Synopsis: A steamy morning with subby jinx

this was supposed to be a drabble, but I can never help myself

cw; smut (18+), breast feeding - lactation kink, anal is teased, nothing happens, jinx squirting in her panties from humping your leg > <, jinx is sooo subby (mdlg undertones I guess??). morning sex, squirting mentioned as pissing and reg squirting, reader using vibrator on jinx, milk squirting?, a bit of somno at the beginning

wc:1k

a/n I love writing sub jinx x mommy reader ugh it just fills my soul, also like 50% edited -- sorry for any errors

Most mornings with Jinx usually started the same, her waking up before you, creepily watching you sleep. Waiting for you to get up just so she can have her morning fix. Her fix being your milk to be exact.

Jinx had expressed an interest in wanting you to take supplements to be able to produce milk so she could drink it from you a few months ago, and to her surprise, it didn’t take much for you to be down with it. You found it hot, and as a good way to get closer to your girlfriend in order to give her whatever “healing” she would get from doing this.

i have a lil req for our girl nat! would you write something about her and her wife/fiancee/gf (reader) going on vacation in reader’s home in the mediterranean together?? i feel like she’d be psyched to finally go on a real holiday! feel free to take any direction you want <;

summery : You travel to your picturesque Mediterranean villa for a long-overdue vacation with your girlfriend, Natalie. Free from all distractions, you two settle into the sun-drenched house and quickly let your passions take over, sharing an intense, intimate afternoon together on the couch.

pairings : girlfriend!natalie x fem!reader

warnings : fluff, smut, cis x cis (f/f, no g!p), grinding/tribadism (scissoring), bare skin-to-skin contact, orgasm, light hair pulling, explicit sexual content, domestic bliss/established relationship.

The Mediterranean heat washed over the private terrace in a thick, sun-drenched breeze, carrying the scent of saltwater, wild thyme, and blooming bougainvillea.

The heavy oak door swept open, and Nat stepped over the threshold into the cool, terracotta-tiled entryway, dropping her worn leather duffel bag onto the bench with a heavy thud. She paused, sliding her sunglasses up onto her dark hair as her eyes scanned the high ceilings, whitewashed stone walls, and the wide arches opening straight out to the sparkling blue sea.

A slow, boyish grin spread across her face—the kind of relaxed, unguarded smile you rarely saw back home when she was buried under engine blocks and grease.

"Holy shit, sweetheart," Nat breathed, turning around to take you in, her dark eyes shining with pure excitement. She reached out, hooking her large hands around your waist and pulling you flush against her frame. "You weren't kidding. This place is unbelievable. I feel like I'm in a completely different world."

"Welcome home," you murmured, smiling up at her as you wrapped your arms around her neck. "No garage, no phone calls, no stress. Just two weeks of nothing."

Nat let out a low, satisfied laugh, her chest rumbling against yours. "Two weeks of having you all to myself in paradise? Yeah, I could definitely get used to this."

She leaned down, pressing her warm, soft lips against yours in a sweet, lingering kiss that tasted like the warm afternoon sun. But as your fingers tangled into the damp hair at the nape of her neck, the kiss deepened. Nat groaned low in her throat, her grip on your waist tightening, her thumb pressing possessively into the curve of your hip through your thin linen dress.

She didn't let your lips part as her hands slid down to scoop under your thighs, effortlessly lifting you up. You gasped into her mouth, wrapping your legs around her waist as she carried you into the living room, heading straight for the deep, plush sofa overlooking the ocean.

Nat sank onto the cushions with you in her lap, burying her face into the crook of your neck, peppering hot, eager kisses along your collarbone that made your pulse instantly skyrocket.

"God, you have no idea how long I've been waiting for this," Nat growled softly against your skin, her broad hand sliding up the hem of your dress, her warm palm finding the bare skin of your inner thigh. "Just you, me, and nowhere else to be."

Nat's heavy, warm hands slid lower, cupping the plush curves of your ass and squeezing firmly, anchoring you right where she wanted you.

"So eager," Nat rumbled against your jaw, her dark eyes flashing with a hot, dark thrill as she watched you reach down, unbuttoning your linen shorts and wriggling out of them until they dropped onto the floor tiles.

Left in just your lace panties, you hooked your arms back around her neck and shifted your weight forward. Slowly, deliberately, you pressed your core flush against the thick, hard front of her denim jeans, rolling your hips in a slow, agonising grind.

Nat let out a heavy, ragged gasp, her fingers digging deep into the soft flesh of your rear to keep you pressed tight against her. Her jaw clenched as you set a agonizingly slow pace, the friction of her stiff jeans rubbing right through the thin lace of your panties with every small, rolling tilt of your pelvis.

"Fuck, sweetheart..." Nat growled, her voice dropping into a rough, raspy murmur as she tilted her head back against the couch cushion, her chest heaving against yours. She pulled you down harder against her, her thumbs pressing into your lower back as she started thrusting her hips up to meet yours, meeting every roll with a firm, punishing push of her own. "Keep doing that... right there."

Nat’s breathing turned harsh and shallow as you kept grinding down against her, the friction driving her crazy. She couldn't take the barrier of her clothes for another second.

"Hold on, hold on..." Nat rasped out, her hands quickly shifting from your ass down to her waist.

With eager, impatient fingers, she popped the button of her jeans, yanked the zipper down, and kicked her boots off. She pushed her pants and her boxers down over her thighs, tossing them onto the floor until she was completely bare from the waist down.

She pulled you back into her lap instantly, her hands cupping the back of your thighs to guide you down. The moment your thin lace panties were pushed aside, her warm, wet heat slid flush against yours.

A loud, shuddering breath escaped your lips as the raw, skin-to-skin contact hit.

"Fuck, yeah," Nat groaned, her dark eyes locking onto yours, hazy with pure lust.

She lifted her hips slightly, setting a smooth, rhythmic roll that had her slick clit sliding directly against yours. The wet, friction-filled heat was overwhelming. Every time you rolled your pelvis forward, Nat met you with a firm, rolling push of her own, her large hands digging into your hips to keep the connection tight, seamless, and unbearable in the best way possible.

You buried your face in her neck, whimpering loud into her hot skin as she kept up the rhythm, both of you slick and squirming together on the couch while the warm Mediterranean breeze rolled in through the open terrace doors.

The wet, friction-heavy slide of skin against skin echoed softly over the gentle sound of the ocean waves outside.

Nat’s large hands squeezed your hips, her calloused fingers digging into your skin to hold you firmly against her as her hips rolled into a faster, more urgent rhythm. Every upward push of her pelvis pressed her slick, swollen clit right against yours, sending intense, electric shocks of pleasure straight down your spine.

"Look at me, sweetheart," Nat rasped, her voice dripping with heat.

You lifted your head, your eyelids heavy and half-closed as you looked down at her. Her dark eyes were black with lust, her lips parted as she panted beneath you, her chest slick with sweat and rising and falling fast.

"God, you feel so good," she groaned, her thumb sliding up to stroke the side of your wet center, adding a sharp, targeted pressure right where you needed it most. "So fucking tight and wet for me."

You arched your back, a high-pitched whimper tearing from your throat as you accelerated your pace, rolling your hips down onto her in tight, frantic circles. The relentless friction of your slick lips rubbing together was almost too much to bear. Every time she thrust up to meet you, your breath hitched, your inner muscles twitching and clenching around nothing in desperate anticipation.

"Nat... please," you whimpered, gripping her strong shoulders, your nails biting into her skin as the coil in your lower stomach pulled impossibly tight.

"I got you, baby, come on," Nat growled, her jaw clenching as she drove her hips up harder, matching your frantic pace with a steady, relentless roll that hit the exact right spot every single time. "Right there... let it go for me."

The sudden, intense wave of your orgasm crashed over you. You cried out her name into the sunlit room, your knees trembling as your core rippled with tight, uncontrollable spasms against her.

Nat let out a harsh, dark moan at the feeling of your muscles pulsing over her. She drove her hips up two, three more hard, deliberate times, riding out her own intense release right alongside yours, her eyes closing tight as a long, breathless shudder ran through her entire frame.

The relentless, slick friction reached a fever pitch, the sound of skin slapping wetly against skin mingling with your ragged, intertwined breaths.

"Nat—fuck," you sobbed out, your fingers burying into her dark hair, tugging on the roots as you drove your hips down onto hers with frantic, unravelling desperation.

Nat’s jaw was locked tight, her veins standing out along her neck as her chest heaved. Her hands gripped your hips with an iron grip, holding you pinned perfectly so every upward roll of her hips ground her swollen, slick clit directly against yours.

"I'm right there with you, sweetheart," Nat rasped out, her low, gravelly voice trembling with restraint. "Don't hold back... give it all to me."

She shoved her hips up into one final, hard, devastating roll, and the intense wave tore right through you.

Your back arched violently, a long, shattered cry echoing through the high ceilings of the sunlit room as your core clamped down hard, pulsing with wild, uncontrollable spasms. The sensation triggered Nat instantly. She let out a deep, guttural groan, her eyes shutting tight as her own body locked up beneath you, her hips bucking up two more fast, desperate times into your slick heat as her own orgasm hit her like a freight train.

For a few long, breathless minutes, the only sound in the Mediterranean villa was the heavy, ragged sound of both of your chests fighting for air, your wet, trembling bodies still pressed flush together on the couch.

Gradually, the frantic pulse between your thighs slowed to a soft, warm throb.

Nat opened her dark, heavy-lidded eyes, looking up at you with an expression of pure, unadulterated adoration. A soft, lazy smile spread across her face. She reached up, gently wiping a strand of sweaty hair away from your forehead, her fingers lingering against your flush cheek.

"Fuck," Nat breathed out, letting out a low, breathless laugh as she squeezed your waist. "Now that is how you start a vacation."

You let out a soft, giggling whimper, completely exhausted, and collapsed forward until your head rested heavily in the crook of her neck. Nat wrapped her broad, strong arms around you, shifting her weight on the wide cushions so she could roll the two of you over onto your sides without breaking the warm contact of your bodies.

She pulled the soft throw blanket off the back of the couch, draping it over both of your bare backs to shelter you from the cooling ocean breeze blowing through the terrace doors.

With her long legs tangled intimately with yours, Nat pulled you in tight, resting one heavy, warm hand over your lower back, gently pulling you into her chest until there wasn't an inch of air between you. Her chin rested atop your head, her chest rising and falling in a steady, soothing rhythm beneath your cheek.

"You okay?" Nat whispered into your hair, her fingers tracing soft, lazy circles over the small of your back.

"More than okay," you murmured, burying your face deeper into her warm skin, breathing in the comforting scent of cedar, salt water, and her. "I don't think I'm ever leaving this couch."

Nat chuckled softly, the vibration running through her whole frame. She pressed a tender, lingering kiss into the crown of your head, her hold on you protective, steady, and completely unhurried.

part one masterlist prompt list

warnings: smut domtop!billie, subbottom!reader, strap r receiving, fingering r receiving, praise, degrading, spanking, scratching, aftercare

synopsis: you go to billies after the incident at the party, and she claims you as hers. 

note: i have SO MANY requests asking for a pt2 of this fic, so here u go

The door slams shut behind you, the last echo of bass from the party fading into the night. Your legs carry you down the quiet street, the stillness a jarring contrast to the electric, buzzing chaos of the club. You’re unsteady on your feet, half from the champagne, half from the trembling aftermath of Billie’s fingers buried deep inside you against that cold alley wall. You feel the slick between your thighs even now, your body still dazed, still hot. The sensation makes you shift as you walk, thighs rubbing together uncomfortably, yet thrillingly, reminding you with every step that she had you.

You drag a hand down your face, trying to clear the haze.

Be mature. That’s what she said. You scoff out loud at the thought. Be mature? After she paraded herself in front of everyone like that? After grinding on every half-naked girl at the party just to punish you?

You pause at the street corner, glancing up. Billie’s house looms at the end of the block, porch light glowing faintly. Your stomach twists. You don’t know if you’re still angry or turned on, probably both. You want to scream at her. You want to fuck her again until she sobs your name. Mostly, though, you want clarity. Or something close to it.

You cross the street, climbing the front steps of her house. You raise your hand, knock once. Then again. No answer.

You sigh, glancing over your shoulder like someone might be watching this humiliating moment. You, waiting like a kicked puppy outside her house after she got you off and walked away. Just as you’re about to turn and leave, the door creaks open.

There she is.

Billie leans heavily on the frame, one hand gripping it, the other rubbing her forehead. Her black tank top hangs loose, twisted slightly, revealing even more skin than before. The marks from your teeth are still bright red across her neck and collarbone. Her lips are parted, and her eyes narrow in the low light, zeroing in on you.

She doesn’t say hi. Doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t offer any apology.

She just steps aside, wordless, jerking her head toward the hallway. You move past her, the air between you sharp and thick.

“Kitchen,” she mutters behind you.

You follow her voice, the hardwood floor cool under your feet as the buzz in your body deepens into something heavier, a throb of anticipation, resentment, need. Billie shuts the front door, the deadbolt sliding home with a solid click. You glance over your shoulder just in time to see her pointing at one of the chairs by the island counter.

“Sit.”

You hesitate. She arches a brow. You sit.

She steps forward until she’s right in front of you. Her bare thighs almost brush your knees. She plants both palms on them, slow and heavy. You feel the warmth of her hands through the fabric of your skirt. Her eyes are glassy but focused, that same intensity that always leaves your mouth dry.

She inhales deeply, then speaks,  low, rough, her voice laced with something close to reverence.

“You’re mine.”

Her fingers press in a little tighter. “That’s how it is now. I don’t want games. I don’t want to watch you touch other girls or flirt with anyone else like you don’t belong to me. I should’ve said it before tonight, but if I didn’t make it clear earlier…”

She trails off, letting it hang. The look in her eyes is raw, hungry, certain.

You open your mouth, some tangle of frustration surfacing again. “You could’ve just told me, Billie. Instead of flirting with every drunk bitch in the room like you were trying to”

Her finger is instantly on your lips.

“Ah ah.” She presses in, silencing you. “No debate.”

You frown, trying again, just a breath of protest, and she presses harder.

“No. Don’t speak.”

You fall quiet. A beat. She watches you, waiting. You nod slowly.

She smiles. “Good girl.”

Your stomach flips. She steps back just enough to reach for the hem of her tank top and peels it up, slow, deliberate, revealing inch after inch of pale, marked skin. Her tits spill free as the shirt drops to the floor. Your breath stutters.

Then she straddles you, lowering herself onto your lap with a heat that scorches. Her nipples brush your chest through your top. You’re nearly panting.

She cups your face. “You’re mine, right?”

You’re speechless. The words feel like they’re caught somewhere in your throat. You nod, lost in her.

Billie tilts her head. “Answer me.”

“Sorry,” you whisper. “Yes. I’m yours.”

Her eyes gleam. She kisses you slow, not angry like before, not punishing, but deep and claiming. Her lips mold to yours, her tongue brushing across your teeth.

Your hands find her waist, dragging her closer. Billie lets out a low hum of approval before reaching for your shirt, tugging it off without ceremony. Her palms cup your breasts, kneading them as your mouths clash harder. The slide of her tongue, the scrape of her teeth, it’s all heat and mess and ownership.

She pulls back, eyes flickering over your face. Then she stands, reaches down, and lifts you effortlessly.

You gasp, instinctively wrapping your arms around her shoulders. She carries you down the hall to the living room, then almost throws you onto the couch, your back hitting the cushions with a bounce. Her jeans are unbuttoned and off in seconds. Your skirt is gone just as fast.

She crawls onto you, settling between your legs, lips crashing against yours again. Her hand snakes between your thighs, two fingers slipping back inside you with practiced ease. You groan, hips jerking.

Her other hand finds the back of your neck, holding you in place as you moan directly into her mouth. Your tongues slide, teeth clash, her fingers never stopping. You’re already soaked again, thighs trembling.

Billie pulls back just slightly, lips swollen. Her fingers curl.

“You want more?”

You nod desperately, grinding down into her hand.

She hums thoughtfully, pulling her fingers out. You whimper at the loss.

“Okay,” she says, eyes dark. “Beg.”

You blink. You never do that. “Billie….”

“No. You want it? Prove it.”

You realize this isn’t about teasing. It’s a ritual. A claiming.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please, Billie. I need you.”

She watches you silently, waiting for more.

“Please, I’ll be good. I’ll do anything. Just want you to fuck me. Please, I’m yours. I’m only yours. I’ll say it again. I’ll say it however many times you want, just, please, Billie, I’m aching, I need it. I need you.”

Her eyes flash. She stands, walks away briefly, then returns, harness in hand.

Your heart leaps. Billie steps into it slowly, adjusting the harness over her hips with fluid, practiced confidence. The leather straps stretch tight over the curve of her thighs, hugging the dip of her waist, framing her pale, flushed skin. Her eyes don’t leave yours the entire time, dark and gleaming like she can already feel herself inside you, already owns the sound of your voice when you break.

She strokes the length of the strap-on once, her palm sliding up its glossy surface in a slow, deliberate glide that sends a pulse between your legs. It’s thick, just the right size, the kind she’s used on you before, the one you felt hours after last time. She knows exactly what she’s doing. She wants you sore. She wants you wrecked.

She climbs back onto the couch with slow, predatory steps, one knee planting between yours as she settles on top of you. You lie there under her, trembling, half-naked, breath coming in shallow gasps as the weight of the moment lands heavy in your chest. Her skin is warm, damp with sweat, her hair messy and wild around her face, and when she leans down, her breasts brush yours, her lips barely touching yours as she whispers:

“You’re gonna feel every inch of me. Every second.”

She kisses you hard, not to be sweet, but to shut you up, and your body arches into hers instinctively. The tip of the strap nudges between your folds, slick from how much you want her, from how long she’s teased you. Billie groans low in her throat as she presses in, not for her own pleasure, but because she wants to feel how tight you get when she fills you. She wants to watch your eyes roll back and your body seize up.

She pushes forward slowly, excruciatingly slowly, and your breath catches as your walls stretch to take her. You grip her shoulders, fingers digging in, needing something to hold onto. Inch by inch, she sinks the strap inside you, watching your face the whole time.

“That’s it,” she murmurs, voice thick. “Taking me so well. Look at you.”

You whimper, toes curling, thighs quivering. The stretch burns in the best way, just enough to make your eyes sting, just enough to make you feel completely, utterly claimed.

Billie doesn’t rush it. She grinds her hips in slow circles once she’s all the way in, letting you feel her in every place you’re sensitive, dragging the strap against your sweetest spots until your head falls back and you gasp.

Her hand comes up to cup your cheek, grounding you. “You okay?”

You nod, barely, voice gone.

She leans in and kisses your temple. “Good.”

Then she pulls back, just an inch, and slams back in with a sharp snap of her hips.

You cry out, the force of it making your back arch. She growls softly and sets a pace, hard, deep, rhythmic, and with every thrust, her body rolls perfectly, her pelvis grinding against your clit as the toy pounds into you over and over.

“Mine,” she pants, breath hot on your throat. “Say it.”

You can’t think. You can barely breathe. But you manage it, choked and breathless.

“Yours.”

She drives into you harder. “Again.”

“Yours, Billie. Fuck I’m yours.”

“That’s right.”

Her hand slips between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing in slow, tight circles while she continues to thrust into you. Your mouth falls open, a desperate moan ripping out of you as you start to unravel.

Your body trembles beneath her, hips stuttering, thighs twitching. You’re so full, so overwhelmed, you feel like you’re going to come apart, and Billie knows. She sees it. She feels your walls tightening around the strap, your legs squeezing her waist.

“Gonna come for me?” she whispers, licking into your open mouth. “Do it. I want to feel you come while I’m inside you.”

You don’t last another second.

Your orgasm crashes over you like a wave , sharp, hot, all-consuming. Your body jerks, legs spasming, your cry muffled against her shoulder as your nails drag down her back. She doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow. She fucks you through it, her voice in your ear, raspy and adoring and possessive.

“That’s it. Come for me. Such a good girl. That’s my pussy. Mine.”

You barely register when she finally slows down, then withdraws. You’re shaking, panting, skin dewed in sweat, your thighs soaked, your lips swollen and red. Billie looks down at you, flushed and gorgeous, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

Then, wordless, she flips you over.

Your body is pliant, dazed, but she handles you gently. One hand on your hip, the other guiding your movements. She bends you forward over the back of the couch, your knees still on the cushions, your cheek pressing into the fabric.

And then, she enters you again.

From behind, it’s deeper. She moves slow at first, dragging the strap out almost entirely before pushing back in with a deliberate, claiming thrust. You cry out, legs trembling, back arching for her instinctively.

She sets a punishing rhythm this time, fucking you like she’s trying to brand you from the inside, her hands gripping your hips, her nails leaving crescents in your skin. She leans over your back, her sweat-damp chest pressed to your spine, her breath hitting your neck in ragged bursts.

“Say it again,” she pants. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you cry, voice broken, desperate. “I’m fucking yours, Billie.”

Her hand lifts, then smack, lands on your ass, sending a sting through your body that only makes your orgasm build again, sharp and fast. You’re so overstimulated it almost hurts, but it’s perfect, addictive.

You come again, harder than before, your body spasming, legs shaking, moans caught in your throat.

Billie rides it out with you, thrusting until you’re begging her to stop, until you’re limp and twitching under her. She withdraws slowly, watching your thighs tremble and glisten in the dim light.

Then, without a word, she lowers herself to her knees behind you and kisses the back of your thigh. Soft. Worshipful.

You collapse into the cushions, chest heaving. You hear her shift behind you, then the click of a camera. You twist your head weakly, confused.

Billie’s holding up her phone. She shows you the screen. It’s a photo, your bare back, sweaty, flushed, and scratched into your skin: a crude but clear “B.”

You blink, stunned, then laugh breathlessly, collapsing again.

She drops her phone to the floor and her voice softens, a gentle hush replacing the possessive snarl from minutes before. Her hands stroke down your back. Her lips press light kisses to your spine.

“Too much?” she whispers.

You shake your head. “No. Just… tired.”

Still, she moves gently now, carefully turning you over. She peels the strap off, sets it aside, then disappears for a moment before returning with a warm, damp cloth. She wipes your thighs clean, murmuring little praises under her breath.

“You did so good,” she whispers. “So fucking good. You’re so pretty like this. Look at you.”

She runs her lips along the marks she left, the scratches, the hickeys, the bruises. Her hands are gentle now, guiding you down into her arms, lifting you back onto the couch like you’re fragile. You are.

You let her.

She helps you into one of her oversized t-shirts, then curls up beside you on the couch, pulling a throw blanket over both of you. Her arm wraps tight around your waist. Her mouth finds your ear.

“You’re mine,” she breathes again. “And I’m not letting go.”

here’s a super short little drabble i wrote really quick, while i finish up the first chapter of my next fic 💗

nsfw warning ‼️

thinking about possessive billie shutting you up when you’re acting bratty at a party. you wanted attention and instead of asking for it you started acting out and trying to make billie jealous, hoping she would give in and give you the attention you so desperately wanted. you think you’re winning the battle for dominance until you say that one last thing that makes billie snap.

“i wonder what she’s like in bed, she seemed pretty dominant when we talked.” you said, looking at some random girl, pretending to be interested in her in hopes of riling billie up. and it worked, well kind of? billie wasn’t just riled up, she was pissed and she was gonna make you regret talking about any other girl like that.

grabbing your chin roughly and turning you to face her, billie leaned in to your ear, her breath hot on your face as she (not so quietly) whispered, “god you’re such a fucking slut, aren’t you? i don’t fuck you for a few days and you turn into a whore, wearing this slutty little outfit hoping someone will fuck you. pathetic.”

you shuddered at her words, feeling embarrassed not just from her degrading comments but also because those comments were going straight to your core, your lacy panties getting soaked. as she pulled back and looked in your eyes you tried to get words out but she stopped you, her thumb over your mouth. “mm sluts like you don’t get to speak, do you?” as your mouth fell slightly open, billie was quick to slip her thumb into your mouth, a moan slipping out as your lips wrapped around her finger quickly, welcoming her into your mouth.

billie looked down at you shamelessly sucking on her finger in the middle of a room full of well-known people. you were a bit of an attention whore so you acted out on occasion, but it never took long for her to get you listening again. as you continued sucking on her thumb, she noticed your eyes glazing over, that ever-so-familiar look on your face. you were ready to do whatever she asked to get her to touch you, desperate to feel her warm touch on your body.

she left her thumb in your mouth for a few seconds longer, savoring the image of you staring up at her with glossy eyes while you sucked on her finger like it was the only thing your little slutty brain knew how to do. but regardless of how beautiful you looked like this, all dumb and fucked out for her over the littlest touch, she wasn’t gonna let you win. so she abruptly pulled her finger out of your mouth and brought her thumb to her mouth, sucking your spit off her finger, wiping her hand off on her baggy shirt afterwards.

you whimpered slightly at the loss of her finger, trying to reach for her to get her hands back on you, but she stopped you. “maybe if you’d been good instead of acting like a brat i would take you to one of those empty rooms and fuck you dumb. but you chose to not listen.” billie spat out, and you tried to argue back and to convince her to just touch you again, but she stopped you before you could even get a word out. “remember what i said? sluts like you don’t get to speak.” she paused for just a moment, looking around the room, “grab your bag, we’re leaving. now.”

you quickly grabbed your things and followed her out of the party, quietly walking beside her as she said her goodbyes to friends. you thought about trying to apologize but you knew better at this point. so you stayed silent and waited to find out how billie was going to punish you for your behavior this time, feeling a bit scared and more than anything, turned on thinking of what she might do to you.

“oh really?”

“pathetic.”

“you look so fucking pretty for me”

“that’s it, baby”

“i know, angel, i know”

“look at the mess you’ve made, baby”