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becauseicantthinkwritings · 7 months

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Never Quite Enough

Part 5

Billy Russo x Reader

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Warnings: Angst, insomnia, more angst.

"Can I confess something to you?" Matt asks.

You look up from your phone in surprise, blinking like a deer caught in headlights. He's dressed in his crisp white shirt and suit pants, his jacket somewhere nearby.

He looks pristine, but you know you prefer his undressed look even more, the sight of his bare chest was a soothing balm on the open wound that was your life.

You wait patiently for his words.

"I think... he really likes you. Genuinely."

You let out a long sigh.

"That sounds like his problem. I am done with him." You say quickly, on a harsh breath.

"Are you?" He challenges, with a calm tone.

You swallow, honestly, you didn't know.

It's been weeks. Nearly a month and a half since you broke up with him, the same amount of time you'd been together.

Why was climbing out harder than falling in?

Something tugs in your chest, you let out a soft breath. You feel bad for letting one person comfort you for another person's actions.

"Matt." You say his name slowly, looking up at him, the space of his countertop between you.

You swallow.

"I'm sorry." You finally say.

"What for?"

"If I've- lead you on, or made you feel uncomfortable- please just tell me. I'd rather you tell me you're tired of me, than being forced to tolerate me."

He lets out a harsh breath, moves around the counter swiftly.

Before you can process it, your face is buried in his clothed chest.

He smells like the gentle lavender soap he uses, and you're too stunned to do anything other than breathe it in.

"You're not leading me on. I promise, and I'm not just tolerating you. I like you."

A little sob hiccups from your throat, the strength of his adoration pours into you, fills, overflows.

"I've been tolerated my whole life." You say into his chest, tears falling freely, "The first time I felt like I could exist was with him, and even that had been a lie." You grip the back of his shirt, sobbing into his chest.

He shushes you softly, his stubbled cheek pressed to the crown of your head.

His body tightens around you, it makes you feel worse, like you're forcing him to comfort you in some way. You cry harder.

Matt holds you through it, and when your violent shaking turns into little hiccups, he leans down to kiss your forehead, his thumb swiping at one cheek, to push your tears away.

"He's hurt you so badly, and It's up to you to decide whether that damage can be fixed or not. But you need to know that you're not tolerated, you're appreciated. By me...and by him."

"How do you know?" You protest, looking into his unfocused eyes.

"I heard him say it. To his friend, Frank, that day at the gala. I heard him tell Frank that he loves you."

You blink, drawing your head back in shock.

Love?

You sniffle, Matt's words have knocked the sadness right out of you, replacing it with surprise.

You reach for a tissue sitting on the countertop.

"That can't be right." You hum, wiping at your nose, and dabbing at your cheeks. You'd have to re-do today's makeup before work.

"His actions were awful, and the things he did do not deserve forgiveness. But his feelings now are genuine." Matt says.

Now?

Your shoulders drop.

They hadn't been genuine before?

When he'd offered you one of his shirts to sleep in, on the very first night you'd slept over, the hidden eager look in his eyes... that had been fake?

Of course it was, your mind supplies, you feel like you're sinking lower with each thought.

Like a full tub being emptied, you feel the emotion drain right out of you.

You spend a solid moment like that, in disbelief at the emotion just leaving you, rejecting Matt’s last words without another second of consideration.

You part your lips, finally sucking in a deep breath that doesn’t hurt.

Your mouth parts wider in relief.

For the first time, you feel true nothingness, and not the numbness of the refusal to process emotion that you were used to.

It's liberating, you close your eyes in bliss.

Somehow, you'd managed to turn your turbulent emotions off.

Like a switch, flipping inside you, centred around your confused feelings. Your brain doesn't know how to feel, so it stops feeling.

You know Matt wasn't the type of man to lie to you, it wasn't even in his nature to stretch the truth. He was a man that could only speak fact, and something said with this much surety could only be true.

But that didn’t mean you were capable of accepting his words. Instead you smile at him, wiping at your tears.

“I should get to work.” You respond, looking up at him with a small smile on your face.

The world around you is interesting, when you can’t feel a thing. Nothing matters, at all.

You smile at Dex easily, engaging him in conversation, a past version of you would probably be feeling absolutely hollow inside. Instead, you simply exist, only answering questions when you’re asked, smiling along to small talk.

There’s no sadness, or despair, or hate for yourself.

There’s nothing.

And nothing had to be better than everything all at once...right?

It’s peaceful now, your work gets done much faster, headphones on to help you focus, you feel like pushing yourself to see how much you’re capable of, only stopping for a few short breaks throughout the day.

It feels good, getting things done ahead of time, it makes you feel like you’re being efficient in a space you’ve only felt desolation for a long while.

You only realise how late it is when the night cleaning crew shows up.

Only then you decide to amble on home, a bowl of ramen in your arms, tucked into your couch in the dark of the night before bed.

You don’t see Matt that night, probably busy at his own job, and you’re okay with that, knowing that you shouldn’t be using him as any type of emotional crutch in the first place.

The problem comes when you try to go to sleep.

You find that you can’t, you don’t feel sleepy.

You toss and you turn and you sit up and you have tea and press the heels of your hands against your eyes and struggle with being awake when you should be asleep.

You have nothing to help you sleep, so you curl up in bed and close your eyes and pretend that you’re asleep until morning when your alarm goes off for work.

Silence and nothingness are your associates now, and however inconvenient, you prefer it to whatever was there before.

He loves you, your mind tries to interject during your morning routine, and you stop comically while brushing your teeth to stare dead ahead at yourself in the mirror.

Love… I barely know what that is, you answer.

You resume brushing your teeth.

You’re acutely aware that at some point, you’re probably going to crash. People aren’t made to be awake for long periods of time and feel this fine about it.

Being at work is pretty okay, and you don’t feel like ripping your hair out at the first inconvenience.

It’s your second day of working late, and you’re dealing with it well. You’ve put your phone on do not disturb and with your headphones in, you’re lost in your own world of report reading and analysis.

Really, you should have known that letting your guard drop would tempt fate too much. The fickle way life tended to work around you should have had your walls up permanently.

But in your exhausted state, leaning against the wall gripping your bag with one hand while waiting for the elevator, it was hard to keep any sort of defense up.

So when someone says your name in mild surprise, the only response you can give is a raise of your head.

He looks as exhausted as you feel, and you wonder if he sees something similar in you. His jacket folded neatly over one arm, phone in his palm.

“Hey Mister Russo.” You say softly in greeting, straightening to take a step into the elevator.

He doesn’t say anything for a second as the doors close.

“It’s late.” He comments, and you turn your head to glance at him.

“Yes it is.” You agree, unable to stay steady on your feet, you lean against the wall of the elevator too.

“You look tired.”

You let out a slow breath.

“I’ll live.” You answer.

“We should talk.”

You groan, tilting your head back.

“You’re making me wish I’d taken another elevator.”

“Let me drive you home.” He answers as if you hadn’t just expressed your distaste for him.

You raise your head to look at him angrily.

There were so many things you wanted to say. Leave me alone. Take a hike. I don’t want to talk to you. I’d rather chew nails that get into a car with you. Why are you looking at me like that? Do you love me?

In the end, you say nothing, and the doors to the elevators slide open, and you step out without even a goodbye.

The lobby is quiet, dimly lit, very much somber and lacking the life that there usually is during the daylight.

You only get a few steps out of the elevator before he’s blocking your path with his tall frame.

You huff, looking up at him, willing him to go away.

“Can we please talk? Please?”

You were so irritated with having to experience him and his constant persistence of you. You blink, angrily clenching your teeth together.

“Why? Why should I even give you a chance, Billy? So you can lie to me more? Hurt me more? What’s it going to take for you to realise that we’re over?”

He lets out a sharp breath.

“We have something. You know we do. There’s a voice inside you that tells you we’re right for each other. I hear it too.”

“You’re wrong,” You answer softly, “There’s no voice.”

He shakes his head.

“Don’t lie, don’t act like-” He cuts off, letting out a slow breath.

“Like what?” You prod.

“-Like you don’t care!” He hisses, “Stop acting like this was nothing.” He says, gesturing to the space between you.

“This was nothing.” You clarify.

He looks frustrated, all you can do is observe him with a casual tilt of your head.

“What you did was unforgivable. What could you possibly want from me now?” You follow up, after he’s unable to speak.

“Another chance.” He utters.

You raise your eyebrows.

“To do what?” You felt like you had to break this down for him like a child.

“To prove to you that my feelings were real,” He takes a step forward, getting closer to you and forcing you to tilt your head up to keep looking at him.

“To show you that I think you’re the best person on the planet. That we have something,” Billy’s hands raise to cup your face, his eyes dark, a void pulling you in, “worth fighting for.”

He leans in, and it only just registers in your tired brain that he’s going to kiss you.

“I have a boyfriend.” You whisper out in a rush in an effort to deter him.

His only response is a small smile.

“Break up with him.” he answers simply as his mouth meets your in a soft kiss.

It melts you, like it usually does. His bearded face creating tingles as it scratches against yours and for a moment you feel so whole.

And then you’re pushing him away, because you don’t deserve this, because you are not someone you believe is worth fighting for.

“I’m sorry.” You murmur, unable to meet his eyes, “I just don’t believe in us the way you do.” You step to the side, and dodge his hand when he tries to grab your wrist.

He calls your name behind you as you leave, the sound is soft, pleading.

You don’t look back.

When he touches his lips, he can still feel you there.

Like you own his mouth, and now every kiss is yours, and every smile is for you.

He needs you, so badly that it hurts him.

There’s also a sober part of him that wishes he had the capacity to leave you alone, let you heal from him, leave him behind and move on with your life. But the selfish part of him, the part that fought for scraps in a house of too many people, that part of him clings to the love he has.

In many ways he’s still a child, he acknowledges, always quietly hoping that someone could want him, listen to him, talk to him about every useless topic on the planet.

He’d found that in you. Someone to listen to him, not just give a vacant smile when he spoke, or roll their eyes, exhausted at his small, unpracticed attempts at conversation.

He loved the little niche tidbits of information you knew, he was always learning something exciting, or something that made you light up when you spoke.

And then he’d- done that.

The little boy that never had anything, sabotaging his one chance at love because somewhere deep down inside, he didn’t know if he was really capable of it. Maybe he wasn’t. He’d never had it aimed in his direction really.

Who had loved him? Ever in his life?

Frank was the closest thing he had to a brother, Billy had no doubt that the Castles loved him.

And it was good, but it wasn’t enough.

Now more than ever he knew that, lying awake, fingers pressed to his mouth where he could still feel the softness of your lips. He knew what being enough to someone had felt like.

He knew he’d do anything to have that again.

You can’t sleep at all.

It’s way worse than before.

Things had been okay when you couldn’t feel anything, but one kiss had brought it all back. Now, you were just sad all over again.

Each time you kissed him, pulled you together, and each time you left him behind, you shattered even more.

Like glass that had been broken once, being hammered into splinters. You didn’t know how much of yourself had been damaged, beyond hope of repair already.

And yet still, you couldn’t forget him.

The soft heat of his touch, the sound of his breaths. You spend the entire night thinking about him, and wishing you could think about something, anything else.

There’s a box waiting on your desk when you get in the next morning.

It fits in your palm, wrapped in blue floral gift paper with a black bow on top. It screams Billy.

“That from Matt?” Dex asks, as he’s walking by and observes your handling of the gift.

“Probably.” You lie, tugging at the bow.

“Hope it’s something nice.” He wishes as he steps away, going back to whatever he was doing.

His wrapping is precise, no fold is haphazard, the bow sits right in the middle, perfectly equidistant from all edges.

It pulls a smile to your face. You almost don’t want to open it, the effort put into wrapping is a gift in itself.

You doubt Billy had given many gifts in his life- or even gotten them. He’d only mentioned it once that he didn’t have parents, and that he grew up in the system. You’d wanted to ask about it, but you’d never gotten a real chance.

You wanted to know how many gifts he'd gotten, how many happy birthdays.

You shouldn't care, it shouldn't matter to you, but it did.

You take the wrapping off carefully, wanting to preserve every bit of this, something that could be remembered later, savoured when you needed something to think of in the darkness of the night.

You tug the lid off the box quickly, eyes locking onto the shimmering gold in the box.

Your mouth parts in surprise.

It’s a simple present, butterfly hair clips in a gold colour. Each wing of the shiny butterfly is attached to the clip with a few small springs, it means that every slight movement makes the wings appear as though they’re fluttering.

All of a sudden, you’re a little girl again, staring at similar clips in someone else’s hair. You gulp, looking around for a note, an explanation as to why.

You’d only asked your parents once for them, and then never again.

His note is lodged beneath the lid of the box, and you take your time prying it out, opening it.

‘Saw these and thought of you.

-Billy

x.'

You blink back tears, looking at the delicate clips once more.

You don’t take them out of the box, despite how badly you want to. You settle for just running a careful finger over the fluttering wings, a quiet appreciation of something you’d forgotten you wanted.

The clips are so shiny that they were bound to catch attention, which was the last thing you wanted here. Maybe later, after everyone was gone, you could indulge yourself in trying them on.

It was a brilliant gift, something small and seemingly unimportant, and yet, an item that he hadn’t known you’d desired from the moment you first saw them.

Warm, something trickling into the very depths of you, a feeling you want, a feeling you yearn for.

You reach for your phone, with calling him in mind, his extension seared to your memory and you just want to talk to him-

You slam the phone down just as fast. A few coworkers looking over at you in your peripherals.

Dread spills over inside of you, a paralysing fear that you were playing directly into his game, that this was a ploy, or even if it wasn’t, you couldn’t just go back to normal with him. He’d done something unforgivable, and you had to be rigid in your inability to absolve him of his actions.

He’d made a bet, with his friends, to see if he was capable of being in an exhausting relationship with you, because everyone thinks that you were annoying.

Because he thought that you were annoying.

You tuck his gift into the top drawer of your desk, letting the pain of his betrayal reorient you.

Billy Russo did not like you.

“Shit.” You curse, glancing at the time on your phone. You’d been so zoned into your computer that you hadn’t even noticed that the work day had been officially over for a while now.

You sigh, leaning back, opening your top drawer to grab a page marker for the document you just sent to print.

You spot the little gift box tucked into the back of the drawer and you can’t help the smile that pulls onto your face.

You drop everything you’re doing, reaching for the box happily.

You take your time, pinning one clip to either side of your head to pull some of your hair back, opening your front camera to admire the little fluttering clips.

You loved the little things, delicate in your hair, glittering with the movement and the lights and you make a mental note to avoid the possibility of getting it tangled in your hair as best as possible.

You get distracted by the sound of the printer beeping in the distance to signal your print was completed and you get up to grab the file.

A few hours later, you hear the elevator nearby make a small sound as it stops on your floor. You look up, alert and the awareness of how late it is makes you a little scared.

It’s him that rounds the corner, crisp suit, his jacket tucked under his arm. He pauses when he notices you, your eyes meeting, before a little smile pulls onto his face.

“I figured you’d be here.” He hums, approaching you.

You huff, glancing back at your computer screen.

“You just can’t seem to leave me alone, can you?” You bite back.

When he’s quiet for too long, standing beside you, you turn to look up at him.

There’s a strange expression on his face, something that washes the coldness inside of you away with gentle warmth.

“What?” You ask, trying to keep your voice harsh.

Why are you looking at me like that?

“You’re real fuckin’ pretty.” He answers.

You make a sound of annoyance, turning back to your computer to continue working on your excel sheet.

Do you love me?

Your fingers freeze on your keyboard when he kneels in your peripherals next to you.

What in God’s name was he doing?

You let out a harsh breath.

“Billy-”

His hand reaches to touch something in your hair, it’s only then you remember that you’re wearing the clips he gave you.

“-These look so much better on you than I’d imagined.” He whispers, turning a strand of your hair over between his fingers.

You look down, unable to meet his eyes.

“I’ve always wanted them, since I was little. My parents fought a lot, and I could never work up the courage to ask for them. Then, when I got older, I could never find them.” You glance up at him for a moment before looking away, “Thank you, I love them, but that doesn’t change anything between us.”

His eyebrows pull together sadly, a reflectiveness to his eyes that wasn’t there before.

Do you love me?

“You should go home, it’s late.”

You give him a tired smile.

“Yeah, I know, I just have a little bit more to do.”

“Do it tomorrow. You shouldn’t be here so late.”

“I don’t know why you’re complaining,” You mutter absentmindedly, “I’m making you money.”

He grips your chair, turning it quickly away from your computer until you face him.

You meet his gaze with an annoyed look of your own.

“I have enough money.” He answers with a teasing expression. The corner of your lip twitches in amusement.

“Whatever.” You say, trying to turn your chair back to your computer, but he only grips it tighter to keep you in place. His eyes dart to your desk, and then he reaches for something, grabbing it off your desk and moving away quickly.

When you look back at your desk you notice your wireless mouse is missing.

“Hey!” You stand, taking a few steps toward him. He mirrors your movement, taking a few steps back as well.

“Give that back, Russo.” You warn, approaching him again, this time he doesn’t move, encouraging you to try getting closer to him again.

When you’re within grabbing range, he grins, hiding his hands behind his back.

“Shut down your computer and go home.” He tries again.

“Or what?” You challenge, reaching around to grab at his hands. He shifts the mouse from his left to his right hand quickly, forcing you to get even closer to him, to try grabbing it.

“Or I throw this thing out the window and unplug your computer.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” You argue, gripping his fist in yours and trying to pry his fingers open.

He pulls his hand away from you easily, giving you an evil grin before raising his fist with your mouse above his head where you couldn’t possibly reach on your own.

You don’t even try to jump for it, only crossing your arms and looking up at him.

“I could knee you in the balls. I’d get it really quickly that way.” You threaten.

He tips his head back and laughs, and you find yourself smiling too. You take the chance, using the distraction to jump and grab his fist.

But your attempt seemed to be exactly what he wanted because in the next moment his hand is on your waist, using your own momentum against you to spin you, switching positions so that he can press you against the wall that was just behind him.

You gasp, looking up at him in bewilderment. His scent floods your nose, reigniting an ache inside of you, one that yearned for him.

He watches you carefully, doesn’t do anything more than uncurl his fingers, so that you can get the mouse sitting in the palm of his hand.

You look at the mouse, and then back into his eyes, letting out a slow sigh, wishing for something you can’t quite put your finger on.

“Thank you.” You say, taking the mouse from him, and ducking under his arm to slip out from between his body and the wall.

Sitting at your desk once again, you groan in annoyance as he grabs a chair from a nearby desk and sits himself near you.

“What now?” You ask, barely looking at him.

“I’m not leaving till you do.” He answers simply.

"For a CEO, you seem really bad at getting the message." You grunt out.

He sighs, leaning forward to prop his elbow onto your desk, and then after a moment, he rests his face in his hand, looking at you calmly.

"I'm sorry." He says softly.

"So I've heard." You answer, deciding to save your work before he actually unplug your computer.

"Have you been sleeping?" Billy asks on another soft breath.

"Yes." You lie.

"You haven't. It's why you're here so late. Because you go home, and you lie awake, staring at the ceiling." He says, and you get the feeling that he isn't only talking about you.

"Can you blame me?" You snipe, trying to focus on your screen so that you can pretend that this conversation isn't happening.

There's a long silence before he speaks again.

"I hate myself."

Your chest squeezes harshly, brain halting any thoughts of work. You stare at the computer screen, feeling pressure build behind your eyes.

You wipe an unsteady hand over your mouth for comfort.

"Yeah well, that makes both of us." You reply shakily.

"I've always kind of hated myself," he continues, and you peek a look over at him to find that he's shifted, his hands in his lap, bending a paperclip out of shape while he speaks, "Even when I was a kid, I told myself that there must be something very wrong with me for my mom to not want me."

You take a deep breath, listening to him, finally hearing him open up about himself for the first time.

"I almost got adopted once, interview with a family had gone well, they let me move in with them for a trial period. I almost had what I wanted most, and then-" He gives a shake of his head, to knock the memory loose and you want so badly to reach over and take his hand, to stop him from worrying the paperclip out of shape, only to try to reshape it again, "-I punched their son in the face for something so dumb I can barely remember it. They dropped me back the next morning without a goodbye."

You watch in your peripherals as he puts the paperclip back into shape, except it doesn't look quite right, a little misshapen after his touch.

"My therapist says I've always had a penchant for self sabotage. Always worried that something good will be taken away, so I ruin it, so that at least it's ruined on my terms." He grins, "What a nutjob."

"You? Or your therapist?" You ask.

He huffs out a surprised laugh, looking up at you for a second, watching you return his laugh with a wry smile of your own, before glancing away.

Do you love me, Billy Russo?

"Sorry. I don't mean to force your forgiveness with a shitty story of growing up in the system. I just- well- I was hoping it would help you… understand me a little more."

“Don’t apologize. I get it. We’re all just trying to heal from something.”

“What are you trying to heal from? Besides me?”

You turn away, unsure if you want to tell him, unsure if you can speak for so long without shutting down.

You rub your knuckles against your lips absentmindedly.

“It’s stupid.” You whisper.

“It’s not. I promise.”

You feel anxiety flutter in your stomach.

“I’ve always felt like I was too much. Too loud, too clingy, too unattractive. Like if I was just tolerated, everywhere I went. I made friends, and then after a while, they’d leave, without explanation and with the number of times it happened, I kept thinking to myself that it had to be my fault.”

You try to swallow the lump in your throat.

“It’s the only logical explanation, that I’m okay to befriend and talk to a little, but I’m not enough to maintain a friendship with. I’m not enough to be held on to.”

Why weren’t you enough?

You stop talking now, taking a deep breath and holding it to fight off your tears.

He reaches for your hand, and you let him, you can feel the paperclip pressed between your hands.

“I see how badly I fucked up now.” He says softly to you, “And I want you to know that every inch of you is worth fighting for, and I fully intend to show you that.”

You close your eyes, shaking your head with a sad smile.

“Billy-”

“-no buts, you’re about to see some of the most desperate grovelling of your life.”

You laugh in disbelief.

“You’re insane, Russo.”

“Yeah. Don’t tell my therapist.”

He wants to hold you so badly. Wrap his arms around you, and feel you lean against him.

In the elevator now, he keeps glancing at you, his eyes drawn to the little fluttering clips in your hair and his heart clenches so tightly in his chest that he swears it stops beating.

“Let me drive you home.” He offers, hoping that you’d let him, instead of taking a taxi at this hour of the night.

He watches the clips flutter more as you shake your head, a smile pulling onto his face at how adorable you look.

“We’re not there yet, Russo.” You respond.

Yet? He thinks hopefully.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo x female reader #my writings #the punisher #never quite enough #fanfic #angst

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becauseicantthinkwritings · 1 year

Text

Never Quite Enough

Part 4

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3

Billy Russo x Female Reader

Warnings: angst

You didn't know betrayal could feel like this. There was the burning pain of his hurt, and still the softest part of you that yearned for him. A wish in the back of your head that this hadn't happened at all, that it was just a dream you'd wake up from.

How could the softness of his touch have been a lie? How could the delight in his laughter had been false? Why didn't you notice that you were being played?

You're plagued with dreams of him that night, and then every night for a week.

It always ends the same, with you waking up with a smile, reaching for someone who's not there anymore, there's a few seconds of confusion before the realisation kicks in.

And then you sit up, pull your knees to your chest and you try to breathe through the agony of it.

How had he managed to fit himself into your heart in the span of six weeks? Were you really that easy?

The tears come after, and you cry and cry, missing a ghost that had never wanted you in the first place.

It takes a toll.

You spend every waking moment in exhaustion, you pull even deeper into yourself. You spend most of your time so quiet that sometimes you forget how to use your voice.

People are much more receptive to you though, they ask you about casual things more, bringing up favourite places to eat, or hang out and you get to happily confess your favourite garden without any perceived judgement.

You can pretend so easily sometimes that it worries you.

That you're not a real person, just a shell simply existing, pretending to be happy when you were being observed, but the moment you were by yourself, you'd realise how empty you were inside.

Who were you when you were alone? The answer perplexed you. How had one failed relationship brought about this much discord into your head?

It wasn't that simple a question. You'd been feeling this way all your life, quietly pondering it. It had just taken the biggest betrayal of your trust to bring it to light.

Heartbreak had never been so loud.

A screaming static in your head that would not give you peace, would not leave you alone. Made every limb so heavy that you weren't sure how you hadn't crippled under the weight.

...Yet.

You're looking at him now, in the moments when he can't look at you, because someone's talking to him, and you wonder what he would say if he could hear every heaving break of your heart.

You swallow, looking away, remembering to be the calm façade you'd work so hard to put into place.

Another company meeting that your boss had asked you to attend in his stead. You had a general idea of why he was doing this, preparing you to fill his space, testing you to see if you could withstand the weight of a new position.

It was easy enough, maybe even easier than he'd made it out to be. In retrospect, it had been easier to throw everything into work when you had nothing else to think about.

Turns out your heartbreak had been good for capitalism.

You fail at fighting a wry smile at the thought, which gets his attention, and he gives you a pleased expression as the meeting begins.

You do your best to fill the role expected of you, and try to supply information when necessary.

However, you do begin to feel like you're rolling a boulder uphill when another manager begins to doubt the information you're providing.

Your comments grind to a stop when he challenges you for the third time, implying that you didn't know what you were talking about. You let out an angry breath, trying not to make enemies at your second meeting.

When someone else directs a question your way, and you're interrupted by the same man, your eyes flit to Billy's involuntarily.

He's looking at you with a calm expression, though he's got his pen in a death grip.

You run your tongue against the sharp edge of your teeth angrily, before deciding to speak up.

"While that's an interesting way to do it, that model won't work," you say with a calm smile, looking right at the pretentious fuck, "For three reasons, one, it's predictable and our competition is going to see it coming from a mile away, two, the technology is so outdated that to even get something like it will just result in a loss of assets that are better suited elsewhere and three," You pause for a breath, "the model doesn't account for any issues that might happen. It's only adaptable to a small extent. What I'm suggesting is something more malleable to our needs."

"It's only hard to adapt if you don't know what you're doing." He shoots back, completely disregarding the other two reasons as he no doubt doesn't have a good response for those.

Your smile widens, "Okay." You say simply, turning away from him.

The table is silent, and your hand shakes as you look down and pretend to write something work related down.

"We can probably get an expert opinion on the topic." Someone else suggests.

"I did." You supply, pointing out the proof to them.

It shuts him up, and you spend the rest of the meeting contemplating how this was going to backfire on you.

It didn't take long, a quick trip to the bathroom after the meeting and on the way back you overhear him in the break room whining about how annoying you are.

Instead of getting sad, you get angry, and you duck into the first supply closet you can find to fume.

When Billy finds you, you're pacing back and forth, muttering angrily to yourself.

"I heard. Are you okay?"

"Okay?" You ask, "Me? Yeah, I'm fine. Are you okay with the number of assholes you have working for you?"

He doesn't answer, but truthfully, he hated that he'd built a company of bullies.

You stop suddenly, and he can almost see your thought process written in the movement of your shoulders, the way you take a deep breath, and let your shoulders drop sadly.

"No, don't do that." Billy protests, taking a step forward, "Standing your ground was your best move. It's not your fault that he reacted that way."

Your back to him, you take another deep breath.

His hands ache to touch you, but he can't bear it if you pulled away again. He wonders if sinking to his knees would help.

You raise a hand, rubbing your knuckles against your lips, an anxious tic of yours.

Billy steps up into your space, you pause your movements to look up at him in surprise, chest constricting painfully at the sight of him. He looks a little tired, a lot concerned.

"Breathe." He says softly.

You take a shaky, unstable breath, letting it out.

He smiles.

"Good, but slower this time."

You do as he says, taking in air, feeling the way it fills your lungs, your breath stuttering a little as your body protests the calm feeling.

"You're doing so good." He praises again.

You can't help it, you inch toward him slowly, eager to touch him, to let him consume your senses while anxiety still races in your system.

You lean into him, avoiding his eyes as you try to touch him as casually as possible.

"Come here." He says decidedly, wrapping his arms around you to pull you against his chest.

You make a little sound, something soft and thankful as he holds you, arms around you as your shoulder is pressed to his front.

You raise your arms, gripping his bicep, closing your eyes.

You soak in his heat, his breathing, his heartbeat.

"Everything is so loud sometimes." you whisper softly, a lump forming in your throat.

"I know." he whispers, his voice soft in the darkness of the room.

"Feels like it'll crush you." he continues.

You nod, before turning in his arms to face him fully, hands gripping at either side of his face and pulls him in for a soft kiss.

Everything quiets, and you find yourself chasing after the feeling, the serenity he gives.

The relief in your head is palpable, and when the first tear smears between your faces, he tries to pull back.

You grip him harder, nimble fingers gripping the back of his neck, thumbs tracing his rough jawline, you sniffle and sigh and let the tears fall as you kiss him.

You reach for his jacket next, eager hands trailing down the lapels, gripping at his arms, before reaching up to push it off of him.

"Woah," he gasps, pulling back when you manage to push his blaser halfway down his arms.

You don't let him get far, leaning into him even more, dancing on the balls of your feet in an attempt to hold on to him for as long as possible.

You only get the top button of his shirt undone before he's gripping your hands to stop you.

"I don't think we should be doing this." he whispers, his forehead pressed to yours.

"Why?" you gasp, "Does it have to be a more public place?"

"What?" he asks, pulling back as if he's been burned.

Eyelashes damp and clumping together, you open your eyes to look at him angrily.

"Does it only count towards your bet if someone sees? Is that why you'll kiss me at the gala but not here?"

He swallows, unable to say a word, pain searing through his system, he focuses all his willpower on remaining standing.

After a few moments of silence, he finds the strength to speak.

"There's no bet." he says with so much earnest that he hopes you feel it.

You don't. You let out an amused breath, wiping at your eyes, turning away from him to face the door.

"You can't lie to me. I know what I am now." are the last words you say to him before stepping out of the supply closet, once again leaving him alone in the agony of the darkness he wishes would swallow him whole.

He squeezes his eyes shut, the tears refuse to fall.

What were you? If not a pathetic wasteland of emotion? You were everything you hated, and you were weak for it.

You let him in, you kept letting him in, as if you were a revolving door, or the doormat for him to tread on.

You're barely aware of where you're going, but you don't stop until you're there, standing at his door, nails pressed into your palm, too afraid to knock.

You study the wooden door for a while, trying to figure out what you would say, trying to imagine his reaction, trying to conceptualise why anyone would want to put up with you in this state.

You scratch at your nails, catching at your skin, trying to take a deep breath.

Eventually, you talk yourself out of it, turning away from his door to head back the way you came.

When the door swings open behind you, he says your name in question, stopping you in your tracks.

You look out of his window, at the rain now pouring down, a soft blanket wrapped around you, a cup of warm tea in your hands.

The blanket smells like him, something spiced, masculine, warm, in a different type of way.

"Pizza should be here any minute." Matt says , moving in close to you, his phone still in his hand after making a few calls.

You turn to look at him, in his casual t-shirt and sweats, hair fluffy from an earlier shower you presumed.

"You didn't have to." you say in a small voice.

"I wanted to." he says easily.

You huff, looking down at your fingers.

"Why?" you ask bitterly.

"Maybe I didn't want to be alone either." he answers, referencing the first thing you'd said to him when he'd opened his door to you.

You don't respond, eyes finding their way back out to the falling rain.

"You're sure this is okay?" you ask, curled up, facing him.

Matt smiles, a hand finding its way to your face, his thumb brushing over your lips.

"I'm sure." he murmurs, reaching to pull the duvet higher to keep your body warm. Your knee bumps his, you don't pull away.

You'd told Matt everything, explaining shyly the way you'd kissed Billy at the gala, and then again today. He'd listened, and hadn't said anything, simply nodding in understanding as you rambled on.

You didn't share the way you felt about yourself with him, but you could tell he knew, his actions hidden in the gentle way he treated you.

It's nice to have someone next to you, and you find that sleeping isn't as hard as it normally is. The sound of his breathing lulls you to sleep, and when you close your eyes, you can almost pretend that he's someone else.

#billy russo #never quite enough #billy russo x female reader #my writings #the punisher #billy russo x reader #angst

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