luvzshy

[luvzshy]

Unseen

Sabrina Carpenter x fem!reader — ANGST

—

You were quiet the entire ride home.

The car was too cold, the city too loud, and she looked too perfect — glowing under the flash of a hundred cameras, while you stood off to the side like a bodyguard no one hired.

You hadn’t said a word since the event.

You didn’t need to. The ache had been building for weeks, maybe months.

You weren’t invisible. You were seen, constantly — just not as you.

The moment the apartment door shut behind you, you exhaled like it was the first breath you were allowed all night.

Sabrina slipped off her heels like a ritual. She looked exhausted, but still beautiful in that unreachable way — the kind of beautiful that doesn’t sweat under lights or crack in mirrors. She turned to you, smiling softly.

“You were so quiet tonight. You okay?”

You almost said “yeah.”

Almost.

Instead, you sat down on the edge of the bed and whispered,

“I can’t do this anymore.”

She stilled, slowly lowering the strap of her dress from her shoulder, unsure.

“What… what do you mean?”

Your throat was tight, and your hands felt cold.

You couldn’t look at her when you said it.

“I can’t be the girl in your shadows anymore.”

Silence.

It stretched between you like a fault line — one step, and it would all fall apart.

Sabrina’s voice came out quiet and disbelieving.

“Shadows? Baby, I never meant—”

“I know.”

You cut her off gently. Not angry — just tired. Tired in a way that had nothing to do with tonight, and everything to do with the nights before it.

“But that’s where I am. I’m the quiet one next to you in pictures. The one fans make conspiracies about. The one interviewers pretend not to see when they ask you about love songs you clearly wrote about me.”

She opened her mouth — maybe to defend herself, maybe to apologize — but nothing came out. So you kept going.

“I used to know who I was, Sab. Before the spotlight got close enough to burn.”

Her face changed then — softened, cracked. She looked like she’d just realized she’d stepped on something living.

“I thought you were okay with keeping things private,” she whispered.

“I was. At first. But there’s a difference between privacy and erasure.”

That hit her. You could see it in the way her shoulders dropped, the way her jaw clenched like she was holding back something sharp and emotional and real.

“You’re not erased,” she said. “You’re the most important part of my life. Everything I do, every song, every tour, every smile I force through—half of it’s because I get to come home to you.”

You finally met her eyes.

“But no one knows that. And I’m not sure if I do anymore either.”

You stood. The air felt thin.

“I love you, Sabrina. God, I love you so much it hurts. But I need to be someone, too. Not your shadow. Not your secret. Not your pretty, silent girl on the edge of the carpet.”

She looked at you like she wanted to beg you to stay.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she nodded — slow and broken — like she understood something she wished she didn’t have to.

“What do you need?”

Your voice cracked.

“Space. To find myself again.”

Sabrina stepped closer, gently cupping your cheek. Her thumb brushed a tear you didn’t know had fallen.

“Then I’ll give it to you,” she whispered. “Even if it breaks me.”

And the worst part?

You knew it would.

For both of you.

[luvzshy]

Bet

Pairing: Sabrina Carpenter x fem!reader

⸻

It started with one drink. Then another. Then a third. Enough to feel bold, bisexual, and one bad decision away from chaos.

Your best friend had left you alone at the bar for five minutes, and in that time, you did something unforgivable.

You opened Sabrina Carpenter’s Instagram story.

There she was. Leaning in a mirror, dress too short, eyes too pretty, captioned:

“I’m bored. Be interesting.”

You were not interesting. You were a little tipsy, a little hot, and a lot stupid.

So naturally, you typed:

if we dated i’d ruin u emotionally & sexually

respectfully queen 🫡

And then, for good measure:

sorry that was uncalled for. unless…

You stared. You screamed. You threw your phone like it was haunted and buried your face in your hands.

This was it. This was your villain origin story.

Until your phone buzzed.

You peeked with the caution of someone checking a horror movie jump scare.

Sabrina Carpenter: Bet.

Your soul left your body.

⸻

The next morning, you woke up in a state of full-body panic. The kind of dread reserved for IRS audits and accidentally liking someone’s 2014 selfie.

You unlocked your phone and immediately saw them.

More messages.

Sabrina: are u always this cocky or is that just the tequila

Sabrina: what exactly does “ruin” mean btw

Sabrina: asking for a friend. the friend is me. hi.

You stared. Blinked. Considered throwing your phone again.

Instead, you replied:

You: it was 2am. i was delusional. ignore me pls

Sabrina: absolutely not

Sabrina: you’re funny

Sabrina: and kind of hot when you’re flustered ngl

Your heart? Gone. Exploded. Burned to ash by this tiny, powerful, glittering menace of a pop star.

And somehow, you kept talking. Day after day.

The DMs became texts. The texts became FaceTimes. And then:

Sabrina: come to LA. we’ll grab a drink and you can try to “ruin” me like you promised.

⸻

You met her at a rooftop bar. She wore leather and lip gloss like weapons. She was smaller in person but somehow more dangerous.

“You clean up nice,” she said, eyes scanning you slowly.

“You live in a music video,” you replied, trying to play it cool despite the fact that your knees might give out.

You clinked glasses. You talked. You flirted. You tried not to pass out when her thigh brushed against yours under the table. You laughed at her dumb jokes and watched her watching you like you were the only person in the city.

“Still think you could destroy me?” she asked later, voice low, her lip gloss smudged on the rim of her glass.

You raised an eyebrow. “You scared?”

“No,” she grinned. “Kind of hoping you try.”

⸻

It wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

Just harmless fun. Flirty chaos. A bit gone too far.

But then she texted you goodnight every night. She remembered things you said in passing. She started writing a new song and wouldn’t show anyone the lyrics except you.

And when you finally kissed her—god, when you finally kissed her—it was after a beach night, the kind with cold sand and warm hoodies, her head on your shoulder as you watched the tide come in.

She pulled back, barely, lips still brushing yours.

“You’re not gonna ruin me,” she whispered.

You smiled. “No?”

“No,” she said. “You’re gonna wreck me in a completely different way.”

⸻

You still tease her about the DM sometimes.

She still insists you were the one who fell first.

And maybe you did.

But she’s the one who replied.

Bet.

[luvzshy]

intense loud lesbian sex moans

[luvzshy]

i just need new billie music and a girlfriend and ill be happy.

[luvzshy]

Heart On Fire

(Billie Eilish x Reader — dialogue-driven)

⸻

“You’re gonna get sick standing out here,” Billie says, voice soft and low.

You shrug, breath misting in the cold night air. “Maybe I don’t care.”

Billie steps closer. Her boots crunch against the gravel. She smells like rain and cigarettes and something sweeter underneath — something that’s just her.

“You care about everything,” she says, almost smiling. “Especially the wrong things.”

You don’t answer. You can’t.

She’s close now. Close enough to see the raindrops caught in her brown hair, her blue eyes shining too brightly in the dark.

Close enough to make your heart ache.

“You’re doing that thing again,” she whispers.

“What thing?”

“That thing where you pretend you’re okay when you’re breaking.”

You flinch. Just a little.

She catches it.

Of course she does.

Billie lifts a hand. Hesitates.

Then, slowly, she tucks a strand of wet hair behind your ear. Her fingers brush your skin, sending sparks down your spine.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you breathe, voice shaking.

“Like what?”

“Like you see through me.”

Billie smiles. It’s the softest, saddest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Maybe I do.”

You close your eyes.

You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t want this. You shouldn’t want her.

But when her hand cups your cheek, when she leans in, when her forehead rests against yours like you’re the only thing holding her together — you know it’s too late.

Her voice is a whisper.

“Tell me to go.”

You can’t.

You won’t.

Instead, you pull her in and kiss her like the world is ending.

And for the first time in forever, it feels like you’re finally breathing again.

[luvzshy]

Coffee-Stained Kisses

(Billie Eilish x Reader — soft, emotional, cinematic maybe?? idkk)

⸻

The coffee shop was tucked away like a secret — dim lighting pooling on the scratched wooden floors, soft indie music humming low through old speakers. The air smelled like cinnamon, espresso, and rain, seeping in from the soaked streets outside. Every corner of the place felt worn and loved — frayed armchairs, chipped mugs, old books stacked like forgotten treasures.

You sat by the window, your fingers absently tracing little raindrops racing down the glass. It was one of those slow days where time felt thick, syrupy, almost suspended.

The bell above the door jingled — a soft, almost apologetic sound.

You looked up.

And everything else fell away.

Billie Eilish walked in like a storm dressed in softness.

Her brown hair — darker than melted chocolate — spilled messily from under a black beanie, strands clinging to her cheeks from the rain. She wore an oversized navy hoodie that swallowed her small, strong frame, and loose black sweatpants tucked into worn sneakers.

She was soaked through at the edges, little drops clinging to her lashes.

But her eyes — God, her eyes — they were the clearest shade of blue you’d ever seen.

Not the sharp blue of a cloudless sky, no — softer, deeper.

Like ocean water just before a storm, swirling and endless.

They made you feel seen and stripped bare all at once.

Billie glanced around the café, a habitual tension in her shoulders, as if she was used to being watched — but tonight, the world seemed to spare her.

Her gaze found yours across the room.

And for a moment, it was like gravity shifted — like you were no longer tethered to anything but her.

You barely remembered lifting your hand to wave.

She barely hesitated before crossing the room to you.

The way she moved — loose, low to the ground, heavy but fluid — was so distinct, so Billie it almost hurt to look at her. Every step she took felt both lazy and charged with energy, like she was ready to burst into a sprint or curl up into herself at any second.

She dropped into the seat across from you, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, a little shiver running through her.

“Cold as shit out there,” she mumbled, flashing you a crooked grin — one side of her mouth tugging up higher than the other, mischief glinting behind her sleepy eyes.

You couldn’t speak. For a few seconds, you could only take her in — the way raindrops clung to her hair, the faint pinkness on the tip of her nose, the tiny constellation of freckles dusting the bridge of it that photos never quite captured.

“You good?” she asked, voice low and scratchy, like she hadn’t spoken in hours.

“You’re—”

You stopped yourself. The words were right there, raw on your tongue.

You’re beautiful. You’re the only thing I see. You feel like home and a revolution all at once.

Instead, you just smiled, feeling stupidly small under her steady gaze.

“You’re cold,” you said instead, reaching across the table before you could think better of it.

Billie didn’t flinch. If anything, she leaned into your touch, her fingers — cold, a little shaky — brushing yours.

Her blue eyes softened, something vulnerable flickering in them like a flame almost blown out but still stubbornly burning.

“Been colder,” she said, voice a little quieter now. “You make it better.”

The world outside the fogged window blurred — streetlights bleeding into puddles, neon signs humming through the mist. Inside, it was all Billie.

The way she breathed, slow and steady.

The way she studied you like you were the only thing anchoring her here.

“Can I…?” she asked, words trailing off into the small space between you.

You nodded, your heart slamming against your ribs.

She leaned in, her hand cupping the side of your face so gently it almost broke you.

You caught the scent of her — fresh rain, clean laundry, a faint trace of vanilla.

Her lips met yours — hesitant at first, like a question.

She kissed you the way someone holds a fragile, sacred thing — with care, with wonder, with an aching sort of slowness.

And when you kissed her back, she sighed into your mouth — a soft, trembling sound, like she’d been holding her breath for years.

Outside, thunder rumbled in the distance.

Inside, Billie rested her forehead against yours, her lashes fluttering closed, her breath ghosting across your lips.

“Been waitin’ to do that for way too long,” she whispered, voice cracked and real and so, so Billie.

Your fingers found hers under the table — cold skin warming slowly against yours, knuckles brushing, pinkies hooking shyly.

The rain kept falling.

The coffee cooled and forgotten between you.

But in that tiny, humming coffee shop, on that slow, syrupy night, Billie Eilish kissed you like you were the only thing she trusted to keep her from breaking apart.

And you kissed her like you’d spend the rest of your life learning every different way to say I’m here.