🌟bILLIE eILISH smut 🌟

Performative Intimacy (b.e.)

long ahh chapter get ready

No one ever tells you how exhausting it is to pretend to be in love with someone you might actually be falling for.

I didn't say that to Billie.

Of course not.

I said, "Your hair looks great, babe," when her mom was in the room, and she smiled at me with her jaw clenched so tight I could almost hear her teeth crack.

We held hands at every dinner, exchanged cheek kisses when one of her friends was looking, and called each other baby on red carpets. But in private, right after the flashes stopped, we walked with enough space between us to let another person fit in.

Sometimes I think she liked the game behind being famous and being in this fake relationship, the feeling of control, the performance of it all. I couldn't blame her— it was her world.

She'd pull me in at parties, press her lips to mine in a way that made the air disappear, and then wipe her mouth subtly like it meant nothing. She'd grip my thigh under the table when her brother made a joke about our "honeymoon phase" and then go cold as ice the second we got in the car.

But I did the same.

One night at Ava's house, we ended up on a couch together. Everyone was buzzed, laughing, throwing popcorn at a bad horror movie. Billie pulled me into her lap to 'make it believable', her friends watching amused. She kissed my neck, lips brushing my skin so faintly I almost thought I imagined it.

My heart was beating way too fast for something that didn't matter.

I whispered, "You're laying it on thick."

She said, "You want them to believe it, don't you?"

I nodded, because I did.

I was in it for the exposure and money from the public side of our fake relationship. she was in it to prove to the world and her own family and friends that she could have a girlfriend, not justs boyfriends—to prove that she wasn't 'queer baiting' like the whole world kept accusing her of.

A couple nights later was the night of her LA show, the green room was silent after her show, just how she liked it. The cheering of the venue echoed faintly through thick walls. Billie sat slumped on the faux leather couch, her eyeliner smudged slightly from sweat and adrenaline. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, cracking her knuckles one by one. The room was cold and her chest rose and fell like the come-down after a high.

I sat beside her without asking.

"Good set," I said softly.

She didn't answer, just leaned her head back against the couch and closed her eyes. I let the silence grow, but her foot tapped against the floor rhythmically and nervously.

After a moment, I reached out and took her hand—there were no cameras, no fans, no family, no friends. Just us.

She didn't pull away.

"You okay?"

She nodded slowly, eyes still closed. "Tired. Can't tell if it's from the show or... just everything."

'everything' referring to the pretending, the constant eyes on us, the lies that didn't feel like lies anymore to me.

I let my thumb brush over the back of her hand. "You don't have to say anything."

She cracked one eye open. "But you're still holding my hand."

"I don't hear you complaining."

She snorted quietly. "No. Guess not."