Summary: You and Billy are happily married when tragedy strikes, jeopardizing your relationship and everything you two have built together. Can the two of you find your way back to each other or is the special bond you once shared broken forever?
Summary: You and Billy are happily married when tragedy strikes, jeopardizing your relationship and everything you two have built together. Can the two of you find your way back to each other or is the special bond you once shared broken forever?
You woke up in a state of panic, body clammy with sweat, heart pounding. It was the third bad dream you had in as many days, and something told you they weren’t going to end any time soon. During waking hours you could function properly, with work to distract you and your sheer determination to help propel you forward. But when you were asleep it was a free for all; your guilty conscience refused to be suppressed and manifested itself in horrible nightmares that were already taking a toll on you.
Rage and sadness were emotions that you always had difficulty navigating, but guilt - your mother had weaponized that particular emotion so much against you that you learned to wade through it and even master it. When someone tried to take you down, you retaliated hard, and you didn’t lose any sleep over it.
Until now.
Now, none of your coping techniques were working. Your actions weighed heavily on your mind. Because of you, Karen was going to find out the truth about Billy and Rawlins’ connection, about Cerberus. And when Karen discovered the truth, she’d tell Frank. Frank, who lost his military career because he’d stumbled onto the truth about Cerberus and wouldn’t stay silent about it. Frank, who had no idea that it was Billy who’d orchestrated the whole thing.
Anxiety rushed through you; you felt nauseated. Throwing your blanket aside, you ran to the bathroom and tried to throw up but all you did was heave nothing. Minutes later you stared at your reflection in the mirror, your face damp from washing. You couldn’t go on like this, not with this guilt eating away at you. Billy may have hurt you but you couldn’t live with yourself if you did the same to him. Maybe that made you weak or pathetic, but he was the man you loved, the love of your life, and you couldn’t bear it if something happened to him because of you.
You had to make things right, and you needed to do it as quickly as possible. It was the only way to ease your conscience and move on.
***
“There’s still four weeks left on your contract,” Curtis pointed out.
It wasn’t the right time to put your resignation in but it needed to be done. The longer you stayed at Anvil, the more you were forced to interact with Billy and that meant being in a state of constant emotional turmoil. Billy was Billy, he’d never stop pushing your buttons. Maybe if you’d resigned earlier you wouldn’t have set up Karen to find out about Billy’s deal with Rawlins. Maybe with some distance you would have been able to cope with Billy’s provocations – but close proximity to him, always fighting him and being on guard around him – it had messed you up and you made a foolish decision because of it. You couldn’t afford to let that happen again.
Voice steady, you stared blankly at Curtis. “I’m not leaving you guys in any kind of lurch. Anvil’s in a good place. There’s enough work in the pipeline for the next year. And anyway, Billy’s back.” You took a deep breath. “He’s as driven as he always was. This is the best time for me to leave.”
“You know he wants you here at Anvil. It’s been his dream for a long time.”
“He’ll get over it.”
Curtis regarded you closely. “The gala tonight, are you-”
“I’m still planning to attend. And I’d like to tell Billy and Frank myself tonight, if you don’t mind.”
“I’m gonna miss you, you know.”
You gave him a smile. “Maybe one day I’ll open up my own firm. You can come work for me then.”
He laughed. “I’m sure you’ll make me an offer I can’t refuse.”
“Ten percent more than what Billy pays you. You can hold me to that.”
Curtis’s hearty laugh was like a balm for your frayed soul, giving you temporary respite from everything that was troubling you.
***
You took a sip of your vodka martini, barely registering the taste. Normally you would spend the morning of the gala relaxing and prepping for the evening as schmoozing potential clients took a lot of energy on your part, but today had not been a typical day. First you handed in your resignation and then you spent the rest of the morning trying to delete the manufactured evidence you had planted for Karen to find. Like you weren’t already stressed enough, then you got the news that Karen had gone out of town unexpectedly. Every instinct in your body told you it had something to do with the lead you fabricated in Florida – and that meant working faster than Karen to make sure she found nothing when she reached there. By the time you were finally done you barely had any time to get ready for the gala, but you were here now.
You were wearing a vibrant yellow one-shoulder floor length satin gown, with a split that reached above your knees. While the gorgeous colour drew attention to your tanned skin and the cut made you feel sexy as hell, it was also comfortable, hiding areas that you were self-conscious about while flattering the best parts of you. You had contemplated going for an up-do but in the end decided to stick with the sharp bob you already had, paired with minimal jewelry and glowing makeup. The look was completed with a pair of fuchsia heels. All in all you felt confident, and would have normally looked forward to showing off but you were too worried about Karen to fully enjoy yourself.
You took a big sip of the martini, hoping some liquid courage would loosen you up and ease your anxieties.
“Hello.”
Hearing the familiar voice, you turned around to find Roger standing behind you at the bar. His salt and pepper hair was perfectly styled, the wrinkles around his eyes making him look more distinguished than before. Once upon a time you looked up to him as a mentor; now, that relationship no longer existed. “Hi, Roger.” Your greeting was cordial but not friendly, in line with your new dynamic.
“How are you?” he asked, leaning in closer to the bar so he could order a drink for himself. “It’s been a long time.”
“I’m fine. And you?”
He gave you a warm smile, which irritated you. Did he really think the two of you were on friendly terms after everything that happened?
“I’m great. I’m actually taking over as CEO of Valiant.”
You suspected he was trying to impress you but all that did was agitate you further. “Congratulations,” you replied noncommittally.
“I’ve heard a rumor your contract with Anvil will be coming to an end soon.”
You leveled him with a steely glance. “You know better than to listen to rumors, Roger.”
“And I normally don’t, but I have a vested interest in this particular one.”
Your gaze didn’t waiver from his face. “Why?”
“I’d like for you to join Valiant again.”
You burst out laughing. “Really?”
Roger’s smile stiffened. “I recognize there was unpleasantness-”
“Unpleasantness? You forced me to resign! After I worked my ass off for Valiant. Because of me, the east coast division brought in the highest revenue for three consecutive quarters. Clients came to us because of me,and my reputation, and all the work I did to upgrade our systems and company culture. But none of that mattered in the end, did it?”
“You cost us a pretty big contract, Y/N.”
There it was, the stupid fucking excuse Roger and the board used to get rid of you. Just the thought of it fired you up and made you rage – but you knew better than to lose your cool in front of others. Losing your temper in a professional setting was still a forgivable offence for men; for women, however, especially women of colour, the same behaviour was a career killer. So although every fiber in your body wanted to tell Roger to fuck off, you maintained a steady tone of voice and replied to him passively. “No, Roger. My incompetence didn’t cost us the contract. It was Bryan Howard, your friend, who did. He was the lead in the project-”
“It was your responsibility to manage him.”
“And how was I supposed to do that when you wouldn’t let me coach him or discipline him in any way?” Jaw clenched, you surveyed the room in an effort to calm yourself when you noticed Curtis and his date entering the ballroom. That meant Billy was here too. You turned your attention back on Roger, your mind suddenly very clear and focused. “Would you like to dance, Roger?”
His eyes widened, surprised by your invitation. Good. Exactly what you wanted. You set your empty glass down on the bar and followed behind him to the dance floor. Soon his arm encircled your back, your hand was linked with his and the two of you were slowly moving to the music.
“You’re the one who pushed for Bryan’s promotion,” you said quietly, meeting Roger’s gaze. “Even though I told you he wasn’t a good fit, that he was an arrogant prick and there were other qualified candidates who were far more deserving of that position. From day one I warned you he was going to cost us clients but you didn’t listen.”
Roger exhaled a resigned sigh, as if you were a petulant child that was wearing on his nerves. You resisted the urge to shove him away. “Can we put this behind us and talk about the future?”
Your eyes darted across the room, scanning the crowd for Billy. When you finally spotted him, your eyes met his and the world stopped. Your heart pounded in your chest, desire coursed through your veins. Dressed in a navy tuxedo that was tailored to his perfect physique, he looked absolutely stunning and every inch the man you fell so madly in love with. But what stood out more than his good looks was the anger on his face. Rage burned in his eyes, in the hard set of his jaw, in his piercing stare ready to obliterate you and Roger. You forced yourself to look away from Billy and meet Roger’s eyes again.
“My husband was in the hospital. I was burning the candle on both ends. Instead of offering me the support I asked for, you delegated my responsibilities to Bryan. And when it blew up in your face, like I predicted it would, you threw me to the wolves.”
“Your severance package was very generous.”
A bitter laugh escaped your throat. “Yes, it was. And I deserved every bit of it considering all that I did for Valiant. But the people I hired, they weren’t so lucky, were they?” It still infuriated you that all the effort you put into making the company more progressive, the women you hired and put in leadership positions because they were deserving of it, had all been dismantled by Roger and a new leadership team. After you left Valiant, a lot of the same employees reached out to you to complain about the new hostile work environment they had to face. “Tell me something. You saw how much Valiant thrived when we started making the company more inclusive. So why move backwards? Why get rid of the very people that made Valiant profitable?”
“That’s not what happened. At least that’s not how I see it.”
“No?” You smiled at him coldly. “Change your perspective then. Maybe that’ll turn things around. Heard you guys hasn’t been doing too well recently.”
His eyes narrowed, he didn’t like your barbed comment at all. “My word still means something in this industry, Y/N. I’d tread carefully. You wouldn’t want to find yourself in a situation where you were blackballed, would you?”
There was that cutthroat side of him you first witnessed when he threw you under the bus. You pulled away from him, standing still on the dance floor, instinctively stalking Billy across the ballroom. He was still watching you, angry and jealous. Ready to unleash violence at the slightest provocation. Your eyes shifted back to Roger, faking a friendly smile. “You’re right. Obviously I’ve had too much to drink. Sorry.” You leaned forward and gave Roger a friendly kiss on the cheek. “Have a great night.”
Your heart was hammering in your chest as you slid past Roger, swiftly cutting across the ballroom to make your way to the restroom down the hallway. With every step you took you felt Billy’s gaze hunting you, following your every move. He wouldn’t be appeased with simply watching you, not at all, not when you had purposely taunted him. Within seconds you sensed him tracking you, drawing closer, until he finally caught up with you and gripped your elbow from behind. Suddenly he was yanking you into an empty room and you found yourself trapped between the wall and Billy, with nothing to protect you from his outburst.
Adrenaline rushed through your blood, competing with the guilt that flooded over you. His accusing glance pierced you through to the core as he pressed up against you, crushing the structure of your dress. You couldn’t look at him, couldn’t meet his gaze, knowing how close he was to having his entire life thrown into a tailspin because of what you did.
“How long did it take you to fuck Roger?”
His voice was low, fully potent and menacing. A lion didn’t need to roar to provoke fear.
“How’s that any of your business?”
“Was it right after the accident? Or when I was in a fucking coma for months?”
“Maybe it was when you started fucking your therapist,” you fired back, shooting him a fiery glance. But the moment your eyes met his, you felt sick to your stomach again. Immediately you lowered your gaze and tried to push him away but he was stronger than you, gripping your wrists and holding them physically between your bodies.
“You told me you felt nothing for him.” The stark hurt in his voice reverberated with such anguish that it pained you just to listen to him. “From day one I knew he wanted you, I could see it. I told you, over and over again, but you said you felt nothing.” His resentment returned, fierce and righteous. “You lied to me!”
“So what? Who cares? There’s nothing left between us anyway. Whatever we had was ruined a long time ago.” Your heart was breaking. “You need to move on, Billy. Like I have.”
A cruel sneer marked his lips. “You’ve moved on? That’s fucking bullshit.” His arms maneuvered yours against the wall, trapping them above your head. He glowered with rage, with passion, holding you hostage not just physically but also emotionally. Your body flush against his, your gleaming eyes reluctantly met his onyx ones. “We can’t move on from each other.” He eased his grip, his hands trailing down your arms, long, lean fingers playing havoc on your skin and senses. “I won’t let you.”
Voice filled with longing, making you ache for him, his finger swiped the lone tear from your face and all you could think about was his erection pushing on you, how good it felt to have him touch you again, how tired you were of fighting him.
His mouth closed over yours in a demanding kiss, and every bit of your resolve melted instantly. You just wanted to feel normal again, without worrying, without any guilt, and his voracious lips sucking on your tongue made you feel just that. Like nothing else mattered except you and him. As he devoured you, your hands aggressively made their way down to the zipper of his trousers. His erection was stiff against your waist, taunting you. You desperately needed to touch him, feel him; you couldn’t think of anything but his cock.
You two pulled at each other without rhyme or reason. There was no softness in how he reached below your dress to yank down your thong, mimicking your frantic movements while you undressed his cock and wrapped your fingers around him. You missed him, you missed him so fucking much. How he perfectly fit in your hands, how smooth and beautiful his cock was, made for your mouth, your hand, your cunt. Slick with pre-cum as you pumped him, you wanted to suck him off but there was no time – you were soaking wet as he thrust his fingers inside you to see if you were ready for him. Of course you were ready. He was your husband and it’d been too long since you fucked him.
When he lifted you off your feet and positioned himself against you, you closed your eyes. You wanted to breathe him in, to soak up this moment and get lost in every second of his close proximity – but that’s not what he wanted, he never did. He needed you present, engaged, connected to him in every fucking way.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
You opened your eyes, a harsh breath escaping your lungs as he finally thrust inside you. It was heaven. It was hell. The emptiness in your soul finally replenished because he was in you, exactly where he belonged. The nexus between you and him stronger than ever.
He pulsed inside you rough and fast, a guttural groan ripped from his lungs as you clung to him with equal violence. The freckle right below his eye, the crinkling of his nose as he fucked you harder and harder, the scars on his face, his open mouth as he drew in for a kiss – you memorized every tiny detail to etch the images into your brain. “Billy…” you moaned, the storm in you growing. You were accelerating towards the edge, your senses on overdrive, your body taut and greedy with his fingers continuing their erotic assault on your clit, in sync with his cock pounding into you.
And then your climax hit, unexpected yet also something you were keenly anticipating, and it knocked every breath out of you. Billy wasn’t done, not yet, grasping you in his arms while your body navigated through its own pleasure path, until he reached his peak seconds later and shuddered inside you.
For a long time you and him stood tangled in each other’s arms, your hearts slowly returning to normal speed, clothes slick with sweat. Your weight must have been heavy but he had you balanced deftly on his knee, his head nestled in the crook of your neck. You felt his cum between your legs, knowing you’d have to clean yourself up soon before returning to the ballroom but a part of you didn’t want to. You wanted to hold on to every part of him for just a little longer.
When he finally retreated from you and settled you back on your feet, your heart yearned with disappointment. He righted his clothes and you did the same. He knew every inch of your body, what you wanted, how you wanted it. Your brains were melded together, and maybe that’s why he didn’t rip your dress or why you didn’t tear his tuxedo. After all, you both needed to return to the gala.
“This doesn’t get your fucking boyfriend off the hook.” Hurt still languished in Billy’s voice as he confronted you again. “I told you a long time ago if anyone ever touches you, I would break them down bone by bone.”
The lump in your throat was difficult to swallow. You contemplated sticking to your lie but you didn’t want to. Not after the two of you just had sex and you were already struggling with a mountain of guilt for ruining his life. “There’s nothing going on between Roger and me.”
“What?”
Casting him a quick glance, you found him staring at you intently. Hope flickered on his face. You quickly looked away, focusing your attention back on smoothing your dress down. “You heard me. I’ve never fucked Roger, and I never will.”
“The fucker wants you. He was pawing you-”
“He was threatening me,” you interjected, exasperated.
Billy stilled, the air suddenly charged with tension. “He was what?”
You met his gaze. “Things happened at Valiant after your accident-”
“I know. Some fucking moron messed up big and you got stuck with the blame.”
“How do you know about that?”
He shot you a look of disbelief. “You think I wouldn’t try to find out everything about you that I missed? You’re my fucking wife!”
“Not anymore, I’m not.”
His lips pursed into a thin line. “Always. You’re mine, I’m yours.”
That may have been true before, but the two of you had done terrible things to each other. There was no coming back from that.
“Why did the prick threaten you?”
Snapping back to reality, you shrugged your shoulders. “I reminded him Valiant hasn’t been doing well since they got rid me of and the people I hired. He didn’t like that very much.”
“He was a fucking idiot for letting you go.” He straightened his bow tie, running his other hand through his hair. “But now you’re exactly where you belong. With me at Anvil.”
“I put in my resignation today, Billy.” A hesitant sigh escaped your lips. “Next Friday is my last day.”
His face twisted up with anger, with resentment, he looked like he wanted to yell at you one moment, break down the next. “Fuck you!” he bit out finally, hostility vibrating off of him as he stormed towards the door and slammed it behind him.
You remained in place, stomach trembling, heart aching, wishing you could go back to forgetting everything again.
***
An hour later you were conversing with a potential client who worked for the government and in need of a security firm for training purposes. You had spent half an hour explaining a lot of the nitty-gritty details that he hadn’t considered, and he was eager to meet to discuss things further. Throughout the conversation your eyes scanned the ballroom for Billy. He was nowhere to be found, even though you spotted Frank and Curtis mulling around the crowd separately. While Curtis looked like he fit right in, that definitely wasn’t the case with Frank. He appeared downright miserable in his tux.
“I don’t want to monopolize any more of your time tonight. Why don’t we talk on Monday?” You offered with a smile.
“Looking forward to it,” he replied.
You quickly strode past the group and made your way to Frank. He was at the bar, getting himself a beer when you sidled up next to him. “Hey, handsome.”
He turned towards you. “You’ve been making the rounds.”
“Comes with the job, you know.”
“Yeah,” he sighed. “This is the part I suck at.”
“But you look so good doing it,” you teased.
He pulled at his bowtie, obviously not liking the tight fit. “I feel ridiculous.”
“Stop messing around with that!” You smacked his hand. “You look great.”
“I look like a fucking penguin.”
“A very handsome penguin,” you offered. “Want to dance?”
Frank grinned. “Two left feet. Trust me, you don’t wanna see that on the dance floor. Besides, don’t want Bill to come kick my ass for making moves on his girl.”
Your smile stiffened. “I’m not his girl any more.”
“Semantics. Don’t think he gives a shit about that.”
A waiter passed by with a tray of filled champagne flutes and you quickly grabbed a glass. “You should know, I already told Curtis, that next week’s going to be my last at Anvil.”
Frank regarded you intently. “You givin’ up on us?”
You took a sip of your champagne. “Billy’s back, he’s running things again, you guys don’t need me anymore.”
“Does Bill know about this?”
You nodded. “I told him.”
“Is that why he stormed outta here?”
You shrugged.
“Anvil’s something special, you know? It’s always been his dream, he busted his ass for it. But I think he’d give it all up to be with you.”
Agitated, you downed your drink. “Frank, enough. You need to stop. Billy and I are over. It doesn’t matter how much he wants to get back together again, it doesn’t erase all the shit he pulled.”
“The man wasn’t himself-”
“But the pain he caused was very real, and it was devastating.” You inhaled a deep breath. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s been to see him everyday? Imagine if you and Maria had to work together right after the divorce.”
He paused. “That would’ve sucked.”
“Exactly.” You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I need time away from him, to get my head back to normal, to move on. If he keeps coming after me the way he is, I’m scared about what I’ll do, the person I’ll become-” You caught yourself, realizing you already said too much. This wasn’t like you, not at all. You always had your emotions on lockdown, the mask you put on for the world never wavering – but purposely hurting Billy had shifted your inner equilibrium.
“I’m sorry,” Frank interjected, regret laced in his voice. “I mean it. I’m real sorry. He’s my brother, he’s family to me. So when I see him miserable, I-“ He shook his head. “But you’re family too. Whatever happens between the two of you, that’s not gonna change. You got my word on that.”
“He’s lucky to have you in his life.” Guilt flooded over you again, knowing your actions may have started a chain reaction that could permanently damage Billy’s friendship with Frank. “I…” You hesitated, your stomach twisted into knots. “I hope that never changes.”
He reached out to squeeze your shoulder, an affectionate gesture that only made you feel worse.
***
It was almost one in the morning when you returned home. Your feet were throbbing and you were absolutely exhausted from networking the entire evening. It also didn’t help that Billy disappeared for rest of the night and you couldn’t stop worrying about him. Sighing, you threw off your heels and walked barefoot to the kitchen. You were pouring yourself a glass of water when you heard the main door slam. Your body tensed immediately, knowing that it could only be Billy in there with you.
Drawing a deep breath, you turned around to find him standing a few feet away. His hair was ruffled, few lone strands falling over his beautiful face. Although still dressed in his tux, his jacket was unbuttoned. The bowtie was gone, the first two buttons on his jacket undone. There was an erratic intensity to his eyes, setting all your nerves on alert. “What did you do, Billy?”
Gaze steady, he drew closer. Silent. Volatile. Terrifying you.
You moved towards him, voice trembling with anxiety. “Did you kill Roger?”
“No, that would be too fucking easy.”
Mere inches separated you from him, your heart slamming in your chest as his molten eyes wandered over your face. His breath hummed against your skin, smelling faintly of bourbon. The breath seemed to rush out of your lungs as his fingers teased your hair, his sight assaulting you in the same manner.
His voice was smooth as velvet, a soft, seductive murmur. “I broke his jaw. Because he fucking threatened you with his mouth. Then I broke all his fingers, because he touched you.”
You opened your mouth to speak, but there were no words. It’s like you were in a trance.
“What?” He traced the contour of your mouth with his fingers, his dark eyes fixated on them. “You gonna lecture me now? Tell me that I’m a sick bastard?”
Fear turned to passion, your blood swirling with it. “Can they trace it back to you?”
He smiled. A cocky smile that did things to your body, made your pussy clench with want and need and everything you shouldn’t be feeling. Caught in a spiral of sex and lust, you reached up to kiss him.
A/N - Just a reminder to my dear readers - this couple has never been represented as a healthy couple, because they’re not. I realize they’re toxic and extreme, because that’s exactly what I’m writing. If it messes with the boundaries you’ve set for yourself, please be kind to yourself and stop reading. You should always look out for yourself first and foremost!
Thank you for reading, as always. Would love to read your thoughts if you’re so inclined :)
“Hang on a second.” Billy says, his voice clear as he stands from his chair at the back of the small church and makes his way towards the front where you’re standing at the altar. “So, Sophie may be mine, but she may be Matt or Frank’s?”
You nod, holding your head high as Billy stands in front of you.
“Yeah that’s right, and you needn’t sound so self righteous about it. You have no one but yourself to blame.”
Your daughter, Sophie, throws her veil back, revealing her dark eyes that are narrowed at Billy.
“Yeah, if you hadn’t dumped my mom and married someone else…”
It’s been years since you had seen Billy. Years since his departure had hurt you. But you’re glad Sophie is expressing the same frustration you felt when Billy had left you.
“Hey hey, wait a minute.” Billy interrupts. “I had to go back to New York. I was engaged. But I told Dinah I couldn’t marry her, and I came right back.”
Your face falls, shock filling your features.
“You came back?” You ask in a small voice. Billy nods. “Why didn’t you call me?”
He stares at you, shrugging slightly with a depreciating laugh.
“Because I was crazy enough to think you’d be waiting for me.” His eyes meet yours, as he sighs quietly. “Only when I arrived they told me you were off with some other guy.”
Guilt washes over your face, warming your cheeks as you glance slightly at where Frank and Matt are sitting.
“Dinah called me an idiot, and married me to prove it.”
There’s sadness in his eyes as he looks at you, no doubt imagining the life the two of you could have had together. Raising Sophie together. Founding the hotel you now own. He shakes his head slightly.
“I should have looked for you.”
“I don’t think that would have changed anything.”
“Then I shouldn’t have left in the first place.”
“I wouldn’t have let you stay.” He breathes out a tiny laugh, and you remark quietly, “I guess we’re both idiots?”
“Not much has changed then.” He says with a small grin. A fond smile tugs at your lips,
“Speak for yourself Russo.”
His own smile softens - into something you never thought you would see again. He takes a tentative step towards you. His gaze trailing from your eyes to your lips. Even after all these years, you recognise the glint in his eyes, and the corner of your mouth quirks into a smirk as you step forward to meet him.
His head dips down, and your fingers curl around the front of his shirt as you pull him into the last few inches between you both. Then Billy’s lips meet yours, and the years melt away.
He keeps an arm wrapped around you this time, and you try to dig your heels into the ground when he begins herding you toward a helicopter.
“You’re kidding right?” You begin trying to shake his grip, “Just let me go, I’ll go back and tell everyone I panicked, and I won’t have you arrested.”
He grins down at you.
“If Ward Meachum touches you, I’m going to peel his skin off.”
Billy first sees the invitation on Karen’s fridge. He’s there, meeting Frank’s new girl for the very first time when your name in perfect calligraphy catches his attention.
He stops sipping from the beer to stare at it in shock. When Frank follows his gaze, he lets out a little curse under his breath.
Of course he kidnaps her, should have seen that coming really. I love that she’s complaining every step of the way, let’s make sure Mr Terrible Breakup has a really difficult time
But also poor Billy trying so hard to get away from his past and protect her, and it being too late (although hopefully not too too late)
Also her pee having performance anxiety - I can’t even I love them both
The Yearly Anvil Holiday party is in full swing, you’re doing everything in your power to make it on the nice list this year but your Boss has other ideas.
Warnings:Smut, 18+, Breeding Kink, Boss x Employee dynamic
Writers Notes: Yes I wrote a holiday themed oneshot in the beginning of summer, and for that i apologize. *mood board will be added later
Snow had started to fall onto the crisp streets of New York adding to the soft glow of the night. Softening the harsh lines that usually were synonymous with the city. Sounds of laughter and people talking were blanketed by the calm hush that accompanied snowfall, fat flakes began building on the sidewalks a sure hint towards a blizzard later in the night.
You rubbed your hands together in a fruitless effort to warm up, blowing whatever hot air was still in your lungs onto your frozen digits as you stepped out of the limo and made your way to the ritzy hotel Anvil had rented out for the evening Holiday party. A doorman smiled at you holding the large golden door open for you to step inside.
Warnings: Forced marriage, kidnapping, being sick.
A/N: I had originally planned to finish this mini series before posting, but I could really use the encouragement to continue it, so I’m posting the first part today, also I have no self control.
~
“You call it hope — that fire of fire!
It is but agony of desire.”
-Edgar Allan Poe
~
The veil pulls at your hair when it’s pinned to your bun. You don’t say a word, simply grimacing in discomfort as your stylist steps back with a smile.
“Oh my god, it’s gorgeous.” She breathes in awe and you give her a smile, trying to feel as excited as she does.
Your smile falls when she turns away.
On the vanity, your phone vibrates.
“Twentieth time this morning,” she comments, “Sure you don’t want to check it?”
Boutique Owner!Fem!Reader x CEO!Single Dad!Billy Russo
(small drabble under the cut)
You’ve known Billy Russo for several years now. You were the one who sold him his first suit, and the one who pressed it to perfection on the day he visited the bank - the day he secured the loan which allowed him to open Anvil. You think you had a very minor impact on these events, believing that Billy’s passion and determination would have carried him through regardless. Billy, however, owes a small piece of his success to you, even though he’s never mentioned it to you.
You’re also very fond of his daughter, Ava. Whenever Billy visits your store, Ava always insists on helping you pick out Billy’s outfits. Meaning that, you usually point Billy in the direction of your newest collections whilst you scoop Ava up into your arms and together you pick out a new tie for Billy.
One day, Billy is telling you all about his celebratory gala in honour of five successful years of business for Anvil. As usual, you help him pick out a suit.
“Will that be all Mr Russo?” You ask with a smile. He glances around at the racks of clothes surrounding you both, before asking,
“You sell dresses don’t you?” You nod in confirmation, before you ask him,
“Anything in particular?” He looks down before holding up the tie he’s planning on wearing for the gala.
“Something to match this?” You nod quickly and head towards the back of the store, with Billy following behind you. Looking through the dresses, you try to ignore the thought of Billy taking a date to his gala. The two of you had been friends for years - it would never be anything more.
“There’s this?” You say, pulling one of the dresses out to show Billy. The colour is a perfect match for his tie. He looks the dress up and down, then grins.
“It’s perfect. What sizes do you do?”
“What size are you after?” You ask, fingers skimming over the hangers as you take in the different sizes available.
“Whatever your size is.” You freeze at his words, turning to look at him.
His smile is almost shy as he adds,
“That was my attempt at asking you out smoothly.” His lips quirk into a small grin, “Did it work?”
Summary: Anvil hosts a work party at the races, though you appear to be a source of distraction for the company’s CEO.
Warnings [18+]: smut, unprotected sex, smidge of public sexual activity, degradation, lots of dirty talk, daddy kink, dumbification, praise kink, some oral fixation kinda?
A/N: This is fully intended to be a part of the smutty little universe me and Chelsea (@becauseicantthinkwritings) have somehow created together, I started writing this as soon as I read Ineptitude and I swear I’m done now.
»»———————►
Over the years, you’ve managed to master the art of looking like you understand what’s going on. Unfortunately for you, Billy knows better than to believe the attentive look you’re giving his accountant, David. Billy knows that if he were the one explaining the betting odds to you there’s no way you would understand.
Sweet eyes wide with confusion, your attention would drift from Billy’s words to his lips, or his fingers. If you got distracted enough, your eyes might even fall onto his dress pants that hide his cock, which is now hardening at the mere thought of you looking so clueless.
Billy had planned a visit to the races, booking a private room for himself and a number of his employees at Anvil to celebrate his latest contract. He had also invited you as his plus one, knowing you’d be thrilled at the opportunity to dress up for him.
Summary: Anvil hosts a work party at the races, though you appear to be a source of distraction for the company’s CEO.
Warnings [18+]: smut, unprotected sex, smidge of public sexual activity, degradation, lots of dirty talk, daddy kink, dumbification, praise kink, some oral fixation kinda?
A/N: This is fully intended to be a part of the smutty little universe me and Chelsea (@becauseicantthinkwritings) have somehow created together, I started writing this as soon as I read Ineptitude and I swear I’m done now.
»»———————►
Over the years, you’ve managed to master the art of looking like you understand what’s going on. Unfortunately for you, Billy knows better than to believe the attentive look you’re giving his accountant, David. Billy knows that if he were the one explaining the betting odds to you there’s no way you would understand.
Sweet eyes wide with confusion, your attention would drift from Billy’s words to his lips, or his fingers. If you got distracted enough, your eyes might even fall onto his dress pants that hide his cock, which is now hardening at the mere thought of you looking so clueless.
Billy had planned a visit to the races, booking a private room for himself and a number of his employees at Anvil to celebrate his latest contract. He had also invited you as his plus one, knowing you’d be thrilled at the opportunity to dress up for him.
You smile politely at David as he steps away, before he leaves to talk to a few of the other Anvil employees. A smirk curls at Billy’s lips as he observes the thinly veiled puzzlement in your eyes. Billy approaches you, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull your back flush against his chest. He drops his head down to talk into your ear,
“Hello princess.” You turn slightly, and say in a small voice,
“Hi daddy.” His smirk widens,
“You being a good girl?” You pout lightly before you remark teasingly,
“Of course.”
“I heard David was teaching you about the betting odds.” You look down at the list of horses and their riders on the piece of paper in your hand.
“Hm.”
“Which horse you betting on?”
“That one.” You say, tapping the name with your freshly done nails. Billy looks down at the name, before a frown creases at his brows. The horse you’ve picked doesn’t have very good odds.
“Why’s that baby?” You shift your feet slightly, and look down at your shoes - the new Jimmy Choo’s that Billy had bought you.
“It’s the prettiest jersey.” You admit, and Billy breathes out a laugh before he presses an affectionate kiss to your cheek.
“My stupid little girl.” He purrs, squeezing you in his arms as your cheeks warm with the dizzying mixture of embarrassment and arousal that only Billy could draw out from you.
He tugs you backwards lightly, guiding you both towards a table in the corner of the room. He nuzzles his face against your cheek, his smile wide when he feels how flushed your skin is already.
“Come sit in daddy’s lap.” You sit down on one of Billy’s thighs, with your legs draped over his other thigh. He wraps one arm around you, pulling your side against his chest. Taking his tie between your fingers, you fiddle with it as your eyes look over the crowd, smoothing your fingertips over the small ridges in the fabric.
Billy’s other hand settles on your bare thigh, the warmth of his palm heating your skin in a manner that has you struggling to keep your attention away from him.
You point out some of the clothes and shoes you see some of the people wearing, as well as naming the designers. Billy nods along to your words, taking a mental note of the styles and designs that you mention for a later date. He also bounces his thigh lightly, which has you shifting every couple of seconds to prevent the friction against your core.
Billy feeds you a few bites of food from the buffet, swiping his thumb over your lips when you get chocolate smeared on them.
“Need daddy to do everything for you, don’t you?” He teases, picking up a glass of wine and holding it to your lips. After you take a sip, Billy replaces the glass with his mouth, tasting the wine from your lips. His smirk is wide as he places the glass down.
Biting down on your lip, you squirm again, and Billy tilts his head as he looks down at you.
“Everything alright baby?” You nod. He traces his finger up your spine, drawing a shiver from you. A smug expression fills Billy’s face, and he says, “You know you can’t lie to me.”
He dips his head lower, to murmur directly into your ear.
“Daddy knows every inch of that sweet body of yours. And I know that right now you’re soaking through your panties.”
The hazy look that had been filling your eyes suddenly shifts as your expression brightens. Billy tilts his head in confusion, he hadn’t expected the wide smile currently on your face. Or the giggle you let out as you smooth his tie back into place.
“Don’t be silly daddy. I’m not wearing any.”
Billy’s eyes darken. With a tug, his lips are on yours, and your small whimper of surprise is muffled by his mouth. He squeezes the back of your neck, holding you in place as his other hand dips under the skirt of your dress. Your lips part as Billy traces his finger along your entrance, smothering the needy sounds from your throat with his mouth on yours. He pushes his finger inside you, curling it for a moment before pulling out again.
Billy tuts as he eyes his glistening finger.
“Better clean that up baby, before someone wants to shake my hand.”
Warmth floods through your body, and your eyes flicker to watch the rest of the room. When your gaze falls back onto Billy he raises his finger towards your lips with a questioning look in his eyes. Not breaking his gaze, you take his finger into your mouth.
“All those expensive lingerie sets daddy buys you, and on his special day out you go and wear nothing underneath your dress.” He berates you in a low voice.
You hum at the feeling of Billy’s finger in your mouth as you run your tongue over his digit to remove the wetness from your pussy. The combined taste of Billy’s skin and your arousal has your hips rocking needily.
When you go to pull your mouth away from Billy’s finger, he grasps firmly at your chin, keeping your lips wrapped around his finger. Your eyes flicker to the rest of the room, but no one is paying the two of you any attention. There’s a small whine of protest at the back of your throat, and Billy regards you sternly.
“You didn’t want to act like a grown up and wear panties, so I’ll treat you like the dumb little girl you are.”
He slides his finger between your lips, stroking your tongue with his fingertip.
“You know, I was gonna reward you for being such a good girl for me today.” You whine again, as drool begins to slip down your chin, your face burning with embarrassment. Billy smooths his thumb over your chin, cleaning up the mess you’re making of yourself.
Looking down at his thumb, Billy sighs.
“You just had to act up didn’t you?” You whine again, shaking your head at him. Billy raises a brow at you. “You think good girls walk around with no panties on?”
He pulls his finger from your mouth, allowing you to answer him.
“Did it for you daddy.” You protest with a small pout on your lips.
“For me?” You nod, leaning your body closer to his to hide your face in the crook of his neck.
“Wanted to keep your cock warm on the drive home.”
His hand tightens on your waist in response to your words, squeezing at your hip which has you squirming slightly. He was already hard at the thought of punishing you. Now his priority has changed - he needs to have you now.
Billy hooks a finger under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his lips. The kiss is surprisingly tender, until he nibbles on your lower lip. When your eyes flutter open, they’re filled with confusion.
Taking hold of your chin, Billy turns your head to look at the far end of the room.
“You see that door over there?” The confusion doesn’t leave your eyes as you answer him,
“Yes daddy.”
“Want you to go sit in the room next door and I’ll join you in a few minutes. Think you can do that for me baby?”
Billy hears your breathing quicken as you realise he has something already planned. Then you nod.
“Yes daddy.”
“Good girl.”
The two of you stand up, and Billy gives your ass a light squeeze which has you whining. He chuckles before nudging you gently,
“Go on baby, daddy’ll be right behind you.”
When you turn to look at him, he gives you a reassuring smile, his hand warm as he presses it against the small of your back.
As soon as Billy’s hand is removed from your back, you miss the warmth of it, a small shiver running through you as you weave your way through the crowd of Billy’s colleagues. You offer a polite smile to anyone who looks your way, but no one pays too much attention to you.
You close the door softly behind you, and step into the room. It’s not too dissimilar from the room you’ve just left, the same size, and same furniture. The right hand wall is made up entirely of glass, allowing you to look down at the people gathered at the edge of the racecourse.
There’s a couch in the centre of the room, and you walk over to it, leaning your lower back against the arm of the couch. You stare out of the window, watching the people mill about as you wait for Billy. Once you hear the door open, you glance over.
Billy’s eyes are dark, raking over your form as he shuts the door behind him. The look in his eyes has you clenching with need, and your fingers press into the fabric of the couch as Billy advances towards you.
Once he’s close enough, his lips are on yours in a hungry kiss. He hooks his hands under your knees, lifting you up to sit on the arm of the couch.
“Billy!” You gasp in surprise, eyeing the wall of glass that overlooks the racecourse. Billy notices your apprehension, and grins,
“Glass is tinted baby, no one can see us up here. Door’s locked too. So, it’s just a case of you staying quiet.”
He tugs at his tie, pulling it from around his collar to loop around your head. He ties a knot in the fabric and holds it up to your lips.
“Be a good girl and bite down on this for daddy.” With a small whine of protest, you part your lips, and Billy pushes the knot into your mouth. Billy clicks his tongue. “Don’t whine baby. I wouldn’t have to gag you like this if you’d been wearing your panties.”
When you whimper in response to his words, the tie muffles the sound perfectly, and Billy smiles proudly at the sight of you so desperate already. He picks you up, setting you down on the couch and spreading your legs. The short skirt of your dress rides up, and Billy pushes it up to bunch the fabric around your waist.
“There she is.” He muses appreciatively as he observes the slick mess between your legs. “There’s my sweet little pussy. Looking so pretty for me.”
You moan at his words, shifting your hips slightly and whining when there’s a dissatisfying amount of friction. Billy traces a singular fingertip along your dripping entrance, teasing your aching pussy.
“Daddy please.” You beg, your voice muffled by Billy’s tie, and he chuckles at you as he removes his finger.
“Silly little girl.” He says as he slips the straps of your dress down your shoulders. “Daddy can’t understand you with his tie in your mouth.”
He tugs at the dress, pulling the top half down to meet the rest of the dress at your waist. Meaning that you’re now practically bare in front of him. His hands cup your breasts, squeezing them lightly as he stares appreciatively down at your body. He pinches at both of your nipples, drawing a muffled whimper from your throat which makes him chuckle darkly as your back arches towards his touch.
His palms smooth over your body, rubbing against your skin, and squeezing whatever he can wrap his hands around - your thighs, your ass, your breasts. You writhe and moan beneath his touch, bucking your hips towards him in a desperate attempt to gain some friction. Billy leans forward, tugging your earlobe between his teeth. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket, until Billy steps back and pulls it off his shoulders. He folds it, before setting it down on the coffee table to his right.
His belt clinks as he undoes it, then he slides his zipper down, and pushes his pants to his calves, along with his boxers. Your mouth waters around his tie as your eyes fixate on his cock, already hard and leaking. You reach for his cock, only for him to slap your hands away.
“Such an eager little thing.” He remarks with a smirk. “Hands on the couch princess.”
There’s a small groan of frustration from you, but you do as you’re told, watching with eager eyes as Billy begins to stroke his cock.
“Imagine,” he starts with a grin. “If I came right here on your thighs, leaving you a filthy mess for the rest of the day.” You whine with need, nails digging into the material of the couch. “Would you like that baby? Like me to get off on the sight of you, and leave you dripping and desperate?”
You whimper, shaking your head hurriedly and Billy breathes out a sharp laugh as he raises a brow,
“You wouldn’t?” You shake your head again, unable to tear your eyes away from the sight of his cock. “Then spread your legs for me baby.”
You do as he says, spreading your legs wide open for him. He shakes his head, hooking his hands under your knees and folding your legs. Your heels dig into the plush seat of the couch as Billy holds your legs open properly.
“There we are.” He murmurs as his hips slide against yours, his hard cock rubbing over your soaked pussy. You whimper at the sudden attention, almost overwhelmed by the contact but desperate for more.
“Please.” You beg, your words still impeded by his tie. He traces his finger around your entrance, then pushes his cock inside you. You gasp, eyes squeezing shut which prompts tears to gather behind your eyelids. Billy groans as he ducks his head into the crook of your neck, nipping at the skin there with his teeth.
“Such a sweet, warm little cunt. All for me.” He slides out, before driving himself back into you, setting a rhythm that has your toes curling. You nod your head hurriedly in agreement, before your fists grasp at his shirt.
He shifts your hips, adjusting your position so that he can go even deeper with his thrusts, which has tears rolling down your cheeks. Ever since you woke up this morning, Billy has been riling you up both intentionally and by accident. Now that the tension is being addressed, you find yourself hurtling towards your orgasm at an alarming rate.
Billy grasps at your legs, hoisting them up to rest against his chest. Your ankles hang over his shoulders, and you instantly curl them around the back of his head. He grins, he’s willing to bet there isn’t a thought in your head, but instinct still takes over enough for your ankles to lock around his head as he continues his thrusts.
It’s only when the sharpness of your heels digs lightly into the top of his shoulder, that Billy breathes out another laugh.
“I told you princess.” Confusion flickers in your eyes as you attempt to understand the reason for his amusement. “Didn’t daddy tell you how gorgeous these shoes would look on my shoulders?” You clench hard around his cock, and you can only nod your head, tears running down your cheeks as he continues to pound into you. The shoes do look ridiculously pretty on Billy’s shoulders, but the man himself looks far better.
A few stray strands have fallen from his perfectly styled hair, hanging over his forehead as he looks down at you with his dark eyes. His pupils are wide as he takes in every inch of you, consumed by the pleasure he’s giving you. He groans, feeling himself near the edge. He slips a hand down, rubbing firm circles over your clit, which has you clenching even harder around him.
“Go on baby. Play with your tits for me. Cum around daddy’s cock like a good girl.”
You let go of his shirt, dropping your hands to squeeze at your breasts, before tugging at your nipples. Billy moans at the sight of you, your breathing ragged as you approach your climax. Your teeth dig into the fabric of his tie, and you cry out as you orgasm. It’s mere seconds before Billy follows, spilling his cum inside you.
He holds his hips still against yours, keeping his cock snug inside you as his lips trace their way down your neck, nipping and sucking at your skin as you both come down from your highs. His breath is warm against your flushed skin, as are his lips.
He tugs his tie out from between your lips, immediately replacing the fabric with his mouth. You both moan into the kiss, and you’re gasping when Billy pulls away. He smooths your hair away from your face, watching you as you attempt to catch your breath.
A small sound of protest escapes your throat as Billy pulls his cock out of you, and he chuckles softly. He plucks up a box of tissues from the nearby coffee table, tugging a few tissues out to clean you both up with.
Soon enough, you’re smoothing your dress down, adjusting the straps as you attempt to return your appearance to normality. Billy grins at the sight of the marks over your neck, the ones that you’re still unaware of. He shoves his ruined tie into the pocket of jacket, tugging lightly at the collar of his shirt. He’s definitely breaking some sort of social rule by not wearing a tie at the races - but then again fucking his girl in an empty reception room is definitely against social protocol.
You notice his grin, and smile sheepishly back. Similar thoughts are running through your mind, and your cheeks are burning at the thought of everyone in the room next door knowing what you had been doing.
Billy cups your face in his hands, brushing his thumbs over your cheeks to ensure your makeup is still intact. You turn your head, pressing a kiss to his palm, and Billy smiles widely at you.
He leans closer to kiss your forehead, before he tucks you into his side with his arm around your waist.
“Now let’s go bet on that horse.”
A laugh escapes your lips as Billy opens the door for you both, and he smiles down at you, feeling unbelievably lucky to have you in his life.
After you killed that evil… witch you took her poor, abused familiar. The prettiest black cat you’ve ever seen. He helps you with your magic and makes you laugh when you feel down.
Billy definitely wants to let you know he is not just a pet. Eventually. Until the right time comes he wants to enjoy every minute he can spend with his beautiful witch. And the cuddles, he loves the cuddles.
Sometimes, there’s this thing that happens and a request grows a mind of it’s own, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. This is what happened here, and the culprit is @something-tofightfor, who snatched up this image prompt and made a request before anyone else had the chance:
This one is something a little differently than I’ve done before, and with that being said, it’s quite the ride, but a fun one! Here, we see Billy as a Marine, and over a decade later, as a TBI patient. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy– there’s a lot more to come in this one!
As always, if you’d like to be added to or removed from my tag list, just shoot me an ask or DM!
Billy smiled like he’d never seen the atrocities of war. He grinned, and he showcased perfectly straight, unnaturally white teeth. His expression always reached his eyes, dark eyelashes framing his lids and accentuating the slight upturning of the corner of each, the left and the right. His jaw, strong and angular, could cut glass. Billy Russo was so organically gorgeous, so naturally photogenic, it was frustrating.
“People spend all of their money and years of their lives to maybe get photographed for a damn JC Penney catalog, yet here you are putting zero effort forth and looking like this.” You stopped fanning the instant Polaroid, took one more look, and rolled your eyes, offering the photograph to Billy. “Take a look, George Clooney.”
Billy smirked and plucked the photo from your fingers, giving it a quick glance before handing it back. “Imagine how much better they’d come out if you let me buy you a real camera. What’s your brand, Y/N? Nikon? Canon?” Billy turned toward you, his palms skimming down the length of your arms. “You want somethin’ digital?”
You cocked your head at Billy. His hands had dropped to your hips. “Polaroid. Classic. I’m all about instant gratification, Russo.”
Billy laughed in a deep timbre, pulling you closer and into a lingering hug. “One day,” he spoke into your hair. “When you grow into having patience… patience waiting for me until that next time I come home… I’m buying you that camera.” His New York accent was coming through strong, and that tended to happen when Billy really believed in something. You tightened your arms that were circled around his middle and pressed your cheek to Billy’s chest, listening for his heartbeat.
As you listened to that rhythm, your face fell and your posture deflated with your exhale. You slumped your shoulders and your arms dropped from Billy’s midsection, but you continued to linger in his arms. He always made sure to speak as if coming back was a guarantee; as if fighting on the front lines in Kandahar was just a normal trip overseas. You swallowed past a lump that had formed in your throat. You wouldn’t succumb to it in front of Billy. Not yet.
He was attuned to your posture, however small the shift in the way you carried yourself may be. Billy was attentive— he knew things about you, little nuances, unconscious mannerisms or habits, why you hated steak fries but loved waffle fries. There was a file in his brain, one specifically dedicated to you. He cared about you, your well-being and your happiness… yourlife. And he was a part of it, an essential part, whether he knew it or not. When he was gone, across oceans and continents and hemispheres, he took that essential part of your life with him.
It wasn’t lost on you that you were long past the falling head-over-heels, missing meals because your thoughts were all- consuming, dreamy-eyed and irrevocably smitten phase of what you had with Billy. You cared about him a lot, maybe more than he cared about you. The two of you had never exchanged “I love you”s; it was very rare and circumstantial the handful of times you or Billy talked about the future. And he’d made nods toward that precarious, never guaranteed place twice in just the last 10 minutes.
Lifting your head, you looked up at him, that woozy feeling of being drunk with one look into his darkened eyes very akin to that intoxicating feeling that came with love. “I’m holding you to that, Lieutenant.”
***** *****
You’d snagged a job with a popular psychiatric publication, and you chalked it all up to luck. Between your blog, business cards, spending all of your free time (and money) advertising, and networking with anyone who’d pay the smallest bit of attention, your name had been mentioned to a person with serious media connections. A random, brief phone call during a leisurely shoot one afternoon in the park resulted in a request for a viewing of your portfolio. Deemed “supremely impressive”, you were hired for a very specific field job.
That was how you ended up at Sacred Saints Hospital, deep in the heart of New York City.
New York was home, yet you’d been away for a good amount of time, traveling to build up your portfolio. The health facility you were to feature in the job you’d be hired for was a well-known facility. Sacred Saints was expansive, offering physical health services—surgery and recovery, intensive care, extensive stay— as well as mental health services and rehabilitation. Your goal for the piece was to photograph a host of mental health-centered techniques and options while still presenting patients as “normal” human beings, human beings that were not untouchable and should not be stigmatized.
The challenge was going to be finding a balance between clear, clinical photos and those of therapy at work versus the personal aspect of mental health care. Whatever got written wasn’t up to you, but one of your niches was getting shots of moments that captured emotion: someone throwing their head back in laughter, a person staring blankly, eyes full with tears of grief. You could only hope those shots would provoke receptive emotions in their viewers. Photography was deeply personal work when allowed to be. It was also a matter of legality in many situations, and this was one of them.
You needed clearance. The publication had kicked things off by securing permissions from the hospital– you’d been issued a temporary badge for security issues, identification and such, and being cleared to enter the wards. The rest of what was required was consent from patients being photographed. The latter was much trickier given certain mental disabilities and the quick unpredictability that came with some personality disorders and brain injuries, but it was necessary, no exception. Day 1 was mostly dedicated to obtaining patient consent.
You treaded lightly. These people were still mothers, sons, sisters, uncles, still human… still people. They had the right of integrity, and you weren’t there to take that from them; you were there to bring awareness to the public, to remind everyone on the outside that the people inside of this facility were no different than those that read the magazine… that humanity is something every person deserves and should be given.
You were satisfied with your work for the afternoon, which had been surprisingly productive. A small stack of patient consent forms had been signed, and if you could get one to two more, you could start with your favorite part of the job– the actual photography– the next day.
Not merely content but happy, you walked along the tile floor of the main corridor with your camera hanging around your neck. The glint of artificial light reflecting off something shiny grabbed your attention; it was a badge on a policeman’s uniform, just above his left chest pocket. You felt a sudden surge of adrenaline. Another deputy appeared from the threshold of what appeared to be the same room and your footsteps quickened, your shoulders and head held higher as you approached them. As far as you’d seen, there were no other rooms guarded by any sort of law enforcement official on the ward. Your mouth was dry in anticipation; you knew you had to get into that room, to do all you could to coerce the patient to be photographed. It was blatantly obvious they had something no one else at Sacred Saints did, and that something needed to be captured on film. With a professional nod and a smile, you greeted the policemen, showing them your temporary badge of secured access and offering a short summary of what your goal was.
“I did notice you’re the only two officials on the ward,” you added, coming toward the end of your hopefully successful allowed entry of the room to your right. You’d only gotten one quick glance through the square-paned window set in the patient’s door and the only thing you could make out was dark hair, cropped close to the skull.
One of the deputies, a short and stocky male with a no-nonsense expression, eyed you with one raised brow. “We ain’t here for fun, lady. He’s convicted of multiple felonies, including several counts of murder for starters. This ain’t the circus… though the asshole looks like a sideshow freak.” He elbowed his partner in a jovial manner, the two of them snickering.
You narrowed your eyes at both officials, a total lack of any sort of amusement apparent on your face. You were seriously doubting this level of holding guard was necessary, as if these two clowns were serving a purpose standing outside of this person’s room dehumanizing him to a stranger.
“I understand he’s a felon, officer, but the two of you seem like competent individuals.” Taking a long stride to peek more closely into the patient’s room, the taller of the guards stepped in front of you. Holding up your hand, you continued to speak. “It seems he’s restrained to the bed, his arms and legs are strapped like he’s in a straight-jacket. What harm can he possibly do in such a position?”
The steeled look you’d been given by the cop attempting to block you from entering softened marginally as you stated the obvious. The patient couldn’t move from the bed, convicted felon or not. He was utterly powerless.
“You ain’t gonna get nothin’, lady,” the first man you’d encountered piped up. “He claims he got no clue why he’s in here, don’t remember, nothin’.” This policeman’s thick Brooklyn accent gave you some sort of uneasy deja vu, but you couldn’t put together the pieces, what it was a reminder of.
“I just want to ask if I can take his picture. No coercion, a simple yes or no question. It won’t take longer than five minutes, if that long, and you can see the entire interaction if you open those blinds.” There were windows the length of the room on either side, though the view was obstructed by cheap, plastic blinds, drawn so no outside view was available.
Both officers looked extremely bored, ready for you to get out of their hair and scamper away in defeat. You weren’t giving in, and you stood even with them, brows raised just a fraction in anticipation. The cops shared an exasperated glance, and the one standing in your way moved to the side. “We can see all we need through the door, ma’am.”
Of course you can, you thought to yourself bitterly. This man doesn’t have the freedom to move anything more than his head.
“You’re wastin’ your time even askin’.” You turned your head to look blankly to the cop from Brooklyn, his increasingly stupid, know-it-all commentary really starting to irk you.
“It’s my time to waste, officer.” You managed to plaster a forced smile on your face, taking another step toward the door. “I’ll take it from here, thank you.” You spoke to the less obnoxious deputy only. Your hand already on the doorknob, you stepped inside the room within half a second, closing the door with a soft click behind you.
***** *****
He hated being strapped to this goddamnbed. He hated that his goddamnface hurt. He hated that he couldn’t fucking sleep because of those fuckingdreams, and he hated every goddamn thing about this fucking place. The cops guarding his room twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week; the nurses who tiptoed around his room, terrified; that stupid bitch of a doctor who wanted him to finger-paint like he was in kindergarten; that woman who was always at the foot of his bed, just standing there and staring with a self-righteous smirk of contempt and satisfaction. All of it was a living hell, but he hated nothing more than to be strapped to this goddamnbed.
He could hear voices outside his room; the useless cops, no doubt, and also the voice of a female. Everything was muted, words muffled; he couldn’t hear actual words, but he could hear sound and tone. Who was the woman this time? Was it Dr. Dumont? The mystery woman who watched him sleep? A nurse, perhaps? Whoever it was, Billy didn’t want to be bothered or provoked… but maybe whoever it was would unstrap him. He could ask Dr. Dumont, or scare a nurse into asking for him. God, he wanted to walk, he wanted to go to the fucking gym, he wanted to look outside. Anything but these same four, drab walls, the smells and sights and sounds of Sacred Saints hospital.
With a click of his door opening, in walked a woman he’d not seen before. Who is this? Billy was in thought immediately, but the question he’d asked himself didn’t unnerve him that much anymore. People were always in and out; some repeat offenders, some he’d never seen before and would probably never see again, if he had any luck in his new joke of a life. But the one person that should have been there, that was never there, was Frank– his best friend, his brother, the only family he’d ever had. Where is Frank?
Nobody ever answered him. He just continued to wonder, to ask, to hope. Desperately, he attempted to push the question from his mind, peering at the woman who had just entered his room. At least she ain’t a repeat offender.
He’d never seen her before, and through his suspicion and wariness, he didn’t fail to notice that that she was extremely attractive. In another life, he’d stride over to her, get her number, and her legs would be wrapped around him that same night. She’d be writing beneath him, screaming his name. In another life, Billy,he thought bitterly.In another life.
***** *****
There was already a small pit of sympathy that had settled deep down in your chest. This man had obviously done some terrible things, but who knew what had been haunting his mind then, what was haunting it now. There were no excuses that needed to be made for him, but to be talked about and ridiculed by men of the law that stood just outside his door… that would be dehumanizing for anyone.
As you opened the door cautiously, stepping inside in the same fashion, you kept a shadow of a smile on your face and somehow kept it from faltering. Not because he was confined, strapped to his bed— you’d seen that through that small excuse of a window paned with plastic in his door— but because there wasn’t a man looking at you as you’d expected; it was a phantom.
A stark white, generic plastic mask was pulled down over his face, and all you could see that reminded you that this was indeed a human being were his short spikes of black hair. And as you got closer, you felt your heart quicken at the stark contrast of inky black and blinding white between eyes and mask.
You kept your wits about you, but couldn’t help but think how badly you wanted those cops to be wrong, how badly you wanted and needed a photo of this man— how this was what you felt deep in your soul that you were trying to convey. This opportunity was fated; nothing this perfect happened by chance.
Just as you spoke a hello, a loud rapping at the door interrupted your pending introduction and in walked an older woman, wearing scrubs, clogs on her feet that squeaked over the flooring with each step. She held a small paper medicine cup in one hand, a drink of water in the other. She set both down on a bedside table.
“Time to get you out of this.” She reached out and roughly tugged at the restraints, a deafening sound of the pulling back of more Velcro than you’d ever seen in your lifetime. The man in the bed pushed himself up, still not saying a word as he was given medication. “The Tylenol you requested.” With a turning of his head, the man lifted his mask just enough for a quick swallowing of the pills, still revealing nothing. As he turned back to face you, he rolled his neck to the right, then the left. You briefly wondered what the mask meant to the patient as the nurse took his trash. Nodding at you briskly, she quickly left the room, leaving the two of you alone.
The stranger in front of you was tall, the length of the bed he lay in, and rail thin— skeletal, even. There was nothing imposing about him, no danger or peril in the air. From the little you’d seen, you couldn’t imagine this man as being dangerous at all, much less a felon, a murderer. But he was quiet— so quiet. Not one utterance, one word, one sound since you’d entered the room. You wondered if this was a tactic, a technique, or a result of his TBI.
Greeting him again, you got down to business by introducing yourself, explaining why you were there. “I’m Y/N, and I’m a photographer. I was assigned to take photographs for a periodical, and wanted to ask if you’d mind if I took a few pictures.” You spoke in a professional manner, kept your voice amicable, and spoke at a volume just shy of what you considered “normal”. You felt the need to keep the patient placated, at ease, and you wanted the cops to hear nothing you said.
“I have a release form, I’d just need your name and signature, and if you choose, your photo won’t have to be captioned and your name never mentioned. I only need the information for your release. Nothing more.” You gestured to the clipboard you held, the thin stack of release forms secured there, and tried not to look as hopeful as you felt.
This could be it— the photo, the one that would give you more exposure, and more importantly, the one that would evoke emotion and draw readers in. The humanity and recognition for these patients that you were initially working to capture could very well be debunked by this one photo of a man who was desperately trying to shroud his humanness. Then again, the obvious contrast could be striking. That, however, was ultimately left up to the writer.
Your attention was captured as the man in the bed slowly tilted his head to the side, regarding you through the cut-out eye holes of the plastic mask. The color of his eyes were jarring, almost black, and they bored into you with a type of intensity you’d never encountered before. Your pulse quickened and you could feel the pounding of your heart against your chest. He’s convicted of multiple felonies, including several murders for starters. You remembered the policeman with the Brooklyn accent, his warning, and just as you felt a cold, creeping fear crawling up your spine, you remembered the rest of what had been said: This ain’t the circus, even though the asshole looks like a circus freak. Your fear twisted into determination, and you didn’t shy away from his stare; in fact, your posture shifted as you stood up straighter, never looking away from this masked man.
“You got a pen?” The voice was muffled by the barrier of his mask, the tone was deep and rough from disuse. He also had somewhat of a Brooklyn accent and his voice sounded vaguely familiar… you rationalized that you didn’t know this person, and perhaps the voice just reminded you of that arrogant prick of a cop you’d had the pleasure of meeting just outside. In response to his question, however, your triumph skyrocketed. You knew your emphatic nod was eager.
“Yes, right here.” You calmly took the few steps to his bedside, keeping in mind to not ambush a TBI patient with sudden movement. Holding out the clipboard, you referenced points of the release to be filled in with the pen he’d asked for. “All I need is your name, printed here, today’s date, and your signature here. This second box can be checked, stating you do not want to be identified as the subject of this photo at any time.”
He took the pen and clipboard and you began to toy with your camera, adjusting the focus, the drive mode, and the aperture. Your fingers were quick, working deftly, and you peeked once through the viewfinder for verification. In the silence of the room, you heard the faint sound of pen scratching over paper, and then, the clipboard was raised, pen laid on top. Holding back a beaming smile was difficult, but you managed as you were given back the clipboard, this time with a signed release.
“Thank you, Mr—“ You glanced down at the information he’d given you, and your heart seized in your chest. William Russo. It was there in clear print, block letters you recognized from your past, a signature so familiar you’d know it anywhere… the certain curving of the R and perfect circle of the O. Your stomach lurched and a wave of nausea washed over you, and then, your voice was stolen and replaced with his own as he finished for you.
This request features CEO and founder of Anvil, Billy Russo, ruminating on life and other things, and who doesn’t want another peek into this mastermind’s brain? The request for this was made by the amazingly fierce @gollyderek as follows:
As a disclaimer, I delved into this having every intention to somehow get Billy Russo into a fluffy situation, but this was the outcome. Either way, I hope y’all like what I’ve come up with. Thank you for reading!
Billy stood straight as a rod, shoulders squared and chin slightly lifted. He held a glass tumbler of amber brandy in one hand, sipping leisurely as he looked out at the New York skyline from the large picture windows that presented quite a view, casting varying streams of sunlight and shadow over the hardwood flooring of his penthouse. Silhouette outlined with sunlight, an ethereal glow was cast along the planes of his body. He’d already discarded his suit jacket, rolled up the sleeves of his pristine, white button- up, Hermès tie still in a perfect Windsor knot at the base of his neck.
Narrowing his eyes, Billy peered at a flash of color that caught his eye. Following the slow floating of a hot air balloon far in the distance, he lifted his brandy to his lips, drinking the remainder of what had been left. Fucking Central Park idyllic tourist bullshit. His lip curled in disdain as he continued to stare, only turning away long enough to pour more Courvoisier from his decanter.
It had been a fuck of a long time since he’d thought about you. You, with your smile that rivaled his, your deep dimples and long, black eyelashes. You, with your laugh that sounded like the music of a wind chime, thick hair that always gave off a slight scent of apple from your shampoo. You, with your never ending legs, your perfect ass, your heels that dug into his back as he rolled his hips into yours; you, who could make him twitch just by moaning his name.
He knew he had to stop fucking you when he kept having the invasive thought that it wouldn’t be terrible if you stayed overnight. He knew he had to avoid you; he’d taken you as his plus-one to several high-profile events, and he began to think of you as his date instead of jaw-dropping eye candy on his arm that he’d discard after the gala was over and the sex was done. Billy was having thoughtsandurges that he refused to give into. He had to leave you by the wayside because those ideas you’d put into his head without words were dangerous.
Billy had never shied away from danger; he seeked it, encouraged it. He craved danger, it was the only element in his life that he needed. Danger was always there, never a disappointment. It was an integral part of his work, and it wasn’t left at Anvil. When he came home, on the rare instances when he was off-duty, danger followed. It was like a second shadow Billy carried with him.
Danger… Billy lived it. But the danger you brought along with you wasn’t the version Billy had ever encountered. He’d never allowed himself to get involved in love. It was an obstacle that would do nothing but get in his way. He was a very busy, very rich workaholic. Love would get in the way of his work, his reputation, the lifestyle he’d built for himself and enjoyed. Love would push aside the prospect of other women moaning his name while gripping his sheets.
Even if Billy entertained the idea of love— which he didn’t— he absolutely knew that he didn’t have the capacity. He was emotionally unavailable, and as charming as he was, he was aware of the emptiness in his eyes, every day, during his morning routine, looking in the mirror as he deftly tied a flawless Windsor knot just before smoothing gel into his hair. He had no reaction to the vacancy there; it was the very antithesis of the wild, inky black, almost maniacal hatred that consumed his eyes during and after completing a task that had to be done. A self-satisfied look a grandiosity followed, but the impassibility eventually returned.
He was born unloved by a father he never knew and a mother— only in a strict, biological sense, nothing more— who loved meth more than she ever thought about loving her son. Billy had never felt love and was incapable of giving something he’d never had.
Billy inhaled deeply through his nose. He rolled his neck side-to-side, shrugged each shoulder in an attempt to reset himself. He exhaled slowly but felt his jaw flex, his nostrils flare in irritation and disgust. The ice in his tumbler was melting into the brandy, diluting it’s kick. After one more long sip, he turned and walked away from the window, the view, that fucking hot air balloon carrying nothing but delusion.
He would have rented one of those, maybe, if you’d asked him to, for an anniversary or birthday or something to do on a Friday night. He could have, but he didn’t. Billy Russo had to stay grounded, present, waiting, calculating, succeeding. Fuck if he’d ever contemplate the allowance of abandoning those things and losing his head for any sort of clouding in his mind. It was entirely unfathomable. The danger that sank its claws into Billy and attached itself to his life with permanence was ground-level, and as he turned to walk away, it was there, large and distorted, looming in front of him. Danger was the one thing that preceded Billy. And Billy always followed.
Here is the result of this request in which you’ll get a peek into the mind of Billy Russo before it became broken. This one took a lot of deliberation because our Billy is a lot more than just a pretty face! As always, thank you for reading (and thanks to @luminex3 for the request). Enjoy!
If anyone wants to be added to/removed from my permanent tag list, please shoot me an ask!
And the most special of thank you’s to @its-my-little-dumpster-fire for talking about this with me and helping with the most impossble-to-title-fic ever.
The scent that surrounded him was overwhelming.
Billy Russo was dressed in all black, tucked away several meters into the forest. The sun was struggling to rise above the horizon, held hostage by lurid, impenetrable ashen fog. The air was thick and moist, holding the promise of eventual rain, but what really struck Billy above all else was the smell.
He was acclimated to overcast days in New York, the drizzle of summer rain that brought smoke steaming off asphalt; in contrast, winter’s unrelenting sleet or snow so violent, it stung your skin. He was used to the terrain in Kandahar, the rocky clay under his boots, earth split from a combination of stark under-hydration and scorching heat… the almost immediate temperature change between dry, blistering heat to numbingly raw cold. Sand pelting skin courtesy of a dust storm was nothing compared to the punishment of nightfall in the desert.
But this place, thick with vegetation and moist with dew, stunk of bitter, wet earth. The pungent smell of wood rot was so strong it was almost assaulting. It completely surrounded Billy, and he sniffed with a curled lip, waiting as some of his crew remained in the cabin, golden light from large windows glowing in the distance.
It was another job on home soil, which was exactly what Billy wanted for Anvil; the specific job a security mission for the wealthy, a family whose patriarch was dipping his toes into politics. Billy had met with the man at an earlier date, discussing options and having a walk-through of the cabin alone. Now that the mission was being carried out, he’d come out with his crew periodically when he wasn’t at the office. Sometimes he’d choose to work alongside them, and other times, he’d hang low and observe. It gave him security that he’d hired the best of the best, that none of his employees were cutting corners… and it gave him time to think.
Sometimes, too much goddamn time led to too much goddamn thinking.
Undetectable in his dark clothing, he leaned back against the trunk of an old pine tree, its bark scratching roughly at the back of his shirt. Crossing his arms over his chest, Billy fought to keep his mind clear and focused as he narrowed his eyes at the faraway glow of artificial light through the fog. In the quiet stillness of early morning, the collective buzzing of crickets fading away to a silent reprieve just before the birds started their dawn chorus, he was alone with his thoughts. There was no one there to ask or pry, and so Billy conceded to allow his mind to wander. Still gazing toward the vacation cabin shrouded in a dismal grey, the thought tucked away in the faraway corners of his mind crept into the forefront. Billy wondered if he could ever live a life likened to the dawn.
He wondered if he could settle into a life where he had the leisure to sit outside with a cup of black coffee and watch the sun rise, not while on alert in the desert or going through his morning routine— just being. He wondered if he could ever be suited for so-called “normalcy”— a life where the only things dying were flowers on the table or the last burning embers of a fire.
The thought was cut off by the realization that he would never live a Norman Rockwell Americana life— he couldn’t. There was no chance. He was stuck in the life he was blackmailed into, one that was stained by blood and death. There was no room in that for frills like second thoughts or regret.
The first calls of birdsong brought him back to the present, and he pushed his weight from the trunk of the towering pine, straightening his posture. He rolled his shoulders back and tilted his head to the left, then the right. The satisfying cracking of his neck was reminiscent of the sound of a neck snapping before life was cut off by death. There was only the absence of the weight of a corpse thudding onto flooring separating one sound from the other.
Lifting his chin, Billy began his short trek back to clear land, leaving behind him the droplets of dew and scent of molded earth along with the idea of a life he would never live. Yet as he walked, fallen, dead leaves underfoot, Billy once again reconciled with the fact that he needed the life he’d ultimately made for himself. He needed that life as much as it needed him.
If you would like to be added to/removed from my tag list, just send me an ask. As always, thank you for reading!
Billy’s hands rose to his face and he pressed a finger over each of his closed eyelids. He stayed that way for long enough for you to notice that his fingernails were no longer pristine and perfectly manicured. His hands almost looked foreign, the hands of a stranger who had been battered and broken; hands that shook as they held an M40 rifle, deafened by the atrocities of war; hands that had, at one time, ran over every inch of your body and resulted in you screaming his name. Those hands rubbed down his scar-ridden cheeks, one falling to his thigh as the other ran over his mouth and chin, bringing your attention to his goatee. Your brows furrowed as the realization hit you— he was unable to grow a beard, not with those deep, puckered wounds that disfigured his face.
He claimed to remember nothing, to be void of any memory over a span of years; Billy thought he was still a Marine, which meant Billy would remember you. You’d known him before his first tour. Just before he left for training, you told him you loved him for the first time of many. He’d never once said it back. Now he was begging for answers, for any shard of information he could grasp onto in hopes he could remember something— anything.
And there you stood, his voice thick with an accent you hadn’t heard so pronounced since beforeechoing in your head: “Why do you love me?”
You sank down into the chair across from Billy and searched for any remnants of his former face. Even his eyes were completely different. They were haunted, yet hungry with the desperation of hope.
“Why do I love you?” You echoed his question and shrugged your shoulders. “I recanted those words when I learned what you did to Frank and his family. You don’t remember, but I do.” You stood back up again, walking to the door. You opened it to let him out. “Why do I love you?” There was a hint of a smile tugging at your lips though you tried to keep it at bay. “I don’t.” You gestured to the door. “Take care, Billy.”
Here, finally, months later is my first fulfilled request from my 200 followers event. 2020 was a shitshow, and my writing fell off the radar, but one of my goals for this year is to get back on track. @the-blind-assassin-12 requested season 1 Billy Russo and image 3 and I hope you all like what I did with it!
Rating:R
Trigger warnings: mentions of weapons and violence
If you’d like to be added to/removed from my tag list, please send me an ask.
Thanks for reading!
The phone rings, and it’s the last person you expect… the last person you expect, but a voice you’ll never forget.
“Get out now.”
His voice is hushed but firm, and you can tell he’s speaking through gritted teeth, his jaw flexing. Your heartbeat becomes erratic, and you aren’t sure if it’s a response to hearing his voice or the message he was delivering.
“Billy?”
His voice becomes lower and his New York accent grows stronger in his irritation. his urgency. He speaks your name. “I’m not fuckin’ around here. Get out now. Don’t bring anything with you. There’s a car waitin’.”
With one click, the phone line goes dead.
******
Billy Russo knew the ins and outs of New York City. He knew his way around every borough, the glitz of midtown and the gritty, hidden back alleys of Hell’s Kitchen and Dumbo. He knew where to find a lone pay phone still in working order, desolate and abandoned in areas tucked into shadows, waiting like the bums with hallowed eyes and blood-stained blades. Waiting for the next high, for the bitter, copper taste of blood, conditioned to the unmistakable stench of death. For the adrenaline rush and the power that came with a knife sinking into flesh.
Dressed in all black, he was on Ninth Avenue in Hell’s Kitchen. Many people knew of William Russo, founder and CEO—successful, filthy rich, surrounded by women— one of New York’s elite. What they didn’t know was what was stealthily obscured behind that facade. Billy was a dangerous man, one to be feared. His hands were stained with blood, no matter how scrubbed clean they may be, no matter how perfectly manicured. He was an ex-Marine who was still just as lethal on homeland soil. He was impossible to spot, silent, cat-like, always looking, attacking silently, like a feral animal in the night.
Hyper aware of his surroundings, he strode with an air of confidence and sense of purpose, only stepping onto the filthy sidewalk when he spotted the payphone he was aiming for. Would it be easier to use his personal smartphone? Absolutely. But Billy Russo knew the kind of man William Rawlins was, and the man would have his line tapped. His orders were not to be ignored.
Billy was in hot shit, and so were you. You were the reason He was where he was at this point, standing in front of a payphone in a shitty part of the city—but only halfway. The other half is the reason that Rawlins wanted your head, and Billy refused to kill you.
You knew too much. Soldiers you’d worked with had ties to Anvil. It was through his company that you’d met Billy Russo. You learned too much about what went on behind the scenes, from those who were hand-picked by Billy for reasons quite different than simply contracting private military affairs. You knew things others didn’t, and the bottom line was that you and Billy had formed an alliance. You carefully chose the men he’d need for unofficial business. Billy paid you generously, with money and no-strings-attached sex. And someone had found out and snitched.
By the time he made it to the pay phone, Billy was wide eyed with adrenaline, his chilled jaw clenched with determination. His demeanor was cool and calm; he’d perfected the art of never showing outwardly that he felt unsure, if something may be in jeopardy. One hand reaching for his pocket, he palmed two coins, sliding one after the other into the slot above the receiver. The dial tone blared into his ear. He made the call. And just after his message was delivered and the call was done, a shot rang out.
The deafening sound was followed by a quick flick of Billy’s wrist, the soft clicking of a blade almost discernible in the wake of a bullet’s explosion. He could smell gunpowder. It reminded him of war, both back in Kandahar and here at home, in the streets of New York.
Billy tuned from the payphone, eyes darting around his surroundings. He knew he wasn’t alone, but he also knew he had multiple weapons on his person. He knew he had the advantage of military experience. He knew how to duck into shadows, flatten himself against a building, move quickly and silently.
No, Billy wasn’t alone, but you were. He walked the block and turned right, long legs carrying him swiftly as he walked east, heading for the location he’d chosen for safety.
When he walked inside, you couldn’t believe Billy’s cool demeanor. He exuded confidence and calm, total control and authority, but there was an air of exhilaration about him. His dark eyes met yours for a brief moment. Reaching into the back of his jeans, he pulled out a handgun, setting it down on the one small table in the room. Rolling his neck, tilted his head side-to-side and shrugged his right shoulder. It ached.
He said your name, sank down onto the hard, straight-backed chair across from yours. A trace of a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. “Which one of your men is the snitch?” His eyes were burning into yours. “I’ve got an arsenal of weaponry, the choice is yours.”
Your smirk matched his as you leaned back in your chair. “A snitch should be silenced, Russo.”
He chuckled in response. The irony was rich. Not only had Rawlins instructed Billy to kill you, but suggested he slit your throat. Flicking his wrist again, he examined the gleaming blade front and back. He had a job to take care of, and on his own terms. Tonight, however, had been taken care of, successfully so, and with one more movement of his wrist, the blade was gone.
This S2 Billy Russo fic was, for all intents and purposes, planned (albeit roughly) to be a New Years’ Eve drabble, simple and maybe a touch angsty and done at about 600 words. The only things that stayed the way I planned? This is S2 Billy Russo, and it takes place on NYE. This one grew a mind of its own, and i’m about 99.5% sure it’s going to turn into an all-out series. There is most certainly angst and a lot more to come. Sorry (but only a little).
This was written by a drabble request from @leannecodes for Billy Russo x reader, with the theme of a guilty kiss (hence the terribly generic titles– not my strong suit!). The end result is more of a shorter one-shot, just under a thousand words, as tends to happen with me. I hope everyone enjoys, and thanks for reading!
If you’d like to be added to/removed from my tag list, just shoot me an ask!
The adrenaline rush was finally starting to taper off, and the inevitable fatigue was on the rise. All Billy wanted to do was shower and sleep, but then, there was you. The slightest shadow of a smile tugged at his lips, yet it vanished just as quickly as it had appeared. He was late, by just over 18 hours.. and he’d never called. That’s gonna be the goddamn issue.
Your apartment was closer to the airport than his penthouse, so it was your address he gave the driver. He’d shower and sleep there, maybe with a little fun sandwiched between the two. He’d missed the flushed warmth of your skin, the way your lips parted when you moaned as he took in the sight of you from the space between your thighs as he tasted you.
Billy didn’t allow himself to think about it much, but you were more than just a guaranteed, occasional fuck. There was something about you that kept him coming back for more, and not always for his own personal gain. Billy cared about your safety, and he’d do whatever he had to to ensure that you’d never be in danger. It would have nothing to do with Rawlins, with Anvil, with anything that Billy would do because he had to.Would that make it better, Russo, or worse? He never had an answer to that question and if things went his way, he’d never need to figure it out.
The ride to your apartment was short, the traffic flowing easily due to the hour. Just fifteen minutes and having paid the driver and giving a generous tip, he hoisted one bag over his shoulder and carried the other in his hand. Standing outside your door, he set his bag down long enough to shoot a quick text: Not in the mood for breaking and entering. And Billy waited. Sliding his phone into his back pocket, he lifted his bag again and heard the unlocking of the chain lock, then the deadbolt.
You opened the door to see Billy looking immaculate, his suit not at all rumpled from his flight, not a hair out of place. Keeping your face as expressionless as possible, you looked at him for a long moment. Part of you wanted to hug him for as long as he let you, and the rest of you wanted to slam the door in his face and lock it behind you. You may have been torn in how to react, but you know that your eyes gave you away– you hated to admit it, but you knew– and so you relented, but without a word, pulling the door open wide.
Billy walked inside and closed your door behind him. You breezed past him afterward to re-lock both locks and heard rustling behind you, Billy freeing himself of his bags. You took a moment, making an effort to calm yourself down, but now that Billy was here– finally here– you were livid.
“What the fuck, Billy?” You turned to him with fire in your eyes. For almost 24 hours, you’d been close to physically ill with worry. “You couldn’t just call? You couldn’t have let me know you’d be late, that you weren’t dead?” You knew better than to ask about any details regarding his work; you didn’t want to know. You knew enough, you knew his hands were dirty, and that was as far as you had the desire to involve yourself with that aspect of his life.
Billy had moved to take off his perfectly-fitted suit jacket, but paused instead, and turned to face you. With a sudden flick of his wrist and a soft click, a blade appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and you gasped in shock. “I’m always prepared, Y/N. You don’t need to worry about me.”
Freezing for a moment, the only things moving were your eyes, moving back and forth between the blade and Billy’s face before he flicked his wrist one more time to retract the knife. Finally, he removed his suit jacket, disabling the spring blade, and loosened his tie. He expected to turn around to catch an amused, yet impressed smirk gracing your delicious lips. Instead, you shook your head. “Billy.”
He stood in front of you with just two long strides, not making a sound despite the designer shoes he wore. Lifting your chin upward with his thumb and index finger, he didn’t hesitate meeting you halfway for a kiss. A part of him did feel a touch of guilt for having you worry, but that feeling quickly left. He knew he could make you forget about it entirely. He pressed his lips to yours without any pretense and with urgency. Hands reaching up to cup your cheeks, he coaxed your mouth open with his tongue, tangling his with your own as you obliged, and when he pulled back, you were breathless.
Your chest seized as you attempted to catch your breath. “Russo–”
“Former Lieutenant Russo.” He interrupted you with a smirk. “Scout sniper, Special Forces Marine.”
You turned away from him then, taking a few steps just to turn and face him. “Lieutenant Russo.” You corrected yourself and reached forward to grab the end of his expensive tie, turning again and leading him down the corridor. “You’re not off the hook yet. But it’s your lucky day– I’m going to let you make it up to me.”
You weren’t sure where to buy your new work clothes with the money Billy had given you, but you settled on a store on the high street that you’d never looked at before, knowing you couldn’t afford it. You felt like an imposter stepping inside but you held your chin high.
Leafing through the racks, you had absolutely no idea what to choose. You didn’t want to waste the money and there were so many options to choose from.
“Do you need some assistance?” One of the employees asked - bright and chipper.
Staff are a lot more helpful when they know you have money, you thought to yourself.
“Yes please.” You needed help in making sure you chose the perfect outfits.
She moved through the clothes racks much faster than you, already having an idea of what might suit you. You shared your like or dislike of each piece she picked out and she started to figure out the sort of things you liked, the collection of clothes slowly growing in her hand.
After you’d done a complete circuit of the store, she hung up the clothes in a changing room and left you to it.
The first outfit was absolutely perfect. You’d never owned a pencil skirt that fit you so well. It hugged and accentuated your curves and then fanned out into a miniature fishtail. Equally, your shirt, dyed in your favourite colour, was beautifully tailored and made of such fine silk it almost felt as if you were wearing nothing at all.
Paired with some black heels, the outfit brought you a small sense of confidence when you walked into Anvil headquarters, confidence you don’t think you could have mustered otherwise.
“I’m here for my first day.” You explained to the receptionist. “I’m Billy Russo’s PA?”
Devoid of emotion, she handed you a key card and explained the directions to his office.
“Thank you.” You took the card from her and made your way to the elevator.
You tried to ignore it, but your heart was pounding as you rose to the top floor. Starting a new job was always nerve wracking. Not to mention a job you were severely underqualified for, with a boss who was clearly handcrafted by the Gods.
The elevator dinged and you had half a mind to punch the button that would take you back to the ground floor. No. You’ve got this. You swallowed down your anxieties and stepped outside. Your heels clacked with feigned conviction as you follow the receptionist’s instructions to Billy’s office.
A smile beamed across Billy’s face as you pushed open the door and it immediately put you at ease. You couldn’t help but blush as you caught his eyes dart across your frame, taking in your new outfit.
“Y/N, it’s lovely to see you. I love what you picked out.”
“Thank you. And thanks for the help with the money.”
“Don’t mention it.”
His smile seemed to grow brighter the more he looked at you.
He spoke, “Well I got you a coffee. I’m not sure what you like so I went with an Americano, I hope that’s okay.”
He picked one of the coffee cups up from the desk and held it out for you.
“Thanks, but… isn’t it supposed to be my job to get youcoffee?”
“Right, yes, but it’s your first day and I wanted to get you this.”
It was just a coffee, but you’d never known a man to go out of his way to treat you right before. You must be dreaming.
“That’s so incredibly thoughtful. Thank you.” You took the cup from him. “But I’ll get the coffee next time.”
He reached into his pocket, “Here, you can use this card to pay for all company expenses. You can buy yourself a coffee with it too, and whatever else you fancy.”
“Thank you.” You wondered just how many times you were going to say those words around this man.
His kindness made you feel warm and special, something you hadn’t felt much of. It was a strange feeling to receive so much of this thing that had been largely non-existent in your life. It made you uncomfortable, scared that one day his kindness would tire and your bank of ‘thank you’s would dry up. And so you savoured every ‘thank you’ you could give back to him, memorising each one so you could treasure it later when this would inevitably end up how it always does: you, sad and alone.
***
You grew more comfortable as time went on. You worked hard, harder than you had in any other job before, and you grew to feel like you earned your place there.
And yet this was the least tiring job you’d had before. The work was the perfect level of challenging, which was somehow rejuvenating compared to mindlessly making coffee orders all day, getting yelled at by customers and paid barely enough to survive. Truth be told, the pay check still made you uncomfortable and you had doubts that it was real until your first payment.
You’d stared at your bank account for a good few minutes when your wage had come through, unable to process the reality of those digits. You weren’t too sure what to do with the money. You spent it on some more work outfits, along with some outfits just for yourself. But for the most part, you used it to start paying off your loans. And you found that the weight on your shoulders lightened.
Your mornings remained the highlight of your day. You were a giddy schoolgirl every time you brought Billy a coffee. Always, you would linger, trying to find some ridiculous thing to say just to spend more time with him. He always made it easy for you, calming your nerves and being charming as always.
You had to admit that only made things harder. It was difficult to stop thinking about him during the workday. You’d hoped it would get easier as time went on, but the opposite seemed to be true. You found yourself pressing your thighs together while you worked, imagining him ordering you to get on your knees to suck him off while he took work calls, him bending you over his desk and fucking you so hard that all his documents scatter to the floor.
Your thoughts were interrupted by a large, warm hand squeezing your shoulder from behind. Billy. His touch was bliss and you had to concentrate all your efforts on not groaning.
“How are you getting on?” He asked.
“Good! Things are good.” You blushed when you realised how eager you were sounding.
He chuckled. “Well that’s great, I’m glad to hear it. I just came to say that there’s a dinner party this weekend, a networking event for different corporations to get together. It’s quite an important event for making connections.”
“Okay.” You picked up your pen and paper, ready to take down notes of everything he would need for the event.
“I was wondering if you would be my plus one?”
You almost dropped your pen.
“Me?” You stammered. “It’s a dinner party, shouldn’t you be bringing a girlfriend or something?”
“Well it’s a corporate event and I can think of no one who knows this company better than you.”
Your blush deepened.
He continued, “And I don’t have a girlfriend.”
Your heart started to go wild with the possibility. But it would be so inappropriate to date your boss. And he would never reciprocate your feelings. You would just let your dreams remain as they were, dreams and nothing more.
“Don’t worry about what to wear, I’ll pick something out for you.”
You were going to protest that you had more than enough money to buy your own outfit, or to tell him that he didn’t know your size. But before you could say anything, his hand was squeezing your shoulder again and he was off, leaving you alone, with his warmth on your skin, quickly fading. Closing your eyes, you pressed your hand to where his hand had been.
You needed more. And you would wither away without it. But he was your boss… So withering it would be.
Midnight struck while you and Billy were leant over the sitting room table scanning over the case files.
Time was running out. There was only one day left on the ship. It was obvious the terrorists would attack tomorrow but all other questions remained a mystery. Nothing was coming to your mind besides thoughts of the captain. You took a sip of your cocoa.
You’d offered to make Billy one, but he’d declined. You knew business shouldn’t be fun, especially not when you have a job of such grave importance. But you couldn’t help from wishing you’d been given a better partner. Someone you could stay up late with, who would share your cocoa, maybe even have a bit of a laugh with. Time passed a lot slower with Billy and his deathly silence. You were sick of it, you needed to do something.
“We need to break into the bridge, see if the captain’s hiding anything of use.” You suggested.
It would be risky. No matter how late you decided to go, there would always be the risk of someone who couldn’t sleep going for a late-night stroll.
“Okay. We’ll go at 2am.”
You hadn’t expected him to agree so easily. He must have been as clueless as you. You were really starting to doubt your boss’ trust in the two of you. You had under 48 hours to prove her wrong.
***
It was almost peaceful as you both snuck out at night, dressed in black. It seemed to be just the two of you and the gentle crash of the waves against the boat.
No one was around, likely tired by the events of the cruise. You had to admit you were feeling quite exhausted too. But you’d trained yourself to ignore it when your limbs begged for sleep. That didn’t stop you thinking of the bed back in your room, you’d never felt such a comfortable mattress before. Maybe it was the calm rocking of the boat. Or maybe it would because of the heat radiating from the man next to you.
You needed to get your head in the game. Saving the senator would feel a million times better than crawling back into bed with Billy.
Wouldn’t it?
“Ladies first.” He gestured to the door to the bridge.
You glanced into the glass room. Something felt off. You assured yourself it was the eerie orange glow of the control panel buttons, swallowed up by the darkness of the rest of the room.
The door, as you’d guessed, was locked. You knelt down and pulled out your lockpick kit. It was no secret you were the best of all the agents at lockpicking.
It wasn’t too difficult of a lock, and it didn’t take too much time until you heard all the cylinders clicking into place.
You pushed the door open, and you both turned on your flashlights to explore the room, searching all the draws and cabinets. Your muscles wound tighter and tighter as you kept finding nothing of use. You were so vulnerable in that glass room. Someone could spot you snooping around from miles away. You didn’t say anything to Billy, but the urgency of the situation was evident.
Beneath the control panel, you found a locked draw. Knowing it would be faster to pick the lock than search for the key, you got on your knees again. There had to be something of importance inside there. This one was a lot harder than the door. It was small and fiddly, and it was hard to hear what you were doing over the loud electrical thrum of the control panel.
Click click click. You were halfway there.
An arm encircled your neck, pulling you into a headlock. You went to cry out, but the other hand closed over your mouth, and you were hauled up to standing. You turned to face Billy, who was trapped in the same situation. Standing in the doorway was the captain himself, a silencer trained on Billy.
A hundred different ways of getting out of this headlock flew through your brain but all of them ended with Billy getting shot. You tried to swallow down your panic, instead remaining alert and ready to act, eyes flicking between all the threats.
The captain spoke, “Now I’m going to ask you a few questions. If you scream, I won’t hesitate to shoot you.”
Neither you nor Billy made any noise of protest, and the hands were slowly removed from your mouths. You both shared a moment of eye contact, but you couldn’t decipher any emotion from those dark eyes you’d grown familiar with over the past few days.
“Who are you working for?” The captain asked.
When no one replied, the captain stepped closer to Billy, holding the gun closer to his chest.
“Who are you working for?” He asked again.
You weren’t as skilled as Billy in combat, and you looked to him desperately hoping he knew a way to get out of this.
The captain threatened “I’m not going to ask you again, who-”
He was cut off as the walkie talkie on his hip came to life. “Pirate, do you copy? You’re needed to set up for the main event.”
The captain sighed and lowered his gun. Billy’s eyes sparkled. This was his opportunity.
The captain ordered his goons. “We don’t have time to deal with them right now. Put them away for now and we’ll handle this later.”
Billy gripped the arm around his neck and was about to bend down to throw his assailant over his head. But he froze when he noticed the goon holding you pull out a gun and press it to your temple.
This time it was easy to decipher the emotion in Billy’s eyes: fear. It was the most scared you’d ever seen him.
The captain swung the butt of his gun against Billy’s head, and you let out a cry as his eyes closed and he fell limp in the goon’s arms. Your cry was cut short as the other goon mimicked the action on you. There was a loud whack. And then darkness.
***
Darkness remained even after opening your eyes.
You tried to decipher where you were, remaining as quiet and still as possible. You were sitting on the floor, with your knees to your chest. Rope bound your wrists behind your back and your ankles in front of you, and duct tape had been secured over your mouth. You figured the captain and his goons had gone to deal with whatever he’d been radioed about, but he would be back later. Likely to kill you.
Cautiously, you felt around your surroundings, moving your hands around to see what you could find. You felt warm skin and you let out a muffled noise of surprise. The person you’d touched returned a muffled noise back at you, in a much lower register. Billy.
You were flooded with relief to know you were with Billy and you hated yourself for it. But now was not the time to dwell on that. You needed to get out of this.
You pushed yourself up to standing and was met by clothes wafting against your face. You must have been shoved into the closet with the captain’s uniforms. It was such a small space, and it was difficult to keep your balance with your ankles tied, but you managed to shift over to the other side, albeit stepping on Billy’s toes.
You leaned forwards, and your hands felt for Billy’s face as you grabbed the side of the tape and tore it from his mouth. He breathed a sigh of relief.
You crouched lower, sitting in his lap in the most awkward position as you reached around his back to grab his wrists. You weren’t particularly practised in sailor’s knots, and it was made more difficult by the sweat lining your fingers, but you eventually managed to free his hands.
You collapsed off to the side of him and he rustled around to untie his ankles. Then his large hands were feeling your face before peeling off the tape. His hands went to your wrists, working out the knots with a gentleness you really hadn’t expected from him. He even attended to your ankles for you before sitting back down.
“Thank you.” You whispered, rubbing the sore lump on the back of your head with your newly freed hands. “What are we going to do?”
“We wait.”
“What?”
“We wait for them to come back. It shouldn’t be too long. They wouldn’t leave us tied up together and unsupervised unless they didn’t think they’d be back soon enough to finish us off.”
“What do we do when they come back?”
“We fight. We’ll have the upper hand this time.”
“They have guns.”
“So we have to be faster.”
That didn’t work out several minutes ago… But you hadn’t been prepared then, you supposed. Even still, you were doubting more and more the faith that your boss placed in you. Maybe Billy should have gone with someone else after all.
“I’m not cut out for this.” You said, barely even a whisper.
“What?”
“Being an agent. I thought I was really good but you’re so much better than me in every way. You’re so much better at fighting and coming up with plans. Heck, you’re even a better dancer than me.”
He let out a small chuckle. “That’s how I feel about you.”
“No it isn’t.”
“It is. You stay calm under pressure, you’re good at blending into your surroundings, and I’ve never seen someone with such quick reactions.”
You supposed he had a point. You hadn’t even realised these things about yourself before working for the CIA. You’d developed so many skills here. You guess that meant there was the possibility of developing other skills too. You just hoped you had enough skills to survive this.
You found yourself saying, “Promise me we’ll get out of this.”
“I don’t need to promise. I know we’ll make it out of here. But…”
His hand found yours, fingers curling tightly around your own. It made your heart flutter.
“…I promise.”
Footsteps approached and the two of you were on your feet in seconds, knees bent and ready to pounce.
You could distinguish two pairs of footsteps. The goons. Quickly approaching.
As if you’d planned it, you and Billy threw the closet door open and jumped on the goons before they could process what was happening.
Thinking quickly, you kicked the gun out of the goon’s hands. The other goon saw what you did and kept a tight hold of his gun, raising it at Billy with no hesitation to shoot. Billy lunged forwards and gripped the goon’s arms, grappling for the gun.
You jumped on your goon, trying to knock him to the ground but you weren’t heavy enough. Instead, he grabbed you and threw you down onto the floor. Your head hit the ground, causing the pain in your head to flare up even worse. The man crawled over to grab his gun while you were dizzied. But you had to fight through it. You and Billy had to get out of here.
You kicked him in the side of his chest as hard as you could, toppling him over. Quickly, you pulled yourself up and sat on top of him to stop him from getting up again. You were able to reach over and grab the gun, but that made you vulnerable to him flipping you over so that he was on top. Your heart was racing faster than you could keep up with.
While he was busy pinning you down, you raised your arms above your head, keeping a firm grip on the gun, and brought your hands up, cracking him hard on the skull. It made such a satisfying noise.
He collapsed his full weight on top of you, completely unconscious, but you managed to roll him off.
Instantly, you were on your feet, gun trained at the other goon. Similarly, Billy had managed to unarm him but now they were both twisting and turning on the floor, fighting each other for the upper hand. This goon was much bigger than Billy, yet he was putting up an impressive fight. And you had a strange feeling that Billy was holding back.
You’d heard from others that he was cruel fighter with no mercy. You’d thought he was a psychopath. But he had shown you small glimmers of affection, and you wondered if he was now afraid to let you see the other side of him.
Finally, Billy came out on top, pinning the man to the ground with one arm on his chest and his forearm against the man’s neck. You were about to hand him the gun so he could knock the goon out. But he raised his fist, and with his teeth bared, he punched the man square in the nose, brutal enough to knock him out instantly. If you’d thought the gun against the goon’s skull had been a satisfying noise… This man would need all types of surgery to get his nose to ever look the same again.
When Billy turned to look at you, you caught a glimpse of it, his eyes were smiling with sadistic glee. It was gone as fast as it came, replaced by concern as he shot to his feet and looked you up and down.
“Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m fine.”
You must have been knocked out for longer than you’d thought because the sky was getting brighter, illuminating the bridge and the deck below.
Billy hastened to grab the rope from the closet. “We need to hurry.”
He quickly tugged the rope around the goon’s limbs.
While he did that, you returned to the locked draw beneath the control panel.
A few more clicks and it was open.
You pulled the draw open to find several sheets of paper. Holding the first one closer to the light, your brows furrowed.
Billy came to peer over your shoulder.
“It’s the layout of the ballroom.” He pointed out – puzzled.
Suddenly, you pictured yourself on the first day of the cruise, reading through the brochure. Yoga, dancing, massages, a grand gala.
And then you recalled what you’d heard over the captain’s radio: “It’s the main event.”
