#doodling billy between college scheduling sigh

[200iqkilljoy]

hm

[benbarnesescape]

You Do Something To Me

Billy Russo x Curvy Reader 

A Billy Russo AU

Summary: You own a bakery in Brooklyn. He’s a private investigator that comes in to enjoy your baked goods. What happens when the stars shift and your paths intertwine? Will love be enough to handle the dangerous world that Billy’s life is?

Warnings: M for Mature (Language, Sexual Themes)

This story is created in celebration of Ben’s Birthday 

Chapter 1 – Mad About the Boy

Private Investigator Russo was the kind of trouble your mother warned you about. He was all parts that 50’s black and white films stirred in you – dark and brooding and mysterious. Enigmatically charismatic but always kept that part of his personality hidden for the rest of the world, glimmers of it rising to the surface when he was around close friends and colleagues that he trusted. The sort of man that knew what he wanted and knew how to get it, that suppressed his intelligence under quick wit humor and was the kind of handsome that made you believe you were in a 1950’s Noir film. Perhaps that was the biggest tragedy of all of this.

He was so wretchedly handsome that he should be illegal. Hickory eyes that felt predatory always twinkled with intellect and amusement. A shadowed beard that he always kept maintained, his stylish haircut that would look like a hipster on anyone else made him distinguished, his thick dark mane and buzz cut sides balancing his look in all the right ways. He had the kind of lips that you just wanted a taste – just a small one – and a lean muscular frame that you knew when he moved revealed his sculpted muscles, the strength contained by the seams of the button ups he wore. He reminded you of a panther.  A dangerous, dark panther that you wanted to be hunted by.

But that was the fantasy. Because desire or not, that wasn’t your luck.

So you lied to yourself. It was a lot simpler to tell yourself that you didn’t care about Billy then to say it out loud. And it seemed to work. Your natural pride winning over the fact of your heart; that when Billy entered a room you felt like your tongue went twisted and your legs turned into melted butter. But better that then admitting out loud to yourself that you were so love struck after a man and not just any man, the handsome popular detective that most women this side of the island lusted after. Forget about it.

“I don’t know Y/N,” your best friend and co-owner of the restaurant you owned Valerie would say anytime the topic arose. “I think he might have a crush on you.” Oh the fanciful thoughts that spread through your mind after she would tell you that.

A Forbidden Taste was the name of the restaurant you both owned. In the mornings, it was a busy bakery, attracting a clientele of different New Yorkers that were either already living or willing to venture to Brooklyn for, and you were quoting a review from a magazine ‘The best chocolate croissants and coffee this side of the Hudson’. That was how you killed time between the hours of 6 a.m. to 1 p.m. Then it closed for five hours, before it was opened at 6 for dinner and any late night caps to amuse the people. Where they could sip wine and enjoy tapas or the pleasure of a full meal. When you and Valerie had saved up for the restaurant fresh out of college, promising each other that you would make it happen, you had thought it would become a lofty dream. That you would be lucky enough to work in a prominent restaurant anywhere in America that would make you happy.

But now you were thirty and though you slept less hours than you did even in college, had flour constantly in your hair and spent more time worrying over paying the mortgage versus your own rent, you had somehow done it. You owned a restaurant that fused both good evening dining with delicious breakfast tapestries and all it cost you was…your personal life. Sacrifice worth it.  

Which was why the deep crush you had on one Billy Russo had taken you off guard.

It wasn’t that you didn’t date. You had, plenty of times throughout the years especially through the luxury of apps making it even simpler. It was nothing ever too serious – the men in your life didn’t like that you were so involved with your business, that you earned more than them and was more ambitious and, did they never forget to mention, how somehow a middle class thirty year old was able to own their company. It was fine, you could take affection where you could. Except Billy made you think more on the possibility.

It had been eight months ago. Frank Castle, his partner, had heard of your place through Curtis. Curtis, who had sold you insurance for your property and become one of your favorite people, had been the best marketing team you and Valerie could have ever wanted, and all it cost was an occasional box of his favorite peanut butter cookies or croissant or dinner on the house. Curtis was the kind of man this country had been founded on – a vet who knew the sacrifice of being a good man. He had told his best friend Frank, had been mentioning it to him for months and it had resulted in Castle and Russo coming in on a cool, autumn morning.

Valerie had noticed them easily, too handsome gentleman who walked with confidence and grace. They wore suits, the kind of suits that you saw on shows like Madmen and fedora hats to match, their hands stuffed in their pockets as they surveyed the menu. They had settled on something savory, you remembered because you had come out of the kitchen with a fresh batch of whatever it was and had looked into his eyes.

Deep, dark hickory pools that barreled into your soul and made you trip, barely dropping the fresh batch of whatever as you caught your breath as you mumbled your apologies to Valerie who had thrown you a side eye.

That had been the beginning.

At first, they would drop by every other day for coffee and the same sort of savory pastry – Monday through Friday. You spent most of your time in the kitchen, in the back supervising and baking so Valerie always had the delight of seeing them.

And then they changed their schedule.

For the days they wouldn’t come in the morning they would come in at night, typically around 9:30 or 10 and always for tapas and drinks. American Whiskey straight and the variety sampler of tapas. Sometimes Curtis would come with them. Other times Frank’s wife, Maria.

Billy always came alone.

You knew because in the evenings you were at the register, helping to wait tables and manage the front end and bartend, if needed. You always, somehow, ended up making small talk with Billy. Typically while refilling the tables glass with water or when he would check out or was too impatient to wait for a waitress to replenish his glass of whiskey.

The talks were always brief, insightful and made you pant for more.

This is what you’re thinking about Saturday night, the late night rush slowly dwindling down as you sit in a corner, a glass of chardonnay beside you as you looked over the menu for the upcoming week. Really you were glossing over the paper, sketching small designs delicately on the side of the ivory paper, your mind a million miles away.

The balcony was open and diners were enjoying the late evening breeze, how the humid wind mingled with the air conditioned restaurant as they spoke lowly, whispering to each other that it almost felt like secrets once the words hit your ears. You’re too focused on your writing, too enraptured by the couple you were sketching out that you almost don’t hear the clearing of his throat. It nearly makes you jump out of your skin as you move your hand from resting on your chin, startled eyes snapping up to meet the dark lobes that was watching you with mild interest.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” his voice is like the expensive whiskey he always orders, smooth and husky as he clears his throat. “I just wanted to ask if you wanted company?”

He’s not wearing his normal attire, at least not completely. He still has on the suit pants, midnight black today, that is kept up with suspenders that stand out against his startling white shirt though the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. . He’s holding his jacket, thrown over his shoulder that reveals his gun holster though currently it’s empty. His hair is still smoothed back in that stylish coif that makes you want to run your hands through it but somehow he looks less business like, more casual. There’s a glass of what you know to be whiskey in his other hand and his eyes look hopeful as they look down at you.

You find your breath and nod, motioning to the seat on the other side of your booth and he scoots in with finesse as he lays his jacket on the cool leather beside him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you not working. You’re always moving around when I come in.” his voice is amused and curious as he takes a sip and you chuckle as you fall back into your seat, hands still doodling at your drawing.

“I should be working,” you give a sigh and shrug. “But it’s been a long week. Valerie was out for most of the week, back to see her family so I’ve been working unforgiving doubles. Which had been fine but I guess it’s just caught up with me.”

He gives a small grin and nods before gesturing to the menu,

“You re-designing the menu? Didn’t knew you drew.”

You laugh, shaking your head.

“No, nothing like that. Just doodling. I’m not good or anything – it’s a hobby. But it’s fun to doodle, to spark my creativity in way that’s not intuitive for me.”

You motion toward his suit, grabbing your wine and asking,

“I’ve never seen you here on a weekend. What has been so important that you’re still working on a Saturday evening?”

He laughs, relaxing into his seat before shrugging.

“Observant are we,” he take a sip of his drink, “I was working a case and got what I needed a lot quicker than I thought. I was so close and….never really had the courage to drop by on a weekend I figured why not. A night cap would be refreshing.”

You nod as you take another sip, looking over him cautiously over the rim of your glass. You want to ask him more, want to ask why he never had the courage and what new case could he reveal some details to, like Valerie was always trying to pull out of him but that insecure part of you that always closed down the conversation stops you. It’s not the insecurity that you’re not good enough – you know that you’re beautiful and intelligent and smart. It’s that small piece of you that always stops you when you like someone more than you are willing to let on and you instead give him a small smile as you flicker your eyes beyond him.  

You both fall into an easy silence, drinking in the sounds of the late evening before he clears his throat again, causing you to look back over at him.

“Soooo,” he asks, trying to break the silence. “Do you like music?”

You lift a curious eye brow. Of course you did. He knew that. One of your first conversations had been around the kind of music you liked, what you would play in the restaurant even if Valerie wasn’t a fan of it.

“Yea. Doesn’t everybody?” he chuckles again, nervously as he lifts a hand, rubbing it behind his neck.

“Ah yes, I guess they do. The thing is, I got these tickets to a ummm…..Herbie Hancock at the Concert Hall for next Saturday. And I know how much you like jazz and Herbie in particular so I figured if you wanted….I know you work a lot, you work hard but I figured I’d ask if you wanted to go. With me?”

It takes you a minute to comprehend what he’s asking, to fight the urge to look behind you and not ask, “Who – do you mean me?” You play it cool instead, opting to instead taking another long sip, slightly tilting your head to the side as you drink him in. You’d never seen Billy so nervous – he was the kind of man that flirted with any women who gave him a second look or didn’t, the kind of man that spoke with confidence and surety. Now, he looked at you like any other man who was asking someone new out on a date and wasn’t sure what they were going to say. You knew the look – saw it every day in New York.

And he was being this vulnerable for you.

“You asking me out on a date Russo?”

His face heats up, tomato red and your stomach lunges as he smiles wider, his eyes avoiding you, his right hand rubbing the back of his neck even more furiously.

“Ahhhhh I guess I am. I mean, I am. I…would you want to? I’d treat you to dinner and everything.”

He has that New York accent that just drips with a confident SWAG, the kind of voice that always makes your heart lunge. His eyes flicker back to you cautiously and you smile as you get up, gathering your paper and throwing back your chardonnay. You walk a few meters before you stop, bending down and whispering,  

“I’d love to. I’ll leave my cell with Kelly at the register. Shoot me a text and we can work out details, I need to start prepping for closure.”

And then you walk as quickly and coolly as you can back to your office because you’d be damned if you don’t text Valerie what just happened.

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