#bilsbunni

[bilspuppy]

𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗

AUTHOR NOTE : Need that 😛

taglist @bilsbabyma @bilsvndaes @emiliesblohsh @st0nerlesb0 @kittluzbills @urfavvbilliemunch @marieilish1823 @bitchesbrokenpromises

Y/N lay sprawled on Billie’s bed like she owned it, scrolling her phone while Billie kneeled on the floor, digging through a crate of vinyls. Friday night sleepovers weren’t unusual for them—hadn’t been since they were kids. The only difference now was that they were twenty, maybe a little too old for “sleepovers,” but still refusing to stop.

“You take forever to pick music,” Y/N said, tossing a pillow at Billie.

Billie caught it easily, glancing back with that lazy grin. “That’s because I have taste. You’d put on, like, Kidz Bop.”

“Oh my god.” Y/N rolled her eyes, laughing. “You literally still have a Justin Bieber poster in your garage.”

“Shut up,” Billie said, standing and stepping closer, record sleeve in hand. “Don’t test me right now, princess.”

The pet name was casual, but it did something to Y/N’s stomach—made it flip and tighten. To cover the reaction, she shot back without thinking:

“Yes, mommy.”

The air froze.

Y/N expected Billie to snort, maybe throw the pillow back at her. But Billie stopped dead, blue eyes darkening, jaw slack for only a second before her lips curled into something else—something dangerous.

“…What did you just call me?” Billie asked, voice lower than usual.

Y/N blinked, nervous laugh bubbling out. “Uh—it was a joke? TikTok thing? Relax.”

But Billie didn’t laugh. She set the record down slowly, like she didn’t trust herself not to snap it in half, and sat on the edge of the bed, close enough that Y/N could feel the heat radiating off her.

“Say it again.”

Y/N’s pulse spiked. “Billie—”

“Say it.” Firm this time. A command.

Y/N swallowed, throat dry. “…Mommy.”

Billie’s pupils blew wide, nostrils flaring as a rough sound tore from her chest. She leaned in until their noses almost touched.

“Fuck,” Billie breathed, voice wrecked. “Do you have any idea what you just did to me?”

Y/N shook her head. “I—I thought it was just a joke—”

“Not anymore,” Billie muttered.

And then Billie’s mouth was on hers.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t tentative. It was fire, lips crashing together, teeth clashing, all years of unspoken tension erupting at once. Y/N dropped her phone, her hands flying to Billie’s hoodie, pulling her closer.

Billie pushed her flat onto the pillows, straddling her hips without hesitation. When she pulled back, her lips were red, eyes blown, breathing harsh.

“Tell me to stop, and I will,” she said, voice firm but shaking slightly at the edges.

Y/N’s answer was instant, whispered against her lips. “Don’t stop.”

Billie smirked, a slow, wicked curl of her mouth. “Good girl.”

Y/N whimpered, thighs squeezing together involuntarily.

“Oh, you like that?” Billie teased, sliding one hand up Y/N’s stomach, under her shirt, palm hot against her skin. “My good girl?”

Y/N moaned softly, nodding without shame.

Billie chuckled low, biting her lip. “We’re about to ruin this friendship in the best fucking way.”

Billie kissed down Y/N’s jaw, her throat, her collarbone, sucking little bruises just because she could. Y/N writhed beneath her, chest heaving as Billie shoved her shirt up and over her head.

“Fuck,” Billie breathed, eyes raking over Y/N’s bare skin. “You’re unreal.”

Her mouth wrapped around one nipple, tongue circling before her teeth grazed, and Y/N gasped, arching. Billie’s hand slid lower, between Y/N’s thighs, pressing against the damp fabric of her shorts.

“Already soaked for me, huh?” Billie murmured, smug. “And all it took was a little ‘mommy.’”

Y/N hid her face in the pillow, mortified and desperate all at once.

Billie tsked, tugging at her shorts. “Don’t hide from me. I wanna see every fucking reaction.”

The shorts hit the floor, leaving Y/N in nothing but soaked panties that Billie hooked a finger into and dragged down painfully slow.

Billie spread Y/N’s thighs open, kneeling between them, and let out a growl. “Look at you. Dripping. Needy. All mine.”

Y/N whimpered. “Billie—”

“Try again,” Billie cut in, eyes flashing.

“…Mommy.”

Billie groaned, dropping her head against Y/N’s inner thigh. “Fuck, I’m addicted already.”

Her tongue found Y/N’s pussy without warning—hot, wet, demanding. Y/N cried out, back arching, thighs clamping around Billie’s head only for Billie to pry them apart again, holding her open with ease.

“Keep those legs wide for mommy,” Billie ordered, tongue flattening against her clit.

Y/N moaned loud, nails clawing at the sheets. “Oh my god—don’t stop—

Billie laughed against her pussy, sending vibrations straight through her. “I’m not stopping till you scream my name, baby. Loud enough for the neighbors.”

Billie’s tongue worked relentlessly, fast flicks against Y/N’s clit, sloppy and messy and perfect. Just when Y/N thought she couldn’t take anymore, Billie slid two fingers inside her, knuckles deep with one smooth thrust.

“Fuck!” Y/N yelped, eyes flying open.

Billie curled them just right, dragging over that spot again and again until Y/N was a trembling mess.

“You feel how tight you are?” Billie muttered, her mouth still devouring her clit. “Clenching around mommy’s fingers like you were made for me.”

Y/N’s moans broke into whimpers, tears pricking her eyes from the overwhelming pleasure. “Please—please don’t stop—”

“Beg louder.”

“Please, mommy!”

Billie’s growl vibrated against her. “That’s it. Good fucking girl.”

Her pace quickened, fingers thrusting hard and fast while her tongue circled mercilessly. The wet sounds filled the room—slick, obscene, loud—and Billie reveled in every second.

Y/N shattered, thighs shaking violently, pussy spasming around Billie’s fingers as she screamed her release.

Billie didn’t let up. She fingered her through it, licked her clean, drank down every drop. Only when Y/N was a quivering mess did Billie finally slow, pulling her soaked fingers free to lick them clean, eyes locked on Y/N’s dazed face.

“Tastes like heaven,” Billie murmured, smirking.

The night blurred into a haze of skin, sweat, and moans. Billie never let up—making Y/N ride her fingers until her voice broke, eating her out again and again until she was overstimulated and sobbing from pleasure.

Every orgasm was dragged out of her with precision, Billie whispering filth into her ear the whole time:

• “You’re mine now. Say it.”

• “Mommy makes you feel this good, no one else.”

• “I’m not stopping until you can’t fucking walk tomorrow.”

And Y/N said it all back, voice raw but eager, because it was true—Billie owned her now.

By the time dawn broke, Y/N was wrecked, body sore and sticky, Billie wrapped around her like she’d never let go.

“…So,” Y/N whispered hoarsely, “we’re not just friends anymore, are we?”

Billie kissed her shoulder, voice smug and soft all at once. “Not a chance, baby. You’re mine. My good girl.”

Y/N smiled weakly, eyelids heavy. “Okay…mommy.”

Billie groaned, tightening her arm around Y/N. “You’re so fucking lucky I wore you out, or I’d take you again right now.”

But Y/N just drifted off against her chest, smiling, knowing nothing between them would ever be the same again.

[bilspuppy]

𝚙𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚜

sub!billie, dom!reader , g!p reader , billie being a brat and car sex if i forgot anything let me know !

AUTHOR NOTE: Sub billie who cheered anyways moving on

Tags : @bilsbabyma @bitchesbrokenpromises @emiliesblohsh @bilsvndaes @st0nerlesb0 @kittluzbills @marieilish1823

The music was deafening, bass rattling through the walls, neon lights cutting across the crowded living room in sharp waves of pink and blue. Billie leaned lazily against the kitchen counter with a drink in her hand, her green eyes shining from the alcohol she’d been sipping all night. She looked stunning—tight black mini skirt, oversized shirt that still showed off her curves, her hair tumbling down in waves that framed her mischievous face.

Y/N wasn’t drinking. She never really did when Billie was around, not when she already had to keep an eye on her girlfriend’s wild streak. Billie loved attention, loved the crowd, and she loved pushing buttons—especially Y/N’s.

It started small. A snarky remark when Y/N told her she’d had enough to drink.

“Relax, mommy, I can handle my shit.” Billie had smirked, sipping again.

Y/N’s jaw had tightened, but she’d let it slide.

Then it escalated. Billie laughed a little too loudly when some guy tried flirting with her, throwing a glance over her shoulder at Y/N as if daring her to step in. Y/N’s hand had clenched into a fist at her side, but again, she let it go.

But Billie didn’t stop.

Every time Y/N spoke to her, she snapped back.

“God, you’re such a buzzkill.”

“You gonna babysit me all night?”

“You’re not my mom.”

The last one had hit hard, her tone dripping with sarcasm, her pretty mouth twisted into something bratty and sharp. And that was the one that finally made Y/N snap.

Y/N didn’t say a word. She just grabbed Billie’s wrist—hard enough to make her gasp—and tugged her through the crowd. Billie stumbled after her, still smirking like she thought this was some kind of game, until she saw the look on Y/N’s face.

That look wasn’t playful. It was dangerous.

They didn’t stop until they were outside, the night air cooler against their flushed skin, the bass of the party muffled now behind the walls. Y/N unlocked the car with a sharp click, shoving Billie inside the back seat before sliding in after her.

Billie blinked, biting her lip, finally realizing what kind of trouble she was in.

“Y/N…” her voice came softer now, still tinged with that bratty edge but with a flicker of nervous excitement underneath.

Y/N leaned in, her voice low, rough, full of authority.

“You’ve had a mouth on you all night, Billie. You think I’m just gonna let that shit slide?”

Billie’s thighs pressed together instinctively, heat already building even though she tried to hold her stare steady.

“I was just—”

“Don’t.” Y/N cut her off sharply, fingers gripping her jaw, tilting her head back against the seat. “You’ve been begging for this. All. Night.”

Billie whimpered, a sound that made Y/N’s cock twitch in her pants.

“Since you want to act like a fucking brat in front of everyone,” Y/N growled, unbuckling her belt slowly, deliberately, “you’re gonna take your punishment right here. And you’re gonna take it how I want.”

Billie’s breath hitched, her cheeks flushed, her thighs shifting restlessly as she licked her lips.

“Unprotected?” she whispered, almost taunting, almost begging.

Y/N’s eyes narrowed.

“Exactly like that.”

Y/N shoved Billie back against the leather seat, climbing over her as the cramped space forced their bodies close. Billie’s breath came fast, eyes wide but defiant, that same bratty glint lingering even as her chest rose and fell rapidly.

“You wanna run your mouth?” Y/N snarled, tugging Billie’s skirt up rough, bunching it around her waist. “You wanna embarrass me in front of everyone?”

Billie opened her mouth to sass back, but Y/N’s hand shot between her thighs and pressed firmly against her pussy through the thin lace of her panties. The gasp that broke from Billie’s lips betrayed her—her panties were already soaked.

“Look at you,” Y/N muttered darkly, fingers rubbing her clit through the fabric, relentless. “You talk all that shit, but your cunt’s dripping just waiting for me to put you in your place.”

“F-fuck you,” Billie managed, biting her lip hard, though her hips bucked into Y/N’s hand.

“No, baby,” Y/N hissed against her ear, yanking her panties to the side and lining up her cock, thick and hard. “Fuck you.”

With one rough thrust, Y/N buried herself inside Billie’s tight, wet heat—raw, no protection, just skin on skin. Billie cried out, her head slamming back against the seat, nails clawing at Y/N’s shoulders as she was filled completely.

“Y/N—fuck—”

“That’s it,” Y/N growled, pulling back only to slam into her again, the car rocking with each thrust. “Take it. You wanted this, you fucking brat.”

Billie whimpered, her legs trembling as Y/N spread them wider, pounding into her harder, deeper, unrelenting. Every thrust had her moaning louder, the sound muffled only when Y/N’s hand wrapped around her throat, squeezing just enough to make her eyes roll back.

“Open your mouth,” Y/N ordered. Billie obeyed instantly, her lips parting, her tongue slipping out. Y/N spat into her mouth, watching with dark satisfaction as Billie swallowed without hesitation, her eyes glassy with lust.

“Good fucking girl,” Y/N praised, then immediately punished with another brutal thrust, making Billie scream. “See how easy it is when you listen?”

Her pussy clenched desperately around Y/N’s cock, pulling her deeper, milking every thrust. Y/N’s free hand slid down, fingers circling her clit mercilessly, giving her no room to breathe, no room to think—only to take.

Billie shook her head, overwhelmed, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as she gasped, “It’s too much—too fucking much—”

Y/N smirked, fucking her harder, rougher, their skin slapping together in the tight space of the car.

“Too much? You weren’t saying that when you were mouthing off inside. You wanted punishment, baby—now you’ve got it.”

Billie’s whole body tensed, back arching, a choked cry ripping from her throat as she came hard around Y/N’s cock, pussy spasming, soaking them both.

But Y/N didn’t stop.

Her thrusts only grew rougher, punishing, forcing Billie to ride out her orgasm until she was sobbing from overstimulation, clawing at Y/N’s arms, begging without words for mercy.

“You’re not done,” Y/N snapped, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand. “You’ll cum again. You’ll cum until you learn to keep that pretty mouth shut unless it’s moaning my name.”

Billie’s lips trembled, but she nodded weakly, already falling apart as Y/N drove into her mercilessly, fucking her raw until every nerve in her body was on fire.

Y/N pulled out of Billie suddenly, cock glistening, slick with her cum. Billie whined at the emptiness, her walls still fluttering, her body trembling from being fucked so raw.

“N-no—” she gasped, her hips lifting like she was begging to be filled again.

Y/N grabbed her thighs, forcing them apart, making Billie spread wide on the car seat. “You think you get to tell me when I stop?”

Billie’s breath hitched, her eyes wide, lips swollen from biting them.

“Here’s your reality check,” Y/N muttered, lowering her head.

Before Billie could reply, Y/N’s mouth was on her pussy—tongue flat and greedy, lapping up her own cum from between Billie’s folds. Billie’s scream echoed through the car, her hands flying down to grip Y/N’s hair, tugging desperately.

“F-fuck—oh my god—”

Y/N growled against her, sucking her clit hard, tongue fucking her entrance, tasting the mix of them both. The sounds were filthy—slick, wet, obscene in the small, enclosed space. Every flick of Y/N’s tongue sent Billie spiraling higher, her thighs shaking uncontrollably.

“You taste like a slut,” Y/N rasped between licks, spit and slick dripping down her chin. “My slut. All mine.”

Billie cried out, hips jerking, but Y/N pinned her down with her arms, keeping her trapped against the seat. She sucked her clit mercilessly, alternating with deep thrusts of her tongue, not letting Billie catch a single breath.

Billie’s whole body arched, her voice breaking, “Y/N—fuck, I’m—oh my god—I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” Y/N growled, pulling back only to slap her pussy once, hard, before diving back in. “Cum in my mouth. Right fucking now.”

Billie shattered, screaming as her orgasm ripped through her, juices flooding Y/N’s tongue. Y/N devoured every drop, groaning at the taste, not stopping even as Billie sobbed from overstimulation.

When Y/N finally pulled back, her chin glistened, her lips shiny with Billie’s cum. She dragged her tongue across them slowly, deliberately, staring up at Billie with a smirk.

“Backtalk me again,” Y/N taunted darkly, “and I’ll keep you here all night until you can’t walk.”

Billie’s chest heaved, tears streaking her face, but her lips curved into the faintest, shaky smile. “Y-you’d love that.”

Y/N chuckled, wicked. “Damn right I would.”

[bilspuppy]

what if u did text with gf billie and it’s gf sending billie cute outfits she wears/wanna wear when billie is away and gets compliments back or something like that

TEXTS W GF! BILLIE

Bro I promise I did two texts with this idea and I don’t know where they went

[bilspuppy]

just gonna leave this here…

it’s getting deleted tonight..

[bilspuppy]

⚰︎ The knock ⚰︎

Billie x Military!Reader

Warnings: major character death and depression/ emotional collapse

AUTHOR NOTE : I’m sorry for this I’ll hold your hand…

Tags: @bilsbabyma @emiliesblohsh @kittluzbills @bitchesbrokenpromises

The clock ticked slower than it ever had before.

Twenty-four hours.

That’s all Billie had left before you were finally back. You had been deployed for 9 months—an aching, brutal separation that tested the very seams of your relationship. But you made it work. Late-night calls with static in between. Random voice notes when you found Wi-Fi. Photographs of the sunrises you swore you’d both wake up to again together.

And now, it was almost over. One more sleep, and you’d be home.

Your duffle was packed. Your final message said:

“See you soon, baby. Tell the dogs I’m bringing them treats.”

Billie had laughed through her tears when she got it. It was 4 AM and she couldn’t sleep anyway, counting the seconds. She replied:

“They miss you. I miss you. Hurry up.”

No reply.

That was ten hours ago.

The Silence

Billie wasn’t paranoid at first.

Service could be spotty on your base. Sometimes it took a few hours, even a day, for you to respond. She told herself you were just caught up with something—maybe a meeting, maybe final prep. Maybe you just fell asleep with your phone on your chest.

But it wasn’t like you to go this long.

Especially not the day before you were supposed to come home.

She texted again.

“Y/n?”

“Call me?”

“Are you okay?”

Still nothing.

She went through the usual routines: coffee, pacing, folding and unfolding laundry. She put your favorite hoodie in the dryer so it would be warm when you got home. She pulled your pillow into her chest and closed her eyes, waiting to feel something — a presence, a whisper.

Still nothing.

The Knock

The knock came at 6:13 PM.

Three sharp hits on the door. Firm. Heavy.

Billie jumped. Not because of the sound, but because deep inside her—she knew.

She opened it slowly.

Two soldiers stood there in full dress blues. One was holding a small, folded flag.

The other held your dog tags.

“Miss Eilish?”

Her mouth went dry. Her throat tightened so hard it felt like she was choking.

“I’m Major Phillips. This is Sergeant Moore. May we come in?”

She stepped back in silence, as if in a dream. As if the air had been sucked out of the world.

The major spoke carefully, like every word might shatter her bones.

“There was an incident this morning. Your partner, Staff Sergeant Y/n L/n, was killed in action.”

No screams. No tears. No collapse.

Just Billie—frozen. Still.

He kept talking.

“There was a surprise ambush. They were helping civilians evacuate when the convoy was attacked. She died protecting three of them.”

Billie’s legs gave out.

But not a single sound left her mouth.

The Box

They handed her a box.

Inside were your things. Your phone. Your last letter. Your tags. A photograph of you and Billie from two Christmases ago, slightly bent from being carried in your pocket.

Your uniform was folded tight beneath it all.

There was a bloodstain on the fabric.

Billie stared at it for hours.

She didn’t eat that night. Didn’t sleep. Didn’t speak.

She just sat in your hoodie on the floor, staring at your dog tags like they might start vibrating with your voice.

The Final Text

Your phone had one unread message.

Billie hesitated before opening it.

The date stamp read Today. 4:49 AM.

“If anything happens, just know I loved you through every second of this hell. Please be happy, B. Please.”

She broke.

No scream. No cry.

Just quiet, breathless sobs that sounded like the end of something sacred.

The Funeral

The coffin was closed.

They said you were too damaged to be seen. Billie didn’t argue. She just stared at the flag draped over your casket and listened to the sound of your name being said in the past tense.

“She was brave.”

“She was loyal.”

“She was a hero.”

But Billie didn’t want a hero.

She wanted you.

The you that teased her for singing off-key. The you that whispered “I love you” right before falling asleep. The you that promised to come home.

You didn’t.

The After

It’s been three months.

Billie still hasn’t unpacked your box.

Your phone sits on her nightstand, fully charged, like you might call at any second. She still reaches for you in her sleep. Still texts you when she’s overwhelmed. Still writes you letters she never sends.

• Your favorite cereal’s discontinued. You’d be pissed.

• Finneas made me laugh today, but I still felt empty.

• I hate you for leaving. But I love you more.

Every time she gets mail, she looks for your handwriting.

She never finds it.

The Performance

She tried to perform again once.

Walked out on stage. Picked up the mic. Looked out at the sea of lights.

And saw your face.

In every corner.

She opened her mouth and nothing came out.

She walked off without saying a word.

The internet called her dramatic.

They didn’t know she had buried her future 12 weeks ago.

The Voice Message

Billie played your last voice note on repeat.

“Hey baby. If you’re listening to this, I guess I didn’t make it back. But that’s okay. Because I got to love you. And that was enough for me. I don’t need heaven — I had you.”

She sleeps with that voice playing in her ears every night.

One More Tomorrow

Billie keeps dreaming that you’ll walk through the door.

That you’ll throw your bag on the floor and grin like nothing happened. That it was all just a cruel joke. That love doesn’t die in the sand under foreign stars.

But when she wakes up, the house is silent.

Your boots are still by the door. Your hoodie still smells like you. Your toothbrush still in the holder.

But you never come home.

And Billie?

Billie keeps waiting for one more tomorrow.

But it never comes.

[bilspuppy]

ɪᴛ ᴍᴇᴀɴꜱ ʟᴏᴠᴇ

mom!Billie x mom!Reader

AUTHOR NOTE: this is my apology for the last two fics…

tags: @bilsbabyma @bitchesbrokenpromises @emiliesblohsh @kittluzbills

The smell of pancakes drifted through the small kitchen, warm and sweet with just the faintest hint of something on the verge of burning. Billie stood barefoot at the stove, hair in a messy bun, oversized shirt hanging halfway off one shoulder as she tried to flip the second batch without mangling it. Her phone sat on the counter behind her, playing low music, the kind you could hum along to without thinking.

Behind her, the sound of soft babbling and the occasional clack of plastic toys filled the air. Bea was in her booster seat at the table, one hand gripping a half-eaten strawberry, the other clutching her favorite stuffed bunny by its floppy ear.

Y/N walked in from the hallway, still in pajama pants, yawning. She leaned against the doorway for a moment, watching the scene — Billie moving between the stove and counter like she owned the space, Bea babbling away like she was telling her own breakfast story, and the sunlight spilling in through the kitchen window.

“Morning, chef,” Y/N teased, stepping closer to press a quick kiss to Billie’s shoulder.

Billie shot her a mock glare over her shoulder. “Don’t distract me unless you want a pancake that looks like roadkill.”

“I’d eat it anyway,” Y/N said, smirking as she moved to sit beside Bea. “You good, bug?”

Bea grinned, strawberry juice smeared across her cheek. “Bunny likes pancakes.”

“Does she now?” Y/N laughed, wiping at her daughter’s face with a napkin while Billie plated the food.

It was domestic and simple, the kind of morning that felt like home — which was probably why neither Billie nor Y/N saw the storm coming.

It happened twenty minutes later, after the pancakes were eaten and the three of them had moved into the living room. Billie was sitting cross-legged on the rug, helping Bea stack colorful blocks into what was supposed to be a tower but was rapidly becoming more abstract.

“Okay,” Billie said, handing Bea another block. “This one goes on top, but really careful—”

“Fuck!” Bea exclaimed cheerfully, plopping the block down.

Billie froze. She blinked once, twice, like maybe she’d misheard a two-year-old say the most adult of words in the sweetest little voice.

“…What did you just say?” Billie asked carefully, eyebrows pulling together.

“Fuck,” Bea repeated brightly, like it was a word she’d been practicing.

From the couch, Y/N — who had been scrolling on her phone — looked up, processing the sound a second later. And then she lost it.

Billie whipped her head toward her, expression flat and disbelieving. “Don’t laugh.”

But Y/N was already doubled over, hand clamped over her mouth, laughter shaking her shoulders. “Billie—oh my God—did she just—”

“Y/N.” Billie’s tone was sharp, but her eyes were wide, still locked on Bea like the toddler might sprout horns at any second. “Where did you hear that?” she asked Bea.

“Love!” Bea announced proudly, pointing to Billie.

Billie blinked. “You think that word means love?”

Bea nodded enthusiastically, bunny bouncing in her grip.

That did it — Y/N fell sideways into the couch cushions, laughter spilling out completely.

Billie’s face didn’t change. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s hilarious,” Y/N wheezed, tears forming in her eyes.

Billie turned back to Bea, trying to sound calm. “Okay, so, uh… that word isn’t… it’s not love, Bea. It’s actually… it’s not a nice word. So we’re not gonna say it, okay?”

“Fuck,” Bea repeated softly, smiling.

Billie slapped a hand over her own face. “Oh my God.”

The next hour was Billie in full crisis mode.

“She’s two, Y/N. Two! What if she says that at the grocery store? What if she says it at daycare? Oh my God, what if she says it in front of your mom?” Billie’s voice pitched higher on the last one, as if the idea alone could end her life.

That only made Y/N laugh harder. “She’s not gonna—”

“Yes, she will!” Billie interrupted, pacing the living room like she was planning an evacuation route. “You know your mom already thinks I’m corrupting her precious daughter. This will prove it.”

“She already thinks that because you have tattoos,” Y/N teased.

“Exactly!” Billie gestured wildly. “This is like… confirmation for her. She’s gonna think I’m teaching Bea swear words between snack time and nap time.”

Y/N tried to speak but dissolved into another fit of laughter.

Billie groaned, dropping onto the couch beside her. “I’m serious, Y/N.”

“I know,” Y/N said, still grinning. “But you’re adorable when you panic.”

The next few days became a mission

Billie tried bribery (“Say love and I’ll give you a cookie”), distraction (“Hey, let’s sing the ABCs instead!”), and even what she called “verbal substitution therapy” — replacing the swear with completely random, silly words.

But Bea? Bea thought it was a game.

On Tuesday, she looked Billie right in the eye during breakfast and said, “Fuck… pancakes.”

On Wednesday, it was, “Fuck… bunny.”

By Thursday, Billie was on the verge of tears.

Y/N found the whole thing endlessly entertaining, though she did step in with a calmer approach, explaining gently to Bea that “fuck” wasn’t a nice word, and maybe they could say “love” instead.

To Billie’s shock, Bea nodded and repeated “love” like she’d just heard the idea for the first time.

Billie glared. “How come she listens to you?”

Y/N smirked. “Because I don’t make it a competition.”

The real test came that Sunday: lunch at Y/N’s mom’s house.

Billie spent the car ride in silence, mentally running through ways to stop Bea mid-word if it happened. She had contingency plans involving coughs, loud exclamations, and even pretending to spill water.

The lunch started fine — Bea sat in her booster, babbling to her grandma, Billie sat rigidly beside Y/N, and Y/N’s mom made the usual polite-but-cool comments toward Billie.

Then Bea, sweet and oblivious, started listing all the things she loved. “Bunny… pancakes… Mommy… Mama…”

Billie’s stomach dropped when Bea took a breath, lips forming an f. She braced herself—

“Love!” Bea chirped.

Billie nearly collapsed in relief.

The day ended better than Billie expected. As they were leaving, Y/N’s mom pulled her aside.

“I heard Bea tell you she loves you earlier,” she said quietly. “You’re good with her. She’s lucky to have you.”

Billie blinked, caught completely off guard, before nodding. “…Thanks.”

In the car on the way home, Billie told Y/N, who smirked knowingly. “See? Survived without a single ‘fuck.’”

Billie laughed, leaning back in her seat. “Barely.”

Bea’s little voice piped up from the backseat. “Love, Mama.”

Billie turned, smiling. “Love you too, bug.”

A beat of silence.

“…Fuck,” Bea added softly, grinning.

Billie groaned, Y/N burst out laughing, and the car filled with the sound of all three of them, tangled in the kind of chaos only family could make feel this warm.

[bilspuppy]

Ghosts of tomorrow

Warnings: child loss, blame of other parent, Jesse Rutherford , drowning, parental guilt.

AUTHORS NOTE : ERM I CRIED WRITING THIS POOR BILLIE. ALSO ITS SO LONG SORRY SORRY.

Tags: @bilsbabyma @bitchesbrokenpromises @emiliesblohsh @kittluzbills

The Los Angeles sun poured through the living room windows, spilling golden light across the couch where Billie sat cross-legged, her two-year-old daughter tucked into her lap. Y/N’s tiny hands were busy patting at Billie’s cheeks, as though inspecting them for flaws, her small voice babbling in half-formed sentences that only Billie seemed to understand.

Billie’s heart swelled with every sound.

She’d always known she would love her child, but she hadn’t been prepared for this — the way Y/N’s giggle could physically ease the ache in her chest, or how just holding her could make the whole world feel manageable. She was her reason for existing. Every tour, every song, every exhausting interview — all of it was for her.

“Can Mama have a kiss?” Billie asked, leaning forward.

Y/N grinned — that gummy, imperfect, perfect grin — and planted an exaggerated kiss on her mother’s lips, then immediately collapsed into a fit of giggles like she’d just done the funniest thing in the world.

Billie laughed, brushing back Y/N’s fine hair. “You’re trouble. You know that?”

Trouble didn’t mean bad. Trouble meant bright, alive, unpredictable. Trouble meant this little girl who insisted on eating grapes one at a time, who demanded “baby shark” before bed every night, who called her blanket “Baba” and refused to let anyone wash it unless she could supervise.

Today was Saturday. Billie had cleared her schedule for the weekend — no studio, no interviews, no appearances. Just her and Y/N. Tomorrow Jesse would take her for the afternoon so Billie could work on some writing. She didn’t like being apart from her daughter for too long, but she and Jesse had worked hard to make co-parenting civil.

Billie glanced at the clock. “Wanna go to the park?”

Y/N gasped like this was the best news she’d ever heard. “Swings!”

That was all the answer Billie needed.

At the park

Billie carried Y/N from the car, letting her little legs dangle while she ran tiny fingers through Billie’s hair. The park was already buzzing — families, strollers, kids squealing down slides. Billie kept her hat pulled low and her sunglasses on, but her focus wasn’t on avoiding attention. It was on the little girl in her arms.

The swings were their thing. Billie would push gently, never too high, because Y/N liked the feeling of the breeze but still wanted Mama close. Every push was followed by that laugh — not just sound, but a burst of pure joy that lodged itself in Billie’s chest.

“Higher?” Billie teased.

Y/N shook her head firmly. “No high. Mama push.”

“Okay, baby.” Billie kept the rhythm steady. Back and forth. Back and forth.

When the swings lost momentum, Billie lifted her out and they wandered toward the pond. They tossed bits of bread to the ducks, Y/N squealing when one swam close enough for her to see its orange feet paddling beneath the surface.

Back at home

Afternoon light slanted into the kitchen as Billie set Y/N in her booster seat. Lunch was peanut butter toast, sliced bananas, and a juice box. Billie sat across from her, sipping coffee, watching her daughter navigate her food with the concentration of a tiny scientist.

“Good?” Billie asked.

Y/N nodded, cheeks puffed full of banana. “Mama eat?”

Billie smiled. “I’ll eat in a sec, baby.”

It struck her — how these small, nothing moments were actually the biggest things. How this simple lunch, this sunlight, this messy-haired toddler with peanut butter on her chin, could be everything.

Later, after Y/N’s nap, they curled on the couch watching “Finding Nemo,” Y/N resting her head on Billie’s chest. Billie absentmindedly stroked her hair, breathing in the faint scent of baby shampoo. She felt warm, safe, whole.

If she had known…

If she had even suspected that this was their last full day together, maybe she would’ve held her tighter. Maybe she wouldn’t have let go at all.

The next morning was warm, the kind of summer morning where even the breeze felt lazy. Billie was up early, making scrambled eggs while Y/N sat on the counter in her oversized Minnie Mouse T-shirt, swinging her little legs.

“Mama, pool?” she asked, pointing toward the backyard where the glint of blue water shimmered under the sun.

Billie smiled. “Not with me today, baby. Daddy’s gonna take you swimming later.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Dada pool?”

“Yeah,” Billie said, kissing her forehead. “But you have to be good, okay? Listen to Daddy.”

Jesse was due to pick her up in an hour. Their co-parenting wasn’t perfect, but they made it work. He loved his daughter. Billie trusted him… at least enough to know he’d never purposely put her in harm’s way.

Before the pool

When Jesse arrived, Y/N lit up, bouncing in Billie’s arms until she set her down. She ran to him, squealing, “Dada!” and throwing herself against his legs. Billie’s chest ached a little watching it — not jealousy, but that ache of a mother who wanted to be there for everything.

Billie crouched to Y/N’s level, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Floaties. All the time. Promise?”

“Pwomise,” Y/N said solemnly, holding up her tiny hand like an oath.

Billie kissed her, then kissed her again, lingering just a beat longer than usual. “Love you, baby girl.”

“Wuv you, Mama.”

Those were the last words Billie would ever hear from her.

At the pool

Jesse’s backyard pool was shallow at one end, deep at the other. Y/N loved the shallow side, splashing with her floaties on, paddling toward her father.

“Look at you!” Jesse grinned as she giggled, water droplets catching in her lashes.

It was easy — too easy — to feel safe. The floaties stayed on, and Y/N’s laugh was the soundtrack of the moment. Jesse turned toward the patio table, where his phone buzzed. Just a text. One second. Two.

He turned back — but Y/N wasn’t where she’d been.

The floatie bobbed near the edge of the deep end, empty.

“Y/N?” His voice was sharp now, scanning the water. Then he saw it — a small, still shape beneath the shimmering surface.

His chest went cold.

“NO!”

Jesse dove in, the water a blur around him. He grabbed her, hauling her up, her body limp, head tilted back unnaturally. Water streamed from her hair, her lips already pale.

“Baby, no, no, no—” He laid her on the hot concrete, shaking, and began CPR. His hands pressed into her tiny chest, breaths forced into her lungs. “Come on, sweetheart. Come on.”

But there was no response.

Billie was just pulling into the driveway to drop off a bag Jesse had forgotten when she heard the sirens. Her stomach flipped, a primal warning she didn’t understand until she rounded the corner and saw Jesse kneeling over Y/N’s motionless body.

Everything slowed — the sunlight, the sound of splashing water still dripping from Jesse’s clothes, the paramedics rushing past her. Billie couldn’t breathe.

“What—what happened?!” Her voice cracked, already breaking.

“She—she got out of her floatie—” Jesse’s words were frantic, sobbing. “I only turned away for a second—”

Billie dropped to her knees beside her baby, touching her wet hair. “Y/N, baby, Mama’s here. Mama’s here.

The paramedics moved in, lifting her onto a gurney, pumping her chest, an oxygen mask over her face. Billie tried to follow, but someone’s arms — she didn’t even know whose — held her back.

She screamed. Fought. Cried her daughter’s name over and over as the ambulance doors slammed shut.

At the hospital

Billie’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking. She stood in the corner of the sterile ER room, watching a team of doctors work on her little girl. Tubes, wires, compressions, the steady voice of a nurse counting out CPR beats.

“Come on, baby,” Billie whispered, her nails digging into her palms. “Please. Please.”

Minutes stretched like hours. Then the flatline.

“No…” Billie’s voice broke. She shook her head violently. “No, no, keep going—”

A doctor looked at her, eyes soft but final. “I’m sorry. We’ve done everything we can.”

The room fell silent except for Billie’s sobs. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed beside the bed, her forehead resting on Y/N’s still hand.

It was cold.

The house was too quiet.

Not just quiet in sound — quiet in presence. That strange, hollow silence that settles in after something has been ripped away. Billie stepped inside, the front door closing behind her with a click that sounded too final.

Her hands were still trembling. She hadn’t stopped shaking since the hospital. Her clothes were damp from where she’d knelt on the pool deck, and she could still smell the faint chlorine on her skin.

Y/N’s shoes were by the door — the tiny white sneakers with the worn-out velcro straps. Billie bent down and picked one up without thinking. The weight of it in her palm was unbearable. She set it back down quickly, like it burned.

The living room

Her eyes fell on the blanket draped over the couch — Baba, the faded yellow one Y/N insisted on taking everywhere. It still held the crumpled shape of the last time she’d been wrapped in it. Billie crossed the room and pulled it to her chest, inhaling deeply. The scent was faint but still there — baby shampoo, sunscreen, and that warm sweetness that was just… Y/N.

She sank onto the couch, clutching the blanket like it could anchor her.

It didn’t.

It just made the reality sharper.

The bedroom

Billie eventually found herself in Y/N’s room without remembering walking there. It was exactly as it had been that morning — the crib pushed against the wall, the stuffed animals lined up along the edge. A half-drunk sippy cup sat on the dresser. Billie stared at it, her chest tight.

Her knees gave out, and she sat on the floor, staring at the crib bars. She could see it so clearly — Y/N standing there in her footie pajamas, hair sticking up, calling “Mama!” until Billie came to get her.

Her hand reached for the crib rail, gripping it until her knuckles whitened. She wanted to climb in, to curl up there and just… stop existing.

The spiral

She tried calling her mom. The moment she heard her mother’s voice, Billie broke, sobbing so hard she couldn’t get words out. All she could say, over and over, was, “She’s gone… she’s gone…”

When she hung up, the silence rushed back in. The absence pressed on her chest like a weight. She couldn’t eat. Couldn’t drink. Couldn’t do anything except sit there, rocking slightly, clutching Y/N’s blanket.

The night stretched on endlessly. Every shadow in the house felt wrong. Every creak in the walls reminded her there should be a faint hum of a baby monitor, a sleepy sigh from down the hall.

Instead, there was nothing.

The moment she broke completely

At some point, Billie found herself sitting on the kitchen floor, Y/N’s favorite cup clutched in her hands. It still had a bit of juice in it. She stared at it until the tears blurred her vision, then she pressed it to her lips and drank, as if somehow it would let her taste her baby again.

When she finally crawled into bed, she didn’t turn on the lights. She lay on her side, staring at the dark, clutching the blanket. She whispered Y/N’s name into the empty air until her voice gave out.

Sleep didn’t come. Only the crushing truth:

Tomorrow would come without her daughter in it.

The sky was gray, heavy with clouds that looked ready to spill rain, though none came. It felt like the weather understood — like the world itself was holding its breath.

Billie stood outside the small chapel for a long moment before going in. Her hands were cold despite the warm air. She kept telling herself to breathe, but every inhale caught in her throat.

Inside, the scent of flowers was overwhelming. White lilies, roses, carnations — arrangements everywhere, like they were trying to fill the space with beauty to mask the unbearable truth.

At the front of the room, a tiny white casket rested on a table. Closed.

Billie had been the one to decide that. She couldn’t bear for anyone to see her baby girl like that — not drained of color, not still. Y/N was supposed to be remembered with flushed cheeks from laughing too hard, eyes sparkling, curls bouncing when she ran.

The table

Beside the casket was a table covered in framed photographs. Y/N in the park, grinning with her cheeks smeared in chocolate ice cream. Y/N wearing her floppy sunhat, sitting on Billie’s shoulders. Y/N at the beach, holding a seashell to her ear.

Billie’s eyes landed on one picture in particular — her favorite. Y/N sitting cross-legged in her pajamas, holding “Baba” the blanket, grinning up at the camera with dimples so deep they could trap sunlight.

The sight knocked the breath from Billie’s lungs. Her baby had been so alive. How could that life be gone? How could all that warmth fit inside a box that small?

The service

People filled the rows — family, friends, a few members of her team, neighbors. Billie barely registered them. She sat in the front row, clutching the edge of Y/N’s blanket like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely. Jesse sat beside her, his hands clasped, eyes red and swollen.

When the minister spoke, Billie couldn’t listen. The words slid past her ears like they were meant for someone else. “Gone too soon,” “precious light,” “in God’s hands” — none of it mattered. None of it brought Y/N back.

A slideshow played on the screen above the casket. Pictures of Y/N from birth to now, her short life condensed into a few fleeting minutes. Laughter frozen in frames. Billie’s chest ached so hard she thought her ribs might crack.

The goodbye

When it was time to approach the casket, Billie’s legs felt like lead. She moved forward slowly, every step a battle. Standing before it, she laid her palm flat on the smooth white surface.

Her voice was barely a whisper. “Mama loves you, baby girl. More than anything. Always.”

She placed Y/N’s blanket on top, smoothing it gently, her fingers trembling. It felt wrong to leave it, but she couldn’t imagine sending her baby off without it.

As the service ended, Billie stayed seated until the room was nearly empty. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t imagine walking away and leaving her child there.

When she finally stepped outside, the sky broke open, and the rain came — soft at first, then harder, soaking her black dress. She didn’t care. She tilted her head back, letting it wash over her, wishing it could wash away everything else, too.

The days stretched into one another like a slow, endless fog.

Billie stopped answering calls. She didn’t return texts or messages. The world outside her door carried on — laughter, work, normal life — but inside her apartment, time had fractured.

The alarm clock rang each morning, but Billie often let it buzz for hours while she lay tangled in the sheets, staring at the ceiling. Her eyes felt swollen from crying, or maybe from not blinking enough. She didn’t care anymore.

Empty rooms, empty heart

Y/N’s room remained untouched. The crib stood as it had, the stuffed animals lined up, a small pile of clothes folded neatly on the changing table.

Billie avoided going in there. Each time she tried, her breath hitched and tears spilled down unbidden. The weight of the absence pressed so hard she felt like she might suffocate.

Her own bed, once a place of rest, became a prison of memories. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Y/N’s smiling face, heard her tiny voice calling “Mama,” felt the soft press of her hand in hers.

But the silence was louder.

Meals became a forgotten ritual. Sometimes Billie would eat, but often she forgot. The food stayed cold on the counter, untouched. The coffee went cold in her mug. The notes and reminders she left herself were ignored.

She stopped showering regularly. The scent of her own sweat was unfamiliar and unsettling, but she didn’t care.

Friends stopped dropping by, afraid to intrude. Billie didn’t want them there. She didn’t want to explain the unbearable emptiness inside her.

Some days, Billie felt nothing — just numb, hollowed out. Like a ghost wandering through a life that wasn’t hers anymore.

Other days, the anger came in waves. Anger at herself, for not watching Y/N closely enough. Anger at Jesse, though she knew he hadn’t meant it. Anger at the world for being so cruel, so unfair.

She screamed into pillows. She slammed doors. She cried until her throat was raw.

A glimpse of despair

One night, Billie sat on the floor surrounded by Y/N’s things — the tiny shoes, a favorite stuffed bear, the half-finished puzzle that had once been her favorite game.

She picked up a photo from the table beside her, tracing Y/N’s smiling face with trembling fingers.

“I don’t know how to live without you,” she whispered.

The silence was the only answer.

The darkness seemed endless.

Days blurred into nights, and the silence between them grew heavier.

Jesse stood outside Billie’s door, the weight of everything pressing down on him. He had come by more than once, but each time she had turned him away — her eyes vacant, her words sharp and cold.

Today was no different.

Billie sat on the couch, clutching Y/N’s blanket like a lifeline. The door creaked open, and Jesse stepped inside, cautiously.

“We need to talk,” he said quietly.

She didn’t look up. “What’s there to say?” Her voice was brittle, broken.

Jesse swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, Billie. I’m sorry for what happened.”

Her head snapped up, eyes blazing with pain and fury. “You’re sorry? You were supposed to watch her! You were supposed to keep her safe! But she’s dead, Jesse. Our baby is dead because you looked away.”

The words cut him deeper than anything else ever could.

The blame

Billie’s tears fell fast, her voice rising. “I trusted you. And now she’s gone.”

Jesse closed his eyes, pain etched into every line of his face. “I know. I’m so sorry. I’ll never forgive myself.”

She shook her head, bitterness lacing her tone. “Sorry doesn’t bring her back.”

He reached out, but she pulled away.

The silence between them

For a long moment, neither spoke.

Jesse’s heart ached to see the woman he cared for drowning in her grief — and shutting him out.

“I want to help,” he said finally. “But you have to let me.”

Billie’s voice was a whisper, haunted and empty. “There’s nothing you can do.”

A fragile hope

Jesse nodded slowly, stepping back. “I’m here when you’re ready.”

As he closed the door, Billie wrapped herself tighter in the blanket, sinking deeper into the cold dark.

She didn’t know if she’d ever be ready.

[bilspuppy]

Game over

g!p manon x y/n

warnings: oral, handjob , clitplay, slight degradation, face sitting , and overstimulation

tags: @24kbils @fein4lararaj @marieilish1823 @emiliesblohsh @bitchesbrokenpromises @st0nerlesb0 @urfavvbilliemunch @billieshostage

A/N : excuse me this is probably the most freakiest thing i’ve written AND it sucks so bad oh my god kill me anyways i’m warning you guys my bad 💔

The sound of gunfire rattled out of the TV speakers, filling the living room with chaos. Manon leaned forward on the couch, thumb smashing her controller as her avatar sprinted through the streets of Los Santos. She was laser-focused, jaw tight, blonde hair falling loose around her face, muttering curses under her breath at whoever had just taken a shot at her.

You, however, weren’t nearly as invested in the flashing pixels. You’d been watching her play for nearly an hour, and at first it was entertaining — her trash talk, the way she smirked when she got the upper hand — but after a while, your attention shifted from the game to her.

The way her jaw flexed when she was concentrating. The veins standing out on her hands as she gripped the controller. The muscles shifting under her sweatpants where she was sitting, thighs spread wide and casual.

You padded over and dropped down beside her, leaning into her side. She gave a distracted hum, eyes never leaving the screen.

“Baby,” you whined softly, dragging the word out.

“Mm.” Her avatar ducked behind a car, bullets pinging off metal.

“Pay attention to me.” You tugged at her sleeve, then leaned in to press a kiss against her cheek.

She huffed a laugh but didn’t budge. “I’m in the middle of a fucking heist.”

You smirked. “And I’m in the middle of being ignored.”

The moment she tilted to the side to dodge an in-game car, you slid your hand across her stomach and down between her thighs, palm pressing deliberately against the bulge straining her sweats.

Manon choked on her own breath — and that single second of distraction was enough. A loud bang echoed from the TV, and her avatar dropped dead.

“Fuck!” She dropped the controller onto the couch and threw her head back with an exasperated groan. “I just lost all that progress.”

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. “Oops.”

She turned her head slowly toward you, eyes narrowing, but there was no real anger there. Frustration, sure, but it softened the second she took in your smug little smile. “You did that on purpose.”

“Maybe.”

For a long beat, she stared at you, chest rising and falling as she tried to calm her nerves. Then, finally, a low chuckle rumbled from her throat. “You’re a fucking menace.”

You grinned, triumphant. “But I got your attention.”

“Yeah,” she muttered, sliding the controller aside completely. “You’ve got it.”

Her hand came up to the back of your neck, pulling you in for a rough, claiming kiss. Her tongue pushed past your lips without hesitation, dominating your mouth, setting the tone immediately. You melted into it, fingers curling into her shirt, heart racing.

Manon’s lips broke from yours only long enough to mutter against your mouth, “You want attention, baby? You’re gonna get all of it.”

She shoved you back against the couch cushions, climbing over you. Her sweats had shifted just enough for the thick outline of her strapless cock to press against your hip, heavy and demanding. Your stomach fluttered at the heat of it.

Her hand slid down between your thighs, cupping you through your shorts with a deliberate grind of her palm. “So needy you had to ruin my fucking game for it?” she teased, voice dropping into a low rasp.

You whined, hips jerking up instinctively into her hand. “I just wanted you.”

“That’s all you ever have to say.” Her fingers slipped under the hem of your shorts, dragging across your panties until she found your clit and rubbed in slow, lazy circles.

Your breath hitched, a broken moan escaping before you could swallow it down.

Manon smirked. “That’s it, good girl. Already soaking for me, huh? You couldn’t wait another twenty minutes without acting like a brat?”

The degrading lilt in her tone only made you wetter. You nodded quickly, desperate, rocking your hips against her hand.

“Pathetic,” she murmured, though her eyes softened as she looked down at you — equal parts adoration and hunger. “So fucking pretty when you’re this desperate.”

She slid your shorts and panties down in one swift tug, tossing them aside. Her thick cock, hard under her sweats, pressed against your bare skin now, rubbing against your folds, teasing you with every shift of her hips.

Your fingers dug into her shoulders, nails dragging lightly. “Please…”

“Please what?” She slowed her circles on your clit until you were whining, nearly in tears from how badly you needed more. “Use your words.”

“Please touch me. Please fuck me.”

Her grin was feral. “That’s better.”

She pulled her hand back only to push her sweats down just enough to free her cock — long, thick, flushed at the tip, already slick from the precum smearing against your skin. You whimpered at the sight, thighs spreading wider in invitation.

Manon chuckled, gripping the base of her shaft and giving it a few strokes. “You want this?”

“Yes—”

“Then earn it.”

She shifted down the couch, pushing your knees apart and settling between them. Her tongue dragged up your slit in one long stroke before she latched onto your clit, sucking hard enough to make your back arch off the cushions.

“Fuck!” You cried out, hands flying to her hair, clutching as her tongue worked relentless circles over your clit.

She groaned into you, the vibration making your thighs quake. “Taste so good,” she muttered against your pussy before diving back in, tongue flicking with obscene skill.

It was overwhelming already — the heat, the wet sounds, the absolute hunger in her mouth. She ate you like she’d been starving, like you were the only thing that could satisfy her.

Your thighs squeezed around her head, but she only pushed them further apart, hands gripping your hips tightly to hold you in place.

“Manon— oh my god—” You were babbling now, teetering on the edge embarrassingly fast.

Her laugh was muffled against you, smug, knowing exactly what she was doing to you. “Gonna cum already? Barely even started.”

The degradation hit hard, your moan cracking as your body tensed. She doubled down, sucking harder, tongue flicking mercilessly, and you broke — cumming with a strangled cry, hips jerking as the pleasure tore through you.

Manon didn’t stop.

Even as you whimpered, twitching against her tongue, she kept going, licking you through your orgasm and straight into overstimulation.

“Too much— fuck, it’s too much—” you gasped, trying to squirm away.

Her hands pinned you down easily, eyes flashing up at you. “You don’t tell me when to stop, baby. I decide when you’ve had enough.”

Your stomach flipped at the command, helpless whimpers spilling from your mouth as her tongue teased your clit relentlessly.

She finally pulled back, chin slick, lips glistening. She smirked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “So fucking sensitive. You begged for my attention and now you can’t handle it?”

“I—I can handle it.”

Her brows lifted in mock surprise. “Oh, really?”

Before you could process, her cock pressed against your slit, heavy and hot, dragging slowly through your folds. You gasped, legs falling open wider.

Manon stroked herself a few times, smearing your wetness along her shaft, then lined up at your entrance without pushing in. The blunt head nudged your clit instead, rolling in small circles that had you writhing.

“Look at you,” she muttered, her voice thick with lust. “So needy you’re dripping all over me. You want it that bad?”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Please—”

Her grin turned sharp. “Beg better.”

You whined, hips bucking, but her hand on your thigh pinned you down. “Please, Manon. Please fuck me. I’ll be good— I’ll take it.”

That earned you a growl. “That’s my girl.”

She slid in slowly, the thick head breaching your entrance. Your breath caught, body stretching around her cock as inch after inch filled you. She went slow, deliberate, savoring the way your walls clenched desperately around her.

“Fuck,” she hissed through her teeth. “So tight— always so fucking perfect for me.”

You clung to her shoulders, nails digging in as she bottomed out, cock buried to the hilt inside you. Your moan came out ragged, broken, the stretch both overwhelming and addicting.

“Feel that?” she whispered hotly against your ear. “You’re stuffed full of me. That’s what you wanted, right? To ruin my game just so you could get used like this?”

“Yes— yes, fuck, yes,” you moaned, tears slipping down your temples.

Manon’s chuckle was low and dangerous. “Good answer.”

She pulled back and slammed into you again, the force of it knocking the air from your lungs. The couch creaked under the rhythm she set — fast, brutal, each thrust punching another cry from your throat.

Her cock hit deep, dragging against every sensitive spot until you were arching off the cushions, hands clawing at her back. She watched your face the whole time, eyes burning with hunger, eating up every reaction.

“Take it, baby,” she rasped, hips snapping harder. “Take all of me. You wanted my attention — now you fucking have it.”

Your body was unraveling, pleasure coiling too fast to stop. Every thrust sent sparks through you, your clit catching delicious friction with every grind of her hips.

“I’m— I’m gonna—”

“Cum on it,” she demanded, voice sharp. “Cum on my cock like the desperate little slut you are.”

The degradation hit like a spark to gasoline, and you shattered, cumming with a cry so loud it echoed through the room. Your walls clenched around her cock, milking her, soaking the length of her shaft.

“Fuck, that’s it,” she groaned, rutting into your spasming cunt, chasing her own high. “God, you’re squeezing me so tight—”

She didn’t let you come down. Even as you convulsed from overstimulation, she reached for the side table, fumbling for the small black vibrator she kept there.

Your eyes widened when you saw it, head thrashing weakly. “No, no— I can’t—”

Her smirk was merciless as she flicked it on, the hum filling the room. “You can. You will.”

The toy pressed to your clit, sending shocks of pleasure straight through your already-overloaded nerves. You screamed, body bucking, tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Look at you,” she taunted, voice low, steady even as she fucked you harder. “Crying on my cock, shaking like a mess, and you love it. You fucking love it.”

You sobbed, incoherent, every nerve set on fire, the vibrator ruthless on your clit. Your vision blurred, body straining against the waves of another orgasm building too soon.

“Say it,” she ordered, thrusts pounding into you. “Say you love it.”

“I— I love it!” you cried, voice breaking. “I love it, Manon, I love you—”

Her eyes darkened at the admission, something tender flashing in her gaze before hunger swallowed it again. “That’s right. Mine. You’re mine.”

The third orgasm ripped through you violently, leaving you limp, body trembling, cries dissolving into breathless whimpers.

But Manon wasn’t done.

She pulled out suddenly, leaving you gaping and empty, and dragged you up off the couch. You wobbled, barely able to stand, but she guided you easily, pushing you down onto your knees.

“Open your mouth.”

Your lips parted instantly, obedience automatic. She stroked her slick cock in front of your face, precum glistening at the tip.

“Look at you,” she murmured, smearing it across your lips before sliding the head into your mouth. “On your knees like the perfect little whore you are.”

The words made you moan around her cock, throat relaxing as she fed more into your mouth. She hissed at the heat, hand tangling in your hair, guiding you down.

“Yeah, just like that,” she groaned, hips thrusting shallowly. “Take it. Gag on it.”

Your throat tightened around her as she hit deeper, tears spilling fresh down your cheeks, drool dripping onto your chest. She fucked your mouth with the same merciless rhythm, each thrust sending you into a haze of submission.

“God, that’s it,” she groaned, voice ragged. “Such a good girl for me. Gonna make a mess all over your face—”

Her thrusts grew erratic, cock twitching, and then she pulled out at the last second to paint your lips and cheeks with hot, sticky release. You gasped, licking your lips instinctively, swallowing what landed on your tongue.

Manon’s chest heaved, eyes blown wide as she watched you lick her cum off your fingers, shaky and wrecked but still eager.

“Fuck,” she muttered darkly, hauling you up off the floor. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

Before you could catch your breath, she shoved you back onto the couch, straddling your face this time.

“Eat me.”

Her slick folds pressed against your mouth instantly, her thighs caging your head. The weight of her on your face, the sharp command in her voice — it was intoxicating.

You moaned, tongue darting out to taste her, dragging through her wetness and finding her clit. She groaned, grinding down harder, using your face like it was hers.

“That’s it,” she gasped, rocking her hips. “Fucking worship me.”

Her pace was ruthless, riding your mouth until you could barely breathe, her moans growing louder, rawer. You clutched her thighs, tongue and lips working desperately as she took everything she wanted.

“Don’t stop,” she snarled, voice breaking. “Don’t you dare fucking stop—”

Her orgasm hit like a storm, thighs squeezing your head as she came with a guttural cry, grinding down hard and smearing her release all over your face.

You lapped at her until she collapsed forward, chest heaving, sweat dripping.

When she finally lifted off you, she looked down at the wreck she’d made of you — tear-stained, cum-smeared, trembling, lips swollen from use. Her smile was wicked, but her eyes were soft with affection.

“You wanted my attention, baby,” she panted, leaning down to kiss your messy mouth. “Now you’ve got all of it.”

Your body was still trembling when Manon pulled back, her lips glistening from kissing you messy. Every nerve screamed, yet she wasn’t finished — not until she wrung every last bit out of you.

She leaned back, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, then grabbed the small black toy again, thumb flicking it back on. The hum filled the room, menacing, and your stomach dropped.

“No— please—” Your voice was wrecked, broken into a plea.

She tilted her head, a cruel little smirk tugging at her lips. “What’s the matter, baby? Didn’t you beg me for my attention? You’ve got it. All of it. I’m not letting up until you can’t think about anything but me.”

You whined, body curling up instinctively, but she pinned you back against the cushions, knees spread, pussy bared and glistening.

The vibrator pressed against your clit again, and you nearly screamed. Electricity ripped through your body, hips bucking wildly. Your hands shot down to grab her wrist, but she was stronger, easily keeping it pressed right where it destroyed you.

“Fuck—fuck, I can’t—”

“You can,” she corrected sharply. “You will. You’re mine. You cum when I say you cum. You take everything I give you, don’t you?”

Your mind broke around the command, your body giving in to the overstimulation, to her dominance. Tears streamed down your face as you nodded frantically. “Yes! Yes, I take it— I’ll take it—”

Her chuckle was dark, satisfied. “Good fucking girl.”

The next orgasm hit so violently you nearly blacked out, your scream tearing your throat raw. Your whole body convulsed, thighs quaking uncontrollably as wave after wave crashed over you.

Manon didn’t even flinch, holding the toy steady, fucking you through it until you were sobbing incoherently.

“God, look at you,” she rasped, eyes devouring the sight of you broken down beneath her. “A fucking mess. My perfect little cockslut.”

The word made you moan even as your body tried to escape, writhing helplessly against her hold.

Finally, finally, she pulled the vibrator away, tossing it aside. You collapsed against the cushions, chest heaving, pussy twitching and dripping down your thighs.

But she wasn’t done.

She grabbed your hand, slick with her cum from earlier, and wrapped it around her cock. It was still hard, throbbing with need. She guided your fingers around the thick shaft, moving your hand up and down.

“Stroke me,” she ordered, voice hoarse. “Nice and slow.”

You obeyed instantly, still dazed, pumping her length with shaky fingers. Precum leaked steadily, smearing across your knuckles.

“That’s it,” she groaned, head falling back. “You’re so good with your hands. Fuck, don’t stop.”

Her hips jerked into your grip, thrusting shallowly as you stroked her, squeezing tighter near the head just how she liked. She cursed under her breath, muscles trembling.

“Faster,” she snapped, and you sped up, wrist straining with the pace.

She growled, hand tangling in your hair to yank your face closer. “Open.”

Your lips parted, tongue out, and she used her free hand to angle her cock right against your mouth as you kept jerking her off. The sight of your ruined face — tear-streaked, flushed, eager — had her right on edge.

With a guttural groan, she came hard, spilling over your tongue and cheeks, thick ropes of cum.