#russell shaw tracker

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@zepskies

Thank you Alex!! This one was so much fun to write for Russell 🥰 Thank you for giving me an excuse to write about the green-eyed potato target 🤣

LMAO starting strong with the Dean easter egg. 😆 Fun fact: I have a keychain on my keys that I bought off Etsy in high school which I still have to this day. On side it says "Metallicar," and on the other side it has that famous Dean line that made me a Dean girlie right from the pilot. 🥹💜

I had to do it 😭 And oh my word that's so cute! I love that you still have the keychain 💗 I literally remember the first time I saw this quote: I was scrolling on pinterest at home after school one day when I was in high school and I found it. I had no idea what it was from, and just DIED ☠️ When I first started watching Supernatural and I heard the quote, I was like:

LMAO 🤣

I love the way you described people watching at the grocery store -- it was so idyllic and relatable at the same time. I've definitely had those thoughts, and I kid you not, in the outline I've written for the sequel to Bubbly it starts out with the reader and Russell at the grocery store. 🤣

Thank you! I literally have that thought each time I go grocery shopping. My mind is just so far in left field- though sometimes I think it might be the hopeless romantic in me that does it lol 💗

And oh my stars that's crazy!! Great minds really do think alike 🧠 I can't wait to read the next addition to that universe! I need to catch up on my tbr so I can read the rest of Every Second Counts before the sequel to Bubbly drops!

I felt so hard for the reader in this! Tbf Russ's behavior did look suss AF, but I had a feeling it was all due to proposal nerves loll. However, that image of her hurling potato after potato at him -- and Russ maintaining his sense of humor about it for as long as he did -- had me in stitches! 🤣

I know I felt bad for her too! She really was going through a whole minivan of emotions in the produce section of a grocery store of all places. BUT yeah no he had a lot of red flags and she knows her man lol. Definitely sus vibes from Russell! I really like the headcanon that Russell isn't afraid of anything except proposing 🤣 I'm glad the potato dodge ball made you laugh 🥔 It was a lot of fun to write out all the potato jokes, but only Russell would be falling more in love with a woman hurling potatoes at him.

But when he saw she was seriously hurt in thinking he was cheating, his responses tugged at my heartstrings too. It was so lovely to see though how he finally got through to her and explained himself, though I had a lot of secondhand embarrassment thinking about how everyone else is watching her unravel with him and air out their dirty laundry by the produce aisle. 🤣🤣🤣

I know 😭 He was so sweet after he realized how serious she was taking the whole thing. And it hurt me a little bit to put him through the "no touching" and the hurt he felt when he realized she thought he cheated 💔 But YES! The embarrassment is so real 🫣 You wouldn't catch me doing that- watching someone else do it yes... because I'm nosy and I live on crazy stories that I can incorporate into my writing LOL 🤣

(Old lady grabbing the cucumber is ALL of us. lmfaooo -- Seriously, that part had me deceased. 💀💀)

Girl, She IS!! 🤣☠️🥒

Aww I love both of the quotes you highlighted! Is it so wrong that I want that for me? A big strong bear hug from a man who loves me?! 😭 Who might also be way too old for me, but I know would treat me right? lol

But thank you so much for giving me all these wonderful comments Alex! And again, thank you for sending in a prompt for my prompt celebration! 💗

Potatoes Weren't On The Grocery List!

Pairing: Russell Shaw x f!reader, Reader POV

Prompt:"Please put the potato down."

Requested By: @zepskies

Summary:  When your boyfriend comes back into town acting different and won't tell you what's wrong, you jump to an extreme conclusion, and use an unusual form of punishment to get some answers. Saturday morning at the supermarket just got a little bit more interesting...

Tropes: Established Relationship, Suspected Cheating, Fluff

Word Count: 5K

Warnings: References to Sex, Sexual innuendo, Kissing, Cursing, Little bit of self-deprecating thought (reader), Jealousy, Supposed Cheating? Embarrassing Situation at a Supermarket? Inappropriate Use of Potatoes? Cheesy Potato Jokes? I think that's everything? This one is more fluffy than anything else.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is no use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

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Prompt Celebration Masterlist

A/N: This is another prompt requested for my prompt celebration by my lovely friend @zepskies 💗 Thank you so much for sending this one in! Alright, I know this entire situation is just CRAZY, but it really did make me cackle to think up another way of using potatoes. 🥔

“Would the owner of a red Prius with a bumper sticker that says ‘Driver Picks The Music, Shotgun Shuts His Cakehole’ please come to the customer service desk?” A nasally voice crackles over the intercom, halting the sound of “Heaven Is A Place On Earth” that plays over the loudspeaker in the supermarket. “Again, would the owner of a red Prius with the-”

The rest of the message is drowned out in the high pitched squeak of a shopping cart against terrazzo two aisles away, the smell of cinnamon and fresh bread that floats from the bakery, and the chatter that buzzes up over the towering shelves of food.

Saturday was meal prep day, which meant that you spent your morning weaving your cart in and out of the crowded grocery store one block away from your apartment buying everything you needed for the week. 

But despite how long it took, grocery shopping never felt like a chore because you believed it gave you a snap-shot into someone else’s life. 

You spent all those Saturday mornings watching other people and creating stories for them in your head. Why they bought something, who they were shopping for, noticing who they were shopping with, wondering what they would cook-

It was intimate, feeling the world slow down for just a few moments to live in the present with them.

Noticing a man on the phone in the feminine hygiene section talking to an unseen entity, watching a little girl eat an apple while her mother reaches up for a box of cheerios, waiting in line behind a guy with only a box of condoms and spearmint gum in his basket,  hearing a girl hum a little too loud and dance to the song blasting from her headphones as she shopped, and walking behind a woman  in a power suit who studied a grocery list scrawled on a scrap of paper.

They were all going somewhere, all moving forward with their day and yet you all shared this single moment of serendipity, to be in the same place at the same time.

Unfortunately, today you were not enjoying it one bit and it had everything to do with the man standing at the end of your shopping cart studying an alarming amount of avocados with a blank expression.

Something was wrong. 

You knew that the second your boyfriend, Russell, had come home. He’d been on a case with Colter a few states away, pulled from your arms in the middle of the night when he got an S.O.S from his younger brother, and because the two of you had been dating long distance comfortably for the better part of three years, you could tell that there was something seriously bothering him. 

But you didn’t know what. 

It was the first time in your entire relationship that you couldn’t tell what Russell was thinking and all it did was frustrate you further. 

He was distant, moody, and on edge. You’d never seen him like this before, not even when you brought him home to meet your family for Christmas last year. Sure, he’d been a little jittery and you’d made a joke about him being more afraid to meet your dad than he was to face a convoy of armed guards, but Russell was not like this ever. 

Your boyfriend was calm, collected, and smooth (too much sometimes, but you weren’t complaining). What he was not was jumpy and nervous. It took a lot to rattle him given what he’d been through. That’s why you were worried, because the man standing at the end of your shopping cart was not your boyfriend. 

Maybe he got body snatched while he was out of town? 

The idea that aliens had come down and taken the man you loved hostage was one of the only possible reasons why he was acting so odd. 

Russell had barely said two words to you since he’d dragged himself into the apartment last night. He had gone straight into the bathroom for a shower, not bothering the usual running joke the two of you had when he would throw you over his shoulder and bring you with him for a well deserved bit of R and R.

And when he’d come out of the shower, a vision in a small bright pink towel tied around his waist, his bare chest glistening in the dim light of your bedroom, dark hair dripping wet and hanging forward to frame his chiseled jaw, while the mist from the warm water floated behind him and framed the beautiful man that you couldn't believe was yours, it made you feel so warm it rivaled Mt. Vesuvius before it blew.

You’d wanted to demonstrate how much you’d missed him, and you’d tried whispering sweet nothings into his ear while your fingers tickled along the edge of the towel, but Russell had kissed you on your forehead, pried away the curious fingers, and said that he was “tired.”

It made your blood run cold. 

Reunion sex was the best tradition the two of you had, something you both appreciated and that fact that he’d said “no,” raised a red flag in the back of your mind the size of Texas. Russell never said no to sex, especially not after a long period of separation. 

He’d gotten stabbed a year ago while on a mission, spent two nights in the hospital following a surgery (where he complained the whole time about how he didn’t need to be there), and when you brought him home and he started to get a little friendly, you told him that you didn’t think that sex was a good idea, that he needed to rest, but he’d said that it was “just a graze” and then made love to you for an hour.

Sure, you’d done most of the work, he was in recovery for goodness sake, and you didn’t want to rip his stitches… but this was different.

Russell was avoiding your gaze, acting fidgety, and when you’d tried to kiss him, Russell had opted to shift his face away to give you a quick kiss on the forehead instead.

And as much as you liked a good forehead kiss, you hadn’t seen Russell in over a week and all you wanted was a heated kiss that made you lose feeling in your legs and forget that he was gone at all.

You didn’t know what you did wrong and you tried to think of something that you could have done to make him angry or annoyed with you, but there wasn’t a single thing. The last time that you’d spoken to Russell was late four days ago and he’d told you how excited he was to see you and that he missed you. 

But then why is he acting like this?

Russell pulls his phone out of his pocket and taps something quickly on the screen that’s angled away from you, his movements swift and to the point. But you note a small smile pulling at the end of his mouth. It was the first time you’d seen him smile since he got home. 

You felt unsettled, anxiety thrumming and prickling along your skin like pop rocks.

You wanted Russell to talk to you. It wasn’t like him to keep things inside, if something was bothering him he was upfront about it, not passive aggressive. He didn’t slam every cabinet in your apartment or leave all the drawers in the bathroom open when the two of you were in a fight, Russell would tell you what pissed him off.

Usually it was you that drove him crazy, but he’d always said he liked it, kept him “on his toes,” and made him feel like a lion tamer in a circus. 

An audible sigh comes through your lips, but Russell doesn’t look at you, instead he continues to tap something on his phone. 

It reminded you of what you’d discovered him doing early this morning.

You’d woken up at four am, call it fate or just one of those random moments your body woke up before your mind did, but when you realized that you were alone, it made you uneasy. 

In the three years you’d been together, Russell couldn’t keep his hands to himself, especially when he was asleep. That meant each time you woke up, Russell was laying on top of you, his strong arms wrapped around you in a bear hug, while he nuzzled his head into your hair and murmured things in his sleep you couldn’t understand. 

It was your safe place, somewhere that felt unbreakable.

Entwined in Russell’s arms in the early morning with his warm body tensed around yours was better than a fluffy blanket on a cold day, better than a hot cup of cocoa that drove away a nightmare, and better than slipping into the gentle embrace of a familiar book. 

It was always you that had to convince Russell to let you out of bed while he begged for another five minutes, not the other way around.

However, this morning you’d woken up to an empty bed with sheets long cold and found Russell sitting on the threadbare couch in the living room of your apartment talking on his phone in a hushed whisper.

The only words that you’d been able to make out were: “No, I haven’t talked to her yet honey.” 

Your entire body had gone cold with one sentence. You had no idea who he was talking to or what Russell had to “talk” to you about, but all you could focus on was that he called whoever it was, “honey.” 

It made an uncomfortable lump settle in the back of your throat. You didn’t want to believe that your boyfriend was cheating on you, but there was a little part of you that had begun to unravel, a thread in the back of your mind unwinding as you put together all the clues that Russell had given you since he came back. 

The suspicious phone call, the fact that he didn’t want to make love, Russell acting distant and jumpy-

It didn’t bode well.

The thought of losing him made you want to throw up.

Russell was the place of refuge you went to when your world fell apart, and without him you didn’t know how to function. Before him your life was organized into neat little boxes and checklists, but Russell had shown you that you couldn’t control everything in your life, he brought a reassuring and welcome disorder that made you feel alive in the best way. He helped you embrace the chaos to make a life worth living.

The thought of going back to the mundane world you knew before Russell where all the men seemed to be carbon-cut frat boy copies of one another, or wanted a cookie cutter life with a woman who never spoke her mind, or never called back, never offered to pay for dinner, and never opened doors for you filled you with dread. 

So you decided to go grocery shopping to clear your head and to get away from Russell for a little bit. It was the first time that you’d wanted to be away from him in all the years you’d known him and it broke your heart. Unfortunately, Russell had insisted on coming with you.

It was the only normal thing he'd done since he got back. Russell liked to do things with you no matter how mundane they would have sounded to someone else. Going to pick up the dry cleaning? Sign him up! Going to get some new thread for your sewing machine? Check! When Russell was back in town, he was back and nothing stopped him from being with you.

You would have found comfort in him coming with you if he wasn't acting lost.

The drive in his car to the supermarket had been silent and awkward, every conversation you tried to start when Russell came to a stop at a light lost in the wind. And even now Russell followed behind you like a zombie there, but not quite present.

It was an even bigger red flag, because the old Russell who came with you to the grocery store  was incapable of walking down an aisle without finding one thing that he wanted. Whether it be an oversized bag of sour gummy worms or a new brand of sriracha flavored potato chips, your boyfriend was insufferable when you brought him, and you loved every second of it.

But not today. 

He hadn’t said a word since you left the apartment, he even walked past the peaches without making an obligatory butt joke, and you still couldn’t think about the joke he’d made about the eggplant the last time he came with you without blushing.

Today all Russell did was stand there, his hands in his pockets, staring at the avocados, and his muscles tense beneath his army jacket as if he was anticipating something you couldn’t see. 

Like a break up. 

The thought made you clench your jaw together so tight you worried about the possibility of TMJ. 

The urge to say something, anything was building in your chest, but you didn’t know how to start a conversation without crying or cussing him out using the colorful vocabulary you’d adopted after you met him. 

The longer you stood, the more the thought of Russell cheating on you with someone else began to stitch its way into your head. Warped images of Russell in a dingy motel room along the road with a faceless woman in bed, rolling around with her for hours, the two of them laughing at your expense flashed through your mind on a sickening reel. The sentence you heard him say into the phone bouncing around in your head like a rubber ball.

His phone buzzes in his hand again, and your boyfriend’s smile widens before he types something out. 

Before the two of you had started dating, Russell had been talking to Reenie regularly. Reenie with her perfect black hair, clear skin, tight pencil skirts, pristine power suits, and beautiful smile. Reenie who's badass lawyer skills made what you do for a living seem dull in comparison. Reenie who was so much of a grown up you felt like a little girl watching her mother get dressed for work.

The faceless woman in bed with your boyfriend at a motel adopts Reenie’s physique and a roar of jealousy vibrates in your head so loud it might as well be a swarm of angry bees.  

Frustration, hurt, heartbreak, and anger formed a hard ball in the base of your throat and before you can stop yourself, you pick up the nearest object, a potato,  and throw it as hard as you can at your boyfriend. 

It hits him between his shoulder blades, glancing off his muscular back, before landing on the concrete floor with an audible thud. 

You’d been aiming a little higher, but it does the trick, and it makes you feel a little bit better.

“What the hell?!” Russell turns to stare at you, showing more emotion than he has in the past 12 hours since he got back home. “Did you just throw a potato at me?”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

“Because I-�� You hesitate. 

You didn’t want to come out and say it, it was too terrible for you to think about. The man you loved, your best friend, cheating on you, especially after how long the two of you have been together. Instead of answering you pick up another potato.

“Whoa!” Russell holds up his hands in surrender, cracking a signature half-grin that causes another fissure to open in your heart. It was the first time that he’d genuinely smiled at you since he got back. “Didn’t think potatoes were on the list today Sweetheart.” 

“They are now!” You throw it at him, but Russell ducks. The potato sails through the air past him and lands in a colorful tub of summer squash, jarring a produce clerk restocking a display of apples nearby.

You reload. 

“Baby wait!” Russell half ducks behind the cart, preparing for battle. Confusion and a little bit of humor flash in his eyes. “Can you please tell me what’s wrong before you beam me with Mr. Potato-head?”

“You know!” The rough skin of the potato grates against your skin as your grip tightens. 

“No, I don’t.” His gaze flicks to the projectile in your hand. “I mean, I like french fries as much as the next guy, but that’s still a little raw.”

You could feel your frustration and heartbreak swirling and beating into a wildfire in your chest, burning in the air around you as the image of Russell and Reenie writhing in bed together comes skittering back into your mind. Granted, there was a part of you that knew playing dodgeball with potatoes in the grocery store was ridiculous, but you were so upset about what you thought your boyfriend was doing that it was difficult to form the words to express it. 

And throwing potatoes at him seemed like the only option.

"Please put the potato down." Russell says, still half crouched behind the grocery cart. 

“No!” You take aim at his head, cocking up your arm for the next throw.

“Can you at least tell me what’s wrong?” Russell’s hands are still up in front of him, anticipating your throw, preparing to duck if need be, but his green eyes glint with a playful mirth. “Or are you going to show me what happens when good potatoes go bad?”

He looked like your Russell again, not some statue of the man you were in love with as he had the past few hours. It was infuriating that this was the thing that made him return to normal and not anything else that had happened in the 12 hours since he'd gotten home.

This time you find your words.

“Who is she!?” You screech so loud that everyone in the produce department stops to look over at Russell and you. 

They were probably already watching given the fact that you’d thrown two potatoes at him and were about to unleash a third at any moment. You really hoped that you didn’t end up on the internet or the news, especially because your mother watched it religiously and would call to say “I told you so” about Russell. Ever since you’d brought him home she’d call to ask if you’d broken up with him yet. He still hadn’t won her over and this wouldn’t get him any brownie points. 

“What?” Russell’s smile slips into a confused frown. 

“Who is she?!” 

By now the song “Heaven Is A Place On Earth” has begun to play again over the loudspeakers, the familiar tune echoing above the sounds of the supermarket.

“Who is who?” 

“The girl you’re cheating on me with!”

“What?” Hurt flashes in his eyes followed quickly by surprise. “You think I’m cheating on you? Really? After everything we’ve been through together baby?”

“Don’t you baby me Russell Shaw! You’ve been acting weird since you got back! Avoiding my gaze, acting twitchy, not talking to me, refusing to touch me! Saying that you’re too tired to make love!” That last part you hadn’t meant to shout as loud as you could in the middle of a grocery store on the busiest shopping day of the week. 

The elderly woman shopping for cucumbers on the opposite side of the produce display looks up to watch the two of you. Her eyes drag appreciatively over your boyfriend before picking up a large cucumber from the pile. 

“You think I’m cheating on you because I told you I was tired?” Russell huffs out a laugh. “Baby, I get tired, I’m not a machine-”

“And I heard your little conversation this morning on the phone.” You continue, not smiling, your fingernails curling into the rough skin of the potato in your hand.

You hated that he wasn’t taking any of this seriously. Russell was laid back yes, but even he knew better than to tease you when you were angry, and Russell himself understood when his care-free attitude left little to be desired when you were furious with him. 

“No, I haven’t talked to her yet honey!” You mimic his voice holding up the potato above your head, the axe over a head on a chopping block. 

Hot frustrated tears roll down your cheek, the urge to sob catching under your rib cage, but you swallow it down. 

A part of you wished that you were more calm and collected, not standing in the produce section of your local grocery store with a potato clutched in your hand like mjolnir, crying.

“Sweetheart-” He sighs and extends his hand towards you, intending to bring you some comfort. Some of his hair has fallen forward to frame his face in the commotion, and in a perfect world you would have brushed it back with a gentle smile and a kiss to the tip of his nose, but not this one. 

Heaven is most certainly not a place on earth. 

“No, don't touch me!” You flinch away from his outstretched hands, taking a shaky step backwards, tennis shoes squeaking against the floor. The image of him and Reenie was back, festering beneath your skin, followed by the sound of him whispering on the phone this morning. 

His concerned frown drops into hurt and if your heart wasn’t already broken, that would have done it, seeing Russell look at you that way. 

You’d never deprived him of your touch or the ability to touch you. Something that you’d learned early in your relationship was that deep down Russell longed for more than just one night, more than just a random fling with a woman late at night. He wanted something permanent, especially after he'd spent his entire life having the world slip between his fingers.

He’d had to learn how to be self-sufficient from an early age and deprived himself of what he really wanted for so long. But then he’d met you. 

You knew deep in your heart that Russell longed for your touch and you in more ways than one. Not just for his pleasure, but the gentle lean of your head against his arm when you watched tv or the brace of your hand against his shoulder when you needed to push past him in the small hallway of your apartment or the warm embrace you gave him in the night when he came back to you. For you to take it away from him hurt more than you could ever know. 

He’d had a handful of relationships, but none of them were as long as the one the two of you had and it made you feel proud to know that you were changing things for him, and that you were showing him what a healthy long lasting relationship looked like. 

That was until you started lobbing potatoes at him in the produce department on your favorite shopping day of the week.

“Please, listen to me.” He pleads. This time he doesn’t try to touch you, but hurt flashes through his eyes again. 

It was enough to almost make you cave. You didn’t want to believe that Russell would cheat on you, he never seemed the type for that. Sure he was flirty and spent a long time away from you, but you had trusted him because you’d believed that Russell honored your relationship the same way you did. 

“Why should I? It all makes sense. You’ve been acting distant since you got back, you won’t touch me, you won’t even kiss me-”

“Can you please listen to me for one second?” He interrupts before running his hand through his hair to give it something to do, avoiding the urge to reach out for you again.

“No, I don't want to hear any of your excuses!”

Russell says your name in a frustrated tone. “It was my sister on the phone this morning.”

“Do you always talk to your sister at 4 am? Or oh, maybe it was Jake from Statefarm!” You roll your eyes. “How stupid do you think I am?”

“I don’t think you’re stupid. I’ve never thought you were stupid. It was Dory!”

“Then what was so important at 4 am that you couldn’t wait to talk to her?”

“Oh for the love of- This!” Russell thrusts his hand into the pocket of his army jacket, before he shoves something into your empty hand.

Your gaze falls to the small blue velvet box cradled in your palm, looking at it for a minute too long, the angry tornado inside making it hard to process what it is.

“Russell? What is this?”

“I called Dory because I needed her to give me a pep talk. I was too much in my head last night. And when I asked Colter the other day he didn’t help at all.” He cracks a small smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I wasn’t too surprised by that, my brother has never been as smooth or as smart as me.”

“To do what?” You ask hesitantly. 

Russell hesitates, measuring what he's going to say. The foreign nervous glint is back in your boyfriend's gaze, the one you'd seen since he came back. The same one that made you think your boyfriend had been abducted by aliens.

“Propose.” Russell rubs the back of his neck looking sheepish. “I was going to do this somewhere special, you know? Outside that taco truck we like or at least over dinner. Not a damn grocery store.”

You thought you were going to die of shock right there.

“You were going to propose?” Your voice comes out a little hesitant and squeaky. The potato in your other hand drops to the floor, the sound of it hitting the concrete thunderous. 

“Yeah. That’s why I had to tack on a few extra days to my trip. I wanted to talk to your dad in person, this didn’t seem like the kinda thing to ask over the phone.” 

“What?” Your mouth drops open in surprise. “You asked my dad?”

Russell nods. “I was surprised he said yes. I don’t think I’m exactly a favorite when it comes to you parents.”  He huffs out an awkward laugh, his green eyes twinkling with amusement. “I didn’t mean to be so distant, but I wanted it to be perfect. And each time I tried to think of a way to do it or try to figure out what to say I couldn’t. That’s a first for me Sweetheart, we both know that I don’t have any problems talking.” 

Oh my damn, I literally accused him of cheating. I’m a terrible person. 

“I was tired last night.” Russell continues. “But I did want to make love, fuck baby, I always want to make love to you, but I was worried that I would propose to you at the wrong time.” 

“The wrong time?” You swipe the back of your hand over your cheeks with a sniffle. 

“We both know that I’m not good at controlling what I say when you’ve got your hands all over me. Especially not when you’re in my lap riding me to high heaven.” Russell’s smirk makes your cheeks flush. 

There’s an awkward silence that fills the air between the two of you as your gaze drops to the box in your hand. 

I don’t deserve him.

“Are you sure that you still want to marry me? Even after I thought you were cheating?” The question comes out in a whisper, guilt tugging at your heart.

You hated that you’d treated him that way, assumed that he would be the kind of guy to cheat on you. Deep down in your heart you knew that Russell wasn’t the type, but it made you feel even more guilty for accusing him of that. 

Russell steps forward reaching out to you, but hesitates, his smile faltering. “Can I touch you now?”

“Yes.”

The relieved sigh that he releases when he pulls you into his tight embrace makes more tears spill from your red eyes. You hated that you’d said that to him, that you’d deprived him of the one thing he needed since the moment the two of you met. He tucks you into the little you-shaped nook between his shoulder and his throat, arms wrapping around you warm and familiar. It feels more like home than anywhere else. 

“Baby, nothing’s going to stop me from that. You could be a zombie with rotting lips infested with maggots and I’d still be the luckiest guy on the planet because I got to marry you.” His words rumble up his chest against your cheek.

“And you thought you didn’t have anything romantic to say.” You say with a giggle, squeezing him tight. 

“Zombies? That’s what does it for you?” Your boyfriend's chuckle shakes your body as his hand smoothes over your back, the motion calming your racing heart.

You sniffle out a laugh, nuzzling further into his chest. By now you were sure there were tears and snot on his t-shirt, but Russell doesn’t care, not when he has you in his arms again. 

“So is this a yes or are you just feeling really sorry for throwing potatoes at me?” He murmurs into the top of your head. 

“Say yes sweetie, or I will.” The elderly woman who was shopping for cucumbers stage whispers from your left. 

You didn’t know that she was still standing there, but all it did was bring a wave of embarrassment over you thinking of everything that you’d yelled at your boyfriend and done with the potatoes at your local grocery store. 

Damn it, I’m going to have to start shopping somewhere else.  

You pull back from Russell’s chest to stare up into the warm gaze of the man who’d always been there for you. “Yes.” You nod. 

The kiss he gives you is the one that you wanted when he came home. The rough scrape of beard against soft skin, the tangle of his tongue in your mouth, the warmth that bubbles up from the deep to swallow you whole as you lose yourself in the man you love, and the soft gasp that comes when Russell drags you further into him with a growl that rumbles through his muscular chest. 

“Now can we please go back to the apartment?” He rasps, warm hands holding on to your cheeks as if you’re going to slip away, his green eyes darkening with his words before they rake across your body. “I’d like to celebrate our engagement the old fashioned way. Unless you want to keep playing hot-potato?”

“No. We can go home.”

“Baby-” Russell rumbles once more, leaning his forehead against yours. “We’re already there.”

A/N: See happy endings all around! Thank you again @zepskies for asking me for this prompt and letting me explore another story with Russell! Daydreaming and writing about him never gets old 👀

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated! I love hearing what y'all think! 😊 If you'd liked to be added to my general Jensen Ackles Character taglist or my Russell Shaw taglist please let me know!

Taglist:

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[justjensenanddean]

Jensen Ackles as Russell Shaw Tracker (2024) | 2.02 – “Ontological Shock”

[annazima]

Jensen Ackles

Supernatural / The Boys / Big Sky / Tracker

[bloodydeanwinchester]

Tracker 2x02 | Ontological Shock

[jarpadandjensens]

Jensen Ackles || Tracker || Off the books

[zepskies]

Headcanon: Flirting (And Jealousy)

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader, Beau Arlen x Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader, Russell Shaw x Reader

AN: This one was requested by one of my lovely Patreon members, @lacilou. And surprise! For the first time, I'm trying out adding Russell Shaw to the lineup because I thought he'd be an interesting addition for this prompt. 💜

Prompt: How would Dean, Ben & Beau react to either other men flirting with us or them obliviously/cluelessly letting other women flirt with them? And how we would react to them -- like how they'd make it up to us, their excuses, etc.

HC: How Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy (Ben), and Russell Shaw would react to someone flirting with you. (And others flirting with them.)

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship, oblivious flirting, unwanted advances, jealousy, some toxic masculinity (you know Ben 🙄), but ultimately lots of fluff, and some spice too.~

Dean Winchester

Dean isn't one to get jealous...at first.

He knows you're hot as hell. He pretty much expects guys to try and shoot their shot.

Plus, he's secure enough in his relationship with you to know you wouldn't consciously entertain someone who's flirting with you.

He also knows you're strong enough to take care of yourself, even with a persistent asshole.

However.

The second a man gets into your face or tries to put his hands on you, Dean's stepping in -- either to twist the man's arm nearly out of its socket, or deliver a swift punch between the eyes, or his personal favorite, grabbing the back of the guy's neck and slamming his face onto the counter.

Dean finds the sound of bone breaking against varnished wood, followed closely by the heavy tripping thud of a body to the floor, deeply satisfying.

You heave a sigh. Not because you're all that annoyed at Dean, but because you tried to warn the guy.

Now, Dean knows he used to be...well, a "ladies man," putting it mildly. He's improvised more panty-dropping one-liners than a Magic Mike stripper. His success rate is 9-and-10 (because there's always room for improvement).

He directs all that flirtatious, playful, sexual energy on you. He's fallen for you, committed to you, and once he makes a decision with his heart, Dean Winchester doesn't have an unfaithful bone in his body.

However.

He can't altogether stop women from flirting with him. Like at one of the many diners you, Sam, and Dean stop to eat at after a hunt.

"Let me know if you need anything else, okay?" the waitress says. She brushes her hand up his arm and squeezes his shoulder, giving Dean a too-bright smile that leaves nothing to the imagination (at least to you).

He smiles back at her. "Thanks, sweetheart."

It's like a reflex. He thinks he's being polite. He doesn't even follow the path of her hip-swaying walk with his eyes -- like he certainly would've before he met you.

You still stare at Dean incredulously. When the woman walks away, he smiles at you as if nothing happened. Sam wisely keeps to himself and sips his beer, hiding a smirk.

Dean notices the way your lips are pursed, bitchface activated. "What?" he asks.

You cross your arms. "Really?"

He frowns. "What's the matter?"

"Really. You need me to tell you not to let that woman eye-fucking you to put her hands all over you?" You shake your head. More dryly you add, "Right in front of me, too. I gotta give it to her, she's got brass balls."

Dean is bewildered, but then he replays the moment in his head and realizes that you're right. He kinda fucked up.

He sees the way you're getting all testy, and he has to chuckle.

"Okay. I'm sorry, sweetheart. My bad."

He reaches for your hand and manages to uncross your arms. You're stubborn in your irritation, but Dean is the king of persuasion, giving you teasing, flirty bedroom eyes and waggling brows as he pulls you towards him.

If you're still reluctant to soften, he adds, "Come on, don't be a sourpuss. Come 'ere."

Eventually he breaks you, making you laugh and hit his arm with no real force behind it.

Even Sam shakes his head, seeing how his brother manages to pacify you by sliding his arm around your shoulders across the booth. Dean leans in and kisses along your neck. He inhales your scent and hums in pleasure.

Sam clears his throat. He has to awkwardly look away.

"Gonna forgive me?" Dean asks, his lips moving against your skin. "Though I gotta admit, I kinda like it when you're jealous. All growly and fiesty. Got myself a little tiger."

You roll your eyes, but your lips tug at a smile. Your face warms in a blush, especially as his hand wanders under your jacket and teasingly up your side.

You slip your fingers into his hair, making sure to give a sharp little tug on it for good measure. He just laughs.

Oh, you'll forgive him, but maybe you'll make him do a little more penance when you all get back home.

Beau Arlen

Beau is a jealous man from the onset when a man flirts with you.

His lips purse, his jaw clicks, and he keeps a firm eye on the situation. He doesn't like it.

But to his credit, he tries not to act on it right away, letting you handle it the way you want to.

However, like Dean, the moment someone gets into your personal space or tries to touch you, he's pulling out some Sheriff moves.

If the man grabs at you, Beau's got his arm twisted behind his back so fast, he can almost feel ligaments popping. Beau gives a calm, but firm warning before sending the guy on his way. (He'd like to do more, but the department frowns on excessive violence.)

Maybe part of you gets annoyed at the show of jealousy, but a larger part of you can't help but be turned on when he protects you. You know it's not because he thinks you need protecting, but because he wants to.

"Can't help it, darlin'," he's said. "It's just how I was raised."

But you're the one that bristles when Danielle, a PTA mom at Emily's school, flirts with him. She laughs at his corny jokes with her white teeth and her perfectly layered and coiffed blonde hair.

She even gives him an extra cookie from her offering at the school's bake sale. (She knows what most of this town knows -- that the way to the Sheriff's heart is all too often through his stomach.)

Beau just nods along, smiling polite with that charming grin of his, totally oblivious while he eats. The last straw for you is when she wipes a bit of chocolate from the corner of his mouth.

Your mouth falls open in shock. "Are you shitting me?"

You accidentally say it out loud, earning not only your boyfriend's surprised look, but Danielle's guilty one as well. (And some of the kids.)

Blushing in embarrassment, you pivot on your heel and start packing up your supplies for the bake sale.

That's when Beau realizes that he fucked up.

He politely excuses himself from Danielle and goes to help you (wiping the crumbs off his face and licking chocolate off his thumb). He can tell you're feeling more than a little icy towards him, but he tries to make up for it by doing all the heavy lifting, bringing back things to the car, and helping you with the bags before he calls Emily over.

It's a long car ride home, awkward and tense. Emily can tell something's off between you and her dad, but when she asks about it, you claim nothing's wrong.

Beau knows better.

He waits until the three of you get home to the apartment you share with him, and after putting the bake sale stuff away, he follows you into the bedroom.

"Sweetheart--"

"What the hell was that, Beau?" You come in hot with it, and Beau is quick to try and ease your tension with an apology.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Couldn't you see that she was eyeing you like a honey-glazed ham?"

Beau's lips twitch at a grin, but you're not amused. You cross your arms and give him a warning look. That's when he wises up.

"Okay, you're right. I'm sorry." He chances taking a few slow steps towards you, raising his brows and keeping his hands up in surrender.

You eye him narrowly, but you let him get close enough to slip his arms around you. He gathers you against his chest and presses a lingering kiss to your cheek.

"I mean it. Won't happen again," he promises. His hands mold to the curve of your waist and squeeze gently. His lips move, burning a sweet path along your jawline, your chin, over the apple of your cheeks, and finally your lips. You breathe into it, and you can't help but cling to the front of his buttoned-down shirt.

"Do me a favor," you say quietly between kisses. "Don't eat Danielle's cookies."

Beau smiles against your lips. "Don't you worry, darlin'. From now on, I'll tell her that I've got some good cookie at home."

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Oh, Ben doesn't fuck around.

...Well, in the sense that he can't tolerate another man even looking at you flirtatiously, or otherwise with any kind of intent.

Depending on the severity, at best, it'll have Ben shooting the man a stony look of warning.

At worst, it ruins the day -- namely with the sound of bone snapping and a man's sobbing howl of pain.

You try to get him to tone it down ("For God's sake, Ben. It's fine. Just relax."), but this is one thing he well and truly doesn't budge on.

Ben is possessive. Because you're his. His to touch, and his to protect.

In his mind, it's fucking simple.

Whenever you get irritated with this brutish, knuckle-dragging, caveman mentality, you try to remember why he does it.

It's indicative of how much he actually cares about you.

Because if he didn't, he wouldn't really give a shit if other men were flirting with you. (He'd just find another woman to try and charm back to his apartment.)

So you've learned how to try and finesse these situations so that Ben doesn't notice.

You've also stopped letting down men easy, proverbially cutting off their dick and balls with your words.

Because it's quite literally to save their dumbass life.

But when other women flirt with Ben, he takes it all with indulgent smiles, throwing in a wink and a sweetheart every now and then.

He doesn't blame them for flirting with him, checking him out. He's Soldier Boy, after all, and in his mind, it's not his fault they can't help themselves around him.

However, a smile and a wink is all that he allows himself.

If he truly cares about you (and though he doesn't often express it in words, he does), then the unfamiliar twinge of guilt stops him whenever he almost accepts a woman's alluring invitation--spoken or unspoken.

His mouth might spew arrogance and gilded lies, but his actions too often betray what he really feels.

And what he really feels can't be any more clear than when he goes after you, instead of indulging the woman who basically undressed him with her eyes, whispered sultry, sexy offerings in his ear, and invited him to go home with her.

Seeing you take off out the double doors of the club, Ben rolls his eyes. He brushes the woman off without a backwards glance, and follows you out into the night air. He grabs your hand before you can get far in your heels.

"What the hell's the matter now?" he asks dryly.

You turn on him with an incredulous look.

"That woman was practically sucking your neck, Ben!"

"All right, don't fucking overreact. You're getting hysterical," he says, before guiding you back into his arms.

"I'm not fucking hysterical, you ass!" You push against his chest, but he doesn't budge, nor does he let you go. This isn't a good area, and he doesn't want you out in these streets at this time of night without him at your side.

"Ben," you say sharply. You look up at him in irritation, but he just smirks and strokes your side with his thumb.

Yes, (in his mind) you're being a little difficult, but he thinks your jealousy is amusing, adorable, and kind of hot all at the same time.

Ben doesn't bother with saying anything more to convince you. He just slips a hand behind your neck and kisses you soundly.

He invades your mouth with his tongue and devours you, reminding you that you're the one he wants.

He waylays you with his strong hands framing your body against his, and with his sinful mouth, until you finally melt into his embrace.

He's chosen you countless time before, and he knows he'll keep choosing you, for as long as this lasts.

Russell Shaw

Russell always clocks the "situation" right away when a man starts to flirt with you.

He's not one to make a scene of it at first, depending on the time and place.

But he is quick to sidle up to your side, pointedly slip a hand along your waist, and greet you with a deceptive smile.

"Hey, sweetheart. Let's grab that table over there. 'S more comfortable than the bar."

He glances up at the man, sharpness hidden well behind his green eyes. Whether the guy picks up on it or not, Russell is making a mugshot in his mind -- and he never forgets a face.

You eye him knowingly, but you let him guide you away. He's kind of cute when he's jealous, and it doesn't take much to spark that well of protectiveness that lies in wait just under his skin.

Russell isn't easily fazed by most things, but one sure way to provoke his temper (and those rougher, darker shades of him that he tries his best not to show you) is for a man to push his luck with you.

It really wouldn't take much effort at all for the former soldier to have a man clutching his bloody, shattered nose, let alone to dump his broken body in front of the closest hospital. But somehow, Russell manages to curb those darker urges. (Again, don't tempt him.)

But when another woman flirts with him, you're the one who starts to have steam coming out of your ears.

Russell doesn't miss much. He recognizes the sultry inflection in the woman's words. He catches the subtle, sensuous gleam in her eyes when she rakes him up and down with them.

He also notes the moment you look over and realize what's happening.

Regardless if you're looking or not, he tries his best to stay distant, but polite, even as a warning twinge of "aww shit" runs up his spine.

He tries to play things off with an amiable smile and being purposefully oblivious.

Until the woman gets bold, slipping her hand over Russell's and up his arm a bit, before she withdraws, tilting her head with a sweet-as-pie smile.

Cue Russ's awkward laugh/clearing of the throat. Before he has time to fully pull away and just come out with the, Sorry, I actually have a girlfriend -- you return to his side and pointedly grab his hand.

"Come on, honey, we'll be late," you say, giving him a tense smile.

The aww shit feeling is back, but Russell just nods and falls into step with you.

When you two have enough privacy to hash it out, you let him have it.

"What the hell was that?!"

Russell can't help but chuckle. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I tried to keep it classy, but that woman was persistent. Not that I blame her--"

"Oh, shut up." You roll your eyes (not that you really blame her either). Then you stare at your man in annoyance, crossing your arms. "I didn't see you trying all that hard to fend her off, huh, Romeo? If another man had touched me like that, you would've broken his fingers off, like a fucking caveman."

Russell's brows raise at the dig, but the way you're getting all testy is kind of cute (and also kinda hot).

"All right. You got me there," he says. He slips his arms around your waist and tries to soften you with a charming grin. "Come on, sweetheart. You know I'm not going anywhere."

"Do I?" you blurt out, before you have a chance to reign it back in.

Russell's contract jobs take him all over the country -- all over the world. Yes, he's on his way out, he claims. He wants to settle down with you, or so he says.

But you have no idea of knowing what he does when he's not with you.

All those days out on the road, crashing in skeevy motels, winding down at dive bars -- has he ever been tempted to "sample" the local fare? Has he ever...

Russell's amusement fades, sobering into a frown and a furrowing of his brows. He hums in disapproval. He doesn't like what he's seeing in your eyes: doubt, most of all.

"Hey," he says. It's a serious tone you don't often hear in his voice. He curls a finger under your chin and tilts your face up to meet his.

"I'm gonna need you to listen to me, and listen good," he says. You frown at that, but he brushes his thumb across your cheek, a small, but tender caress. "You and me, we've got something good. I know what that means. So you can believe me when I say, I'm in this. I'm right here, even when I'm not here."

And he smiles at you. "That make sense?"

Slowly, you start to smile too. "Not really," you laugh.

But it does. You know what he's trying to say, and...you believe him. Your fingers curl in the front of his shirt.

Tentatively, you lean up and press your lips to his; just a sweet, slow meeting.

Russell cups your cheek and leans in for a deeper taste, a deeper conviction of every word he just said.

I love you, is what it really means, even if he's not able to say that just yet.

AN: 😮‍💨 Well, there we go! lol I love me a protective man. 💜 Hope you enjoy this set of headcanons!

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[sensitivehandsomeactionman]

Dean Winchester Easter Eggs | Tracker 1.12

Bonus: Jensen Easter Egg 🍺

[russjensen]

Colter and Russell Shaw | Tracker 2x02

[nyxvuxoa]

Jensen Ackles as Russell Shaw ⤷ Tracker | S01 E12: Off The Books

[gallners]

JENSEN ACKLES as RUSSELL SHAW TRACKER, 2.02 "Ontological Shock"

[soldierboys]

Jensen Ackles as Russell Shaw TRACKER | 2.02 Ontological Shock

[kindaskimpy]

[x] *Bonus:

[justjensenanddean]

Jensen Ackles as Russell Shaw Tracker (2024) | 2.02 – “Ontological Shock”

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Pairing: Russell Shaw xf!reader, Reader POV

Summary:  The last thing that you wanted was to be woken up in the middle of the night by Colter Shaw for a favor, but when he shows up toting a ruggedly handsome man with green eyes you decide to forgive him. Reader is the niece of Velma and Teddi!

Word Count: 10.3K

Warnings: I'm gonna label this one 18+ just in case I missed anything. Blood, Cleaning Out A Wound, Mentions of Allergies? Gunshots, Some Cursing, A Bit of Sexual Innuendo, Sexual fantasy/reader has active imagination, Self-deprecating Thoughts/Body Issues (reader), Mentions of Infidelity, Reader Is A Single Mom, Appearance Of Creepy-Jerk Ex Husband, Probably a Poor Description Of What It’s Like To Be A Single Mom (I tried my best, please I do not mean to offend anyone❤️), Russell Shaw might be a little bit OOC. Reader is occasionally described as "curvy."

Song Inspiration: Long As I Can See The Light By Creedence Clearwater Revival

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n if any. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite! This is my first time writing for Russell Shaw, so, please be gentle. 😅

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Main Masterlist

A/N: I finally watched Tracker… Could you tell? 😂

Sunday nights, in your opinion, were the worst.

It was like the last few moments of freedom before you were thrust into a busy work week, like the last few rays of light before the coming darkness that you barely survived with copious amounts of coffee and bloodied fingertips. Monday always loomed, but never as much as on Sunday nights.

The dull thud of your phone vibrating against your wooden bedside table grates on your ears and pulls you from the sweet precipice of sleep before you can fall into the void.

It felt as if you’d just collapsed into your bed and one look at the alarm clock on your bedside table as you blinked your bleary eyes confirmed it. It was 3:58 am, which meant you had been in bed for exactly three minutes.

You were still covered in chocolate cupcake batter, pink frosting, and rainbow sprinkles from the last six hours you'd spent in the kitchen making gluten free, sugar free, and peanut free cupcakes for a bake sale at your son’s school.

Even though you hadn't volunteered Stephanie Jacobson, or rather the wicked witch of the PTA, had cornered you in the pick-up line on Friday afternoon to remind you of your "duties as a parent" and the coming bake sale to support the building of the new gym. And then she’d handed you a list of student allergies and asked you to create something that was safe for everyone.

Taste be damned.

Why the school needed a new gym you didn't know, but the guilt that rose when Stephanie mentioned your "duties as a parent" was enough to make you say yes to whatever she asked you.

You had enough guilt already about raising your kids without a stable father figure, and the last thing you needed was guilt from a stuck up bitch in the PTA.

Stephanie reminded you of the girls in high school that used to pick at their food, the ones that knew exactly what to say to make you feel like a freak, the ones who dated the football players and spent their Friday nights wearing cheerleading uniforms and waving pom poms, and the ones who basically made everyone else's life a living hell.

Everything about her screamed superior. The flawless way she curled her perfect platinum blonde hair, the stylish clothes she wore than never seemed to have a wrinkle or a mashed carrot smeared on the pants, the supple breasts that she swore were real, a perfectly toned stomach that never seemed to change despite her having a child two months ago, and the easy way she handled all of her three children with a flourish of her left hand that housed a 6 karat diamond ring from her gorgeous husband that was so attentive, perfect, and rich that it made you feel sick to your stomach.

All of which anyone could read on her mommy blog that she'd dubbed "Little Mistakes Make Perfect Lessons," and the same blog that she'd created an empire from.

Fuck, you hated her.

Mostly because despite everything you tried you never had enough time in the day to look as flawless as she did.

Your hair never seemed to be as bouncy or perfectly styled, you never had time to put makeup on, you always had mashed carrot on your pants or some form of cheerio or baby food, as many times as you tried to carve out time for the gym you never seemed to make it, the small ring you'd once wore on your finger was sitting idle in your jewelry box upstairs where it had been for the past year after your husband of six years told you that he met someone else, and your stomach and your breasts… you didn't want to think about that right now.

You had two kids and you weren't going to pretend that it did nothing to your body, any part of your body. And as many times as you saw all the other mothers around you who were proud of the way they looked, you never had their confidence, especially not after the comments that your ex-husband had made each time the two of you finally had some time to be alone together.

But that wasn't to say you hated being a mom, you loved it, wouldn't change it for the world. It was just sometimes you wished you had a little help, that, and you wished that Mondays didn't exist. 

You groan as you reach for the phone that still vibrates desperately on your bedside table and flip it over to see who's calling before you answer it.

"Colter, why the hell are you calling me at four am?" You half moan, pulling the comforter up over your head as if that'll make Monday go away.

You'd been close to murder several times, first when you found your husband in your bed with his nineteen year-old secretary, second when your local coffee shop was out of espresso and you did your entire shift at the hospital with no coffee, and Colter Shaw waking you up at almost four in the morning was quickly becoming number three.

"Because I didn't want to wake up Emma or Luke. Can you open the door?" He replies, stating the names of your children, sounding slightly out of breath.

"What door?" You groan again, eyes still shut wishing that this was just a bad dream and Colter wasn't calling you because he needed your help… again.

"The front door. Please, I need you to let me in."

"Why are you here? Couldn't it wait until tomorrow? Did you try to call Teddi or Vel-"

"I'll explain when you come open the door."

"By doing that I'd have to get up."

"Please."

You hesitate. Colter didn't usually say please, let alone twice whenever he showed up needing your help.

You'd met him by accident.

Sure your Aunt Teddi had talked about the "rewardist" that she and your Aunt Velma worked with, but you hadn't been expecting to ever meet him. But when Colter got shot on a job and showed up at Teddi and Velma's home you'd helped patch him up. You'd been there picking up your six year old son Luke and your three year old daughter Emma, after work. Teddi and Velma watched them for you when your deadbeat ex Lance couldn't be bothered to give you the support you needed.

Which was all the time despite his continuous arguing that he was in their lives enough and if anything it was your fault that he didn't have more time with them.

Each time he said that it made you want to slam his head in the door of his brand new bright red BMW, the one he'd bought right after you found him in your bedroom plowing his secretary now girlfriend Crystal. Or as you liked to remember her, the girl who still believed that Santa Clause existed and that the U.S government was hiding him from the world.

But Colter had been hurt and it was just fate that you were there at your aunts home to pick up your kids.

Being an ER nurse meant that you knew how to patch Colter up and it wasn't long before he went on his way. That was about four months ago and since then you'd talked to him occasionally when he'd pop by at your aunts home or just to see if you could help him with something.

"Five minutes." You sigh.

This time you crawl out of bed, standing just to the side of it for a second shaking your head to clear the sleep, and grab the long sleeved blue colored duster/robe that was hanging on the back of your bedroom door. Navigating your way down the stairs in the dark as quietly as you can, while half asleep was difficult, but somehow you avoid falling to your death.

Unfortunate, because now you have to go see what Colter wants at freaking 4 am.

The second story home had been you ex-husband's idea, stated that the two of you needed "room to grow" and that the two of you were "investing in your future."

You frown at the thought.

Yeah, room to grow right into your fucking secretary.

As if you needed another blow to your self esteem, but looking at the skinny red-haired goddess that he'd traded you in for that was about as dumb as a rock had been enough to send you so low you might as well be navigating the Marianas Trench in a submarine with a Megalodon chasing after you.

Maybe that means I'd get to be with Jason Stratham.

That thought was welcome. Honestly the thought of any man was a comfort, especially in the dry spell you'd been having since -well- since you'd had Emma three years ago.

Not gonna think about that right now.

The smell of chocolate cupcakes hung heavy in the air as you crossed through the messy living room, wafting out through the open concept kitchen into the space. One look into the kitchen would show enough cupcakes to make anyone salivate, and yes maybe you'd eaten a few before going up to bed, but eating the chocolate didn't count if it was on Sunday night and you could always go to the gym tomorrow…

Yeah. Like that'll happen.

You open the front door. "Alright, somebody better be dying Colter or I swear that I'll-" You stop mid-sentence when you take in the scene on your porch.

Colter is standing there, looking worse for wear. His usual black jacket is gone, he's got a black eye and a scrape along one of his perfect cheekbones, but that's not who you're looking at.

Colter isn't alone.

There's a man leaning heavily on Colter, his muscular right arm is thrown across Colter's shoulders and due to the fact that the man is a little bigger than Colter, he's buckling slightly under his weight. The man is wearing a green army jacket that is soaked around his left shoulder in blood, his dark hair is falling long into his bearded face, and his skin is a few shades paler than it should be. But that doesn't make him any less handsome.

The man still manages to throw you a sly grin, brilliant green eyes shining beneath the strands of his dark hair. "I think you got your wish sweetheart."

"You're not dying Russell." Colter sighs as if he's annoyed. "Hi." He directs at you.

You do feel a little bit bad about saying that now, but you shake it off.

"What the hell happened?" You say as loud as you dare and pull the front door further open so Colter can drag the man, now named "Russell" into your home.

"Shoot out." Colter breathes. "Where do you want him?"

"Kitchen table." You say trying to reach for Russell's left arm to help Colter, but he groans low under his breath and you retract your hand.

"You've got to be a little gentle with me sweetheart." Russell laughs more to himself, but it comes out in a choked sound. "But you can have me wherever you want."

"Colter, he needs to go to the hospital." You say, following behind them, keeping your voice down. "I don't think that I can-"

"Can't, they'll report it. They have to report all gunshots, you know that." Colter grunts, helping Russell lay back on the large kitchen table. "Why are there so many cupcakes in here?"

"Bake sale at Luke’s school." You clip while waving a hand and looking down at Russell who is laying on the kitchen table.

You can't deny that he's attractive, even in this condition. Russell has the perfect ruggedly handsome features that would make the smartest girl stupid and combined with the piercing green eyes that shine beneath the hair that's fallen forward into his face, even you could see yourself being susceptible to his charm.

Fuck.

Deep down you know that Colter is right, that if he did go to the hospital they'd be required to report it and that meant police and an official report. You figured that it was the last thing that Colter wanted.

Then again the guy has so many marks on his record already. You eye the man on your kitchen table. Russell kinda looks like he would have a few marks too.

"Don't want who did this to find him." Colter clarifies.

"So instead you brought him to my house where my children are?" You cross your arms over your chest.

The fear that whatever Colter and Russell had stumbled upon following behind them to your home made a cold trickle of fear race down your spine.

"We weren't followed." Colter soothes. "I promise I'd never do that to you. And I've got Bobby doing a trace to make sure they don't come close."

He actually looks a little hurt that you'd think that of him. Colter was a lot of things, but uncaring was not one of them.

You relax, but don't apologize despite the guilt swimming in your gut. "Fine. Give me a second." You leave the room to find the first aid kit in the hall closet, the same one that you'd made for your aunts to keep at their house if Colter showed up in the middle of the night with this exact problem. You'd even been involved enough to show your aunts how to deal with a gunshot wound if you weren't there.

When you get back in the room, Colter is removing Russell's jacket, and Russell grits his teeth when it jostles his left arm.

You set down the kit and reach for the bottom of Russell's shirt to pull it up off him, and he chuckles.

"Aren't you going to buy me a drink first? Better yet we could have a few bottles of my home brew-"

"She's not going to help you, if you annoy her." Colter interrupts.

"I told you that I didn't need anyone's help, I'm perfectly fine- ow!" Russell exclaims when you accidentally yank the shirt over his left arm. "Your bedside manner is a little lacking." He grunts, but his eyes still twinkle with humor.

"Too bad. I'm tired and I've been making chocolate cupcakes for the past six hours, so you get what you get and you don't throw a fit."

"What?" Russell grins at the rhyme that you often tell your children.

You shake your head, and drop your eyes to his chest. There are two perfect circles on his right upper pectoral muscle, but not high enough to reach the collarbone and one in his left bicep where blood seeps around the bullets, but truthfully you're trying not to notice how perfectly muscular he is. There are dark splashes of tattoos against his skin, swirling around other scars that resemble slashes and bullet wounds that you wish to drag your fingertips across to study each mark, to memorize each one beneath the soft pads of your fingers.

How is he just as beautiful covered in blood?

You clear your throat to focus back at the task at hand, examining the current wounds. "Okay. The good news is that the one on your arm is through and through, but these two," Your hand hovers over the two on his right upper chest. "I've got to extract the bullets. Which means that this is going to hurt."

"Been through worse sweetheart."

Your eyes scan the rest of his scarred muscular chest thoughtfully. "Yeah, you have." You murmur it more to yourself than to Russell, but he still grins.

Colter's phone rings shrilly in the kitchen and he groans. "One second. Try not to make her want to kill you Rus."

"No promises little bro."

Oh, so this is Colter's brother.

You'd heard little bits and pieces about Colter's brother, mostly second hand from your Aunt Velma. One of the best things about going over to Teddi and her home was sitting in the living room and hearing Velma gossip about everything she heard from Teddi while drinking wine and eating fancy cheese that you could never afford.

Russell Shaw was no exception.

"Alone at last." Russell says with a wink. "I didn't think he'd ever leave."

"I'm going to get some water to clean these with." You reply, ignoring him, but when you turn away the end of your mouth quirks up into a smile.

He wasn't what you were expecting based on all the rumors that you'd heard from both of your aunts, in fact, you thought he was kind of charming.

You roll up your sleeves and wash your hands before turning back to Russell. He's sitting up on your kitchen table, hands braced on his sides, with his legs spread wide apart. He doesn’t look like someone with three gunshot wounds, and you wonder if this is a regular day for him. Colter certainly didn't get shot that much.

"So are you a rewardist too?" You ask standing between his legs and trying not to focus on the warmth of his breath against your collar bone.

"Naw. I work for a private security contractor." He breezes.

"Oh." You swallow, looking up into his green eyes for a minute. They're even more beautiful up close, green with flecks of gold around the iris that flicker in the light like stars. "Is it okay if I touch you?"

"You don't gotta ask me that sweetheart, the answer will always be yes."

You flush and brace your hand on his left shoulder, before pouring water into the two wounds on the right side of his chest, trying to clean them the best you can before you extract what's left of the bullets. His skin is warm and smooth beneath the palm of your hand and it's difficult to focus.

Just pretend you're in the hospital and you're treating a patient. You take in a shallow breath. He's just a patient and he's not that good looking.

You know you're lying to yourself, but you were trying your best. It probably didn’t help given the current dry spell you were in or the fact that he even smelled good. Something like gunpowder, leather, and a hint of something spicy that you bet was his shampoo. It prickled under your nose, and activated something in the back of your mind that was having a hard time being quiet. You hadn't been this close to a man you found attractive in a long time.

"Okay. This is going to hurt." You say as you look through the small medical kit that you'd grabbed from the hall closet for the tweezers, trying to calm the thudding of your heart.

"It's okay." Russell replies. "Do what you have to baby. I won't stop you."

You weren't prepared for the warmth that bloomed in the pit of your stomach when he called you baby in the wonderfully rough rumble of his voice.

A voice like that could convince me to jump into a pit filled with alligators with no regrets. Fuck. I'd bet that a voice like that could make me- FOCUS. I will focus. He is Colter's brother and he just got shot. He doesn't need you lusting over him.

Extracting the bullets is as painful for you as it is for him. Watching the way his face scrunches up in pain hurts you more than you thought it would. His hands grip the rim of the wooden kitchen table so hard that they're turning white, and Russell's jaw is clenched so tight that you're afraid that it's going to snap.

You squeeze his left shoulder to give him some comfort. "Almost done." You murmur, searching for the second bullet.

Russell lets out a breath when you finally fish out the other bullet and drop it into an empty cup with a resounding "ping" just as Colter walks back into the room looking worried.

"What?" Russell asks him, looking over your head at his brother.

"That was Bobby. He said that the trace we put on the phone just got a hit a few miles north of here." Colter states. "I'm gonna go check it out."

"Alright, I'll come with." Russell starts to get up, but you push him back with your right hand that you've still got pressed against his left shoulder. Difficult given the fact that he was almost twice the size of you and broader than anyone you'd ever seen. And also difficult because of the way you were trying to ignore how good it felt to feel the pull of his muscles beneath your hand.

"No. You still need stitches and I haven't finished patching you up." You clear your throat, but it still sounds a little hoarse.

"Baby as much as I like you ordering me around-“

"It's alright Russell, I've got this. Just stay here and let her take care of you." Colter interrupts.

Russell frowns at his younger brother. "I'm fine."

"You're not." Colter rolls his eyes. "Stay here. I'll be back in a few hours to pick you up." He turns to look at you. "I'm sorry that we woke you up-"

"It's okay." You shrug. "But you owe me."

"Just add it to my bill." Colter smirks.

Honestly, you weren't as angry as you were when you answered the phone. Something about Russell was different and you didn’t mind helping him at all.

He wasn't like anyone that you had ever met, certainly not in the circles you ran with.

All the dads from your mom friends were blue and white collar workers who worked in the big office buildings downtown, wore suits to work and were more straight-laced, but there was something refreshing about Russell.

He was mysterious, sexy, and his had this aura of self-resilience and survival that you found immensely attractive. Especially when compared to your ex, who couldn't survive without his mocha-caramel double shot latte or wifi.

Russell was the exact opposite of him and you found yourself wanting to know more. More about the almost beautiful scars that curved over his muscular body, more about each tattoo that he’d chosen, and more about him.

He seemed like the kind of guy that hid his trauma under easy smiles and jokes, the kind of person that shrugged off anything that seemed remotely serious with a well placed joke, but you could feel that there was something deeper beneath that he didn’t allow many to see.

And you wanted him to show you.

You weren't sure where any of this was coming from. Russell probably was about as stable and consistent as his brother, and you liked consistency. Spontaneity and surprises tended to make you anxious. But not with Russell.

Though the stability might have been an issue. You were a single working mother, which meant that you didn't want to introduce some random guy into your children's life just to have them get attached and him to bail with no strings attached and-

Calm down. You just met the guy, it's not like he's asking you out on a date.

When Colter leaves and after you’ve cleaned around the wounds the best you can with some alcohol, you realize just how quiet it is in your kitchen.

“You know, I think I’ve seen you before.” Russell says breaking the silence while you search for a needle and thread in the medical kit.

“Really? Where?" You ask looking up.

“In my dreams.”

“Wow." You smile at him. "That line is pretty cheesy."

You shift your right hand over to begin to sew up the wounds on his chest. Russell doesn't even wince when you push the needle through, almost as if he didn't notice it at all.

It made sense, given how many scars and tattoos covered his body. You remember what he said about "being through worse" and it made you feel bad for him, to worry about him. Odd given the fact that the two of you had just met.

"Well I'm a little distracted at the moment sweetheart. It's not often that I get such a beautiful woman to take care of me."

"I thought you didn't need my help?" You smirk.

"Maybe I did." He admits sheepishly.

"Mhmm."

"So how do you know my brother?"

“Why?”

“Trying to see if you’re off limits or not.” Russell tilts his head to the side and flashes a charming smile.

You laugh at his boldness. You’d never met someone so upfront before, it was refreshing. Most of the men you’d meet occasionally at work tended to beat around the bush and made you want to give them a map to get to the point. "We met when he got shot a few months ago."

"Oh so the two of you aren't-" He wiggles his eyebrows and you snort.

"No."

"Huh."

"What?"

"I was just wondering why not?"

"What?"

"Well, you're gorgeous, you're smart, and you're not scared of blood or gunshots. Colter really seems to be dropping the ball."

"Colter doesn't exactly have a stable lifestyle. And I'm kind of complicated."

You were, there wasn't any way around it.

"Why do you think that?"

"Because I've got two kids."

Russell blinks in surprise. "Really?"

"Mhmm." You hum continuing your task, not phased by the blood at all.

His eyes trace your figure for a minute, making a shiver travel down your spine. It was the first time in a long time that you were okay with someone looking at you like that and to be honest, the first time that you wanted someone to look at you like that in a while.

After everything that happened with your ex-husband and his secretary you were more inclined to sit on your couch with a glass of wine and read away your troubles with a steamy romance novel that did more for you than any of your ex-husband's attempts to satisfy you. It also didn't help that you had no interest in going out with your few friends and meeting someone at a club who probably would never call you again and probably wouldn't be as enthusiastic to learn that you were a mom.

You'd only been on one date since you'd broken it off with your husband with your aunts accountant Jerry, and the date stuttered to a halt when he learned you had two children and weren't interested in having an open relationship.

"I wouldn't have guessed that."

“Really? The mountain of chocolate cupcakes wasn’t a clue?” You arch an eyebrow with a smirk, while gently tying off the string to close the first wound before moving on to the second.

“I thought you just really liked baking. And I’m okay with coming home every night to a mountain of chocolate cupcakes if it means you’re there too.” He winks.

“Not sure you want any of those.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because they’re gluten free, sugar free, and nut free.”

The horrified look on Russell’s face makes you feel like you’d just told him that hot dogs do in fact contain trace amounts of dog.

“Why on earth would you make them like that?! They're not even cupcakes anymore!" He exclaims.

You found it funny that he seemed more upset over the mutilation of the chocolate cupcakes than over being shot.

Maybe he's always like this?

"I know. I'm a monster." You sigh. "But Stephanie Jacobson said I had to." You let out a frustrated sigh with her name.

Bringing anything other than what she asked for was a suicide mission. The last person who did that was Gale Smith in the great Fourth of July Cook-out calamity of 2021. In Gale's defense, no one though that the bushes would catch fire so fast, but Stephanie had a memory like an elephant so Gale decided to transfer her children to the school one town over. The last thing you wanted was for your name to go down in history for the Cupcake Catastrophe of 2024.

Russell leans forward and lowers his voice like it's a secret. “Is Stephanie your imaginary friend?”

“No!” You laugh. “She’s this other mom at my son’s school who said I wasn’t living up to my ‘duties as a parent’ and that I needed to ‘participate.’”

"She sounds great."

"Oh yeah, we're practically best friends." You continue to work on the other wounds in the silence that follows.

"I bet you're a good mom." Russell says watching you with an unreadable expression. He's leaning a little bit towards you still, making the smell gunmetal, leather, spice, and just a hint of mint come through the space between the two of you.

Damn he smells really good.

"Uh-huh. You've known me for ten minutes and you haven't seen me with my children-"

"I can tell."

"Is that your superpower or something?" You reach for a bandage to lay over the wound in his chest smiling to yourself. "All the other useful superpowers like being bulletproof got taken?"

"I don't think it's useless if it makes you smile like that when I say it, sweetheart."

Your eyes flick upwards to Russell's face. His green eyes are shining in the light of your kitchen, his dark hair still hanging over his forehead, and he is still just as ridiculously handsome as he was the moment Colter dragged him through your front door. You don’t remember why you were so mad at Colter anymore.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're too smooth for your own good?" You raise your eyebrow.

"No ma'am." Russell cracks an even wider smile and it makes you loose all feeling in your legs. He was just so effortlessly handsome that it made you want to do something stupid, like have sex with him on top of the same kitchen table that you serve blueberry pancakes to your children.

"Hmm." You bite the inside of your cheek. "Well, now you know and maybe now that you're aware, it could prevent you from getting shot."

"Are you saying I got shot because I'm too smooth?"

"Maybe."

"Because usually it has a different effect."

"Huh. Well in that case, maybe try using some of that to smooth things over and you'd avoid getting shot." You begin to wrap another fresh bandage around the bullet wound on his arm, bracing your free hand against his chest, trying to ignore the way his skin is warm and chiseled beneath your palm.

He had the kind of body that you'd never imagined actually existed. Russell Shaw looked like he walked out one of the romance novels you loved so much.

Hell, they should use pictures of him to make the book covers.

"I'll remember that next time." Russell pauses. "But then it means I wouldn’t get shot and I wouldn't get to have you patch me up."

"I guess not."

You didn't think that you'd smiled as much as you had in the past twenty minutes with him than you had your entire five year marriage. Not to mention that it was nice to talk to someone who wasn't trying to convince you why they should be allowed to have a cookie before dinner.

A charged silence passes through the air between the two of you, his eyes locked on yours sending goosebumps over your skin. You weren't sure if anyone had ever looked at you like that before. You'd noticed that most gave you the obligatory skate over, but Russell didn't. He looked at you as if he was studying you as if he were genuinely curious to know more. 

Your eyes trace his broad shoulders, toned abdomen, and muscular arms, noting that he's the kind of strong and broad that was made to handle someone a little more curvy like you. And you'd be lying if you said that you hadn't thought about it more than once since Russell came through your front door.

You felt your mind sink into the fantasy of Russell pining you to the kitchen table and feeling the warmth of his rough hands against your body-

Snap out of it. The guy is bleeding, he got shot. He needs to rest.

"I think you'll survive." You smile pulling back from him to clear your head. It was much easier when you couldn't smell him as strongly. "And if Colter isn't going to be back for a few hours you can crash on the couch. It's not the most comfortable but-"

"I'm sure it's fine." Russell shrugs and stands from your kitchen table.

You try and fail to ignore how his muscles pull with the movement as he reaches for his shirt and you step forward to help him put it on, knowing that it might hurt with his injury. "Okay." You clear your throat, that has become thick all of a sudden. "And if you're hungry I've got plenty of cupcakes-"

"Please don't call them that. They're an disgrace to the cupcake name."

"Yeah, but the ones in the microwave are actually cupcakes. I had to make a few that were edible." You gesture with your hand and laugh at how quickly Russell goes to get one.

He doesn’t even bother to pull away the wrapping before he takes a bite and he audibly moans. Russell looks at you awestruck. "Holy shit, you made this? Where have you been all my life?"

"Shut up." You roll your eyes at him.

"I'm serious, this cupcake is my reason to keep living. Here I thought putting sriracha on French fries was the height of cuisine, but damn."

You could feel yourself blush bright red at his compliment. You weren't used to a man going out of his way to compliment you on something other than how you looked, but everything about Russell Shaw was refreshing and nothing like you expected.

"Thank you." You wait another second, watching him eat more of the cupcake and smash icing and flecks of chocolate over his chin. You laugh at him and hand him a paper towel. "You're worse than my three year old."

"Your three year old is a lucky kid, if she’s got a mom like you to make stuff like this for her."

It's like he wants me to fall in love with him. How can someone look so unbelievably cute and sexy while covered in chocolate cupcake?

Don't answer that.

"Sometimes I think I'm the lucky one. I love my kids-" You say before you can stop yourself. You hesitate afraid that it would send Russell for the hills when you brought up the fact that you loved your children.

"Yeah?" Russell's smile brightens as he wipes his face with the napkin.

"Yeah." You blink mildly shocked. Of all the people in the world to talk about your children with, you never expected someone like Russell Shaw. “I do."

Again he was surprising you, and talking to him was just so refreshing and it made you feel like your head had finally cleared, like your chest was lighter and you could actually talk to someone for real without putting out this together image of yourself you thought you had to when inside you were crumbling from the overbearing expectations of the people around you.

The silence is back, filling the kitchen with a palpable energy that you wonder if Russell can feel, but you shake it off.

"I guess I'll see you in the morning. It was nice to meet you Russell, but I'm sorry that you got shot." You smile.

"I'm not." Russell smiles. "I got to meet you."

"Alright Casanova, I need to go to bed, because my kids will wake me up in about two hours." You frown over at the couch. "There's a pillow and a blanket down the hall in the bathroom closet." You gesture with one hand. "I'll see you in the morning." You repeat because you're not too sure what to say.

"Yeah. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

You turn and walk up the stairs to your bedroom, feeling the thin blue robe swishing around your ankles as you do.

And as you fall into your bed all you can think about as you start to drift is the ruggedly handsome man downstairs, with the brilliant green eyes that crinkle with his smile, and the large hands rough from hard work, that seems to be more than what meets the eye.

The alarm clock on your bedside table might as well be employed by the devil for waking you up and the idea of smashing it to bits with the heavy metal table lamp that sits beside it crosses your mind. You weren't sure how many hours you'd gotten in, only that they weren't enough, and you were in desperate need of coffee.

You roll over on your back, looking up at your ceiling as you blink your eyes open, following the familiar sweeps of the paint brush that were left behind.

The memory of the night's events come back in full color and you stiffen remembering exactly why you'd gone to bed so late. Images of last night flash through your mind. Colter dragging a bloodied Russell through your front door, Russell sitting on your kitchen table looking much too attractive covered in blood, him flirting with you with a wide smile that made you feel warm from the inside out…

Oh fuck he's still on my couch. How am I going to explain that to my kids?

You dress in a flash and stumble down the stairs as quickly as you can, tripping and falling into the living room, but when you look you realize that Russell isn't on the couch. The pillow and brightly colored quilted blanket he used are neatly folded on one of the plush cushions, but he's nowhere to be found.

I guess Colter came to get him.

You weren't expecting the wave of disappointment that comes with that realization, but as you turn to go back up the stairs to ready yourself for the day, you hear your daughter’s voice.

"Mommy!" She says. "Look! Rus is making pancakes."

What?

You turn to investigate your spacious kitchen. It was still covered in an alarming amount of cupcakes, but that’s not what’s surprising, what’s surprising is Russell, standing at your crowded stove with a spatula in his hand, sliding a perfectly golden brown pancake around in the bottom of a pan.

You blink your eyes to make sure that you’re not imagining it and make sure that you’re not asleep.

"Hey gorgeous." Russell flashes a wide grin. "How'd you sleep?"

"Um-" You glance at where your daughter is sitting with your son, both eating stacks of pancakes at your kitchen table, the same kitchen table that you were fantasizing about Russell and you-

Nope. Not going there.

Honestly, any fantasy you had about him was blown away by the sight of him standing in your kitchen making pancakes for your children. Something so domestically wonderful that turned you on even more than the image of him shirtless sitting on your kitchen table.

This was something even your husband refused to do, cook. Any day that you tried to get him to, he'd said that it was your "job." And here Russell was standing in your kitchen looking even more effortlessly gorgeous cooking for your family without being asked.

"I sleep good. How did you sleep?" You ask taking a hesitant step towards him.

"Good. Better than I have in a bit actually." He turns back to the pan and flicks his wrist, flipping the pancake inside.

Emma claps happily and Luke watches Russell with a look of absolute awe on his face, while you try not to have impure thoughts about Russell in front of your children.

"You didn't have to make breakfast-"

"I did." He plates the pancake and holds it out to you. "I wanted to thank you for patching me up."

"It wasn't a big deal." You shrug, but take the pancake from the plate, rolling it up like a taco before you take a bite.

Russell cocks his head to the side studying you for a moment. "It was to me." His green eyes are just as hypnotic today as they were last night, tracing over your body in a way that makes pins and needles tickle over your skin. "Plus, wanted to make the kids something that wasn't gluten free, nut free, and sugar free. Emma sure can put away some pancakes."

It was odd to see someone so eager to make himself comfortable in your house, especially a man you barely knew and who you owed absolutely nothing to. Not to mention that Russell genuinely seemed happy to be making breakfast for your children as if he belonged there.

It was so different from every other man that you'd ever met, and you wanted to get used to it. You wanted to get used to having a man around again, to having Russell in your home and in your life. You'd never been spontaneous or wanted to jump headfirst without looking at the pros and cons, but watching Russell standing at your stove, with the sunlight coming through the windows behind him and illuminating his broad shoulders and sifting through his dark hair, you saw absolutely no downside.

"Yeah she's always had a good appetite."

"Hope she doesn't lose that. I hate it when women don't eat." Russell shrugs his shoulders and goes back to make a pancake for himself. "Plus Luke needs to bulk up. He said his dad is going to sign him up for baseball."

You stiffen at the mention of your ex, not sure if you should supply the information, or if you should let it slide. Russell's eyes flick down at your left hand for a half-second, so quickly you could have missed it, but you understood what he was doing.

"He's my ex-husband." You murmur low enough so only Russell could hear.

"Good." Russell replies with a knowing smirk. "Means that I don’t have any competition."

You roll your eyes at his reaction and walk over to where your children are eating. Luke is covered in maple syrup as per usual. He had always been a messy eater, but because he insisted on having his hair cropped short, it never seemed to be too much of a problem.

Just as Emma looks like your ex-husband, Lance, Luke looks like you. He has the same eyes and same colored hair, but he'd always been a little short for his age. Lance usually picked at him for that, but you didn't know what Lance was expecting, Luke was six years old, he'd grow!

"Good pancakes?" You ask, trying to wipe at his face with a napkin but he pulls away with an exclaimed "Mom!"

"What? You're covered in syrup." You laugh, raising the napkin again, but Luke dodges your hand.

"Mom!" Luke says again.

"Alright, fine. But go get dressed, your dad will be here to pick you up any minute." You say, urging him with a hand against his shoulder.

Today Lance was taking Luke to school and picking him up after for a baseball game, before staying with him at his apartment. You’d told your Aunt Teddi and your Aunt Velma that you'd help them plant a garden today, and Emma had been looking forward to it as much as you had.

Velma had been talking about it all through last week, and you’d gotten the day off specifically off for it. Emma was also excited about it because Teddi had bought flowers specifically for butterflies and your daughter loved them more than life itself.

You were looking forward to working out in the sun, feeling the healing rays against your skin, listening to the sounds of the world outside your aunts familiar home soothe you, play with the dogs for a little bit, and finally go inside for a few glasses of wine while Velma, Teddi, and you talked about the book of the month. Book club nights were especially special for Emma as well. Velma always poured Emma's apple juice into a plastic pink wine glass that she'd bought for Emma so she could feel included.

This book had been really good and you couldn't wait to share what you'd thought while eating expensive cheese and cupcakes and while the dogs circled below like raptors.

You loved being at their home. It was always such a comfort to be somewhere where you felt that you could be yourself especially after Lance left you. Your mother had died when you were a kid and your dad had never been equipped to handle things like that so your Aunt Teddi had picked up the slack in your early years and now after she'd married Velma, you had another person in your life who supported you and made you feel like you could be yourself. Both of them had been furious when they learned about what Lance had done and sat with you while you cried into a box of tissues.

It had been difficult to talk them both out of killing Lance. Surprising since your Aunt Teddi was usually the voice of reason.

Luke sighs, but listens to you, getting up from the table to make his way upstairs. You can hear his footsteps as he walks down the hallway above and into his room.

Despite his reluctance, he was looking forward to today as well. Sometimes you thought that he felt left out when you all went over to your aunts house. You knew that Luke longed for the attention of his father, and something broke inside of you each time your ex-husband made him feel forgotten.

You turn to look at your daughter. "Good pancakes?"

"Yes!"

"Did you tell Russell thank you?"

"Thank you Rus!" She sing-songs with a wide smile, before moving her plastic fork back into the pile enthusiastically.

"You're welcome sweetheart." Russell says from the stove, picking up the pancake in the skillet bare handed before he puts a generous stripe of maple syrup along the inside and rolls it up just like you did. "Do you want another one?" His gaze turns to you, warm and open.

Fuck, why is he so damn attractive?

"No I'm-"

The knock on the front door interupts your answer signifying the arrival of Lance. When he'd moved out of the house you'd changed all the locks and then refused to give him a key. Something that he'd pouted and stomped about worse than your toddler, but you'd held firm. You didn't want him in your house and you definitely didn't want her in your house either.

"Daddy!" Emma squeals and before you can stop her, she leaps from her chair like she'd been shot from a cannon and runs down the front hallway to open the door for your ex.

You sigh out a breath to prepare yourself for what comes next. Talking to Lance was always tense and as much as you tried to be civil, Lance didn't. He didn't pull punches, and often lacked the common decency that everyone else had.

Russell's studying you again, his easy smile slipping into a frown when he notes the change in your attitude.

"Stay here. This shouldn't take long." You force a smile, but it lacks the enthusiasm you’d had whenever you talked to Russell before.

Sometimes just the thought of your ex took the energy out of you, as if you were on a space ship and all the air got sucked out into the cold silent vacuum.

Lance is standing on the front step hugging your daughter with one hand while the other holds his phone behind her head, his gaze intently on the screen while Emma chatters in his ear. He's not paying attention though. He never was and never did.

His black hair is slicked back over his head and cropped shorter than the last time you saw him. Now it barely touches his collar but hangs long over the top of his head. His brown eyes glint an amber in the light of the sun, and he’s wearing a tailored blue suit with a dark patterned tie.

“Hey.” Lance clips to you as he stands, releasing Emma who is still trying to talk to him, but he ignores her.

You grind your teeth together. “Hi.”

He sighs audibly sensing the tension, as if it’s you that’s done something wrong.

“Emma, why don’t you go finish your pancakes?” You smile down at your daughter and pat her on the head. “We’ve got to go soon.”

“Okay! Bye daddy!”

“That’s nice honey.” He says absentmindedly, still typing furiously on his phone, while Emma rushes back down the hallway and into the kitchen, that is hidden from view of the front door.

“You know you could put the phone down for once. The world won’t implode if you wait a few seconds to answer a text.” You say.

“Don’t start.” Lance rolls his eyes.

The BMW idling at the curb catches in the early morning sunlight and you see a flash of red-hair. Crystal is in the passenger seat, her auburn hair piled on top of her head effortlessly, her lips painted a dark colored red, there’s a pair of heart shaped sunglasses over her eyes, and she’s wearing black dress low cut enough that her ample breasts spill out through the wide V.

She peers at you from where she sits in the car, her phone perched in her lap, and you watch her dark colored lips twitch into a knowing smirk when she catches you looking at her.

Each time you saw her was like taking a punch to the gut.  It made you pull your oversized sweater a little tighter over your chest self-consciously.

“I’m not starting anything. I’m just saying that you should pay more attention to-“ You begin, but Lance interrupts.

“I don’t want to do this with you. I have a deposition due today and I have to finish sending this email.” He snaps.

“Fine.” You sigh, trying to remain calm. You hated when he did this, when he made it seem like no one and nothing else was important except his job. “Luke is getting ready. I have to box up these cupcakes for a bake sale at the school. All you have to do is drop them off and tell-“

“Oh sorry babe. Can’t do the thing today.”

You bristled when he called you babe. You weren't his, not after everything the two of you had been through.

“What do you mean you can’t do the ‘thing’ today?” You plant your hands on your hips trying to comprehend what he's saying.

“With the kid. Sorry. Crystal made plans for us at some fancy restaurant or whatever. Supposed to be the best in the city-“

“What?”

“I can’t take the kid today.” He repeats slowly, this time looking up, but he doesn’t bother to apologize, and his gaze barely meets yours before he drops his eyes back to the hand clutched in his perfectly manicured fingers.

“But you promised Luke that you were going to take him to a baseball game today after school. That he was going to get to spend the night with you and-“

“Sorry.” The apology isn’t sincere and you know it, despite Lance’s attempts to drop his smile into a sympathetic frown. It comes across as more condescending.

Crystal honks the horn of the car as if to tell Lance to hurry up, and it takes a very large amount of effort for you not to flip her the bird.

“No. Luke has been looking forward to this all week! Not to mention I had to ask off for today specifically-“

“And I’ll apologize to him too.” Lance goes back to typing something on his phone. “This dinner means a lot to Crystal-“

“I don’t give two shits what means a lot to that red-haired bimbo!” You snap, the rage and frustration building in your chest. “You made a promise to your son to take him to a baseball game and actually spend time with him and that’s exactly what you’re going to do!”

Lance looks up from his phone, his eyes narrowing. “You always fucking do this.”

“Do what?”

“Pick a fight.”

“I am not picking a fight Lance. All you’ve done since you’ve shown up here is ignore your daughter and tell me that you’re backing out of the one thing I’ve asked you to do in months!”

“I told you that I have a meeting and a deposition due today! Damn it, what do you want from me? To quit my big job that pays for this house?” He steps forward towering over you. Lance was taller than you, but he had always been lanky and thin, unable to gain too much weight or muscle at a time. “Why do you find the need to make me feel like my life isn’t important?”

“What are you talking about? I didn’t say anything about your life! I’m talking about our son’s life-“ You shout incredulous.

“This is exactly why I got out when I did. Because you always try to control every little thing. You’re so damn OCD that if I did one microscopic thing that wasn’t apart of your ‘special plans’ you’d spontaneously combust! You never just shut your big mouth and let me just fucking live my life! You never let me feel like a man! And Crystal understands-“

“Crystal can’t even understand that pickles were once cucumbers! I doubt she can understand whatever warped reality you’re living in Lance.” You spit. “But I’m sorry that me asking you to be a part of our children’s lives is too much for you. That it’s such a chore for you to make them happy.” The frustrated tears had begun to burn against your eyes.

You didn’t know why you expected anything different. Lance had been doing this since your son was born, putting his career above everything else, working late, schmoozing whoever he could, being so damn selfish that he was willing to throw everything the two of you built together for the woman sitting in the car on the curb watching the two of you go at it with a sick satisfaction.

“Don’t fucking do that!” Lance roars and this time he slams his hand against the door frame so roughly that the glass inside shakes and you flinch. “I don’t know why I even try to talk to you. So why don’t you get your big ass up those stairs and-“

“Is there a problem?” Russell’s voice interrupts whatever Lance was going to say, his body sliding into the space behind you so suddenly that you didn’t hear him walk up.

But it felt good for him to be there, to feel the warmth of his body through the air at your back.

He places his hand on the door to open it up a little wider and to seem a bit more intimidating. Russell is easily taller and broader than Lance.

Lance looks up at him confused, puffing out his chest to look more intimidating. “Who the fuck are you?”

 “Maybe you shouldn’t use that kind of language around the kids-“ Russell says with a tight lipped smile.

“They’re my fucking kids. Don’t tell me how to talk.” Lance’s gaze flicks to you. “Who the fuck is this?”

“I’m Russell.” He replies before you can. “And if you know what’s good for you I’d take a few steps back from her.” Russell’s large hand gently presses against your waist, a comforting weight that you weren’t expecting, but welcome, nonetheless.

It made you feel a little bit bolder.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Lance snarls. “Is this your boyfriend? Really? You finally decided to go out with someone and that’s who you pick?”

“Look buddy, if you keep talking to her that way, we’re going to have a problem.” Russell sighs. “And I don’t want to get any blood on your fancy suit.”

“I’m not your buddy. And trust me she’s not worth the fight.” Lance sneers at you, giving you a once over that makes you want to crawl into a hole and die.

Russell’s jaw clenches tight and he takes a step forward, but you hold out your arm to stop him.

“He’s not my boyfriend and even if he was, it’s none of your business who I date!” You snap back.

Lance only shakes his head, ignoring what you’ve said. “I’m serious pal you don’t want to get involved with her. She’s fucking crazy, not to mention nothing special when it comes to se-“

The next words are lost in the sound of Russell’s fist landing against Lance’s face, the sharp crack followed by the inhuman scream of Crystal at the car. Lance stumbles back off the front step clutching a hand to his face while blood streams through his pinched fingers and over his chin.

“I warned you. Now if you keep talking, I'll make your eyes match.” Russell growls, flexing his hand.

I hope he didn’t rip his stitches.

“You son of a bitch.” Lance sputters, his hand still holding his broken nose. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer!”

“It’s worth it, if it shuts you up.” He replies unfazed.

Lance’s eyes narrow with hate as he looks at you one more time, before stumbling back to his car where Crystal has begun to wail over the amount of blood coming from his nose. The car squeals down the street and out of sight, leaving Russell and you standing on your front porch. Thankfully Emma was still in the kitchen eating her pancakes and Luke was upstairs, you didn't want either of them to see Russell punch their dad.

But that didn't mean that you wouldn't mind seeing it again.

You groaned when you thought about your son. You didn’t know how on earth you were going to explain to him why his dad wasn’t going to pick him up or take him to the game.

But at the same time there was a sickening amount of pleasure that bubbled beneath the surface at the thought of Russell breaking Lance’s nose.

“Are you okay?” Russell asks turning to look at you. There’s anger still simmering beneath the surface. You’d never seen him angry in all the time he’d stayed with you. All you’d seen was the funny, easy going, guy with the gorgeous smile, but to see him like this and especially to see him angry over what had just happened…

Just when I thought he couldn’t get any more attractive.

“Yeah. I’m sorry-“

“Don’t apologize for that asshole. He shouldn’t have talked to you like that.” Russell hesitates. “Does he always talk to you like that?”

“Pretty much.”

“Damn, should have knocked a few teeth out too. He’s got to learn how to speak to a lady, especially one as beautiful as you.”

You felt your cheeks flush. You couldn’t remember the last time that someone called you beautiful and before you can stop yourself you say:

“I don’t think you’re too bad looking yourself.”

“Oh I know. You couldn’t keep your hands off me last night.” Russell’s grin makes you smile and roll your eyes at him.

Again you’re struck by how charming he is and how kind. He didn’t have to do any of the things he’d done today, but he did anyway. He didn’t have to make breakfast for your children, he didn’t have to step in when your ex-husband got mouthy, and he didn’t have to punch Lance in the face, but Russell had.

He'd done more for you in the past few hours than your husband had done in the six years you'd been married to him.

Behind where Russell's standing, Colter’s truck pulls up to idle on the curb in the same place that the BMW had been sitting moments ago, and you raise a hand in a half-wave to greet him. Colter shoots you a grin and waves back.

“Guess my ride’s here.” Russell says glancing back at his brother over his shoulder before he looks back at you.

“Seems so.” You nod. “Are you sure you don’t want me to check your stitches for you one more time before you go? I mean you probably ripped them when you punched Lance."

“Sounds like you just want to catch another peak of me without my shirt on.” Russell laughs, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Shut up.” You roll your eyes and hit him on the arm.

“Ow.”

“You’ll survive.”

“Maybe.” He’s studying you again, the sunlight turning his hair a honeyed brown and his eyes into a sharp jade. The light catches his broad shoulders and traces along his strong jaw that is covered in a healthy amount of stubble that makes him look rugged and more handsome than any man you’d ever met.

You bite the inside of your cheek. “It was nice to meet you Russell. And again, I'm sorry that you got shot."

Russell shrugs. “It was worth it. I got to meet you and I got to punch that asshole in the face so win-win.”

“You didn’t have to-“

“Yes, I did.” Russell’s jaw tightens. “You didn’t deserve any of the things he was saying about you or about the kids.”

“True.” You hesitate.

Should I ask him for his number or is that too forward?

“I’ll see you around.” Russell smiles at you one more time before making his way to his brother’s car, just as Emma joins you on the front step.

“Did daddy leave?” She sounds sad.

“Yeah. He did.” You take her small hand in yours.

“But why does Russell have to go too?” She whines.

“Because he’s going home.”

You felt a twinge in your chest watching him get into the car, knowing that you probably would never see him ever again. It made you sad to know that. You'd been interested in him and you thought he was interested in you, but he hadn't asked for your number.

Maybe he's flirty and charming with everyone.

You hide the frown that comes with that thought. Emma waves goodbye with her freehand, and Russell smiles from the passenger seat, waving back at your daughter, before he raises his gaze to yours again and winks.

Or maybe not.

When you go back inside the house, Luke is still upstairs, and instead of going up to tell him about his father, you turn to go back into your kitchen to clean up. As you near the stove, you notice a bright green piece of paper under one of the magnets on your refrigerator, fluttering slightly in the air-conditioning.

You pull it down to look.

In case you want some more pancakes or if you bake any more of those life changing cupcakes. Give me a call. -Russell.

His phone number was written under his name, next to a smiley face that made you laugh aloud to yourself.

Sunday nights were the worst, but not this time.

A/N: Alright, I had so much fun with this one! I just had this urge to write Russell with a reader who had children and a trash man ex because why not? And I know I said it would be a one-shot… but my mind is already thinking of all the possibilities lol. Mostly because we all know I can’t really write just a one-shot 😅😂

As always thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, Likes, and Comments are not required but are always appreciated. I love hearing what y’all think!

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Jensen Ackles + fight scenes

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JENSEN ACKLES as Russell Shaw in Tracker 1.12