#my mum and I determined that I would be brave and dignified so my death would be a symbol of resistance

[basingstokemercury]

okay

wow

that was a messed up dream

and I say as a perennial weird-dream-haver

might need to lay off mikado and yeomen for a while?

[scribeofmorpheus]

Dangerous Liaisons (Billy Russo x Reader)

A/N: So this has been in my drafts for a few weeks. My other fics took priority and I completely forgot about it, I was also afraid it might be too serious in tone to open with. Of all my current fics, this one is definitely the most mature themed and the most sinful.

Words: 3517

Warnings: Mature Language, Unstable family dynamic, mentions of death, Eventual NSFW (not in this chapter though).

(Gif not mine)

You sat by the far end of the cocktail bar. All your father's prestigious guests drowned out by the string quartet you had personally booked for the evening.

The large chandelier gave the room a relaxed, yet slightly intimidating ambience, it hung high and glimmered brightly like some classist mantelpiece, meant to appease those of a similar standing and intimidate those of a lower class.

The entire evening had been an exhausting recital of eloquently spoken words and half-hearted compliments, drowning yourself in your third martini didn't seem to alleviate the stress.

You let out a sigh as your finger languidly played with the brim of your glass. Ever so often bringing that same finger to your mouth when it was coated in an ample amount of salt.

"Careful, if you manage to look anymore disheartened you may need someone to save you from drowning in that glass." A husky voice emanated from beside you. It had that familiar tone of confidence you'd heard from many of the men your father worked with, except where most sounded entitled, his had a hint of cockiness to it.

"And are you offering to be ever the gallant hero and save me from such a depressing fate?" You kept your eyes on your drink, grabbing an olive and popping it in your mouth.

"No. I'd probably join you. This kind of crowd can be a little--"

"Pretentious?" You interrupted him. Eyes still on your drink.

"I was going to go with, suffocating." His voice was hauntingly smooth, it reminded you of a smooth glass of bourbon. Full bodied, strong, with just a hint of honey and a hell of a smoky aftertaste. In short, it was intoxicating. Keeping your composure may be harder than you anticipated.

You looked in his direction, extended your hand and met the dark, mysterious eyes of the man you'd been waiting all night for.

His breath-taking features living up to every expectation from all the whispers that were associated with it. His lips curved in the most seductive smirk you'd ever seen.

Fuck!

Despite being obviously unarmed and dressed in a flattering tailored suit, you could tell this man was nothing short of a bad habit waiting to be picked up.

"Y/N"

He took your hand and brought it to his lips. His painfully tempting lips.

"Billy, Billy Russo. A Pleasure."

"The pleasure is all mine," Your voice came off a little sultrier than you had intended. Damn, shitty alcohol tolerance.

Bait, meet hook.

***

Several Months Earlier

Coming back home had been more painful than you'd ever imagined it would be. Your father had driven you away with his demanding presence and controlling ego after he had pulled a few not-so-legal strings to get you transferred from your post in Juarez. He had never tried to hide his disdain for your job as a military prosecutor. In some ways, he saw it as a betrayal. After all, yours was a family business rooted in the military.

"Military is our family and our business is a family business," he would always say whenever pitching one of his military defence contracts to his lavish guests he'd serenade with expensive booze, Cuban cigars and the feeling of exclusivity as they earned an invitation to one of his famous parties.

It's the same line he used on you when he found out you had been building a case against one of your superior officers stationed at Fort Bliss while investigating a rumour about mishandling of drugs.

The same line he used again when you called him in a furious rage about getting your case dismissed before you even brought it forward and being handed a transfer slip to a much more docile base in the ass-end of nowhere.

In his own, fucked up way, he thought he was protecting you, but to you, all you saw was a man protecting his reputation as a veteran, family man and savvy businessman.

It drove you so mad you gave up your military career to spite him and used your expensive law degree to work in a large office of one of the Rand Enterprise overseas branches in Hong Kong.

Officially you were a dignified lawyer, unofficially you were slowly suffocating in meaningless paperwork and a job that made you feel like a glorified fight club mediator where the opponents fought with words instead of fists and K.O's were determined with legal compromises and buyouts instead of being knocked unconscious on a sparing mat. And despite how much you loathed your dead-end job and pencil skirts, you hated giving your father the satisfaction of being right about the military being your family business.

But none of that mattered when you got the news about your younger brother. You took the first flight home, and in place of your brother you were greeted by a 6-foot wooden box.

During the funeral, his commanding officer had used words like 'Honourable', 'Brave' and 'Sacrifice'. As though throwing those words at you while you stood by his grave, painfully aware of his absence, would magically make things better.

Add to that the insult of being offered a velvet box with a cheap medal in substitute for his presence made you want to scream from rage. But ever the image of composure, you bit your tongue so hard it bled to keep from telling everyone to fuck off and leave you to grieve in peace. Instead, you held your mother steady and stared daggers at the stupid velvet box she clutched so tight her knuckles turned pale and caressed her hair as her tears soaked through your long-sleeved dress.

Your father was his cold, expressionless self. A silent spectator in black, like a ghost. Afterwards, the two of you had exchanged spiteful words. Yours came out shrill and croaked, the effect of the tears you could no longer hold at bay.

Your fathers had been stoic, firm and distant.

~

"You’re the reason Henry left, it's your fault he's… d-dead."

Your words were harsh, meant to hurt, yet when you finished laying blame you realised it still felt foreign, the fact Henry was gone. He would never make another cup of weak coffee for you, and you would never be able to tease him about it. It caused a sickening feeling to burrow deep in your stomach, it felt like an invisible wound was forming. You feared it would never heal.

Your father sat in his large leather office chair, whiskey in hand, ailed with the deadest eyes you'd ever seen on a person. They were glued to the heart-wrenching family photograph on his desk. It was all fake smiles and polished appearances. It was another cheap medal, one he could place on display for prying eyes. You wanted to throw that fucking photograph into the fire, you'd throw that little velvet box too if your mother hadn't fallen asleep clutching it in a death grip against her chest.

He didn't bother to look your way, knowing he would simply fuel the fire inside you further. He simply took a swig of the brown liquid, emptying the glass of its contents.

"Your brother left because he was a patriot." Your father’s voice fell flat.

"Bullshit!" Your voice thundered at the audacity of your father using the same empty word that was uttered at your brother’s funeral, "He left because that was the only way he thought he could earn your affection."

You waited for your father to bite back, to run to his own defence. He didn't.

"You neglected him. Always pointing out your differences in disappointment, making him wish he was like you. Even when you were proud of him, you never gave him the validation he sought. He left to try and live up to your legacy. He left because he thought it would make you happy."

You had no energy left in you to shout anymore. To be honest, you could hardly recognise your own voice, it was almost as though someone else had taken over your voice and the words that travelled with it. Except the voice was still your own. It felt like someone had opened a spill-way and all the repressed emotions you had harboured over the years finally flowed free.

You sniffled, whipping away the tears that refused to stop, "I had the unfortunate side benefit of inheriting mums face, and because of that you always treated me like some innocent flower you had to protect from the world. And you got so good at it too, you didn't realise when protect had changed to control until you drove me away. And now... now, you've driven Henry away too. Only this time, the prodigal son is NEVER coming back."

With that, you turned and walked out of your father’s office, clutching your arms as though you were shielding yourself from the cold. You heard the sound of glass shattering as you ascended the stairs of the mansion you never once considered home.

~

The memory has etched itself into your brain.

On good days you thought you had told him what he needed to hear. What you needed to get off your chest. On bad days you reprimanded yourself for being so harsh.

The next day you had every intention of getting back on a plane and returning to the life you forged out of spite, however, your mother had convinced you to stay. She had seemed so weak and fragile, like a cracked vase that could be demolished by a single gust of wind.

You knew your leaving was that gust of wind and your staying was the glue she needed to keep intact, so you stayed. And when weeks turned to months you decided to pull a few expensive favours to trade in your old position at Rand Enterprises in China for Rand Enterprises in New York.

Working for the Meachum's was like trying to navigate a minefield while blindfolded, although you were almost certain your chances of surviving that particular impossible task would be far easier than having to deal with Ward Meachum's sleazy attempts at flirting. The guy was about as smooth as tar -which was to say, not smooth at all.

Things seemed to get easier as you slowly built a routine and constantly avoided having to deal with the problems that awaited you at home. One day you had decided to avoid going home altogether by renting an apartment in the city. Close enough to your mother to keep her from constantly worrying and far enough from your father to keep you from his sphere of influence. Fate, on the other hand, had something different planned for you.

Like all the New Yorkers at the time, you had found yourself drawn to events surrounding the sudden emergence of Hells Kitchen's newest menace: The Punisher. The civilian in you saw what the media wanted you to see: the violence, the ruthless justice being served, the mayhem.

The former military prosecutor in you began to see a pattern forming in The Punisher's seemingly unconnected works. The gangs he targeted were specific, known for dealing in drugs and weaponry. They were rivals too, so on the outside, the Punisher's unfortunate origins had seemed just that: unfortunate. But one piece of information caught your interest. The fact a notorious drug dealer known as Blacksmith was involved.

Before your father had pulled what was to be your most ambitious case in your short-lived military prosecutor career, you had been investigating rumours of a new player emerging in the drug circuit in Juarez. His name was none other than Blacksmith.

Using your smarts and connections, you managed to discretely trace a pattern of drug shipments that coincided with army shipments to bases where heroin had surfaced in bulk in surrounding areas. When you had discovered that those military shipments were actually KIA's being returned home you were horrified. Worse yet, you discovered Henry's name was on one of the manifests of a cargo plane you previously suspected of being used in this smuggling scheme.

Telling no one out of distrust, you secretly ordered Henry's grave dug up and his body tested for any narcotic substances. The results came back positive and you were beyond infuriated. Not only had your brother’s life been cut short because of your father's inability to portray emotion, now his memory and the memory of others had been sullied by someone they risked their lives to protect. That was the moment your mission began.

Everything relied on you getting the chance to talk to someone implicated in the Blacksmith's scheme. You couldn't risk going to any government agencies because there was no way something this well organised didn't have someone in a high position of power overseeing it.

Frank Castle was your best lead since he was the only member of a covert unit that was at the brunt of everything -something you had uncovered by watching his trial on the news after Colonel Schoonover recounted the events leading to his loss of limb and Frank's heroics.

When Castle had been arrested, you had hoped you would get the chance to speak to him in jail, perhaps appeal to his moral compass to help you root out others involved, but you never got to him in time. Too much red tape and not enough powerplays left in your arsenal delayed you too much. The next thing you knew Frank Castle was dead and so was his superior officer, Ray Schoonover. Yet, this provided you with another lead. If Frank went after Ray, that meant he was somehow connected to the Castle family's massacre which was also tied to Blacksmith.

After months of pulling redacted files and dealing with a former hacktivist white-hat hacker you had blackmailed who worked in the IT department of Rand Enterprises, you managed to track down the names of one some soldiers that were under Schoonover's command and had served around the same time as Frank Castle's last tour. They're names were Gunner Henderson (who had gone off the grid), Morty Bennett (who was a high ranking military official you couldn't risk confronting) and lastly, Billy Russo, CEO of Anvil Security and the perfect candidate.

You needed to find out what he knew. So you orchestrated an event for your father's company and added him to the guest list under the guise of being scouted as a possible business partner, all while maintaining your job at Rand Enterprises to keep you from suspicion.

***

"So, Mr Russo." You drew out saying his name, "What brings you to this party?"

"Billy, please, Mr Russo sounds too formal," He waved down the bartender and ordered a glass of whiskey neat for himself and another drink for you. "I'm here on business."

"Oh?" You pretended to be surprised. "And what kind of business does a man dressed like you-" you pointed at his sharply tailored suit, "-deal in?" You took a sip of your martini.

"Private contracts mostly." He looked at you through hooded eyes as he took a sip of his own drink.

You had seen photos of him before tonight, he was handsome no doubt about it, even a blind person could tell, but his eyes were much more captivating up-close. They made your skin feel like it was on fire, there was a darkness to them that went deeper than colour, and it was almost frightening yet thrilling all at once.

"So, mercenaries?"

"I prefer the term 'Private Security', sounds less self-serving," he gave you a deep chuckle, "But I don't want to talk about myself. Why is someone as breath-taking as you sitting at a bar all alone?"

He was good, but you had prepared yourself for this possibility, with a face like that you'd be a fool to expect him to be harmless or without charm. And yet, you couldn't keep your cheeks from looking flushed or your mind from constructing inappropriate thoughts.

You raked your eyes over what you assumed was a muscular figure hidden beneath his impeccably tailored dark suit. He noticed your action and subtly licked his lips, as though he were a predator preparing to devour his prey. You were considering letting him.

"Perhaps, I was simply waiting for the right man to come to my rescue, Mr Russo." You refused to call him by his first name, an act of rebellion. An act he saw as an opening.

He leaned in close enough that you could smell the scent of whiskey on his breath, further fuelling the desire building inside you.

"Am I that man, Y/N?" His breath was warm against your cheek, making you forget for the briefest moment why you had brought him here.

You knew Billy was the kind of man who enjoyed the chase. He liked a woman who guaranteed a challenge. You decided to use that to your advantage.

"The night is young," You replied cheekily. His gaze wavered and for a moment you saw his confidence wane in the slightest.

"But... there is promise." You added to give him hope and keep him hooked.

***

You and Billy talked for hours. You were under no impressions that Billy hadn't chosen to talk to you, out of a sea of gorgeous women, because you caught his eye. You knew he had profiled you, he was probably using you to get to your father. Even though that revelation dampened your spirits a little, you reassured yourself that you too were using him. He just didn't know it yet.

The two of you drew a few heads in your direction. You chalked it up to Billy's eye-catching beauty. There were moments when you caught yourself wondering if he was real. The two of you together made quite the picture. You in your royal blue dress that hugged all your curves yet was modest enough to leave much to the imagination and Billy who looked sharp enough to cut through bone in his three-piece suit.

Your father took notice of his interest in you, and yours in him, but was too preoccupied with more important business partners. You silently praised whatever gods had favoured you tonight, you knew your father would question Billy, taking his concentration off you. More importantly, you couldn't risk Billy finding out you had added his name to the guest list and not your father.

Billy was also exceptionally good at revealing next to nothing about himself, it was like trying to draw blood from stone. It frustrated you, and not just mentally. Before you knew it, you were already at the bottom of your fifth martini. The buzz from the alcohol turned your body feverish with heat, but it also gave you liquid courage.

"Do you know what I don't understand, Mr Russo?" You trailed your tongue over your lips as his eyes bore holes into you.

"How many times do I have to tell you to call me Billy?"

"Until I stop," you batted your eyelashes at him, defying him yet again, he seemed to enjoy it. "Why is it that out of everyone in this room -a room filled with some rather important people I might add- are you spending your time talking to me?" You cocked your head to the side causing a loose curl to fall out of place.

Billy inched closer to you and caressed your jaw as he tucked the stray curl behind your eye. It was a gentle touch, one you found yourself struggling not to lean into. You tried your best to keep composed and unaffected by his touch.

"Maybe I was the one in need of saving. Lord knows I can't stand these things-" He made a circling motion with his index finger as he looked up at the chandelier hovering above, "Maybe when I saw you sitting at the bar instead of chatting up some suit, I saw someone above all this bullshit power play stuff, I saw someone who was worth talking to."

Your eyes went wide. His words had sounded so earnest you actually wanted to believe them. In what came as a surprise to you, your lips had crashed violently into his own. He jerked back slightly in surprise, but soon he was kissing you back with such hunger, such fervour, you almost moaned into his touch. His lips were soft against yours, his mouth tasting of whiskey.

When he broke the kiss, you had to place a hand on your chest and concentrate to keep your breath steady and stop the world from spinning.

"I guess you are the man I've been waiting for after all."

His lips curled into a devilish smile, his pupils dilated, "Then let me rescue you away from this place." He stood up, buttoned his suit jacket and held out his hand for you.

You knew what would happen as soon as you took his hand. At that moment, you didn't care. You clasped his hand firmly as he led you out of the room towards the two large doors that lead outside.

End of Part One

Part Two is HERE!

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