Billz

|❝ 𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ❞| |❝ 𝐈’𝐦 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 ❞|

!!! billie ariana charli taylor ۶ৎ chappell sabrina renee !!!

|| My old account was @billiesguitar ||

| 𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐯𝐢 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 |

Headcannons

Fics

Blurbs

Moorboards

CHAPTERS -

@billzbling ’s …

❝𝐕𝐈 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭❞

{ Billie Eilish masterlist → } { Ellie Williams masterlist → }

❝ posts here are listed by date. most recent at the bottom, eldest at the top. mdni. you are liable for what you read, there’s warning on each post when you go to read it. I don’t frequently update series’. I don’t have a posting schedule. send requests !! I don’t proofread my stuff a lot of the time so lemme know any mistakes, don’t dickride tho. enjoy !❞

𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐬

⚠︎ - smut, ts is ass I’ll rewrite it soon guys

“Dude, you’re crazy.” Ellie whispered looking at me, eyes dark with lust.

“Calm down he’s asleep.” I whispered back,

She chuckled softly, her breath hot against my ear. "Yeah? You really think he won't hear us?" Her calloused fingers slid under my shirt, scraping lightly over my ribs. I sucked in air through my teeth.

⚠︎ - smut, ghostface!vi, manipulative!vi, girlfriend!vi, murders mentioned, blood, reader has a cat, praise kink?? Not proofread at all dude.

You and Vi were an unusual couple. You knew this, Vi knew this, and your friends never missed a chance to bring it up. Vi was assertive, impulsive and a whirlwind of energy that somehow drew you in. You were artsy, observant, prone to overthinking. Opposites attract, you told yourself and just about everyone else. And it was true, you love Vi, and she loves you. It’s simple as that, or so you thought. Vi was a simple creature when it came to most things, she liked what she liked and hated what she hated, she was open and honest, but she was also intensely private.You respected that. You never pried into the areas of her life she kept secret, and Vi never pressed you too hard about your own quirks. It was an unspoken agreement that worked for both of you.

There’d been a series of murders in your area a couple months back some of which were people you knew, and some were people you really knew. One them was a guy named Dave who worked in your office who had been bothering you for months. You didn’t like Dave, not one bit, and you weren’t sad to see him go. You’d told Vi about Dave, about how he made you feel uncomfortable, how he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Vi had been furious, she’d wanted to confront him, but you’d talked her out of it. You didn’t want to cause a scene at work. You’d told Vi that Dave was a problem, but you hadn’t told her how much he scared you. You hadn’t told her about the time he followed you home. Then one day they found his body infront of the office building. It was brutal, and the police were baffled.

You weren’t sad about the assholes like Dave, but you were scared. Until they caught the killer. It’s was apparently the creepy maintenance man who worked at your building. He was arrested a couple weeks ago. You’d felt relief wash over you. You could breathe again. Vi offered you comfort

She was your rock.

Today was supposed to be simple. Vi was visiting her sister out of town for the day, and you had errands to run. Groceries, dry cleaning, the usual mundane tasks. You’d left Rosie, your ginger tabby, curled up asleep on your bed in your bedroom. You always kept the bedroom door shut when you left. Rosie was a sweetheart, but she had a knack for mischief—knocking over plants, shredding toilet paper, getting into cabinets. Closing the door was non-negotiable.

Vi didn’t know about this small rule though. Vi didn’t know about Rosie’s tendency to cause chaos because Vi hadn’t been over to your apartment much. You’d only been dating a few months, and Vi preferred her own place. You didn’t mind. It was cozy, yours. Small, but filled with your art—watercolors on the walls, sketches scattered on the coffee table, a half-finished clay sculpture on a stand near the window. Rosie ruled it all.

“Why am I like this?” Vi thought to herself as she picked the lock to your apartment. The adrenaline from her latest ‘outing’ was still singing in her veins, a familiar, addictive hum. The black robe clung to her, damp with sweat beneath the cheap plastic mask. The smell of cheap plastic and something metallic clung to her. She’d been careful, meticulous even. She’d planned this one for weeks. It had gone perfectly. Smooth. Clean. Satisfying. The target had been a predator, a stalker who’d terrorized women in the neighborhood. Vi considered it a public service. Justice delivered anonymously. She’d slipped away unseen, but suddenly she thought of you. She’d never really taken time to snoop through your apartment. Of course she’s been over, but always with you present. This was an opportunity. She knew you were out running errands. She’d be in and out before you got back. Just a quick peek into your private world. A little thrill. She picked the lock easily—a skill learned long before the mask became her second skin—and slipped inside, closing the door softly behind her.

The apartment smelled like you—vanilla candles, paint thinner, and the faint, comforting scent of cat. Vi grinned beneath the mask. She moved quietly, taking in the space. Your art was everywhere. Vibrant watercolors of landscapes she didn’t recognize, intricate pencil sketches of faces both familiar and strange, and that unfinished sculpture—something abstract and powerful. She ran a gloved finger over its rough surface. Interesting. She wandered through the living room, glancing at bookshelves overflowing with novels and art books, then moved towards the hallway. The bedroom door was closed. Perfect. She turned the knob slowly, pushing it open and slipping inside.

Your bedroom was softer. Pastel bedding, fairy lights strung above the bed, more art—smaller, more intimate pieces. Rosie, your ginger tabby, was curled up asleep right in the center of your fluffy duvet. The sight was unexpectedly charming. Vi paused for a second, watching the cat’s rhythmic breathing. Then, as if sensing an intruder, Rosie’s eyes snapped open. Green, feline, and instantly alarmed. The cat hissed, a low, guttural sound, fur puffing out. Vi pulled the mask off instinctively. She didn’t want to scare the cat. She was still wearing her gloves and robe, but her face was exposed. She knelt slowly, holding out a hand. “Hey, kitty. Easy, it’s just me.” Rosie relaxed slightly, recognizing Vi’s voice. She stretched, yawned, and then, with the suddenness only cats possess, bolted off the bed and shot past Vi’s legs, disappearing down the hallway towards the living room. Vi chuckled softly. “Alright, Rosie. Go explore.” She thought nothing more of it. The cat was out of the room. Big deal. She turned her attention back to your space. She opened your closet door, rifled gently through your clothes, sniffed your perfume bottles on the dresser. She was engrossed, curious, enjoying this illicit peek into your life. She didn’t hear the key turn in the lock downstairs.

Your errands had gone faster than expected. The dry cleaner was miraculously empty, the grocery store checkout line moved swiftly. You’d even found parking right outside your building. You felt a rare sense of efficiency. You hummed softly as you climbed the stairs to your apartment, juggling grocery bags. You fumbled for your keys, unlocked the door, and pushed it open with your hip. “Rosie? Mama’s home!” You called out cheerfully, stepping inside and kicking the door shut behind you. You dropped the bags onto the small kitchen counter and bent down to take off your shoes. That’s when Rosie appeared, slinking out from behind the couch, she ran over to greet you. Your gaze snapped to the hallway. The bedroom door was wide open. Wide open. You never left it open. Ever.

A cold prickle ran down your spine. Rosie was out. The door was open. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Your heart hammered against your ribs. Had someone broken in? Were they still here? Rosie meowed softly, rubbing against your legs, oblivious to your sudden terror. You froze, every muscle tensed, listening intently. Silence. Thick, heavy silence. But you knew your apartment. You knew its rhythms, its sounds. The silence felt… occupied. You took a deep, shaky breath. Think. What could you do? Your phone was in your purse, still on the counter. Could you reach it without making noise? Should you just bolt? Your eyes scanned the room. Nothing seemed disturbed. Except the bedroom door. And Rosie was out. That was the anomaly. That was the proof. Someone had been here. Or was still here. Or maybe you left the door open a crack and Rosie nudged it? No. Impossible. You always closed it firmly. You always double-checked. Paranoia? Maybe. But right now, it felt like survival instinct.

You took a silent step towards the hallway, grabbing an umbrella to cry and protect yourself. Your mouth was dry. Your palms were slick with sweat. You crept forward, inch by agonizing inch, towards the open bedroom door. The hallway seemed impossibly long. Every creak of the floorboards beneath your feet sounded deafening. You reached the doorway. Your bedroom looked… normal. Bed unmade, clothes piled on a chair, art supplies scattered on your desk. Rosie’s favorite spot on the duvet was empty. Nothing seemed out of place. “Maybe I did leave the door open” you mumbled to yourself You stepped inside, scanning the corners, looking under the bed. Nothing. Relief started to trickle in, warring with the lingering adrenaline. You lowered the umbrella. False alarm. Just your imagination running wild. You sighed, rubbing your temples. The stress lately… it was getting to you.

You turned around to leave the room and suddenly there was a hand over your mouth and an arm wrapped around your waist, lifting you off your feet. You screamed, muffled against a leather glove. You kicked wildly, thrashing against a strong grip. Terror, pure and blinding, flooded your system. The umbrella clattered uselessly to the floor. You were dragged backwards, deeper into your bedroom, towards the bed. A deep, distorted voice growled in your ear, chillingly familiar yet utterly alien. “Shut up. Don’t scream.” It was the Ghostface voice. Impossible The killer was arrested. He was in jail. This couldn’t be happening. Your mind raced, panic clawing at your throat. You were slammed face-down onto the bed, the breath knocked out of you. A knee pressed hard into your back, pinning you. The gloved hand stayed clamped over your mouth. You whimpered, tears stinging your eyes. The distorted voice spoke again, low and menacing.

“You shouldn’t have come home early.” You tried to twist your head to see your attacker, but the grip tightened. You felt rough fabric brush against your skin—the Ghostface robe. The cheap plastic mask pressed against the back of your head. This was real. This was happening. You were going to die. Terror choked you. You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for the knife, the pain, the end. But it didn’t come. Instead, the hand slowly lifted from your mouth. You gasped for air, trembling violently. The distorted voice spoke again, but softer now. Almost… amused? “Scared?” You nodded frantically, unable to speak. Tears streamed down your face. “Good.” The voice shifted, losing some of its distortion. It sounded… familiar? “You should be scared. Coming home early… bad move.” The knee eased off your back slightly. You felt a gloved hand trail slowly down your spine, making you shudder. “But… maybe I’m not here to hurt you.” Confusion warred with terror. What was happening? The hand continued its slow descent, sliding over the curve of your hip. “Maybe… I’m here for something else.” The voice was definitely changing, losing the electronic rasp. It was deeper, smoother. Intimate. You knew that voice. You knew it intimately.

Your breath hitched. “Vi?” The name escaped your lips in a horrified whisper. The hand on your hip froze. For a heartbeat, there was utter silence. Then, a low chuckle vibrated through the robe pressed against your back. The chuckle deepened into a familiar, throaty laugh. The weight lifted off you completely. You scrambled onto your knees, twisting around. Vi stood beside the bed, pulling the Ghostface mask off her head. Her dark hair was messy, her face flushed, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of adrenaline, amusement, and something darker. Something predatory. She tossed the mask onto your dresser with a clatter. “Surprise,” she said, her voice back to normal, rich and velvety, but laced with an edge you’d never heard before. A thrill. A promise. Your mind reeled. Vi. Ghostface. Vi was Ghostface. The killer. The one who’d… who’d killed Dave? Who’d killed others? The pieces slammed together with brutal clarity. Her fury when you told her about Dave. Her insistence on knowing details. Her sudden trip out of town today. Her fascination with true crime. Her intense privacy. It all made terrifying sense. You stared at her, speechless, your body trembling uncontrollably.

Vi watched you, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across her face. She shrugged out of the heavy black robe, letting it pool at her feet. Underneath, she wore dark jeans and a tight black tank top. She looked powerful, lethal, and utterly captivating. She stepped closer to the bed, her gaze locked on yours. “Cat got your tongue?” she murmured, her voice dropping to a low purr. She climbed onto the bed, crawling towards you on her hands and knees. You instinctively scrambled backwards until your back hit the headboard. There was nowhere to go. Vi stopped just inches away, her knees straddling your thighs, trapping you. She leaned in, her face close to yours. Her scent—familiar sweat, leather, and something metallic—filled your senses. “You’re shaking,” she observed, reaching out to trace a finger along your jawline. Her touch was gentle, almost tender, but it sent a jolt of fear and something else entirely through you. “Are you afraid of me?” You swallowed hard, your throat tight. “Vi… what did you do?” Her smile widened, sharp and feral. “What needed to be done. What you wanted done.” Her finger trailed down your neck, over your collarbone. “Dave… he scared you. He hurt you. He deserved it.” Her eyes burned with conviction. “They all did. Predators. Parasites.” You remembered the victims. Some were bad, yes. Like Dave. But others… you weren’t sure. “Vi… the police… they arrested someone…” Vi scoffed, leaning even closer, her lips brushing your ear. Her breath was hot. “That idiot? He was a patsy. A convenient scapegoat. I made sure the evidence pointed his way.” She nipped your earlobe sharply, making you gasp. “Clever, right?” Her confidence was terrifying. Her closeness was overwhelming. Fear warred with a horrifying surge of… something else. Relief? Gratitude? Attraction? Vi saw the conflict in your eyes.

She chuckled darkly. “Oh, babygirl,” she whispered, her hand sliding down to cup your breast through your shirt, squeezing possessively. “I can see it. You’re scared… but you’re also… intrigued.” Her thumb rubbed over your nipple, hard enough to make you whimper. “You’re wet for me, aren’t you?” You were. Oh god, you were. Terror and arousal twisted together in a sickening knot in your stomach. Your body was betraying you. Vi’s eyes darkened with predatory satisfaction. She leaned back slightly, her gaze raking over your trembling form. She kisses you, moving your hair away from your neck kissing your neck softly. You gasp softly. Vi’s kisses trailed down your neck, soft at first, then harder, sucking at the sensitive skin. Her hands slid under your shirt, pushing it up. Cool air hit your skin, making you shiver. Her touch was rough, demanding, claiming. She pulled your shirt off over your head, tossing it aside. Her eyes devoured you. “Beautiful,” she breathed, her voice thick with desire. Her hands roamed over your bra, tracing the lace, then unhooking it with practiced ease. It fell away. She cupped your breasts, squeezing them, rolling your nipples between her thumbs and forefingers until they hardened into stiff peaks. You arched your back involuntarily, a moan escaping your lips. Vi smiled, a cruel, beautiful thing. “That’s it. Let me hear you.” She leaned down, taking one nipple into her mouth, sucking hard, her tongue flicking over the sensitive bud.

Heat pooled low in your belly. Her other hand slid down your stomach, over your jeans, pressing firmly against the growing dampness between your legs. You whimpered, pressing against her hand. Vi chuckled against your breast. “Had to keep you safe, baby.” She lifted her head, her lips swollen, her eyes blazing. “Had to clean up the trash. Protect what’s mine.” Her hand moved to the button of your jeans, popping it open with a flick. The zipper rasped down. “I did it all for you.” She hooked her fingers into the waistband of your jeans and panties, dragging them down your legs in one swift motion. You kicked them off, suddenly desperate to be bare before her. Vi sat back on her heels, her gaze traveling hungrily over your naked body. “Don’t you see, baby?” She crawled forward again, settling between your thighs. She ran her hands up your inner thighs, spreading your legs wider. Her touch was electric. Her eyes locked onto yours. “I’ll do anything for you.” Her fingers brushed through your wetness, finding your slick entrance. She circled your clit slowly, deliberately. Your hips jerked. “Anything.” She dipped a finger inside you, curling it upwards, finding that sensitive spot. You cried out, your head falling back against the headboard. Vi added a second finger, stretching you, fucking you slowly with her fingers. Her thumb rubbed tight circles over your clit. Pleasure built quickly, intensely, amplified by the terrifying adrenaline still coursing through you. Vi leaned down, her breath hot on your inner thigh. She nipped the soft skin, making you gasp. “You make me do things,” she growled, her voice low and rough. She kissed her way up your thigh, closer and closer to your core. Her fingers pumped deeper, faster. “Bad things.” Her tongue replaced her thumb on your clit, lashing it hard and fast. You screamed, your fingers tangling in her hair, holding her there. The sensation was overwhelming—her skilled fingers filling you, her tongue tormenting your clit, the sheer shock and horror and illicit thrill of it all crashing over you.

Vi sucked hard on your clit, her fingers curling relentlessly inside you. The pressure built, sharp and unbearable. You gasped for air, your body tightening like a coiled spring. Vi lifted her head slightly, her lips glistening. “Come for me,” she commanded, her voice thick with lust. “Come for me right now.” Her fingers plunged deep, her thumb pressed hard against your clit. The orgasm ripped through you violently, a wave of pure, blinding ecstasy mixed with terror and disbelief. You arched off the bed, crying out her name, your body shuddering uncontrollably. Vi rode you through it, her fingers relentless, her eyes locked on yours, drinking in every spasm, every gasp. As the tremors subsided, you collapsed back onto the bed, boneless, panting, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes.

Vi slowly withdrew her fingers, bringing them to her lips and sucking them clean, her gaze never leaving yours. She crawled up your body, her movements predatory and graceful. She straddled your hips, her own arousal evident against your thigh. She leaned down, kissing you deeply, letting you taste yourself on her tongue. It was possessive, claiming. “You’re my world, baby.” She kissed your neck, your collarbone, your breasts. Her hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips. “And I protect what’s mine.” She shifted her weight, positioning herself against your slick entrance. She looked down at you, her eyes dark pools of lust and something deeper, something terrifyingly possessive. “Always.” She pushed the strap inside you slowly, filling you completely. You gasped at the sudden stretch, the intimacy amplified a thousandfold by the terrifying knowledge of who she was, what she’d done. Vi groaned, a low, primal sound.

She leaned down, bracing her hands on either side of your head. Her hips began to move, slow, deep thrusts that made you whimper. She kissed you again, swallowing your sounds. Her thrusts grew faster, harder, driving deep inside you. Her eyes burned into yours. “Tell me,” she breathed against your lips. “Tell me you’re mine.” You couldn’t speak. You could only whimper, clinging to her shoulders. Vi slammed into you harder, making you cry out. “Say it” she commanded, her voice rough. “Say you won’t ever leave” you gasped, the words ripped from you. “I’m yours Vi! I’m yours!” Vi’s eyes flared with possessive triumph. She kissed you fiercely, her hips pistoning against yours. Her rhythm became frantic, desperate.

You felt her body tense above you, heard her breath hitch. She buried her face in your neck, biting down hard as a low, guttural groan tore from her throat. You felt her shudder against you, her hips jerking erratically as she came. She collapsed onto you, her body heavy and trembling. She buried her face in your neck, breathing heavily. You lay there, stunned, spent, your mind reeling. Vi was Ghostface. Vi had killed people. Vi had just fucked you senseless. And you… you had come harder than you ever had in your life.

⚠︎ - smut, legal age gap, work place sex,

15 minutes late. Again. The elevator doors slide open with a hiss, revealing the sleek chrome-and-glass expanse of Billie’s penthouse office suite. Your heels click against polished marble as you hurry past the empty reception desk. Billie hates tardiness almost as much as she hates incompetence. Almost.

Her office door looms ahead – heavy mahogany, frosted glass etched with the stylized ‘B’ logo of her global tech empire. You pause, smooth your pencil skirt, take a breath that does nothing to calm the flutter low in your belly. Then you knock. Twice. Sharp.

"Come in." The voice is low, smooth, utterly devoid of warmth. It slices through the door like a blade.

You push it open. Billie sits behind a vast obsidian desk, bathed in the cool light streaming from the floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the city skyline. She doesn’t look up immediately. Her focus is laser-locked on typing away at the computer screen in front of her.

“Good morning ma’am” you said trying to get her to look up at you, “I got you your favorite coffee ma’am, the one from the place that’s kinda far? Which is why I was late. So sorry by the way.” You ramble away nervously placing the coffee cup on her desk.

Billie’s fingers stop moving. Slowly, deliberately, she lifts her gaze. Her eyes are dark, intense, framed by sharp cheekbones and the severe lines of her black silk suit. They travel over you, a slow, assessing sweep that makes your skin prickle beneath your sensible blouse. Billie lets out a tired sigh, “You’re late.” She states flatly, “don’t be late again.” She says coldly.

You shift your weight. "Yes, Ms. Eilish. It won't happen again. I swear." The lie tastes sour. The commute is unpredictable, the coffee place is ridiculously far, and Billie’s impossible standards are… well, impossible. That and you wanted to look the best for her

Billie leans back in her chair, the expensive leather sighing softly. She picks up the coffee cup, takes a slow sip, her gaze never leaving your face. "Your promises," she murmurs, setting the cup down precisely on its coaster, "are starting to sound like background noise, honey." She pauses, letting the pet name hang in the air, a velvet glove over an iron fist. "I hired you because of your potential. You’re young, talented. Don’t waste it all being late everywhere.” A ghost of a smile touches her lips.

You smiled at her, walking over to open the blinds. “You talk like you’re so old, you aren’t even that much older than me.” You tease her softly.

Billie’s smile actually appears this time, “Alright, Alright, you’re already late and we have shit to do, come on.” She says gesturing to the papers on her desk. You walk over to her storage shelf, reaching up over to grab the papers. You feel Billie’s eyes on you, specifically your ass. You pretend not to notice.

Billie’s gaze lingers on you as you stretch for the papers. The silence stretches too, thick and charged. “I need you to deal with some client calls 10 minutes ago.” She says firmly. You nod quickly, grabbing the papers and placing them on her desk.

Billie leans forward, resting her elbows on the desk, steepling her fingers. Her dark eyes hold yours captive. "Tell me," she says, her voice dropping to a low purr that vibrates in the pit of your stomach, "what exactly is so fascinating about those blinds that you'd prioritize them over my schedule every morning ?"

“You need sunlight.” You say with a small smile.

“You young people and your sunlight.” She says teasingly.

You laugh softly, “I’m going to go make those calls.” You say walking away.

In your office, you try to focus on the calls. You really do. But Billie’s presence permeates the space. The scent of her expensive, subtly smoky perfume seems to cling to the air. The memory of her gaze, heavy and knowing, keeps intruding. You fumble with the phone, misdial twice. Your cheeks burn. You’re usually so efficient. But Billie… Billie unravels you. It’s been like this since day one.

The afternoon drags. You organize files, draft emails, schedule meetings – all while acutely aware of the woman in the next room. The low murmur of her voice on conference calls, the sharp click of her heels as she paces. The phantom weight of her stare seems to follow you, even when the door is closed. You catch yourself staring at it, wondering what she’s doing, if she’s thinking about you. Pathetic. You shake your head, forcing your attention back to the spreadsheet glowing on your screen.

It’s nearing 5 PM when Billie’s door finally opens. You jump, startled. She stands framed in the doorway, silhouetted against the fading light outside. She’s taken off her suit jacket; her crisp white shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a glimpse of smooth skin and the delicate chain of a necklace. Her expression is unreadable.

"Cancel my 5:30," she says, her tone clipped. "And bring the Henderson contract analysis. Now."

"Yes, Ms. Eilish." You scramble to find the file on your desk, fingers clumsy. You grab it and hurry towards her office.

You step inside, closing the door softly behind you. Billie isn’t at her desk. She’s standing by the window, gazing out at the city lights beginning to sparkle against the dusk. The room feels cavernous, intimate. You approach cautiously, holding out the file. "The Henderson analysis, ma'am."

Billie doesn’t turn immediately. She finishes whatever thought she’s chasing, then slowly pivots. Her eyes meet yours. They’re darker now, more intense. She doesn’t take the file. Instead, she takes a step closer. Then another. The space between you evaporates. You can smell the faint trace of coffee on her breath, the expensive scent of her skin. Your heart hammers against your ribs.

"You’re nervous," she murmurs, her gaze dropping to your lips, then slowly traveling back up to lock with yours. It’s not a question. "Why?"

"I…" Your voice catches. You swallow. "The Henderson deal is complex, ma'am. I just want to ensure the analysis is thorough."

Billie’s lips curve into a slow, knowing smile. It doesn’t reach her eyes. "Is that all?" Her hand lifts, impossibly slowly. Her fingertips brush a stray lock of hair away from your forehead. The touch is feather-light, electric. You freeze. "You tremble," she observes softly, her fingers trailing down the side of your face, tracing the line of your jaw. Her touch is cool, deliberate. "Like a little bird caught in a storm." Her thumb brushes over your bottom lip. "Tell me what you’re really afraid of."

Your breath hitches. Her proximity is overwhelming. Her scent, her power, the sheer intensity radiating from her. "I… I’m not afraid, Ms. Eilish."

"Liar." The word is soft, almost affectionate, yet it carries the weight of an accusation. Her other hand lifts, settling firmly on your hip. Her grip is possessive, anchoring you in place. "You’ve been trembling around me since your first interview. Watching me. Wanting." Her gaze dips lower, lingering on the rapid pulse fluttering at the base of your throat. "Don’t bother denying it. I see it."

You can’t speak. Your mind is blank, filled only with the sensation of her touch, the heat of her gaze. Her fingers tighten slightly on your hip, pulling you infinitesimally closer. Your bodies are almost touching now. You can feel the warmth radiating from her.

"You crave discipline," she murmurs, her breath warm against your ear as she leans in. "Structure. Someone to tell you exactly what to do, how to be. To hold you accountable." Her lips graze the sensitive shell of your ear, sending shivers cascading down your spine. "Isn’t that right?"

A tiny whimper escapes you. You nod mutely, your eyes wide, locked on hers.

"Words," she commands softly, her voice dropping to a velvet growl. "Use your words."

"Yes," you breathe, the sound barely audible. "Yes, Ms. Eilish."

"Good girl." The praise is a low rumble that vibrates deep in your core. Her hand slides from your hip, skimming up your side, over your ribs, coming to rest just beneath your breast. Her thumb strokes the sensitive curve through the thin fabric of your blouse. "You need to learn consequences," she continues, her gaze darkening with intent. "For being late. For being distracted. For lying." Her other hand cups your chin, tilting your face up to hers. "I think," she whispers, her lips hovering inches from yours, "you know what you’re doing.”

You gasp softly, “I don’t know what you mean.” You lie softly.

Billie’s smile widens, predatory and utterly captivating. "Still lying," she murmurs, her thumb tracing your bottom lip again. "Tsk, tsk." Before you can react, her grip tightens on your chin. Her other hand slides firmly to the small of your back, pressing you flush against her. The sudden contact steals your breath. She’s solid, unyielding. "Let's correct that," she breathes against your lips. Then she kisses you.

It’s not gentle. It’s possession. Her mouth crashes down on yours, demanding, insistent. Her tongue parts your lips with ruthless efficiency, claiming the space. It’s a kiss of dominance, of ownership. A low moan escapes you as you melt against her, your hands instinctively clutching at the lapels of her shirt. The taste of her – coffee, mint, something uniquely *Billie* – floods your senses. Her hand tangles in your hair, pulling your head back slightly, deepening the kiss. You’re drowning in her, in the sheer force of her will.

She breaks the kiss abruptly, leaving you gasping. Her eyes blaze down at you, dark with hunger and something sharper – control. "On your knees," she commands, her voice rough. "Now."

The command slices through the haze of arousal. Your knees buckle instantly, hitting the plush carpet with a soft thud. You kneel before her, looking up. The angle is dizzying. She towers over you, a silhouette against the city lights, her expression unreadable except for the fierce intensity in her eyes. Your breath comes in shallow pants, your body thrumming with anticipation and a delicious thread of fear.

Billie looks down at you, her gaze sweeping over your upturned face, your parted lips, your trembling form. A slow, satisfied smile curves her lips. "Better," she murmurs. Her hand strokes your hair, almost tenderly, before tightening her grip again, forcing your head back further. "Now," she says, her voice dropping to a husky whisper filled with dark promise, "let's discuss your punishment." Her free hand goes to her belt buckle. She stops herself, “take it off.” She commands softly.

You reach up slowly, hands trembling as you undo her belt. You pull it out of the loops slowly. Billie takes the belt from your hands, “Good girl.” She whispers softly. She folds it in half placing it on the shelf next to her. “Now the pants, honey” she says softly. You nod quickly, undoing the button and zipper on her pants. You pull them down slowly, revealing her toned legs. Billie steps out of her pants, kicking them to the side. She grabs your chin softly, “So pretty, baby. C’mon you can do it.” She whispers softly. You nod softly, pulling her underwear down slowly. Billie steps out of them slowly.

Billie stands before you, completely naked from the waist down. The sight steals your breath. Her skin is pale, flawless, sculpted muscle visible beneath. But your gaze is drawn irresistibly lower, to the apex of her thighs. She’s already glistening, slick arousal glinting in the low light. The scent of her – musky, sweet, utterly intoxicating – fills the air between you.

Billie watches you, her expression unreadable except for the dark intensity in her eyes. Her hand rests lightly on your head, fingers threading through your hair. "Look at you," she murmurs, her voice thick with arousal. "Kneeling where you belong." Her thumb strokes your temple. "You want this," she states, not asks. "You've wanted it for so long. To serve." Her grip tightens slightly, guiding your head to where she needs it most. "Show me."

The command resonates deep within you. You lean forward, closing the small distance. The scent of her arousal is overwhelming now, heady and primal. Tentatively, your tongue flicks out, tasting her. The flavour explodes on your tongue – salt, musk, something uniquely *her*. A low groan rumbles from Billie’s chest, vibrating through you. Encouraged, you press closer, your tongue tracing the slick folds, exploring the swollen heat.

Billie’s hips shift almost imperceptibly, pressing herself more firmly against your mouth. "Yes," she breathes, her voice ragged. "Like that." Her fingers tighten in your hair, guiding your movements, urging you deeper. "Good girl,” says breathily

You lose yourself in the rhythm, in the taste and feel of her. Your tongue delves deeper, circling her clit, flicking over the sensitive bundle of nerves. Billie’s breathing hitches, sharp intakes of breath punctuated by low moans. Her thighs tremble slightly against your shoulders. The sounds she makes – soft gasps, choked groans – fuel your own arousal until you’re aching between your own legs.

Her grip on your hair becomes almost painful, holding you firmly in place as her hips begin a slow, deliberate roll against your mouth. "Fuck," she gasps, her head tilting back. "Just like that… don't stop." Her movements become more urgent, her thrusts against your tongue harder, faster. You can feel the tension coiling within her, the sharp edge of her pleasure building. She throws her head back, hitting the wall behind her lightly. Her moans become louder, more desperate. Her thighs tighten around your head, trapping you against her heat. You feel her entire body tense, a tremor running through her. "Oh god…" she gasps, her voice breaking. "Right there… yes!"

Her climax crashes over her suddenly, violently. A choked cry escapes her lips as her body arches, pressing hard against your mouth. Her thighs clamp around your head, holding you immobile as wave after wave of pleasure rocks through her. You feel the pulsing contractions against your tongue, taste the sharp tang of her release. Her grip on your hair is iron-tight, anchoring you to her as she rides out the storm.

Slowly, the tremors subside. Her breathing is ragged, harsh in the quiet room. Her thighs loosen their vise-like grip. Her hand slackens in your hair, sliding down to cup your cheek. Her thumb strokes your lips, slick with her essence. You look up at her, your own breathing uneven, your lips tingling.

Billie looks down at you, her eyes dark pools reflecting the city lights. Her chest rises and falls rapidly. A slow, utterly satisfied smile spreads across her face. "Get up.” She commands softly. You stand slowly, legs trembling. Billie grabs your chin softly, “You did so good.” She whispers softly. She pulls you into a soft kiss, tasting herself on your lips.

She pulls away slowly, turning around both of you and pushing you onto the wall behind you. She pins your wrists above your head softly. She kisses your neck softly, biting softly. You gasp softly. Billie pulls away softly, “I’ve really only kept you around this long for one reason.” She whispers softly. You nod. Billie smiles softly, kneeling in front of you. Reaching up your embarrassingly short pencil skirt she pulls your underwear down slowly. They pool at your ankles before you step out of them. Billie hooks one of your legs over her shoulder pulling you closer. She leans forward softly, kissing your inner thigh. You moan. She kisses closer to your core . She looks up at you, grinning, before burying her face between your legs.

Her tongue is a hot, demanding brand against your sensitive flesh. There’s no hesitation, no teasing exploration this time. Billie devours you with single-minded intensity. Her tongue laps at your slick folds with broad, firm strokes, then flicks sharply against your clit. You cry out, your head thudding back against the cool glass wall. Your fingers instinctively tangle in her short, silky hair, holding on as waves of pure sensation crash over you.

Billie hums against you, the vibration sending jolts of electricity straight to your core. Her hands grip your hips, pulling you harder against her mouth. She alternates – long, slow licks that make your knees threaten to buckle, followed by rapid, focused flicks over your clit that have you gasping incoherently. She knows exactly what she’s doing, exploiting every sensitive spot with ruthless precision. She slides her fingers inside you . She curls her fingers, hitting your g-spot. She pumps her fingers knowingly.

You’re already close, wound impossibly tight from kneeling before her, from tasting her, from the sheer power of her presence. Billie senses it. Her tongue becomes relentless, circling your clit with furious speed. Her fingers curl inside you, finding that sweet spot deep within and stroking it firmly.

"Billie!" Your cry is ragged, torn from your throat. Your hips buck uncontrollably against her face. The coil inside you snaps. Pleasure detonates, white-hot and blinding. Your vision swims. Your body arches violently off the wall, held only by Billie’s iron grip on your hips and her mouth sealed against you. Wave after wave crashes through you, leaving you trembling, boneless, gasping for air.

Billie slows, gentling her ministrations as the aftershocks ripple through you. She presses soft, lingering kisses against your inner thigh before finally pulling back. She looks up at you, her chin glistening, a predatory satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. She rises smoothly to her feet, her gaze locked on yours. She leans in, capturing your lips in a deep, possessive kiss. You taste yourself mingled with the lingering taste of her on her lips. It’s dizzying.

She breaks the kiss, her breath warm against your swollen lips. Her hand cups your cheek, her thumb wiping away a stray tear you hadn’t realized escaped. "You belong to me now," she murmurs, her voice rough with spent passion and absolute certainty. "Understand?"

You nod weakly, your body still humming with the echoes of your climax. "Yes, Ms. Eilish."

⚠︎ - smut, knife mention, manipulation? lowkey clueless reader, mentions of death and bodies +

Ghostface!ellie who… promised to keep you safe.

Ellie was always gentle. Always comforting when she held you. Her hands would trace patterns on your skin, her voice a low murmur against your ear. "Got you, baby," she'd whisper, her breath warm. "Always got you." You believed her. Every word. Even when people from your college started turning up brutally murdered I’m different ways. You never suspected her. Not once. Not when she held you close after each body was found, her arms a fortress against the world. "Don't look at the news, sweetheart," she'd say, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Just look at me." And you did. You drowned in those green eyes, trusting, safe.