hello! My first story is here! Comments will motivate me:3 requests are opennnn xx
Warning: smut
The jasmine outside Finneas and Claudia's kitchen window has always bloomed too early, weeks before it should, as though the garden itself can't wait for summer to prove something. You notice it the second you step onto the patio, that heavy, sweet smell curling into the evening air, mixing with citronella candles and the low hum of a playlist Claudia swears she didn't curate herself. You know she did. She curates everything, right down to the exact number of throw pillows on the velvet sofa where Billie is currently sitting, tucked into Nat's side like she was built to fit there.
You've learned to look at that sofa without flinching. Most nights.
Billie is wearing pale silk tonight, one of those babydoll dresses that make her look like she wandered out of a dream someone else is having, the hem grazing her thighs, the neckline soft and low enough that you have to remind yourself where to keep your eyes. Her hair is down, brushing her collarbones, and the string lights strung along the patio roof catch gold in it every time she moves her head. She looks delicate. She always looks delicate, even when she isn't.
Especially when she isn't.
Ava is telling a story about her sister's wedding, something about a groomsman falling into a pond, and everyone is laughing the easy laugh of people who've had two drinks and nowhere else to be. Jane is curled into the wicker chair with her feet tucked under her. Alex has his arm slung over Rozi's shoulder, and Odessa keeps stealing olives from the charcuterie board like nobody's noticed. Quen is refilling glasses, moving around the circle with the loose, unbothered energy of someone who has never once worried about saying the wrong thing.
You are sitting a little outside the circle, the way you always end up sitting, close enough to belong, far enough to escape quickly. Billie's eyes have found yours twice already tonight. Both times she looked away first.
"Okay, but for real," Quen says, dropping back into their seat with a fresh glass of wine, looking directly at Billie with the kind of grin that means trouble before the words even land. "You and Nat. It's been, what, over a year now?"
"Fourteen months," Nat says, proud of himself for remembering, and presses a kiss to the top of Billie's head.
Something in your chest folds in on itself. You keep your face still.
"Fourteen months," Quen repeats, delighted. "So. Have you guys, you know. Taken that step yet?"
The patio doesn't go silent, not exactly, Ava is still mid-laugh at her own joke, the music is still playing low underneath everything, but something shifts, the way air shifts before a storm decides whether or not it's going to break. Billie's shoulders go stiff beneath Nat's arm. Her fingers tighten slightly around the stem of her glass.
"Quen," Claudia says, half-laughing, half-warning, from where she's perched on Finneas's lap. "That is not a hangout question."
"It's a completely normal question," Quen says, unbothered. "I'm just asking. We're all friends here."
Billie's eyes flick toward you before she can stop them. It's fast, barely a second, but you catch it, the way you catch everything about her, the way you've spent years memorizing the smallest shifts in her face like a language only you bothered to learn.
"Yeah," Billie says, finally, so quietly you almost miss it under the music. "Yeah, we have."
The silence that follows isn't dramatic. Nobody gasps. Nobody drops a glass. It's worse than that, it's a silence made of people trying very hard to look like they aren't thinking anything at all, which is its own kind of confession.
Odessa recovers first. "Okay, and? Is he good?"
"Odessa," Jane mutters, but she's grinning behind her cup.
Billie laughs, a small, breathless sound that doesn't reach her eyes. "I'm not answering that."
"That's a no," Alex says, and everyone laughs again, and the moment should pass, should dissolve back into the easy noise of the party the way these moments always do.
It doesn't pass for you.
You feel it land somewhere low in your stomach, a stone dropped into still water, the ripples moving out slow and wide until they reach every memory you have of her. Billie in your kitchen at two in the morning, barefoot on the cold tile, laughing so hard she had to hold onto your arm to stay upright. Billie falling asleep against your shoulder on the drive back from the coast, her hand finding yours somewhere between mile markers, neither of you mentioning it after. Billie's mouth an inch from yours in the dark of Finneas's old apartment three years ago, both of you pretending it was an accident, both of you knowing it wasn't.
You look at her now, wearing silk for someone else, saying yes for someone else, and you understand, with a clarity that feels almost merciful, that you cannot sit here and keep doing this.
Nat smiles at her. It's not smug, not really, it's just sweet, the smile of a man who loves his girlfriend and has no reason not to be proud of that, no reason to know that the woman beside him just used him as a shield without meaning to. That's the worst part. He doesn't even know he's a weapon.
You stand up.
"I should head out," you say, and your voice comes out steadier than you feel, which is its own small victory. "Early morning."
"Already?" Claudia says, but she doesn't push, because Claudia notices things too, she just chooses not to say them out loud.
Billie doesn't say anything. She's looking down at her glass like it might have an answer written in it somewhere.
You say your goodbyes, hug the people you're supposed to hug, and you don't look at her again on your way out. You can feel her eyes on your back the entire walk to the door anyway.
The night air outside is cooler than you expect, and you stand on the sidewalk for a second longer than necessary, letting it hit your face, trying to remember how to breathe like a person who isn't unraveling.
You hear the door open behind you before you hear her voice.
"Wait."
You don't turn around right away. "Go back inside, Billie."
"I need to talk to you."
"You need to go back to your boyfriend."
The words come out sharper than you meant them to, and you hear her breath catch behind you, but you don't apologize for it. You've apologized enough for feelings that were never yours to be sorry for.
"I told him I'd walk you to your car," she says. "He thinks I'm being a good friend."
"Are you?"
She doesn't answer that. You finally turn around and she's standing there in the porch light, arms crossed over her chest like she's cold, though it isn't cold enough for that, not really. The silk of her dress moves against her legs in the small breeze, and her eyes are glassy in a way that could be wine or could be something else.
"Can I come with you?" she asks. "Please."
You should say no. You know you should say no. Every rational piece of you, every piece that has spent months building small careful walls, knows that letting her into your car tonight is the same as handing her the keys to something you can't take back.
"Fine," you say anyway.
The drive to your apartment is quiet in a way that feels less like peace and more like the held breath before someone finally screams. Billie sits with her hands folded in her lap, looking out the window at the streetlights sliding past, and you keep your eyes on the road because if you look at her, at the curve of her mouth in the dashboard light, you're not sure what you'll do.
Neither of you speaks the entire way there. The radio is off. The only sound is the tires on wet pavement and the occasional soft hush of her breathing, and somehow that silence says more than anything either of you could have said out loud.
You park outside your building and cut the engine, and for a moment you both just sit there in the dark car, the streetlamp outside casting a thin orange line across her collarbone.
"You don't have to come up," you say finally.
"I want to."
You get out without answering.
Your apartment is on the third floor, small and lived in, the kind of place that smells like the candle you burned last week and the coffee you made this morning. You flip on one lamp in the living room, not the overhead light, because something in you doesn't want this conversation happening under anything too bright, too honest. Billie follows you in and stands near the door for a moment, like she's not sure she's allowed to sit down.
"You can sit," you tell her, not unkindly.
She sits on the edge of your couch, knees pressed together, hands twisting in her lap. You stay standing, arms crossed, putting distance between your body and hers because you don't trust what happens when there isn't any.
"Are you mad?" she asks quietly.
"No," you lie.
"You left the second Quen asked—"
"I told you, I had an early morning."
"Y/N."
Your name in her mouth still does something to you, even now, even furious, even standing in your own living room watching her sit there in a dress meant for someone else's bed. You hate that it still does something.
"Don't," you say.
"Don't what?"
"Don't say my name like that. Like it means something. Not tonight."
Billie's eyes fill fast, the way they always do when she's cornered, and you feel a flicker of guilt you immediately shove down, because you are so tired of being the one who feels guilty for having a heart.
"I'm sorry," she says. "About earlier. I didn't mean for it to—"
"You didn't mean for it to what? To hurt? You said yes, Billie. You looked right at me and you said yes like it was the easiest thing in the world."
"What was I supposed to say?"
"I don't know. The truth, maybe?"
"The truth about what?" Her voice cracks on the last word, and she stands up now, like she can't sit still under the weight of the question. "What truth, Y/N? That I have feelings I don't know what to do with? That every time I look at you I feel like I'm cheating on someone, and I don't even know who?"
"That's not an answer."
"I don't have an answer!" Her voice rises for the first time, and it startles you, because Billie doesn't yell, Billie goes quiet when she's hurting, always has. This is different. This is three years of quiet finally cracking open. "I don't have an answer, okay? I've been trying to have one for so long and I just—I keep failing."
"You're not failing anything," you say, and your own voice is shaking now too, all that careful control from the drive over dissolving. "You made a choice. You chose him. Fourteen months, Billie. You let everyone believe you're happy."
"I am happy."
"Say that again and look at me while you say it."
She looks at you. Her mouth opens. Nothing comes out.
"That's what I thought," you say softly, and it isn't triumphant, it's just tired.
"You don't get to do this," Billie says, stepping closer, and there's something new in her voice now, something that isn't sadness anymore. "You don't get to act like I'm the only one hiding something."
"I never hid anything from you."
"You've hidden everything from me! Every time I get close you pull away, you leave parties, you go quiet, you make it so hard to even—" She stops herself, breathing hard, and you can see the exact second she decides to keep going anyway. "You don't get to be angry that I chose Nat when you never once told me not to."
"Would it have mattered?"
The question lands between you like something dropped from a height, and neither of you moves for a second. The lamp light flickers faintly against the wall, some trick of an old wire, and Billie's chest rises and falls too fast.
"I don't know," she admits, and it's the most honest thing she's said all night. "Maybe. I don't know."
"That's the problem," you say, closing the distance between you without deciding to. "You never know. You never choose. You just let things happen to you and call it fate so you don't have to be the one who's responsible."
"That's not fair."
"None of this is fair." You're close enough now to see the exact shade her eyes turn when she's about to cry, that pale blue going glassy and dark at the edges. "You don't think it's unfair that I've had to watch you build a whole life with someone else while you look at me like this?"
"Like what?"
"Like you're looking at me right now."
Billie's breath catches audibly. She doesn't step back.
"I hate you a little," she whispers.
"No, you don't."
"I do. I hate that you make me feel like I can't lie to myself anymore."
"Good," you say, and your voice has dropped low, rough at the edges. "You should stop lying."
She makes a small sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and then her hand is fisting in the front of your shirt, and you don't know which one of you closes the last inch of space first, but suddenly her mouth is on yours and it isn't gentle at all.
It's three years of almost, crashing all at once.
Billie kisses like she's been starving for it, one hand still gripping your shirt, the other sliding up to the back of your neck, and you let yourself have this for one full breath before every instinct in your body takes over. You back her against the wall beside the door, not gently, and she gasps into your mouth, a sound that goes straight through you.
"Tell me to stop," you murmur against her lips, giving her one last door out, because even now, even furious, you need her to want this as much as you do.
"Don't stop," she breathes. "Please don't stop."
You kiss her harder, pinning her wrist gently above her head against the wall, and she moans low in her throat, arching into you like she's been waiting years to be handled like this instead of asked politely for permission.
"You've been playing house with him," you murmur against her jaw, dragging your mouth down the side of her throat, feeling her pulse hammer under your lips. "Sitting there in that dress. Saying yes like it was nothing."
"It wasn't nothing," she gasps.
"No," you agree, biting gently at her collarbone, feeling her whole body shudder. "It wasn't. That's the problem, isn't it, Billie? It's never nothing with you."
Her hands fumble at the hem of your shirt, desperate, clumsy in a way that isn't like her at all, Billie who is always composed, always careful, always thinking three steps ahead. Tonight there's none of that. Tonight there's only her hands shaking as she pulls your shirt over your head, her mouth finding your throat the second it's off, her whole body pressing flush against yours like she's trying to disappear into you.
You walk her backward toward the bedroom, mouths still fused, hands still learning every place the other flinches or sighs, and by the time you reach the door you've already got the thin strap of her dress slipping off one shoulder, silk pooling against her collarbone.
"Y/N," she whimpers, when your teeth graze her shoulder.
"Say it again."
"Y/N—"
"Not like that." You pull back just enough to look at her, cupping her jaw, forcing her eyes to meet yours in the dim light of your bedroom. "Say my name like you mean it. Like you're not scared of what it costs you."
Her eyes fill again, but she doesn't look away this time. "Y/N," she says, steadier now, almost reverent. "I mean it."
You kiss her again, slower this time, and lower her onto the bed like something you've been careful with for far too long and have finally decided you don't have to be careful with anymore. The silk of her dress rides up her thighs as she settles back against your pillows, and you take a second just to look at her, hair spread out, chest rising fast, eyes half-lidded and locked on you like you're the only steady thing left in the room.
"Take it off," you tell her, nodding at the dress. "I want to see you."
Her hands go to the straps, but you catch her wrists, gentle but firm.
"No," you say. "Let me."
You slide the straps down slowly, watching her breath hitch with every inch of skin you uncover, watching goosebumps rise along her arms even though the room isn't cold. When the dress is gone, pooled somewhere at the foot of the bed, she's left in soft lace, and you take a moment just to trace your fingers along the ink at her hip, the fairies on her hand, the delicate script beneath her breast that you've traced with your mouth before, in memory, in imagination, in every version of this you let yourself have when she wasn't yours to have.
"You're shaking," you murmur.
"I know."
"Are you scared?"
"A little." Her voice is barely a whisper. "Mostly I'm scared of how much I want this."
You kiss her again for that, slower, deeper, letting your weight settle over her, feeling her legs part beneath you like instinct. Your hand slides down her side, over the curve of her waist where the words hard and soft sit inked into her skin, and you press your palm flat there for a second, just feeling her breathe.
"Tell me what you want," you say against her mouth.
"You. I want you."
"That's not specific enough, baby."
Something in her expression cracks open at the pet name, something raw and unguarded, and her hips shift under you like she can't help it.
"I want you to make me forget I said yes to him tonight," she breathes.
Your jaw tightens. It's the wrong thing to say and the exact thing that makes you want to ruin her a little, and maybe that's the whole point, maybe that's what she needs, someone who won't let her hide behind softness for once.
"Careful," you murmur, dragging your mouth down her throat, over her chest, past the tattoo that spells out a name that isn't yours. "You don't get to use me to erase him. You use me because you want me. Say it."
"I want you," she gasps, as your mouth finds her nipple through the lace, tongue circling slow until she's arching off the bed. "I want you, I've always wanted you, Y/N, please—"
You pull back just far enough to look at her, flushed and desperate beneath you, and something in your chest aches even through the heat of it, because this is everything you've wanted to hear for years and it's arriving wrapped in guilt and midnight and someone else's ring of trust broken quietly in another apartment across town.
You push the thought away. Tonight isn't for guilt.
You strip the last of her clothes slowly, deliberately, making her wait, making her watch your face while you do it, and when she's finally bare beneath you, trembling, biting her lip to keep from begging, you press your palm flat against her stomach and feel her muscles jump.
"Look at me," you say, low. "Don't close your eyes tonight. I want you to see exactly who's doing this to you."
Her breath stutters. "Okay."
You kiss your way down her body slow enough to be cruel, pausing at every scar and mark like you're relearning a map you already memorized years ago in secret, and when you finally settle between her thighs she's already trembling, already whispering your name like a prayer she's ashamed of and can't stop saying anyway.
The first drag of your tongue makes her whole body arch off the mattress, and you press a hand flat against her stomach to keep her still, to keep her exactly where you want her.
"Please," she breathes, fingers twisting into the sheets. "Please, Y/N—"
You don't rush. You've waited too long for this to rush it, and some cruel, aching part of you wants her to feel every second of what she's been denying both of you, wants her to understand exactly what she's been settling for. You take your time, slow and deliberate, until her thighs are shaking around your head and her moans have gone high and broken, until she's not forming full sentences anymore, just your name and please and don't stop, over and over, like a chant.
When you finally give her more, faster, deeper, she comes apart with a cry that she muffles against her own wrist, back arching off the bed, and you don't stop until she's boneless, until her whole body has gone soft and trembling beneath your hands.
You crawl back up her body slowly, pressing kisses along her sternum, her throat, the corner of her jaw, giving her a moment to breathe, and she pulls you down into a kiss that tastes like herself and like something dangerously close to relief.
"I'm not done with you," you murmur against her lips.
"Good," she whispers back, and there's something different in her voice now, something bolder, like the first orgasm cracked open a door she'd kept locked for years.
You flip her onto her stomach without asking, and she goes easily, pliant, arching her back the way she must know drives you insane, and you press a hand between her shoulder blades to keep her steady while your other hand slides down to find her slick and ready again.
"You're so wet," you murmur, almost in disbelief, even after everything. "Is this what he does to you? Gets you like this?"
Billie whimpers, hips pressing back against your hand. "No."
"No?"
"No one's ever made me feel like this," she gasps, as you slide two fingers into her slow, curling them in a way that makes her cry out into the pillow. "No one but you."
"Say it again."
"No one but you," she sobs, hips rocking to meet the rhythm of your hand, desperate now, unraveling completely. "Nobody. He doesn't—it's never like this, it's never—"
"Does he fuck you better than I do?" You lean down, lips against her ear, voice low and rough, the question you've wanted to ask for months finally spilling out of you in the dark. "Tell me the truth, babydoll. Does he touch you like this? Does he make you fall apart like this?"
"No," she cries, and it sounds like a confession torn out of her chest. "No, never, nobody does it like you, nobody ever has—"
You quicken your pace, relentless now, and her whole body shakes under your hand, thighs trembling, breath coming in short broken gasps until she's begging incoherently, until the second orgasm rips through her so hard she has to bury her face in the pillow to keep from screaming.
You don't stop right away. You let her ride it out fully, slowing your hand only when her body goes limp beneath you, chest heaving, skin damp, hair sticking to her temples.
When you finally pull back, she turns onto her side and reaches for you immediately, pulling you down against her chest like she can't stand even a few inches of distance now, and you let her, wrapping an arm around her, feeling her heartbeat slow gradually against your palm.
Neither of you speaks for a long time. The lamp in the living room still glows faintly through the cracked door, casting a thin gold line across the foot of the bed, and somewhere outside a car alarm goes off and dies again, the city carrying on like nothing has just cracked open in this room.
"Y/N," Billie says finally, her voice small in the dark.
"Yeah."
"Can I tell you something?"
You prop yourself up on one elbow, looking down at her, at the way the lamp light catches the wet track of a tear she hasn't wiped away.
"Always," you say.
Billie is quiet for a moment, gathering something, and when she finally speaks, her voice is steadier than you expected, like she's been rehearsing this confession for longer than tonight.
"I didn't fall in love with Nat because I loved him more," she says. "I mean, I do love him. I do. But that's not why I stayed."
You don't say anything. You just wait.
"I stayed because loving you scared me more than anything ever has," she continues, voice trembling now. "If I let myself have you and it went wrong, I wouldn't just lose a boyfriend. I'd lose you completely. I'd lose Finneas thinking I ruined something, I'd lose the whole group looking at me different, I'd lose the only person who's ever actually understood me. Nat was safe. Nat was never going to ask me to be brave."
Your throat tightens. "So all this time—"
"All this time I was hiding," she says, and now the tears come freely, sliding down into the pillow. "I wasn't protecting him. I wasn't even protecting you. I was protecting myself from finding out what happens if I choose you and lose you anyway."
You reach up and brush the hair back from her face, and she leans into your palm like she's starved for the gentleness of it.
"You should have told me," you say quietly. "Years ago. Before any of this."
"I know."
"I would have waited."
"I know that too," Billie whispers. "That's what scares me most. That you would have. That you probably still will, even now, even after tonight, even if I go back to him tomorrow and pretend none of this happened."
Something in you goes very still.
"Are you going to?" you ask. "Pretend this didn't happen?"
Billie doesn't answer right away. She looks at you for a long moment, her eyes searching yours like she's trying to find the version of herself brave enough to say what comes next.
"I don't know," she admits, and it breaks something in you to hear it, even now, even after everything her body just told you that her words won't. "I want to say no. I want to tell you I'm done pretending. But I've been scared for so long, Y/N, and I don't know how to stop being scared just because it's morning."
"It's not morning yet."
"I know." She reaches for your hand under the sheets, lacing her fingers through yours, holding on like it's the only anchor she has left. "Can we just have tonight? Can we not decide anything yet?"
You want to argue. You want to tell her that not deciding is still a decision, that every night she spends choosing silence is another night she's choosing him without saying his name, that you are so tired of being someone's secret and calling it love because at least it's something.
But you look at her, tear-streaked and trembling and more honest with you in the last ten minutes than she's been in three years, and you understand that whatever happens tomorrow, whatever she decides in the daylight when Nat's face is in front of her and the whole weight of the life they've built comes rushing back, tonight is real. Tonight she chose you, even if it's only for these few hours, even if the sun coming up will complicate everything all over again.
"Okay," you say softly. "Tonight."
She exhales like she's been holding her breath for years, and curls further into your side, her hand still tangled with yours, her breathing slowly evening out toward sleep.
You lie awake a while longer, staring at the ceiling, feeling the warmth of her against you and the ache of not knowing if it will still be there tomorrow.
Outside, the jasmine at Finneas and Claudia's house is probably still blooming too early, sweet and reckless and out of season, blossoming anyway because it doesn't know how to do anything else.
You think maybe that's you too.
Blooming anyway. Out of season. Reckless enough to hope.
The parking garage beneath Y/N's building smelled like exhaust and wet concrete, and she sat behind the wheel for a full minute after killing the engine, just breathing, just trying to unclench her jaw before it locked up entirely. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed in that particular way that made her want to put her fist through something. She'd had that same buzzing sound in her skull since two in the afternoon, since Marissa from accounts had leaned over her shoulder for the third time that day, close enough that her perfume clung to the collar of Y/N's shirt, murmuring something about how she just loved the way Y/N handled pressure, how impressive it was, how they should really get drinks sometime to celebrate the quarter.
Y/N had said no. She'd said no on Tuesday too, and the week before that, phrased a dozen different polite ways that all meant the same thing: leave me alone, I have a girlfriend, I am not interested, stop touching my desk when you talk to me. None of it landed. Marissa just smiled that glossy, unbothered smile and found a new excuse to hover, and today, on top of everything else, on top of the report her team lead had botched and blamed on her, on top of the client call where she'd had to smooth over someone else's mistake with her own name attached to the apology, it had all curdled into something that sat behind her eyes like a held breath she couldn't release.
She dragged her hand down her face and grabbed her bag off the passenger seat. The elevator ride up was silent except for the hum of cables, and she watched the floor numbers climb, arms crossed over her chest, her blazer still stiff with the memory of a day she wanted to peel off her skin. By the time the doors opened onto her floor, her head was pounding at the temples, a low, insistent throb that promised to get worse before it got better.
She fished her keys out of her bag and let herself into the apartment without much ceremony, the door swinging shut behind her with its familiar, heavy click. She didn't turn on the hallway light. She didn't need to. The apartment already glowed faintly gold from somewhere deeper inside, and soft music drifted out to meet her, something slow and warm that under different circumstances might have unwound the knot sitting between her shoulder blades.
Under these circumstances, it barely registered.
She dropped her keys onto the entryway table with more force than necessary, the metallic clatter loud in the quiet, and toed off her shoes without bothering to line them up the way Billie always asked her to. Her mind was still back in that conference room, still replaying the exact tone Marissa had used, still hearing her own voice trying to stay professional when what she wanted to do was tell the woman exactly where to put her invitation for drinks. She rubbed at her temple, exhaling hard through her nose, and moved farther into the apartment on autopilot, already unbuttoning the top button of her blouse just to breathe easier.
That was when she saw her.
Billie stood in the middle of the living room, framed by the low golden light of the lamps she'd clearly spent the better part of the afternoon arranging just right. She'd pulled the curtains halfway, letting in the last blue traces of evening to mix with the warmth of the bulbs, and candles flickered along the windowsill, their scent something soft and vanilla-sweet threading through the air. The music Y/N had heard in the hallway was coming from the little speaker on the bookshelf, something with a slow bassline and a voice that curled around the room like smoke.
And Billie herself.
She wore a babydoll of sheer white silk that fell just past her hips, so thin and translucent it did nothing to hide the shape of her, the curve of her thick thighs, the swell of her breasts, the dark, prominent points of her nipples visible through the fabric with every small shift of her weight. The hem brushed the tops of her thighs when she moved, and underneath, there was nothing but skin. She'd curled her brunette hair into loose waves that framed her face, and her cheeks were already pink, not from makeup, but from nerves, from standing there for the better part of an hour waiting for the sound of the front door.
She looked, in that moment, like something out of a dream Y/N might have had on a better day. A softer day. A day that wasn't today.
"Hi, baby," Billie said, her voice hopeful and a little breathless, taking a small step forward, her bare feet silent on the hardwood. "I made your favorite candles, and I put on that playlist you like, the one from—"
Y/N didn't hear the rest of it.
She should have. She knew, somewhere underneath the throb behind her eyes, that Billie had spent hours on this, that the candles and the music and the delicate, deliberate way the silk clung to her body were all for her, all a gift wrapped in nerve and hope. But the sight of Billie standing there, glowing and soft and open, only made the pressure in her skull spike harder, because all she could think about was another woman leaning too close over her shoulder, another set of eyes on her that she hadn't asked for, and something about the vulnerability of it, the exposed intimacy of Billie's body on display, tangled itself up in her mind with everything she'd spent all day trying to shut down.
It wasn't fair. She knew it wasn't fair even as it happened, the way her face closed off, the way her jaw tightened instead of softened, but the knowledge arrived a half-second too late to stop what came next.
She walked past Billie without a word, without so much as a glance at the effort laid out in front of her, and yanked her blazer off her shoulders in one sharp motion, tossing it onto the arm of the sofa where it slid half onto the cushion and half onto the floor. Her boots hit the floor near the coffee table with two dull thuds as she kicked them off, and she dropped onto the couch with a low grunt, elbows on her knees, head bowed, fingers pressing hard into the base of her skull where the tension lived.
Behind her, she heard Billie's soft, uncertain steps follow.
"Y/N?" Billie's voice had gone smaller, the confidence from a moment ago already draining out of it. "Are you okay? You look like you had a really bad day."
"I'm fine," Y/N said, flat, not looking up.
She wasn't fine. She knew she wasn't fine. But the word came out anyway, clipped and final, a door closing.
Billie didn't take the hint, because Billie never took the hint when it mattered most, not because she was slow but because she loved too hard to let a closed door stay closed. She crossed the last few feet of space and lowered herself onto the couch beside Y/N, close, her thigh pressing warm against Y/N's, her small hand landing tentatively on Y/N's forearm.
"You don't seem fine," Billie murmured, and there was that softness in her voice, that particular gentleness she used when she was trying to coax Y/N out of a bad mood, the same tone she used when talking to a stray cat that might bolt if she moved too fast. "I made dinner too, it's staying warm in the oven, I thought maybe we could just... turn everything off tonight. Just us. I wanted tonight to be good for you."
Y/N's jaw ticked. The headache behind her eyes throbbed once, hard, like something knocking to get out.
"Not right now, Billie."
"Okay," Billie said quickly, but her hand didn't leave Y/N's arm. Instead her fingers curled slightly, stroking, and she leaned her head against Y/N's shoulder, her hair brushing against Y/N's jaw, the faint scent of her shampoo cutting through the vanilla candle smoke. "We don't have to talk about it. I just wanted to be close to you. I missed you all day."
"Billie."
"I know, I know, I'll be quiet," Billie said, and she pressed a small kiss to the side of Y/N's neck, her lips warm, lingering a second too long, her free hand drifting to rest over Y/N's chest. "I just want you to feel it. That I'm here. That I missed you."
Something in Y/N's chest pulled tight, a wire wound past its limit.
She could feel Billie's breath against her throat, could feel the softness of her body pressed in close, could feel every bit of the care that had gone into tonight radiating off her like heat, and none of it reached her. It was like trying to warm herself by a fire from the other side of a glass wall. She wanted to want this. She wanted to turn her head and kiss Billie the way Billie clearly wanted to be kissed, wanted to let herself sink into the warm gold light and the candle smoke and the girl who'd spent her whole afternoon trying to make their apartment feel like a soft place to land. But the day was still sitting on her chest like a stone, and Billie's hand kept moving, kept asking, kept needing something Y/N didn't have left to give.
"Baby," Billie whispered again, shifting so she could look up at her, her blue eyes wide and searching, hurt already creeping in at the edges because she could feel the wall, she always could, "talk to me. Please. What happened today?"
"Nothing happened," Y/N snapped, pulling her arm free of Billie's grip harder than she meant to. "Nothing you need to worry about."
"I want to worry about it, that's kind of the whole—"
"I said I'm fine." Y/N's voice cracked through the room like a slap, louder than she'd intended, sharp enough that Billie flinched back an inch. "Can you just, for one second, not touch me? Can you give me one goddamn second to breathe before you're all over me again?"
The words hung there, ugly and final.
Billie went very still.
Her hand had frozen midair, half-reaching toward Y/N's knee, and she pulled it back slowly, tucking it against her own stomach like it had been burned. The hurt on her face wasn't dramatic, wasn't performed. It was quiet and immediate, the kind of hurt that came from somewhere old, somewhere that had learned a long time ago what it meant to be too much, and Y/N watched it happen in real time, watched the light that had been in Billie's eyes since the moment she'd stepped through the door go out like someone had reached over and switched it off.
"I'm sorry," Billie said, and her voice had gone thin, wobbling. "I just wanted—"
"I know what you wanted," Y/N said, still too sharp, still riding the tail end of a temper that had nowhere else to go. "I get it, Billie. But I can't do this right now. I can't be your, your project, or your, whatever this is." She gestured vaguely at the candles, at the silk, at all of it, and immediately hated herself for the gesture even as her mouth kept moving. "I just need you to leave me the hell alone for five minutes."
Billie's chin trembled.
She stood up fast, like she needed distance more than she needed dignity, and the movement made the hem of the babydoll flutter around her thighs, and for one terrible second Y/N saw exactly how it looked from the outside: a woman who had put her whole tender heart on display, sheer and unguarded, standing in front of someone who had just told her to get away.
"Okay," Billie said, so quiet it barely carried. "Okay. I'm sorry."
She turned toward the hallway, arms wrapping around herself, shoulders curling inward the way they always did when she was trying to hold herself together, and Y/N heard the small, broken sound that escaped her before she'd even made it three steps. A sob, sharp and involuntary, the kind that came from somewhere deep and old, and then another, and Billie's whole small frame started to shake with it, her hand flying up to cover her mouth like she could stuff the sound back inside if she just pressed hard enough.
The sight of it hit Y/N like cold water.
All at once the fog of her own anger cleared, and what was left underneath it was worse: the plain, undeniable fact that she'd taken every ugly thing that had happened to her today and thrown it at the one person who had done nothing but try to love her. Billie hadn't botched a report. Billie hadn't leaned too close over her shoulder uninvited. Billie had spent her afternoon lighting candles and picking a playlist and putting on something sheer and beautiful because she wanted, more than anything, to be the soft place Y/N came home to. And Y/N had told her to get away.
"Billie." Her own voice sounded strange to her now, rough around the edges. "Billie, wait."
Billie didn't stop. She kept walking, one hand still pressed over her mouth, tears streaking fast down her cheeks, and Y/N was up off the couch before she'd fully decided to move, crossing the room in three long strides and catching Billie's wrist just before she reached the hallway.
"Hey. Hey, look at me."
"You told me to leave you alone," Billie said, and the words came out wet and broken between hitching breaths, refusing to turn around, her back rigid under the thin silk. "So I'm leaving you alone."
"I didn't mean it like that." Y/N's hand tightened gently on her wrist, not pulling, just holding, an anchor. "I didn't mean it, Billie, I swear to God. I had a shit day and I took it out on you and that wasn't fair, none of that was about you."
"It felt like it was about me." Billie finally turned, and her face was a mess, mascara she hadn't even bothered wearing tonight replaced by nothing but raw, blotchy skin and swollen eyes, her lower lip trembling as she tried and failed to steady her breathing. "I just wanted to make you feel good. I spent all day on this and you didn't even look at me, and then you yelled, and I don't, I don't know what I did wrong."
"You didn't do anything wrong." Y/N's own throat tightened, guilt sitting thick and sour where the anger had been a minute before. "Baby, you didn't do a single thing wrong. This is all me. I'm an asshole, I'm sorry."
"I just wanted tonight to be nice," Billie said, and the sob that followed shook her whole body, her arms still wrapped tight around herself as if she could hold the pieces together by force. "I wanted you to come home and feel like someone was happy to see you, because you've been so stressed and so tired, and I thought, I don't know, I thought if I made it nice enough you'd forget about all of it for a little while."
Y/N pulled her in before she'd finished the sentence, wrapping both arms around her and drawing her flush against her chest, one hand coming up to cradle the back of Billie's head, fingers threading gently into her hair. Billie resisted for half a second, stiff with hurt, and then collapsed into it entirely, her face pressing into the curve of Y/N's neck, her tears hot against the skin there, her whole body shuddering with the force of everything she'd been holding in since the front door hadn't gone the way she'd hoped.
"I'm sorry," Y/N murmured into her hair, over and over, low and rough. "I'm so sorry, baby. You did everything right. You did everything right and I ruined it because I couldn't get my own head out of my ass long enough to see it."
"I just want you to be okay," Billie hiccupped against her throat.
"I know." Y/N's hand slid down the curve of her spine, tracing the delicate line of the tattoo etched there through the thin silk, feeling the tremor still running through her. "I know, baby. Come here."
She tipped Billie's chin up with two fingers, gentle now where a minute ago her voice had been anything but, and looked at her properly for the first time since she'd walked through the door. Really looked. At the tear tracks cutting through her flushed cheeks, at the swollen softness of her mouth, at the way the sheer white silk had slipped slightly off one shoulder in the scramble of being pulled close, baring more of her skin, the dark ink of the word beneath her breast just visible where the fabric gaped. She looked, despite the tears, despite the hurt Y/N herself had caused, unbearably beautiful, and something in Y/N's chest turned over hard.
"Look at you," she said quietly, thumb brushing under Billie's eye to catch a tear before it fell. "You got all dressed up for me and I didn't even tell you how pretty you look."
Billie let out a small, wet laugh that was half a sob. "I don't feel pretty right now."
"You are, though." Y/N's voice dropped lower, steadier, the softness that lived underneath all her sharp edges finally surfacing. "You're the prettiest thing I've ever come home to, and I was too far in my own head to see it. That's on me. Not you."
Billie sniffled, searching Y/N's face like she was trying to decide whether to believe it, and Y/N answered the question before she had to ask it, leaning down to press her mouth to Billie's, slow and deliberate, tasting salt from her tears. Billie made a small sound against her lips, somewhere between relief and disbelief, and kissed her back tentatively at first, then with more certainty as Y/N's hand slid to the small of her back and pulled her flush against her.
"I want to make it up to you," Y/N said against her mouth, "if you'll let me."
"You don't have to," Billie whispered, even as her fingers curled into the front of Y/N's blouse, holding on.
"I know I don't have to." Y/N pulled back just enough to look at her, thumb tracing along her jaw. "I want to."
She kissed her again, deeper this time, and felt the moment Billie melted into it, felt the tension of the last ten minutes bleed out of her shoulders as she leaned her whole weight forward, trusting Y/N to hold her up. Y/N did. One arm banded tight around Billie's waist, holding her steady, while her other hand slid down over the curve of her hip, feeling the silk bunch and slip under her palm, feeling the heat of Billie's skin radiating through the thin fabric.
She walked them backward, slow, until Billie's shoulders met the wall beside the hallway, and pinned her there gently, mouth trailing from Billie's lips to her jaw, to the sensitive spot just below her ear that always made her breath hitch.
"Y/N," Billie breathed, her hands coming up to grip Y/N's shoulders.
"I've got you," Y/N murmured against her throat. "Let me take care of you."
She dropped one hand to Billie's thigh, sliding it up under the hem of the babydoll, feeling the soft give of her skin, and hooked it behind her knee, pulling her leg up and over her own thigh so that Billie's weight settled forward, her center pressing snug against the muscle of Y/N's leg where it slotted between hers. Billie gasped softly at the sudden pressure, her fingers tightening on Y/N's shoulders, and Y/N held her there, steady, giving her a second to adjust before she rolled her hip forward, dragging her thigh in a slow, firm motion against her.
"Oh," Billie breathed, her head tipping back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut.
"That's it," Y/N said, low, watching her face carefully, tracking every flicker of expression. "Just feel it, baby. I've got you."
She kept the rhythm slow at first, deliberate, her thigh flexing beneath Billie with each roll of her hips, and Billie's breath started to come faster, small sounds slipping out of her that she tried and failed to swallow. Her hands slid from Y/N's shoulders up into her hair, tugging lightly whenever Y/N ground her thigh a little harder, a little deeper, the friction building steadily under the thin barrier of silk that was doing nothing to hide how wet she already was.
"You feel that?" Y/N asked against her ear, her voice rough now, the last of her headache dissolving into something else entirely, something hungrier. "You feel how bad you want this?"
"Yes," Billie whimpered, hips starting to rock on their own, seeking more of the pressure, more of the friction. "Please, don't stop."
"Not stopping." Y/N's grip on her thigh tightened, holding her in place as she picked up the pace, her own thigh working against Billie in firm, unbroken motion. "Not going anywhere, baby. I'm right here."
Billie's head fell forward onto Y/N's shoulder, her breath hot and ragged against her collarbone, small cries slipping loose with every roll of her hips, her fingers fisting in the back of Y/N's blouse like she needed something to hold onto. The silk of the babydoll had ridden up entirely now, bunched at her waist, and Y/N could feel just how soaked she was through the thin fabric, could feel the heat of her pressed against her thigh with every movement.
"That's my girl," Y/N murmured, and the praise alone seemed to wind Billie tighter, her body trembling, her rhythm growing more desperate, less controlled. "You gonna come just like this?"
"I don't, I don't know, it feels so good," Billie gasped, her nails scraping lightly down Y/N's back through the fabric of her blouse.
"You will." Y/N's voice was steady, certain, threading through the haze Billie was quickly sinking into. "I've got you. Let go."
She rolled her thigh harder, deliberate, chasing the exact rhythm she knew from a year of learning every response Billie's body had to give, and felt the shift the second it happened, felt Billie's whole frame go taut, her breath catching hard in her throat before breaking apart into a long, shaking moan as her release rolled through her, hips still grinding shallow and desperate against Y/N's thigh as she rode it out.
Y/N held her through it, one hand splayed flat against her lower back, the other cradling the back of her head, murmuring soft, low things against her temple until the trembling started to ease, until Billie's breathing began to slow from ragged gasps into something closer to shaky exhales.
"There she is," Y/N said quietly, kissing her temple. "You okay?"
"Mm-hm," Billie managed, still boneless against her, cheeks flushed a deep pink, eyes glassy in a way that had nothing to do with tears anymore.
"I'm not done apologizing," Y/N murmured against her ear, and felt Billie shiver at the promise buried in her tone. "Bedroom. Now."
Billie didn't argue. She let Y/N guide her down the hallway, one hand splayed low on her back, steering her past the framed photos and the little bookshelf they'd built together, and by the time they reached the bedroom, Billie had already tugged the thin straps of the babydoll off her shoulders, letting the sheer silk pool at her waist, baring her fully to the low light spilling in from the hall.
Y/N stopped in the doorway just to look at her.
Billie stood there, chest still rising and falling unevenly, her breasts bare now, nipples still hard from before, the fabric of the babydoll caught at her hips like an afterthought, and the sight of her, undone and trusting and still faintly tear-stained, hit Y/N somewhere low and deep.
"Get on the bed," Y/N said, voice quiet but with no room for anything but compliance.
Billie obeyed, climbing onto the mattress and letting the last of the babydoll slip off entirely, leaving her bare against the sheets. Y/N crossed the room and pulled open the drawer of the nightstand, retrieving the harness they kept there, and Billie watched her from the bed, propped up on her elbows, her chest still heaving slightly, her eyes tracking every movement as Y/N stepped out of her slacks and pulled the straps of the harness up over her hips, adjusting the length that sat between her thighs.
"Turn over for me," Y/N said, low, once she'd settled the fit against her body. "On your knees. I want to look at you while I take care of you."
Billie flushed but did as she was told, turning over and settling onto her hands and knees, her back arching slightly, her hips tilting up in silent invitation. Y/N knelt behind her on the bed, running one hand up the curve of her spine, tracing the delicate tattoo there with her fingertips before letting her palm settle at the small of Billie's back.
"You're already so wet," Y/N murmured, sliding two fingers through her slowly, feeling how ready she still was from before, and Billie's breath hitched, her hips pressing back into the touch. "That's from before, huh? From my thigh?"
"Yes," Billie breathed, voice still a little wrecked. "Yes, please, Y/N."
"Please what, baby?" Y/N leaned down over her, pressing a kiss between her shoulder blades, fingers still working slow, unhurried circles that had Billie's hips rocking back for more. "Tell me what you want."
"I want you," Billie whimpered, fisting the sheets beneath her. "I want to feel you, please, I need it."
Y/N pulled her fingers back, drawing a small, needy sound out of Billie at the loss, and lined herself up instead, one hand steadying at Billie's hip, the other guiding the length of the strap slowly forward, letting the head of it drag through her wetness first before pressing in, giving her time, watching her face over her shoulder for any sign of too much, too fast.
Billie's mouth fell open on a soundless gasp as Y/N sank in inch by inch, her body stretching to accommodate, her back arching further, pushing back to meet her.
"There you go," Y/N said, voice rough with restraint, her hand tightening on Billie's hip once she'd bottomed out, giving her a moment to adjust before she started to move. "You okay?"
"Yes," Billie gasped, "God, yes, please move."
Y/N obliged, drawing back slow before rocking forward again, setting an unhurried but deep rhythm, her hips meeting Billie's with a steady, deliberate pace that had Billie moaning openly into the mattress, her fingers twisting in the sheets. Y/N kept one hand firm on her hip, guiding her, while the other slid up her spine to tangle in her hair, not pulling, just holding, a point of contact that grounded them both.
"This what you needed?" Y/N asked, voice low against the shell of Billie's ear as she leaned forward over her, the angle deepening, drawing a sharper cry out of Billie with each thrust. "You needed me to show you I'm sorry?"
"Yes," Billie sobbed, and this time the sound was different from before, still raw but no longer sad, something being wrung out of her that had nothing to do with hurt and everything to do with release. "I needed you, I just needed you."
"I'm here," Y/N said, picking up her pace, her own breath growing uneven with the effort, the base of the strap dragging against her with every roll of her hips. "I'm not going anywhere. I've got you, baby, I've got you."
She reached around, sliding her hand down over Billie's stomach, lower, finding her clit slick and swollen and circling it in time with her thrusts, and felt Billie's whole body clench and shudder beneath her, her cries growing higher, more broken, her hips pushing back to meet Y/N's rhythm with less coordination and more desperate need.
"That's it," Y/N murmured, voice fraying at the edges. "Let go for me again. I want to feel you."
Billie came with a cry muffled into the pillow, her whole body seizing around the strap, her thighs trembling, and Y/N slowed but didn't stop, working her through it with gentle, shallow strokes until the last of the tremors faded and Billie collapsed forward onto the mattress, chest heaving, tears mixing with sweat at her temples.
Y/N eased out carefully and lay down beside her, pulling her in close, one arm draped protectively over her waist, Billie's back tucked against her front, her face turned to press into the pillow.
"Hey," Y/N said softly after a moment, brushing damp hair back from Billie's face. "You with me?"
"Mm-hm," Billie mumbled, turning her head enough to look at her, eyes still glassy but clear now, softer. "That was a lot."
"Good lot or bad lot?"
"Good lot," Billie said, a small, tired smile finally breaking through. "Really good lot."
Y/N pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering there. "I really am sorry. For earlier. For all of it."
"I know," Billie said quietly, shifting so she could tuck her face into the curve of Y/N's neck. "I know it wasn't really about me."
"It wasn't." Y/N's arm tightened around her. "It's never about you. You're the best part of my day, every day, even the ones I don't act like it."
Billie was quiet for a moment, her fingers tracing idle patterns over Y/N's stomach. "Tell me about your day. The real version. Not the fine version."
Y/N let out a long breath, staring up at the ceiling, feeling the last of the day's tension finally, fully drain out of her body. "Yeah," she said. "Okay. I'll tell you."
And for the first time since she'd walked through the door, the weight in her chest felt light enough to set down.
not sure if you’re taking requests… but if you are, i’d love a girlfriend billie and reader where billie is trying to do that tiktok trend where you split an apple in half with your bare hands (basically testing her muscles) and reader gets hella turned on (like anyone would) you can end it however you want, idm smut or just a little drabble of bringing my silly fantasy to life. Thanks! xx
𝒮how off [b.e]
𑣲 billie .̥ f!reader
◜ they say curiosity killed the cat . . . nobody ever talks about what happens when curiosity convinces your girlfriend she can split an apple in half with her bare hands. ◞
it all started on a random tuesday afternoon because billie was scrolling through her fyp instead of doing literally anything productive.
you were in the kitchen, casually making a sandwich, when billie suddenly gasped from the couch like she’d just witnessed a medical miracle. she scrambled off the cushions, bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor, and sprinted straight into the kitchen holding her phone out like evidence in a court case.
"look at this," she said, dropping her chin onto your shoulder from behind and shoving the screen an inch from your nose. "look. look at what this guy is doing."
you squinted at the screen. it was some gym bro on tiktok, looking intensely focused at a bright red gala apple held between his palms. he dug his thumbs into the top seam near the stem, squeezed his hands together, flared his biceps, and with a horrifying crunch split the apple clean in half with his bare hands.
"okay?" you said, chewing a bite of bread. "he ruined a perfectly good apple for clout. classic."
billie pulled back, looking deeply offended. "no, you don't get it. that takes insane grip strength. that’s pure muscle." she looked down at her own hands, flexing her fingers once, twice, like a comic book character realizing they have superpowers. "i can totally do that."
"billie, no you can't."
"i deadass can," she insisted, her eyes widening. "go get an apple out of the fridge right now. i’m filming this."
"you're going to bruise your palms and cry," you warned, but you were already walking over to the fruit bowl anyway, because when billie eilish gets a weirdly specific idea stuck in her head, there’s literally no stopping her.
you grabbed a crisp, solid honeycrisp apple from the counter and handed it to her. "if you break your hand, i’m not driving you to urgent care."
"shut up, watch and learn," she muttered, taking the apple.
she dragged a wooden barstool to the middle of the kitchen, set her phone against a jar of peanut butter on the counter, and tapped record. she did a quick test angle, made a goofy face at the lens, and then motioned for you to get in the frame.
"come stand next to me," she whispered loudly, as if the phone could hear her secret plans. "you have to be my hype man."
you rolled your eyes, but slipped into frame beside her. she instantly looped one arm around your waist, pulling you close for a second to plant a quick, noisy kiss on your cheek before getting into character.
"okay guys," billie spoke to the phone camera, putting on her deep, dramatic radio announcer voice. "today we are testing if i am secretly built like a tank. my girlfriend thinks i'm gonna fail. show them your face."
you gave the camera a thumbs down. billie swatted your hip playfully.
"ignore the hater," billie said to the lens. "watch this."
she set her feet apart, setting her stance like she was preparing to lift a three hundred pound barbell. she placed the base of her thumbs at the top groove of the apple, right next to the stem.
for the first three seconds, nothing happened. billie just stared down at the fruit, breathing through her nose.
then, she committed.
her shoulders locked into place. her forearms tightened instantly, the muscle defining itself under her skin as she squeezed with everything she had. her veins popped out just a little along her wrists, her knuckles turning white from the sheer pressure. she let out this quiet, focused grunt, her teeth gritting together, a little crease forming right between her eyebrows.
and honest to god? you completely forgot about the tiktok.
you just stood there, staring at her arm muscles working. there was something absurdly hot about how ridiculously focused she was over a piece of produce. billie’s usually so laid-back, just chilling in oversized hoodies and laughing at dumb memes, so seeing her flexed up, veins showing, low-key straining with actual raw strength was doing things to you that you were not prepared for on a tuesday afternoon.
you swallowed hard, your eyes glued to the curve of her forearm.
"billie..." you murmured, your voice dropping a little lower than you meant it to.
"hold on," she grunted through her teeth, her whole body trembling slightly from effort. "i’m... almost... there..."
"no, like... billie," you repeated, leaning a tiny bit closer, suddenly feeling very warm.
billie caught the shift in your voice. she chanced a quick glance up at you without letting go of the apple, her blue eyes scanning your face. she saw where you were looking —staring dead on at her flexed arm— and a slow, smirking grin started creeping onto her face, breaking her intense focus.
"wait," billie gasped out, still holding the squeeze. "are you... are you looking at my arms right now?"
"no," you lied instantly. "focus on the apple."
"you are!" billie laughed, her cheeks flushing a faint pink, but instead of relaxing, she intentionally flexed harder, shifting her angle just to show off for you. "you're getting flustered over an apple!"
"i am not!" you protested, though your face was definitely burning now. "just break it already, muscle head."
"oh, now i have to break it," she wheezed.
she took a deep breath, braced her elbows against her ribs, and gave one final, violent, godly squeeze.
crack.
the skin of the apple gave out with a loud snap, splitting straight down the middle. juice sprayed everywhere —a little bit hitting the counter, a little bit hitting billie’s cheek, and a tiny splash landing right on your neck. the apple popped apart, leaving billie holding two almost-perfect halves in her sticky palms.
"NO WAY!" billie screamed, dropping the half-apples onto the counter and grabbing her own head in shock. "NO WAY! DID YOU SEE THAT?! I’M FREAKING HULK!"
she jumped up and down, flexing both arms at the phone camera like a bodybuilder winning a trophy. "IN YOUR FACE! FIRST TRY! OKAY, SECOND TRY, BUT IT COUNTS!"
you were laughing so hard your chest hurt, watching her celebrate over a split piece of fruit like she’d just won a grammy. she ran over to the counter, stopped the recording, and immediately hit replay to watch her own moment of glory.
"look at that crunch!" she yelled, pointing at the screen. "look at the technique!"
"you literally got apple juice in my hair," you said, stepping closer to her, though you weren't actually mad at all.
"a small price to pay for history," billie declared smoothly. she tossed her phone onto the counter, not even caring about the edit anymore, and turned around to face you fully. she leaned her lower back against the edge of the kitchen counter, crossing her arms over her chest. a move that, intentionally or not, made her arms look extremely good again.
she tilted her head, a soft, teasing smirk playing on her lips. "so... you were saying earlier? about how i couldn't do it?"
"i said you'd bruise your hands," you corrected, taking a slow step into her space. "which, by the way, your palms are bright red."
"worth it," she murmured, her eyes dropping down to your lips for a second before flicking back up to yours. the goofy, hyper energy from a minute ago was settling down into something way quieter, way softer. "besides... i think i got a pretty good reaction out of you."
"you did not," you whispered, wrapping your arms loosely around her neck. "you're so full of yourself."
"am i?" billie chuckled, her sticky hands resting gently on your waist, pulling you in until there was zero space left between you two. her voice dropped into that quiet, scratchy tone she gets when she's trying to be sweet. "you were staring. i saw you. you like when i show off."
"maybe a little bit," you admitted, rolling your eyes, though you couldn't hide the smile tugging at your mouth. "it was... mildly impressive."
"mildly?" billie echoed, raising an eyebrow. "i just split a rock hard honeycrisp with my bare hands and you give me mildly?"
"show me what else those hands can do and maybe i'll upgrade it to very impressive," you teased softly, the suggestive little comment slipping out before you could stop it.
billie’s eyes widened for a split second, a soft beat of silence falling over the kitchen as the implication hit her. a low, breathless chuckle escaped her chest, her hands tightening on your waist.
"oh, okay," she hummed, her voice dripping with playful mischief. "is that how we're playing now?"
"i'm just saying," you whispered, leaning in closer until your noses brushed.
"you're terrible," she whispered back, but her eyes were heavy, fixed entirely on your mouth now.
she didn't give you time to reply. billie leaned in and kissed you. sweet and slow at first, her lips soft and warm against yours, tasting faintly of sweet apple juice. you sighed into the kiss, pressing yourself closer against her, your fingers running up into the cool soft hair at the nape of her neck.
the kiss deepened naturally, moving from sweet to a little heavier, a little warmer. billie pulled you flush against her body, a small, quiet hum escaping her throat that sent a shiver straight down your spine. her hands slid up from your waist to rest firmly against the small of your back, holding you close like she had no intention of letting you go anytime soon.
when she finally pulled back just a few inches, both of you were breathing a little faster. billie rested her forehead against yours, her blue eyes shining, looking completely fond and a little bit dazed.
"so," she murmured, her lips brushing against yours as she spoke. "upgrade?"
"definitely an upgrade," you whispered, kissing her quick corner of the mouth kiss.
"good," she grinned, pressing one more lingering kiss to your lips before sliding her hands down to cup your face. "because my hands are sticky as hell and i need to wash them, but i didn't wanna stop kissing you."
you burst out laughing, breaking the romantic spell completely. "gross! billie!"
"what! i kept them on your waist!" she laughed defensively, holding her sticky hands up in the air like she was being arrested. "i was respectful!"
"go wash your hands, you menace," you said, shoving her playfully toward the sink.
"fine, fine," she grumbled, turning on the faucet and scrubbing her hands with dish soap. she looked back over her shoulder at you, her eyes twinkling with that signature playful energy. "hey... do we have any more apples?"
"no," you said firmly, leaning against the counter next to her. "we are not making this a daily routine."
"why not?" billie grinned, drying her hands on a dishtowel and wrapping her arms right back around your waist from behind, resting her chin on your shoulder just like she had at the start of the day. "you seemed to really enjoy the show."
“you’re ridiculous,” you murmured, leaning back into her chest and pressing a quick kiss to her cheek.
billie laughed quietly against your shoulder, her arms squeezing around your waist just a little tighter.
“yeah,” she said.
“and you still kiss me, so…” ৻ꪆ
note 🗒️ // had so much fun writing this thank you ♡ !!
warnings: pure fluff + soft intimacy, tired billie, cuddles, light nsfw mention at the end
a/n: Something fluffy today, hope y'all like it! :)
The front door clicked open at 1:47 a.m.
You’d fallen asleep on the couch waiting for her, a blanket half-draped over your legs and the TV still playing some random show on low volume. The sound of Billie kicking off her shoes made you stir.
She looked exhausted.
Hoodie pulled low over her head, shoulders slumped, that signature slouch even more pronounced than usual. Her eyes were heavy when they found you.
“Hi, baby,” she rasped, voice wrecked from hours of singing and talking in the studio.
You sat up immediately, opening your arms. “C’mere.”
Billie didn’t hesitate. She dropped her bag by the door and shuffled over, collapsing into you like all the weight of the day finally caught up with her. She buried her face in your neck, legs tangling with yours as you both sank deeper into the couch.
“You smell good,” she mumbled against your skin. “Missed you. Studio was endless today.”
You ran your fingers through her hair, gently scratching her scalp the way she liked. “I missed you too. Long session?”
“Too long. My throat hurts. My back hurts. Everything hurts.” She sighed deeply, nuzzling closer. Her arms wrapped around your waist like she was afraid you’d disappear. “Just wanna stay right here forever.”
You smiled and kissed the top of her head. “Then stay. I’ve got you.”
For a while it was quiet — just the sound of her breathing slowing down and the low hum of the TV. You rubbed slow circles on her back, working out the knots you could feel through her hoodie. Every time your nails dragged lightly over her scalp she let out a tiny, contented hum.
After a few minutes she shifted, crawling fully on top of you so her whole body weight pressed you into the cushions. Not crushing — just heavy and warm and safe.
“Can we go to bed?” she whispered. “But like… no moving. Just cuddles. Maybe some kisses if I’m not too dead.”
You laughed softly. “Whatever you want, love.”
You helped her up, keeping one arm around her as you walked to the bedroom. She stripped down to just her t-shirt and panties while you changed into one of her big shirts. The second you were under the covers she was back in your arms, face tucked into your chest, leg thrown over yours.
“I love you,” she said quietly, almost shy. “Like… stupid amounts. You make coming home the best part of the day.”
You tilted her chin up gently and kissed her — slow, soft, full of all the missing her you’d felt all day. “I love you more. Close your eyes, baby. I’ve got you tonight.”
Billie melted even further into you, one hand slipping under your shirt to rest on your bare waist, thumb stroking lazy patterns. Her breathing grew deeper, slower.
Just when you thought she’d fallen asleep, she mumbled, “Maybe in the morning we can do more than cuddles… but right now this is perfect.”
Billie and reader are leaving a friend’s house from a small party, and they haven’t taken their eyes off of each other the whole night, just quietly flirting and being in their own world. When they get in the car, reader gets Billie off while Billie drives them home, and when they get home, Billie repays the favor.
(decide to make it sub!billie and gxg if you don’t mind💗)
touch me, feel me - sub!billie x black fem dom!reader
the party was small, just a handful of close friends crammed into finn’s living room, ceiling lights strung too low, music humming from a speaker that kept cutting out.
everyone was drunk enough to be loud, but you and billie had been quiet all night.
not the awkward kind of quiet. the kind where words feel pointless because your eyes are already fucking each other across the room.
she was wearing that black ‘brat’ hoodie that said the sleeves pushed up, rings glinting every time she lifted her cup.
her hair was brown and messy from running her hands through it.
every time she laughed at something someone said, her gaze slid back to you like gravity.
you’d smirk, tilt your head, drag your eyes down her body slow enough that she felt it like fingers.
she’d bite her lip, shift in her seat, thighs pressing together under the table.
no one noticed. or if they did, they knew better than to say shit.
by 1 a.m. people were passing out on couches.
you caught billie’s eye and nodded toward the door. she was up before you even stood, grabbing her keys from the counter, mumbling something about being tired.
you followed, hand brushing her back as you slipped past bodies and empty bottles.
outside, the air was cold enough to bite. she shivered when the wind hit her, hoodie doing nothing against it.
you stepped close, sliding your hand under the fabric, palm flat against her warm stomach. she inhaled sharp.
“get in the car, b,” you murmured against her ear. “before i fuck you right here on the hood.”
she whimpered. actually whimpered. then scrambled for the driver’s side like her life depended on it.
the second the doors shut, the tension snapped.
billie fumbled with the keys, hands shaking. you watched her, legs spread just enough in the passenger seat, one shoe propped on the dash.
she finally got the engine started, but before she could shift into drive, you reached over and gripped her thigh hard.
“drive slow,” you said, voice low. “wouldn’t want to crash while i’ve got my fingers in your pussy.”
her breath hitched.
she pulled out of the driveway too fast anyway, tires chirping.
you smirked, sliding your hand higher, under the hem of her hoodie, tracing the waistband of her sweatpants.
“eyes on the road, baby.”
she nodded, knuckles white on the wheel.
you took your time. teased over the fabric first, feeling how soaked she already was.
she squirmed, hips lifting slightly.
“fuck…please~”
“please what?”
“touch me. please, y/n, i’ve been wet all night watching you.”
you slipped your hand into her sweats, no panties (of course), fingers gliding through slick heat. she was dripping. you groaned softly.
“jesus, billie. you’re a mess.”
she moaned, loud, head falling back against the seat for a second before she remembered she was driving.
you circled her clit slow, teasing, watching her thighs tremble.
“keep driving,” you reminded, voice sharp.
she nodded frantically, turning onto the main road. it was late, barely any cars, streetlights flickering over her flushed face.
you pressed two fingers inside her without warning. she cried out, swerving slightly before correcting.
“careful,” you purred, curling your fingers just right, thumb on her clit.
“wouldn’t want to explain to the cops why you’re moaning like a slut behind the wheel.”
“oh my!”
you started slow, deep strokes, watching her take it inch by inch. her breathing was ragged, little gasps every time you hit that spot. you leaned over, mouth at her ear.
“you’ve been teasing me all night with those fucking eyes,” you whispered. “rubbing your thighs together under the table like i wouldn’t notice. you think i didn’t see you staring at my mouth when i was talking?”
“i wanted you to kiss me,” she whined.
“wanted you to drag me to the bathroom and—”
you sped up, fucking into her harder.
her hips bucked, chasing your hand.
“and what? bend you over the sink? make you watch in the mirror while i tongue-fucked you quiet?”
“oh fuck!” she moaned.
the car rolled to a red light. she slammed on the brakes harder than necessary, panting, looking over at you with glassy eyes.
you didn’t stop.
three fingers now, stretching her, your palm grinding against her clit.
“look at me,” you ordered.
she did. lips parted, mascara smudged, completely gone.
“you’re gonna come right here,” you said.
“at this red light. and then you’re gonna drive us home without pulling your pants back up. i want you dripping on the seat the whole way.”
she sobbed, nodding, head thrashing as you worked her over. the light turned green. someone honked behind you.
“drive,” you growled.
she floored it, crying out as the vibrations from the engine hit her clit through the seat.
you didn’t let up. fucked her through the orgasm that hit her like a wave, her whole body seizing, foot slipping off the gas for a second before she recovered.
she came hard, soaking your hand, the seat, and her thighs trembling so bad she could barely steer.
“good girl,” you cooed, pulling your fingers out slow, bringing them to your mouth and licking them clean while she watched, dazed.
“now take us home. i’m not done with you yet.”
the rest of the drive was torture for her. you kept a hand on her thigh, occasionally dragging your nails up her sensitive skin, making her jerk.
she was a mess—hair sticking to her forehead, lips swollen from biting them, hoodie rucked up from where you’d grabbed her.
when she finally pulled into the driveway, she didn’t even turn the car off before she was reaching for you, desperate.
you grabbed her wrist.
“inside. now.”
she scrambled out, legs shaky.
you followed, slow, watching her fumble with the keys at the door.
the second it opened, she tried to kiss you, but you pushed her back against the wall, hard.
“strip,” you said.
“hoodie. sweats. all of it. i want you naked and on the bed in fifteen seconds.”
she obeyed, quickly, clothes hitting the floor as she stumbled toward the bedroom.
you took your time, kicking off your boots, shrugging out of your jacket.
when you walked in, she was on the bed like you wanted—knees drawn up, arms hugging herself, eyes wide and needy.
you crawled over her slow. she reached for you again.
you pinned her wrists above her head with one hand.
“you’ve been such a needy little thing all night,” you murmured, dragging your mouth down her throat, biting just hard enough to make her gasp.
“watching me like you were starving. did you think about this? me spreading you open, licking you until you cry?”
“mmm fuck, please y/n….”
you let go of her wrists, sliding down her body.
pushed her thighs apart rough. she was still so wet from the car, glistening, pink and clit swollen. you groaned.
“look at this pretty pussy. all wrecked and i’ve barely even started.”
you didn’t tease this time.
dove in, tongue flat and firm against her clit from the first lick.
she screamed, back arching off the bed, hands flying to your hair.
you pinned her hips down, ate her out like you’d been starving too—messy, hungry, sucking her clit into your mouth, fucking her with your tongue until she was sobbing.
“y/n…oh god i can’t, it’s too much—” she whined.
you pulled back just enough to speak, lips wet.
“you can and you will. i want to see you cum all over my fingers again, need to taste you.”
then you slid two fingers back inside her, curled hard, mouth sealing over her clit again.
she came fast this time, thighs clamping around your head, whole body shaking as she flooded your tongue.
you didn’t stop.
kept licking soft and slow through the aftershocks until she was whining, pushing weakly at your head.
“fuck fuck it’s so sensitive, pleaseee~!”
you crawled back up, kissing her deep so she tasted herself. she moaned into your mouth, clinging to you.
“not done,” you whispered. “want you on top of me. i need that pussy on mine.”
her eyes went huge. she nodded fast, letting you flip onto your back. you stripped quick—shirt, bra, jeans, everything gone.
she watched like she couldn’t believe you were real.
you pulled her on top, guided her hips until she was straddling one of your thighs.
you grabbed her ass, pulled her forward until her slick folds met yours. the first grind made you both groan.
“like that,” you rasped. “ride me, billie. show me how bad you wanted this.”
she started slow, hesitant, gasping every time her clit dragged against yours. you gripped her hips hard, guiding her faster, harder. the wet sounds were obscene, filling the room.
“fuck! you feel so good, uhhh!” she whimpered, falling forward, hands on either side of your head.
her tits bounced with every roll of her hips, nipples hard and begging.
you reached up, pinched one roughly. she cried out, grinding down harder.
“that’s it,” you moaned.
“use me. make yourself cum all over my pussy.”
she lost it then—riding you with, chasing it, moaning your name like a prayer.
you met her thrust for thrust, the heat building fast and overwhelming.
“do it,” you snarled, slapping her ass hard, then wrapping your hand around her neck softly.
“come with me.”
she shattered first, whole body locking up as she came, pulsing against you, soaking you both.
the sight of her, head thrown back, mouth open, completely weak, sent you over right after, orgasm ripping through you hard and deep, hips bucking up into her.
she collapsed on your chest, both of you shaking, slick and breathless. you held her tight, stroking her back, kissing her temple.
after a minute, she mumbled into your neck, voice hoarse, “…you’re gonna kill me one day.”
you smirked, rolling so she was under you again, pinning her gently.
bed chem :: billie eilish x photographer!fem!reader
synopsis :: billie didn't want you to go to work so early on a monday. so, you enter into an extremely pleasant negotiation.
warnings :: cunnilingus; curse words; fingering; sub!billie; dom!reader; billie being a cutie with u; morning sex; english isn't my first language so im sorry if the writing sucks lol; first time writing here btw
the first rays of sunlight slipped through the cracks in the window, slowly illuminating the room as if the light itself was too lazy to wake up. thin golden layers slid across the wooden floor, climbed over the scattered clothes, reached the bed, and found billie.
her blue eyes opened slowly, heavy with sleep, still blurry. she blinked once, twice, feeling the brightness invade her vision while her brain took its time understanding where she was, what day it was, why the sun was already so high.
the first thing she noticed was the cold.
not the cold of the room, although the breeze coming through the slightly open window made her skin prickle, but the absence of warmth beside her. the empty space in the bed where you should have been. the wrinkled sheet, already cold. the pillow beside her without the imprint of a head, without the smell of your hair.
billie frowned.
she sat up slowly, hands propped on the mattress while her blonde hair fell messily over her bare shoulders. the sheet slipped down to her waist, revealing pale skin marked by purple bruises scattered across her neck, her shoulders, and her chest, silent reminders of the night before.
she looked around.
the room was a mess.
the clothes — hers and yours — were mixed together on the floor as if they had been ripped off in a hurry, with urgency. the blue shirt she'd worn to dinner was crumpled near the armchair. your black mini-skirt, the one you had been wearing and that she loved seeing on you, was thrown at the foot of the bed. one of her shoes lay on its side near the door. yours was tucked beneath the nightstand.
billie felt heat rise to her face as she remembered why.
last night had been intense. you'd come home early from work on friday, she recalled, and made dinner, something simple, pasta with tofu, because she was tired and you knew comfort food was exactly what she needed. later, you'd gone to the bedroom early. definitely not to sleep. what happened between those four walls had left billie breathless, voiceless, and without the strength to leave bed the next day.
saturday and sunday had been gloriously lazy.
and now it was monday.
and you weren't beside her, as you should be.
the brief smile that had appeared on her lips as she recalled the night faded as quickly as it came. her eyes scanned the room, searching for you; searching for any sign.
the bathroom.
the light.
there was a thin golden line escaping from beneath the bathroom door, and billie let out a sigh she hadn't realized she was holding. you were there. you hadn't left. you hadn't left her alone without warning. you were simply in the bathroom.
but time passed.
and billie remained sitting in bed, arms wrapped around her own knees, the white sheets twisted around her body like an improvised cocoon. the morning breeze made her bare shoulders prickle, but she didn't lie back down. she didn't move. she just stared at the bathroom door, her patience wearing thinner with every passing minute.
her fingers tightened around the fabric of the sheet.
what were you doing in there, anyway? she had already heard the shower turn off a while ago. the minutes dragged on, and billie felt the familiar morning irritability, the one that always appeared when she woke up without you by her side, begin to grow in her chest. her lower lip jutted out into a pout without her even noticing.
then the doorknob turned.
the metallic click made billie look up immediately.
the door opened slowly, and you appeared in the doorway, wrapped in the golden light of dawn streaming through the bedroom window. your hair was still slightly damp at the tips, your face freshly washed, and you were drying your hands on a towel when your eyes found the sleepy figure sitting on the bed.
you smiled. an immediate, genuine smile that made something in billie's chest warm despite the lingering grumble she was still nursing.
you dropped the towel onto the dresser and crossed the room. your steps were quick and determined, weaving without ceremony around the scattered clothes until you reached the bed. without hesitation, you climbed onto the mattress and stopped right in front of her, your weight resting on your elbows as you propped yourself beside her head.
billie kept the pout on her lips.
you let out a soft laugh — that gentle sound she loved — and raised your hand to brush away a strand of blonde hair that had fallen across her face. your fingers glided over her forehead, traced the curve of her temple, then disappeared into her hair.
"good morning, princess."
billie answered with an unintelligible murmur, something low and sleepy that was probably her attempt at wishing you good morning too.
then she simply watched you.
her blue eyes followed your every movement attentively, as though she were waiting for something.
and, in fact, she was.
she wanted a kiss.
your smile widened when you realized exactly what was going on inside that sleepy little head of hers. leaning forward, you pressed your lips to hers.
the moment the kiss happened, billie relaxed. the tension left her shoulders, her eyes closed for a moment, and she allowed herself to enjoy the familiar feeling. it was brief, simple, but enough to completely improve the start of her morning.
when you pulled away, however, her reaction was immediate.
billie raised an eyebrow, clearly dissatisfied with how short the kiss had been.
as if she were demanding another one.
"a grumpy princess, hm?"
billie rolled her eyes.
a quiet laugh slipped past your lips before you could stop it.
"what are you doing up?" she mumbled, her voice still thick with sleep as her eyes drifted to the empty side of the bed. "why weren't you here?"
"because..." you smiled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. "i have to work, baby. remember? i told you on friday i had a photoshoot on monday at 8:30." you glanced toward the clock. "it's already 7:30."
billie didn't answer right away.
at first, her expression barely changed. but you knew her far too well not to catch the tiny flicker of annoyance in her eyes. the thought of you leaving before eight on a monday morning clearly wasn't something she was willing to accept.
you barely had a second to process it.
without a word, billie reached up, wrapped both arms around your neck, and tugged you straight back down onto the bed.
the two of you fell onto the mattress rather abruptly. billie landed on her back, her chest partially exposed and her pale skin prickling once again from the cool air. you ended up practically on top of her, supporting part of your weight on your arms so you wouldn't crush her.
your faces were so close that you could feel each other's breath.
"baby, stay" she asked softly, her voice carrying that melodic sleepiness that always made it difficult to say no. "... i don't wanna be alone."
the expression on your face immediately softened.
"you won't be alone, silly girl. shark's in the living room. he can keep you compa..."
"nooo...!" billie pouted, interrupting you before you could finish. she hugged your neck a little tighter, gently pulling you back toward her with a sleepy little smile. "stay with me. i wanna cuddle with you all morning."
an inevitable smile appeared on your lips.
"trust me, baby, i want that too. but it's monday and i have to work. unfortunately."
you leaned down and kissed her gently. and for a moment, billie relaxed beneath you.
the tension left her shoulders, and her eyes closed, enjoying every second of the affection. but the moment you pulled away, the pout immediately returned.
holding back a laugh, you brushed your nose against hers and placed another kiss on her cheek.
"baby, don't be sad. i'll be back in a few hours..."
billie didn't answer, and you didn't insist.
instead, you let your lips drift to her jawline, placing a lingering kiss there before slowly moving down to her neck. the kisses came unhurriedly, soft and spaced apart, as though you were trying to improve her mood through affection alone.
some were placed just beneath her ear, others along the delicate curve of her neck. between one kiss and the next, your lips lingered against her skin for a few seconds, enjoying the pleasant warmth radiating from her body.
you closed your eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath.
there was that scent.
the scent that always seemed to belong only to billie.
you had never been able to describe it accurately. it wasn't just the smell of her shampoo, nor her lotion, nor the perfume she usually wore. it was a mixture of all those things combined with something that was simply hers.
and honestly, you couldn't imagine ever finding anything that compared to this, to her. so you pressed another gentle kiss to her skin, then another, and another after that, lingering a little longer each time simply because you could.
"baby, don't go…" you heard billie plead softly. "please…"
the plea came with a slight tightening of her arms around your neck. you raised an eyebrow.
"hm," you hummed, nibbling at her sensitive skin. "and what exactly would you offer me to stay?"
billie let out an indignant grumble.
"y/n. don't do this."
"do what, princess?"
"that thing."
"what thing?"
"acting like you don't know what i'm talking about."
a smug, satisfied smile lingered on your lips as you looked away, dropping your attention to her collarbone. the hickeys you had left last night were there, exposed — purple, vivid, a mark that she was yours. you ran your mouth slowly over one of them, feeling the warm skin, and sucked lightly, just to see her body tremble again.
your hand slid down her body with calculated, teasing slowness until it found one of her full breasts. you closed your fingers around it, squeezing firmly, feeling the weight, the warmth, the softness almost overflowing between your fingers. she gasped, a trembling, hoarse sound that made you smile against her neck.
you began to massage in slow back-and-forth motions, feeling every inch of the soft skin, every time her body gave away a tremor she tried to hide. you pinched the hard nipple between your thumb and index finger, pulled lightly, twisted just enough to see her back arch, her body pressing even more against yours.
you salivated.
you tilted your head and ran your tongue slowly over the swollen nipple, tasting the salty skin, before closing your lips around it and sucking hard. she moaned, a muffled sound she clearly tried to hold back, and her hand buried itself in your hair, unsure whether to pull or ask for more.
you released with a wet pop, her nipple glistening, erect, begging for attention.
"you like that, don't you?" your voice came out thick, almost a growl against her skin. "look at you, falling apart already."
a slow, deliberate smile spread across your lips when you saw the expression on her face — those half-lidded eyes, that parted mouth, her breathing already visibly shorter, the way her pupils had swallowed the blue of her irises until they were almost black. billie was trying to hold on to some composure, but her body betrayed every secret with disarming honesty, the fine tremors running through her thighs, the way her fingers twitched against the sheets, the pulse fluttering visibly at the base of her throat.
you were in no rush anymore.
work could wait.
your mouth descended slowly along the curve of her breast, circling the sensitive nipple, tasting the salt of her skin, the faint sweetness of the vanilla lotion she had used the night before. you nibbled at the soft skin with your teeth before soothing it with your tongue, alternating between sucking and biting, feeling every tremor that coursed through her body, every gasp she tried to disguise and failed. the hand that wasn't busy with her breast slid down her belly, tracing the subtle line of muscle beneath the softness, following the curve of her waist, her hip — slow, intentional, as if you had all the time in the world.
billie held her breath.
you felt the muscles of her abdomen contract beneath your fingers as your hand traveled lower, grazing the inside of her thigh with an almost cruel lightness; just the tips of your fingers, barely there, ghosting over the sensitive skin. she shuddered. a visible, full-body shudder that started at her shoulders and rippled all the way down to her toes curling against the sheets. she moved instinctively, trying to press her body into your touch, and you pulled your hand away just enough to frustrate her, your fingers hovering a hair's breadth away from where she wanted them most.
"please" she murmured, her voice so low it was barely audible, almost swallowed by the sound of her own breathing.
you didn't answer. you just smiled against the warm skin of her breast and kept descending with your mouth: across her stomach, your tongue tracing a slow, wet path down the center, stopping at her navel to circle it lazily, feeling the way her belly jumped at the sensation. lower still, across the soft curve of her lower belly, your lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses that left her skin tingling in their wake.
billie was trembling.
not from cold. her skin was hot under your mouth, flushed pink from desire, the scent of her — clean, warm, unmistakably her — filling your senses with every breath you took against her body.
you reached her hip and paused. her hipbone stood out sharply beneath the pale skin, and you bit it gently — just enough pressure to make her gasp — before soothing the spot with your tongue. you lifted your gaze, meeting her blue eyes from between her legs, and the sight was enough to make you want to abandon all pretense of patience.
she was watching you with an expression of pure, unguarded need. her eyes were glazed, dark, her pupils blown wide, her lips parted and shiny where she had been biting them. her chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths, and her fingers were twisted in the sheets beside her, gripping them like a lifeline.
you held her gaze as you placed a slow kiss on her inner thigh, feeling the soft skin, feeling the heat radiating from so close. another kiss, an inch higher. and another, an inch higher still, each one slower than the last.
she groaned in frustration, her head pressing back into the pillow.
"so damn impatient," you murmured against her skin, your warm breath making her shudder. "i've barely started, baby."
billie threw her head back against the pillow, a sound escaping her throat that was half laugh, half desperate whimper. "you're gonna kill me."
her fingers found your hair — not pulling, just holding — as if she needed something to anchor herself to, some physical proof that you were real and there and not stopping anytime soon.
hou smiled against her skin and then bit her inner thigh. firm enough to leave a mark. she gasped and her hips jerked instinctively, but your free hand was already there, palm flat against her hipbone, pressing her down into the mattress.
"stay still."
she whined — actually whined, low and drawn-out — but she obeyed. her thighs trembled with the effort of staying open, of staying still, of holding herself together when every instinct was screaming at her to move, to grind, to chase the friction she craved.
you took your time.
you kissed the spot you had bitten, soft and apologetic, then dragged your tongue in a slow, wet stripe up to the crease where her thigh met her hip. you inhaled deeply, filling your lungs with the scent of her: already slick, already ready, already desperate.
"god, you smell so fucking good" you muttered against her skin. "you have no idea what you do to me."
"i have some idea" she managed, her voice strained.
"yeah?"
"mhm. you're still here. you should be at work."
"and i couldn't care less."
you finally lowered your mouth to where she needed you most.
the first contact was gentle — just the tip of your tongue, barely brushing against her, exploratory. billie gasped, a sharp intake of breath that turned into a shuddering exhale as you traced a slow line from her entrance up to her clit, tasting her, savoring her.
the moan she let out was unguarded, long and trembling, echoing through the quiet morning room. it was the kind of sound she only made when she forgot to hold back, when she was too far gone to care about dignity or restraint.
you smiled against her and repeated the motion. Slower this time.
"fuck" she breathed, her hips twitching under your restraining hand.
"shh," you said, the sound vibrating against her. "i've got you."
you began in earnest then — your tongue working her in slow, deliberate circles, learning every contour, every sensitive spot, every variation in her breathing that told you she was close. when your tongue found a rhythm that made her fingers twist in the sheets, you stayed there, repeating it until her breathing grew ragged and uneven.
but you wanted more.
you pulled your mouth away just long enough to look at her, to watch the way her chest heaved, the way her eyes were squeezed shut, the way a single tear of pure overwhelm had escaped from the corner of her eye and was sliding down her temple.
"look at me."
she opened her eyes. they were glassy, unfocused, full of desperate trust.
"i want to feel you come on my tongue. can you do that for me?"
she nodded, a quick, jerky motion. "yes! yes... yes, please...!"
"good girl."
you lowered your head again, but this time you didn't stop at her clit. You pressed your tongue flat against her entrance, tasting her fully, feeling the heat and the wetness and the way she clenched at the first contact, searching for more. you pushed inside her — slow, firm, your tongue sliding deep — and the sound billie made was raw and wrecked, a sob of relief and pleasure combined.
you fucked her with your tongue in long, steady strokes, your nose pressing against her clit with each push, and her hands flew to your head, gripping your hair with enough force to sting, holding you there, keeping you exactly where she needed you.
"don't stop, please baby don't stop!"
you didn't.
you pulled your tongue out and replaced it with two fingers, sliding into her wet heat without resistance, and at the same time you closed your lips around her clit and sucked. hard. deliberate. the exact pressure you knew made her vision go white.
billie's back came off the mattress completely, a broken cry tearing from her throat as she teetered on the edge. your fingers curled inside her, searching for that spot, and when you found it — when the rough pad of your fingertip pressed against it and she gasped like she'd been punched — you stayed there, rubbing in tight circles while your tongue worked her clit without mercy.
"i'm... i'm gonna...."
"cum for me, baby. i want to feel you."
she did.
her orgasm crashed through her like a wave through a dam, violent and total. Her body arched, her thighs clamped around your head, and she cried out a broken, beautiful sound as she pulsed around your fingers, wave after wave, while you worked her through every single second of it. her release coated your fingers, your chin, and you didn't stop until her legs fell open, trembling and useless, and she went limp against the mattress like every bone had been pulled from her body.
you withdrew your fingers slowly and brought them to your lips, tasting her one last time, before you crawled up her body and settled beside her.
she was a masterpiece of dishevelment.
her chest rose and fell in deep, ragged heaves. her skin was slick with a thin sheen of sweat, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen from biting them. her blonde hair was a tangled mess against the pillow, and her eyes — half-open, hazy, unfocused — were fixed on the ceiling as if she was still processing what had just happened.
you brushed a strand of damp hair from her forehead, tucking it behind her ear.
"you okay?"
she let out a breathy laugh. "i don't know my own name right now."
"that good, huh?"
"that good."
billie turned her head slowly, her blue eyes finding yours. there was a softness there now, beneath the lingering haze of pleasure — a tenderness that made something in your chest ache. she reached up and touched your face, her fingers tracing your jaw, your lips, the corner of your mouth where the taste of her still lingered.
"you're going to be the death of me" she murmured, her voice wrecked and slurred.
you laughed softly, pressing a kiss to her palm. "that's a little dramatic."
"it's really not."
she shuffled closer, tucking her face into the curve of your neck, her breath warm against your skin. you wrapped your arm around her, pulling her tight against your side, feeling every inch of her bare body pressed against yours.
the silence that settled over you was full, comfortable, broken only by the sound of her breathing slowly returning to normal and the distant hum of the city outside. a bird was singing somewhere. a car honked a few blocks away. but in that bed, wrapped in rumpled sheets and morning light, the rest of the world might as well have ceased to exist.
billie was the first to speak.
"so…" she said, her voice still rough, muffled against your neck. "are you gonna call in sick, or…?"
you laughed, the sound vibrating through your chest. "i can't call in sick, baby. i told you, photoshoot at 8:30."
"they can survive without you."
"they could, but i gave my word."
she pulled back just enough to look at you, a pout forming on her lips. but her eyes were smiling, and the pout dissolved almost immediately into a genuine, sleepy grin.
"fine" she sighed, dramatic and exaggerated. "go. abandon me. leave me here alone to fend for myself."
"you have shark."
"shark is a terrible conversationalist."
"but he's an excellent cuddler."
billie laughed, the sound soft and warm, and kissed your shoulder before lying back down.
you glanced at the clock. 7:43.
"i really should go" you said, without conviction.
"mhm... but you're not moving."
"no. i'm not."
she smiled against your skin, and you felt it like a physical thing — the curve of her lips, the warmth of it spreading through your chest.
"five more minutes" she said. "then i'll let you go."
🏷️ Summary: Billie knows perfectly well that punctuality is non-negotiable for me. So, when she decides to defy me by brazenly touching me under the table during a dinner with friends, she thinks she has won our little power struggle. She has no idea that her public bratting has only guaranteed her a ruthless punishment the second we step through the front door.
Punctuality is one thing I never negotiate on, and Billie knows it perfectly well.
That’s why, when she tried to drag me back to bed twenty minutes before we had to leave for our vegan sushi dinner with the rest of the group, I had to put my foot down.
She whined, dragged her feet, and stared at me with those heavy, defiant eyes as she finished getting dressed. A petulant Billie is dangerous, but I didn't realize just how much.
Now, sitting in the restaurant's private booth, our friends' conversation flows all around us, but my mind is somewhere else. Specifically, on Billie’s hand, which has just slid down my thigh beneath the table.
She’s wearing a loose, oversized dress, but her arm stretches far enough. I look at her out of the corner of my eye.
Billie is holding a chopstick with a sushi roll, talking animatedly with Finneas.
She slides her left hand down my thigh with an excruciating slowness, moving her fingers upward inch by inch beneath the hem of my skirt.
I continue responding to a casual question from Claudia, keeping my voice steady, but my entire body tenses up completely when the tips of her long, cold fingers brush against the lace edge of my underwear.
“Yeah, the producer gave us a couple of interesting ideas...” Billie says aloud, while her fingers find the fabric of my panties, slipping shamelessly beneath the damp silk, searching for my clit.
She presses down hard, directly over my center.
I freeze, holding my breath. Her gaze slowly drifts over to me.
She presses the pad of her thumb directly onto my clit hood, rubbing it in a firm, heavy circle. I stifle a gasp in the back of my throat, digging my fingers into the wooden underside of the table.
When I look at her sideways, expecting to find a trace of hesitation, Billie simply tilts her head.
She holds my gaze dead-on, her eyes heavy, blue, and defiant, wetting her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue in a purely obscene gesture meant only for me to decipher. She is daring me.
She knows a single whimper would give away what’s happening, and she’s betting everything that my rigid composure won't hold up against the rhythm of her fingers.
“Are you okay, babe? You look a bit pale,” she tells me with an innocent smile that makes my blood boil.
The wetness of my own inevitable reaction coats her knuckles instantly.
Billie’s smile widens as she notices how slick I already am, and she picks up the pace, hooking her fingers upward, punishing my most sensitive spot with a constant, rhythmic, and merciless friction.
My thighs tremble under the tablecloth; I clench my teeth until my jaw aches, fighting off the waves of heat that threaten to make me arch my back in the middle of dinner.
Billie doesn't take her eyes off me; she enjoys seeing the cold sweat on my forehead, smirking with the smug satisfaction of knowing she owns my composure in this very second.
Her fingers begin to move in circles, slick with my own unavoidable slickness. I grit my teeth, digging my nails into my own thighs under the table to keep from gasping. Billie keeps her gaze locked on mine, defiant, licking her lips while she continues to touch me at a torturous pace.
She is so insolent. A little spoiled brat who needs to remember who is in control.
I place my hand over hers under the table, stopping her movement with a firm squeeze. I return her gaze, a cold, silent promise written into my eyes.
“Billie... stop,” I manage to murmur in a thread of a voice, gripping her wrist under the table with a squeeze meant to cut off the circulation to her hand.
Far from stopping, she uses her free hand to pick up her chopstick with total nonchalance while, down below, she frees her thumb to rub my center with a wild speed, using my own juices to undo me.
Her smile falters slightly, replaced by a dark gleam of anticipation.
The friction of her fingers through the silk of my underwear is deliberate torture. Billie knows exactly which strings to pull; she knows the rigidity of my jaw when my self-control begins to crack, and she enjoys every single millimeter of that resistance.
I hold her hand under the table, tightening my fingers over hers with a force meant to be a sharp warning, but she only widens her smile, defiant, and takes advantage of the space to slide two fingers directly under the wet fabric.
A choked gasp dies in my throat. Finneas keeps talking on the other side of the table about the frequencies of a synthesizer, completely oblivious to the fact that his sister is sinking her fingers into me with an implacable, sticky rhythm.
“Personally, I think the rhythm of the second half needs more... pressure,” Billie comments out loud, her voice drawling and perfectly modulated for the group, while her fingers deliver a sharp, upward stroke against my clit.
My nails dig into the edge of the wooden table. I stare at her with narrowed eyes, conveying the implicit promise of the consequences waiting for her the moment we step through the front door at home.
Far from being intimidated, the mischievous glint in her blue eyes intensifies.
Billie is a textbook brat when she wants to be; she gets turned on by danger, by the tightrope of public decency, by the power play where she thinks she has the upper hand just because her hands are dirty under the cloth.
“Don’t you agree, sweetheart?” she asks me, tilting her head.
Her fingers curl inside me, quick and firm, hitting the exact angle that makes me lose my footing.
I am soaking wet, and the subtle sound of her friction is masked by our friends' laughter and the ambient music of the restaurant. I try to maintain my composure, but Billie accelerates her pace, using her thumb to rub my center with exquisite cruelty.
My breathing becomes short, erratic. Heat rushes up my neck, flushing my cheeks.
She licks her lower lip, holding my gaze with a consuming intensity, feeding off my desperation not to fall apart right then and there.
“Billie...” my voice comes out in a dangerously low whisper, a tense vibration only she can catch.
“Tell me, my love,” she replies, sinking her fingers in completely while pressing her thumb down with ruthless force.
“Are you okay, darling?” she replies in an equally low whisper, her eyes shining with an insufferable arrogance. “Enjoy your dinner.”
That is the limit. The spasm shoots down my spine before I can even process it. My nails scrape the wooden underside of the table as the orgasm hits me with the force of a freight train. I close my eyes, biting the inside of my cheek until I taste the metallic tang of blood, choking back the scream pushing to get out.
My walls contract violently around her trapped fingers, milking them in complete secrecy while she behaves with unmitigated insolence.
Billie doesn't stop; she continues pumping her fingers a few more times, savoring the pulsing of my flesh, forcing me to swallow the overstimulation before slowly withdrawing her hand, licking her lips with a smugness that makes my blood boil.
When she pulls her hand away, she does it slowly, brushing against my swollen clit one last time before wiping the excess slickness onto the reverse side of my own skirt, looking at me with the self-satisfied smirk of someone who thinks she’s won.
The drive back home is a desert of words. Billie sits in the passenger seat, legs crossed with a triumphant expression she doesn't even try to hide, humming some random melody while staring out the window.
She knows I’m watching her.
She knows the silence filling the space isn’t one of submission, but rather the heavy calm before the storm.
The moment the front door lock clicks shut with a heavy thud, the atmosphere shifts completely.
I don't even reach to turn on the hallway lights; the shadows of the house envelop us immediately. I turn to face her. Billie takes a step back, her spine straight, trying to maintain the facade of the spoiled brat who just got away with it.
“Quite a dinner, right? The sushi was...”
I don't let her finish. I grab her arm firmly and slam her against the wall. The dull thud cuts off her sentence. My free hand snaps directly to her chin, forcing her to lift her face, squeezing my fingers with enough force to remind her who’s boss.
Her breathing, which had been steady a second ago, quickens noticeably.
The triumph in her eyes begins to dissolve, replaced by the delicious submission she always tries to hide behind her tantrums.
“Did you think that was funny?” I snap, my voice low, drawling, pressed against her lips. “Do you think you’re so clever playing the whore in front of my brother and your friends?”
“You... you were ignoring me,” she stammers, trying to keep a defiant tone, but the trembling in her voice betrays her. Her hands grip my wrists, not to push me away, but to cling to me. “You wanted to leave, and I wanted...”
“I don’t care what you wanted, Billie. I gave you a clear order before we left. I hate unpredictability, and I detest being defied even more when I’ve told you to sit still.”
“You were ignoring me,” she protests, narrowing her eyes, the petulant brat peeked out again. “You didn’t care when I begged you on my knees in bed.”
“And so you decided you could touch me under the table like an alley cat in heat, right?” My tone makes her gasp. Her pupils dilate until they almost erase the blue of her eyes. “Look at you. You’re shaking just because I’m speaking strictly to you. A spoiled girl like you needs to remember her place.”
I turn her body around without ceremony, forcing her to lean against the wall, her back to me.
“I gave you an order, you little brat,” I remind her, increasing the pressure on her jaw until she lets out a whimper. “And in this house, my time is not up for debate. If you wanted attention, you could have asked for it on your knees like the bitch you are, not by trying to get fucked under a tablecloth like an dog in heat.”
Billie lets out a muffled moan, pressing her palms against the wall, her head hanging low.
“You’re going to learn to respect my boundaries, Billie. And you’re going to learn to ask for things properly. Look at you. You’re soaked and trembling just because I’m speaking harshly to you. A spoiled girl needs to be reminded of the pain of disobedience.”
I raise my right hand and bring my open palm down hard against her right butt cheek. The sharp slap echoes through the silent hallway.
I pull the fabric of her dress and her hoodie up to the middle of her back, leaving her pale cheeks and her string thong completely exposed in the dim light.
Billie tries to arch her hips back—a defiant reflex, looking to provoke me again.
“Don’t move,” I warn her.
A sharp cry escapes her, but I reprimand her immediately.
“Shh. Silence. I didn’t give you permission to make a sound.”
Another strike falls, this time on the left side, leaving a red mark that begins to burn against her pale skin. Billie sobs, a small, broken sound.
My hand descends again, rhythmic, relentless, striking the soft flesh until her skin is hot and flushed. I spank her firmly, measuring the force to sting her pride as much as her skin, forcing her to shift restlessly against the wall.
Billie sobs, hiding her face against her arms on the wall, but her hips rock involuntarily with every impact, chasing the sting, feeding off the discipline she had provoked so hard.
I give her ten, ten consecutive slaps, increasing the intensity until the echo of the strikes drowns out her muffled whimpers.
“Please... Mommy, please, it hurts, I’m sorry,” she begs, finally breaking her defiant facade.
“What are you sorry for, Billie? Tell me exactly what you did wrong,” I order, halting the slaps for a second, pressing my body against her back, feeling the heat radiating off her.
“I was... I was a brat. I touched you when you said no... I’m sorry, Mommy, please.”
“Such a good girl,” I whisper in her ear, switching my tone to something dangerously sweet, praising her submission. “So soft, so easy to break. Look at me.”
I force her to turn around again. Her face is flushed, her cheeks red, and her eyes are flooded with heavy tears already spilling over her eyelashes.
I push her down toward the floor, leaving her on her knees in front of me.
Her face is a roadmap of vulnerability: flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and thick tears streaming down her neck.
I grab her hair firmly, tugging her head back to wipe her tears with my thumb before giving her a clean slap across her right cheek that makes her let out a startled hiccup.
“Cry more for me, Billie. I love watching you fall apart when I put you in your place.”
I crouch down in front of her, dropping to my knees. Billie opens her legs instinctively, seeking air. I slide her underwear down to her ankles, leaving her intimacy completely exposed.
She is dripping; her own frustration and the punishment have left her more than ready.
I don’t use my fingers. I lean in and press my mouth directly against her swollen clit, licking her from bottom to top with an agonizing slowness. And then, without warning, I bury my mouth over her inflamed center, trapping her between my lips and sucking with wild force.
“Oh God, Mommy!” Billie tangles her fingers in my hair, desperately pushing my head down against her pelvis.
“I told you to stay still,” I growl against her flesh, biting her inner lip hard enough to make her cry louder. “If you move even one more time, I’m leaving you here all night.”
My tongue works in concentric circles, heavy and wet, sucking her center with a force that makes her wail uncontrollably.
Billie cries openly now, her head thrown back against the wall, tears running down her neck. Her thighs shake violently.
She is right on the edge; I can tell by the way her flesh twitches tightly around my lips.
Just when her body tenses and I know she’s a second away from ruining herself, I pull away abruptly.
“No,” I say, standing up and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
“What? No, no, please, Mommy, it hurts, it hurts so bad,” she begs, her eyes wide, her pelvis suspended in the air, chasing the contact I just ripped away from her. She is completely overstimulated, hyperventilating.
“You’re going to stay like that. You’re going to endure that ache a little longer so you can think about what it costs to disobey me. You’re going to beg me properly.”
I walk toward the back bedroom without looking back, knowing she will follow me like a wounded pup. I hear her clumsy footsteps behind me, the wet friction of her thighs.
We enter the room, and I pull the black leather harness out of the drawer along with the long, thick strap-on we usually use when she needs to be completely filled.
I buckle it around my waist calmly, my back turned to her, listening to her messy sobs on the bed.
When I turn around, Billie is on her knees on the sheets, her eyes swollen, cheeks wet, her gaze locked onto the rigid toy rising from my pelvis.
“Come here, you little slut,” I order.
Billie crawls toward me without a second of hesitation, pressing her forehead against my thighs. I grab her hair firmly, pulling her head back so she has to look up at the toy.
“Ask for it. Ask for it like the desperate girl you are.”
“Please, Mommy... put it in, fill me, I beg you... I can’t take it anymore, please,” she begs, her voice broken by crying, her lips trembling.
“You’re going to swallow it first. Clean it for me.”
She leans forward with an almost religious devotion.
Billie opens her mouth and takes the tip of the toy, sliding down it with difficulty, using her spit and her hands to lubricate the textured plastic. Her eyes, locked onto mine through her tears, plead for the end of the torture. The wet sound of her sucking fills the humid bedroom.
When I decide she’s had enough mental punishment, I shove her back, forcing her to lay flat on her back. I pin her legs all the way up to her shoulders, exposing her entrance, engorged and slick with desire. I hold the toy right at her opening, teasing her clit one more time just to hear her scream.
“Mommy, please, now, now!”
I drive the strap-on in with a single, deep thrust, burying it all the way until the leather base slams against her pelvis with a dull thud.
Billie’s scream is devastating—a mix of pure pain, relief, and cataclysmic pleasure.
Her eyes roll back for a second, showing only white, and her entire body arches off the bed. I don’t give her time to recover. I begin to push into her with brutal, relentless force, our pelvic bones crashing together in wet, heavy thuds.
“You’re mine, baby. Who do you belong to?” I yell at her, delivering another light slap across her face to snap her back to the reality of the pain and pleasure.
“Yours! Mommy’s! Right there, God, right there!” she screams, her hands clawing at the sheets, her legs shaking violently.
The pace is savage. Every thrust drives her higher, the plastic friction hitting the walls of her cunt and pounding her G-spot with torturous consistency.
Her crying is no longer from sadness; it’s the physiological response of a body completely broken by pleasure and dominance. The overstimulation is so intense that Billie begins to babble incoherently, spit pooling at the corner of her lips, completely gone.
“Prove to me what a good girl you can be and ruin yourself for me right now, Billie.” I command her, accelerating my thrusts to the absolute maximum, driving into her mercilessly.
“Mommy! Fuck, I love you!” she howls.
Her body collapses. The walls of her entrance clamp down in violent spasms around the toy, trapping it with incredible force as her orgasm rolls out in endless waves.
Billie squirts again, soaking the sheets beneath her, her chest heaving in dry gasps while tears continue to pool into her temples.
I continue to thrust a few more times through her aftershocks, forcing her to process every vibration of her climax, until I finally stop, letting my weight drop heavily over her, pinning her to the bed.
Billie buries her face in my neck, sobbing softly, her trembling arms wrapping around my back. The heat of her flushed skin and the heavy scent of sex fill the room.
The punishment is over, and the little brat is right back exactly where she belongs: submissive, broken, and completely mine.
Billie’s collapse on the bed lasts for several minutes, a silence broken only by her erratic breathing and the echo of the last twitches shaking her thighs.
I stay lying on top of her, savoring the weight of her surrender, feeling her frantic heartbeat hammering against my own chest.
Her insolence has evaporated, but Billie's intensity never fully disappears; it mutates, transforming into a devotion that burns just as hot as her rebellion.
Slowly, I unbuckle the straps of the harness and set the toy aside, freeing her from the pressure. The moment I try to sit up to get out of bed and clean myself up in the bathroom, her hands—still shaking, her nails red from clawing the sheets—grip my hips with a renewed urgency.
“No... babe, wait. Don't go,” she begs, her voice raspy, a barely audible thread dragging out the words.
She hides her face in my neck, breathing in my perfume mixed with the sweat of our fight.
Her lips, hot and swollen from the bites she gave herself earlier, begin to brush against my skin with a softness that contrasts wildly with her screams from moments ago.
Billie pushes herself up with the little strength she has left, forcing herself to her knees on the rumpled mattress while I sit on the edge, watching her with a raised eyebrow, maintaining a dominant distance.
“Let me... let me make it up to you,” she whispers, looking up at me from below, her blue eyes still clouded by tears from the dacryphilia, her eyelashes clumped together from the moisture. “I was an insolent brat under the table, I know... I was terrible. But I just couldn't resist. I swear I couldn't.”
Her hands slide down my thighs, squeezing the flesh with a firmness that no longer seeks to challenge, but to worship. Her fingers, still marked with the evidence of her own climax and mine, dig into my skin devoutly.
“You look so fucking good in that red dress...” she continues, her gaze tracing the fabric bunched around my waist. “In the restaurant, under that dim light... you were glowing. You were the only real thing in that godforsaken room. You were ignoring me so beautifully, so perfectly composed, that it drove me crazy. I’m a mess for you, Mommy. A goddamn mess that only knows how to break when you look at me like that.”
She leans forward, resting her palms on my knees, lifting her face to beg for my approval with submission oozing from her pores.
“Let me clean you up. Please, let me lick you clean. Let me lick away the mess I made under the table and what you made here. I'm begging you.”
I hold her gaze for a few eternal seconds, letting the desperation build in her chest, before giving a slight nod and slowly opening my legs. That small concession is enough to make Billie let out a sigh of pure relief. She doesn't waste a single second.
She slides down the bed until she’s perfectly kneeling on the floor between my open legs, looking at me like I’m her only altar.
Her hands desperately unbuckle the harness, pulling the fabric of my panties away with an almost reverent care, exposing my thighs which are still vibrating from the exertion of her punishment.
Billie opens her mouth and presses her tongue to the inside of my left knee, working her way up with long, wet, hot laps, catching every drop of sweat, every trace of our friction.
“You’re so perfect, baby...” she moans against my skin, her voice vibrating directly into my flesh while her hands close possessively around my thighs, digging her fingers in, making it clear that even while submissive, her intensity remains a whirlwind. “You smell so good. You’re so fucking delicious for me.”
Her mouth continues its relentless, meticulous ascent. She reaches my center, which is still throbbing from the silent orgasm at the restaurant, and buries her face completely.
Billie uses the tip of her tongue to trace my labia with an agonizing slowness, tasting the heavy fluid that has half-dried on my skin. Her hot breath hits my clit directly, making me flinch.
“Stay still, Mommy... let me do all the work,” she whispers between my legs, using the tone of praise she knows turns me on. “You’re such a goddess. You were so strong under that table... taking my fingers without making a single sound while you fell apart. You deserve to be worshipped until you can't take anymore.”
She drives her tongue in hard, mimicking the rhythm of a thrust, sucking my clit with a hunger that forces me to throw my head back and bury my hands in her hair.
Billie moans against my sex, feeding off my reactions, licking and cleaning every single corner with absolute devotion, ensuring not a single millimeter is left without her wet mark.
When she decides my lower half is immaculate, she doesn't stop.
She coaxes her body up the edge of the bed, crawling over me like a hungry cat. Her mouth leaves my intimacy to trace a wet line up my abdomen, nipping at the soft skin just above my belly button, drawing sharp little gasps from me that she smothers with the sound of her own sighs.
“Look at you... you’re shaking for me now,” she whispers, sliding her fingers up my ribs to reach the edges of my dress, pulling the neckline down to leave my breasts bare. “God, you’re so beautiful. So firm, so commanding.”
She takes possession of my left nipple, trapping it between her hot lips and sucking hard, while her right hand roughly squeezes my other breast, kneading the flesh desperately.
Billie bites my areola softly—just enough to leave the sting of pain prickling my skin—before licking the area to soothe the ache.
“You’re mine... all mine,” she declares in a low growl, moving up my sternum to reach my neck.
There, where the skin is thinnest and most sensitive, Billie shows no mercy. She opens her mouth and sucks a generous patch of my skin right below my ear, digging her teeth in with deliberate pressure. A sharp whimper escapes me as I feel the biting sting.
She maintains the suction for several seconds, savoring the heat of my blood rushing to the surface, before pulling away with a wet sound, admiring her work: a dark purple mark standing out proudly on my neck.
“That way everyone will know exactly who you belong to when you wear that dress,” she whispers with a flash of caprichous possessiveness returning to her eyes, even though her body remains lax and surrendered over mine. “You’re mine. The only one who can break me like this. The only one who makes me beg.”
The contrast between her absolute submission and the ferocity with which she devours my body takes my breath away.
Billie isn't satisfied with just cleaning up; she wants to claim my pleasure in the same savage way I claimed her tears. With her hands dug tightly into the inner part of my thighs, she pushes my legs even higher, opening me up completely for her inspection.
There is no softness in her approach. She pins her mouth to my inflamed center and delivers a deep, violent suction that immediately forces my back to arch off the mattress.
A broken gasp escapes my lips. Her tongue, hot and expert, begins to move in long, upward strokes, punishing my clit with a relentless pressure that seeks vengeance for the minutes of denial I put her through.
“Fuck...” Billie moans against my skin, her voice muffled by my own wetness. “You’re so fucking wrecked. Look what you do for your girl.”
I try to maintain control, to dig my fingers into the sheets and remind her who’s in charge, but Billie knows my breaking points perfectly.
She uses two fingers to spread my labia wide while her tongue works in fast, heavy, concentric circles, right on the exact spot.
The pace is frantic, a soaking wet assault that drags me to the edge of the abyss within seconds. My thighs begin to shake violently against her hands, completely unable to resist the overstimulation of her mouth.
The orgasm hits me head-on, a wave of scorching heat that forces every muscle to contract.
“Billie!” I scream her name, losing every ounce of the composure I had defended so fiercely at the restaurant.
My vaginal walls squeeze in long, erratic spasms, spilling me completely over her face. Far from pulling away, Billie sucks harder, swallowing my climax, tasting every pulse of my flesh while I unravel on the bed, my breathing shattered and my vision blurred by pleasure.
When she finally pulls back, she crawls up my body with a feline slowness.
Her cheeks are flushed, the corners of her lips are wet, and a glint of pure smugness shines in her blue eyes. She stops millimeters from my face, watching me try to catch my breath, completely vulnerable under her weight.
“I hate you...” I manage to utter in a thread of a voice, my eyebrows knitting together as I try to reclaim a shred of my authority.
Billie lets out a low, husky laugh, completely stripped of her previous fear of punishment. She is in her element, knowing she owns the very air I'm gasping for.
“You love that I'm like this,” she whispers against my lips, with an insufferable certainty. “You love that I eat you up just as much as I love when you put me on my knees.”
Before I can even reply, she catches my lips in a final kiss. It is a slow, deep, soaking wet kiss, her tongue sliding shamelessly against mine, forcing me to taste my own trace—the flavor of my essence mixed with her saliva.
It is the definitive seal of our dynamic: a quiet war of power that always ends with both of us completely consumed, trapped in the exact space where discipline and devotion become the very same thing.
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