#Hmhas

[bills5lut]

fragile

masterlist     prompt list

synopsis: billie is blindsided by the illness you never told her about, and the fight to save both you and your love begins.

warnings: illness, angst, fluff, smut halfway thru, needles, hospitals, ambulances. 

w.c: 13.5k 

The kitchen smells like vanilla and sugar and something faintly citrus, most likely the bit of orange peel Billie shaved into the batter with a grin and a flourish, like she was on some cooking show you both always make fun of.

“You’re being so extra right now,” you giggle, eyes squinting with amusement as she flicks a bit of flour at you, missing entirely and landing it on the floor with a puff.

“That’s chef to you,” Billie retorts, accent suddenly French and exaggerated. “Zee essence of flavor, eet is all about zee nuance.”

You roll your eyes and bite back another laugh, the soft ache in your chest too distant to name but not quite absent. Instead, you let the moment wrap around you like warmth off the oven, low and lazy and golden. It’s one of those quiet Sundays that feels thick with goodness, no plans, no pressure, just Billie, barefoot, hair pulled back in a lazy twist, flour on her jawline and a focused crease between her brows as she carefully spoons the batter into the cupcake tray.

You’re perched on the edge of the kitchen counter, legs dangling, toes brushing against the wooden cupboards below. It creaks slightly under your weight every time you shift, but you don’t move. You’re right where you want to be. Watching her, teasing her, stealing little bites of the raw batter from the edge of the mixing bowl when she’s not looking.

“Hey,” Billie says without turning, “I see you.”

“See what?” you grin, licking the batter from your fingertip. It’s thick and sweet and a little under-salted, exactly how she likes it.

“Thief,” she accuses, placing the final scoop of batter into the last mold before wiping her hands on a dish towel.

You shrug dramatically. “Guilty as charged.”

Billie slides the tray into the oven and closes the door with her hip, then turns toward you with that little smile that pulls only one corner of her mouth, the crooked one that’s always undone you. She walks over, tugs at your knees until they part enough for her to step between them, and leans in.

“You gonna make it up to me?” she murmurs.

Your hands find her hips instinctively. “I thought I was your taste tester.”

“Not for raw batter.”

“I have a refined palate,” you whisper, feigning innocence.

She laughs, head falling against your shoulder. The kind of laugh that makes her body shake lightly against yours. You press a kiss to her temple and close your eyes, just for a second. Holding her there, like this.

You wish you could freeze it. Burn it into permanence. This room, this smell, this warmth. Billie’s weight against you, the way she reaches blindly behind her to grab the bowl and your spoon. Dipping it back in and lifting it toward your mouth.

“Open.”

You do. Her eyes are wide and playful, and she watches your lips close around the spoon like she’s measuring your reaction.

You exaggerate it, groaning. “Oh my God. Five Michelin stars.”

Billie rolls her eyes and snorts. “You’re insufferable.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately,” she replies, but she leans in again anyway, brushing your lips with hers before she kisses you properly, slow and tasting faintly of sugar and citrus and something else that feels a lot like home.

The oven beeps and breaks the moment. Billie groans, pulling away. “Timer’s for the preheat. Batter needs like, twenty minutes. Don’t let me forget to set it.”

“I won’t,” you say, even though you might.

As she turns to grab her phone off the counter, yours begins to buzz beside you. The vibration is sharp against your thigh. You glance down at the screen.

Dr. Reynaud

Fuck.

Your stomach drops, just a little. Like hitting a dip in the road too fast. You snatch the phone quickly, pressing it to your chest before Billie can look over her shoulder.

“Everything okay?” she asks, distractedly flipping through her spotify to put on something. 

“Yeah,” you answer, standing a little too fast. The counter presses into your lower back as you slip off it. “Just, uh, hang on, okay? Might be… birthday stuff.”

Billie’s eyes light up, suspicious but pleased. “Are you planning something?”

“Maybe,” you say quickly, already moving toward the hallway, already pressing the call answer button. “Just don’t listen at the door.”

She laughs, shaking her head, and the music starts behind you as you step out of the kitchen, into the hallway, into shadow.

You bring the phone to your ear.

“Hi,” you say quietly, voice flattening. “I only have a second.”

Dr. Reynaud’s voice is soft, professional. “I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to follow up about your bloodwork and the ECG results. Are you somewhere you can talk?”

Not really.

“Yeah,” you lie. “What’s going on?”

There’s a pause. Not quite long enough to panic you, but long enough that your spine stiffens.

“Your results are showing increased irregularity. Nothing emergent at this moment, but I need to emphasize that your medication is crucial, and I’d like to bring you in again next week. The arrhythmia patterns are a little less stable than they were two months ago.”

You press your thumb to the wall, grounding yourself. The paint’s cool against your skin. Somewhere in the kitchen, Billie’s humming to whatever song she’s chosen. You want to be in there. You want her arms around you and your head on her chest and none of this to be real.

“Okay,” you say softly. “Next week. I can do that.”

“I’d really encourage a longer monitoring period this time,” Dr. Reynaud adds. “We can set you up with a monitor, 48 hours minimum. It’ll give us a better baseline.”

Your stomach twists. “That obvious, huh?”

There’s compassion in her voice. “We can’t manage what we don’t monitor.”

You nod, even though she can’t see you. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks.”

“Hang in there,” she says, and the call ends with a soft click.

You stand there for a second, breathing. The air feels heavier now. A low throb settles just behind your sternum. Not pain, exactly, but presence. A warning. You roll your shoulders back, shake it off.

Billie’s calling from the kitchen. “Hey, you better not be buying me a pony or some shit. We don’t have the space!”

You force a laugh and walk back in.

“Damn it,” you say, eyes wide with mock disappointment. “Back to plan B.”

She grins at you, unbothered and glowing and completely unaware. You lean against the counter again, and she slides between your legs like she belongs there. Her hand finds your waist. Her touch settles you, even if your chest still feels tight in a way that you swear you’re imagining.

“Tell me what you’re doing for my birthday. Pretty please” she whispers against your neck.

“Nope,” you murmur back, lips brushing her jaw. “It’s a surprise.”  You could die from the irony. 

She laughs, and the oven beeps again. The batter bakes. You kiss her like nothing’s wrong. You love her like it’s not a lie. 

You wake to an empty bed and a text from Billie. 

Fin and I are gonna be in the studio all day baby. Miss u. 

You reread it twice. She sent it an hour ago, but the sound was off on your phone, and you didn’t hear the buzz. Typical. You’ve been sleeping heavier lately, deeper. When you finally claw your way back up into consciousness, it’s like dragging yourself out of a pool, heavy limbs, lungs that feel slow, like they need coaxing. You press the phone to your chest and stare up at the ceiling for a while. You’d kill to spend the day wrapped up in her instead of this.

But instead, you shower, drag yourself into soft clothes that look slightly too intentional for staying in, and text her back something short and sweet. You add a “want u home” and hope it buys you the illusion of being normal. Of being fine. The kind of person who isn’t skipping a warm, slow morning to sit in a waiting room that smells like alcohol swabs and artificial lemon.

The drive is short, silent. You keep the music off.

By the time you check in at the clinic, the clouds have shifted, not quite raining, but the air feels electric with the threat of it. A few cold drops pepper your skin as you make your way from the car to the glass doors. They slide open like an invitation you don’t want to accept. Your name is called within minutes. You almost wish you’d had to wait longer, at least then you could have pretended you had time to back out.

The nurse who takes your vitals is kind but brisk. Clipboard smile. No small talk.

“How have you been feeling?” she asks, more out of obligation than curiosity.

“Fine,” you say automatically.

You’re not sure if it’s a lie. She writes it down anyway. Then comes the ECG. The paper sheet on the vinyl bed, the cold electrode pads on your chest, your ribs, your ankles. The tech, a man this time, has warm hands, but you flinch anyway when he presses them to your sternum.

“You okay?” he asks, not unkindly.

“Just cold,” you lie again.

The machine clicks and hums. You stare up at the ceiling and count the dots in the acoustic tile. You wonder if Billie would’ve made you laugh about this. If she would’ve held your hand while they shaved a tiny spot on your ankle for the electrode and kissed your temple while you flinched.

You want her here.

You don’t want her here.

You can’t have both.

After the ECG, it’s time for bloodwork. The nurse has to poke twice, and your throat goes tight at the sting. You hate this part more than anything. The sight of the vials filling, dark and viscous, turns your stomach. You look away. You focus on the torn edge of the gauze roll on the counter instead.

“You doing okay?” she asks when it’s over, taping the cotton ball to the crook of your elbow.

“Fine,” you say again, voice thin. You hope that if you say it enough, it’ll become the truth.

The doctor’s office is too bright. Not glaring, just… too sterile. Too intentional. A space designed to put you at ease and succeeding at the exact opposite.

Dr. Reynaud is younger than most, warm in a professional way. Soft eyes. She sits across from you with her hands folded, lips pressed together like she’s picking her words carefully.

“You’re already familiar with the baseline arrhythmia we’re monitoring,” she begins, and your stomach tightens with the inevitability of it all. “Today’s ECG confirms the pattern is slightly less consistent than last time. Nothing critical at this moment, but you’re trending in a direction we need to address seriously.”

You nod once, keeping your eyes on the edge of her desk.

“Your weight is healthy, and there’s no indication of any external complications, which is good,” she continues. “But your medication levels are irregular. You’re missing doses.”

You swallow. “I forget sometimes.”

She tilts her head. Not judgmental. Just assessing.

“I understand it’s difficult,” she says. “But this isn’t a situation where inconsistency is harmless. The meds are there to keep your rhythm stable. And frankly, I’m worried.”

You force your fingers to stay relaxed in your lap.

“I don’t want this to define my life,” you say quietly.

Dr. Reynaud nods, and it surprises you that she doesn’t argue.

“It doesn’t have to,” she says. “But it does have to shape it. There’s a difference.”

You don’t answer. You just let the words settle somewhere near your collarbone and try not to let them sink deeper.

“I’d like to see you weekly for the next month,” she adds. “And we’ll reassess from there.”

“Weekly?” you echo. It comes out sharper than you mean it to. You think of Billie’s calendar on the fridge, filled with studio dates and meetings and family nights. You think of the space you’ve carved yourself into beside her, a space built on lightness, on being easy, on being the one part of her life that doesn’t demand something.

“You’ll also need to monitor your symptoms more consistently, log your heart rate, note anything irregular. And we’ll want to reevaluate your medication dose if this keeps progressing.”

The paper on the exam table crinkles under you as you shift your weight.

“What if I don’t?” you ask, voice smaller than before.

There’s a pause. Not dramatic, just real.

“Then we’ll lose the window to manage this before it becomes dangerous.”

You don’t respond. You nod like you will. Like you’re grateful. Like you’ll log everything and show up every week and take your pills on time. You make the next appointment with the nurse at the front desk. You book it for a day Billie has a photoshoot, something you remember her mentioning offhand, something you can schedule around. You fold the appointment card and tuck it deep into your wallet.

When you step back out into the parking lot, the sky is bruised with the weight of withheld rain. You sit in the car for a few minutes before turning the ignition. Hands on the steering wheel. Pulse ticking faintly in your neck. There’s a slight flutter behind your ribs. Not sharp. Just… off.

You don’t take a note of it.

You don’t log anything.

You don’t want to become a record of symptoms.

You drive home in silence and make it back to the couch before Billie texts again.

Ru napping? Didn’t reply to my text earlier. Back from Fins in 1hr probs. Will bring takeout.

You reply with a selfie from the couch, wrapped in a blanket, your face flushed from the residual stress, but eyes soft enough to sell it.

She sends a text back a moment later, Make that 20 mins. Ur too cute for me to be waiting

You hold the phone to your chest and breathe in deep through your nose. You want that. But you want to be well more than you want to be weak. And you don’t want her to look at you like you’re breakable. So, you don’t say anything. You don’t tell her where you were. You don’t mention the bloodwork or the monitor or the fact you’ve been hiding your illness for what, months, now? You keep it all in your chest.

And when you hear the garage door start to open that evening, you’re already in the kitchen, pretending to be halfway through getting plates out for the takeout she just bought, like nothing ever happened at all.

Another appointment. Another excuse. Told Billie you were going shopping, but that excuse doesn’t work if you don’t come back with bags of random items. 

The excuse was easy. “Gonna run to Trader Joe’s, babe,” you said, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head while she was still tangled up in that stupid soft knit blanket she drags around like a toddler. She hummed, distracted, scrolling through something, and mumbled a muffled “Get cookies.”

So here you are. Buying cookies you don’t feel like eating. Picking up things she’ll like, chili lime chips, the green juice she thinks helps with hangovers, even though she never drinks that much. A small bouquet of flowers. Just because.

Trader Joe’s always feels a little too bright. Not harsh, not in a sterile way like hospitals or those dentist waiting rooms with the fake tropical fish screensaver looping in the corner, but bright in a kind of buzzing, overstimulating way. Fluorescents bouncing off linoleum floors, everything too colorful, too perky. Plastic tubs of pre-chopped fruit, cartoon labels smiling at you like they know you’re lying.

You tug the sleeves of your hoodie a little lower over your wrists and blink at the shelf of almond milks, all of them slightly different shades of beige, as if the variety could disguise the fact you can’t really focus. Not properly. Not today. There’s a faint throb behind your eyes and a bone-deep ache just under the surface, dull, but insistent. Not pain exactly. Not yet. Just a weight.

You run your finger along a cold bottle of oat milk. It leaves a trail of condensation, like proof you touched it. Proof you’re here.

The paper bag in your cart crinkles as you toss it in. It’s not even what Billie likes. She always rolls her eyes when you pick oat milk. “It tastes like wet cardboard, baby,” she’ll say, teasing, reaching past you for the creamy almond vanilla one, the one with the blue cap she drinks straight from the carton when she thinks you’re not looking. You always pretend not to notice.

There’s a moment, brief and stupid, when you pause in front of the pharmacy aisle. You don’t need anything from it. Not really. But you’re just… drawn. Like the shelves might hold something they don’t. Like maybe behind the Tylenol and the nighttime cough syrup and the overpriced melatonin gummies, there’s something that would help. Something that would make it easier to tell her. Or maybe something that would let you never tell her at all.

You stare too long.

A little girl walks by with her mom, dragging a plush giraffe by its neck. She glances up at you, suspicious, and you realize how long you’ve just been standing there doing nothing. You move.

By the time you get back to the car, your head’s pounding harder. The light through the windshield is sharp, fractured into streaks, and you let your forehead rest against the steering wheel for a minute before starting the engine. The keys jingle in your hand, metal cold against your skin.

When you get home, the sun’s beginning to dip, smearing orange light across the walls as you shut the door behind you.

She’s not in the kitchen. Not in the living room, either.

“B?” you call, voice just loud enough. It comes out too thin. Like it’s being dragged from the bottom of your throat.

She answers from the bedroom. “Back here, babe.”

You drop the shopping bags on the counter, not even bothering to put things away, and move toward her voice. You’re exhausted, but it’s the strange kind, the kind where your body feels both heavy and detached, like you’re moving through fog. 

She’s lying on the bed, blanket haphazard, feet crossed at the ankle, a book open on her chest. Her hair’s messy from where she’s been dragging her hands through it. Shark’s curled at the foot of the bed, tail thumping once when he sees you, then settling again. The ceiling fan clicks softly overhead.

Billie looks up the second you walk in.

Her whole face softens. “Hey, baby.” She sets the book aside, sits up. “You okay?”

You nod. Lie. “Just tired.”

She opens her arms like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “C’mere.”

And you go. You always do.

Climbing into bed feels like exhaling for the first time all day. You bury your face in her collarbone, and she immediately wraps her arms around you, fingers sliding up and down your spine in slow, grounding strokes. Her skin smells like citrus shampoo and clean laundry and something else that’s just… her. Your heartbeat tries to match hers. Fails. 

“Missed you,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hairline. “Felt like you were gone forever.”

You nod again, cheek brushing her neck. “Sorry.”

She chuckles, light, warm. “For what? Buying groceries?

You laugh too, but it’s breathy. Fragile.

She doesn’t notice. Not at first. Her hand is moving now, slow and idle, tracing patterns along your arm. She always does this when you’re quiet. Like she’s trying to read you in braille.

But then her fingers stop.

They still right at the inside of your elbow. Where the bruise is starting to bloom, yellow at the edges, deep violet in the middle. And worse: there are others. Fainter, like ghosts of failed attempts. Needle tracks, half hidden but not enough. 

Billie pulls back slightly to look.

Her brows knit. Eyes sharp, not angry, but alert. “What’s this, baby?”

Her thumb grazes the bruise.

You flinch.

“Nothing,” you say too quickly. “Was just playing with Shark earlier. Got a little rough.”

She glances at the dog, then back at your arm. Her fingers hover now, careful. “That doesn’t look like teeth.”

“It’s not. I mean, he scratched me too. It’s fine, Bills. Seriously.”

She’s still looking at the marks. Her mouth twists, a little frown. She’s quiet for a second too long. The kind of quiet that feels heavy.

“You sure?” she asks softly. “Because it looks like…”

“I’m sure,” you cut in, too sharp. “It’s fine.”

Something flickers across her face. Her eyes search yours, but you’re already curling closer again, head on her chest, one arm slung around her waist like you’re afraid she might pull away. She doesn’t. Not yet.

She exhales, long and slow, threading her fingers into your hair. She kisses your temple again, but there’s something hesitant in it now. Something faintly unsettled.

Still, she lets it go. You’re curled into her side in bed, one leg hooked over hers, fingers splayed across the softness of her stomach beneath her hoodie. You’ve been here a while now, well past the moment where it’s just a cuddle and well into the territory of you clinging like you’re half-feral and starving for it.

Because you are.

She doesn’t mind. She scrolls through her phone, chuckles, and gently carding your hair. But you feel her notice. Her touch falters, as if she’s counting how long you’ve been here, how tightly you hold on, and how often you shift to pull closer. You’ve barely spoken since home, just dropped your keys, toed off your shoes, and peeled off your jeans, as if moving underwater and finally letting yourself float.

Maybe that’s what this is. Floating.

“Mm,” Billie hums, warm and soft, the vibration of her chest low against your cheek. “You okay, baby?”

Your nose presses a little harder into her hoodie. You nod, barely.

She pauses.

You can feel her eyes on you before you even lift your head.

“You sure?”

“Mhm,” you manage, half-muffled against the cotton. “Just comfy.”

Then, she smirks, tilts her head back onto the pillow like she’s letting the question go, but you can feel the curl of something sharper behind her teeth. Playful. Not suspicious yet. Just amused.

“You’ve been, like, weirdly needy today,” she says, teasing.

You snort into her side, but your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

Billie shifts a little, propping herself up on one elbow, phone dropped to the bed now. Her fingers slip under your jaw, thumb brushing the edge of your face, tilting it up until she can see you properly. You let her. You always do. And her eyes search yours with that kind of gentle, amused fondness that makes your chest ache.

“What’s up with you?” she asks, voice light but steady. “You’re being, like, crazy affectionate right now. Not that I’m complaining.”

You roll your eyes, laughing weakly. “Wow. Sorry for loving my girlfriend, I guess.”

“You should be,” she deadpans. “This level of love should be illegal.”

You grin again, this time it lands a little better, and lean up to press a slow kiss to her collarbone, then another just under the neckline of her shirt. She shivers slightly at the contact, but doesn’t pull away. Her hand trails down your back, over your hip, resting there. Comforting. Steady.

“It’s just a lazy day,” you murmur, another kiss at her side, through the fabric. “I like lazy days with you.”

She hums again, noncommittal but soft. Her fingers tap lightly at your hip.

“Didn’t feel like a lazy day earlier,” she says. “You were gone, like, hours. Trader Joe’s turned into a quest?”

You stiffen, only a fraction, but her body’s so familiar to yours that you know she feels it. You smooth over it quickly, letting out a theatrical sigh.

“Lines were a nightmare,” you say, light, easy. “I wanted the oat milk cookies you like.”

Her brow lifts, and she grins. “So you did that for me? Damn. No wonder you’re all over me.”

You bite back the urge to say something too sincere. Something like no, I’m all over you because I missed you today. Because I needed you and you weren’t there and I did that to myself.

Instead, you nod, then nuzzle against her. Billie giggles, then groans faintly when you kiss her stomach through her hoodie again.

“You’re seriously being insane,” she mutters, hand finding your hair again. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you.”

You kiss her again, slower this time. Lingering.

And you say nothing.

Because the truth is, your skin felt off all day, as if it were crawling off you. Your head was heavy, thick, and foggy, like when your blood levels drop too low. You clenched your hand around the shopping cart handle to ground yourself while everything in your chest buzzed like white noise.

You knew it was coming. It’s been coming for weeks. And still, you’d told her you were running errands instead of asking her to come to the appointment. 

Now you’re home. And it’s quiet. And your body’s aching, not just physically but down in that hollow part of you that’s been starved for something warm and steady and safe. So you’re curled into her like she’s a sunbeam and you’re trying to soak her through your skin.

Because you know what’s coming. Even if she doesn’t.

Your fingers splay again across her side, and you kiss just below her ribs. She laughs, full-bodied this time, and shifts her weight, her legs tangling more with yours.

“You are so ridiculous,” she says, dragging out the syllables. “Are you trying to seduce me or just, like, fuse with me on a molecular level?”

You grin against her. “Can’t it be both?”

“Oh my god,” Billie groans, but she’s laughing, and her eyes are so, so soft. “This is so weird. You’re never this bad.”

“I love you,” you whisper. Not playful. Just quiet.

Billie pauses.

Then her hand comes up again, brushing your hair back from your face. “I love you too, you weirdo.”

You trail kisses along the soft curve of Billie’s neck, barely pausing as she talks. The sound of her voice is like a thread weaving through your skin, steady and warm, tethering you when your mind feels like it’s about to scatter.

“I was at Finneas’s studio the other day,” she says, voice low and even, breath catching a little as you suck lightly just below her ear. “We were messing around with this new synth he got. Totally wild. I swear, he’s like a kid in a candy store.”

Her words float through the room, but you’re only half-listening, half-consuming her, the way her skin feels under your lips, warm and soft and unbelievably alive. Your hands wander freely now, slipping beneath the hem of her top, fingers trembling with that familiar mix of desperation and awe.

You tug the fabric slowly, teasing, until it slips over her shoulders and pools around her waist.

Billie doesn’t stop talking. Her voice is casual, easy, but you catch the slight hitch when your hands cup her breasts, thumbs brushing her nipples through the thin fabric of her bra. The heat radiates into your palms, and your fingers tighten just a little.

“Finneas was giggling the whole time.” she says. “Had this ridiculous grin plastered on. You know how he gets like he’s proud.”

You lean in closer, lips ghosting over the swell of her breast, your mouth closing around her nipple, sucking gently. Her voice falters mid-sentence, a moan escaping before she can catch it.

Silence falls between you, thick and electric.

You pull back just enough to look up at her, breath warm against her skin.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking gorgeous,” you murmur, eyes dark with need. “So fucking hot.”

Billie’s chest rises and falls rapidly, lips parted in surprise and pleasure, a flush creeping up her neck and spreading across her cheeks.

Your mouth crashes back onto hers, wet, messy, demanding. Tongues tangling, teeth grazing, hands tangled in her hair, holding her like you never want to let go.

Between kisses, you murmur those words again, “So beautiful,” “So incredible,” “My god, Billie”. Her fingers clutch at your shirt, nails digging in lightly as she melts against you, and for a moment, the rest of the world slips away.

She repeats it back between kisses, breath brushing softly over your mouth, voice low and teasing, “So good, baby.” The words flutter through you, light and warm, like a secret whispered in the dark. Her thigh nudges up against you, slow and deliberate, grazing your bare skin where only your thin sleep shorts cover you. The touch is subtle but ignites a heat that curls low in your belly, pulling a soft moan from your throat before you can stop it.

You grind just the slightest bit, hips rocking gently against the firm warmth of Billie’s leg. Your body knows this rhythm, the way she moves under you, how her thigh fits perfectly between yours. She smiles against your lips, that teasing tilt of her mouth that makes your heart stutter, the grin so full of quiet mischief it feels like the world shrinks down to just this bed, this moment.

Slowly, she slides her leg higher, coaxing you to follow. Her back presses against the headboard with a subtle shift, a silent invitation. You feel her guiding you, wordless and sure, as your hips meet her own in a slow, steady rhythm.

Billie’s hand slips under the edge of your sleep shorts without breaking eye contact, fingers tracing the soft curve of your hip before tugging the fabric just enough to bare your skin. The sudden exposure makes your breath hitch. Your bare pussy presses flush against her thigh, the friction making your head rock back and hands plant on her shoulders. 

She pulls away from the kiss, eyes dark and sparkling, a little playful smirk curling her lips. “You gonna ride my thigh, baby?”

You nod, words caught in your throat, breath shallow and trembling. You start moving again, slow at first, grinding softly into her leg while your lips find hers once more. Your moans mix with the sounds of your kisses, breathless and needy. Her hands find your breasts, warm and confident, fingers teasing the soft skin as she talks, her voice a smooth current running beneath your skin, even as you focus on the sensation of her touch.

Your hands grip her shoulders, knuckles tightening as if holding on will keep you tethered to this moment, to her. Your hips move with increasing urgency, trembling under the weight of want and something heavier beneath it. Your head falls against her shoulder, breath hitching into soft moans that melt against the warmth of her skin.

You feel yourself getting closer by the second, hands tightening, hips rolling faster. The moan you thought was a simple release twists into something sharper, ragged, a hiccup of a groan that slips out uncontrollably. Your heart pounds erratically in your chest, uneven and pounding like it’s fighting against something. The sharp, irregular thud sends a small wave of panic curling up your spine.

Fuck.

You want to stop, to pull away and breathe, but your body won’t listen. You keep moving, desperate to stay here with her, to cling to the heat and the touch that feels like safety.

Billie’s hand softens on your side, her touch slowing and soothing, fingers tracing lazy, gentle patterns against your ribs. “You good?” she asks softly, voice low and caring.

You force out a moan, a shaky, overly dramatic sound laced with fake pleasure, “So good, baby.”

She laughs quietly, warm and amused, but she doesn’t see the pain behind your eyes, the furrowed brow, the slight wince at the corners of your mouth, the way your teeth press into her skin not in pleasure but because you need something solid to hold onto. The biting is a grounding thing, a quiet anchor when the edges of the room start to sway. 

Your whole body trembles as you cum, a shuddering ripple that runs from your fingertips down to your toes. Your vision blurs, edges softening and colors bleeding into a gentle haze. You freeze mid-motion, muscles tense and unmoving, breath shallow and fast.

Billie’s fingers tap lightly on your side, a gentle prompt. “You sure you good?”

You nod weakly, voice thick and slurred, “Mhm. Mhm. Just… just a lot.”

Your limbs feel heavy, leaden almost, like gravity has doubled. Sleep tugs at you, pulling hard, and you can barely keep your eyes open. The warmth of Billie beneath you, the steady beat of her heart against your cheek. It should feel grounding. Instead, it feels like the last fragile thread holding you together.

Billie’s smile softens into something quieter, more worried, but she brushes your hair back and murmurs soothing words, thinking maybe you’re just tired or coming down with something. Maybe the intensity pushed you over the edge.

She thinks you’re just wiped. Burned out. You let her think that. You need her to think that.

And so you smile. You curl in. You pretend.

Because tomorrow’s her birthday. And you’re not going to ruin it.

The next evening, Billie’s birthday. The door swings open just as the sun dips low, casting a warm honey glow across the narrow street. You step inside the restaurant, heart already fluttering in a way that’s part excitement, part something heavier. You’re wearing the sleek black dress you saved for special nights, the one with the subtle shimmer that catches the light in soft waves. The fabric hugs your curves just enough, not too tight, but enough to remind you how long it’s been since you felt anything close to this normal, this simple.

Billie’s standing just inside, and you almost stop in your tracks. She’s wearing something almost exactly the same, black, elegant, with those little silver details catching the light, her hair falling in soft waves just like yours. You grin, a laugh bubbling up unbidden.

“Seriously? We could’ve just shared one dress tonight,” you tease, stepping forward.

Billie’s eyes flash with playful surprise, lips quirking. “I was gonna say the same thing.”

The laughter lingers between you, light and easy, the kind that only years of knowing someone can build. You reach out to touch her arm, the gesture soft and familiar, like a secret handshake that’s been in the making for years.

Together, you turn toward the narrow staircase that winds up, leading to the rooftop restaurant, a favorite spot you discovered early in your relationship. The air smells faintly of herbs and distant rain, the faint hum of city life far below filtering up.

You start climbing, but by the third step, your breath stutters, a sharp hitch that makes your chest tighten. The heels press painfully into your arches, muscles already protesting after so long unused. You slow, catching your breath, but the racing pulse in your ears makes it hard to focus on anything but the ache spreading through your ribs.

Billie glances back, one brow quirked in that way she does when she suspects something’s off but wants you to be the one to say it.

You force a smile, lips tight but eyes warm. “Just the heels,” you say lightly, voice steady even as your heart skips a beat. “Haven’t worn them in a minute.”

She gives you a funny look, eyebrows knitting together briefly before she lets it go with a small nod, reaching out to squeeze your hand, grounding and gentle.

At the top, the rooftop opens up to a sprawling view of the city, twinkling lights like stars scattered beneath the deepening sky. Candles flicker on each table, their flames casting soft shadows and golden glimmers over everything. The scent of rosemary and grilled vegetables drifts through the air, mixing with the faint ocean breeze that tugs at the loose strands of your hair.

You slide into your seat across from Billie, the chair scraping softly against the wooden floor. The waiter comes quickly, menu in hand, but you barely glance at it, you already know what you want, or at least you think you do. You pick a glass of red wine, its color rich and dark, like velvet.

Billie orders something light and fresh, a white wine. You both sip quietly, the first clink of glasses punctuating the gentle murmur of other diners around you.

She starts talking, about tour dates, the studio sessions with Finneas, a funny thing that happened earlier that day when Finneas had accidentally spilled coffee on some new equipment. Her words flow easy, effortless, a current you let carry you along. You want to say things back, to tell her about your day, but the breathlessness clamps tight around your chest whenever you try to speak more than a few words.

You sit back, watching her. The way her eyes light up when she talks about music, the subtle curve of her smile, the little way her fingers drum on the table when she’s excited. You feel the warmth of her hand when she reaches across suddenly, fingers lacing with yours.

“You’re freezing,” she says softly, thumb stroking over the back of your hand.

You glance down, your fingers are cold, a slick of sweat making your palm slippery against hers. You try to shake your head, an automatic reflex. “No, I’m fine.”

She raises an eyebrow, teasing but gentle. “Want my jacket?”

You smile, shaking your head again, though the chill spreads through you, deep and unsettling. You tuck your hands under the table, hiding the clammy skin.

Her smile doesn’t fade, but the concern flickers in her eyes, just a flicker, like a shadow passing briefly over the sun. She lets it go, chatting on about something else, but you can feel it, the way her gaze lingers a second longer, the tiny crease between her brows when she thinks you’re not looking.

Your mind races. You want to tell her, to explain the way your chest feels tight and your breath catches, but the words stick like thorns. You don’t want to worry her. You don’t want to shatter this night, this small bubble of happiness you’re clutching at like it’s air.

Instead, you lean into the warmth of her hand, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat through the skin of your palm. You let yourself breathe in the scent of her, vanilla sweet and musky, soft like home. 

The city hums quietly beneath you, lights blinking on and off like silent witnesses. You smile, but inside, the weight is there, lurking just beneath the surface, a shadow waiting for the right moment to break free.

Weeks later, the afternoon sun leans into the city like honey spilling over warm concrete. It’s not harsh, but it’s weighty, soft gold spilling through the gaps between tall palms that line the cracked sidewalks of this quiet LA street. The kind of light that holds the scent of salt from the ocean just a few miles away, mixed with the faint sweetness of blooming jasmine tucked between fences.

You and Billie walk slowly, dog leash loose in your hand, Shark trotting happily ahead, nose low to the ground like he’s chasing invisible stories beneath every leaf and crack. The sound of his paws taps a soft rhythm against the pavement, interrupted occasionally by a bark or his eager sniff.

Billie is just a little ahead, sneakers skimming the ground with effortless grace. She hums softly under her breath, it’s a song you haven’t heard before, maybe one she’s been working on, something new.

Your fingers brush hers. It’s casual, a brush and a catch. She looks over, lips twitching into a smile.

“That one gonna be about me?” you tease lightly. 

Billie laughs quietly, a sound like velvet and sunlight. Then leans her head on your shoulder for just a breath or two, the softness of her cheek against your skin. But you’re walking slower than she is. Not enough for her to say anything, but enough that she starts to adjust, subtly shifting her pace to match yours without interrupting the flow. You notice the way her stride shortens, how she tilts her head toward you just a little more. It’s instinctive, gentle, like she’s tuning into something you’re not saying.

Your chest feels tight, a slow pressing ache that’s nothing new but never quite dulls. You tell yourself it’s just the heat, the long week, the heels you wore yesterday. But inside, there’s a swirl of exhaustion, the kind that settles deep in your bones.

“You okay?” she asks softly, voice low and steady, full of quiet concern.

You want to say yes, want to give her the easy answer she wants to hear. Instead you breathe out, slow and controlled.

“Just tired. Long week.”

She nods like she believes you. For now.

Your skin prickles in the silence, and you keep your gaze low, tracing the lines of the sidewalk instead of meeting hers. It’s easier that way, easier than explaining the tightness in your chest, the way your legs feel suddenly heavier, the faint dizziness that flickers behind your eyes.

Rounding the corner, the street narrows a bit, and suddenly two figures step out from behind a black car parked just off the curb. Paparazzi. Low profile, no shouting, no aggressive pushing, just the flash, quick and bright, splitting the afternoon like a crack.

Shark barks sharply, and Billie stiffens immediately, muscles coiling beneath her casual clothes, eyes scanning around. Her hand finds yours and squeezes tight, grounding, protective. You feel the strength in her grip and for a moment, you lean into it, wanting to borrow that steadiness.

Her eyes flick up to yours, searching for the familiar reassurance the easy, “We’re fine” you usually give her.

But today, your fingers barely curl around hers. Your grip is weak, and you stumble slightly on the uneven curb.

“Hey. You good?” she asks, voice soft but steady, threading concern through each word.

You force a smile, shaky but practiced.

“Yeah.” Your voice feels fragile, a little slurred even to your own ears. “Just… hot. Didn’t eat much today.”

Billie’s steps slow. Her brow creases with a quiet worry that you can’t hide from, no matter how hard you try. Her eyes flicker over your face, searching.

You can feel the weight of it, the way she’s catching on, the way your usual facade is cracking, just a little.

Your heart pounds with a rush of panic. But you have your excuse. The one that fits.

You’re on your period.

It’s true. It’s real. Billie knows it’s true. You had sex last night. It’s only a half lie. 

“I’m just feeling really weak today,” you say, voice soft but steady. “Heavy… you know. Can we maybe cut this walk short?”

Billie pauses, eyes flickering again, a hesitation there, but she nods, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Of course, baby. Whatever you need.”

You want to be honest. You want to tell her everything, the chest pain that sometimes stabs sharp and sudden, the dizziness that curls your vision, the fatigue that’s more than just tiredness. But you can’t. Not yet.

You squeeze her hand just a little tighter, trying to hold on. Trying not to fall apart.

And somehow, it’s not the doctor’s calls or the pain that undoes you. That reveals the lies. That breaks everything.  It’s smaller than that. Dumber.

It starts with a fork in the sink.

Just a fork. One that wasn’t in the dishwasher. One that’s been there for maybe two hours, maybe a day, who even knows anymore.

You’re leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed loosely over your chest, legs tired. Billie’s standing near the dishwasher, fingers twitching a little like they do when she’s trying not to pace.

“So you just… didn’t bother again?” Billie’s voice is tight. She’s not yelling. Yet.

You blink. “Didn’t bother with what?”

She points, not harshly, but with that clipped, incredulous edge that makes you feel ten inches tall. “The fucking dishes. Again.”

You glance over at the sink. One bowl. A glass. That damn fork.

You try to keep your voice calm. “I was gonna do them in a bit.”

“You said that yesterday.”

“It’s one fork, Billie”

“It’s not about the fork!” she snaps, too fast, too sharp, and then exhales, dragging a hand through her hair, pulling her hoodie tighter around herself like she’s trying to reel her frustration in.

You feel your body already starting to tip toward defensive. Your heart pounds louder than it should in a moment like this, your body way more keyed up than it should be. You’re already overheated, the cotton of your T-shirt clinging to your back. Your legs feel hollow. You don’t have the energy for this. Not today. Not this week.

But if you tell her that, you have to explain why.

And you can’t.

So you roll your eyes instead. “I’m sorry I missed the dish fucking deadline.”

Billie scoffs. “You really don’t take anything seriously anymore, do you?”

That stings. Too deeply. Your chest pulses. Not like a pang, like a dull, thick throb under your ribs. Your hand shifts subtly to your side, pressing flat against the counter.

“I do,” you say. Trying to keep your voice even. Your mouth is dry. “You just pick the dumbest shit to fight about sometimes.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Excuse me?”

You regret it the second it leaves your mouth. But it’s too late to walk it back.

“I just mean” You shake your head. “It’s a fork, Billie. You’re acting like I’ve… I don’t know, kicked your dog.”

“This isn’t about the fork. It’s about you not showing up.” She snaps. 

Your stomach tightens. You knew this was coming. Knew it wasn’t about the dishes. It’s about the thing last weekend, the little charity event she wanted you to come to. One of her team’s things. Lowkey, barely press, just people she trusts. She asked you to be there. And you said you would be.

And then you weren’t.

Because you couldn’t. Because you were in bed that day, dizzy, nauseous, breathless just from standing.

But she doesn’t know that.

You don’t want her to know that.

“You said you’d come,” she continues, voice quieter now, but not gentler. “You said it meant something to you. And then you bailed. Again. Didn’t even text.”

“I was tired.” It sounds pathetic even to you.

Billie stares. “You’re always tired.”

Your hands curl slightly on the edge of the counter. There’s a hot pressure behind your eyes that you blink away. “I said I was sorry.”

“That doesn’t mean anything anymore.”

That lands. Your jaw tightens. The pressure in your chest climbs higher, wider. It pushes out toward your arms, your back, your throat.

“Why are you acting like I don’t care about you?” you whisper. You hate how hoarse it sounds. “I missed one thing.”

Billie throws her hands up. “It’s not just one thing. It’s everything lately. You’re… checked out. You’re distracted. You’re always saying you’re fine but you’re not. And I just…” she cuts herself off, biting her bottom lip. “I don’t know how to be with someone who won’t talk to me.”

You look down. Your vision pulses faintly. The kitchen lights feel too white. The counter under your hand is cold, grounding, but your palm feels sweaty. You try to breathe, but it feels like there’s a rubber band wrapped around your chest.

You don’t want to cry. You’re not even sad. You’re exhausted. And guilty. And trapped.

And it’s making you angry.

“Well maybe I don’t wanna fucking talk all the time,” you snap, sharper than intended. “Maybe I’m tired of explaining myself.”

Billie’s eyes narrow. “Explain what? You won’t even admit anything’s wrong!”

“Because there’s nothing wrong” you say too fast.

Your voice catches on the tail end of the sentence. Like your breath stumbled over it. Your chest lurches and you cough once, swallowing quickly, hand gripping the counter now.

Her expression changes just slightly. The anger’s still there, but now her brow furrows.

“You’re lying,” Billie says. Not as an accusation just fact.

“I’m not,” you say, though it’s starting to slur. Just barely. Your legs feel like sand. The noise in the kitchen, the hum of the fridge, the music, the air conditioner, starts to swirl together, a blur of too much. You blink again and her face feels a step further away.

“Jesus, you’re pale,” Billie says, stepping closer. 

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t fucking say that again,” she snaps. “You’re not fine. You haven’t been fine in weeks. You barely eat. You don’t sleep. You’re sweating just standing there”

“Billie please” You murmur

“You flake on everything. You lie. And now you can’t even look at me.”

You open your mouth but nothing comes out. There’s a rushing sound in your ears. Your knees buckle slightly and you catch yourself against the edge of the counter with a sharp inhale. Pain flickers in your chest again, more defined now. Your skin is cold and damp and tight over your bones.

Billie’s hand is on your arm now. Firm. Not soft. Still angry, but the fear is creeping in.

“What is going on with you?”

You shake your head. Try to speak. The words mush together.

“I said I’m…” The syllables crumble in your throat. You can’t finish.

Your hand goes to your side. You lean hard against the counter. You feel yourself swaying slightly. It feels like your body is pulling inward and falling outward at the same time. There’s a second where you know, absolutely, undeniably, that if you let go, you will hit the ground.

Billie sees it. All of it. Her breath catches.

“Sit down,” she says, quickly. “Babe, sit down, hey” She reaches for you, and you flinch back without meaning to.

“I’m okay,” you say, but it’s garbled. Barely a whisper.

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” she says, voice breaking just a little, hand cupping the back of your arm, trying to guide you to the chair.

You stumble backward, a faltering step, and then your knees give out beneath you with a sickening, hollow thud against the cold tile floor.

You drop hard. No grace, no slow motion swoon. Just collapse, bruising, jarring, gasping for air like the world’s running out.

You’re sprawled, breath ragged, chest heaving like a bellows, skin clammy and ice cold despite the heat pounding behind your ribs. Your heart is racing, or maybe skipping, a chaotic drum beat echoing loudly in your ears, drowning out everything else.

Billie is beside you in a heartbeat.

“Fuck,” she breathes, voice cracking as she drops to her knees next to you. “Hey. Hey, look at me.”

Her hands are warm but trembling as she cups your face, thumb brushing your clammy cheek. “Breathe with me, okay? Just breathe.”

You try, but the air is too shallow, your lungs burning with every desperate, jagged pull. The fight is gone from her eyes now, replaced by stark, immediate panic.

“Don’t move,” she orders softly, even as she pulls out her phone and dials.

Her voice shakes but she speaks clearly, urgently, “We need an ambulance. My girlfriend uh, um, collapsed. She collapsed. Oh my god my girlfriend collapsed. She’s struggling to breathe.”

You want to say something, anything, to stop this, to calm her down, but your voice is gone. Your head swims and everything tilts. Minutes stretch impossibly long until the sharp wail of sirens cuts through the street noise. You hear footsteps, urgent but careful, the low murmur of voices.

Two paramedics burst into the house, quick and efficient.

They kneel beside you, professional and calm, but their eyes flicker to you fast. 

“Can you tell me your name?” one asks gently, fingers already checking your pulse.

You open your mouth, but the words come out slurred and broken. You try to protest when they begin to lift your arm, checking your blood pressure cuff.

“No, no,” you whisper, trying to push away the worry swelling inside you, making something up even though you know this is futile now, “I just fainted. Haven’t eaten.”

Billie is right there, voice sharp. “She’s not just fainting. Look at her, she’s pale, clammy, racing heart, chest pain.”

The paramedic’s gaze flicks toward Billie, then back to you, fingers quick but sure as they listen to your lungs, eyes narrowing.

One mutters quietly, almost to their partner, “History… known condition…” The words hang in the air, low, but clear.

Billie’s head snaps up, eyes wide and flooded with disbelief.

“Known?” she asks, voice tight and trembling. “What do you mean, known? She never said anything. What’s going on?”

The paramedics exchange a glance, one keeping their voice low but firm.

“Ma’am, we can’t discuss medical details here, but she does have a history. We’re treating her symptoms and need to get her to the hospital.”

Billie’s mouth opens, then closes again, words catching in her throat.

You hear the clipped tones of the paramedics, “Blood pressure dropping… irregular rhythm… known condition…”

You can feel Billie’s entire world cracking.

She crouches lower, gripping your hand as though trying to tether you to the moment, to her.

“Billie,” you whisper weakly, voice barely audible.

She shakes her head, tears pooling but unfallen. “No. I’m going with you.”

One paramedic offers a gentle but firm look. “You can follow us in the second ambulance, ma’am.”

“No,” Billie says again, stronger now. “I’m not leaving her.”

And she doesn’t.

The ambulance’s interior is cramped, sterile, and claustrophobic. Flashing red and blue lights pulse against the thin walls, casting jittery, unnatural shadows that crawl across the pale, taut skin of your face. The sterile scent of antiseptic mixes with the faint metallic tang of your own blood, sharp in your nostrils. Your body lies strapped down to the gurney, wrists and ankles secured with tight plastic restraints that dig into your skin, cold against your clammy flesh. A thin white hospital blanket is tossed over your legs, but it does little to stop the chill creeping up your spine.

Your chest tightens painfully beneath the oxygen mask, the cool plastic pressing against your mouth and nose as you fight for every breath. The mask fogs slightly with your shallow exhales. You can feel your ribs straining against your shirt, your heartbeat hammering loud and uneven, too fast, too erratic, a wild drum drowning out everything else.

Your eyelids flutter open just enough to catch the shape of Billie sitting on the bench opposite you. She’s curled up, one knee pulled to her chest, her fingers gripping the edge of the seat until her knuckles turn white. Her eyes never leave you, wide and glistening, locked on your face like she’s terrified you might disappear if she blinks.

“What the hell is happening?” Her voice is low, harsh, fierce with panic and disbelief. “Tell me what’s going on. Please.”

You want to speak, but your throat is raw and dry, your voice barely more than a rasp. You force the words out anyway, barely audible. “It’s… okay. Not bad. I didn’t want you to worry.”

A sudden spike on the monitor beeps sharply. One paramedic glances over at Billie with an urgent look. “Try to keep her calm. Talking too much will make it worse.”

Billie bites her lip hard, trembling but silent. Her gaze doesn’t falter. She’s watching you like you’re fragile glass.

A paramedic mutters near your head, their voices low but tense. “Running a twelve-lead now. Pulse is unstable… could be pericarditis flare, or undiagnosed myocarditis.”

“Any meds? ER tags? No?”

“No meds reported. No records.”

Billie’s voice cracks suddenly, thick with hurt and confusion, desperate to make it known she isn’t a bad girlfriend, she did everything for you. And she isn’t a bad girlfriend, which makes this all so much worse. “She didn’t tell me. None of this. How could she keep this from me?”

The paramedic looks toward Billie, voice soft but firm. “Looks like she’s been hiding it. For a while.”

Your heart rate drops sharply, the monitors alarming in protest. The paramedics exchange quick glances.

Billie leans forward, eyes wild with fear. “Baby, please… talk to me.”

Your breath comes fast and shallow. You try to reach for her, but your arms feel heavy, useless. Your vision blurs again, and you slip into darkness for a moment.

Billie’s voice cracks again, desperate, repeating your name over and over like a lifeline. “Don’t leave me. Please.”

After what feels like forever, your eyelids flutter open. Your voice is barely a whisper, but it’s there, trembling and fragile.

“Billie… I’m sorry.”

She breaks down, tears slipping down her cheeks, her hand reaching out to brush damp strands of hair from your face. Her fingers tremble as she cups your cheek, the fierce love and fear in her eyes overwhelming.

The paramedic gently moves to block her from leaning too far forward. “Ma’am, please. Try to stay calm.”

Billie looks back at the paramedic, voice shaking but resolute. “I’m not leaving her.”

You hear the paramedic’s sigh but see nothing but her fierce determination in that moment.

The hospital doors burst open with a hydraulic hiss and a mechanical slam of urgency. Fluorescent lights blind and bleach the color from everything, the city, the sirens, the smell of heat and panic on skin, everything left outside as your gurney rolls in fast over the threshold.

“Let’s go, let’s go!”

Rubber soles squeal against polished linoleum. The stretcher shakes beneath you, your head slightly tilted from where Billie had been sitting, but she’s not there anymore. She’s out of view, behind the chaos.

Your arm falls to the side. Someone catches it and tucks it in with clinical grace.

A nurse’s voice cuts through the blur like a blade.

“Unstable tachycardia.”

You can feel your pulse climbing even as they say it, thumping against the roof of your mouth, in your ears, everywhere. A tidal rhythm gone wrong.

“She’s compensating now, but barely.”

They wheel you around a sharp corner, the stretcher jolting. You want to ask where Billie is, where her voice went, but the oxygen mask claws at your face, and you can’t form the question.

The ceiling tiles above blur together like a flick book, alternating light and shadow, harsh whites flickering too fast, too bright. Your chest feels tight. Hot. Crushed.

Someone’s pressing something to your chest.

“Get the EKG pads back on.”

“BP’s tanking. She’s pale, look at her lips.”

You hear the words but they don’t sink in. Not all the way.

You try to lift your head. Try to say her name.

Where is she?

Where is she?

Then, her voice. Distant. Cracked. “Wait, wait please, please wait, wait, I need to go with her”

And then nothing. A barrier. A wall. The cut-off sound of her steps echoing behind you.

Billie’s breath catches, throat tight, as the ambulance doors slam shut behind you. She remains rooted to the spot, the echo of your fading footsteps pounding like thunder in her ears.

The doors swing shut before she can get through.

Your stretcher vanishes around the corner with four nurses, one doctor, a paramedic still clinging to the chart, and what sounds like a portable crash cart trailing in their wake. Machines beeping in furious, irregular rhythm. A sound she never wants to hear again.

Her heart’s still racing like she ran a mile uphill, but her legs feel completely hollow. Her hands dangle useless at her sides, fingertips tingling. Her palms still smell like your sweat.

The overhead lights are cruel and colorless. The hallway is wide, sterile, echoing. People pass in blue scrubs and ID badges, but none of them look at her. Not at first.

She looks down at her hands like they don’t belong to her. There’s something under her fingernails. She doesn’t know what it is. She doesn’t care.

Then someone, a nurse, steps up in front of her. Middle-aged, calm in the way people can only be when they’ve seen all kinds of horror before breakfast. He says, not unkindly, “You can’t go with her yet. She’s in active triage.”

Billie stares at him like he’s speaking another language.

He softens. Tilts his head. “Someone will come talk to you soon.”

That’s all.

That’s it.

Then he turns and walks off, and she’s left, alone, beneath humming lights that make her feel like she’s buzzing too, like her skin’s vibrating with panic.

She paces once, then again, then doesn’t know what to do. She looks down the hallway where you vanished. Tries to replay what she saw. How you looked. What your body was doing. How your hand wouldn’t grip hers. How you said it wasn’t bad.

She wants to scream.

Your name is the only thing in her head. Your voice slurred. The moment your body dropped like the strings had been cut. The apology you rasped in the back of the ambulance. The apology instead of answers.

She presses her fists into her eyes and exhales hard. Not crying yet. Not quite. She won’t let herself, not while she still doesn’t know anything. Not while you’re still somewhere down that hallway and she’s not allowed to see you.

She hears the door at the ambulance bay open again, but it’s for someone else. Not you.

Someone rolls past with another stretcher. Not you.

A child starts crying two chairs down in the waiting area. She doesn’t look. Her arms cross tight across her stomach.

She sits. Immediately stands up again. The vinyl of the chair creaks in protest.

She doesn’t know how long she waits. Five minutes? Ten? Time has turned gelatinous. Nothing sticks. Every second drips by and smears the next.

You didn’t tell her.

That’s the part she can’t stop circling.

You didn’t tell her.

She would’ve understood. She would’ve done anything.

Her legs buckle and she has to sit again. She pulls her hoodie tighter around herself even though it’s not cold. Her knee bounces. Her teeth dig into her thumbnail. She doesn’t even notice when she bites down hard enough to draw blood.

Her phone is somewhere in her pocket. She can feel it. But she can’t bring herself to look at it. She doesn’t want to read texts. Doesn’t want to talk to Finneas, or her mom, or anyone. Doesn’t want to answer questions she doesn’t know the answers to.

What is it?

How long have you been sick?

What the fuck were you thinking?

But those are just shadows circling her skull, blunt, angry shapes with no release. They’re not even real questions yet. Not while you’re still somewhere behind that wall. Hooked up to god knows what. While someone is maybe yelling “clear” or maybe not. She doesn’t know. That’s the worst part.

She clenches her jaw and stares hard at the swinging doors, willing them to open.

They don’t. Not yet.

It’s the stillness that wakes you first.

Not pain. Not noise. Not movement.

Stillness. Too still. The kind that feels engineered. Weighted. Not natural.

Your eyes crack open into dark, then blur with sterile white. It takes you several breaths to register the difference between the ceiling and the light fixture, between what’s real and what’s memory. The faint hum of electricity is everywhere, disguised as silence. The glow of a wall sconce bleeds across smooth tile. There are no windows in your field of view.

Everything is too clean.

Too quiet.

Your throat is dry. Oxygen hums softly through a nasal cannula. Plastic. Thin and tugging slightly at your nostrils with each breath. Something tightens when you try to shift, tubing, maybe, or a wire. You turn your head by degrees, fighting dizziness and static and the lingering, weighted haze of sedation.

Monitors pulse at your side, gentle but insistent: a beep every second or so. Some kind of IV drips beside your arm. You don’t have the strength to check where it’s going. The air smells like bleach and plastic and whatever that sterile hospital scent is, like nothing and everything all at once. Cold and familiar and wrong.

Your body feels like it doesn’t quite belong to you yet. The shape of it is off. Your fingers are slow to respond. There’s a kind of aching in your chest, not sharp, but low pressure. Like gravity is stronger here than it is in the rest of the world.

And then you see it. The chair.

Empty, pulled back half a foot from the bedside. Abandoned mid-sit, maybe. There’s a small table nearby. On it: your phone, your keys, a crumpled receipt. Little fragments of your life, absurdly out of place in this antiseptic box. They must’ve been handed over at intake. Tagged. Logged. Transferred in Billie’s hands, Billie, who must’ve insisted on a private room. You can tell from the silence. From the thick door and the polished floor. From the privacy glass at the far wall. From the soft plush pillows and the filtered water on the side table. Must’ve cost her lots. 

She’s not in the chair now, but she’s been here. You can feel it. Her presence like a heat that hasn’t faded yet.

Maybe she’s stepped out. Maybe a nurse asked her to. Maybe she just needed a second to breathe.

But she’s been here. That much is obvious.

The blanket tucked up to your ribs. The untouched water cup with the straw perfectly positioned. The hoodie, yours, folded at the foot of the bed like someone didn’t want it wrinkled.

You swallow again. Your mouth tastes like metal and cotton.

Your body sinks further into the mattress with each breath, still heavy with exhaustion, but your mind is beginning to clear. Enough to start remembering. Not in order, not precisely, just flashes. 

You close your eyes.

You feel the shame most of all.

It hangs in the air heavier than any medicine they’ve pushed through your IV. It’s in the ache of your joints and the flush of your cheeks. In the sticky panic still clawing faintly behind your ribs. You’re here. You’re in a hospital bed. And she knows.

She knows.

There’s no more hiding. No more excuses. No more “I’m just tired” or “I didn’t eat.” You don’t even know what she’s been told. Only that she saw it, she saw you collapse. Helpless. Exposed. No lies left to armor yourself with. No performance to keep her calm. Just you, unconscious and helpless on a gurney while strangers told her things she should’ve heard from you.

You shift again. The machines beep slightly faster in response. You wince. Grit your teeth. Try to breathe slowly. Calmly. Like they want you to.

The door creaks softly on its hinges.

At first, it’s just the shadow, a shift in the hallway light, like something changed outside the room. Then the shape of her appears in the frame. Still. Small, somehow, even with all that presence. Billie doesn’t move for a long time. Just stands there, fingers curled tight around the doorframe like she needs it to stay upright.

She looks… older.

Not in any real way, not in the way cameras could catch. But in the hollows under her eyes. The slump of her shoulders. The way her mouth doesn’t quite know what to do, set or tremble or press into a line. You’ve never seen her like this. Like she aged ten years in one night. Like her body’s still trying to recover from something it doesn’t have the language for.

Her eyes are red. Bloodshot. Swollen at the corners. She’s been crying.

You turn your head toward her, barely. The pillow sinks beneath you. You smile, soft, weak, fragile, and say just above a whisper,

“Hey.”

That’s all you can manage.

Billie’s expression doesn’t shift. Her mouth opens a little. Closes. And then, low, her voice flat like a blown speaker:

“Don’t.”

The word stops you cold. Like icewater down your back.

She walks in. Not fast. Not storming. Slow. Measured. Like the floor might give out beneath her if she steps wrong. Like she’s unsure if the world is real, or if you’re real, or if touching anything might break it all again.

She makes it to the chair beside your bed and lowers herself into it like it hurts. Like her body’s been hollowed out. Her hands are shaking as she sets them on her lap. Her eyes never leave your face.

The quiet is unbearable. Not gentle. Not peace. It’s thick. Lead-lined. Electric.

Finally, she speaks. Her voice is hoarse, cracked from crying, from screaming, maybe both.

“You could’ve died tonight.”

The words slice through the room like a scalpel.

“I held you while your heart was fucking failing,” she says, her voice rising with each syllable, “and you didn’t tell me? You didn’t let me help you?”

You can’t answer. Your lips part, but nothing comes. She doesn’t give you time to try.

“I thought we were in this together. I thought that’s what this was. But you made it all about you, about hiding, about pretending you’re okay when you’re fucking not.”

Her chest heaves with the next breath, and then she stands again, too full of movement to stay seated.

“Do you even understand how scared I was?” she says, pacing now. “Do you have any fucking clue what that was like for me? Watching you collapse and not knowing why, thinking it was something I said, something I did, trying to keep you conscious while strangers strapped you down and took you away?”

You flinch.

Your fingers twitch in the blanket. You want to cry. You don’t.

Instead, you lower your gaze. You stare at the line on the EKG monitor tracing out your heartbeat. You swallow. You nod. A small, broken thing.

Finally, voice barely audible, “I just… didn’t want you to see me like a patient.”

That gets her.

She turns, eyes sharp with disbelief. Her mouth opens like she’s going to yell, but instead, she just laughs a bitter, humorless sound.

“Didn’t want me to see?” she repeats. “I fucking saw, alright. I saw it all. Every fainting spell you brushed off. Every time you said you were fine but you couldn’t get off the couch. Every time I had to adjust to you walking slower, or canceling plans, or spacing out mid-sentence.”

She exhales hard through her nose, pinching the bridge of it. Then softer, but not gentler,

“I’m not stupid. I saw it. I just didn’t realize what it actually was I was seeing.”

You close your eyes. One tear slips out, tracking hot down your temple.

She starts pacing again. Her breathing is ragged, uneven. Her arms cross, then uncross.

“I trusted you,” she says. “And you broke that.”

Her voice cracks again on the word trusted. She covers it with anger.

“Every single time you didn’t tell me, every time you disappeared, every lie by omission, you chose to keep me out. Do you know what that does to someone who loves you? I honestly thought you were cheating at one point. That’s how bad it got.”

You wince. She sees it. Doesn’t let it stop her.

“I kept waiting for you to say something. Anything. But you just kept shutting me out. Do you know what that’s like? To sit across from you at dinner and feel like you’re not even there?”

You’re crying now. Quietly. Barely blinking.

Your voice is dry. Barely more than a breath: “I was scared.”

She stops pacing.

You keep going, halting, cracked, the words bleeding out slow.

“I didn’t want to drag you into it until I was sure I could handle it.”

Her head tilts like she can’t believe what she’s hearing. Her mouth opens. Then,

“Handle it?” she spits. “By nearly dying in front of me?”

She steps forward. Not quite close enough to touch. Her voice is soft, but it cuts deeper that way.

“That’s not handling it. That’s running away.”

You don’t argue. You can’t. There’s no point.

You nod, slowly. A tired, gutted motion. You look at your hands. Then at her. You barely manage a whisper:

“I’m sorry.”

She says nothing for a long moment, eyes flickering from you, to your iv line, to the little sign on the foot of your bed with your charts and your name. 

“I don’t get how you could just do that to me,” she says, pacing near the end of the bed, hands pushing through her hair. Her fingers tremble at the tips. Her voice breaks around the edges like she doesn’t even realize she’s crying again. “How you could let me fall in love with you and not tell me what the hell was going on. I’ve been scared for months, and you just you let me think it was all in my head.”

You flinch, barely. Not because she’s yelling, she’s not anymore, not really, but because the words hit too deep, too raw.

“I mean, do you even get what that did to me?” she goes on. “To think I was losing you and not even know why? I thought I was the crazy one. I thought you didn’t want me anymore. I thought…” Her voice cracks hard there. “I thought maybe I was the one fucking things up.”

You want to say something. Anything. But your throat feels like it’s wrapped in gauze. And there’s a tug in your chest, not sharp, not stabbing, but tight. Like a knot pulled too hard.

“I’ve been blaming myself,” she whispers, wiping her face angrily. “Losing sleep, making excuses for you, for this, when all along you were”

The monitor spikes.

It doesn’t shriek it’s not some movie-style flatline. But the steady beep shifts. Faster. Urgent. The rhythm jagged.

You wince. Your eyelids flutter, the sudden rush of sound dragging you under like a rip current.

Billie stops mid-sentence.

“Hey, hey. No. Look at me.” She’s next to you in an instant, her chair scraping loud against the linoleum as she sits and lunges forward. Her hand finds yours, cold and trembling and fierce.

“Stay with me, okay?” Her voice shakes. “Please, just stay with me.”

Your fingers twitch beneath hers.

You feel like you’re underwater now, everything muffled, too slow and too loud all at once. The fluorescent ceiling light blurs in your vision.

She’s holding your hand so tight now it hurts, but you don’t pull away. Her thumb rubs fast over your knuckles.

“Say something, baby, say anything, please.”

You try.

Your lips part, but nothing comes at first. The effort alone feels like dragging yourself up through mud. But her voice keeps pulling you back. Not yelling anymore. Just quiet and pleading.

“I’m sorry,” she says suddenly, desperate. “I know I’m yelling. I know I’m losing it”

She breaks off again, breath catching.

“I just want you to be honest with me.”

She leans in close, her forehead nearly touching yours. The words come smaller now. Fragile.

“No more hiding. No more secrets.”

You open your eyes. Barely. They’re heavy, but they find hers.

“I’m right here,” she whispers. “We’re going to get through this. Together.”

You manage it. Barely more than a breath, but it’s there.

“I’ll try,” you whisper. “I promise.”

Billie exhales like something inside her finally lets go. She leans in further, thumb brushing away a tear that’s slipped from the corner of your eye. Her palm rests against your cheek. Her hand still shakes.

The monitor slows again, returning to its familiar rhythm.

Eventually, a nurse appears, quiet, gentle, with that soft hospital-worn voice meant not to startle.

“Sorry,” she says kindly, checking the monitor beside you. “Visiting hours are just about over.”

Billie doesn’t respond at first. Just stays where she is, holding your hand like if she lets go something might shatter again. Then she glances up at the nurse, swallows hard, and gives a tiny nod.

She turns back to you.

Her eyes are still rimmed with red, but they’re steadier now. Sharper. Like the fear’s still there, but she’s found a way to carry it.

She leans in one last time and squeezes your hand, hard. A silent message in the pressure.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Billie says, wiping her eyes, forcing a slight smile.

You nod.

Her face softens. Still lined with hurt, but there’s something else there now. Something fierce. Protective. Something that says this isn’t over, but neither are you.

She stands slowly.

One last glance. One last look that’s half fury, half love, all tangled and tired and unspoken.

Then she turns, and leaves. 

You don’t remember falling asleep.

It’s quiet. The kind of hush that only exists in hospitals at this time of morning, early, muted, not quite day yet but no longer night. Machines beep steadily beside you. A pulse ox monitor still clips gently to your finger, glowing red like it’s trying to guide you somewhere. Oxygen hums through the cannula under your nose.

You blink slowly against the dim light. The blinds are drawn, just a sliver of early daylight leaking through, painting a pale line across the floor.

Your mouth is dry. Your chest aches, not sharp, but dull, heavy, like you’ve been crying in your sleep. You shift a little. The movement makes every monitor cable tug slightly, a reminder that your body is not your own today. Maybe not for a while.

Your eyes drift to the chair, half expecting Billie, but instead, there’s a folded hoodie on the seat, faded navy, unmistakably Billie’s. The inside of it still smells like her: warm cotton, coconut shampoo, something faintly sharp like her perfume. On top of it is a brown paper takeout bag. Not hospital food. You can already tell. Your stomach flutters, confused by both gratitude and guilt.

There’s also your phone. Charging. A small white cord snakes up to the table, plugged into a charger that clearly wasn’t yours. The sight makes something in your chest twist, tight and fragile. It’s the kind of thing people do when they know someone’s going to be here a while.

Then, resting gently on top of everything, your hoodie, the food, the charger, is the teddy bear.

Tiny. Worn. That stupid little stuffed polar bear Billie bought you in Berlin two years ago, after a rainy afternoon that ended with hot chocolate and her shoving it into your hands with a soft: “he looks like he gets your bullshit.”

You blink. Once. Twice.

And then you see the note.

Folded in half. Just a scrap of plain paper torn from the corner of something else, her handwriting unmistakable, round, messy, rushed. Like she couldn’t get it down fast enough.

You reach for it slowly. Your hand shakes. You hold it like it’s breakable.

Your thumb smooths over the creased paper. And then you read:

“Came in to visit at 7am. You weren’t awake. Looked hot tho ;)”

You don’t even make it halfway through before your throat catches.

Your eyes sting. The laugh that tries to bubble up comes out broken and wet and sounds more like a sob. You blink, hard, and a tear rolls sideways down into your hairline. You press the note to your chest for a second and try to breathe around it.

She’s trying to make you laugh when she should be furious.

She should be yelling still. She should be stomping around this room, rattling IV poles and knocking over chairs and asking you what the hell you were thinking.

Instead, she left you this.

You pull the paper back, fingers trembling, and read the rest:

“Left this all for you. Will be back at lunchtime.

Love you always, nothing changes that.

I’m here and not going anywhere.- Bills x”

Another tear slides down your cheek before you can stop it. You fold the note carefully, holding it like something sacred, and rest it back on top of the bear. You just stare at it for a while, your chest stuttering softly with breath, hand curled around the corner of the blanket.

You whisper, “God, Billie,” into the quiet, your voice hoarse and choked and uneven.

And then you cry, quietly. Without drama. Just a release. Because you don’t deserve this tenderness, but she gave it to you anyway. Because she’s still here. Because you almost left her, and she came back anyway.

You wipe your face with the corner of the blanket. You try to collect yourself. You stare at the bear like it might say something to you. 

The hoodie sits on the chair like it’s waiting for her to come back and wear it again.

You believe her.

She’s coming back.

[dragoneyelashart]

vlogger

fluff ୨ৎ influencer! r x billie a/n: here's some fluff bc i'm in the mood n i love vlogs

the soft light of the late afternoon stretches across your bedroom, filtering through the gauzy curtains in lazy golden streaks that warm everything they touch. the air smells faintly of lavender and vanilla, a quiet reminder of the candle you lit earlier to chase away the last bits of stress from the day. the dogs are nestled at the foot of your shared bed, half-asleep, their steady breathing the gentle soundtrack beneath the low hum of your laptop. you sit cross-legged, the fabric of your sweatpants soft against your skin, your fingers moving automatically over the keyboard as you trim and tweak the latest footage from your tokyo trip vlog.

the screen glows with snippets of your chaotic day, spilled matcha, street food stalls, neon lights blinking like stars come to earth. the edits are almost done, and your tired brain is already thinking about the next video, the next story you want to tell. you’re deep in that comforting zone where everything slows down to the gentle rhythm of creation, when you hear the soft click of the bathroom door opening.

your head tilts up just in time to see billie step into the room, her damp hair curling at the ends, water droplets still clinging to her skin like tiny jewels. she’s wearing one of your oversized hoodies, the sleeves swallowed past her hands, and a pair of loose shorts that make her look impossibly cozy and relaxed. the warm scent of her shampoo mingles with the vanilla candle, making your chest tighten with that familiar fluttery feeling.

“hi,” she says, voice soft and a little sleepy, the way she always sounds just after a shower, like the world is still a little blurry around the edges.

“hey,” you murmur back, lifting the headphones off one ear and setting the laptop aside. your fingers find her hair, brushing it back gently from her face. she melts into your touch, settling herself sideways on the bed and curling into your lap, her cheek resting against your thigh.

you wrap your arms around her, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breath against you, the warmth of her skin through the soft cotton of your hoodie. the dogs shift slightly but don’t move, content to be near you both. the quiet intimacy of the moment wraps around you like a blanket, familiar and comforting.

“what are you working on?” she asks, voice muffled.

“editing the tokyo vlog,” you say, smiling at the memory. “the one where i turned into a human disaster at that tiny cafe.”

she laughs, a sound like sunshine. “matcha massacre, you called it.”

“exactly,” you say, nudging her gently. “it’s almost done. want to see?”

she nods eagerly, her eyes brightening as you pick up your laptop and angle the screen so she can see. she watches the clips with a grin, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your knee.

after a moment, she sits up, pulling her knees to her chest. her cheeks are still pink from the shower steam, and her eyes hold that spark of curiosity that always makes your heart skip. “can i ask you something?” she says softly.

“anything,” you answer without hesitation.

she hesitates, then takes a deep breath. “can you teach me how to make vlogs? like, for when i’m on tour, or traveling. i want to remember everything, but i don’t know where to start. and you’re so good at it.”

your chest warms all over. she wants to learn from you. she trusts you. you close your laptop and reach for the drawer beside the bed, pulling out your favorite camera, the one you carry everywhere, the one that’s been your companion through every adventure.

“of course,” you say, holding it out to her. “i’ll show you everything.”

billie’s eyes widen, and she scoots closer, curiosity lighting up her face. “really?”

“really.” you smile, flipping the camera on so the screen lights up between you.

“okay,” you say, “so this camera does this—”

before you can finish, billie reaches out and presses a button.

“no, billie, don’t touch that idiot—”

you freeze, heart in your throat.

“i'm sorry! did… did i break it?” she whispers, panic flaring in her eyes.

you laugh, the tension breaking. “no, you didn’t break it. but you just set it to slow motion for the next three hours.”

she hides her face against your shoulder, giggling. “i’m terrible.”

“you’re adorable,” you say, brushing your fingers through her damp hair.

you spend the next hour sitting tangled up on the bed, patiently showing her how to hold the camera, explaining the basics, framing, lighting, how to speak naturally, how to capture moments without feeling awkward. she’s a quick learner, and you love the way she watches you with rapt attention, occasionally kissing your hand or squeezing your thigh.

you teach her how to check the battery, how to review footage, how to choose songs that fit the mood. you laugh together when she tries to film herself and the dogs and accidentally ends up with a bunch of blurry nose shots. she’s clumsy and sweet and so eager, and you’re already imagining how beautiful her vlogs will be.

when she finally gets the hang of it, you help her record a little practice clip, her voice soft and a little shy, telling the camera about the day, about how excited she is to learn. you hold her hand at the end and kiss her cheek.

“you’re going to be amazing at this,” you tell her. “i’ll be your biggest fan.”

she smiles, her eyes shining. after patiently walking billie through the basics, you finally hand her the camera and settle beside her, ready to help. she grips it nervously at first, her fingers just barely steady as she holds the device in front of her face. “okay, your turn,” you say softly, smiling encouragingly.

she clears her throat, looking down at the screen and then back up with a shy grin. “um… testing.... testing,” she says into the camera, voice a little unsure but getting more confident with every word. “can you guys see my beautiful girlfriend?”

you laugh quietly, heart swelling as she glances your way, eyes sparkling.

she presses the camera closer to you and leans over to press a sweet, quick kiss on your cheek, right on camera. “there she is,” billie murmurs, her face lighting up as she leans over toward you, camera still rolling. her lips find your cheek first, a soft, sweet kiss that makes your heart do that slow, stupid flutter.

then she looks up at you, eyes shining like they hold a secret just for you. “you’re amazing,” she whispers, voice tender.

without thinking, you close the small gap between you, your lips brushing hers in a kiss that’s slow and warm, full of everything quiet and beautiful in this moment. the camera tilts slightly as she shifts closer, laughter bubbling between kisses.

“okay, okay,” she giggles, pulling back just enough to smirk. “definitely getting the hang of this.”

you grin, brushing your nose against hers. “best vlog intro ever.”

taglist: @amara-eilish @bilswifee @iamnicoke @jayjaywetforbils @bittersuitekim @bxllxebxtch @bitchesbrokenpromises @ijustlovemaths @ilovealiceosemann @bilssturns @peytonneilish @chrissv4mp @too-sapphic-to-function | send an ask or comment if you want to be added to my taglist!

[chrissv4mp]

♱ IN THEIR SECOND-HAND SMOKE

warnings. angst, smoking and drinking (mentioned not glamorized), secondhand smoke exposure, language.

synopsis. you tag along to what's supposed to be a calm movie night with a group of mutual friends—including billie, who's laughing and having a good time. it gets overwhelming quickly, and billie's the first to notice your discomfort.

words. 2.7k

letters. projecting once again, don't we love that 🙂‍↕️ anyway, blowing smoke in someone's face is never okay!! especially if they're clean and have been for a while.

you don't know how billie convinced you to come out tonight.

well... that's actually a lie.

you know exactly how.

"c'mon," she'd said, leaning against her car like she was posing for the cover of some magazine. "you're not gonna stay home and sulk in bed, right? get in or i might just have to kidnap you."

you tried to protest. tried. but she looked too good in your hoodie with her silver hair falling over her shoulders, and you've always been weak for the way she grins like she knows you're gonna say yes.

so you did.

now you're riding shotgun in her car, windows cracked just enough to let in the breeze, music low but heavy in the speakers—something lazy with a loud bass, something with a beat that matches the rhythm of billie's fingers tapping on the steering wheel.

she's got one hand on the steering wheel, the other draped out of the open window, rings flashing each time she passes by a streetlight. her head moves a little with the music, and every now and then she sings a line under her breath, off-key on purpose just to make you laugh.

"you're quiet," she observes. "nervous?"

"no," you lie.

billie chuckles. "you're the worst liar ever, baby."

you shrug, biting back a nervous smile. "just... haven't hung out with all of them at once before."

"they're cool," she says, making a left turn with one hand like it's second nature. "loud. very carefree. but cool. calm."

nodding, you turn your head to stare out the window, watching as houses and gas stations blur by. she lets the silence sit for a second, then turns the volume down a little more.

"you don't have to stay if you're not feelin' it," she murmurs gently. "we can leave whenever."

you glance over at her, stunned a bit by the way the purple streetlights illuminates her eyes. "yeah?"

"yeah," she repeats, eyes still on the road. "i got you."

you don't realize how much those three little words mean until they leave her mouth. i got you. and you believe her, trust her with everything she says.

she pulls up outside the house not long after. lights glowing warm through the front windows, someone's voice already echoing faintly from inside. the porch is lit up dimly, shoes scattered on the steps, a broken speaker sitting on a rocking chair by the door.

billie grabs her keys, glancing at you. "you ready?"

you nod.

she leads the way in, easy and confident, and instantly blends in with everyone like she's done this a hundred times—which she probably has. she daps someone up, hugs another, tosses a playful insult over her shoulder to someone else, and then circles her way back to you.

"you good?" she asks, quieter now, fingers brushing yours.

you smile. "yeah."

and you mean it.

it's not bad, honestly. someone puts on a movie, half the group argues about what candy's the best, jay starts a dumb game of "would you rather" that derails into something stupid and funny. you settle into the couch beside billie, your knees brushing each other, and for the first time in a while, it feels like you can actually breathe.

she's laughing, cracking jokes, poking fun at people in that playful way she does where no one ever really gets mad. you even join in once or twice.

it's cool.

until it's not.

the room's dim now, lit mostly by the glow of the tv playing another movie. it smells like popcorn, cheap body spray, and the strong, sharp twist of smoke that clings to your clothes before you even realize it.

you're on the edge of the couch, legs tucked underneath you, trying to focus on the movie nobody's watching. or maybe the snacks nobody's touched. or literally anything besides how out of place you feel now.

billie shifted onto the floor just in front of you a few minutes ago, back against the foot of the loveseat a few feet away, legs stretched out, hands holding a water bottle unlike everyone else. her laugh cuts through the dialogue on screen—warm and real, like she's still genuinely having fun.

"yo, you ever seen someone trip over air before?" jordan laughs, nudging billie with his foot.

"dude, you fuckin' did that last week," she grins, punching his leg. "you can't say anything after that."

everyone bursts out laughing. you try to join in, try to even crack a smile, but it doesn't quite land in your chest in the way it does for all of them.

mya takes a hit from her spot near the front door, inhaling. then exhaling—but she looks away like she doesn't want it to get in anyone's face even though she's across the room. you hug your knees to your chest, hiding your chin and mouth and trying to focus on the movie again.

you're not judging. you get it. they're doing what they want because they can—because they're not kids anymore, and you certainly aren't one either. but it's still weird—watching someone light up, watching smoke curl from between their fingers while everyone acts like it's just background noise. the room feels way smaller now. tighter. like your lungs are already pulling away.

jay laughs. some girl—who you don't the name of—passes a drink, and you're pretty sure it's not non-alcoholic.

you press your tongue against the roof of your mouth, trying to ground yourself. it's not the smoking, not really. you're used to being around people who do stuff like this. what's getting to you is something deeper, something quieter—how easy it is for everyone else. how natural they all seem. how loud you feel inside even though you haven't said a word in fifteen minutes.

you hardly notice when ethan—the guy beside mya—takes a drag, inhaling easily. you notice, you just don't say anything. just shift a little.

it's fine. you're okay.

until billie's mid-laugh, tossing popcorn into mya's mouth across the room, and jordan—the guy sitting too close—leans in with a lazy smile and exhales a thick stream of smoke right across your face.

you freeze.

he didn't mean to. or, at least, you don't think he did.

your eyes burn. not bad. just enough.

but it's not about that.

it's the way it feels. uninvited. like you're not even there. like you're suddenly not part of the inside joke anymore. like the room shrank and your voice disappeared somewhere under the laughs of your friends and the noise of it all.

your hand twitches around your legs. you keep your expression neutral, trained. you look away.

and that's when billie goes quiet.

you don't even realize she's looking at you until the laughter dies down in her throat. she turns her head, observing you, eyebrows knitting together just slightly. the way her body shifts, the way she sits up straighter—it's immediate.

she saw it.

she practically felt it.

"yo, hey," she says. not loud. not angry. but the energy in the room changes in the room instantly.

"was that supposed to be funny?" billie asks, sharp but calm as she stands up.

jordan blinks, brows furrowing. "what?"

"blowing that in her face," she clarifies. "was that a joke?"

he holds his hands up, defensive now. there's a faint smirk on his face, like he thinks it's funny. "it wasn't like that, billie. chill out."

billie doesn't respond right away. just shakes her head and looks at him like she's trying to figure out if he's really worth it. then she turns back to you.

the room goes silent after that, actors on tv talking lowly in the back as everybody just stands there frozen—tense. you shift on the couch, a bit surprised at how quickly she noticed—how fast her mood changed. you're not used to people stepping in like that.

her eyes stay trained on you as she walks over, leaning close and speaking quieter. just for you. "wanna go?"

you nod. "yeah. okay."

billie doesn't say anything else, just nods. she grabs your hand gently, helps you up, and leads you out of the house—no goodbyes, no explanation, not even a last glance. like just looking at jordan would set her off.

outside, the air hits different. it smells like wet pavement and fresh air. not the stuffy smoke inside.

without a word, billie pulls her hoodie over her head and tosses it at you, eyes soft.

once you're both in the car, you just sit there for a few moments. silent. letting the whole thing process in both of your brains. then billie turns to you, sticking her key in the ignition and twisting it—the car roaring to life.

"you looked like you couldn't breathe," she murmurs, eyes on you the whole time. after a moment, she adds, "for a while."

you exhale, finally.

"i couldn't," you say, trying to laugh it off. it doesn't work.

she nods once. "then let's not go back."

the engine hums beneath you, and for a second neither of you moves. then she glances at the dashboard clock flashing the numbers 11:27 and breathes in through her nose like she's grounding herself.

"...we could get slurpees if you want to," she asks suddenly. "or we could just... y'know, drive around for a bit. but seven eleven's open still open."

there's a hitch in her voice. something softer. more unsure than usual. like she's still a little rattled, like she's mad at herself for not noticing sooner.

"yeah," you mutter. "that sounds good."

"cool," she mumbles, shifting the car into gear. "coolcoolcool."

she keeps one hand on the wheel, the other spinning the rings on her fingers. you reach over after a moment, linking your pinky with hers, and her shoulders drop. just a little.

the drive's quiet, but it's not the awkward kind. it's soft. safe. her music plays low again—something more calm now, something like frank ocean or amy winehouse—and the world outside blurs into neon signs and stoplights and the distant sound of sirens slicing through all the other noise of los angeles.

by the time you roll into the 7/11 parking lot, she's finally started to breathe normally again. the tightness in her jaw loosened, shoulders more relaxed, and she's looking over at you with the faintest smirk on her lips.

"race you inside," she says, like she's trying to restart the night. make it better.

"you're gonna lose," you shoot back, already unbuckling.

billie bolts out of the car before you finish your sentence, her jordans stomping against the pavement. you chase her in, both of you laughing now, for real this time.

inside, it's too bright and too cold, and everything smells like cleaning supplies and hot dogs that have been spinning for six hours too long. but it doesn't matter. you stand shoulder-to-shoulder at the slurpee machine, half-fighting over who gets the cherry flavor first.

"mine's gonna be prettier," she says in that baby voice that always has you laughing, tongue out, layering blue raspberry and coke in uneven layers.

"you mean uglier?"

billie frowns in faux sadness. "you're mean."

she pays for the slurpees—you try to argue, but she ignores you completely—and then you both head back outside, finding a spot on the curb our front, backs pressed against the concrete wall of the building.

the night hums around you. headlights pass in waves. someone blasts music at a red light, windows down, bass shaking the pavement.

billie slurps loudly. obnoxiously.

you elbow her.

she grins, glancing at you. "feelin' better yet?"

"kind of," you shrug. and then, after a pause: "i feel a little stupid, though. childish."

her head turns, full attention on you now. "what?"

"i don't know," you murmur. "like, it wasn't that big of a deal. i should be normal about it, like... like everyone else is. they just laugh and move on, act like it's funny. and i just... i don't know, i just shut down."

you sip your drink, eyes fixed on the traffic. "makes me feel like i'm missing out or something. or, like... something's wrong with me."

you don't even hear her move, but suddenly her hand is on your knee, the other slung over your shoulder and pulling you close.

"hey," she says. quiet. firm. "there's nothing wrong with you."

you glance at her. she looks serious. kind, but still firm.

"that wasn't normal. it wasn't right," she says. "what he did. none of that shit was funny. none of it was okay. and if it made you uncomfortable, then that's real. that matters. don't let anyone make you feel weird for having boundaries."

you nod slowly, eyes stinging—not from the smoke this time, but from something warmer. something softer.

billie squeezes your knee.

"i should've said something sooner," she adds, looking down. guilt in her tone. "i saw it on your face and i just waited. "

"you didn't wait that long," you mumble.

"long enough."

"you got me out."

she softens again, eyes meeting yours. "always."

you sit there for a while longer, finishing your slurpees, letting the city move around you, time passing slowly. the world keeps going, but for now—it's just you and her.

then billie nudges your knee with hers. "ready?"

you nod, and she stands, stretching her arms above her head with a yawn that makes you do the same. she watches you for a second, then tosses her empty cup into a nearby garbage before you both head back to the car.

once you're inside, she scrolls through music on her phone for a second, then taps something. the first few notes of the song you both love equally fill the space between you two—some by steve lacy.

billie hums along at first, fingers drumming lightly on the leather steering wheel. the streets are quiet now, less noise, more calm. then, as the verse flows in, she starts to sing—barely above a whisper. just soft enough for you it to reach your ears.

not loud. not dramatic. just smooth and low. like she's trying to soothe herself, and ends up soothing you in the process.

you don't speak. don't tease. don't do anything except listen.

her voice fills the space between you, warm and steady, and it's like all the leftover tension building in your chest through the night starts to fade, unraveling. bit by bit. like she's carrying it for you, even without realizing it.

your head tips toward the window. eyelids flutter shut.

by the time she pulls into the driveway, you're already halfway gone.

she glances over, putting the car into park and killing the engine before talking. "you okay?" her voice is barely louder than her singing.

you nod, slow and tired. "mhm. thanks."

she locks the car behind you as you both head up the porch steps. she doesn't say much—doesn't have to. she just stays close, her fingers brushing yours every few steps.

the house is dim inside. quiet. comfortable.

you toe off your shoes and just stand there for a moment. your body's heavy, the emotional weight of the night finally catching up.

billie watches you, then opens her arms without a word.

and you step right into them.

no jokes. no sarcasm. just the warmth of her hoodie against your cheek and her arms wrapping around your waist, holding you together.

"bed?" she murmurs. you shake your head, pulling away from her reluctantly to drag her over to the couch.

you both collapse onto it, limbs tangled up, your body draping over hers like you're made to fit there. she welcomes you. runs a steady hand through your hair, fingers scratching your scalp softly.

the jingle of a collar catches your attention, head rising a little from billie's neck.

shark comes first, big paws tapping on the floor before he hops up and settles into the crook of your knees. brutus follows a few steps behind, letting out a dramatic huff, curling up at your feet, his big head pressed against billie's ankle.

you shift slightly, eyes already closed. "thank you," you hum.

billie leans down, presses a kiss to your temple. "'course."

there's no more words said after that.

just the gentle sounds of her breathing under you, the soft beating of her heart, the warmth of her dogs curled close, and the quiet hum of the world finally calming down.

you're comfortable.

finally.

tags. @mseilishmwah @sophloveswomen @love4madii @livvydunneness @partyf4vor @wiidfi0wer33 @loving1dsworld @tan1shere @fallingforfalll2 @cierraonline @dandelions4us @scarlittt @ifwdominicfike @slxtarchive @bilsdillldough @47lake @hopingforgoodblogs @mybluebossanova @strwberrybils @justtr @greenbttrflyy @billsbaby @bilsova @lottiepierce @northlndnisred @asterisk-eyes @dragoneyelashart @xxangelfarrlzxx @ilomiloblohshh @kittymarrow @meliciousmel13 @jul3esz @rightarion @svelish @eilishssiennaa @eeuni @dragoneyelashart @thinkshespretty @cnnibalize @canthelpit0 @hailwiggly @karaaeilish @bilswifee @drunkinyourbenz @aka-persephone @bitchesbrokenpromises @jayjaywetforbils @slvt4subchratt @cantlandonmyfeet

[billsxmm]

Passenger princess. (b.e.)

bsf!billie x fem!reader

warnings. slight smut, not proof read. (sorry for poor language in some places.)

—————

One moonlit night, your best friend took you out to go on a ride, as you often did. it was 3AM, dark outside, only the yellowish soft, street lights coating the cars interior through the windows. some quiet music coming from the radio.

billie had one of her hands on the gear panel, and the other gripping the steering wheel. the watch on her wrist glistening a little, as she looked over at you from the passenger seat. the windows were slightly down, as the cool air breezes through your hair, as she watched you, her eyes sparkling. you were so pretty.

billie always been attracted to you, of course- you were gorgeous, but to add to it, you had the sweetest personality ever. and she knew and saw it from the first time she laid her eyes on you, even if unfortunately, that day, 2 years ago, she got to know about your boyfriend, she still couldn’t help but fall in love. she didn’t care about your stupid boyfriend.. she could treat you so much better.

and now her soft fingers gripping your thigh, going just slightly under your skirt, didn’t help at all.. she was nervous, scared to push too much, even if you two had always been touchy. but you never seemed to mind one bit. slightly spreading your legs for her hand.

billie looked at the empty road in front of them again, that shit-eating grin on her pretty face.. as she slowly moved her hand higher up your thigh. she was toying with the fabric of your skirt, so nonchalantly, if she isn’t already shaking herself.

she hit the brakes, speeding up. exactly like your heart. you loved when she went fast. you would go anywhere she takes you..

one moment, and you felt her hand reach the lace of your panties, her fingertips against your heat, as you let out that soft whimper. it was over for her. next thing you know, the car was stopped, and her leaning over to you.

“Backseat.” she whispered, her tone laced with desire, like she couldn’t wait to have you. the look in her eyes told you everything you needed to know.

Oh, this was gonna be a long night..

[drunkinyourbenz]

soft smut with bils?

୨ৎ can't sleep? b.e

୨ৎ billie eilish x fem!reader

୨ৎ genre: smut and fluff

୨ৎ content: sleepy smut, fingering, thigh riding, scissoring, pathetic sub top billie if you squint (shut up i'm in love with her i can't live without her)

୨ৎ note: hi i'm alive

୨ৎ wc: 1.8k

billie was busy making her album–it was a lot of work for her, and she was at finneas' house in his home studio almost every hour of every day. it often made her home late, but you didn’t mind. you'd visited them around 11am and had lunch with them and claudia, but you left after a few hours to feed you and billie's dog, shark. 

it was now almost midnight, and you were half asleep in you and billie's shared bed. you'd been trying to stay awake, wanting to see her when she got home. the book you had been reading was discarded to the side, and your phone sat on the nightstand, a soft glow emitting from it whenever you got a notification you were too tired to check.

billie finally arrived home, pulling her car into the driveway and parking. it wasn’t common for her to end up recording this late, but it was needed─she only hoped you hadn't waited up. she didn't want you to stay up just for her. she made her way toward the front door, quickly unlocking it and stepping inside.

slipping off her shoes at the door, which she shut quietly so as not to wake you in the hopes you were asleep. she placed her bag down on a stool in the kitchen and found shark, giving him a quick pat and a forehead kiss. she didn’t turn on any lights, instead relying on the soft light glowing from the window. she walked down the hallway, gently pushing your shared bedroom door open and peeking inside.

your head lifted off the pillow slightly the second you heard the door of your bedroom open, and a smile spread across your face. "get over here."

billie's eyes landed on you, and a fond smile graced her lips at the sight of you in bed. she fully entered the room and slowly walked over to the bed, slipping off her clothes from the day and pulling an oversized shirt over her head.

"bossy, hm?"

you simply roll your eyes fondly at her, silently holding your arms out, gesturing for her to join you under the covers.

a cheeky smirk tugged at her lips, teasingly pretending to ponder on obeying your command for a few seconds, before she eventually gave in. she needed to feel your arms around her more than anything, of course. she walked over to the bed after placing her clothes on the chair by the vanity. she slid under the covers with you, quickly wrapping her arms around you and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"hi, pretty," she murmured into your ear, her voice slightly gravelly from exhaustion. 

you smiled, nuzzling my face into the crook of her neck and mumbling sleepily, "hi, my love. missed you."

her smile only widened at your words, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead, “you saw me a few hours ago.” 

“still missed you. plus, it was eleven hours.”

a soft hum left her lips, “mhm. i missed you too, by the way. ‘m sorry i got home so late.”

you just shake your head, “you don’t need to apologize, it’s okay.”

the two of you fell into a comfortable silence wrapped up in each other’s arms, but something was holding you back from sleep. your eyes drifted to the analog clock on the nightstand, where the digital red numbers glowed ‘12:34’.

billie was still, so you closed your eyes. you opened them minutes later, feeling restless—despite being ready to pass out before billie got home. 

a soft sigh slipped from your lips, and billie’s arms shifted slightly around you. her lips were pressed gently against the bare skin of your shoulder when she spoke, her thumb tracing the ghosts of circles on your thigh.  “can’t sleep?” 

you shook your head softly, voice coming out in a sleepy murmur, "mhm. you too?"

a low hum of agreement left her lips, “don’t know why…” she shifted slightly, her hand resting gently on your waist as she traced shapes—they felt like stars—on your skin through the thin fabric of your clothes. 

the two of you remained like that for a few long moments, before her lips brushed your skin again as she whispered, “need a distraction?” her hand tugged ever so gently on the fabric of your shirt, so slight that it almost slipped your attention—but you noticed. 

you smiled at the clear implications in her words, “i do, but i’m so sleepy.”

a faint laugh left her lips, “that’s okay, i’ll do all the work.”

the smile on your lips widened at her words, you both knew that billie could easily spend hours pleasing you.  “hm, always so good f’me.” 

her hands travelled over the body she knew so well, giving one of your tits a teasing squeeze on the way down your body, propping herself up with her elbow as she hooked her index finger in the waistband of your underwear under your sleep shorts, pulling both down in one easy movement. 

leaning down, she pressed a soft kiss to your stomach, then your thighs, and then her fingers dipped between your folds. the moan you let out was so soft, so half asleep, that she almost came right then and there. it made her slip one finger inside you, shifting slightly so she was more comfortable. the moans you let out were so perfect, so enticing, and she slipped another finger inside you easily, scissoring them inside of you. she watched the way your face scrunched up in pleasure, and decided that sleepy sex with you was officially one of her favourite things. 

bringing her thumb to your clit, she circled it a few times, before her movements changed. you were too sleepy to realise she was spelling her own name on your clit, but she knew. she knew, and it was enough to make her clench her thighs together needily. the thrusts of her fingers were slower than usual, since she too was exhausted, but that somehow made it better. it was achingly slow, soft, and sweet. 

the feeling of her fingers inside you paired with her thumb on your clit and the sleepy fogginess of your mind made you let out another moan, your head falling to the side on the pillow and letting your half lidded eyes lock with her piercing blue ones. 

the eye contact just made everything better, and you groaned. “fuck–bils, baby–” 

her lips twitched up, “gonna cum f’me?” 

you nodded drowsily, and seconds later, she’d sent you over the edge. your head fell back onto the pillow again, although your eyes travelled to the ceiling this time as you exhaled softly. 

you were shaken out of your slight trance when you felt billie shift slightly, the familiar feeling of her grinding against your thigh making you lift your head again to watch her for a moment. she was just wearing an oversized t-shirt and underwear, what she usually wore to bed. your eyes were fixed on her for a moment, and the corner of your lips curled upwards when you took in just how needy she was for you. 

“baby?” 

her eyes finally looked up, half lidded with the pupils dilated. “mhm?” 

“take them off, sweet girl.” 

she did so instantly, without hesitation, lifting her hips from your thigh so she could tug her underwear down her thigh. she automatically rested back on your thigh, but you spoke before she could continue riding it. 

“no, baby. come closer.” your hand reached up and you gently guided her until her pussy was hovering over yours. 

billie’s eyes instantly widened in recognition the moment she realised what you were getting at, and she wasted no time in moving closer so that your core met hers, her head falling back and a choked moan leaving her mouth. “god, baby–” 

the two of you were grinding slowly against each other, still too tired to be moving with the usual vigour, especially after you’d already had one orgasm—but that didn’t make it any less passionate. 

her eyes were fixed on the way her soaked pussy moved against yours, but they drifted up to your face for a moment, watching the way you were still propped up on your elbows slightly. “lay back, baby. relax. i’ll take care of you.” 

you did just that, relaxing back into the pillows, although you were still watching her closely. the miniscule changes in her facial expression whenever your clits bumped together made the coil in your abdomen tighten. her dark hair fell in a curtain around her shoulders, and the soft glow of light from the ever so slightly parted curtains reflected like a halo around her head. she was the most gorgeous person you’d ever met—in this moment and all others. you watched her eyelashes flutter against her cheeks, and a groan left your slightly parted lips. 

“making me feel so good, baby.” 

she let out a whine, grinding slightly faster while her brows furrowed in concentration, bottom lip caught gently between her teeth. “i’m gonna–” 

you weren’t sure which one of you had reached the edge first, all you were conscious of was the intense pleasure building and finally snapping, and the feeling of both of your cum dripping down your thighs. 

your eyes automatically fluttered shut with pleasure, but you forced them open and they snapped to billie’s face, wanting to watch the way her own face contorted in pleasure. billie’s own eyes were shut, her head angled back as she breathed deeply, and you looked at the way the light lit up the column of her neck, and the slight peak of her collarbones that her oversized shirt allowed you to see. she wasn’t wearing a bra under the shirt, so you could see the outline of her breasts and the way they heaved with each breath she took.  her hair was messy and cascading down behind her, a little splayed over her face. 

never had you wanted to capture a moment more—you wanted the blissed out look in her eyes engraved into your brain, and you almost could have came again from the sight alone. 

once she’d ridden out her high, she collapsed on top of you with a heavy sigh, one of her thighs still slotted in between your own like a puzzle piece. nuzzling her head into the crook of your neck, her lips ghosting over your collarbones as she inhaled your scent deeply. 

“think you can sleep now?” you murmured, gazing at her figure clinging onto you in the darkness of your room. 

the only response you got was a sleepy murmur and billie nuzzling closer to you, and you smiled. your lips found the top of her head, and your arm draped loosely around her waist. 

“i love you.”

୨ৎ taglist. @47lake @st0nerlesb0 @n0vabug @darkside-0f-the-sun @asterisk-eyes @amara-eilish @dragoneyelashart @greenbttrflyy send an ask or commet here to be added <3

[vi-steponmeplease]

THE HILLS

REQUEST: billie filthy smut pleaseeee

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

pairings - fwb!billie x fem!reader

genre - smut

synopsis: as the rules of your casual friends-with-benefits arrangement with billie blur, one night in a hotel room becomes a turning point neither of you expected.

tw: domtop!billie, subbottom!reader, praise kink, strap (r!receiving), light choking, hair pulling, situationship/fwb.

word count: 1.2K

found out i was comin', sent your friends home keep on tryna hide it, but your friends know

⟡

i only call you when it's half-past five the only time i'd ever call you mine

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

You're not entirely sure how it led to this moment—your back arched, face buried in the pillows to muffle your cries of pleasure, eyes rolling back as waves of euphoria overtake you.

Her hips ram into yours with rapid, intoxicating thrusts, her hands exploring your body—one gripping your hip firmly while the other threads through your hair, tugging your head back and forcing your spine to arch even deeper.

"Fuck, you feel so good."

You're not even sure you heard her right—your ears have been ringing for the past ten minutes. Nevertheless, you don’t really care what she said, as long as she keeps doing what she’s doing. Your body moves on its own, writhing in ecstasy, while your mind drifts helplessly in a sea of pleasure.

Your skin glistens with sweat, a testament to how long the two of you have been at this. The last thing you remember is calling her from the analog phone on the nightstand, telling her to meet you at the hotel where you’re staying.

This has become a bit of a routine for you both—whenever one of you feels needy, you call the other for a discreet hookup. It’s nothing official, so you’re forced to sneak around, careful not to get caught by her fans.

Her navy strap is one you've grown unbelievably accustomed to, just like the feeling of her calloused hands roaming your body, never neglecting a single inch.

"Billie, fuck!" you gasp, her groan vibrating in your ear as her body presses tightly against yours, her thrusts growing sloppier. Her breasts press firmly against your back, drawing a guttural moan from deep within you. "I'm close, so close—" Your bottom lip is caught between your teeth as your hand flies up to grip the headboard, desperate for something to ground you. "Please."

Billie curses under her shaky breath, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you even closer, her hips driving into you with relentless force. Her pace quickens, her face contorting in pleasure as the strap hits her just right.

"Please what?" she grunts, her free hand cupping your left breast, squeezing just enough to elicit a whimper before sliding up to wrap around your neck. The cold silver of her rings contrasts starkly with your hot, sweaty skin.

You almost want to beg her to slow down—your pussy throbbing from the punishing rhythm—but you're too consumed by the moment, lost in the delirium of her fake cock filling you so perfectly.

"P-Please, faster," you manage to whimper, your lips parting as tears well in your eyes. You bite down on your wrist, trying to stifle the desperate sounds spilling from your mouth, but she quickly moves your hand away. She wants to hear—no, revel in—the pretty noises you make for her.

A breathy moan escapes her lips as she inches closer to her own release, her hands gripping your hips tightly to steady herself while her pace grows more frantic. "Such a good fucking girl," she breathes, her sultry tone alone enough to send you spiraling. "You take me so well."

You’re not sure how the two of you haven’t received a noise complaint yet, given how long this has been going on—though what feels like hours is probably closer to forty-five minutes.

Billie’s hand trails down your body, her skilled fingers finding your sensitive clit and stroking it with practiced precision, drawing out another throaty moan from your parted lips. Before the sound can fully escape, her free hand clamps over your mouth, only to slip her thumb past your lips. Instinctively, you wrap your lips around it, your tongue grazing the pad of her thumb as she watches with a smirk.

Instinctively, you push your hips back, grinding against the silicone cock in a silent plea for more—for her to fill you so completely that it drives you to scream her name until it echoes through the room.

Sensing your impending release, Billie suddenly pulls out, flipping you onto your back with practiced ease. She pushes your legs up, your knees pressed against your chest, before slamming into you again without hesitation. The new angle sends shockwaves through your body, arching your back and pulling even louder cries from your lips.

Her thumb finds your clit again, rubbing in fast, deliberate circles as she watches you squirm beneath her. She mentally savors the sight, basking in the knowledge that only she can undo you like this.

Part of your arrangement had been to avoid talking about any other hookups during your downtime, but truthfully, Billie hasn’t been with anyone else since this began. No one gives her the same electric rush that you do. And though she’d never say it out loud, she’s certain no one else can make you feel the way she does—and maybe, just maybe, she’s a little proud of that.

Your hands slide up her damp chest, squeezing her breasts before trailing behind her neck to pull her closer. She doesn’t know exactly what compels her to brush her lips over yours—a kiss that’s both needy and tender. It catches you off guard; you’ve never kissed her before. Ironic, considering all the other obscene things you’ve done together, but kissing always felt like crossing a line into something more intimate.

But right now, you couldn’t care less.

Your fingers thread through her hair, brushing it out of her face as your lips move in perfect sync. The kiss is charged, igniting a spark that sends a shiver down your spine. Not only is she amazing at fucking you, but, God, she’s an incredible kisser too.

A familiar knot tightens in your stomach, making you grind down against her desperately. A moan escapes her lips, and that’s your breaking point. Your back arches off the bed as your orgasm crashes over you in waves, leaving you gasping for air.

Billie watches you unravel beneath her, and the sight alone sends her over the edge. A loud groan rips from her throat, her usual care for discretion abandoned as the walls of the hotel room bear witness. Slowly, she pulls out, leaving you with an aching emptiness that only intensifies your sensitivity. She collapses beside you, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she struggles to catch her breath.

"Fuck, that was..."

“Intense?” you finish for her, a breathless chuckle escaping as you sit up, wincing at the soreness in your legs.

“Something like that.” She climbs off the bed, removing the strap before making her way to the bathroom. Pausing at the door, she glances back at you, her pink lips pursed slightly. “You wanna rinse off?”

“Together?” you ask, eyebrows knitting in confusion. She responds with a shrug and a simple nod before disappearing into the bathroom. Curiosity and the promise of warm water drive you to follow her.

Aftercare from Billie isn’t something you ever expected. It was never part of the unspoken rules of your agreement, a dynamic that thrived on boundaries and the title of “friends with benefits.”

But something feels different—like a rope has snapped inside her, loosening the rules she’d held so firmly. Because right now, in this fleeting moment, you’re not just a casual fling.

You’re hers.

[hometobeer]

boyfriend billie eilish 𓆩♡𓆪

[maiya-was-here]

this is so fucking awesome.

[bills5lut]

talk to me

masterlist prompt list

warnings: very slight smut at first (not enjoyed by reader, so please if you are not comfortable with that do not read), degradation, safe wording, angst, fluff

synopsis: billie takes her frustration out on you during sex, pushing past your comfort until you safeword. she walks off, emotionally distant, but later returns to give you tender, genuine aftercare.

note: had lots of requests for this, so here u go. again, some might find parts of this uncomfortable and if so please dont read <3

The tiles are slick beneath your feet. Steam swirls around the glass like smoke, curling and twisting as water pelts your skin in steady, stinging rivulets. It should feel warm. Safe. Familiar. But all you feel is the brutal rhythm of her hips, and the sharp edge of something you can’t quite name twisting deeper inside your chest with every thrust.

Your back’s pressed to the cold wall, one leg hiked high over Billie’s hip. Her fingers are bruising into your thigh, holding it there like a threat. She’s not even kissing you. Her mouth is near your skin, but not touching, just hovering, speaking into your flesh like she’s whispering to herself. Her other hand is gripping your thigh, nails digging in, guiding your body into hers as she uses you for the friction. You can feel it, she’s grinding her own clit against the harness, getting herself off on your body like you’re a thing. A tool. And maybe you are. Right now.

You don’t even know what you did wrong. Not really. You’ve felt her pulling away for days, brushing off your touches, going hours without texting, sighing when you try to talk during her mixes. You told yourself it was just stress, the album, the pressure. But now, it feels personal. And you’re naked in her hands, pinned and used, and it’s never felt more distant.

“Jesus.” Billie growls, barely loud enough to be heard over the hiss of the water. Her breath is hot against your ear. “Always whining for attention, always clinging. This is the only time you shut the fuck up.”

Her hand clamps over your mouth without warning.

You flinch, not enough to make her stop, but just enough that your knee wobbles against the tension in your thigh. Billie catches it like a reflex, shoving her hips up harder.

“So much better when you’re like this,” she breathes, her voice low and hot. “Not whining, not clinging. Just taking it.”

Your breath jerks through your nose. You make a sound into her palm, not pleasure, not really. But it doesn’t seem to register for her. She keeps fucking into you, harder now, sharper, like each thrust is meant to empty something out of her. The slap of wet skin echoes harshly in the glassed-in shower. You’re not sure if she’s doing this to get off or to punish you.

Tears are already stinging your eyes, hot and raw. You think it started a while ago, maybe a minute after she started saying those things. Maybe longer. You’re not even sure what triggered it, only that the pleasure’s gone. It slipped out between your legs and down the drain, lost in the steam and confusion and the ache in your chest.

Your mouth curls beneath her hand. Your eyes squeeze shut.

Billie groans against your neck, voice low and guttural. “God, I could almost believe you’re enjoying this. You like it, don’t you? Just a pathetic little toy, dripping all over me for nothing.”

Your body’s trembling. Not from climax. Not even from effort. Just shaking. Shame burns in your throat, mixing with the tears that keep silently tracking down your cheeks, washed away by the relentless rain of the showerhead. 

You try to swallow the sob building in your throat. But it cracks, leaking into the air like a broken note. Billie thinks it’s a moan. Her grip tightens.

“You like this, don’t you?” she murmurs, rocking harder into you. “Filthy little thing. You just want to be used. Don’t need love, just this, right?”

You shake your head, eyes unsure of who it is you’re looking at right now, the figure in front of you unfamiliar.

“Bet if I left you here like this, dripping and fucked out, you’d just cry and rub one out without me, huh? That’s what you’re like now?”

You can’t take it. You try to twist your mouth under her hand, try to find enough space to speak.

“Mmmf”

She doesn’t stop. Doesn’t listen.

You force it out.

“Red,” you gasp, barely audible against her palm. “Billie. I said red.”

Everything stops.

Not like a crash, not urgent, not dramatic. Just a subtle pause. A frown flickers across her face. Her hips still inside you, strap buried to the hilt, body pressed tight against yours. Her hand falls away from your mouth slowly, like she’s just now tuning into the sound.

“What?” she says, flatly. Her voice isn’t panicked. Just distant. Confused.

Your eyes are wide now, lips trembling. “Red,” you whisper again, broken and hoarse. “Please stop.”

The water runs between you. Soaks your hair. Pounds against the floor in a growing sense of silence.

Billie blinks. Then nods once, curt and automatic.

“Yep,” she mutters. “Yep. Sorry.”

She pulls out fast, not violently, just detached. The absence leaves you gasping. You almost slide down the wall when she lets go of your thigh, the burn of it immediate as your leg returns to the floor and buckles slightly under your weight. She turns the shower off without looking at you. The sudden quiet is deafening. Then she’s gone.

You blink at the shower door, half expecting her to come back, but no. She’s already stepped out, water dripping from her arms as she grabs a towel from the rack and disappears out the bathroom door. She doesn’t say anything else.

You’re left there, soaked, empty, and trembling.

The cold hits you first. Without the water, the tile is icy against your feet. You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to catch your breath, to slow the shaking. It doesn’t work. You dry off slowly, mechanically, the towel too rough against your flushed, sensitive skin. You try not to look at yourself in the mirror. Everything feels blurry.

In the bedroom, Billie’s already dressed. Oversized tee, her damp hair raked back and still dripping onto the fabric. She’s curled up on her side of the bed, phone in hand, thumb scrolling, the screen casting cool blue light against her face. You don’t say anything as you cross to the dresser.

You try to keep your movements quiet, like maybe if you’re careful, she won’t notice you. The towel slips once around your hips, and you bite your lip to stop another tear from falling. Your fingers fumble with the drawer pull as you grab an old pair of pajamas, your arms shaking as you pull the shirt on.

You turn to her finally, barely able to make your voice come out.

“Bills?”

She doesn’t look up immediately. Then her gaze slides to you, unreadable.

“Yeah?”

You swallow.

“…Can I have a hug?”

Billie’s face shifts. Just slightly. Her lips part, but nothing comes out at first. Then she sets her phone down, lets out a breath that’s almost a sigh.

“Yeah,” she says quietly. “Yeah, come here.”

You walk over slowly, still feeling humiliated. You slide into the bed beside her, gingerly, like you’re afraid you’ll scare her off. She opens one arm. You curl into it, head against her shoulder. Everything about the contact feels stiff. Careful. Awkward.

You close your eyes. Try to pretend it’s normal.

“…What’s going on?” you whisper after a moment.

Billie shrugs, just a tiny twitch of her shoulder. “Nothing.”

You don’t let her off the hook.

“Please. Don’t do that. I can’t” Your voice cracks. “You’ve been so cold, and then tonight….”

“I know.” She cuts you off, sharp at first. Then softer. “I know.”

A pause. Then, finally, she speaks.

“It’s not you,” Billie mutters, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “It’s not. It’s this album. The deadlines. The pressure. I can’t sleep, I can’t write, and everything’s on fire and I… I guess I started blaming you. For needing things from me when I had nothing left to give.”

You stay quiet. Let her get it out. She turns her head, her voice lower.

“I was just such a fucking cunt to you.”

You shift, shaking your head gently, trying to downplay it. “It’s okay”

“No,” she says firmly. “Don’t say it’s fine. You were crying. You never cry.”

Her voice breaks slightly, and her eyes finally meet yours. There’s guilt there now. Real guilt, curling behind her lashes like smoke.

“I didn’t even stop right away,” she whispers. “Didn’t even hear you.”

You exhale shakily, moving closer.

“I didn’t want to safeword. I just didn’t know what else to do. It didn’t feel like you were there with me. It felt like…” You trail off.

“Like I hated you,” Billie says quietly. “And I didn’t. I don’t.”

Your hand finds her arm, stroking gently. Her skin is warm now, soft from the towel. “I know you don’t,” you whisper.

“Still doesn’t make it okay,” she says.

You nod, forehead resting against her shoulder. The quiet stretches between you. Then, unexpectedly, she shifts.

“You want a bath?” she asks suddenly.

You blink. “What?”

“A bath. Hot. With bubbles or whatever. Let me…” She trails off, already standing. “Let me do that. Please.”

Billie fills the tub while you sit silently on the closed toilet lid, legs curled up to your chest. She lights a candle without asking. Pulls out the lavender oil she always teases you for liking. Adds bubbles.

You’re already crying again before you get in. The water is almost too warm. But her hands help guide you down. You sit between her legs, your back against her chest, her arms wrapping around you slowly, this time gentle. Intimate. Real. Neither of you speak for a while.

She presses a kiss to your shoulder. Then your neck.

Then she whispers against your skin, voice soft and cracked: “I’m so sorry.”

You nod, closing your eyes. “I know.”

She strokes your arms with the flat of her palm. Rubs slow circles against your ribs. You turn a little in her lap, tucking your head into her neck.

“You’re not too much,” she says suddenly, like she’s afraid if she doesn’t say it now, she’ll never say it. “You’re never too much for me. I made you feel like that and I… I fucking hate myself for it.”

You don’t respond right away. Just breathe against her collarbone.

Then you whisper, “You’re allowed to be overwhelmed.”

She holds you tighter.

“You’re allowed to need space. But I need to know you still love me when you take it.”

Billie lets out a long breath.

“I do. God, I do.”

Later, dried off and dressed, she tucks you into the bed with a tenderness that makes your throat ache. She brings you water, a hoodie of hers, even your little stuffed bear from the dresser without asking. You smile weakly, cuddling into her side. She holds you this time like she means it. No phones. No distraction. Just Billie. Just you.

“Can you talk to me next time?” you whisper.

“I will,” she promises, voice low. “No more pretending. No more using sex to get my anger out. That’s not what we do. That’s not who I want to be.”

You nod. And when she kisses your forehead and whispers “I love you” into your hair, you finally believe it again.

[dragoneyelashart]

come back to me

smut, fluff, angst ౨ৎ warnings: pregnant reader a/n: back with the firefighter! billie x police officer! r 💋 (also like sunshine! billie n grumpy! r if you squint) wc: 1.9k 3:07 am

the sound of the radio buzzes low across the nightstand, too soft to disturb most people. but billie’s already half-awake when it starts. she shifts beside you in the dim blue light leaking through the curtains, her hand brushing instinctively across your swollen belly before she reaches for the device.

you stir as she swings her legs off the bed.

“billie,” you murmur, voice cracked with sleep. “no.”

she pauses. her silhouette is outlined in soft gold from the hallway nightlight, muscles shifting beneath the old tank she sleeps in. her turnout pants are already halfway on.

“baby,” she says gently, turning back to you. “it’s a quick one. two-alarm fire, low occupancy. i’ll be back before you even miss me.”

you blink at her, eyes adjusting to the shadows. you don’t believe her. neither of you do. but she still says it like it might be true this time. she always says it like that.

billie leans over, pressing a warm, firm kiss to your lips. then another, slower one on your bare stomach. she whispers something there, something soft and ridiculous that makes your throat tighten. your hand finds her curls, tugging gently.

“you’ll be careful?”

she smirks. “i’m always careful.”

you give her a flat look. billie grins wider, straightening with that smug glint in her eye. “come on, you know me. i make the fire nervous.”

you groan, rolling your eyes. “you’re not charming, billie. you’re actually insufferable.”

she grabs her jacket from the hook, spinning it onto her back with practiced ease. “correction: i’m charming and insufferable. it’s part of my appeal.”

you mumble something under your breath.

she cups your face, her thumb brushing along your cheek. “and remember you’re the one who decided to marry me, ms o’connell”

“unfortunately,” you mutter. 

she laughs, deep and low in her throat, leaning in for one last kiss that’s soft making you melt into her arms, wishing she’d never leave. 

then she disappears into the hallway, gear bag slung over one shoulder. the door closes behind her, muffled and final.

but even that part of her exit holds swagger. there’s always something cocky about billie when she gets called in, like she’s starring in her own action movie. the way she walks; the confident clip of her boots against the hardwood, the casual slinging of her gear bag over one broad shoulder. she turns back once before the door shuts, gives you a wink so lazy and sure of herself that it makes you want to throw something at her. 

"don’t wait up, baby," she says with that grin that got her out of more than one bar fight before you ever met. "but also, wait up. i miss you pretty ass, sometimes”

you scowl, tugging the blanket higher. “bitch, get out.”

billie just grins wider. “love you too, grumpy.”

and then she’s gone, and you groan into your pillow, a faint blush and smile evident on your face. 

you wake again with a start. the bed is cold.

the apartment is too quiet. no soft rustle of billie’s jacket as she moves through the kitchen. no clatter of keys on the counter. just you and the clock.

you try to roll onto your side and grunt instead. the weight of pregnancy is heavier at this hour, unforgiving. your back aches. your ankles feel thick. but it’s the ache in your chest that’s worse.

you reach for your phone.

no texts. no missed calls. no updates from dispatch. you know better than to expect them, but hope’s a stubborn, stupid thing.

you sit on the edge of the bed, hands cradling the round swell of your belly.

“she said it would be quick,” you whisper aloud.

the baby shifts in response. you sigh, pressing your palm there.

“she lies, sometimes.”

you try not to stare at the news feed on your phone, but your eyes keep flicking back. the fire’s worse than they expected. six buildings involved now. displacement. one collapse.

and still no word.

you start cleaning.

the apartment is already clean, but you wipe everything down anyway. the kitchen counters. the bathroom sink. you organize the baby’s drawers even though you’ve done it three times this week. you fold onesies that haven’t even been worn.

your phone dings and your breath catches—but it’s just your bank app. a low balance notification. you nearly throw the phone across the room.

you finally sit again, hand trembling as you grab the remote. local news. a shaky camera pans over smoke and fire. the reporter’s words are background noise to the crackling in your ears.

you snap the tv off. enough. the static in your chest is louder than the news. you grab your phone again, fingers trembling. the fireaid number is saved in your favorites.

it rings twice.

"tom," you bark when he picks up. "where the fuck is my wife?"

there's a stunned silence on the other end.

"uh—y/n?"

“no it’s the electrician, who the fuck else would be calling for my wife tom? you called her in at three in the fucking morning and i’ve seen news coverage of a building collapse. she's not answering. she hasn't texted. what the hell is going on?"

tom coughs awkwardly. you can hear the stress in his voice. "she’s on scene still. it’s... rough. but she’s okay, far as i know. pulled three people out personally. i swear, she’s just—"

"just what? forgot she has a pregnant wife at home having a goddamn heart attack?"

“it’s billie,” tom says. like that’s supposed to explain everything. and maybe it does. maybe it always has.

you hang up without another word.

and then, briefly—

you see her.

just a glimpse. covered in ash. holding up debris with two others as someone crawls out from beneath it. there’s blood on her temple. her jaw is clenched.

your stomach lurches. you almost vomit. your knees press together like it’ll hold the fear inside.

you whisper her name like a prayer and wait.

the door opens.

you don’t jump. you’re already standing, arms crossed waiting. as if you had planned this and rehearsed it over and over in your head. “ms o’connell, do you realize what the fucking time is? should i have gifted you a fucking watch for our wedding instead?” you look at her sternly. billie steps inside, smiling sheepishly, and everything inside you goes very still. “um…do i call for mr fox?” she grins sheepishly. you stare at her deadpanned, your lips pursed.

billie is about to make another comment before pausing when she sees the look on your face.

"tom says i have a scary wife," billie says, trying to lighten the mood with that worn-out half-smile. "i see what he means."

she’s limping. not badly, but enough. her shirt is stained, her hair matted. there’s a cut above her brow, dried blood trailing to her cheekbone. her left arm hangs lower than her right.

she looks up and sees you.

the smile she gives you is a ghost of the one you know.

“hi my love,” she says, voice hoarse.

you don’t move. your chest rises, falls. billie kicks the door shut with her heel and drops her bag to the floor.

“before you yell, i—”

but you’re already moving.

not fast—you can’t move fast anymore. but it’s forceful. intentional. you reach her in three heavy steps and press your hand to her chest. it’s like you’re making sure she’s really there. you slap her chest lightly, punching it, and shaking your head with tears in your eyes. 

“billie.” your voice breaks. “you’re hurt, and it’s late”

she winces when you brush her arm. “it’s nothing. but im sure after my pregnant wife just assaulted me it’s much worse.”

you step back, arms folding over your stomach, and for a moment you look at her like she’s a stranger.

“you said it’d be quick.”

“i know.” she says looking down softly

“you said you’d be safe.”

“i tried.”

“that’s not good enough!” your voice cracks, sharp and loud in the stillness. “you came home bleeding, billie. limping. you haven’t even looked at a mirror—your face is—”

her mouth tightens. “i couldn’t just walk away. someone was trapped.”

your hands tremble. “and what if you were trapped? what if someone called me from the hospital instead?”

billie looks down. ash sprinkles from her curls.

“i don’t know how to do this,” you whisper. “i don’t know how to keep doing this, billie. not when every shift could be the last time i see you. i’m so scared, all the time”

“i don’t want to scare you,” she says, finally meeting your eyes. “but i can’t lie. not about this.”

you nod slowly. “then don’t lie. but stop pretending you come home unscathed. don’t say you’re coming home soon, when we both know you’re out forever. you don’t. we don’t. i carry this baby alone for hours wondering if i’m going to raise her alone. i fold her clothes and wonder if she’ll have your smile, or if she’ll never get the chance to.”

billie’s face crumples.

and you hate that. you hate how fast guilt rises in your throat. how you want to take it all back the second her eyes glisten. but you don’t. you can’t.

she’s shaking her head, resting it between your neck, her hands finding the swell in your belly, caressing your future baby girl. “i’m so sorry.”

“i’m scared, billie.”

“i know.” she steps forward, slow and cautious, like she’s afraid you’ll flinch. “i’m scared too.”

you press your lips together, tight. but your hands reach for her on their own, trembling as they press to her ribs, her back, her neck. she lets out a soft noise, pain, relief, both, as you touch her.

“sit down,” you say. “let me clean you up.”

but she’s already sinking to her knees.

“what—billie—”

her hands frame your hips gently, reverently. she presses her face into the round curve of your belly. her breath hitches.

“please ma—,” she says into your skin. “know i’m trying, for you, for our little baby”

you exhale shakily, threading your fingers through her hair. “i know baby”

she tilts her face up to you, eyes wet. you bend slowly, bringing your forehead to hers. the world narrows to this.

“just wanna show you,” she whispers.

“i know, sweet girl, i know”

“can i—can i just… hold you? please?”

you nod. “come on.”

you help her up. you guide her slowly to your bedroom, where you settle, curled together under the weight of exhaustion and truth. billie tucks her face against your neck and wraps her arms around you from behind, her palm splayed over your stomach. you cover her hand with yours.

neither of you speak for a long time. you just breathe.

eventually, she shifts.

her lips find the curve of your neck, warm and soft. not hurried. not desperate. just present.

“i missed you,” she murmurs.

you sigh. “you always miss me when you’re gone.”

her mouth brushes your jaw. “i miss you even when i’m here.”

your throat tightens. you turn your face and kiss her, slow, deep, aching. her hand finds your hip, fingers tracing the curve with reverence.

“let me take care of you,” she breathes. “let me show you how much i missed you, mama.”

you nod once, her hand threading into yours. 

there’s nothing rushed about it. billie peels your shirt away like it’s sacred. her eyes trace every curve, every scar, every stretch of new skin made by life. she kisses your stomach first, then your ribs, then your sternum. her hands settle on your thighs, wide and steady.

“you’re so beautiful,” she says, voice cracking.

you touch her cheek, softly bringing the hair out of her face humming out an answer.

she giggles softly.

her mouth finds your breast, lips soft and warm. you gasp, arching into her, your nipples more sensitive than usual. her touch is careful, her fingers gentle where they slide down your side, over your hips, between your thighs.

you spread for her without hesitation. her fingers dance amongst your thigh, like she’s memorizing, not teasing. though she has had you memorized since the day you met. her fingers are slow, deliberate, drawing wet heat from you in careful circles. you whimper out her name, in desperation. “please billie, cmon, don’t tease” billie just nods in affirmation leaving a kiss on your belly, before bringing two fingers to her mouth. she sucks the fingers before placing them on your clit, she rubs it slightly, coating it with a mix of your juices and her saliva. “so pretty, such a pretty mama” billie whispers. her fingers slowly curl inside you her palm splayed against your clit while the other was clasped between your other hand. there’s nothing rushed about it. billie touches you like she’s afraid you’ll vanish if she blinks too fast. her hands are rough, calloused, bruised, smoke-scented, and reverent. she peels your shirt up inch by inch, not just to reveal skin, but to reassure herself you’re real beneath it. her eyes are glassy as they move over you, lingering on the swell of your belly, the curve of your breasts, the tired tension in your shoulders.

she kisses low first, your stomach, right where your child kicks sometimes when you’re too still. her lips are cracked but gentle, and the scrape of her jaw where ash still clings only makes it more real.

“i was so scared,” she whispers.

you cup the back of her head, fingers buried in her curls. “me too.”

she lifts her face, something raw in her eyes, then moves up your body. each kiss climbs higher, ribs, sternum, collarbone, until her lips hover just below your throat. her breath stutters. she presses in, open-mouthed.

“you’re so fucking beautiful like this,” she rasps. “prettiest mama.”

you’re already crying and don’t realize until she kisses the salt from your chin.

“billie,” you murmur, tugging her down. she follows, bodies slotting together awkwardly but close.

her hands find your thighs, spreading them with a kind of aching slowness that makes your hips jerk. she doesn’t tease. not tonight. her fingers slide between your folds like she already knows exactly how wet you are, because she does. one breath against your neck and you were aching for her.

but she’s trembling a little. not from hesitation, just emotion. her mouth is at your jaw, your throat, your chest, murmuring soft, shaky praise.

"i got you, mama," she whispers, breath catching. "gonna take care of you so good... be the mommy our little girl deserves."

you moan softly, running your hands through her hair. “please.”

she nods against your skin. “yeah... yeah, baby. i got you.”

her strap presses in, slow and careful, and she gasps when she sinks into you, like she can feel everything too. her hips move with steady rhythm, eyes wide and reverent as she watches you take her. you guide her pace with a hand on her hip, but she never stops looking at your face.

“feels so good,” you pant.

her breath hitches. “look so perfect... taking me like that... fuck ma—”

“billie,” you whimper. “don’t stop—“

“wouldn’t dream of it princess,” she moans, a flush high on her cheeks. “c'mon, mama. cum for me, make a mess all over me”

taglist: @amara-eilish @bilswifee @iamnicoke @jayjaywetforbils @bittersuitekim @bxllxebxtch @bitchesbrokenpromises @ijustlovemaths @ilovealiceosemann @bilssturns @peytonneilish @chrissv4mp @too-sapphic-to-function | send an ask or comment if you want to be added to my taglist!

[chrissv4mp]

♱ SOUNDS BETTER

"m'wife's so pretty," she whispers to herself, but you hear. saying you were soaked was an understatement.

WARNINGS. SMUT, breeding kink, cum-filled strap, strap in v, subtop!billie × dombottom!reader, nipple play, pet names, use of y/n a few times, fluff.

SYPNOSIS. when the topic of whose last name one of you would be taking after marriage comes up, billie finds herself in a rather... sticky situation.

LETTERS. i hate this okay bye 💔💔💔

"y/n o'connell," billie murmurs from her place at the edge of the bed, her legs hanging off while her body lays comfortably on the mattress. she rolls onto her stomach, resting her elbows on the bed so that she can lay her chin on her palms, "rolls right off the tongue." she giggles.

you shoot a smirk that matches her own cheeky one, your back resting against the headboard as your legs rested crossed over each other.

"yeah, but billie y/l/n sounds pretty good as well, no?" you ask, voice higher than usual. whenever you and billie landed on this topic, you always got so excited, and she was quite aware of that.

she shrugs, wiggling her entire body onto the bed and crawling over to you slowly. billie takes her lower lip between her teeth, blue eyes fixated on your own e/c ones. she straddles your lap, and you stretch your legs out straight so that she can sit comfortably, hands coming to her hips to pull her closer.

your smile grows as billie's hands cup your face, her thumbs—both adorned with rings—caress your cheeks gently. her smile fades, but you know she's still very much comfortable and happy in your presence. the cool metal of her rings on your warm skin makes you shiver, and when billie realizes, her smile comes back instantly.

in just a few seconds, billie manages to remove your hand from her hip, slip a ring off the ring finger of her right hand, and smoothly push it onto your own ring finger. she examines your hand for a long moment, her hand gripping your wrist possessively as she takes in the sight.

"a little loose, but..." billie speaks, voice quiet. her eyes flick back to yours, and this time, you catch the desire and longing swirling in her eyes—those pretty blue ones that always had you in a trance, "i think it looks pretty good on you," she whispers, eyes slowly moving down to your lips.

"mrs. o'connell." she adds, a lazy smile tugging at her pretty lips. your other hand squeezes her hip gently as you bite the inside of your cheek. it was taking all of her willpower not to beg right now.

you shake your head with a quiet chuckle, leaning closer to her face. billie quickly closes the distance between you two when she realizes. her hand moves to your neck, fingers wrapping around your throat to pull you closer. she scoots closer to your body, her heart beating rapidly and her head spinning.

just the taste of your lips had her going insane, hips rutting against yours so that you could feel the strap she'd hidden beneath her boxers earlier that morning. you groan against her lips, and billie swallows the noise with pride, smiling against you as her tongue swipes along your lower lip.

you allow her tongue into your mouth happily, ears picking up on her needy whines as you fight against the wet muscle. in the end, you win, but billie doesn't give up her role that easily. reluctantly, she pulls away from your lips—but not without dragging your lip between her teeth, the action that always had you soaked, even more than you already were.

her hands leave your face, fingers brushing against the skin of your cheeks before trailing down your half-naked body—thank god you both only slept in your undergarments. her touch leaves a trail of fire behind, only adding to the aching feeling between your thighs. her eyes never leave yours, even as she reaches behind your back to unclasp your bra.

you let the straps fall off your shoulders, leaving billie to rip the piece of fabric from your arms, throwing it somewhere around the room. she practically drools at the sight of your tits on display for her, her hand coming back up to knead one of your boobs while her lips latch onto your other nipple. a soft whimper leaves her, eyes rolling back before shutting closed.

your fingers tangle themselves in her black strands, tugging at her roots and causing billie to moan against your skin. she clings to you like you're her lifeline, fingers digging into your breast so firmly yet with such care, her thumb rubbing circles along your nipple as she suckles on the other. it feels like she's in heaven, her head spinning with nothing but the image of you beneath her.

when she pulls away from your nipple, a thin strand of saliva forms, and billie licks her lips hungrily before trailing wet kisses down your stomach, stopping when she reaches the waistband of your panties. her eyes flick back up to yours, staring at you through her lashes, asking silently for permission to take the thin piece of fabric off of you.

"take 'em off, pretty." you whisper, voice quiet and breathy from how worked up billie had you already. your tone makes her shiver, and she wastes no time, fingers looping in the thin, pink waistband and tugging them down your thighs, legs, and ankles before throwing them to the side like she did your bra.

billie whines softly at just the scent of your arousal, scooting closer and taking her place between your legs, "m'wife's so pretty," she whispers to herself, but you hear. saying you were soaked was an understatement.

her finger glides through your folds, lips parting to let out a quiet sound of surprise at how drenched you were. she grinds against the mattress, the base of the strap-on rubbing against her clit perfectly. her cheek rests against your inner thigh, her breath fanning across your pussy.

you chuckle gently at her needy actions, your hands running down your body to grab handfuls of her hair again. she raises her head again, getting the memo whenever you nod your head in her direction. who was she to disobey her (soon-to-be) wife?

she pulls away from your pussy with a sad whine, eyes locked on your folds as she scoots off the bed to rid herself of her boxers. she steps out of them, the indigo cock standing proudly between her legs. her face flushes in embarrassment as she catches your gaze, her eyes leaving your body as she crawls back on the bed with her head hanging low.

both billie's index and middle fingers come up to her lips, spitting softly. you watch as the saliva drips down her lengthy fingers, your pussy clenching as she lowers her hand onto the strap-on, pumping the large cock in her hand. you huff impatiently, rutting your hips up against the nothing. a silent plea—or, more so, demand—for her to hurry up.

billie nods in understanding, biting her bottom lip harshly as she crawls even closer, her hands moving down to push your thighs even further apart. her eyes are locked on your soaked pussy, enamored by the way you clench around nothing. her heart beats faster in her chest as she lines up the tip of the strap-on with your entrance, breathing getting heavier at the anticipation.

"bil, hurry." you command quietly, your hands coming around to grab at her back, sneakily undoing the clasp on her bra. she bites her lip even harder when she realizes the straps slowly sliding down her shoulders, helping you by taking it off completely and throwing it to the side.

"jus—wait, baby," she murmurs, clit twitching at the sounds of your labored breaths and the faint smell of your perfume. her head hangs low, eyes fluttering closed as she thrusts her cock into your core slowly, her movements gentle as she whimpers, "fuck, ma—can you imagine how much better this'll feel on our wedding day?" she babbles, smiling at the thought.

you throw your head back against the soft pillows, her words barely registering in your head as you feel her splitting you open on her cock. your nails dig into her back, pulling her closer in the process and feeling her chest press against your own. the mix of billie's whimpers and your moans fills the room and both of your guys' ears.

one of billie's hands leaves your thigh as she begins to see a perfect pace—one that's not too fast, but not too slow either. her ring-clad fingers drag across your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake before she reaches your arm and pulls one of your hands from her back. billie pulls away slightly, kissing down your body until she reaches your nipple, taking the erect bud between her lips again.

"jus' like that, love," you praise, mouth falling open into an 'o' shape. your eyebrows furrow as billie thrusts deeper, not even noticing whenever she interlocks your fingers with hers—until you squeeze and feel her large hand squeeze back, "shit, you're such a good girl." you moan.

billie moans against your skin at the name, hips rutting into yours faster. her hand on your thigh spreads you further apart, fingers digging into your supple skin as she suckles on your nipple. the combined stimulation of her cock rubbing against your walls and her lips on your tit makes you feel like you're on another planet—drunk off of her.

"gonna make you m'wife," she mumbles, releasing your nipple with a 'pop' before she continues, "then 'm'gonna make you a mommy." she says, voice laced with nothing but lust and adoration for you and you only. billie lets her head rest in the crook of your neck, placing gentle, open mouthed kisses on your sweaty skin.

at her words, you finally realize that she's fuckjng you with her special strap—one that she rarely used, but it was still her favorite, "s'one?—fuck, y'know how much i love 'ts one, bil." you breathe, nails dragging down her back and leaving a trail of red marks.

she hisses softly at the pain, nipping down on your neck in response before she feels a light slap on her back, "sorry—sorry, didn't mean to." billie babbles, soothing the sting with her warm, wet tongue.

"y'close, mama?" she asks next, voice whiny and broken as she feels her own orgasm approaching. her hips rock the silicone cock deeper into your pussy with each thrust, the base brushing her clit and sending shocks all throughout her hot, trembling body, "please. please, want'chu you t'cum for me." she begs, eyebrows furrowing as her hand leaves yours reluctantly.

her fingertips brush against your sweaty skin, your hips bucking in response before her touch is gone again. your jaw somehow drops lower as billie begins to rub tight circles over your sensitive bundle of nerves, your nails digging into billie's back harder than before and definitely drawing blood.

billie didn't care. the only thing that mattered to her was getting you off, making you hers, and making you a mommy—even if it wasn't scientifically possible, who cared? not billie, that's for sure.

"fuck, baby, you're gonna make me—!" you cut yourself off with a gasp as she bites down softly on your nipple, sending shivers all throughout your body, "god, 'm'gonna cum, bil!" you warn, pulling her closer to your body once again, making her cock slide deeper between your walls—if that was even possible.

"please. please, sweetheart." she begs in that whiny tone of hers, and that was what finally did it for you. the knot in your stomach snapped instantly, and billie was quick to reach down between your two bodies, squeezing the base of her cock and releasing the fake cum into your tight walls. you almost lost it at the feeling.

billie helps you ride out your high, grunting gently into your ear and muttering, "you're gonna have my babies as soon as we get married, baby. gonna—gonna make you mine. all, fuck, all mine." she stutters, her own orgasm approaching as her thrusts get sloppier and sloppier with every second.

"c'mon, pretty," you breathe into her ear, your hand leaving her back to run your fingers through her hair. that simple motion gives her the final push she needed, her own orgasm hitting her in waves of pleasure as she slowly thrusts into you, "that's a good girl." you praise, and billie cries out.

her hips don't stop, though, slowly and slowly getting faster despite her oversensitive clit. she trembles above you, wanting—needing to fill you up again, although you were already leaking with both your cum and her own, "wan' more," she mumbles.

"jus' a few more f'you." she says it as more of a statement than an ask, and you can't deny her, not when she's giving you those pretty puppy eyes and pouting her lips.

"mrs. o'connell, mrs. o'connell, mrs. o'connell," she repeats it like a prayer, her hips rutting roughly against yours as she whimpers quietly. she was gonna marry you. she didn't know when, but she knew that she was definitely gonna put a ring on it.

TAGS: @mseilishmwah @sophloveswomen @mxqdii @livvydunneness @vyntagess @wiidfi0wer33 @loving1dsworld @tan1shere @fallingforfalll2 @cierraonline @dandelions4us @scarlittt @ifwdominicfike @slxtarchive @stonerfromlesbos @bilsdillldough @47lake @hopingforgoodblogs @karaeilishh @mybluebossanova @sturnsmia @moralesluvr @justtr @greenbttrflyy @billsbaby @natbelovasblog @lottiepierce @northlndnisred @asterisk-eyes @hopelessfawn @zayluvss @meliciousmel13

[dandibuni]

me when bills:

[imhappierthanever]

Billie comes to visit you at work & she’s hungry for a little lunch:

Another boring morning. A Monday at that. You struggled getting out of bed before making your way to your office. Late as always since you and your girlfriend decided you would live together.

Every time you made any progress, she would send you back about two steps. Undressing you, pealing off your most intimate items, wrapping her arms around you, kissing you hard enough to make you get caught up in the moment. Just what she wanted.

When your makeup was just right, she would capture your lips with her own, leaving you to have to touch it up yet again.

When you made breakfast for you both, she ended up sitting you on the counter, standing between your legs as her hands caressed your body gently. She was never hungry for the food. Literally just you.

“Billie- I h..I have to get to work. I’m sorry my love…” you let your hands travel all over her body as hers explored some of her favourite parts of you.

“You can be a little late.Can’t you? Stay here and show me that you’re my good girl.” She said biting your neck gently. She was absolutely NOT making this easy for you.

Finally the sound of the kettle sounded, and you kissed her cheek before hoping down and fixing your outfit back. You made a cup of tea for Billie and yourself. A little peace offering before you knew you had to hurry out the door. You handed it to her, gently stroking her cheek. “I’ll be home from work before you know it. Then I’m all yours. You can have me however you want me, baby. Okay?” At this she softened, pecking your lips as a thank you for her tea. She used her free arm to wrap around your body, trapping you against her body as she tried to get her full of you before you rushed out the door.

“Promise?” She said hopeful. Her big blue eyes lighting up. You laughed before promising once more, kissing her lips softly before you both separated.

You reached for your suit jacket placing it on before smoothing your hands over your hair, making sure every strand was still in place. Once you were somewhat satisfied, you blew your girlfriend a kiss, grabbed your bag and lunch and made your way to work.

About twenty minutes later you were sat at your desk. Wondering why you rushed to a place you despised so much when all you wanted was to be back home with her.

You sighed as you looked at a picture of you both, running your fingers over the heart shaped frame before letting yourself work on something other than thoughts of Billie. You suffered through meeting after boring meeting and all before lunch. Once 1:00 hit you made your way back to your office, happy to have a break away from it all. You grabbed your lunch box that Billie always packed for you the night before and got ready to settle in, ready for one of her cute notes.

No wonder why it felt so empty you thought to yourself, folding the note quickly and slipping it into your pocket so no one else would see. Before you could even gather your thoughts, you heard a knock on your window. Not your door, but your window. You knew it had to be her.

You turned your head to see your girlfriend standing there with a half bitten lip and actual lunch. For you. The look in her eyes told you that you would be the only thing she was having this afternoon.

You smiled rolling your eyes before rushing over, letting her in. “You know, there’s this great thing called a door babe. You should try it sometime.” You giggled before wrapping your arms around her, welcoming her into your space in more ways than one.

“This is more fun.” She said crashing her lips onto yours before setting your lunch aside.

“I’m fucking starving.” She said biting your lip, pulling it into her mouth before letting her hands caress you, peeling off your jacket, unbuttoning your blouse and hiking up your skirt to reveal your barely there underwear. “I’ve wanted you all morning. And you made me wait. Such a bad girl. Not listening.” She said as she tore your underwear away from your core, sliding them down your legs before putting them in her pocket.

“Billie I-“ “you can’t what baby?” Billie said before taking a seat in your chair, pulling you down on top of her. “The blinds. Everyone will see.” You whispered, already overwhelmed with everything she was doing to you.

“Let them see.” She said freeing you from your bra, still not completely undressing you. Just needing to get you opened to her as much as she could.

You whimpered as her tongue circled your nipple, biting down making you moan loudly. Forgetting where you were. Forgetting that your boss share a wall with you and could probably hear exactly what you two were up to.

Billie thrived on that sort of thing. She loved living on the edge and feeling like at any given moment you could be caught. It enhanced her experience.

You held onto Billie as you grinded against her, the friction of her jeans adding to the moment. Your wetness adding to her jeans. She didn’t mind.

“That’s right baby. Make a mess on me.” She whispered in your ear sending shivers down your spine. “I love it when you’re this wet for me. Can’t wait to taste it.” She said letting her fingers slide down to your core, spreading your wetness, loving that you were already a throbbing, shaking mess just from her touch.

Once she decided you were wet enough, she used one arm to hold on to you, and the other to swipe everything off of your desk. You silently thanked yourself for putting the picture of you both inside your drawer.

She laid your body down on top of your desk. Your body was aching, back arching, waiting for her to take what was hers. And when she finally did you found your fingers woven in her dark brown wavy hair, moans bouncing off the wall as she consumed you. She ate you like a starved woman, pulling you closer to her mouth, her tongue lapping at your pussy, diving into your waters. Neither of you could get enough.

Gone were the thoughts of what you coworkers would say if they had been listening through the wall. Gone were the thoughts of people seeing you, or the work you had to actually do. All you could focus on as Billie.

Her eyes never leaving yours, her fingers digging into your thighs as you gave her everything you had to offer. Feeding her. Giving her exactly what she wanted. You had always been her favourite for lunch.

[drunkinyourbenz]

୨ৎ blush. b.e

୨ৎ billie eilish x fem!reader

୨ৎ genre: fluff

୨ৎ content: loser gf billie! you do billie's makup. reader is specified to be relatively feminine for the plot.

୨ৎ note: I NEED A GIRLFRIEND. literally me and who. screaming crying throwing up. #needthat.

୨ৎ wc: 1.3k

you and billie had been invited to some party—some celebrity’s’ birthday, you were pretty sure. you didn’t really care, because going to a party meant one thing. you, billie’s girlfriend, had a chance to do her makeup for her. it was a rare occurrence, considering that the two of you didn’t go to parties all that often, but it was something that you knew she adored just as much as you did.

you slipped into her house with the spare key you were given, already dressed in your outfit for the party, billie’s hoodie over top to keep you warm. once your shoes had been taken off at the door, you made your way through the house, glancing into the living room and her bedroom before finding her in her home studio. she was sat in her large comfy black chair, headphones over her ears and knees hugged up to her chest as she adjusted a few things in the production of her latest song. she was wearing a black tank top and baggy gray sweatpants, hair held up with a black claw clip. 

shark, who lay in the dog bed at her feet, perked up when you walked in, his ears twitching forward as he straightened up. billie, however, didn't hear you enter. you walked up behind her, wrapping your arms around her and pressing a soft kiss to the bare skin of her shoulder and mumbling into her ear, “hi, baby.”

billie turned to see you, eyes practically lighting up the moment she was pulled out of her musical trance and saw you in front of her. “hi my angel, i missed you,” she leaned in, pressing her lips to yours in a sweet kiss.

you smiled against her lips, but didn’t indulge her for long, pulling away and looking at her with a small grin painted across your lips. reaching down, you took her hand, intertwining your fingers with her and tugging her to stand. once she stood, you gestured for her to follow you, gently pulling her towards her bedroom. 

she gave you a small pout as you pull away, but she followed you nonetheless, allowing you to lead her out of the room. from where she walks a few steps behind you, her eyes travel up and down as she gives you a once over, a smirk on her face, "you look good, my love."

“you don’t even know that, the hoodie covers the whole outfit.”

billie hummed, “sure, but you always look hot. now isn’t an exception.” 

with a grin over your shoulder at her, you squeezed her hand softly before tugging her further down the hall.

“sit down, baby,” you hummed once the two of you were in her room, going to her vanity and grabbing a few products, as well as a few extras from your bag. 

sitting without a complaint, she looked up at you from where she was on the bed, eyes trailing after your every move with a look that could only be described as adoration. if it were possible for a person to have hearts in their eyes, she would have them every time she looked at you.

turning to face her, you gently took her shoulders and gestured for her to move back slightly on the bed, so that she was propped up by her pillows but not fully sitting up. she didn’t argue, letting you shift her position without giving it any thought. you placed the products down next to her, noting the way her eyes were fixed on you as you moved around the room.

eventually, you got onto the bed with her, moving so that you were straddling billie’s waist—you could’ve sworn you heard her breath hitch slightly as you settled down. at that, your lips twitched up slightly into a knowing smile, and you leaned down to press a quick, teasing kiss to her lips. billie practically chased after your lips when you pulled back, her eyes darting back and forth between your eyes and lips, the look in her eyes almost pleading.

her hands found their place on your thighs, rubbing soft circles there as you did her eyeliner. she couldn’t help the way her thoughts became so impossible to verbalise at your actions, having you right there on top of her was making her brain short circuit. 

you did her eyeliner—a brown eyeliner, it felt softer with her blonde hair and it made her blue eyes pop—in that way that looked so jaw-droppingly gorgeous, trying to ignore the way her icy eyes were fixed on you. you moved to eyeshadow, just applying a little of the silver shimmery one that looked so gorgeous with her eyes. 

while billie watched you, a soft smile pulled at her lips. once you’d finished the eyeshadow, she allowed herself to shift sightly, a soft giggle falling from her lips. when you took her head in you hand, cupping her chin between your thumb and index finger, she let you tilt her head like putty in your hands. her eyes were soft, as they often were when she looked at you, and you held her head still as you looked at the eye makeup you’d finished. 

with a hum, you released her face, “perfect.” 

“yeah?” 

leaning forward, you pressed a kiss to her lips, feeling the way her lips curled into a smile against your lips, and watching the way she chased after them once you’d pulled away. 

she had a stupidly large smile on her face as she watched you, and it only grew as you leaned in and pressed your lips to each of her cheeks a few times. soon enough, your grin was matching hers, and you bought two fingers up to blend out the lipstick marks your lips had left. 

still smiling like a lovesick fool, billie mumbled, “what are you–”

“this is your blush.” you giggled as you spoke, looking at her with a warm smile. her heart practically melted at your words. billie had soon joined the giggling, soft laughter leaving her lips as she watched your focused face. the second you paused, she leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to your lips. 

once she’d pulled away, she murmured against your lips. “i love you. you’re so cute.”

“oh, i’m the cute one? you should see your face when i’m doing your makeup, you’re like a lovesick puppy.” 

billie’s bottom lip poked out in a pout, “i am not! i just…i love when you do my makeup.” 

you simply grinned at her, “i know you do. with the way you're blushing right now, you didn't even need my kisses."

billie groaned, her hands moving up to your waist and her fingers digging in ever so slightly, “shut up,” it was likely supposed to sound intimidating, but it came out sounding like a whine, and she hid her face from your view by hiding it in your shoulder. 

“nuh uh,” you hummed, gently moving her face from its hiding place, voice teasing. “you’ll mess up your pretty makeup, baby.”

she let out a soft grumble of protest, sending you a glare—although it was all too clear that she was biting back a smile. “i hate you.” 

“mhm, sure you do.” you simply held her face in your hand again, holding her still while you finished blending out the ‘blush’. once it was finished, you hummed in content, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips once again. billie didn’t stop herself from chasing after your lips that time, and the second you pulled away, her hand had found the back of your neck. she pulled you back against her lips. only once the two of you were breathless did she part from you, mumbling something softly against your lips, something that sounded pretty close to ‘i love you’. 

still sat on her lap, you looked at at her once you’d pulled apart. the corner of your lips twitched into a soft smirk, “well, you’re lucky i didn’t do your lips yet.”

୨ৎ tags: @47lake @st0nerlesb0 @n0vabug @darkside-0f-the-sun @asterisk-eyes @amara-eilish @dragoneyelashart @greenbttrflyy @bilswifee @tan1shere @asothinking @ilovealiceosemann @chrissv4mp @lovelyy-moonlight @jennaswifey @billiesbabygirleilish

[amara-eilish]

can you write a fic based on billie wanting to film r and her having sex (but like with sub!top!billie pleassee) i love ur work and i'm sooo happy ur backkkk

kind of not proofread sorry!

"but baby what am i gonna do so far away from you!" billie says in front of you. the both of you were both lying in bed while billie brushed her fingers through your hair. billie had just brought up the fact that the two of you were going to go without sex for 2 months on her first leg of tour.

you laughed at how much she needed you but brushed off the topic. the topic changed, and the two of you talked about random things before it got quiet. you could hear billie's breathing getting heavier.

"what's wrong pretty? what's got your head thinking so hard?" you ask

billie smiled softly, "i want to record us, make a video. something to keep me company when i'm missing you." her eyes sparkled with joy and you could see how much she wanted it. " a video, hm?" 

your voice was quiet as you whispered in her ear softly running your fingers down her back. "what kind of video do you want to film sweet girl?"

billie whined burying her head in your neck, "you know what i mean baby" she mumbled.

"do i? can you remind me baby?" you tease.

"wanna film us having sex," billie whispers clawing at your clothes.

you laugh quietly and nod at her to go set up the camera. she shot up quickly running to set it up.

she propped the phone up on the bedside table, angling it to capture the entire bed, ensuring everything would be captured. the camera lens stared back at them, a silent witness to the scene about to unfold.

"gonna show you what a good girl i am for you" billie says excitedly. "yeah? gonna be good for me?" you breathe out in anticipation.

your breath caught as billie's lips brushed against your core. the feeling of billie's tongue sending shivers through your body. your back arched, pushing your hips upwards, as she ate you out. billie's mouth was relentless, her tongue flicking and probing, driving you to the brink of ecstasy.

"fuck baby" you gasped, your hands gripping the sheets tightly. "doing so good f'me, making me feel so good, pretty."

billie's moaned at the praise, the vibrations adding to the pleasure. she could get drunk off the taste of you and bathed your continuous praise.

as your moans grew louder, billie slipped two fingers inside curling them to find that sweet spot that would send you over the edge. your body tensed, muscles clenching around billie's fingers as you cried out in release.

"yesss baby. so good for me always. always been my good girl" your voice echoed through the room, pushing billie to continue, savoring the taste of your orgasm.

billie crawled up your body, leaving a trail of kisses along your chest. before kissing your lips passionately.

you laughed, a playful glint in your eyes. "can't wait to watch it back. maybe we should make a few more, just to be sure."

tags: updating my tag list let me know if you want to be added!