Warnings; None, besides reader not feeling themselves at the start (Russell fixes this almost immediately). This is literally the most terribly affectionate, fluffiest thing I have ever written. Which, if you know my writing, is saying a lot. It does have more of a bittersweet ending, but emphasis on the sweet part.
Pairings; Russell Shaw (Tracker) x Reader
Should I be writing Supernatural prompt requests right now? Yes, yes I should (requests are open at time of writing, go check out the prompt list if you want). Did I become extremely inspired to write this instead? Correct. I also have other ideas for Russell that I will be writing at some point. Hope you enjoy!
Masterlist
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The thing that you most appreciated about Russell was how unphased he was by everything. Whenever something small happened, no matter what it was, it didn’t bother him. Which made him the perfect person to calm you down whenever the small things got to be too much. You just wished he could be around more often.
It was one of those days where nothing felt right. You had chores to do but you didn’t have the energy to do them. Your hobbies and pastimes sat untouched – you didn’t want to do any of them either. You could have gone out, but where would you go? You couldn’t come up with an answer.
You ended up channel surfing, not interested in anything you could watch. You missed Russell, but that wasn’t really it. You just didn’t feel like you. You couldn’t even explain it to yourself.
It was some time in the mid-afternoon, though you hadn’t really eaten anything yet either, when the doorbell rang. Unpeeling yourself from where you were curled up on the couch took some amount of effort, but you made it before the person had the chance to ring again. Even with how you tripped on the same rug you had owned for years. After a few fumbled attempts with the keys, you pulled the door back to reveal none other than Russell himself.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, his smile warm and the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes crinkled like he was just happy to see you.
You launched yourself at him without a second thought. He caught you easy as you wound your arms around his neck, breathing deep to take in the scent of the outdoors that he always seemed to carry with him.
“Woah, okay,” Russell laughed, his broad hands sliding around your back. “Missed you too, darlin’.”
You squeezed your eyes shut and simply enjoyed the feeling of being held. He always made you feel safe, without ever having to do anything. It wasn’t even that you knew he could protect you in a fight, if it ever came to that. It was just how he was.
He indulged you for a few minutes, but there was only so long he could stand outside your place and those protective instincts of his kicked in pretty soon.
“Y’okay?” It sounded casual, but it belied how his mind was reeling through scenarios of what could have happened to you, what you needed, what he could do.
“’M good,” you muttered into his hair, still stubbornly pressed close to him and refusing to move. So what if the neighbours thought you looked like some historical barkeep sending their knight off to war.
“Yeah?” His voice was low, soft. You felt the vibration of it in his chest as he tilted his head to try and get a look at your face. You nodded against him, but you still stayed where you were.
Russell, eventually, conceded that you were just going to be a limpet for the foreseeable future. His arms constricted around you to lift you back inside, and he kicked the door shut behind him with a heel. He half carried, half pushed you back towards the couch you had clearly been nesting on, toeing his boots off along the way without ever letting go of you. You trusted him so much, more than enough to let him guide you without fear of crashing into anything.
He turned you both around so he could flop backwards onto the couch, dragging you down on top of his chest. You curled your fingers into his shirt and pressed your nose up beneath his jaw. You were yet to open your eyes. The gentle pressure of Russell’s lips against your head was a reminder that this was okay, that he didn’t mind what you were doing. You had no idea how you’d managed to find someone like that, who even though he was often gone, was satisfied to just keep walking back into your life and spending time with you in whatever this was.
One of Russell’s hands found your hip while the other carded up into your hair. He massaged his fingertips along your scalp, repeating the motion until your head felt heavy against his shoulder. Your weight on him told him you were relaxed, said that he was doing his job well. He more than welcomed it. The quiet noise of content you gave made him squeeze you in closer for a moment.
“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” He asked, once you were all sleepy and pliant.
“Nothing, I’m fine,” you mumbled into his skin, “just felt weird.” His aftershave had a sharpness to it and your brain was far more focused on that than the conversation at hand.
Russell hummed. He knew you well enough to know that just happened to you sometimes. And had clearly decided there was nothing more serious going on.
“And ya missed me, right?”
His voice had that low, teasing quality again. You could see his grin and the spark in those bright green eyes without ever having to raise your head.
“Sure.”
“Yeah? That how it is?” Russell went back to massaging your scalp, pushing relentlessly at that one particular spot that he knew would make you too relaxed to think straight. “You don’t sound too convinced… Go on, tell me how much you missed me, sweetheart.”
“You’re mean,” you told him instead, because there was no way you could have a sensible conversation with his hand still cupped around your head. And because he knew that full well.
“I’m mean? Oh yeah, I’m real mean. No one ever tell you that?”
He gathered you impossibly closer to him, shifting to lay just a little to one side so that you would be pressed between him and the back of the couch. You found the energy within you to raise your hand up to slide along his jaw, then carded your fingers back into his hair. You pushed a few strands off his forehead where they had fallen forward, then kept a hold of one to gently play with. His hair was so soft to the touch. Russell’s lips found the side of your head, then he curled a finger beneath your chin to tilt your head up towards him and kiss you properly. It was slow, endlessly gentle. You knew Russell often showed people his tough side, or his fun and flirty side. But you wondered how many people he allowed to see him like this.
You pushed yourself up on your elbows and cupped his face. He let you just look down at him like that for a while, your thumb making slow passes over his cheekbone. Then he tilted his head into your hand and allowed his eyes to close. A warmth bloomed in your chest at the display of trust. Russell fought the urge to constrict his arms around your frame, then did it anyway after asking himself why he was hesitating and failing to come up with an answer.
It forced all the air out of your lungs and made you drop down on top of him, your arm now bracketing his head instead of just your hand. You felt his grip start to loosen immediately, saw his mouth open no doubt to apologise for holding you too tight or to ask if you were okay – but you didn’t want any of that. You curled yourself around him before he had the chance to speak and squeezed him back as hard as you could, telling him you were okay with this, you were happy. His hold on you tightened once more after a moment of deliberation, almost hesitant, but you wound your other hand back into his hair to encourage him.
Russell sighed, then hooked an arm around the back of your shoulder to move you where he wanted. He pulled you down against him, hard, one arm pressed across your lower back and the other wrapped around your ribs, his hand splayed across your shoulder blades. His chin trapped your head and pressed your face against his collarbone.
“But I’m the one who missed you, right?” You murmured, your smile so wide it should have hurt.
“Oh, I never said I didn’t reciprocate, darlin’.”
You huffed a laugh and lightly shook your head. Russell's grip eventually lessened and he shifted beneath you, keeping you close but reaching an arm above your head. Your question of what he was doing went unacknowledged, but then he had pulled your blanket off the back of the couch and was wrapping you up in it. He pulled it up over the back of your head, tucked the sides in beneath your hip and ribs. The precision with which he moved and the concentration in his eyes made it look like he was defusing a bomb.
You glanced away from him, swallowing hard. Your heart ached. He had just come off a job doing hell knew what, risking death, injury, maybe rescuing some poor soul from some awful situation or maybe taking out someone his employers considered a threat. He had just that second walked through the door and without so much as taking his jacket off, here he was, laying down with you and tucking you in with a blanket and making sure you felt safe and secure. Maybe he wanted to get something to eat, or even just to change into more comfortable clothes. But he was looking after you instead, and nothing had even happened to you. He knew you’d fall asleep like this – you always did. And he would never move in case he woke you up.
“Russ?” Your voice was a little quieter than you intended it to be, a little less sure.
“Yeah?” He stopped what he was doing immediately, his full attention on you. His intensity was something that had been trained into him over more years of risking his life than you wanted to count, and right now, all of it was focused on you. On making sure you were okay. “What’s wrong, baby?”
You took the collar of his jacket into your hand, playing with that to give yourself a reason not to meet his direct gaze for a moment.
“I just… don’t you want a sandwich, or something?”
His lips quirked up a little at the corners, eyes sparking with amusement despite his best efforts.
“A sandwich?”
You felt the tips of your ears start to burn, just slightly. The damn hypothetical sandwich wasn’t the point, but trust Russell to focus on the food.
“I meant are you okay? Do you want anything? You’ve just come off a job and you’ve walked straight in to look after me, like you…”
The amusement was gone. Instead, his brows were drawn together and his hand was back in your hair yet again, this time for reassurance.
“Like I…?”
You tried to avoid his gaze again but this time he wouldn’t let you. His hand on your jaw was gentle, but firm. Unyielding.
“Like you don’t care about you.” Your voice was barely a whisper and it distressed you to no end that you couldn’t make it go any louder. You cared about him so much – you couldn’t bear the thought that he didn’t care about himself. And you thought his low laugh was more self-deprecating than you wanted it to be.
-
“Sweetheart, I’m fine. Okay? I’m good. I don’t want you fussin’ over me.” He rested his thumb over your lips when you went to protest. “I’ve been working this same job for years, you know that. It’s just what I do. And believe me, looking after you when I come back here is not a chore, so I don’t ever want to hear you suggesting otherwise. Alright?”
“Russ –” He interrupted, shushing you, but you were undeterred. “I just want to take care of you like you take care of me. I need you to know that I’m here if you need me.”
He paused for a moment, really taking you in. Making sure his next words hit home.
“I know that. And you do. Just by being here when I come off a job, you do. You don’t need to do any more than that with me.”
“But I want to.” You sounded so damn sincere.
Russell’s expression softened. He didn’t deserve you, and he’d known it from the moment he met you. He had no right to disrupt your peaceful, civilian life with blood and weapons and real, waking nightmares. And he sure as hell had no right to keep leaving you for work, then just walking straight back in again every time the job was finished. He was hard from the military and everything he’d done afterwards, far too hard for something as soft as you. But he was also selfish as all hell. And he would keep doing this for as long as you let him, even though he knew it scared you. Even though there was a very real chance that one day, he might just not come back.
The hand he had in your hair pushed your head down to his chest then held you there, his other arm curling heavy around your shoulders.
“I know you do,” he muttered. But he wasn’t like that. He couldn’t give you the vulnerability you wanted, not yet anyway. If it meant that much to you, maybe he should try harder.
He pulled the blanket back up where it had slipped, tucked it in securely. Because physically making you feel safe was something he could do, something he was good at. That and he would always listen to your troubles, just not the other way around. There was a lot of dark crap in his mind and he knew his way around it well enough. The last thing he needed was for you to get caught up in it.
Russell started massaging your head like earlier, because he knew it would make you feel good and that you would eventually fall asleep. You always slept better when he was there. That and so that he could avoid this conversation for a little bit longer. He knew you decided to let it slide when you made no attempt to sit up or carry on the conversation. He smiled at you like you were something precious when you burrowed your face into the space between his neck and shoulder. Your steady breaths were warm on his skin and you hummed in content when he slowly ran his hand up and down your back.
“Get some sleep, sweetheart,” he told you, but he felt the change in your heartbeat just before he spoke. You were already out cold.
