in which the former spec ops sniper you're absolutely smitten with randomly drops by your local archery range. it's definitely cool that he's gonna see you shoot and you're not freaking out. totally.
series
shut up and drive (DISCONTINUED)
in which you're a driver for scuderia ferrari and billy thinks that's hot. aka the three times you find billy in three different cities and the one time he finds you.
frankie "catfish" morales (triple frontier)
green like american money (coming soon!)
in which they plan to get their damn money back. with a kickass medic, this time. just in case.
i'm putting shut up and drive on hiatus for a bit because i'm honestly stuck on what to write. like ik what's gonna happen but i really can't write how it all happens so. i'll just write other stuff first to get me out of this little hole i've dug for myself
summary: in which journalists are being shitty and billy rescues you.
warning/s: some swearing, sexism + unrealistic reactions to hypothetical stalkers
shut up and drive masterlist
-
Even after a pit stop mix up that your team principal assured wasn’t your fault, you got P3.
You’d proudly stood on the podium with Max and Lewis. Yeah, it was your home race and you could’ve done better, but seeing as you managed to overtake at least three drivers after the fuck up you figured you earned it.
The more traditional fans would probably use this as an opportunity to drag you down online again. After seven years you’d think you can finally let the little comments wash over you, but they still made you feel like you’re eighteen years old and undeserving of your spot in their little boys’ club.
The interviews were even worse, because they did it right in front of your face.
“Did your boobs get in the way of steering?”
“Was your time of the month a factor in your mishap in today’s race?”
“We’ve noticed you’ve been spending a lot of time with Leclerc for the past couple of months now but not yesterday. Trouble in paradise? Lovers’ quarrel?”
Taking a deep breath, you counted to ten in your head. “No. No. Of course we spend time together; we’re bloody teammates. As for the race, in case you were wondering, I was definitely a bit careless today and I never expected to still get P3. I’m just glad my points weren’t affected and I’ll be trying my best to keep them that way.”
Your voice cracked on the last word and you cringed. Fuck, now they’re gonna push the whole ‘women are too sensitive for racing’ narrative they tried when I was twenty. But right now you couldn’t care less. You’ve been sitting in your own sweat for two hours now.
Seeing as you’re helping Ferrari get closer to their first win in years, you’d think they’d ask you about literally anything about actual racing. Every question and comment they made were specifically targeted so you’d know they don’t and will never take you seriously.
Racing was the centre of the life you’d made for yourself but the fact that these journalists just saw you a little girl whose billionaire daddy’s money bought her a seat on the table? The thought brought tears to your eyes. No, you scolded yourself. Not here, not now.
You stormed out, ignoring the calls of your media manager.
Fine be damned you weren’t gonna stay there any minute longer.
-
London was too cloudy, Billy thought.
After a successful meeting with some stuffy old British men who wanted to invest in Anvil, he decided to take to the streets and explore the city a bit. He went to ask Frank if he wanted to come but was greeted with a pillow to the face when he walked in his hotel room, along with a groan to “let me fucking sleep, Russo”.
“Shit, sorry!” A bundle of nerves in red bumped into him, but he grabbed them before they ended up on the road. “That was close. You need to be more careful.”
Billy finally looked down at the person and his eyes widened. No fucking way. Same flowy hair that framed a now tear-stained face, same bright eyes now slightly puffy. However instead of a tight dress and heels, you’re now in a red polo and jeans. “You’re the Ferrari girl,” he said stupidly.
You cocked an eyebrow in amusement, apparently forgetting your distraught looking state. “That’s a new one. Not very creative though.”
“No, no what I meant was — in the bar? In New York? You drove a white Ferrari and hung out with two other girls?”
Pausing, you bit your lip in thought. God he’d thought about your lips since that night in New York. You’d dragged your friends out to an Uber and drove away shortly after acknowledging him and he’s still beating himself over the fact that he waited too damn long to talk to you.
“That was two months ago. You’re stalking me because I winked at you?” Billy scoffed at that. If anything he should be the one asking that. He wondered who you could be working for. Definitely not someone too important if you managed to accidentally make contact with him in two different cities.
Hold on.
You remembered him, too?
He was about to say something when your phone buzzed and you immediately answered. “Charles? Just a drive to clear my head. Of course I’d be there, that’s just silly. Mhm.”
You shut your phone off and sighed. “Boyfriend?” Billy asked, trying not to let the bitterness show. You were absolutely beautiful, of course you’d have someone. “Partner.”
Billy gave a tense smile.
You looked up to him, confused through your eyelashes, and it took him every ounce of self control not to kiss you right there and then in the London drizzle.
summary: in which you come back to new york and billy eavesdrops.
warning/s: some swearing i think
shut up and drive masterlist
-
New York had never been your favourite city.
Parents with too much money and not enough time was not exactly the best combination for a kid growing up in one of the biggest cities in the world. You started karting when you were twelve as a reckless tween who wanted attention, but winning your first competition gave you a thrill you just couldn’t find anywhere else.
It surprised no one in and out of your circle that you eventually got scouted by Scuderia Ferrari when you were eighteen. What surprised everyone, however, was how easily you'd moved out of your apartment, left your cars, and never looked back at the city again.
But seven years after getting that coveted Ferrari seat as the first female Formula 1 driver, seven years after living in England full-time, and seven years after moving on, you found yourself in JFK again.
You're not exactly sure what you came here for.
The season starts in about two months and instead of burying yourself under duvets and blankets and watching Netflix all day in your bedroom, you’re in the city you swore to never set foot in again.
Swirling your whiskey around your glass, you briefly glanced around the bar. Some girl friends found out you were back and took it upon themselves to have a little soiree.
The bar Isabel and Chloe dragged you to didn’t have thousand-dollar bottles claiming to be over a hundred years old, but it didn’t have dried blood splatters anywhere either. It was the type of place you three would’ve frequented in your teenage years.
The deep blue, skin-tight dress you had on invited a lot of stares your way, but you were grateful because at least they weren't staring for the wrong reason. (If you'd worn Ferrari red tonight, anyone with working eyes would’ve been able to put two and two together and you'd have to kiss your privacy goodbye not even a day after landing.)
Isabel and Chloe were good company. You’d met them in a boarding school in Switzerland and the friendship of convenience as three native New Yorkers eventually blossomed into genuine fondness and care.
You’re not sure when the last time you’d felt at home was, but it was definitely a long time. A warmth spread inside your chest. You were slightly tipsy at this point. Definitely still safe to drive home, but enough to not care that their bright grins and loud laughs definitely garnered some attention to your booth.
You chatted with them once or twice a year with holiday and birthday messages, but they were still as enthusiastic as ever to spend time together. (“I feel really guilty I haven’t properly talked to you guys in a while.” “Shush, that’s not your fault. Besides if I also shared a track with those guys I wouldn’t be doing anything other than stare at them, either.”)
Leaning back, you smiled fondly at the two.
Maybe coming back wasn’t such a terrible idea.
-
Billy Russo can’t tell what he noticed about you first.
The sleek, white Ferrari you arrived in definitely raised an eyebrow. (You’d later lovingly tease him about his ‘old man car’ to which he’d roll his eyes and defend his Wraith like a lawyer whose rent was due.) The valet drivers practically tripped over each other to get the chance to drive it, but were disappointed when you had pulled away to find a spot yourself.
The fact that you were absolutely gorgeous didn’t escape his notice either. When you walked in, the click clack of your heels sounded like music to his ears. Your strappy heels made your legs go on forever and your dress. It hugged all your curves in the right places. He decided he wanted to take it off by the end of the night.
His eyes shamelessly raked over your body before taking a sip of his beer. Your figure suggested model, but you seemed too short for that. Besides, if you were a model, you would’ve been taking pictures of everything, and he hasn’t even seen you pull your phone out the entire night.
Billy’s eyes narrowed as he studied you intently. He was sat a good few feet away and can hear snippets of your conversation with the two girls.
School in Switzerland? Maybe just another trust fund baby, then. Probably living off of daddy’s money and jetsetting around the world until you can take over his company. But it didn’t make sense. If you were one of those spoilt brats, you would be in a better bar with designer drugs and guys who offered to escape to their yachts for the rest of the night.
A leggy blonde had been trying to get his attention, but eventually left in a huff after she realised she can’t pull him away from your direction. Likewise, some guy in a manbun tried to make conversation with you, but your clipped responses apparently didn’t clue him in that you were very uninterested.
“So, what do you do?”
“Mechanic.”
That got his attention. One of your friends had shrugged and responded with a “Well, technically you just drive them.” Billy’s eyebrows knitted in confusion. What mechanic— driver? —can afford a fucking Ferrari? You were either a damn good one or you fixed up cars for the Mob.
You were a puzzle and he wanted to take his time putting you together.
“You like cars? I have a Lambo. Cost me a fortune.” Manbun (He’s slowly starting to get on Billy’s nerves) proudly showed off his keys. “Good for you,” you replied, deadpan. Not easily impressed, then.
Eventually, Manbun moved on when he finally realised you weren’t gonna fuck him. Not by a long shot. Your head lolled on the back of the booth, your long neck exposed. Billy swallowed slowly. He wanted to leave bruises on it. Your head turned to his direction and with your brilliant eyes glazed over, you winked.
summary: in which you're a driver for scuderia ferrari and billy thinks that's hot. aka the three times you find billy in three different cities and the one time he finds you. 4 parts.
warning/s: slightly smutty in the end but nothing graphic, swearing, lots of sexism (there are no female f1 drivers, can you believe that?), and some pretty unrealistic reactions to hypothetical stalkers.
a/n: i binge watched all seasons of drive to survive in three days and i was asleep for a quarter of it, so if i used some terminologies wrong i'm sorry. also this isn't based on any season or whatever i'm just going for what makes narrative sense. also the scheduling of the races is most definitely wrong but hey it's a billy russo fic not an f1 fic. i've also never been to new york, silverstone, monza, or monaco and just going off of what i can find + the miami mission of hitman 2.
i was thinking abt last march during balikatan 2022 (joint military exercises by the philippines & usa in the phiippines) and there were a lot of us soldiers in the mall my friends & i went to (cos it was close to the us embassy) and we struck up conversation w some of them.
anyway billy russo or frank castle x reader where they flirt w each other and their friends are all like jesus fuck can u two take it down a notch or something
i would like to announce that even though you can imagine the readers i write for as any race, i specifically think of them as asian that is all, thank you.
context: it's first person. protagonist (never gave her a name lol) and billy r sitting on a couch drinking in the middle of the night and reader is giving her backstory. they're currently platonic but if there's some undertones i totally intended for that. also protag knows abt kandahar. abt 1.1k words.
warning/s: mention of abortion, mention of the taliban & the ira, mention of child being killed
a/n: i actually do not know how i came up with this. i woke up at 3 am and decided Yep i'm gonna write about This.
-
"You said something when we met."
"I said a lot of things, you have to be more specific." I absentmindedly fidgeted with the rim of my beer bottle.
"'I don't mess around with servicemen.' At the time I was more surprised that you knew that. But now I'm wondering why you said that. I have a feeling there's more to it."
His dark eyes searched my face for answers. I closed mine and leaned against him. The New York skyline twinkled like the night sky out of his windows. The city that never sleeps. Out of all the cities I've lived in, New York was always my favourite. "I haven't told you about my childhood yet, have I?"
"I don't exactly have a hometown," I started hesitantly. "My mum picked up and left three days after I was born. No note. No nothing. Just left my dad with a newborn to take care of. She always said she was just twenty and the housewife thing -- the mother thing -- was never for her. You see, her parents built a 'munitions empire during World War II and gave her a trust fund worth almost $60 million when she turned 18. Horrible idea, in my opinion."
By the time she gave birth to me, she already missed out on nine months of galas and parties and benefits, so she couldn't wait a second more, I guess.
I last checked on her when I was 16. Turns out she married some stuffy Englishman with a title and a stick up his arse.
"My grandparents didn't let her get an abortion because they were God-fearing Catholics," I spat the word out like it was venom. I can feel his eyes on me, but I just stared at the ceiling.
"They're such goddamn hypocrites, the lot of them. My grandfather's the biggest military contractor for the US government. They can excuse funding wars and sending men to die in the Middle East so they can go to Aman every month but a pill is where they draw the line."
I caught myself before I said good men. He won't agree with me. But I still glanced at him. The pale moon's reflected on his face.
You're not the only one living off of blood money, I tried to say with my stare. Hell I'm literally living off of your blood. It can't get worse than that.
"My dad was a diplomat so he'd no choice but to take me everywhere he was assigned to. I don't remember much from when I was a baby, but he'd always tell me I was an angel. Never had tantrums. Never got airsick or jetlag or anything. A lot of my earliest memories are fuzzy and mixed up, but I was always in a plane in them."
"My first words were 'dada' while we were waiting for a bus in London. I had my first steps on the Sydney Opera House." My lips quirked up as the memories slowly came back. I was a child of the world. I've seen the best and worst of humanity before I turned ten.
"But it wasn't all business class suites and tourist spots. Imagine any city in the world in the 90's that you'd never bring a child to, and I've most probably lived there for at least nine months. My dad would take me on walks in a pram in East Berlin. I played with Barbies while the Irish Republican Army planted car bombs a block away."
"I lived in Kabul when I was six y'know." I finally turned to him. "I don't remember much, though. Just that it was hot."
"Well it's still the same, so you're not missing much." I rolled my eyes in amusement. "I don't remember much but one story still sticks with me after so many years."
I swallowed. I can feel the soft dirt between my toes and the smell of roses and pennies in the air. Sticky heat and sweaty palms.
"I was in this neighbourhood in Kabul. It was the last time I went somewhere in the Middle East that wasn't school or an embassy. My dad was having cigars with this professor he met at the university. His son was my age, too, and we climbed up a rose wall to sneak out and play with the other local kids."
"There were about five of us and I was one of the youngest there. The eldest was an eight year old named Mariam. We played tag and climbed up trees and threw fruits and rocks at each other." I tapped on a faint scar on my eyebrow. "It's where I got this."
"There were Taliban patrolling around the area we were in, and one of the boys accidentally hit one of them in the chest. That was the moment I experienced real fear for the first time in my life. I was six so I didn't understand the politics of it, but I knew they were the bad guys. I grabbed Mariam's arm and pulled us into a bush. The leaves and twigs stuck into me but I was so scared I didn't make a sound."
"Mariam and I watched as one of the men came up to the boy. The boy was already crying and the man's face was so red. He screamed at him. D'you know any Pashto words? It's a hard language. I didn't understand much but from the way Mariam reacted it must've been horrible, what he said to the boy."
Roses and dirt.
"The man pulled a gun out and shot him point blank in the chest."
Roses and dirt and pennies.
Mariam and I clutched each others hand so tight you might've thought we were holding on to a lifeline. Tears streamed down our face as we wept quietly, quietly, so that no one will hear us. We only left the bush after we were absolutely sure the Taliban had left.
"I lost a shoe in the scuffle before the Taliban arrived and it was right there. Soaking in the boy's blood." I frowned and picked a loose thread from his pillow. "I thought I couldn't have left it there. My dad got it for me in Italy. I think my six year old brain was trying its best to have some sense of normalcy in the midst of all the chaos."
"So I stepped on the puddle of his blood and grabbed my shoe. There were bloody chunks on it. All I can smell was pennies and it slowly dawned on me that he was actually dead. I started crying again. By that point, the other two boys had already come back with the dads. You can just imagine how my dad saw the situation when he found his six year old daughter in a puddle of red, sobbing uncontrollably."
"We never went back to Afghanistan after that. We went to Tehran and Abu Dhabi and Kuwait but never back to Afghanistan. If he had to go, he left me in a boarding school somewhere."
"I said I didn't mess around with servicemen because once I inevitably get attached, I'd have to let go of them to fight men who are perfectly willing to murder a child at four in the afternoon. I'd have to let them go to fight men who are ready to kill themselves just to kill people who don't agree with their ideologies."
I stared at him. "And I don't want to lose anyone like that again."
He stared back at me.
Looking away, he pulled me closer to him. "It's a good thing you're stuck with me now, then."
summary: in which the former spec ops sniper you're absolutely smitten with randomly drops by your local archery range. it's definitely cool that he's gonna see you shoot and you're not freaking out. totally. 1.1k words.
warning/s: none. it's just very self indulgent. also reader uses she/her prns and refers to herself as a woman at one point and gets referred to as a "girlfriend".
a/n: hi! this is my first fic ever & i wasn't going to originally post this bc it's super self indulgent & borne out of my frustration of not getting a trick shot right, but i made my friend who knows nothing about the punisher and/or billy russo read this & she said it was good and i trust her judgement more than mine. also reader shoots recurve & barebow bc i shoot recurve & i wanna shoot barebow & also bc i think compound bows aren't very fair to the deer.
-
"Are you two boyfriend and girlfriend?" Avery, the seven year old with dark hair and a green sweater, asked.
Her face was scrunched into a frown as she stared at the offending man beside you. In the 3 months you've been volunteering to help the kids out at your local archery range, this is the first time Billy Russo showed up with you.
In fact, you're not even exactly sure why he's here. You were helping a kid pick a bow with the right draw strength when he showed up with his stupidly perfect hair and stupidly perfect suit.
The CEO of Anvil probably had better things to do on a Saturday morning but for now, he's at an archery range with you.
You stumbled over your words, not expecting the kid to be so blunt. "Oh, uh- he's just m-my... Billy. This is Billy." Billy raised an eyebrow.
"Your Billy?" Avery said slowly, questioningly. She glances at the two of you with squinted eyes. She was about to say something else when a whistle was blown from somewhere and she ran off to collect her arrows from her target.
An arm snaked around your waist. "So... I'm your Billy, now?" he asked playfully. You swatted his arm. If he touched you any more you were most probably gonna spontaneously combust.
(He ignored your attempt and instead pulled you closer. You were certain you were gonna explode from his fingers grazing the patch of skin under your shirt that rid up.)
"They have the attention span of a goldfish, Russo. They're gonna forget about this by next week," you said, rolling your eyes, trying to hide the blush rising up your cheeks. You started to fiddle with your arm guard to distract yourself from your racing heart.
"But I won't."
You elbowed him in the ribs, basking in the light laugh he let out. His eyes crinkled and his mouth quirked up. Your heart started beating faster. Oh, God is this what a heart attack feels like?
"What are you doing here?" you asked, looking up at him. He gave a noncommittal shrug, like it's perfectly normal for him to be in a rundown archery range in your neighborhood at 9 in the morning.
"Frank said you were here Saturdays," he replied in a matter of fact manner, as if it was obvious.
You were about to volley back when suddenly, a little boy ran towards you, yelling your name. You caught him before he crashed into you and bent down to look him in the eye. "Hey, buddy, Jacob, no running or horseplay in the range, remember? What's going on?"
"Davy doesn't believe that you can Robin Hood an arrow!" Jacob panted, pointing an arrow at another boy who looked on, slightly embarrassed. "I never said she couldn't! I just said I've never seen her do it!"
Jacob nodded furiously. "He's only been coming here two weeks. Can you please show him, pretty please?"
"First, don't wave your arrow around like that. Put it in your quiver. Second, I'd love to, kiddo, but all the targets are taken right now. I'll just show it to you guys next week," you hesitated.
For some reason you're slightly nervous shooting with Billy around. You're not sure if it's because of the Spec Ops sniper thing or the "he's stupidly attractive and you don't wanna look like an idiot if you miss" thing.
Davy waved his arms frantically, his bow lying forgotten on the concrete. "Use my target! I wanna see you Robin Hood an arrow again!"
"'Robin Hood an arrow'?" Billy asked, suddenly interested. "It's basically- well I guess I can just show you."
You stood up on slightly wobbly legs and grabbed your bow from its stand. You stuck your hand in your pocket and pulled on your glove. ("What the fuck's wrong with you? You've done this shot at least ten times before. Why are you nervous?" you scolded yourself.)
It's not just nerves; it's excitement too. Archery was your first love. You spent so many years practicing until you can hit a target as far as 50 yards without a sight. And the fact that you're gonna share this part of you with Billy for the first time?
Yeah, you're in deep.
Walking towards an excited Davy, you placed your feet parallel to the shooting line. The other kids stopped to watch. You've shown this particular trick the first time you helped them out and they loved it. The little girls called you Merida for a month.
Taking an arrow from the quiver on your waist and notched it on the string, you can feel Billy's eyes on you. Thank fuck you've got stabilizers and your shaking isn't that noticeable.
You shook your head and inhaled, bringing the string to the crook of your mouth. You picked the arrow closest to the bullseye to shoot and aimed it just about there.
1
Okay, yeah you've done this at least 10 times before. Albeit the first couple times were an accident, but still.
2
Why are you shaking so badly? You've been doing this for years, woman! Keep your back straight and eyes ahead. Why are you being so weird?
3
Because Billy is here. And you care about what he thinks and you want him to be proud of you. Oh my god, you're in love with him.
Startled, you let go of the string, the hen leaving a small scratch on your cheek. You held your breath as the arrow flew towards the target.
Blink.
The arrow perfectly embedded itself on the notch of Davy's arrow.
Jacob screamed and shook poor Davy. You laughed as the kids ran to the target and oohed and aahed.
"That," Billy paused. "was impressive."
You smiled and rolled your eyes, ignoring the pounding of your heart. "Wow, the Billy Russo calling my shooting impressive?"
He smirked.
You smiled again and turned to look at the kids. Your cheeks are starting to hurt. He thought it was impressive.
"How long have you been doing this?"
"Hm. I first held a bow when I was 6 but I've only been training semi-regularly since I was 8." He makes a thoughtful noise and you turn around to see him staring at you.
"What?" you asked, eyebrows stitched together in concern.
"Nothing it's just... it's really obvious you love archery. You're taking time off your day just to hang out with these kids and practically give them lessons for free and whenever they ask you questions your eyes light up. You just... care. A lot."
You frowned. "What's wrong with caring a lot?"
Billy shook his head. "Nothing wrong with that, obviously. It's just really cute."
You nodded in response as you turned to the kids again.
Wait.
What?
Your head snaps to look at Billy "Did you just call me cute?"
As if on cue, the phone in his pocket buzzed. He smiled at you. "Well I guess I'll just see you tomorrow then. Have a good day."
