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becauseicantthinkwritings · 1 year ago

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Objects in Motion

Part 3

Alpha! Billy Russo x Omega! Reader

Hey, I hit 4k followers! That's pretty cool, thank you everyone!

Part 1 // Part 2

A snip taken from Le Printemps, by Eugène Bidau

It takes you too long to pick a dress the next morning. There was an issue with all of them, one was too tight around your chest that you could barely breathe, the other had a hole in the sleeve that you hadn’t noticed before.

You'd ended up picking something you hadn't worn in a while- sage green with little flowers on it.

Halfway to the museum, you'd noticed a small stain on the skirt, that had made you frown.

It wouldn't lift with the wet wipe you'd pulled from your bag, and you'd have to settle for hoping he wouldn't see it.

Your stomach flips at the thought of him.

You'd worn a dress in hopes that this was a date- you didn't understand why you wanted it to be a date so badly.

Okay, that wasn't true, you knew you liked him, even though you shouldn't.

It probably wasn't a date, why would he be interested in dating you?

I haven't had a clear thought since, he'd said, you knew the sentiment, wondering, if he was just like every other Alpha, nice at first and then demanding later.

The other Alphas you'd been with- you try not to shudder- they'd been awful, love bombing until you let your guard down, and then getting angry when you tried to deny them something.

The last one had gotten upset that after only knowing him for two weeks, you didn't want to share your heat with him.

The scorn he'd shown you when you reinforced your denial instead of caving, it had made you curl up and never want to see another Alpha again.

This Alpha could be worse, he could be cruel, waiting to get you alone to trick you into something you didn't want because you'd stolen his coat. The thought sent an uncomfortable wave of nausea over you.

You see your seedy reflection in the window, everything moving too fast for you to focus on except your own gaze.

You would not be taken advantage of.

There’s that too much feeling again, everyone is so busy around you as you stand outside the art museum waiting. You see children running past, and dogs, a delighted scream in the distance that makes your chest feel like it’s on fire with the too much of it all.

Why did the world have to be so chaotic? Why couldn’t it be warm and quiet and peaceful with hints of cracked pepper and bergamot-

You blink, realising you’d been thinking about the Alpha again.

Maybe this hadn’t been a good idea. To get involved with someone that made you feel this way, like you wanted to give in to his demands. At which point would he ask for too much?

Your shoulders drop, you check the time, quarter to twelve.

You turn to leave.

Someone says your name.

You raise your head to find the Alpha approaching. He’s wearing a beige shirt, with large threads that look almost knitted, paired with black pants and another coat that definitely costs more than you can afford.

Too late, your stomach twists.

You nod your head in greeting.

“Hi,” You acknowledge shyly, “You’re early.”

“Hello, I thought I told you to call me when you got here?”

Your chest squeezes in fright. Was he already making demands?

You keep his gaze, trying to show him a braver you than you were.

“I only just got here.” You challenge, wondering why it was such a big deal.

He nods, raising a hand to push his hair back. You watch him scan the area before letting out a soft breath.

“Sorry, I just didn’t like the idea of you waiting all alone here.”

Was he worried about you?

“I can manage,” You inform him, “I come here all the time.”

He studies you for a moment, looks as though he wants to say something, but decides against it.

“My apologies,” He turns to stand beside you, “Shall we?”

Your stomach flips at his words and you try not to focus on it, or him, and definitely not his smell.

You begin walking.

You try not to touch him, keeping a respectful distance, not wanting to take any part of him he might not be willing to give.

As you walk through the museum’s outdoor park, a lot of people glance your way. Men and women alike, want to steal a look at the man standing beside you. It makes you feel incredibly conscious of yourself, and you feel like the stain on your skirt grows ten times its size in that time.

You wonder if any of their staring has to do with the assumption that you were a mated pair- the thought makes you shiver- the idea that you would be mated to a person that looks like him.

“Cold? Want my coat?” He offers.

You shake your head, not wanting to touch this Alpha’s coats ever again.

“I’m alright, I’m overheating anyway.” You reply, hoping he didn’t ask any follow up questions. Your period would be upon you soon.

“Poor thing.” He soothes.

It almost makes you stumble.

Your eyes widen and you feel a sharp pang in your stomach, his easy comfort swirling in your hindbrain, begging you to curl up with this man in a cozy nest- not a man, you correct yourself, an Alpha.

You’d only walked a few minutes beside him and already you were thinking about bringing him into your nest? Had you gone insane?

You refuse to think about it, focusing on the trees, and the people passing by with dogs on harnesses leading the way-

“Did you grow up in New York?” He asks, his voice breaking into the whirlwind in your head.

You swallow, shaking your head before looking over at him.

Damn- looking at him was a mistake.

You tell him where you grew up on a shaky breath, asking him to reciprocate.

He smiles, calmly responds that he grew up here, bounced around the city a bit. Something about his response, the tone of his voice, tells you that there’s a key part of the story missing.

You don’t pry, knowing better than to ask intrusive questions.

You swallow, smiling at him politely when he looks at you, still trapped in the moment when he offered you his coat.

You catch a group of women with their eyes on William, and when their gaze falls on you, you watch their collective expressions switch from interest to disdain.

You drop your head, finding that maybe the floor is safer to gaze at than your environment.

What were you doing here with him? Why had you done this? You should have just stayed home where you were safer.

“What do you do for work?” He asks next, breaking into the din in your head.

You turn to look at him with wide eyes, unsure as to why he was so interested in you.

“Uh- I’m- I work in customer service… somehow. I have no idea how I ended up there.”

“What do you mean?” He asks, the tone of his voice sounds genuinely curious.

You glance his way, giving him a smile.

“I’m not exactly a person that’s comfortable around people. I like… being alone.”

“You don’t like it?”

“Not really, but it’s better than nothing.” You let out a breath, “Can’t complain.” You finish with a mutter.

“Something else you want to do?”

You shake your head sadly. You couldn’t very well say that you’d rather not work at all- it would look like you were after his money.

You think for a moment, trying to make something up, and falling short.

“Honestly, I don’t know, I guess I haven’t found my calling yet.”

He nods in understanding, and it gives you the opportunity to ask about his line of work.

“What about you? What do you do?”

“I'm in security,” he answers, “I handle asset and individual protection, and I even get contracted by the government occasionally.”

You listen intently, nodding along to his words. You'd already looked him up and had some idea of what he did, but it was interesting to hear it from him.

“That sounds really cool. Is there a lot of danger?”

He grins, and abjectly, you feel as though you've asked something stupid.

“It can get dicey sometimes, yeah, especially with protecting people.”

“Right, yeah, sorry, dumb question.” You mutter, looking down.

“I like your questions.” He says lowly, angling his head in your direction so that you hear him.

Like a fledgling omega, your heart skips a damn beat.

His eyes are very dark, you try not to trip as you get caught up in them, pools of obsidian, pulling you into him.

He gazes right back, the soft look in his eyes fills your head with delight, makes you forget about breathing for a few moments.

It's something so primal inside of you, a whisper in your head that this… this alpha, might be special.

You breathe out a short sigh, inching closer, until you're close enough to breathe him in. You close your eyes, taking a deep, slow breath, bergamot and citrus chasing your anxieties away.

You lean in more, hindbrain in control, desperate for more of his scent, his hand is rough on the back of your neck.

Your nose almost brushes the scent gland on the side of his neck when someone walking past clears their throat loudly.

You jerk, pulling back, brain restarting as absolute horror fills you.

No way did you almost scent a stranger in a public place.

You make a sound of regret, stepping back, his hand slips from your neck, you glance up at him, the scent of desire heavy in the air.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry.” You vocalise, turning away for a second to catch your breath and calm yourself.

“I wasn't stopping you.” He admits, as you continue to breathe.

This was too much, he had too much of an influence on you. His words make your stomach flip.

It was a very good thing, you decided, that you'd chosen a public place. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what would have happened if you'd been alone. You weren't sure if you had the capacity to stop yourself around him.

He had the hidden ability to somehow switch your brain from rationality to instinct. And that, was the most dangerous thing of all.

“I'm sorry,” you say again, trying not to cry from how overwhelming it is to resist him, “If you- if you want to leave I'll understand.”

“Not at all, omega.” He replies almost instantly, “I want this, don't be sorry.” He reaches out to take your hand in his, giving you a reassuring squeeze.

“Come on.” He guides, taking a step forward to prompt you into walking again.

He doesn't let go of your hand.

The sandwich shop has an old feel to it, sitting at the center of the park with lots of seating both indoors and out for dining, the little building looks like it was built at least a decade or two ago. The roof is partially made of glass to allow natural light to spill in, blocked by trees all around except in the direct centre where a large amount of light spills in.

When Billy asks to be seated in the coolest spot, you turn to look at him in surprise, your stomach twisting, heart accelerating as you take in his casual dominance of his environment.

Like other Alphas, he knew how to command a room, though, with him, the assertion was more subtext. He was polite, and yet he always seemed to get what he wanted. It was a dangerous mix, and the implications of what that meant for you scared you a little.

“Is here okay?” He asks, turning to you when the woman at the front guides you to a table.

You blink in surprise. No one had ever-

You study the booth with a little frown, finding it a little too bright for your senses and then your eyes drift two tables down to a darker booth before looking back at him shyly.

“That one?” He asks, already moving.

“Yes please.” You say nicely, following him.

It's nice, you never sit in the booths because it's usually just you when you come here, but the seats are soft, and you can tell the velvety upholstery is clean and has recently been redone.

He slides into the seat opposite to you, his knees bumping yours for a second as he gets settled.

You giggle when they bump you again and he mutters an apology.

“Sorry, it's a little small,” you say, “And you're kind of… not.”

He laughs quietly.

“I'm okay, getting in was the hardest part, and it's not too bad.” You feel his legs extend out on either side of yours, taking up space to get comfortable.

You can feel your heart beating forcefully as you watch him scan the little paper menu that had been placed on the table before you'd been seated. Finding difficulty in figuring out why exactly he'd taken an interest in you.

“S-so,” you murmur, getting his attention, “You didn't have the coat cleaned?”

His eyes darken, a smile pulling on his lips as he recounts the memory in his head.

“I was curious. I'd deleted the video of you taking it- didn't want to cause unnecessary trouble for you- plus I know that omegas occasionally do things on instinct- so when I got it back, wrapped so tightly, I was… just wondering about you a little.”

You swallow nervously.

“And then?”

You feel the molten heat in his gaze as his eyes roam over you.

“And then I smelled the most delicious scent. It made me desperate, made me lose control of my own thoughts for a couple of minutes. The smell of your heat was wonderful, omega. I knew I had to find you.”

You open your mouth to respond, but your eyes catch movement of a waitress coming your way.

“Hello, my name is Teresa, I'll be your waitress this evening. Are you ready to order?” She rushes out, smiling politely though you notice that her eyes linger on William for a few moments more.

“We're not ready to order yet,” he says, eyes still locked on you, “Can you come back in five minutes?”

She nods easily, stepping away with a ‘sure thing.’

There's a beat of silence, where you stare down at your menu and read none of the words, head racing with what you know.

“What are you thinking about getting?”

You blink, glancing up at him and then back down to the menu.

“Um, I usually get the turkey on rye, so maybe that.”

“Got any suggestions for me?”

You hum, deep in thought.

“The grilled chicken pesto always smells so delicious, there's some fresh mozzarella in it too. I've never had it, but it's a popular one.”

“You should try it. Mix things up.”

You smile sadly, glancing at the price of the sandwich in question, the fresh mozzarella near triples the price.

“That's okay, I'll stick with my turkey.”

“Don't worry about anything else. If you really want the pesto, get it.”

His eyes are earnest, and you know there's another conversation happening in the subtext of this one. That he was willing to cover the cost, that it was obvious that it was the source of your hesitation.

You swallow, glancing down at the price once again, figuring that one sandwich wouldn't throw him into debt.

A little lump swells in your throat, you wonder if he would expect anything because of this like alphas before. You figure one sandwich did not give him that much leverage over you. You'd done more damage with his coat and he'd overlooked that.

“Okay, I'll have it. What will you get?”

“Steak sandwich.” He answers, with a smile, just as Teresa appears again.

“Ready?” She asks eagerly.

“Why did you pick this table?” He asks, studying you.

You glance over at him, having been distracted by some people walking in.

You're beautiful, he squeezes his fists, fighting himself. He wants to provide for you so badly that it tears at him. He can see how defensive you are, how cautious you act sometimes. He knows that you must have had bad encounters with Alphas to be this wary. He wants to learn you, know you better than he knows himself.

“I have a little sensitivity to light.” You respond, absentmindedly, “I can barely see in direct sunlight.”

He inclines his head, noting for later, to avoid anything that would overwhelm you.

“I'm sorry to hear that, sweetheart, it must be so hard to deal with.”

He feels delight fill his body as you give him a wide eyed look, your omega nature appreciating his sympathy to your plights.

He bites the inside corner of his lip, wanting this sweet, timid omega to be his, very badly.

The urge to have you scent him sharpens, to press your nose to his neck, to have you breathe him in, mix your scents together so that no one would question whether or not you were a mated pair. You'd almost done it earlier, and he hadn't realized how eager he was for it until the moment you'd pulled away.

He had to play his cards right. If he scared you away, he would not get another chance.

You talk a lot, about where you grew up, and the schools you went to, and when he tells you about his childhood, you try not to give him any looks of pity, nodding along, eager to listen to everything he has to tell you.

You want to comfort him though, your hands clenching into fists in your lap because you want to reach over and squeeze his hand and tell him you’re sorry but logically you know that you barely know him.

Except that you feel like you’ve known him a very long time. Your face hurts with the amount you’ve smiled, the unfamiliar expression printed onto your face, where you’re usually shy or frightened.

When he asks about you, you feel a little more comfortable revealing personal information. Describing the details of your job so that he understands your day to day work.

“Does it pay well?”

“You know it doesn't.” You grumble sadly, “I would take up a second job if I could, but companies have this rule about how many hours an omega is allowed to work weekly.” You stop talking, waiting to see what stance he was going to take on this. The entire job market was designed to push omegas into the arms of alphas or betas rich enough to take care of them.

His mouth turns down into a frown.

“They should just pay people liveable wages to begin with. Having a second job would be too much for anyone. At least tell me you get health insurance.”

You make an unsure face.

“For the most part, but there are… big gaps.”

His eyebrows crush together in sympathy.

“You get heat days?”

You nod, taking a few sips of your drink.

“Yeah, they give us three, and I usually have to take two extra sick days because I have longer heats.”

“Wait, they don’t give you days specific to your heat requirements?”

You let out a little awkward laugh.

“No, three heat days, giving more days to some people would be unfair according to them.”

He clicks his tongue, “That must be so hard.” He hums, and something primal sparks inside of you.

Yes, your mind screamed at him, yes alpha, I’m a poor little thing, please soothe me and take care of me and keep me warm and safe and full-

You clear your throat.

“I get by.” You reply.

He shakes his head, deep in thought.

“It’s still not fair.”

You let out a slow sigh when you take your first bite of the sandwich.

Eyes closed, you can't believe what you're tasting, that it could be so delicious.

You do your hardest not to take a second bite before finishing the first, determined to savour it.

Across from you, he makes a low hum when he bites into his, and you fight a smile, stomach fluttering, happy that he likes it.

“Maybe you can find another job?” He suggests between bites.

You blink, shoulders dropping.

“I've been trying, it's just not that easy,” You look down at your sandwich, a touch of sadness fills your chest, “Sorry, I don’t mean to complain.”

“It's okay, I want to hear about it.”

You let out a harsh breath, your stomach turning over.

“Why? Because you smelled my heat and decided I was going to be your omega?” You blink, regretting the words as soon as they come out, drawing back into yourself and waiting for him to get angry.

“I'm sorry,” you say when he doesn't immediately speak, “I shouldn’t have- I'm sorry.” You take a shallow breath, feeling the panic grip you tightly.

“Don't apologize, sweetheart, you didn't do anything wrong.”

You don't meet his eyes, still trying to get control of your fears.

You hear movement, and in your peripherals, you watch him slide out of the booth and to a stand. Oh god, was he leaving? You feel your eyes begin to swell with tears.

You'd done it, successfully chased him away.

Your breath stutters when his plated sandwich slides in beside yours, and finally, you glance up at him.

“May I?” He asks softly, and you automatically comply without thinking, sliding deeper into the booth to give him more space.

He fits himself in, while you grab a napkin to blot at your tears, a little embarrassed now that you realize he wasn't actually leaving.

“S-sorry.” You whisper, trying to apologize for this abundance of emotion. For sure, it would definitely annoy him.

Your breath stutters when you feel the warm press of his palm to your shoulder blade.

“Breathe, omega, everything's alright.”

You suck in a shaky breath, his scent wrapping around you.

He moves slowly in your peripheral, moving his hand to brush the backs of his fingers over your cheek.

You finally look at him when he touches you, the sensation leaving tingles behind.

“One more big breath for me.” He guides, and you obey, feeling your brain respond to his gentleness.

His eyes are warm, chocolate, a feeling of ease settles into the base of your spine.

“When I smelled you on my coat for the first time, I knew I had to find you. But, finally meeting you, and slowly getting to know you, is what makes me want to stay. You're not my omega, and I'm not your alpha… But I'd like to be.”

My alpha?

Your lips part in disbelief, looking into his eyes, feeling hope swell inside of you.

Maybe he would make a good alpha, maybe he would hold you when you were scared, and kiss your cheek every night before falling asleep, maybe he would hold you tightly and talk to you after sex, and not make you feel like a used item to be discarded-

You shudder out a breath.

“I-I'm not interested in finding an alpha right now.” You stutter out, afraid of his response.

His eyes remain kind, though there's something in them that makes you think that he's sad.

“I understand, sweetheart. I won't bring it up again.” He turns, bringing his sandwich up to his mouth to take another bite.

You follow his lead with wide eyes, surprised that this was all he had to say on the subject.

After a few bites, shoulder brushing his arm every now and again, you can't hold back.

“You're not… mad?”

You hear him exhale slowly.

“I don't think I could ever be mad at you, little one. I like you a lot, and I'm willing to… be as patient as you need me to be.”

Your heart squeezes in your chest.

“And what if it never happens? I don't want to give you false hope.”

To your surprise, he laughs, low and sweet. It brings a smile to your face though you don't know the joke.

“I'm going to have hope whether I want to or not. That's the consequence of wanting.”

Want.

“You want… me?”

“I thought that was obvious.”

“Well, yes, I guess it was, but…” You let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head, “I'm sorry, this is so crazy.”

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why is it crazy?”

“Bec-” You couldn’t say it out loud.

He turns to you, studying you intently for a moment.

“I mean, well, look at me.” You say softly.

He raises his eyebrows.

“You're lovely.” He murmurs.

You can't help the shy smile that it brings to your face.

To no one's surprise, he pays.

You let him, because you were in no position to offer any kind of payment, and he was willing to lose a three thousand dollar coat on a whim.

When he offers you a ride home, you feel comfortable enough with him to accept, looping your arm around his bicep when he extends his elbow for you to take.

The muscle below is firm, and you simmer with delight at the privilege he gives you.

You look around as you walk together, taking in the scenery around, watching as someone throws a frisbee, and a dalmatian runs to catch it.

“I take it you don’t like me, then.” He says, interrupting your thoughts.

“I do.” You blurt so quickly that your brain doesn’t have time to catch up. There’s something aching in your chest at the thought that he was unlikeable to you.

You take a deep breath, smiling sadly.

“That’s the problem. I like you, and that will cloud my judgement. My past experience has made following my heart almost impossible… and alphas…” You swallow, “Alphas can be scary, and they flip so suddenly sometimes,” you let out a sigh, shaking your head, “It's dangerous to trust an alpha.”

“It hurts me to hear you say that.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I'm the one who's sorry. I'm so sorry, and angry that you've had so many bad experiences with alphas. I'm sorry that they made you feel unsafe. I know it doesn't hold much weight right now, but I'd never hurt you.”

You're almost inclined to believe him.

“I guess we'll see.” You say, giving him a meaningful look.

He grins down at you.

“I like the sound of that.”

His car is heavy with his scent. You close your eyes, heart racing, breathing in deep lungfuls, feeling your brain go hazy with it.

Your skin gets hypersensitive, the feel of his leather seats brushing your thighs, the way it feels on your fingertips, makes you drunk in a way you've never felt before.

You don't give him your real address, but one that's a block over so that he doesn't see the hovel you really live in.

It's hard to focus on anything outside of the vehicle, when his engine purrs to life and the sound vibrates your eardrums gently, he makes sure you're buckled in, before starting off.

He doesn't race, takes his time, moves reasonably. It makes you feel safe, settles you. You'd been a little worried he was an aggressive driver, but you had nothing to worry about.

You blink in surprise when he extends his phone to you, unlocked, his hands catching your eye, a work of art you could stare at for hours.

“Pick some music?” He offers.

You nod, fingers brushing his, and you select something soothing, lo-fi, to enjoy.

You get hypnotised by it, the bergamot and notes of citrus, cracked pepper that makes you hum, delighted. If this was what being in his presence was always like, how would you ever leave?

You wanted to press your nose to his neck, breathe him in right from the source, you wanted this scent soaked into your pores until it followed you everywhere. You wanted this smell in your nest, clinging to your things.

You're so needy by the time he pulls over, eyes glassy with want, you notice his hands are gripping his steering tightly.

“Omega,” he says, a slight tremble to his voice, “Do you want to scent me? It'll help you relax.”

It wouldn't. You knew it from the bottom of your heart, scenting him would only make you want him more. But your hindbrain's in control now, and all you do is nod shakily, fumbling to unbuckle your seat belt.

He covers your hands calmly, doing it for you when you struggle too many times. You look at him shyly when you're both free.

He gives you a warm smile, before tilting his head up, exposing his gland to you.

Your heart pounds in your ears, a thrumming that fills your head, almost too loud as you lean forward, pressing your face to his neck.

He groans, and you reach to fist his shirt tightly in your hands, taking in a deep breath.

This was your alpha, there was no denying it, no other scent had ever took hold of you the way his did, everything else was rotten in comparison, and you were losing grip of your sanity with each passing moment.

You breathe him in, memorizing it, the extra kick, straight from the source, your hindbrain takes full control in these moments, and you're completely helpless to it.

“Alpha.” You sigh into his neck, and you feel him shudder beneath you.

You tilt your head up, lips brushing his gland, he groans loudly, the sound echoing in your ears, drowning out the thrumming of your heart for just a moment.

“That's it, omega," He guides, "Take what you need.”

You whine, if you really took what you needed, he'd already be at home in your nest, ready to make you his.

You tilt your head higher, and he turns to look at you with heated eyes, your noses brush in the quiet of his car.

Someone walking past catches in your peripheral, and you gasp, reeling back, realising where you were.

“S- sorry.” You say, scrambling away, reaching to unlock the door, stepping out and bolting as fast as your legs can carry you, too afraid to look back at him.

It takes you three orgasms in your bed before you begin thinking again.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo x female reader #my writings #the punisher #omega!reader #Alpha!Billy Russo #objects in motion

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justa-personn · 2 years ago

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sharp objects is legitimately one of the most devastating and ugly things i’ve ever read/seen. i think about it all the time. it changed my brain chemistry. i love it. it’s so viscerally violently girl. we need more grimdoomtradgedy media that explores female pain and trauma and violence that gets passed down from mother to daughter without it revolving around men. i don’t really remember any book/show that i’ve read/seen that has gone as far as this one did, and been so unapologetic about it without holding back for fear or being controversial or disturbing or having female characters, specifically protagonists, that are unlikeable and not heroic and still make you root for them and feel all the ugly awful things they feel.

#sharp objects #camille preaker #amma crellin #adora crellin #sharp objects show #sharp objects book #gillian flynn #amy adams #eliza scanlen #female rage

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ragnarockz · 4 days ago

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Tip Jar 💰

Well...

Sweet Dreams are Made of This

Date Everything Betty x Female Reader 🩷🛏️👓🥵

Music inspo: Loser - Beck, Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This) - Eurythmics, Whose Bed Has Your Boots Been Under? - Shania Twain, Longview - Green Day, Strange Love - Depeche Mode

Rest.

Complete submission into the recesses of your mind until it winds down and oozes into a complete and total emptiness.

Unrest.

Tossing and turning until your mind races too hard and too fast for far too long and whatever mild comfort you may have experienced is now dissolved.

And both of these were taken upon in bed; your bed. You came home to it every night after school, after work. You came more familiar with it when you were let go of your job and the days and nights seemed to stretch and blend and morph into one long, monogamous existence.

You had slumped into your bed after the news of getting fired or, well, in a jobless limbo of unknowing. Your head hit the pillow and you let out a loud and deep sigh. It felt like you were sinking into your mattress with nothing but the weight of despair hanging above you like a dark cloud. You shifted around until you got somewhat comfortable and even still you didn't find sleep right away.

There was always something, usually that helped knock you right out. No, it wasn't a cold glass of water or a melatonin pill or two. It was, without fail, shoving your arm down between your body as you lay stomach down to your bed. The pressure of your body on your hand; the weight of your arm pressed to the mattress as your fingers snake in past your comfiest pair of sleep shorts.

You're not exactly turned on, not yet. It could be pretty hard especially with the reality of the day hanging over you and clinging to the back of your mind. You had been 'let go' because of AI. Everything you had put into this job from the application to the interview had all gone down the toilet in just days. Dreams and hopes and aspirations flushed away and now, maybe pathetically, you were trying to muster up your ego with rubbing one out.

Naturally.

You try to let your mind wander away from work and into something more enjoyable, sensual. You press down a little harder into your hand and feel the perfect amount of pressure your middle and ring finger apply against your clit. You can feel it throb against the pads of your fingers as you sink a little deeper into your fantasies.

You're above them; someone sweet and soft. You feel safe in their arms and against their body. You can press your face into the side of their neck and feel security there and the lingering scent of warmth and comfort. There's a sensation of freshness, newness. You've never felt more at home with them or anyone. You can fall right into them and feel complete.

A strangled moan falls from your mouth and fills your empty bedroom.

Your hand and the sheets underneath you are soaked. Damp and uncomfortable now. You feel sticky between your legs and you realize your entire body is covered in sweat. You blow out a hot breath from your lips as you roll up and off of your cum covered hand. You know the small patch of sheet beneath you is wet and shamelessly smells like a mix of you and your sweat and laundry detergent.

You had just washed these sheets and now they were ruined.

"Goddamnit...forfuckssake..."

Spills from your mouth as you crawl out of your bed to get out of your shame and the mess you've let behind. Your feet hit the plush carpet under your bed and you feel a little bit better; the comfort filling your body once more. You stretch across your bed; breasts pressing into the mattress to full reach around to pull your sheets off. They expand at the corners where the elastic is a little bit tighter; hugging those corners so they don't spring up the second your weight falls into bed.

They spring off easily enough as you bundle up the soiled sheets, gathering it up into your arms. You hear a dull thud hit the carpet near your feet and peer down in curiosity.

Ah.

One of your toys you had stashed away under the right pillow on your bed.

You drop the sheets to pick up the toy; palm sized and great suction. The battery life is pretty good, too. It's dependable and always gets the job done when you need that extra bit of friction and suction against your clit. You place it on your night table and continue on with hauling your dirty sheets downstairs to throw into the hamper.

As you pass through the kitchen and the bathroom, you can't help but linger in the doorway to your office. You sigh and realize it'll just be a computer room once again until you maybe, hopefully, find another work-from-home job. You stare at your monitor and keyboard and the desk chair you got to feel proud in for all of 3 days.

The box.

You almost forgot about the box.

You maneuver into your office in the dark with ease and pick up the box you had placed on the edge of your desk. The tape that holds the lid closed is easily picked away by your fingernails as you get it open and lift out a pair of...glasses? Sunglasses?

You turn them around in your hand as you let the box fall back onto the desk. They look...normal enough? Not really your style but somewhat stylish. You slip them on to get a feel of them perched on your nose and suddenly, instantly, your office glows.

There's a warmth in here that's equal to the warmth you feel when you get into your bed at the end of the day. Something that makes your heart feel lighter and more open; at ease without the weight of the world.

Bed.

You peel away from your office and trudge back up the stairs and hook a left into your bedroom.

Your bed.

She's glowing.

You don't understand it and yet, you do. You focus a little harder on that space you love so much even when it's stripped bare; the white mattress a stark parallel from the rest of the darkened room.

She materializes right in front of you with a smug teasing look on her soft curvaceous lips. You can only think of kissing them and what they would feel like against your own lips...your neck, the inside of your thigh...

It isn't until you hear a little creak from her that you look at her fully that you realize she's standing in the middle of your room naked.

Oh god.

The sheets.

"Oh...this is not how I thought our first meeting would go, Sugar..."

You don't know where to look, if you should look. You feel your face flush as you try to clear your throat. You try to bring your focus back on her lips and only her lips. Truly, she'll understand this was just a big misunderstanding.

"Give yourself some credit...meeting me for the first time? Striped bare just after...well...after you had your little burst of fun on top of me? Wasn't that nice? Me, holding you up and keeping you warm and safe while you just...oh...completely unraveled on me...god, Baby..."

You don't know what to say and if you should even say anything. You understand you're speaking to your bed but...

"Maybe I should give you my name first, Sweetness...it's Betty...use it next time...you...well..."

She eyes you head to toe before she puts a finger in her mouth and grins.

So much in safety at staring only at her lips.

"Betty? My...bed?"

"Mmhmm...you got it, Sugar...but, more than just your bed...especially now that you can see me...isn't that right, Pumpkin? You love looking at me...don't you?"

And that's your invitation to drag your gaze away from her lips and fully take her in; full-formed.

You almost feel yourself go faint at the sight of her.

Her curves continue away from her mouth and all your brain and body want to do is sink into her. Soft and plush and filled out in all the right places. Her hair is soft and the dusty rose colour of your pillow shams. She is quite literally looking at you with bedroom eyes and suddenly, you realize the purpose of the glasses you wear.

"Maybe you should get a little closer and finish what you started..."

"What?"

You finally find your voice as you totter over the edge; your right foot already daring to take a step closer to Betty.

She opens up her arms and god forbid you steal your eyes away from her breasts which look insanely soft and full. Your brain wants to say stuffed but you know that's more of a way to describe...

Oh.

Pillows.

She laughs heavy and breathy when she sees the way your face is flushed. Purposefully, teasingly, she pulls her shoulders back just enough so she could cup her breasts from the side and push them forwards, squishing them together. Betty uses her pointer finger of her right hand to curl towards herself; calling you over.

Your feet move as if on their own as you close the gap between you and Betty. She's biting her bottom lip and breathing heavily; chest heaving as she keeps her hands exactly where they've been. You just want to shove your face in between her breasts; much like all those times you've shoved your face down in between your pillows to scream or cry or...

Fuck.

When you felt like you had to muffle your screams and moans from the intensity of your orgasms; the way you've fingered and fucked yourself to oblivion. The way your clit became throbbing and swollen and sore to the touch. Sheets soaked and body completely wrecked.

"That's right, Baby...you know these very well...just like you know me very well and I know you...all the ways your body covers mine...grinding and humping and fucking. You're a wet, whiny little thing, aren't you? A little lonely but you get the job done, don't you?"

Her hands release from her breasts and you watch gravity do its beautiful job.

You're so close to Betty now and can sense warmth radiating from her and the cozy scent of fresh laundry. She's not stuffy at all; not smothering in the way that gives you anxiety but just the right about of swaddling that makes you feel secured.

And you feel very secure the second she wraps her arms around you and pulls you in for a tight hug.

Of course, you have no real way of getting out of where you have to put your head; your face. Betty basically bear hugs you against her breasts and you fall into them and find them even softer and plushier than your pillows. You moan against her skin and she giggles before she pulls you away from her embrace.

"I've been thinking of doing that for so long...you really do have a thing for...well...you really do love pillows, hm?"

You mumble incoherently under your breath and the only thing that stops you is the way Betty looks at you with a hunger in her half-lidded eyes you hadn't seen before.

"Oh, believe me...I've seen the types of videos and pictures you look at on your phone at night...you have a thing for big boobs. I get it. Good thing you got me and mine...I mean, whenever you want them to oh...I don't know...play or squeeze...lick or bite or suck..."

She lets the s in suck drag out and you feel that all-familiar pang between your legs; itching to get back into bed and fuck yourself silly. You can feel that you and Betty aren't quite there yet but god, does she love saying the dirtiest things to you regardless.

A shameless flirt.

Which makes sense; your bed does lure you in at all hours of the day to laze about and eventually turn to masturbation. She's a bad influence.

And you love it.

"You should take those glasses off now, Baby so you can get back into me...on me...against me...put some fresh sheets on to cover me up and finish. I know you weren't even close to being done...you can wet another set of sheets for me tonight, I don't mind..."

You eye her up and down once more; soaking in every inch of her so maybe, hopefully you can put her in your minds eye to help as a fantasy to get off to. You're sure it'll work with the way Betty looks and how she talks. Soft and alluring; a little mysterious and totally unfiltered. She's just as horny as you and maybe that's your doing. She is, your bed after all and, you do do lot of masturbating on top of her...under her? Inside of her?

Your hands shake as you reach for your glasses and take them off.

The glow disappears and you're left within the darkness of your plain, boring room.

Your bed is your bed now; four posters with a naked mattress.

And you want nothing more than to please Betty. You turn yourself around and head towards your closet to look for a fresh set of bed sheets to don Betty with now. She deserves fresh and clean; something that smells nice against her skin. She also deserves, as she's graciously reminded you, to be fucked on and against. Rolling your hips down into her plushness with your face down into her pillows and your ass up for her to see.

She deserves it all.

The comforts of rest.

And you? In this changed reality?

Deserve the sleepless nights with heat and wetness between your legs; soaking yourself over and over against with your fingers, your toys. The scrunched up sheets between your clit and folds.

You put your sheets on with rapid success before you haul up your comforter and pillows onto your bed, your Betty, once again. This time however, you strip completely before you get back into your bed completely naked. You reach over to gather up your toy you had placed on the night table minutes ago. The little toy hums to life on the strongest setting as you bring it down between your legs.

The way you fuck yourself this time around is a little more calculated in your movements. You grind down a little harder into your mattress and grab your pillows a little tighter. You let your sheets and comforter wrap around you and hold your legs all tangled. You make sure to moan and whine and pant as loud as you can in hopes that Betty is enjoying this just as much as you are.

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kxlluaz · 2 months ago

Text

on my first rewatch of étoile and during episode 2 when Jack is telling Cheyenne she can't "come to new york and piss off the entire company in one fell swoop" (something around those lines, close to verbatim) I remembered how sometime after this moment is when Tobias over in Paris practically does the same thing, calling the entire French company to rehearsal just to not cast all of them and Geneviève says something nearly identical to him. I think its really cool how Tobias and Cheyenne are simultaneously opposites and parallels, kind of like a path forking in the road that leads to two very different outcomes (at least so far).

For different reasons and under different circumstances, they are both incredibly passionate about the work they do, in the sense that they are very particular about their personal art and will prioritize it over everything else. But the reason they turn out rather differently despite starting so similar is because Tobias gets someone in his life who is willing to support him how he needs in order to be freed from the pressures that are making it hard for him to do what he loves. Most people aren't willing to *learn* Tobias and work with him. When Gabin does, it also helps Tobias to start getting better at doing the same, to being more receptive to the collaborative aspect of art.

Side note, I know just how hard this is also as an autistic person who works in live entertainment tech. As much as I enjoy "working with others," it has taken me *years* to make progress in actually working WITH others and not just working around or near them. I can get so caught up in my personal vision of the way things "need to be" or "should be," and forget that the work I do and love inherently *needs* the ideas and experience of many, and is also all the more amazing for it.

But back to Cheyenne. Cheyenne has a similar mentality about the art she creates, like Tobias-- again, with many other factors involved, but what I'm trying to get at is they both come across the same way to most people in the show. She too feels more and more hopeless about the work she does. She explicitly states that she does not enjoy or love it, but it is her calling in this world, her obligation. What she was born to do. Tobias and Cheyenne both have a passion for what they do, and lose it more throughout the show. But where Tobias' love for his work is reinstilled through the support of another, Cheyenne's pressures are furthered and her turmoil worsens. She is not shown understanding or support, but rather her concerns are brushed off (i.e. the slip) and expectations are worsened. Cheyenne doesn't get a Gabin in her life who is willing to stick around, understand her, and help her change.

In the case of the job offer, she's ecstatic discovering something that she feels will rekindle her love for dance. She realizes how she can channel her passion in a way that *she* enjoys and is much healthier for her (physically and mentally). But ultimately, she's the one who gets shit from everyone else involved, despite doing nothing wrong. Geneviève only sees Cheyenne as her étoile, as her top dancer that makes the National money. Once Nicholas recovers, Jack rescinds the offer, understandably so, but he could've avoided getting Cheyenne caught in these crossfires in the first place had he waited to ask her until Nicholas had passed. He's also upset at Cheyenne, for making Geneviève upset at him, and ultimately Geneviève and Jack act like a divorced couple using their child as an outlet for their frustrations with one another. Don't even get me started on Gael just being... Gael. Love him in some ways, but he really could've handled things with Cheyenne better to say the least. Basically, Cheyenne is trying to make herself happy while also being obligated to make everyone else happy, and since it's impossible to please everyone, is turned against entirely instead AND loses the singular light at the end of the tunnel she found. Cheyenne's crash out was so incredibly valid, and it was so heartbreaking to see her get an entirely different outcome from Tobias at the end of season 1, having both started from the exact same spot and being taken in the exact opposite directions.

All this is to say, I really hope Cheyenne gets in season 2 what Tobias got for season 1: somebody to offer her a hand to pull herself up with, to help her take the first step so she can continue the journey.

I know I had a lot more evidence and points to make, like the choreographer for I Married Myself, but I've been pacing in my kitchen typing this for the past half hour and still have episode 2 paused in front of my dinner. I can GLADLY talk about this more and in more detail, since there really is so much to unpack with Tobias and Cheyenne's characters and how they're treated so differently due to their occupational roles (and, dare I say, genders and perceived neurotypes as well). But for now, to those of you who got this far, I hope you enjoyed this accidental mini-character-analysis-rant. Go watch étoile. Or watch it again like me if you already finished it.

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