking in the space as though every detail might offer a clue.
Nailed that description of him. I always laugh when he does it on the show 😂
It wasn’t a complete lie. Russell had been gone for years, disappearing from your life before you even knew you were pregnant.
I’m so thrilled about this! 😍
Oh, poor Colter has the honor now of bringing the news to Russell. Can’t wait to see how that one will go over. Man, what an amazing start! I’m hooked 🤓👏👏👏
Ahhhhhhh I’m so excited for you to jump into it too!!!🤍🤍
First off, massive respect for that backwards-walking move -- TRUE mom dedication ight there! I’m not a mom yet, but whenever our niece is over, I feel like a third eye would be nice in the back of my head.
Oh, poor Colter has the honor now of bringing the news to Russell. Can’t wait to see how that one will go over. Man, what an amazing start! I’m hooked 🤓👏👏👏
IK!! dude’s just trying to do his job, and out of nowhere -- boom, not only does his brother have a daughter, but he’s suddenly an uncle to a kid he’s never even met. It's... definitely an experience.
I'm so happy you're hooked and thrilled about the start! I can't wait to read your thoughts on the following chapters!🤍
Summary: Just a short n’ (bitter)sweet drabble about what it’s like to love Ben.
Warnings: language, innuendos (c’mon, it’s Ben), mention of violence
Song inspo: I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can) by Taylor Swift.
Loving Soldier Boy isn’t easy.
You knew Soldier Boy was a handful. Hell, he knows he’s a handful. And you know Ben has never been handled before. Not properly. Not by someone who knows when to push and when to pull, when to hold steady and when to let go.
But you?
You thought you had him figured out.
He’s bad news — at least that’s what everyone keeps telling you.
“That man is not safe” MM says, arms crossed.
“He’s straightdown psychotic” Annie agrees, looking at you like she’s waiting for the spell Ben must have put on you to break.
Hughie just grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck. “Are you sure about this? Like, really sure?”
Frenchie sighs. “I have seen many dangerous men, mon coeur, but that one?” He shakes his head. “That one is the iceberg that sinks the ship.”
Even Kimiko seems to eye you with pity.
And Butcher — he just tsked.
“That’s a bloody dangerous game you’re about to play, luv.”
But all that didn’t matter.
Not when Ben flashes you that cocky, wolfish grin. Not when he pulls you in with that fiery gaze that makes your pulse stutter. Not when he touches you like you’re the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.
He’s a walking contradiction.
He can be crude and crass and violent, but his hands that are scarred and calloused from years of supposed war and bloodshed, are so uncharacteristically gentle when they touch you like he’s terrified of breaking something he doesn’t know how to stitch back together.
And you love it.
You love that you make him hesitate.
That you make him stay.
"Fuck, you’ve ruined me" he murmurs one night, pressing his forehead to yours, breath warm against your lips. “You made me a goddamn pussy.”
Loving Soldier Boy is mastering the skill of interpreting nonverbal communication.
You see, Ben isn’t good with words. Not the important ones, anyway.
But he’s fluent in actions.
Like how he always, always keeps a hand on you — your waist, your back, the nape of your neck — like he needs the physical contact to remind himself you’re real and still with him.
Or how, when you’re pissed at him, he won’t apologize outright, but he will fix your coffee just the way you like it, set it down in front of you with a grunt and a pointed look, like There. Happy now?
Or the way he watches you when he thinks you’re not looking. Like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you because no matter how much of a dick he is sometimes, the thought of him possibly outliving you haunts him.
He’s an asshole. A menace. A walking disaster.
And yet, when he pulls you into his lap, his fingers threading through your hair, his lips ghosting over yours—
You think maybe he’s worth the trouble.
Loving Soldier Boy is a delicate art.
It’s catching the flicker of rage in his eyes before he explodes, steering him away from the fire instead of into it.
It’s letting him run his mouth, knowing that half the shit he says is just to get a rise out of people, and the other half—
Well.
“Because it was fucking beeping” he answers when you find bullet holes in your microwave.
Ben’s not stupid.
But when he came back from the dead, or, you know, from 40 years of being locked up, you’re starting to realize… he might not be as up to date as he thinks.
You blink. “Because it was beeping?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs, leaning back against the counter like he didn’t just pull some absolute batshit nonsense. “Wouldn’t shut the hell up.”
“That’s… literally its job, Ben.”
“Well, now it’s unemployed.” He smirks. “Like half the people I’ve worked with.
Loving Soldier Boy is like wrestling with a live grenade.
Violence isn’t just second nature to Ben — it’s first.
He doesn’t do restraint.
Like the time some guy got a little too close to you at a club and ended up with a broken jaw — because Ben doesn’t do warnings either.
Or the time he punched a cop without even thinking about the consequences.
“To be fair, he was being a dick.”
“He was giving you a parking ticket.”
Ben scoffs. “Exactly.”
“Oh my God.”
“What?” He throws his hands up, all mock innocence. “I told him not to touch my car.”
Loving Soldier Boy is fighting for feminism while actively losing the war.
There’s something infuriating about Ben’s shameless, unapologetic brand of horniness.
His jokes are always just a little too loud, just a little too offensive, making you cringe even as he smirks, because he knows damn well what he’s doing.
And yet, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it.
And he knows it.
No matter how many times you glare at him, no matter how often you mutter “Ben, we are in public”, he sees the way your breath hitches, the way your thighs press together when he leans in too close, and he can practically smell the forming pool in your panties.
“C’mon, sweetheart.” His voice is low, dripping with amusement. “Don’t act like you don’t love it when I talk dirty to you.”
You glare at him. “You literally just told the bartender that I needed something ‘to keep my mouth occupied.’”
Ben grins. “And I stand by that.”
You fight the urge to groan. “You are insufferable.”
He leans in, his lips just barely brushing against your ear. “But you like me insufferable.”
And fuck.
Maybe you do.
Loving Soldier Boy is realizing you’re the one really losing the fight.
When the team calls you out on his bullshit, you just sit there and listen.
You have no defense.
Because what are you even supposed to say?
He’s trying? (He’s not.)
He didn’t mean to? (He absolutely did.)
He’s a work in progress? (Is he?)
And despite what everyone says — despite the fact that he probably won’t ever change — you can’t seem to stop yourself from diving headfirst into the madness.
Maybe you can’t fix him.
But damn if he doesn’t make it worth trying.
The chokehold this man has on me is insane — help
Also… This sat in my drafts for months, but I gave it a reread and didn’t completely hate it — so here you go. Hope you enjoyed!🤍
Summary: In a world turned upside down, where monsters hunt and hunters are the prey, Y/N must choose: follow the new rules to stay alive or join a rogue band of hunters determined to reclaim power and change the game for good.
General series warnings: dark themes, gore, kind of apocalyptic vibes, language
Chapter warnings: aftermath of a panic attack, visions and flashbacks, revisiting character death, being captured. Tell me if I missed something!!!
Series set after Season 15.
Somewhat canon-divergent.
Theme song of the chapter: The Middle by Jimmy Eat World.
Catch up on Chapter 3 here
Series masterlist
Chapter 4: Hey, Don't Write Yourself Off Yet
The tea wasn’t helping.
Sam had made it with all the care of someone who actually knew how to be nurturing, but at the end of the day, tea was just leaf water, and leaf water wasn’t gonna fix your brain. Not after the absolute trainwreck of a day you’d had.
You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, fingers curling around the warm mug as you tried — key word being here: tried — to pretend like you weren’t still shaking.
It was fine. Everything was fine.
Except, of course, for the part where you’d had a full-on panic attack in front of half the damn bunker. Cas had been there, Sam, some of the other hunters. All of them wanting to experience the circus. And Dean.
Dean, who had cleared the room like he actually gave a shit.
Like, actually stepped in and made everyone leave. Which was weird. Because yeah, he was protective of his people, but you weren’t his people. Not really. You were the weird outsider with a past so messy it needed its own Netflix docuseries.
But here he was. Sitting on the edge of the bed like he belonged there, arms crossed, eyes watching you with that signature Dean Winchester blend of concern and mild irritation.
And then — softly, carefully, quietly, like he was trying not to spook you—
“What did you mean back there? When you said everything you believed was a lie?”
Oh. We’re doing this now.
You took a long sip of your tea — mostly to stall, partly to avoid answering. It tasted like nothing. You stared down at it anyway, willing it to have the answers.
It did not.
“…How much did the others tell you about me?” you asked instead, your voice quieter than you wanted it to be.
Dean exhaled through his nose, tilting his head like he was deciding how much to say. “I know you came from a world that didn’t leave a lot of survivors,” he said finally. “Beyond that? Not much.”
You let out a bitter laugh at that, the sound of it was way harsher than you intended, but you didn’t respond immediately. What the hell was there to say? You weren’t sure you even knew where to begin anymore. There were so many lies tangled in your brain, so many goddamn things that you still didn’t understand about yourself.
“A survivor” you repeated, shaking your head. “That’s one way to put it.”
Dean didn’t say anything. Just waited. Which was somehow worse.
You swallowed, fingers tightening around the mug. “I know people despise me here… Hell, I despise myself” you said, voice breaking before you could stop it. “While they barely survived, somehow, those goddamn demons wiped my ass clean with golden toilet paper.”
That got a reaction. His eyebrows pulled together, but he didn’t interrupt.
“It wasn’t just survival” you went on, voice bitter. “It was comfort. Luxury. Five-star meals. Silk sheets. A guard outside my door, making sure the wrong demons didn’t bother me. And the whole time, I told myself I wasn’t one of them. That I wasn’t working for them. But the truth is, Dean…”
You forced yourself to meet his eyes, your voice dropping to barely a whisper.
“I was their damn mascot.”
Dean leaned back slightly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. He wasn’t looking at you like he was judging, though. Just… thinking. Processing. “So what changed?” he asked. “When did you start seeing through the crap?”
You dragged a hand down your face. “When I started asking questions.” Your lips curled, the memory stinging. “But even then, Barbas always had answers. He had this whole story. A twisted fairy tale about why demons invaded Earth. About why Rowena was the real monster.”
Dean furrowed his brow, curiosity and concern flashing through his eyes. “What did that bastard tell you?”
You hesitated, because saying it out loud felt stupid. But you forced yourself to anyway.
“He told me Rowena was a tyrant. That she turned Hell into something worse than it had ever been. That she ruled with cruelty and chaos, making even demons suffer under her whims. According to him she was so power-hungry she made Hell unlivable, not just for damned human souls but for demons, too.”
Dean scoffed. A short, disbelieving noise.
But you weren’t done.
“Barbas said the invasion wasn’t about power. It was about survival. That Malgathor and his people were the good guys, fighting to escape Rowena’s reign of terror. He made it sound like Earth was their only chance.”
You laughed, but it was a hollow, ugly thing. “And I believed him.”
Dean let out a slow, sharp breath. Ran a hand through his hair like he was physically trying to keep himself from saying something wrong.
“But you’ve met Rowena now” he said. “You know that’s not how it went down.”
Your hands trembled as you pressed them against your face.
“Yeah” you whispered. “Now I know.”
For a second, neither of you spoke. The silence sat heavy between you.
Then—
“Hey” Dean’s voice was softer now. “You’re here. You got out.”
Your breath hitched.
“It’s not that simple” you muttered, shaking your head. “I–I keep getting these flashbacks. Scraps. Pieces. I can’t tell what’s real and what’s just— lies Barbas planted in my head. I—” Your voice cracked. “I believed him. For so long.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment again, but something really caught his mind.
Dean’s whole posture shifted. His shoulders squared, his expression hardening.
“That’s what those visions are, aren’t they?” he said, putting the pieces together out loud. “When you freaked out in the war room. When I found you in the storage room.”
You nodded as you pulled the blanket tighter around yourself. “Yeah.”
His eyes flicked over you, scanning your face like he was looking for signs you were gonna crack again. “What do you see? In those visions?”
You should’ve lied. Should’ve brushed it off. But instead...
“I see Barbas. I see demons. I— I can’t move, and I don’t know why and there’s this awful metallic taste in my mouth, and—”
“Alright, alright, enough” he interrupted, his voice low and soothing. “You don’t… Don’t have to go through that again” He reached out, resting a hand gently on your shoulder, but deep down, something gnawed at him.
If you played the part they wanted you to… why torture you? Why go to all the trouble of breaking you down, only to wipe your memory? Was that just for control? Or was there more?
It didn’t add up. But he didn’t want to press further. He glanced at you again – the way your face twisted in pain, like you were about to break all over again. The last thing he wanted was to push you into another panic attack. Yeah, no way was he pushing that button.
Dean’s voice cut through the spiral, firm but gentle. Like he was pulling you back from the edge.
“Look, I don’t know what kind of mindfuckery they pulled on you” he said, “but you’re here now. With us. And we’re gonna figure this out.”
“Hey” he said softly, trying to catch your attention. “You want another mug?”
You shook your head.
Dean then stood with a stretch that seemed more for show than necessity like he wanted to fill the silence with anything other than words. He turned toward the door, his hand hovering hesitantly near the knob like he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to leave.
“Then get some rest” he said and his voice indicated it was an order disguised as a suggestion. “You probably haven’t had a proper sleep in a while.”
His fingers barely brushed the doorknob when you blurted, “Wait” The word came out rough and strained, like it had fought itself up from your chest.
Dean stopped instantly, glancing back at you with a mix of curiosity and caution, like he’d just spotted a landmine on a well-trodden path. “Yeah?”
You swallowed, suddenly regretting every decision that had led you to this moment. “I just thought… you’ll already sneak back into my room–”
“My room” he corrected automatically, his lips curling into the kind of smirk that could either infuriate or disarm you, depending on the mood. Tonight, it did a little of both.
You rolled your eyes, more out of habit than annoyance and then continued. “–so I figured… maybe you could just… stay.”
Dean blinked, his eyebrows climbing just a fraction higher, and for a second, you could tell he was debating whether to make a joke or take you seriously. “You want me to stay? While you’re asleep?”
“No” you blurted out, the word tumbling out like you’d just been caught swiping the last cookie in the jar. It came out too quickly, too high, and you could practically feel the cringe ripple through your insides. You recovered as best you could, rolling your shoulders and adding, “But you’re gonna do it anyway, aren’t you? So at least this way, I get to pretend it was my idea.”
It was a lie and you knew he sensed it too. But you couldn’t bring yourself to admit that his presence right there in the room was the only thing keeping the creeping panic at bay
Dean stood there, one hand still on the doorknob, his expression softening in a way that made your chest tighten. He wasn’t laughing, wasn’t teasing, no… he was just looking at you. And for one terrible, fleeting second you thought he might actually say no, might leave you in the room to battle your messy thoughts alone.
“Alright” he said after a few agonizingly long seconds. He took a couple of steps back into the room and dragged the chair closer to the bed, leaning back into it. His legs stretched out, but he didn’t say anything else.
“You… sure you’re good there?” you asked, half joking, half genuinely concerned.
His mouth twitched at the corners, and you swore he was fighting off a full-on grin. Instead, he leaned back even more comfortably, folding his arms across his chest, like he was preparing for an impromptu nap. Of course, you knew better and you knew Dean didn’t need sleep.
“Chair’s fine” he said, shrugging nonchalantly. “Don’t worry about me. I’m versatile.”
You snorted despite yourself. You settled back into the bed, sinking further into the blankets, trying to ignore the strange warmth spreading through your chest that you couldn’t quite place. This wasn’t how you imagined the night would go. Hell, you hadn’t even known what you were doing when you opened your mouth a few minutes ago. But there he was, sitting there like it was the most normal thing in the world, and it… it didn’t feel so bad.
“Goodnight” Dean said. “Try to get some sleep.”
The bunker’s library was a warzone of books and exhaustion.
Stacks of ancient tomes and dusty manuscripts towered precariously on every available surface, as if daring someone to knock them over. Notes were scattered across the long table, half-finished theories scribbled in frustration. The air carried the faint scent of old parchment, ink, and coffee so stale it could qualify as an eldritch entity.
Sam sat at the head of the table, flipping through a thick, leather-bound text with the focus of a man desperately trying to find a needle in a hell-sized haystack. Castiel stood by the wall, staring at the demonic script with all the enthusiasm of a man reading tax codes.
If he even knew what tax codes were!
Several hunters were sitting around the space, their focus mostly on their respectively assigned books or the method of sneaking out to the toilet without having to come back anytime soon.
But most of them abandoned those attempts. Too much was at stake.
“Alright, uh…” Sam said earlier. “We’re looking for something, anything, on Malgathor. His possible lair or residence, his past, his weird demon cult of Hell traditionalists, whatever we can get.” He glanced around at the group, when his eyes landed on the stack of dusty tomes Joe had haphazardly flipped through and abandoned in frustration. “If you’re staring at the pages like that, you’re not gonna find anything. Focus. Please.”
They tried. But there was so much a pack of human could do.
In short, they were suffering.
And Joe was the loudest about it.
“Why the hell are we even doing this?” he groaned, shoving a book away. “Shouldn’t Champ Girl be handling this? I mean, isn’t she, like, the expert on demons?”
Sam sighed. “ “She’s resting. Had a rough afternoon.”
His tone made it clear: don’t push it.
Joe, of course, pushed it. “Must be nice” he muttered, flipping another page with all the enthusiasm of a man being forced at gunpoint to read. “Getting beauty sleep while the rest of us are inhaling mold spores.”
Before Sam could respond, Inez — who had been quietly working and not being an ass about it — spoke up. “I swear if I have to hear you whine one more time, Joe, I’m gonna make you sleep and it won’t be beauty-related.”
A beat of silence.
Then, from somewhere down the table, a quiet “Oooooh, shit” from one of the other hunters.
Joe grumbled something that sounded vaguely like touchy, but he shut up, which was a Christmas miracle.
It was mind-numbing work but not the kind that lets your brain wander peacefully. No, this was the cognitive equivalent of running a marathon in goddamn flip-flops. The manuscripts the hunters were slogging through were a glorious mess of ancient scribbles, what Joe swore were drunk notes, and indecipherable symbols that looked like someone had sneezed mid-cursive. Some even resembled the result of a writer’s misguided attempt at art therapy.
The room was filled with collective groans as the group flipped through the relics of some long-dead scholar who clearly had a personal hatred toward future generations… or had a vendetta against user-friendly design. Because fuck these books and myths.
Whoever coined the phrase knowledge is power clearly never met these very pages.
Useless. Absolutely useless.
And then—
“Oh my God.”
Inez practically leapt from her chair, slamming her hands onto the table so hard that one of the precariously balanced book stacks collapsed instantly.
Sam was immediately at her side. “What? Did you find something?”
She nodded so fast her ponytail nearly took flight. “Yeah. Right here—” She jabbed a finger at the text in front of her. “There’s a reference here to a place called the Vale of Ashes. Supposedly it’s a nexus point for higher level demons, a sort of gathering place for when Hell’s elite have business topside. It’s been inactive for centuries, but if Malgathor’s trying to pull something big, it’d make sense for him to use it.”
Sam’s brow furrowed as he considered the new information. “The Vale of Ashes… I don’t remember coming across that name before.”
“The Vale of Ashes…” Castiel stepped forward, and repeated the words. “Yes, I heard of that, I think. It’s more than a gathering place. It’s a sanctuary for demons powerful enough to shield themselves from detection, even from angels. If Malgathor’s there, it’s no wonder we’ve struggled to locate him.”
The mood in the room immediately shifted.
No more tired sighs. No more half-assed research.
This was real. This was something.
Joe let out a dramatic groan, flopping back in his chair. “Great. Just fuckin’ great. So, not only do we have to find this place, but we’ve gotta figure out how to break into a demon fortress without getting turned into ash ourselves.”
“Joe” Sam said with the measured tone of a man hanging by a thread. “Either help or get out. Your call.”
Joe put his hands up. “Fine, fine. Just saying.”
Sam ignored him, turning back to Inez. “Does the book say where it is? Anything about coordinates, landmarks, anything?”
“Not yet” Inez admitted, though she was already scanning the surrounding pages, her brow furrowed in determination. “But if this book mentions it, there’s a good chance the rest of the details are here somewhere.”
Sam took a step back, nodding. “Alright. This is good. This is the best lead we’ve had.”
The exhaustion in the room was still there, but now it had a different flavor. Less soul-crushing despair, more determined, caffeine-powered focus.
Because for the first time in weeks, they had a real shot at finding Malgathor.
And there was no way in hell they were letting it slip away.
When you woke up, the first thing you did was check the chair.
It was stupid. You knew that. But still… your eyes darted to the chair pulled close to your bedside, like maybe Dean was still there.
He wasn’t.
And that stung a little more than you were willing to admit.
Well. Not totally empty. His jacket was still there. A tangible sign that he hadn’t completely ghosted you — yes, pun intended.
You groggily glanced at the clock.
7 a.m.? Wait, really?
You did the math quickly: eight whole hours of sleep. A full night’s rest.
This was… unprecedented.
Who even am I? Some kind of… morning person now? you wondered.
For the first time in what felt like forever (okay, two years, to be exact), you hadn’t woken up drenched in sweat, gasping like you’d just outrun a hellhound. None of that today. No nightmares. No panic.
And that? That felt like a goddamn miracle.
You sat up, stretching your limbs with the grace of a middle-aged dad who just realized his alarm doesn’t go off for another 20 minutes. It was a nice change. Maybe you were ready to face the day. Or at least face the weird, slightly claustrophobic town this bunker had created.
As you made your bed like the grown-up you are, pretending to not be in a safehouse, your eyes lingered on the chair again, now with a better angle. It wasn’t empty and not just because of the jacket.
A shirt. Freshly folded. Just sitting there, like it was meant for you.
Your lips twitched into something dangerously close to a smile as you picked it up, slipping it on without a second thought.
Comfortable. A little oversized.
Perfect.
And then came… hunger with an obscenely loud rumble of your stomach. The kind that hits hard, like your stomach suddenly remembered it existed and was personally offended by the lack of food. It grumbled so loud it was probably audible in Heaven.
You sighed. Okay. Food first. Existential dread later.
You ventured toward the kitchen.
But as soon as you got within earshot, you stalled. Voices. Clattering dishes. A full goddamn house.
Great. Awesome. Perfect timing, Y/N.
You hesitated in the doorway, self-doubt creeping in like a bad ex. Déjà vu hit like a truck, this was the war room disaster all over again. You scanned the room and— yep. There he was.
Joe.
Your greatest fan. (Hah, not!)
Breakfast is overrated anyway.
The great escape was forming in your mind: quick pivot, retreat to your room, and maybe come back when the place was empty. But just as you began to shuffle backward, hoping no one had spotted you, a voice sliced through the awkward air like a hot knife through butter.
“Hey! You coming in or just standing there?”
The words came from a blonde girl sitting near the center of the room. Her voice was so warm that it made it impossible to pretend you didn’t hear her. You glanced at her direction.
You recognized her immediately: the one who’d yanked you out of a stress-induced spiral in that same war room meeting from earlier that week. Not exactly your favorite memory, but at least she hadn’t treated you like an inconvenience. That earned her some points.
“I swear, if you stand there like a deer in headlights, I’ll drag you in by your ear.”
Well. That wasn’t a threat you felt like testing.
Sighing, you pushed off the doorframe and sauntered in, playing it cool like you weren’t just about to run the hell out of there. Inez was already halfway through her coffee when she gestured to the empty seat beside her.
You hesitated.
Then, before your inner coward could talk you out of it, you sat.
She didn’t waste a second, sliding a tray of food across the table to you. “Here. You look like you need this more than I do.”
You blinked at the offering. Eggs. Bacon. Toast. Even a full mug of coffee.
Your stomach growled in approval.
“…Uh, thanks.”
She grinned smugly, sipping her own coffee. "No problem. And don't worry, everyone’s too busy with their own melodrama to notice you now. You were new, and yeah, it’s weird at first, but it dies down rather quickly. Well, except for Joe over there. He’s kind of a douche. I’m pretty sure he thinks hello is a hostile interrogation. But I get it, kind of. He’s still adjusting. He got here, what, two weeks ago? But the rest of the crew’s alright."
You could already feel Joe’s eyes drifting your way, the same way a cat stares at something just before knocking it off the table. Nope. Not today. You were out.
You turned back to Inez, and chuckled softly, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little.
“I’m Inez, by the way.”
“Y/N” you offered.
“I know” Inez smiled, leaning forward.
You picked up your fork, finally digging in as Inez leaned back, watching you with an expression that was somewhere between amused and thoughtful.
“You know” she said after a beat, “you’re doing better than I did when I first got here.”
You glanced up at her, fork paused mid-air. “...What do you mean?”
“When I showed up here just about a year ago” she began, “I was the first woman to get brought into this bunker. And let me tell you, the guys weren’t exactly rolling out the welcome wagon. I got hit with every tired stereotype you can imagine. ‘She’s weak.’ ‘She’s no use’.’’
You blinked, not sure whether to laugh or wince. “Ouch.”
“Yeah” she snorted, sipping her coffee, “Then I said I’d handle the groceries for as long as I can.”
You nearly choked on your eggs.“…Groceries?”
She didn’t even blink.
“Yup.”
“Like. Actual groceries?”
“Like running into demon-infested cities and hitting up the local supermarket, yeah. Luckily, they still exist. Apparently, demons care about keeping their humans alive.”
You stared at her. “…You’re shitting me.”
“Nope.” She popped the ‘p’ with way too much satisfaction.
“So you’re telling me—” You gestured vaguely. “You risk your life… for fresh produce?”
Inez smirked. “Either that or we live off canned beans and powdered eggs for a month. And then, well. Probably on each other.”
You blinked. “You say that so casually.”
“Survival, newbie.” She took another sip. “Gotta have priorities.”
“…And that’s how you earned their respect?”
“Pretty much. Turns out, men are very food-motivated. Who knew?”
You let out a laugh. Okay. Yeah. That was oddly impressive.
Then, your brain started piecing something together.
When you first got here, food had just... appeared at your door. Simple stuff — sandwiches, snacks — but someone had been making sure you didn’t starve. You suspected it was Jack or Cas or some other angel playing guardian for you.
But maybe—
You narrowed your eyes at Inez. “…Wait a second. Those sandwiches I got during my first few days here… was that you?”
Inez gave a small, knowing smirk and leaned back in her chair. “Guilty as charged.”
Your jaw dropped a little. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope” she said, popping the p with a little too much satisfaction. “It’s kind of a tradition here for me now… helping the new folks settle in. Just a little food delivery service to help you get through the weirdness of being dumped in a bunker full of people who are way more comfortable with guns than small talk.”
“Well…” you said, a genuine smile creeping onto your face, “Thank you, then. You are the reason I didn’t die first thing here. I wouldn’t have been caught dead coming out.”
Her smirk softened into something warmer. “You’re welcome. And don’t worry, you’re not the only one who’s gone through it. The bunker has this way of making you feel like you’re the odd one out at first, but again, it passes.”
You nodded, feeling strangely reassured by her words. There was something comforting in knowing that even someone as seemingly self-assured and collected as Inez had faced her own struggles in fitting in.
She stood, stretching a little. “Alright, newbie, I’ll leave you to your thoughts and eggs. But hey, if you ever need someone to talk to or you’re just in the mood for a romcom that none of us will admit we love, my door’s always open. Room 13A.” She paused, giving you a mischievous look. “And just so you know, I may or may not have a bottle of tequila stashed away. Perks of being the designated grocery runner, you know?”
With a wink, she strolled off — leaving you sitting there with a sight so rare it could’ve been framed:
An actual smile on your face.
The vehemently falling raindrops soaked your jacket, sweeping through your undershirt, bra, making all its way to your skin. Your body trembled uncontrollably and a cruel mix of shivers and sweat plastered your hair to your forehead since the leaky roof of the stable did nothing to shield you from the storm’s fury.
You promised yourself you’d stay right there. By his side. You kept whispering the same lie over and over: he's just sleeping, he’s just sleeping. But no matter how many times you told yourself that, a cold, hollow truth settled in your chest. Deep down, you knew. You knew your father was gone.
Your eyelids felt heavy, like they were made of stone. You tried to keep them open, tried to look at the man you’d lost, but it was as though your own body was betraying you. The hypothermia was taking over and clouding your mind, making everything blur together.
You didn’t hear the footsteps at first. You didn’t feel them coming. You didn’t even feel the weight of their presence until it loomed over you, like a shadow swallowing what little light there was left in the world.
A figure smirked, bending down to look at you. His eyes flicked to the silver knife tucked neatly in your pocket, then to your father’s still body. “Master’s gonna be thrilled to see we’ve found two.”
“We can only use the girl, though, Barbas.” Another voice said.
You couldn’t lift your head. Words slurred together, forming an incoherent mess in your foggy mind. You couldn’t grasp the horror of what they were saying. All you could understand was that they were treating you like you were just some... object. Something to use. Just a tool in their hands. A very cold, very shivery tool.
When they finally dragged you up and tossed you onto something that felt surprisingly soft – like a leather car seat, if you had any memories of such luxuries – you only felt the warmth that spread through your body from the AC blasting on high. It was the kind of warmth that didn’t quite reach your soul but was just enough to keep you alive.
And with that, your eyelids fluttered shut.
Next on The Great Invasion (Sneak Peek from Chapter 5):
Dean glanced at you. “Big Aerosmith fan?”
You nodded, stretching your legs out. “First concert I ever went to.”
That actually got Dean’s attention. His eyebrows lifted slightly, curiosity flickering across his face. “No kidding?”
“Nope.” You propped your elbow on the window, a small smile creeping onto your lips. “Me and my dad. He got me tickets for my sixteenth birthday. He’s the one who got me into classic rock. We used to listen to it all the time — long drives, fixing up the car, burning food in the kitchen. Just the usual.”
Dean hummed in approval. “Smart man.”
You smirked. “Obviously.”
He chuckled, shaking his head before his expression shifted, like he was debating saying something.
Eventually, he just exhaled and went for it.
“My dad never really took me anywhere.”
You turned to him, his voice so casual it almost sounded like he was commenting on the weather.
But you weren’t stupid.
You noticed that offhanded comment carried more weight than he’d probably admit.
Alright, I KNOW, it took me a while.🥺 Apologies, loves.
Summary: Just a short n’ (bitter)sweet drabble about what it’s like to love Ben.
Warnings: language, innuendos (c’mon, it’s Ben), mention of violence
Song inspo: I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can) by Taylor Swift.
Loving Soldier Boy isn’t easy.
You knew Soldier Boy was a handful. Hell, he knows he’s a handful. And you know Ben has never been handled before. Not properly. Not by someone who knows when to push and when to pull, when to hold steady and when to let go.
But you?
You thought you had him figured out.
He’s bad news — at least that’s what everyone keeps telling you.
“That man is not safe” MM says, arms crossed.
“He’s straightdown psychotic” Annie agrees, looking at you like she’s waiting for the spell Ben must have put on you to break.
Hughie just grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck. “Are you sure about this? Like, really sure?”
Frenchie sighs. “I have seen many dangerous men, mon coeur, but that one?” He shakes his head. “That one is the iceberg that sinks the ship.”
Even Kimiko seems to eye you with pity.
And Butcher — he just tsked.
“That’s a bloody dangerous game you’re about to play, luv.”
But all that didn’t matter.
Not when Ben flashes you that cocky, wolfish grin. Not when he pulls you in with that fiery gaze that makes your pulse stutter. Not when he touches you like you’re the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.
He’s a walking contradiction.
He can be crude and crass and violent, but his hands that are scarred and calloused from years of supposed war and bloodshed, are so uncharacteristically gentle when they touch you like he’s terrified of breaking something he doesn’t know how to stitch back together.
And you love it.
You love that you make him hesitate.
That you make him stay.
"Fuck, you’ve ruined me" he murmurs one night, pressing his forehead to yours, breath warm against your lips. “You made me a goddamn pussy.”
Loving Soldier Boy is mastering the skill of interpreting nonverbal communication.
You see, Ben isn’t good with words. Not the important ones, anyway.
But he’s fluent in actions.
Like how he always, always keeps a hand on you — your waist, your back, the nape of your neck — like he needs the physical contact to remind himself you’re real and still with him.
Or how, when you’re pissed at him, he won’t apologize outright, but he will fix your coffee just the way you like it, set it down in front of you with a grunt and a pointed look, like There. Happy now?
Or the way he watches you when he thinks you’re not looking. Like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you because no matter how much of a dick he is sometimes, the thought of him possibly outliving you haunts him.
He’s an asshole. A menace. A walking disaster.
And yet, when he pulls you into his lap, his fingers threading through your hair, his lips ghosting over yours—
You think maybe he’s worth the trouble.
Loving Soldier Boy is a delicate art.
It’s catching the flicker of rage in his eyes before he explodes, steering him away from the fire instead of into it.
It’s letting him run his mouth, knowing that half the shit he says is just to get a rise out of people, and the other half—
Well.
“Because it was fucking beeping” he answers when you find bullet holes in your microwave.
Ben’s not stupid.
But when he came back from the dead, or, you know, from 40 years of being locked up, you’re starting to realize… he might not be as up to date as he thinks.
You blink. “Because it was beeping?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs, leaning back against the counter like he didn’t just pull some absolute batshit nonsense. “Wouldn’t shut the hell up.”
“That’s… literally its job, Ben.”
“Well, now it’s unemployed.” He smirks. “Like half the people I’ve worked with.
Loving Soldier Boy is like wrestling with a live grenade.
Violence isn’t just second nature to Ben — it’s first.
He doesn’t do restraint.
Like the time some guy got a little too close to you at a club and ended up with a broken jaw — because Ben doesn’t do warnings either.
Or the time he punched a cop without even thinking about the consequences.
“To be fair, he was being a dick.”
“He was giving you a parking ticket.”
Ben scoffs. “Exactly.”
“Oh my God.”
“What?” He throws his hands up, all mock innocence. “I told him not to touch my car.”
Loving Soldier Boy is fighting for feminism while actively losing the war.
There’s something infuriating about Ben’s shameless, unapologetic brand of horniness.
His jokes are always just a little too loud, just a little too offensive, making you cringe even as he smirks, because he knows damn well what he’s doing.
And yet, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it.
And he knows it.
No matter how many times you glare at him, no matter how often you mutter “Ben, we are in public”, he sees the way your breath hitches, the way your thighs press together when he leans in too close, and he can practically smell the forming pool in your panties.
“C’mon, sweetheart.” His voice is low, dripping with amusement. “Don’t act like you don’t love it when I talk dirty to you.”
You glare at him. “You literally just told the bartender that I needed something ‘to keep my mouth occupied.’”
Ben grins. “And I stand by that.”
You fight the urge to groan. “You are insufferable.”
He leans in, his lips just barely brushing against your ear. “But you like me insufferable.”
And fuck.
Maybe you do.
Loving Soldier Boy is realizing you’re the one really losing the fight.
When the team calls you out on his bullshit, you just sit there and listen.
You have no defense.
Because what are you even supposed to say?
He’s trying? (He’s not.)
He didn’t mean to? (He absolutely did.)
He’s a work in progress? (Is he?)
And despite what everyone says — despite the fact that he probably won’t ever change — you can’t seem to stop yourself from diving headfirst into the madness.
Maybe you can’t fix him.
But damn if he doesn’t make it worth trying.
The chokehold this man has on me is insane — help
Also… This sat in my drafts for months, but I gave it a reread and didn’t completely hate it — so here you go. Hope you enjoyed!🤍
What d’you mean you didn’t “hate it”?! Those were fucking awesome, love!! Every single one was crafted perfectly (and I fully agree with all of them lol). And as a huge Swiftie, let me just tell you that every time I listen to that song, I think of Soldier Boy without fail 😂🤍
Favorite lines below the cut:
He’s a walking contradiction.
He can be crude and crass and violent, but his hands that are scarred and calloused from years of supposed war and bloodshed, are so uncharacteristically gentle when they touch you like he’s terrified of breaking something he doesn’t know how to stitch back together.
That’s such a beautiful description of him 😭💕
"Fuck, you’ve ruined me" he murmurs one night, pressing his forehead to yours, breath warm against your lips. “You made me a goddamn pussy.”
This user has melted into a puddle 🫠🫠🫠
But he’s fluent in actions.
I loved that comparison! He does seem like someone who’d be better at actions than words 💚
He’s an asshole. A menace. A walking disaster.
The son of all bastards 😂🫶
“Because it was fucking beeping” he answers when you find bullet holes in your microwave.
Dead 🤣🤣 Gramps ain’t a fan of the microwave, I see lol
Loving Soldier Boy is fighting for feminism while actively losing the war.
Truer words have never been spoken when it comes to SB lmao
He’s trying? (He’s not.)
He didn’t mean to? (He absolutely did.)
He’s a work in progress? (Is he?)
Ahaha I loved this! Such a realistic layer to loving him 😂
Absolutely amazing job, Pam! They were beautifully written, damn funny, and even a little fluffy 😍💚💚💚
Well, this user did the same, seeing your feedback.🤍 Your ridiculously sweet reblog just made my day!!!
Honestly, thank God I’m not the only one whose brain has been completely hijacked by SB, because the second this song plays, I’m like Yup, that’s definitely about Ben & if a fellow Swiftie sees it too, I think we can officially call this the only certified literary analysis of the song. 😂🎶
And I’m SO glad you pointed out the struggle with Ben and feminism because yeah… I proudly call myself a feminist, but the second this man enters the equation? Suddenly, my morals are playing a game of Twister, and I’m just standing there like... Well… maybe just this once.😭
Thank you again for such a thoughtful and kind comment! I loved reading every word of it and I’m beyond happy you liked the fic! 🤍
Summary: Just a short n’ (bitter)sweet drabble about what it’s like to love Ben.
Warnings: language, innuendos (c’mon, it’s Ben), mention of violence
Song inspo: I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can) by Taylor Swift.
Loving Soldier Boy isn’t easy.
You knew Soldier Boy was a handful. Hell, he knows he’s a handful. And you know Ben has never been handled before. Not properly. Not by someone who knows when to push and when to pull, when to hold steady and when to let go.
But you?
You thought you had him figured out.
He’s bad news — at least that’s what everyone keeps telling you.
“That man is not safe” MM says, arms crossed.
“He’s straightdown psychotic” Annie agrees, looking at you like she’s waiting for the spell Ben must have put on you to break.
Hughie just grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck. “Are you sure about this? Like, really sure?”
Frenchie sighs. “I have seen many dangerous men, mon coeur, but that one?” He shakes his head. “That one is the iceberg that sinks the ship.”
Even Kimiko seems to eye you with pity.
And Butcher — he just tsked.
“That’s a bloody dangerous game you’re about to play, luv.”
But all that didn’t matter.
Not when Ben flashes you that cocky, wolfish grin. Not when he pulls you in with that fiery gaze that makes your pulse stutter. Not when he touches you like you’re the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.
He’s a walking contradiction.
He can be crude and crass and violent, but his hands that are scarred and calloused from years of supposed war and bloodshed, are so uncharacteristically gentle when they touch you like he’s terrified of breaking something he doesn’t know how to stitch back together.
And you love it.
You love that you make him hesitate.
That you make him stay.
"Fuck, you’ve ruined me" he murmurs one night, pressing his forehead to yours, breath warm against your lips. “You made me a goddamn pussy.”
Loving Soldier Boy is mastering the skill of interpreting nonverbal communication.
You see, Ben isn’t good with words. Not the important ones, anyway.
But he’s fluent in actions.
Like how he always, always keeps a hand on you — your waist, your back, the nape of your neck — like he needs the physical contact to remind himself you’re real and still with him.
Or how, when you’re pissed at him, he won’t apologize outright, but he will fix your coffee just the way you like it, set it down in front of you with a grunt and a pointed look, like There. Happy now?
Or the way he watches you when he thinks you’re not looking. Like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you because no matter how much of a dick he is sometimes, the thought of him possibly outliving you haunts him.
He’s an asshole. A menace. A walking disaster.
And yet, when he pulls you into his lap, his fingers threading through your hair, his lips ghosting over yours—
You think maybe he’s worth the trouble.
Loving Soldier Boy is a delicate art.
It’s catching the flicker of rage in his eyes before he explodes, steering him away from the fire instead of into it.
It’s letting him run his mouth, knowing that half the shit he says is just to get a rise out of people, and the other half—
Well.
“Because it was fucking beeping” he answers when you find bullet holes in your microwave.
Ben’s not stupid.
But when he came back from the dead, or, you know, from 40 years of being locked up, you’re starting to realize… he might not be as up to date as he thinks.
You blink. “Because it was beeping?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs, leaning back against the counter like he didn’t just pull some absolute batshit nonsense. “Wouldn’t shut the hell up.”
“That’s… literally its job, Ben.”
“Well, now it’s unemployed.” He smirks. “Like half the people I’ve worked with.
Loving Soldier Boy is like wrestling with a live grenade.
Violence isn’t just second nature to Ben — it’s first.
He doesn’t do restraint.
Like the time some guy got a little too close to you at a club and ended up with a broken jaw — because Ben doesn’t do warnings either.
Or the time he punched a cop without even thinking about the consequences.
“To be fair, he was being a dick.”
“He was giving you a parking ticket.”
Ben scoffs. “Exactly.”
“Oh my God.”
“What?” He throws his hands up, all mock innocence. “I told him not to touch my car.”
Loving Soldier Boy is fighting for feminism while actively losing the war.
There’s something infuriating about Ben’s shameless, unapologetic brand of horniness.
His jokes are always just a little too loud, just a little too offensive, making you cringe even as he smirks, because he knows damn well what he’s doing.
And yet, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it.
And he knows it.
No matter how many times you glare at him, no matter how often you mutter “Ben, we are in public”, he sees the way your breath hitches, the way your thighs press together when he leans in too close, and he can practically smell the forming pool in your panties.
“C’mon, sweetheart.” His voice is low, dripping with amusement. “Don’t act like you don’t love it when I talk dirty to you.”
You glare at him. “You literally just told the bartender that I needed something ‘to keep my mouth occupied.’”
Ben grins. “And I stand by that.”
You fight the urge to groan. “You are insufferable.”
He leans in, his lips just barely brushing against your ear. “But you like me insufferable.”
And fuck.
Maybe you do.
Loving Soldier Boy is realizing you’re the one really losing the fight.
When the team calls you out on his bullshit, you just sit there and listen.
You have no defense.
Because what are you even supposed to say?
He’s trying? (He’s not.)
He didn’t mean to? (He absolutely did.)
He’s a work in progress? (Is he?)
And despite what everyone says — despite the fact that he probably won’t ever change — you can’t seem to stop yourself from diving headfirst into the madness.
Maybe you can’t fix him.
But damn if he doesn’t make it worth trying.
The chokehold this man has on me is insane — help
Also… This sat in my drafts for months, but I gave it a reread and didn’t completely hate it — so here you go. Hope you enjoyed!🤍
"This sat in my drafts for months..." Then proceeds to write something so utterly TRUE, HONEST, and ON BRAND for falling in love with the frustrating, adorable, lovable, asshole that is Soldier Boy.
I loved every bit of this fic!
He’s a walking contradiction.
He can be crude and crass and violent, but his hands that are scarred and calloused from years of supposed war and bloodshed, are so uncharacteristically gentle when they touch you like he’s terrified of breaking something he doesn’t know how to stitch back together.
And you love it.
You love that you make him hesitate.
That you make him stay.
"Fuck, you’ve ruined me" he murmurs one night, pressing his forehead to yours, breath warm against your lips. “You made me a goddamn pussy.”
I AM MELTING! This is SO good. I love this part because the idea that Ben is a "contradiction" is true when it comes to the reader. I love the headcanon that Ben is violent and angry, but he's soft when it comes to his girl. I do not believe for one second that Ben would ever be violent towards the woman he loves or want to hurt her in any way even when he's angry. And I love a man with rough hands that is only gentle with them when he’s with his girl 😍
And the line "Fuck, you've ruined me" made my soul leave my body. I cannot describe how good it is or how wonderfully it fits him.
You see, Ben isn’t good with words. Not the important ones, anyway.
But he’s fluent in actions.
Oh goodness, every single example you listed after this line was perfect for him. Ben giving the reader coffee, Ben watching the reader and paying attention to what the reader likes- YES!
Because we all know that Ben will say the wrong thing at the wrong time, but he will make it up to the woman he loves. AND BEN putting his hand on the reader's hip to remind himself that he does have her in his life:
Ben’s not stupid.
He's not. And I love that you put this in here, that Ben really isn't a mindless brute, he has a brain, you're so right!
His jokes are always just a little too loud, just a little too offensive, making you cringe even as he smirks, because he knows damn well what he’s doing.
Goodness 🫣 I don't want to think about the jokes, but we all know he has no filter lol.
And despite what everyone says — despite the fact that he probably won’t ever change — you can’t seem to stop yourself from diving headfirst into the madness.
Maybe you can’t fix him.
But damn if he doesn’t make it worth trying.
YES A MILLION TIMES YES! He's insufferable, but he's worth it. I loved all of this! It was so wonderfully written and so fitting for Soldier Boy. And oh goodness yes, he's also got a choke hold on me as well lol.
OH MY GOD??? 😭😭😭 This is one of the best comments I’ve ever received, how am I supposed to function after reading this?!
I love this part because the idea that Ben is a "contradiction" is true when it comes to the reader. I love the headcanon that Ben is violent and angry, but he's soft when it comes to his girl. I do not believe for one second that Ben would ever be violent towards the woman he loves or want to hurt her in any way even when he's angry. And I love a man with rough hands that is only gentle with them when he’s with his girl 😍
YES (x100), I will die on the hill that he’d never be violent towards the woman he loves. He might say some wild shit but when it comes to the one he loves? He’s all rough hands yet soft touches and I’ll never be normal about it (or about him)😩
He's not. And I love that you put this in here, that Ben really isn't a mindless brute, he has a brain, you're so right!
This.
YES A MILLION TIMES YES! He's insufferable, but he's worth it. I loved all of this! It was so wonderfully written and so fitting for Soldier Boy. And oh goodness yes, he's also got a choke hold on me as well lol.
Honestly, this comment is getting framed, laminated and cherished forever. Thank you so so much for taking the time to write this, it means the world to me!! 🤍🥹
I saw your requests were open, and I love your writing. I was kind of thinking of something with soldier boy finally meeting someone who matches his energy a little Too well, in his opinion. Like readers stubborn as shit and ben has almost zero clue how to handle it other than being aggressive, which she just doubles and gives to the next person type of shit. Idk, I love your writing, and just had this thought. Thank you <3
A/N: Hey, lovely! First off, thank you for sending in my very first request (!!) 🤍 I’m honestly obsessed with this idea and it was such a blast to write! Your request was the main inspiration for this, though I might’ve veered a little from the whole she gives it to the next person angle. But I hope you still enjoy the story!!!
PS: Sorry, it took me a while to write this. I had an unplanned vacay at the hospital last week.🙃
Lights, Camera, Fuck Off
Soldier Boy x supe!fem!reader
Warnings: language, SB and the reader both being stubborn assholes, sexual references, violence
Set in the 80s.
Y/S/N stands for your supe name.
You weren’t exactly sure how you ended up here, stuffed into an overpriced dress that clung to every goddamn inch of your body, standing under the blinding lights of the red carpet while Soldier Boy hovered a little too close to you. (Okay, maybe that was a stretch. Maybe you didn’t mind it all that much.)
You hated to admit it, but you kind of enjoyed this. The spotlight, the way people looked up to you, the whole whoop-de-fucking-doo.
Soldier Boy, on the contrary, looked like he was ready to punch a hole through the nearest wall.
The flashing cameras, the reporters shouting questions, the never-ending buzz of excitement — this was Vought’s idea of a PR masterpiece. Your debut as the newest member of Payback, packaged neatly with the release of your first movie. It was supposed to be a big moment, the kind of neat and flawless event that solidified you as not just a supe, but a star.
And Vought, being the manipulative assholes they were, had decided there was no better way to sell that image than by pairing you with their crown jewel— the so-called greatest supe America had ever seen.
Hah. More like America’s Greatest Asshole.
But you didn’t mind. You knew damn well that you needed him to get what you wanted.
It’s just too bad he didn’t get the memo that he wasn’t the main attraction anymore.
“Smile, sweetheart” Ben grunted out of the corner of his mouth, his jaw clenched so tight you could practically hear his teeth grinding. He had all the money to replace all of his teeth anyway. He slung an arm around your shoulders, his grip a little too firm (dickhead), like he was daring you to try something.
You plastered on the fakest smile you could muster, tilting your head just enough to make it look like you were thrilled to be standing next to him. “Oh, I’m smiling, gramps” you shot back, low enough that the cameras wouldn’t pick it up, but loud enough for him to feel every ounce of your sarcasm. “Try not to throw your back out posing for these guys.”
His fingers tightened for a split second before he let go, stepping back just enough to keep up appearances without strangling you on the spot.
God, you infuriated him.
The problem with you wasn’t that you were reckless. Or loud. Or impossible to shut up once you got going.
The problem was that you were all of those things at the same damn time, and Ben had no fucking clue what to do with that.
It wasn’t like he’d never met a stubborn woman before. Hell, he’d dated them. Slept with them. Been yelled at by them when he inevitably did something to piss them off. But you? You weren’t just stubborn. You were a force. Well, literally. Your superpowers were one of a kind. Energy absorption — like a freaking human battery. You could take a hit, soak up the energy, and throw it right back when you felt like it.
Both physically and linguistically, really.
So yeah, an unstoppable, immovable and downright insufferable force.
And for some goddamn reason, you’d decided to point that force directly at him.
The reporters were eating it up. To them, it probably looked like playful banter — two teammates ribbing each other like old friends. But anyone who’d spent five minutes in a room with you two knew better. (If they got out alive.)
This wasn’t friendly.
This was war.
The afterparty was somehow worse.
You’d managed to ditch Ben for a grand total of ten glorious minutes before he found you again, like a goddamn heat-seeking missile. He spotted you across the room, chatting with some low-level Vought exec who was trying a little too hard to flirt, and you saw that familiar tick in his jaw start up again.
Great.
One, two, three—
You barely had time to brace yourself before Ben shoved his way between you and the exec, his infuriatingly broad shoulders cutting off your view like a wall of smug masculinity.
“Beat it, pencil dick” Ben snapped, not even sparing the guy a glance.
The exec sputtered, muttering something about getting a drink, but you didn’t miss how fast he bolted in the opposite direction. You sighed, crossing your arms and glaring up at Ben.
“Wow” you deadpanned. “Real subtle. You jealous or just an asshole?”
(Both, actually.)
Ben snorted, grabbing a drink from a passing tray and downing it in one go. “Like I give a fuck who you talk to.”
You raised an eyebrow, refusing to back down. “Could’ve fooled me.”
The tension between you was thick enough to choke on, but neither of you moved. This was the dance you’d been doing since day one — pushing, pulling, seeing who’d crack first. And Ben? He hated that he hadn’t figured out how to make you fall in line yet.
“Look” he finally growled, leaning in close enough that you could smell the whiskey on his breath. “You think you’re hot shit ‘cause Vought’s got you playing dress-up and kissing babies for the cameras. But out there?” He jabbed a finger toward the door, his eyes narrowing. “You’re still just a rookie. You’ve got nothing on me.”
You tilted your head, your smile slow and dangerous. “You done?”
He opened his mouth to say something else but you didn’t give him the chance.
Cause listen up, asshole.
“Because the way I see it” you continued, stepping in until there was barely an inch between you, “you’re pissed that I’m here. Not because I’m a rookie. Not because I’m new. But because for the first time in your miserable, overhyped, long-ass life, someone’s not kissing your ass.”
His nostrils flared, and for a second, you thought he might actually lose it. You could almost see the steam coming out of his ears as his fists were clenching at his sides like he was trying to hold himself back from decking you right then and there.
But he didn’t.
Instead he spun on his heel and stormed off, shoving people out of his way like a very handsome and very furious wrecking ball.
And you just watched him go, grinning from ear to ear like the cat that ate the canary.
The next morning, you were rudely awakened by a pounding on your hotel room door that sounded like the goddamn apocalypse.
You groaned, dragging yourself out of bed and stumbling to the door in nothing but an oversized t-shirt. You yanked it open, ready to chew out whoever was dumb enough to wake you up this early — only to come face-to-face with Ben, looking like he hadn’t slept a wink. And not because of his usual use of night escort service.
His hair was even a mess which was uncharacteristic of him, his eyes bloodshot, and his jaw clenched so tight you were surprised he hadn’t shattered a molar.
“Oh good” you muttered, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “It’s you. I was worried it might be someone important.”
Ben didn’t even blink. He just shoved his way into your suite, slamming the door shut behind him.
“What the fuck is your problem?” he snapped, turning on you with a glare that could’ve melted steel.
You arched an eyebrow, unfazed. “You’re gonna have to be more specific, gramps. With the country? The government? Vought? My maid service? I’ve got a lot of problems.”
He took a step closer, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You think you’re so fucking funny, huh? Running your mouth like you’re hot shit.”
You crossed your arms, matching his glare with one of your own. “Funny how you keep showing up if I’m such a pain in the ass.”
That did it.
Ben exploded, pacing back and forth like a caged animal, his hands flying as he ranted.
“You’re fucking impossible!” he shouted. “Every goddamn time I try to put you in your place, you just come back with more of that bullshit! You don’t know when to quit!”
You watched him for a moment, letting him stew in his own frustration before you spoke.
“Maybe because I don’t need to quit” you said quietly, but with enough steel in your voice to make him stop dead in his tracks. “You’re used to people backing down. To people being scared of you. But guess what, Ben? I can call you that, right? Anyway, Ben, I’m not scared of you. I’m not impressed. And I’m sure as hell not gonna roll over just because you bark loud.”
He stared at you, his chest heaving, his face a mix of confusion and rage. You could see it in his eyes — the war going on in his head. He didn’t know what to do with you. He didn’t know how to handle you.
And that scared him more than he’d ever admit.
For a long, tense moment, the room was silent except for the sound of his heavy breathing. Then, without a word, he turned on his heel and punched a hole straight through the wall of your hotel room.
Plaster rained down around his fist, dusting the floor like snow.
You blinked, staring at the hole in the wall, then back at him.
“Well” you said dryly, “that’s one way to deal with your feelings.”
Ben yanked his hand out of the wall, flexing his fingers like nothing had happened. He shot you one last murderous glare before storming out of your suite, slamming the door behind him so hard the walls shook.
You stood there for a moment, staring at the door, then burst out laughing.
Yeah.
This was gonna be fun.
Later that day, Vought had the nerve to send you both to a live TV interview.
You showed up to the studio with a smug grin, still riding high from the morning’s meeting. Ben, on the other hand, looked like he’d been chewing on glass all day.
The host was a a perky blonde with a smile so fake and sweet it made your teeth hurt. She ushered you both onto the couch, vibrating with excitement.
“We are so thrilled to have the stars of Vought’s latest blockbuster here with us today!” she gushed once the red dot appeared on the sign. It was showtime. Her eyes darted between you and Ben. “Soldier Boy, Y/S/N, thank you for coming to chat with us. Now, rumor has it you two have quite the dynamic on and off-screen. Tell us about it!”
Ben grunted, crossing his arms and staring at the floor like the couch might swallow him whole, but he quickly tried to compose himself. He ain’t gonna look like a fool on live television because of some bratty little chick he can’t fucking tame.
You, however, leaned forward with a grin disguised as a pageant queen’s smile.
“Oh, dynamic is one way to put it” you purred, shooting Ben a sideways glance. Your smile and bright tone was just as fake as the host’s tits and nose, but she didn’t catch any of it. Nobody did, other than Soldier Boy. “I’d say it’s more like… explosive.”
The host giggled like you’d told the funniest joke in the world, absolutely and endearingly oblivious to the murderous tension simmering between you and Ben.
“Well, whatever it is” she said brightly, “the fans love it. There’s already talk of a sequel!”
Ben’s eye twitched.
A sequel? A fucking sequel?
And nobody was man enough to inform him before this?
He didn’t hate being near you, but damn, sometimes he felt like diving off a bridge and staying underwater until even his superhuman lungs gave out.
You were a problem he couldn’t solve, a riddle that pissed him off just by existing. Did he keep playing this stupid cat-and-mouse game? Try to break you, make you bend? Or should he switch it up, try something different? Because every time you were near, there was this part of his brain that got dangerously louder and louder.
He wanted to throttle you. He wanted to bend you over the coffee table right in front of you. He wanted to fucking tame you.
But most of all, he just wanted you.
And he felt absolutely crazy for that.
You smirked. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realized you were having the time of your life driving him absolutely fucking batshit insane.
Because the truth was, Ben could huff and puff all he wanted. He could punch holes in walls, snap at everyone around him and act like the world’s biggest hardass.
However, at the end of the day, he couldn’t ignore you.
And one thing was damn sure.
He was gonna die trying to fuck this attitude out of you.
Alright, I love love LOVE the way Ben and the reader interact. 😭😭 I had so much fun writing this, it’s insane.
Sorry for the lack of updates this week. Just my luck, I ended up in the hospital and I’m still here. 🙃
I’m feeling better, but they’re keeping me for a few more days. Because of that, I’m not sure when I’ll be able to post the new chapter of The Great Invasion. It still needs proofreading and looking at screens right now is pretty tough and dizzying.
Once I’m out, I’ll do my best to reply to all of you. Thanks for understanding, and take care of yourselves!!!
Sorry for the lack of updates this week. Just my luck, I ended up in the hospital and I’m still here. 🙃
I’m feeling better, but they’re keeping me for a few more days. Because of that, I’m not sure when I’ll be able to post the new chapter of The Great Invasion. It still needs proofreading and looking at screens right now is pretty tough and dizzying.
Once I’m out, I’ll do my best to reply to all of you. Thanks for understanding, and take care of yourselves!!!
