🌟bILLIE eILISH smut 🌟

tired (b.e.)

MORE SUBMISSIVE BILLIE, SLIGHTLY MORE DOM READER

thigh riding, watching her touch herself, talking her thru it, praise, teasing, grinding

The walk back from the library is quiet, the kind of quiet that says more than either of you want to admit.

The air is cool, and Billie walks beside you, hugging her hoodie around herself, the oversized sleeves covering her hands. Her shoulder brushes yours occasionally, and every time it does, it feels deliberate—like she's testing something.

"Thanks for coming with me," she says softly, eyes on the pavement. "I don't usually like staying that late by myself."

You glance over. "You get like that often?"

She shrugs. "Sometimes. Depends who's with me, I guess."

There's a pause. A charged one. She doesn't look at you, but you feel the way her energy shifts when your arm grazes hers again.

When you get to your place, you unlock the door and push it open, holding it for her. She hesitates for a beat before stepping inside.

She's been here before—but it feels different tonight.

You drop your bag near the couch, and Billie stands awkwardly by the door for a moment before toeing off her shoes. You watch the way she lingers in the space, like she's waiting to be told what to do.

"Still awake?" you ask, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

Billie comes to stand next to you.

She nods. "A little."
.......

.......

"You looked distracted tonight," you say quietly, glancing over at her.

Her cheeks pinken slightly. "Was I?"

"Mhm."

She swallows. Her voice dips to a whisper. "You always sit so close..."

You lean in a little, closing the space. "Does it bother you?"

Her breath hitches. "No."

"Then why'd you bring it up?"

She doesn't answer right away. Her lips part slightly, but the words don't come out. Instead, her eyes flick down to your mouth and back up again, and her fingers—those small, nervous hands—curl lightly in the fabric of your hoodie.

You tilt your head.

"You okay?" you ask, voice smooth but low. You already know she is. You just want to hear how she says it.

Billie nods, avoiding your eyes, and gives a small shrug. "Yeah... just tired."

"You sure?" Your hand lifts, two fingers gently brushing a piece of her hair back behind her ear. "You look nervous."

She swallows hard. "I'm not."

"You're a terrible liar," you murmur, grinning slightly as you close the distance between your bodies. You feel the warmth radiating off her, the soft hitch of her breath.

You don't rush it. One hand slides along her waist, slow and certain. She doesn't stop you—doesn't flinch. She leans into it, almost instinctively.

Her eyes flick down to your lips, then back up again. That quiet desperation is written all over her face—shy, uncertain, but aching for you to make the first move. To take the lead.

And you do.

You kiss her, slow at first, giving her time to melt into it. Her hands stay unsure, hovering near your hips, fingers brushing over the hem of your shirt but not grabbing hold. You take her wrists gently and guide them to your waist. "It's okay," you whisper. "You can touch me."