Midnight Rhythms
Pairing: Russell Shaw x VA nurse!reader
Summary: Russell's been coming to your clinic for months now – always with a charming smile, food in his hands, and a question on his lips. You've always successfully thwarted his advances and stuck stubbornly to your professionalism till one night, he finally makes you listen to your heart.
Warnings: 18+ due to language and smut (oral f, fingering, cardiophilia 🤍), fluff
Word Count: 1.8k
Posted on Patreon June 7, 2026
A/N: Written for one of my sweetest readers and probably the first one who ever commented on a story of mine five years ago. You're one of the biggest reasons I'm still here, and I know tons of other writers in this fandom feel the same way about you!!! Cheers to you! You fully have my heart! @deans-spinster-witch 🤍🤍🤍
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You’re already half in love with the rich and deep timbre of his voice – not that you’d ever admit that to him (or anyone else for that matter). Call it professionalism or even self-preservation because every time Russell Shaw strolls into your VA clinic, you feel like you’re slowly losing your grip on sanity.
And it’s not just the voice, either. No, it’s that damn shit-eating smile that would make even nuns sin.
The former soldier has been coming into the clinic for a few months now for sleep therapy sessions – always with a grin and always with a flirtatious glimmer in his mesmerizingly green eyes. You’ve never taken his flirting seriously and always giggled off his advances with heat in your cheeks. But the past few weeks, he’s upped his ante and started bringing you experimental takeout food, asking you out more directly. You’ve always said no, though. And not even that – you usually don’t even take him seriously when he says stuff like that at all.
Why?
Because a guy as handsome and charming as Russell surely couldn’t be interested in someone as simple as you. You’re just a nurse who’s used to eating vending machine trail mix for dinner, drinking awful hospital coffee, and smelling like antiseptic. It’s not exactly what most people would call sexy or desirable.
Tonight, it’s four minutes past eleven o’clock, which means Russell is fashionably late again. Probably because he stopped somewhere to bribe you with more food he either got from a gas station, a questionable food truck, or an obscure friend’s kitchen.
Last week, it was candied jalapeños and a thermos of coffee so strong it could power a freight train. The week before, he brought a peach hand pie from a Mennonite market and something called ‘midnight curry burritos.’
Tonight? You’re bracing yourself.
“Evenin’, Nightingale,” he drawls, leaning against the doorframe with a plate in hand, a smile on his face, and a soft glint in his eyes that never quite leaves.
“Russell,” you sigh – one part exasperation, two parts affection. “You’re late.”
“I was delayed by destiny.” He lifts the plate with a wink that would make your knees buckle if you weren’t sitting. “Beignets. Still warm.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Bribing me with fried dough and powdered sugar?”
He grins broadly. “Tell me it doesn’t help.”
Damn it. It does. You hate how it does.
Still, you give him a flat look, trying not to show the little flicker in your chest that always sparks the moment he walks in.
He saunters closer and sets the plate on the counter in front of you. “I’m just tryin’ to spoil you a little.”
“Russell.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t flirt with me.”
He pretends to look wounded, which makes you want to roll your eyes. “I don’t flirt – I court.”
“You’ve asked me out eight times,” you point out and lead him straight to the examination room.
“Nine,” he corrects with a smirk as he follows and closes the door behind him. It’s routine by now. “I asked you out on that sticky note I left in the breakroom, too. Remember that one?”
“Right,” you snort, shaking your head. "You drew a stick figure of yourself holding a flower.”
“With a heart. Don’t forget the heart.”
You roll your eyes for real this time, picking up the clipboard to start his check-in. “You’re lucky I don’t report you for harassment.”
“You’re lucky I don’t report you for theft,” he counters.
Your brows quirk. “I’m sorry – what?”
“You’ve been stealing my breath since day one,” he replies cleverly. Then his irresistible smile kicks in again, which is way too charming for his own good.
You let out a long, deep sigh.
“I know that one was bad,” he quips. “But I promise I’ve got better material. Just say yes to dinner and you’ll hear it all.”
You turn away before he can see the color rising in your cheeks. “Shirt off.”
“Now we’re talking,” he mutters with a grin, tugging the black fabric up and over his head.
And just like that, you’re confronted with the ridiculous reality that Russell Shaw is unfairly built. Broad chest, warm golden skin dusted with freckles, scars like constellations across the canvas that is him. You try not to stare and ogle him like he’s God’s greatest gift to mankind, but you’ve got a stethoscope in your hand and barely any willpower left.
You place the bell against his sternum and inhale.
Professional. Stay professional.
Truly, that’s been your mantra for months now. Surely, a guy like him only flirts because he can. It’s like second nature to him. But the beat beneath your fingertips is already quick.
lub-dub lub-dub lub-dub
His heart gallops like it’s trying to outrun enemy fire. And God help you – it’s a fucking beautiful sound. It’s raw and real, like something primal is trying to claw out of his chest.
“You always listen longer than you need to,” he says suddenly, his voice softer than before.
You freeze imperceptibly for a half a second. Shit. Did he really notice that?
“I’ve noticed,” he adds casually, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly.
“I–I’m just checking for arrhythmia–”
“No, you’re not.”
Well, damn. Now your own heart is beating like it’s trying to outrun enemy fire. Then, he lifts his large hand and gently curls his fingers over your wrist.
And fuck, before you can process it, he leans forward and presses his lips to yours.
A kiss. Slow and damn deliberate. It’s not demanding. It’s not rushed. It’s the kind of kiss that cradles you in softness, somehow still crumbles walls, and rearranges fucking stars into new constellations unknown yet to mankind.
Your heart jumps in your chest so hard the stethoscope nearly flies out of your hand.
He pulls back just enough to smile a little, watching your face closely as he guides your hand back to his chest – right over his pounding heart.
thump-THUMP thump-THUMP thump-THUMP
“See what you’re doing to me?” he murmurs.
And it hits you – he’s not flirting anymore. He’s showing you. This isn’t a game to him. His heart tells the truth.
You close your eyes, your breath stuttering.
Then his fingers slip around the stethoscope, guiding it from his chest to yours. He slips the earpieces into his own and leans in closer, lips brushing your ear.
“Now let me hear you.”
And he does. He listens – carefully and reverently.
And God, your heart is racing wildly and unapologetically, thundering against your ribs like it’s begging to be finally felt.
“Yeah,” he whispers. “That’s the sound I want. God, listen to you. That all for me?”
You whimper – literally. Man, you’re going to die of embarrassment.
But before you can squirm away into the deepest, darkest hole in the floor, he leans in again, kissing down your neck now, murmuring between kisses, “You sit here every night listening to me. You think I wouldn’t notice how you breathe differently? How your cheeks get hot? Your hands always linger right here.” He presses his palm flat to your chest, right over the cool bell. “Like you never want to stop.”
Your thighs squeeze together instinctively before his eyes drop, gaze darkening.
Then, in a smooth, almost graceful motion, he lifts you, spins you, and sets you down on the edge of the exam table. You gasp, your scrubs shifting slightly, body adjusting to the new angle.
He kneels between your thighs, right on the linoleum, forest green eyes solely locked on you like you’re the only damn thing that matters in this world. “Still think I’m not serious?”
You open your mouth, but no fucking sound comes out.
Because his hands? His hands are already on your hips, slow and steady, drawing your scrubs and underwear down with one fluid movement. He doesn’t break eye contact. Not once. And every inch of skin he reveals is worshipped.
“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he says. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
You can barely breathe as his lips brush your knee, then the inside of your thigh. He’s still listening to your heartbeats like music in his ears.
Kiss.
Thump.
Another kiss. Higher. Slower. Warmer.
Thump-THUMP.
“Heart’s racing,” he says, grinning like the devil. “You like me down here, huh?”
You choke on a laugh that melts into a moan as his mouth finally meets the ache between your thighs. He starts slow, agonizingly so, tongue gentle and reverent all at once, each stroke on your clit a new promise.
Honestly, you might be experiencing a heart attack at this point. Luckily, you’re already in a hospital.
Then he speaks again, breath hot against your core. “You know what I’m gonna do?” he murmurs wickedly, two fingers sliding inside your wet pussy without resistance while he still listens. “I’m gonna make you come to the sound of your own heartbeat. I want you to listen to yourself. To what I’m doing to you.”
And just like that, he swaps the stethoscope again, fits the earpieces back into your ears, and places the bell over your chest.
Your heartbeat explodes. It’s fucking deafening.
thump-THUMP thump-THUMP thump-THUMP
Every lick. Every breath. Every teasing pass of his tongue or flick of his fingers – your body, your heart responds like a symphony composed just for him.
He hums against you, the vibration making your thighs tremble like Mount Vesuvius before it took down Pompeii.
“Let go for me,” he says, deep voice velvet-thick. “Let me feel it.”
And Jesus fucking Christ, you don’t need to be told twice. When you come and fall apart, it’s with his name on your lips and your own heart roaring in your ears like a drum of holy thunder.
THUMP–THUMP–THUMP–
He licks you clean, takes every drop of you like it’s the best thing he ever tasted – damn the experimental food he’s brought you for weeks on end.
Afterward, he eases you down gently, kissing his way up your shaking body slowly and goddamn thoroughly. He presses his lips to your collarbone, your throat, your cheek, and then finally to your mouth again.
This time, you kiss him back like you damn well mean it – because you fucking do. God, you do. Word by word. Nerve by nerve.
“You gonna say yes to dinner this time?” he quips, grinning against your lips.
You exhale a breathless laugh. “I think I’d be an idiot not to.”
And Russell? He grins widely, proudly, and smugly in the way only he can.
“Told you. You gotta listen to your heart,” he says with a wink. And because he’s the worst, he adds, “Next time, we’re doing this at my place. With two stethoscopes.”
And your heart skips another beat.
Thump.
Hope you guys enjoyed this heartfelt little one-shot 😉
We're returning to our regular witchy programming next Friday with another interlude of Glitch 🔮 to see what our boys have been up to! Here's a reminder of the schedule for the next few weeks:
Interlude II: Call Me, Beep Me – July 31
Chapter 7: Loose Lips Sink Ships – August 7
Chapter 8: Lost in the Memory – August 21
Chapter 9: Salt Air – September 4
Chapter 10: Wanting Was Enough – September 18
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