Summary: Hijinks ensue during a weekend with friends at a cabin in the woods.
Warnings:18+.Minors DNI.
A/N: Ah, you guys - the past couple of weeks have been tough, and writing has been a struggle. Thank you to everyone that has stuck along for the ride. I really appreciate the encouraging messages that I’ve received - you are a great group of people! I hope you enjoy this week’s part; the weekend is coming to a close soon!
Summary: Hijinks ensue during a weekend with friends at a cabin in the woods.
Warnings:18+.Minors DNI.
A/N: Ah, you guys - the past couple of weeks have been tough, and writing has been a struggle. Thank you to everyone that has stuck along for the ride. I really appreciate the encouraging messages that I’ve received - you are a great group of people! I hope you enjoy this week’s part; the weekend is coming to a close soon!
this chapter hit extremely close to home in many regards and it was both super hard and unbelievably comforting at the same time.
i understood cass’ so much in how she felt and only wished i had a billy too in my life that would be understanding like he is and go out of his way to avoid making me uncomfortable.
i truly needed that. especially today. so i only have two words:
THANK YOU
it somehow feels like this chapter came to me at the perfect time.
Title:Empty Halls to Echo - Part 2 Rating:M Pairing: Billy Russo x OC Warnings: Stalking. Obsession. Suggested non-consensual voyeurism. Summary:It’s not enough for him to just know who she is…
Being the CEO has its perks…like being able to kick people out of the security room so he can look through the footage and put a face to the voice.
It doesn’t take long.
He sees her run from the stairwell, before she slows her pace, fixes her outfit and turns a corner, sitting at one of the desks. That’s why he didn’t find her when he got to the floor. She was already seated, back to work and facing away from him so he couldn’t see the expression on her face.
He switches cameras.
She’s pretty from what he can make out. The camera doesn’t give him a clear enough picture. It also does not help that she’s looking down, typing something quickly and looking very much like she hasn’t left him distracted and wanting more.
He pulls up her employment records. Grace Joshi. Finally a name for the face and the voice that’s haunted him since he’s heard it. She hasn’t been with them long, working as a temp to fill in an admin position. Her background check came back clean. A series of small jobs and a community college diploma for some smaller town upstate he’s never heard of. He leans back in his chair, watching her on the security camera and starts to plan.
The first thing he does is leave a small crown on her desk. A signal to tell her he knows who she is. He misses when she finds it and what her reaction is. It irritates him. Still, he continues.
They’re just small trinkets. He doesn’t leave them every day, there’s no fun in that, but he has been catering them around the theme of royalty. After all, she sang of being king. He takes the stairs more when he’s not walking with others, trying to catch her singing again. After a series of failed attempts, he makes the next move…and arranges to meet her.
Billy waits until he’s walking with his assistant, going over the list of new recruits before he leads them to go past her desk. He pauses as though he’s just realized something and turns to her. “You’re new, aren’t you?”
“Um, yes?”
He grins at the hesitation he hears in her voice. It’s cute. He offers her his hand. “Billy Russo. CEO.”
“Grace,” she says. “Joshi.”
“Nice to meet you Grace,” he says, thumb stroking the skin of the back of her hand before he pulls back. “Welcome to Anvil.”
“Um, thank you, sir,” she squeaks the last word slightly. She fidgets slightly as he looks at her. Her shyness is not surprising, he remembers how she ran when he called to her on the stairs, but it is endearing. He wants to know what other sounds she can make.
He nods and continues on, shoving down the urge to touch her again. Despite all desire, he doesn’t ask her about her singing. He doesn’t want her to run from him again, even if he’s curious to see her reaction.
He can’t keep himself away. Despite their limited interactions, he finds himself watching the security cameras. He sneaks into the stairwell when he catches her heading for it, a little desperate to hear her singing again. Each time is a different song and every one seems to strike at him. He leaves more gifts, small trinkets but each one maintains the theme. A signal that it’s him, that they’re all from the same person. She never looks disturbed when she finds them. Just quietly amused like she knows. She doesn’t ask though whenever he crosses her path. She glances past him as if she is unaware of the effect she has on him. It drives him a little crazy but he can’t help but enjoy the thrill of the chase.
He doesn’t see her enough at work, doesn’t get to interact with her more than that single meeting.
So he plants cameras and bugs in her apartment. It’s not hard to find it or to ensure that she’ll be kept busy so that he won’t need to worry about being interrupted. Billy has no qualms about putting one in her bedroom and living room. He’s curious to find out what she’s like at home, what she does when she thinks no one is watching.
He sets it up so he’s able to access the feeds on his phone and laptop. The first time he watches it is the same night it’s set up. She goes through the motions, cooking dinner and dancing around the room. He can hear her as she hums along to music. His mouth goes slightly dry as she dances along, body swaying subtly, light gleaming off of her muscles and curves.
He watches her every chance he gets. He still hasn’t caught her singing at home and something in him aches. He wants to hear it, hear her voice calling only for him like a siren of old. He keeps the screens showing her apartment running when there is no one around. He watches her at home when he is, sometimes matching her routine simply for his own amusement.
Like tonight. Tonight he watches as she cooks, keeping an eye on the screen as he gets food ready for himself. He watches as she eats while watching TV. At this rate, her life looks incredibly boring, at least to him. Billy begins to fantasize about how he’s going to change it. Bring more excitement into her life. Take her out.
The ideas die down as he gets distracted when she heads into her bedroom. It seems early for going to sleep, but his eyes are fixed on his laptop as she starts to undress, hardly breathing as each new inch of skin was revealed. He was never one to get hot and bothered by a little strip tease. It must be the taboo of watching Grace without her knowledge or permission.
She wanders around her room without a care and he leans forward, almost as if he can get closer if he could just see her better or catch the scent of her perfume.
He is transfixed with the movement of her breasts, the sway of her hips. She doesn’t get dressed. She pulls back her covers and lies down on her bed. He watches as she doesn’t bury herself in the blankets. Instead, she leaves herself open for his view. Billy leans back, adjusting and unbuttoning his pants. Just to relieve the tension.
She reaches over and pulls something from her bedside table. Billy smirks to himself as he realizes she’s really about to give him a show. He can’t tear his eyes away and if he turns up the volume…well, it’s not like anyone’s going to know.
I’m trying something new with our love Billy Russo here. His broken mind does eventually wake up to memories, flashbacks, random moments and experiences in his life. This series of one-shots, drabbles, etc– most likely unrelated– is going to basically give insight into some of those re-encountered memories.
If you’d like to be added to/removed from my tag list, please send me an ask.
Thanks for reading!
(1)
“Lieutenant William Russo.”
Her voice was thick with disgust; her expression no more than a sneer.
Billy waited. He waited for her eyes– those intoxicating eyes– to focus on his face, for her mind– her brilliant mind– to register what she was seeing.
“How unfortunate.“
She stayed there, standing in the threshold of the entrance to her penthouse suite, and as the seconds ticked by, her sneer turned into a gratified smirk. Billy Russo was hideous; he was ruined. His face had been mangled. He’d been shot and cut and the evidence of that was all over his once flawless face. It used to make her heart race, back before the mere thought of him made her stomach turn.
But now… now his face wasn’t so perfect. In fact, it was marred with scars— thick, pink, evident scars, the tissue that had been stitched together puckering in jagged lines. She focused on one in particular, high up on his forehead and dangerously close to his hairline. He was wearing a beanie, but she suspected his always styled hair was something else he’d lost.
The satisfaction she felt was impossible to hide. What had happened to Billy wasn’t just fitting, but sadistically amusing. “What a shame, you used to be so pretty.”
Billy’s nostrils flared. He stood to his full height— no more slumping of his shoulders, no more averting his eyes— and his gaze went straight to hers. He was staring her down just like she was him, and she saw his jaw flex. What really jarred her, if just for two seconds, was the look in his eyes. He could play angry, but she knew that look because she’d become quite acquainted with it from looking in the mirror. It was shame. And never had she seen Billy Russo with shame in his eyes. She found herself pushing back from the threshold of the door, turning away and walking inside. Whatever he wanted, he wasn’t getting.
Standing outside the door was enough for Billy. It was darker there, and though he had his hoodie pulled up over his head, he preferred standing in the shadows. It reminded him of being in combat, staying hidden from the enemy, a phantom until they rounded a corner. Then, he was the face of death. Now, the shadows hid part of his ugliness.
Even so, he stepped inside after lingering outside for a few moments, squinting as his eyes got acclimated to the light inside. The kitchen was alight, and the open floor plan allowed Billy to see through the penthouse to the living room, the floor-to-ceiling windows presenting the celebrated New York City skyline to any onlooker inside. Hands stuffed in his pockets, he seemed almost transfixed by his surroundings. Eyes narrowed, his eyes darted around his surroundings, an eerie familiarity settling over him like a foggy morning mist.
She saw his expression out of her periphery and smirked. She felt a soar of satisfaction in her chest and retrieved her wine glass from the counter where she’d placed it when she got the door.
“I made some changes,” she said, turning around to admire the view for herself. “Just a few— new furniture, those couches you had were too dark. They were doing the lighting a disservice.” Turning her head to look at him, her attention strayed, focused at the scarring on his cheek. He’d been so carelessly and messily stitched. “I always hated those couches. I’m not one to hide my distaste.”
Finally, he blinked and turned to look at her head on. Reaching upward, he pushed the hoodie from his head and ran a palm over his scalp. Shrugging his left shoulder— it ached— he settled his gaze on her own. She’d told him why this place gave him that odd feeling; she’d connected the dots without Billy saying a word. This penthouse— her penthouse— had once been his.
He remembered fragments of stories he’d been told: a company, Anvil, one he’d built from the ground up with money he’d sold himself for. A CEO, filthy rich and powerful witt his tailor-made designer suits, ridiculously expensive cars, woman after woman after woman… his penthouse.
She saw something new in his eyes, an amalgamation of emotions all built into one look. She saw regret. She saw shame. And she caught something all too familiar, so strikingly Billy, she felt chill bumps pop up over her spine— she saw a flash of anger.
“This place is mine.” Billy spoke through clenched teeth. His eyes never wavered from hers. He’d looked around his surroundings enough, noticed some things unchanged that incited a recognition so strong, it was visceral. He may not remember how it became his—he supposed it had something to do with this Anvil operation he was told about—but the semantics of how meant nothing to Billy then. For months, how and why had been all he cared about.
“Was yours, Lieutenant.” Her voice was smooth, cool. She enjoyed taunting him; she found pleasure in it. “A lot of things were yours.” Her eyes were ice cold, but beyond that, they held a haughty look of pride. “Look at you now.” Boldly, she reached for his face, and with one fingertip, traced the crooked, puckered scar over his left cheek. Billy Russo was destroyed. And nothing had given her as much pleasure—except, perhaps, the countless nights they’d spent tangled in sheets and in one another. It had been a lifetime ago.
